The brooch thudded into the grass by Branwen. Gwydion dared not reach over and take it, lest he break Arawn’s gaze. He had the terrible feeling that to look away was to invite attack.
Arawn shifted beneath his crimson cloak. “You will leave, son of Dôn,” he said softly. “Never enter these woods again. I may not be able to harm you, but that cannot be said for the other creatures that dwell here.” He turned to go, but Gwydion called after him.
“Wait.”
Arawn went still, glancing over one broad shoulder. “What?”
Gwydion held up the ring of the Otherking. It glimmered in the light. “I hold your fealty. I can command you for a year and a day.”
“Yes, you could,” said Arawn, with a sliver of that wolfish smile. “I would advise against it, however. Unless you word your commands verymeticulously,” he put subtle emphasis on every syllable of that word, “I might prove a less than ideal servant.”
Or put plainly, Arawn was sure he could outwit any commandGwydion might offer. He was probably right. Arawn had centuries of experience with trickery and magic. Gwydion had only nineteen years.
“I have one command for you,” said Gwydion. “And it’s one you will want to follow.”
Arawn’s brows swept upward. “Is that so?”
Gwydion gazed at him. “Leave.”
Arawn looked at him sharply. “What?”
Gwydion felt as though he were dying on his feet; the world swayed and blood hammered in his head. He had used too much magic, gone too far into his divining. But he managed to stay upright and say what needed to be said.
“Leave the isles,” Gwydion continued. “Go elsewhere. I know the tylwyth teg have places that mortals cannot find. There is a war coming. Dyfed cannot let the death of Prince Pryderi go unpunished. They will attack Gwynedd… and King Pwyll will call on you to aid him. The isles will not survive a war between mortal and immortal. Such a conflict would destroy both sides.”
Arawn gestured at the woods. “If we leave, so will the magic. Magic, as your kind are so fond of saying, isother. When we go, that otherness will fade. In a century, perhaps two, there will be no diviners nor enchantments. No legends nor monsters.” He tilted his head. “Are you so eager to usher in an age of iron?”
Gwydion thought of the forest. He could feel its magic throbbing up through the soles of his feet and into his very bones. The magic of Annwvyn was beautiful and powerful—and it could so easily fall into the wrong hands.
“The age of iron has already begun,” said Gwydion. “It has soakedinto the fields, into the rivers, into the lakes. Humans will never be contained. Monsters cross this land to find sanctuary in Annwvyn, but soon there will be no safety even within these mountains.
“If you stay,” he continued, “with your fealty belonging to a mortal… I fear that would be the end of everything. But I am giving you this chance to run. To take your people and your magic and leave. Protect your people. That is the only thing a king should do.”
A long silence fell between them.
Arawn lowered his gaze. When he spoke, there was a soft note of regret in his voice. “On that, son of Dôn, we agree.”
CHAPTER 40
BRANWEN WOKE BESIDE the forest.
The dead grass prickled against her bare neck, and the air smelled of burning. The sky was purpling like an old bruise. Beside her was a black-and-white cat. He mewed softly in her ear, and she rolled over to wrap her arms around him. “You’re alive,” she whispered. “Oh, Palug.”
He head-butted her nose. Which hurt more than it should have.
“You’re awake.”
A voice made Branwen flinch. She sat up so fast her head swam. The world spun sickeningly, and then there was a hand at her shoulder. “It’s all right.”
Branwen blinked several times. And that was when she realized—her right eye was covered. The familiar iron-stitched blindfold was tucked around her head. A water flask and a pack sat beside her.Branwen twisted open the flask and drank, flushing the taste of old blood from her teeth.
A woman crouched beside Branwen, watching her with birdlike interest. “Cigfa?” murmured Branwen. She did not know if she should have been afraid or not. She had bested Arawn’s champion. Cigfa might hold a grudge.
“It’s me,” said Cigfa, smiling. “I know I look different without my magic.” She pointed at Branwen’s blindfold. “I don’t know how you can stand to wear that.”
The iron was a relief. There was no flash of gold, no unexpected flare that would scald her sight. Branwen touched the blindfold, then looked around.
They were on the edges of Annwvyn. “How much time has passed?” asked Branwen. “Where—what happened? What are you doing here?”
