“Itcouldbe me chosen,” he whispers into her ear, and Mairwen laughs. She laughs so free and loud it draws heads and gazes around them. She puts her hands to Arthur’s neck and smiles.
“I would rather it be you,” she declares, laughing still. Sparks flash off the fire, making shapes more scattered than constellations, and dangerous as goblins.
Fury burns through Arthur and he jerks her closer, as if to slam his head into hers as he did to Alun Prichard.
“You’ll have to cut your hair again,” she whispers, “violent boy.” She toys at the ragged tips with both hands, and his earlobes, too, causing him to shiver. Her touch leaves cold impressions, driving straight down to his loins. He tears away, shoving through the crowd, away from the fire and pulsing drums.
“I’m sorry,” she calls from behind him as he reaches the churchyard and stops against the short stone wall of the little cemetery. He turns to her; she’s lit from behind by the fire. Mairwen touches the wall to steady herself, and he realizes she’s drunker than him.
“Don’t be sorry,” Arthur says.
“Arthur,” she says, “I’ve never been so... out of sorts.”
He doesn’t move, a pale spirit against the dark cemetery beyond. Rough-cut stones marked with family names spread in uneven lines between the holy cross monument in the west and in the east the plain pillar memorial carved with the names of all the boys lost to the Devil’s Forest in two hundred years. Arthur can’t read the names from here, nor even see the shadow of them against the creamy stone, but he knows them, and knows the order. He recites them in his mind, to eradicate thoughts of her hands. The last name isBaeddan Sayer, carved ten years ago. How terrible will it feel to see Rhun’s name there? To wait at dawn forhimto never come home?
So lost in the sick thought is Arthur that he doesn’t notice Mairwen until she’s just beside him. He eyes her as his anger reignites, mingled now not only with desire, but worry and sorrow. A mess of sharp, contradictory emotions. He says, “Can you imagine my name there?”
Mair sits on the wall, clutching the corner of it tight enough to mark her palms. “I refuse to. Bad enough seeing my father’s name.”
Arthur glances at the memorial pillar, where he knowsCarey Morganis carved.
“If it were you,” she whispers, and Arthur scoffs but seats himself beside her and hangs his head.
“If it were you,” Mairwen begins again, “what would make you feel better tonight?”
He looks back toward the square, firelight awaking in his eyes, reflecting the fire in his heart. “Knowing what I had to fight for.”
“You mean the town? All of this reminding you how good it is? The saint’s shirt to carry with you as a—as a talisman of Three Graces?”
“No, stupid girl.”
Her back straightens and she opens her mouth to snap and leave him, but Arthur says, “I meanwhoI had to fight for. Knowing she’d be there at dawn, waiting.”
All Mairwen’s breath rushes out.
“I’d survive it. I’m harder and faster than him,” Arthur says. “I don’t let anything hurt me and have no pity to slow me down. And of course I’m more expendable.”
“No one is expendable,” Mairwen answers ferociously.
Arthur kisses her. He kisses with his lips and teeth, hard and formidable, hands on her jaw and neck, dragging her closer. And Mairwen kisses him back. She flings her arms around him, shoving as much of herself against him as she can. His teeth drag at her lip. Her nails claw his scalp. These are not fresh or easy kisses.
Suddenly Mairwen pulls away with a cry, violent enough to stumble to the ground, landing on her hip.
She stares up at Arthur, who’s on his feet, jaw clenched and a hand hovering near his mouth. Moonlight brightens her eyes, and her teeth glint between open lips. “Oh, no,” she says. “Not now, not you, not tonight!”
It cuts hard into him, the abruptness and finality of her rejection. Angst twists in his stomach, leaving rope burns. But she’s also right. Tonight is the night before the Slaughter Moon. Rhun’s Slaughter Moon. He says, “Rhun told me... when he... kissed me...”
Mairwen scrubs at her mouth.
Arthur wants to drag her hands away, hurt her for it. He has to take deep breaths. He says in as calm a voice as he’s able, “He told me he kissed me because he wanted me to know, beforenext time. His time. His moon.”
“I know how Rhun feels,” she hisses. “About meandyou.”
“Does he know how you feel?”
“I think everybody knows.”
“I mean, does hereallyunderstand?” Arthur grinds his teeth together, hating everything in the entire world. “You love him too, and so you should... make sure he knows.”
