“I don’t take charity.”
“It’s payment,” he said. “For not letting me be eaten by a monster of Annwvyn. The political ramifications would have been… unfortunate. If one of the otherfolk slew me, my uncle might have been obligated to begin a war.”
Branwen blinked in surprise. “Truly?”
“Or at least sent a strongly worded letter.” His smile held a wry humor, but all the deprecation was aimed inward.
Branwen looked up. Sunset was less than an hour off. “I’ll need to finish this tomorrow,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “If I put Rhain in his house… mayhap the body won’t deteriorate too quickly.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Gwydion took a step past her. He looked up at the old oak tree, then down at the half-dug grave.
He closed his eyes and drew in a breath. Then he began to sing. It was a soft little song, a lullaby so quiet that the words blended into one another. He had a surprisingly pleasant voice.
Motes of gold appeared at his lips. Branwen took a step back.
Not simply a noble. Adiviner.
As Gwydion sang, the ground shifted beneath her feet. It was not the ground, she realized. It was the roots of the old tree. They moved beneath the earth. The oak creaked as though waking from a winter’s sleep.
The grave widened, the earth streaming away, as hundreds,perhaps thousands of tiny roots coaxed and pulled at the dirt. Then Gwydion fell silent.
The grave was ready to accept its due.
“Do you wish to say anything?” asked Gwydion quietly. “Is there anyone else who should be here?”
Branwen shook her head. “He had no living family.”
“He had you.” The words came with surprising gentleness, and Branwen felt a lump rise in her throat. She had not expected tenderness from the likes of a pampered nobleman.
“He did,” Branwen agreed.
For all the good it did him, she thought. She did not have the heart to say the words aloud.
Rhain’s body was quiet and still. If not for the blood, she might have thought him sleeping. There was a small brooch on his cloak; she reached down and unpinned it. It was no great treasure, but she had seen him wear it every day since she was a child. And she wanted something tangible to remember him.
Once the brooch was in her pocket, she picked him up as best she could, half staggering toward the grave. Before she could say a word, Gwydion made a soft sound.
The roots slipped free of the grave, winding through the air. The roots curled around Rhain, gentle as a parent taking a babe, and settled the old man into the earth.
Branwen knelt. There was so much she wanted to say—and yet no words rose to her lips. When she breathed, her exhale was a stuttering little gasp. The grief cracked her open, gaped like a fresh wound. Rhain would have scoffed if she tried to offer a floweryfarewell. So she said the only thing she knew he would have appreciated. “You’ll be missed, old man.”
They buried him together. Gwydion helped in silence, picking up shovelfuls of dirt and heaving them into the grave.
When they were finished, her fingers were sore, but the work had soothed the ragged edges of her grief. Gwydion’s wavy hair had gone curly with sweat, and a flush had risen to his cheeks. He looked better undone, she thought. As though he were more of a person and less of a carefully arranged piece of art.
“Come on,” Branwen said. “I need to return home before evening, and you might as well stay at the house tonight. I’ll put some blankets before the fire.”
If she had expected him to protest, she would have been disappointed. Gwydion gave her a shallow little bow. “My thanks.”
Mam was glad to see them. As soon as Branwen stepped into the house, she was drawn into a bone-crackingly tight embrace.
“Oh, my dear,” Mam whispered. “You were so brave.”
Branwen returned the embrace slowly. She did not deserve thanks or praise, not with Rhain buried beneath an oak tree. “I should have done more.”
“You did what you could.” Mam brushed Branwen’s hair out of her eyes. “You always do. My dear daughter.”
Then Mam turned her attentions to Gwydion, clucking and fussing over his dirt-stained clothes. Gwydion made polite noisesabout the house and their meal of roasted rabbit and day-old bread. But when he thought no one was looking, Branwen glimpsed him feeding a bit of rabbit to Palug under the table.
