“It was a healing,” said Gwydion soothingly. “Nothing more.”
She looked at him sharply. “He… healed her?”
“Oh, yes,” said Gwydion. He looked down at his undrunk tea. “I’m sorry. He cannot restore memories. She may struggle to remember things that have happened since the illness took hold. But he stopped the deterioration. Your mother will lose no more memories.”
The world seemed to freeze around her. Branwen dared not take a breath for fear of breaking this moment.
Mam would lose no more memories. It was a hope she had once cradled near to her heart—and Gwydion shattered it when he lied to her. Now he was here, trying to mend that hope.
“Why?” she finally said.
Gwydion’s dark eyes were sorrowful. “Because I spent my life lying to everyone around me. To myself. But I never wanted to lie to you. I meant everything. All of it. My lies were ones of omission, but they were still lies. I led you into that forest knowing what it might cost you. I killed Pryderi, even if I did not mean to. I injured you. And for all that, I am sorry.” He swallowed. “I know it means nothing to you, but I am truly sorry.”
She did not know what to say, so she kept quiet. They drank tea in silence for a few minutes.
“Your hair,” she finally said, gesturing at his temples. “That is new.”
“Oh, this?” Gwydion fingered one of the gray strands. “It began to grow in that way after the battle. I was… not myself for some weeks afterward. A cough, a fever. And the hair, of course.” He shrugged. “I don’t think any diviner has ever done what I did.” There was a trace of bitter pride in his voice. “But there’s a cost. Always a cost.”
“And we all paid it,” she said.
“Some more than others,” he agreed softly.
She did not have to ask to know he spoke of Pryderi.
She missed him. She missed Pryderi’s steady presence, the warm smiles, and the way he seemed to instill everything he did with care. She had only known him a short while, and it had not been enough.
“What will you do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t live at Caer Dathyl.”
“You can’t?”
“Exile,” said Gwydion, with a rueful smile. “A political gesture to appease Dyfed. As long as I keep my head low, I won’t be forced from Gwynedd.”
“You gave it all up?” she said. From the little that he had told her, he’d spent years building himself a web of informants and spies. His sister, his nephews… she could not imagine him leaving them all behind.
“I did,” said Gwydion. “For one thing, I was a political liability. If I stayed, my sister could not create the alliances she needed. Andfor another… when I returned to Caer Dathyl, I could not be myself again. The trickster died that day in the woods, and I have no desire to resurrect him.” He sighed. “I’ll see my nephews again. They’re already sneaking out of the castell. I’m sure they’ll find their way to wherever I am. It might take a few years.”
She wanted to say she was sorry, but she could not. Somehow it seemed a fitting price that Gwydion lose the home he had fought so hard for. “I’m surprised King Pwyll didn’t send assassins after you.”
“Oh, he did,” said Gwydion, with a trace of a smile. “Four of them. Three were gently extracted from the city and returned to Dyfed. The last was burned alive. He climbed through the wrong bedroom window, and Amaethon has been bad-tempered of late. Being rather publicly humiliated and then stripped of his throne… well. After that, Pwyll had to grudgingly accept that the only way he was getting recompense was through official means. Hence, the exile.” He spread his hands, gesturing at himself. “I have no title. No kingdom. No friends anymore.”
“You had friends?” she said. She meant it as a jest, but it came out too flat.
He looked at her, all the sadness in the world in his eyes. “Once.”
As he was leaving, Gwydion hesitated near the front gate. “I almost forgot,” he said, and dug into his pack. He came up with a familiar knife. “I hoped to return it.”
It was the afanc-fang dagger. When she took it, there was aslight shake to her hands. She had never thought to see this again. Her fingers settled around the hilt. It felt like a piece of herself had returned.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded. “You’re welcome.”
“Where will you go?”
“I have a room in the village,” he said. “I can stay there for a while. After that…” He looked at the rolling fields. “I might try farming.”
