“My dear prince,” Cigfa said, “you chose your friends well.” And without hesitation, she sank to her knees before Branwen.
They all gaped at her.
“Is this… what normally happens?” asked Branwen, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
“How should I know?” said Pryderi.
Cigfa said, “My fealty is yours. Now, what do you command?”
Branwen took a step back. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”
“You hold my ring,” said Cigfa. “You hold my fealty until you give it to your king.”
Branwen gazed at the woman. The words simply did not make sense. “I hold your fealty?”
Cigfa gave her a level, patient look. The look a parent might give an ignorant child. “My dear huntress. What did you think you were hunting for?”
Unease roiled up through Branwen’s stomach. “… Rings?”
Cigfa shook her head. “Jewelry is of little use to kings,” she said.
Branwen drew in a sharp breath. “What?”
“We do not hunt for rings,” said Cigfa. “We hunt for loyalty.”
This did not make sense. This was a hunt, just another hunt. A hunt for monsters and creatures and humans—but it was still just a hunt. Branwen felt as dizzy and unsettled as when she’d first glimpsed those hands at Cigfa’s belt.
“What do you mean?” asked Pryderi.
“I mean,” said Cigfa, “exactly what I say.”
And abruptly, Branwen remembered that eerie song—the one she had heard as they entered Annwvyn.
Every fifth year as harvests wane,
Two kingdoms meet in wooded domain.
And those who cannot hunt nor slay
Belong to your lord for a year and a day.
Kings and beggars, trust to your aim—
For in the Wild Hunt, all are fair game.
This hunt—it was no mere celebration.
Which meant—
“The Hunt,” breathed Branwen. “We’re—we’re not just the hunters. To the kings, we’re the prizes.”
CHAPTER 25
FOR A FEW moments, Branwen could not breathe. She held Cigfa’s stone ring as though it might burn her. She did not want this; she did not want anything to do with this.
Her brooch was out there. She had tied it to a lapwing, unknowing of how much she was risking. Her life. Her loyalty. It would belong to whomever found it. She looked down at the oaken ring upon her finger—it bound her to the forest, to the Hunt. Once her own loyalty was caught, that spell would ensnare her. There would be no escaping it. Her brooch would be delivered to one of the kings, and she would be his servant for a year.
The thought made her feel ill.
