And it had only happened once before.
She gritted her jaw, clenching every fearful noise behind her teeth, and waited. It felt as though an eternity passed with every heartbeat, but she remained still.
Then she saw it.
The monster slunk out of the tall grasses. It was lean, almost skeletal, with sleek white fur and red-tipped ears.
One of the cwn annwn.
It was said that they were portents of death. To hear the baying of a ci annwn was to know that one’s time had come.
Branwen knew better. A ci annwn did not foretell a death—itwasdeath. The cwn annwn could crack bone with their jaws, could scent blood across forests and fields, and could run as swiftly as a horse. They were the Otherking’s hunting hounds. She had been seven the first time she’d seen one stalking a traveler. It was whispered that the closer a ci annwn came to its prey, the softer its howls grew. When death came, it did so quietly.
Of all the monsters she had encountered, only a few inspired nightmares.
The hound paused beneath the tree, its nose lifted to the wind. It drew in a long breath, taking a step forward. Branwen saw the flash of iron at its leg.
The snare. Her snare. The hound had been snagged in her snare and torn it free. Even now, the hound dragged the iron stake behind it. The iron must have driven it to join the mortal hounds and begin a hunt.
This was her fault. She had set those snares. If she hadn’t, perhaps the creature would not have gone mad. Perhaps Davies would still be alive.
Her fingers twitched toward her bow. If she could fire an arrow into the monster’s heart, at least she would end its suffering. Surely that would be a mercy.
Slowly, ever so slowly, her fingers grasped the bowstring.
The monster sniffed, then sniffed again, its attention caught by an unheard breeze.
The wind was against Branwen’s back. Blowing toward the creature.
She went cold.
I’m not here, she thought, hoping against hope.I am not here, you do not smell me, I—
The ci annwn lifted its head and sniffed. It circled the place in the grass where Branwen had knelt. As it came nearer, she could see the bristle of fur running down its back and the glitter of iron tangled around its leg; she could smell the fetid stench. It smelled of decaying meat.
She drew the bowstring and sighted down the arrow. She needed a moment of stillness. A single moment—and she would end this monster.
But as though it sensed the movement, the ci annwn looked up and met her gaze.
For a heartbeat, the world froze. She saw the monster, and the monster saw her. Its lips peeled away from bloodstained teeth.
Branwen loosed the arrow. But even as it cut through the air, the ci annwn lunged to one side. The arrow sliced a line along its flank, staining its fur crimson. The hound snarled soundlessly, biting at its own flesh as though it could attack the pain. It whirled around once, twice, then stared up at Branwen. Bloodied foam flecked at the corners of its mouth.
Fallen kings.She was out of arrows and trapped in a tree. She still had her afanc-fang knife, but that would require her to fight at close quarters.
The ci annwn circled the sycamore, eyes never leaving its prey. Branwen bit down on her lip. There was no use in screaming; no one would hear her. Not with this blanket of silence pressing down on her.
The hound snuffled at the grass, then lifted its head. It drew in another long breath, its chest expanding. It was scenting her.
Branwen bared her own teeth in a snarl of challenge.
To her shock, the hound did not lunge for the tree. Rather, it turned and ran, leaping over the stone wall and—
Terror sparked within her, sending fire along her veins.
The hound had caught her scent. And now, it was following that scent back to the source.
The ci annwn was headed toward home.
