Gwydion began to rise, but Branwen was already on her feet. “What was it?”
The woman’s shaking hands touched her mouth. “A pack—wolves, dogs, I’m not sure.”
Branwen cursed beneath her breath. “I knew this would happen.” She flung a glance at her cat. Then she looked at Gwydion.
“I have a horse,” he said, rising from his seat. “It’ll be faster than going on foot.”
She bit her lip, as though she wished to argue. “Come on, then.”
CHAPTER 10
BRANWEN HAD BEEN thirteen the first time she hunted a true monster.
It began with drownings.
There were a few every year. The winter rains lashed rivers into floods. Unwary travelers, careless children, and even a few animals would go missing only to be found when the water receded. It was sad, but it was expected.
But one spring, three village children perished.
There was a lake near Argoed, and children often went there to swim, fish, and sail small boats made of grasses and sticks. The lake had no name, but its waters were clear, and someone had built a small dock.
The drownings happened over the course of a month, and all that was found of the children were their clothes: torn and bloodstained, floating in the reeds.
It set off a small panic. The blacksmith crafted iron charms for frightened parents rather than his usual assortment of tools and horseshoes. A farmer took a long spear and a net down to the lake, determined to drag the monster from its depths.
No one ever saw him again.
After that, no one would go near the lake.
It had been Rhain who gave Branwen the idea to hunt it. They had been helping plant her mother’s small garden. “No one knows what the monster is,” he said, leaning on his shovel.
The garden had smelled of spring—greenery, clean soil, and possibility. Branwen had convinced her mother to let her plant flowers alongside her feverfew and mint.
“Did someone ask the barwn for help?” she asked.
Rhain gave her a knife-edge smile. “Weeks ago. He said he’d pass word along to the king, but the soldiers are… occupied elsewhere.”
Which meant they were raiding the neighboring kingdom of Gwaelod. Branwen frowned. “But the barwn’s supposed to protect us.”
“He’s supposed to do more than sleep, eat fine meals, and entertain guests, yes,” Rhain agreed, “but so long as he keeps the taxes flowing toward the royal coffers, no one gives a damn what he does.”
Branwen leaned forward. “What can be done?”
Rhain reached down to pull a rock from the garden. “Same as we’ve always done. Keep your head down, wear some iron, and come home before dark. I might ask about, see if anyone’s hounds have had a litter. Wouldn’t hurt keeping a dog around.”
Sweat trickled through Branwen’s hair, and she scratched at theback of her neck. “It’s not right, that we’re always the ones who have to hide.”
Rhain gave her a look that was half pity, half amusement. “If I was twenty years younger, mayhap I could do something. But until I knew what the creature was, I couldn’t fight it. That’s the real power the otherfolk have—not the magic or the immortality. It’s their illusions. Changing how a person sees the world? That’s true power.”
“You think… you think if the villagers knew what the creature was, they could kill it?” she asked.
Rhain gave a little shrug. “If it’s something small. If it’s an afanc, we’re all going to have to move.”
Branwen touched the afanc-fang knife at her belt. She carried it everywhere; its weight was a reminder that she was never helpless.
“Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no,” said Rhain. “I know that face. That’s a reckless face.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Branwen delicately.
