This was the Wild Hunt. It was companionship and joy as much as it was betrayal and ambition.
“It’s beautiful here.” Branwen’s soft voice startled him. Pryderi glanced over and saw she had managed to sit up. She leaned against the branches, her face exhausted but her eyes alight. “Even with all the monsters and killers and danger. This place”—she lifted a hand to one of the autumn-burnished leaves—“it’s still magical. And I’m glad we got to see it.”
Pryderi nodded. “Me too,” he agreed.
CHAPTER 31
BRANWEN SLEPT THROUGH half the night.
The poppy had kept the worst of the pain at bay. When she awoke, it was to a steady throb in her right side. Irritating, but bearable.
Pryderi was asleep. He snored softly, his cloak drawn up to his chin. Gwydion was on Branwen’s other side, sitting with his back to the tree trunk and Palug on his lap. The cat was kneading his thigh, and while Gwydion winced, he allowed the gentle mauling.
“You’re awake?” she said softly.
He looked at her. “You should be resting.”
She tentatively sat up. Gwydion made as though to help, but she waved him off. She pushed herself slowly so that her back was to the trunk. She dragged her cloak up and over their legs. His own cloak was being used as a bed for Palug.
“One of us should keep watch,” he said quietly. “You and Pryderi were half-asleep by the time I returned.”
“Well, you should get some rest, too.” She patted his arm. “You saved my life back there.”
Gwydion looked away. “I hired you. It would have made me a rather bad employer to let you get killed before collecting payment.” It was a light answer, and a few days earlier, she likely would have accepted the lie.
Her mouth twisted up at one corner. “Do you ever let your guard down?”
He looked at her sharply. If he had been any less exhausted, he probably would have conjured up a witty reply. “You know why I don’t.”
“Because your family is terrible,” she said.
“Because my family is terrible,” he agreed. “And I’ve grown used to my armor of words and secrets. It is easier to pretend that I love that armor, that I need nothing else.”
“You don’t need it,” said Branwen. “I like you better when you’re… you.”
And she did like him. She liked his watchful eyes, his laughter, even the conniving edge to his conversations. She understood him now. He was like Pryderi—good-hearted, even if he went about it in an underhanded way.
“I’m always me,” said Gwydion.
“You’re more yourself right now,” she said. Which should not have made sense, but it did. A slight smile flickered across his mouth.
He was so close and yet unreachable.
For a few minutes, they sat in silence. Perhaps it would have been uncomfortable with another, but Gwydion’s silences were undemanding. It gave her time to gather her thoughts.
Branwen regarded him curiously. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Are you worried about what the woman said?”
He exhaled sharply, his hand still on Palug’s back. The cat looked at him in mild irritation.
“You mean the prophecy that I will break Gwynedd’s throne?” he said quietly. “Of course it worries me.”
Branwen scooted a little closer to him. “She did not say it was Gwynedd’s.”
“What other throne would I break?” He gave her a bitter smile. “We have the rings of two kings. We could win the Hunt—I am certain of that now. But… what if somehow that is what brings about Gwynedd’s destruction?”
