“Join us,” said Gwydion. “That way you can keep an eye on us. Make sure we’re here for the reasons we said. We’ll help you win the Hunt. We can all win. If that doesn’t prove you’re the son of a king, nothing will.”
Pryderi’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you Gwynedd’s spymaster? Why should I trust you?”
“Trickster,” said Gwydion. “Not spymaster.”
“What’s the difference?” asked Pryderi doubtfully.
“Spies are paid,” said Branwen and Gwydion in the same breath.
Pryderi snorted. “Why should I trust a trickster, then?”
“Because right now our aims align,” said Gwydion. “And you could break me in two if you so desired. Branwen is who you should be worried about.”
Pryderi’s mouth lifted at the corner. “She is quite formidable.”
“She is also right here,” said Branwen, flushing. “Are you with us? Or will you hand us over to your father?” She reached down and picked up the spear. She held it out to Pryderi, the sharpened tip aimed at her own chest and the shaft extended toward him.
It was a silent offering—her life was in his hands. He could take that spear and kill her before she could draw a breath. Or he could simply shout and alert the Otherking to their presence. She had ceded the decision to him.
Pryderi’s eyes met hers. A storm of emotion roiled behind the calm lines of his face. She gave him the smallest of nods. No matter what he chose, she would understand. There were no lies between them. The girl who hunted monsters and the boy who feared he was one.
Pryderi’s hand settled around the spear.
“Let us hunt,” he said.
CHAPTER 18
PRYDERI COULD NOT decide if this was a mistake.
He had found two infiltrators from Gwynedd. A king’s son would have reported them; a monster’s son would have slain them. But Pryderi had allied with them. He did not know what that made him.
A traitor, he thought,or a fool.
But he had seen Branwen’s desperation when she spoke of her mother—and he could not deny another a chance to save their family. He recalled how his foster mother used to invite passing travelers to their table for meals. When Pryderi pointed out that was a good way to be robbed, his mam had smoothed a hand over his hair and said, “I will not let the evils of the world frighten me out of kindness.”
He thought his foster mother would have liked these two—the trickster and the huntress. She would have been amused by them,at the very least. His foster father would have liked the cat; he had always had more of an affinity for animals than people.
Pryderi wished he could have spoken to his foster family. He had sent and received letters, but it was not the same.
The other hunters were gathering their gear and supplies, murmuring to one another. The raucous celebration had died away, leaving a quiet urgency in its wake. Branwen lit a lantern and took the lead. Her cat twined around her ankles, purring softly. Gwydion wore a dark gray cloak and carried an assortment of pouches at his belt. His expression was cool and contemplative, but he nodded at Pryderi when their gazes met.
When they reached the forest, Branwen took a deep breath. Palug stepped up beside her, his eyes fixed on something in the dark. She reached down, picking him up. The cat perched atop her shoulder as she shifted into a hunter’s gait.
“Where are we going?” asked Pryderi quietly.
Branwen said, “Away from camp. All the noises will have scared away game. We should look for water.”
“There’s a stream south of here,” said Gwydion.
Pryderi shot him a frown. “Have you visited Annwvyn before?”
“No,” said Gwydion, and offered no explanation.
They walked into the forest. The ground was thick with fallen leaves, and the once-lush foliage looked skeletal in the night. The wind carried the scent of cold mist, the bright greenery of conifers, and the smoke of distant fires. When the sun rose, it would be Calan Gaeaf—the first day of winter.
Branwen led them east, deeper into the mountains. They navigated by the pale lantern light. Pryderi snagged his ankle on abramble once, and even she stumbled over a few loose rocks. Of the three of them, Gwydion moved through the forest with the most ease.
Magic, Pryderi thought. The children of Dôn were all diviners. Gwydion would be no different. Pryderi’s fingers tightened around the spear.
