Branwen took it. The gold glittered in the sunlight. She touched her finger to the smooth edge. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned toward Pryderi. If anyone should have this ring, it should be him.
Pryderi’s thumb brushed over the dragon and seahorse. He dropped the ring into the pouch at his belt. “It will go with the others.”
Branwen nodded. “That’s safest.” She touched her forehead, rubbing at the headache throbbing behind her eyes. “This ring wasn’t on a human, was it?”
“Of course not,” said Cigfa. “King Pwyll bound his to a trusted hunting hound and sent it into the wood.”
“He does love his hunting hounds,” murmured Pryderi. “That makes sense he would entrust his ring to one.”
Gwydion’s eyes were still intent on Cigfa. “Ask her where to find Arawn’s ring,” he said to Branwen.
Again, it felt as though the world had been upended. Branwen gaped at him. “What?”
Gwydion’s eyes were alight. “If anyone would know the beast hechose, it would be his champion. And it’s like that hunter said. Some rings will carry more weight than others. If we possess the rings of two kings…”
“We would win the Hunt for certain,” said Pryderi. His fingers tightened around the pouch.
Gwydion nodded eagerly.
“What about our rings?” asked Branwen. “Aren’t you frightened? You could be—I mean, if your signet ring falls into the wrong hands—”
This near to Cigfa, she dared not utter her true thoughts: that Pwyll or Arawn may command Gwynedd’s trickster. If Gwydion’s loyalty were claimed, untold damage could be done to Gwynedd. She would have expected him to share her fears, particularly after their talk last night. He feared powerlessness, just as she did. And having one’s fealty at risk… there was no greater vulnerability.
“We’ll find it,” he said calmly. “But the kings’ rings come first.” He took a step toward Branwen. “We could win this. Truly win this. The Hunt—the boon. It would all be ours.”
“I agree,” said Pryderi softly. When she looked at Pryderi, she saw the tentative anticipation in his face. She realized that he had not believed he could win the Hunt, not until this moment. Sudden hope was written across his face, like dawn breaking across the mountains. He looked at her beseechingly.
“What if it’s been found?” asked Branwen.
Cigfa made a derisive sound. “Only one mortal has ever managed to hunt Arawn’s ring,” she said. “And you are not Pwyll.”
“Well, if that isn’t a challenge, I don’t know what is,” drawled Gwydion.
Branwen turned to Cigfa, the champion’s ring tight in her hand. “First, you will hunt no more mortals for as long as you live.”
Cigfa blinked once. Only once.
Branwen said, “And second, you will tell me how to find Arawn’s ring.”
CHAPTER 26
ABONE-DEEP EXHAUSTION PLAGUED Gwydion’s every step.
He had spent too much of his power in too short a time. He yearned to stop and find a place to rest, to close his eyes. But he knew his body well enough to realize that to indulge in a short respite would only leave him more tired. So he reached into those reserves of energy he kept for days like this—when rest and care were not options.
They went east, following Pryderi up a steep path. It was only when he heard the sound of falling water that Gwydion realized Pryderi had discovered a waterfall. A creek carved a path down a slate cliff face, descending to a small lake. The ruins of a stone cottage stood near the water. A deer drank from the lake; when she heard the sound of the approaching humans, she lifted her head warily. A crow sat atop the ruins, silent and watchful.
Neither animal bore a ring. They were simply creatures of the forest. “Come,” said Pryderi, and he led the way toward the ruins. “You’re both ready to fall over. We should rest before we continue the Hunt.”
Branwen reached out and caught Pryderi’s elbow. “Let me go first.”
Her eyes raked over the ruins—likely checking for magical traps or illusions. “It’s safe.”
Part of Gwydion wanted to keep going. With the knowledge of where to find the Otherking’s ring, they were within arm’s reach of a prize that even he hadn’t dared to consider. To possess the rings of not one but two kings? It would change everything. His victory was only a short distance away… but he knew they all needed rest. He and Branwen were nearing the edge of their endurance.
Inside the stone cottage was an old bed frame. It had not been carved but rather grown from roots. It took only a small whisper of magic for those roots to awaken. An old maple tree overlooked the stone house. It was heavy with winter drowsiness, but maples were kind trees. When Gwydion called, it answered. Roots grew up around the ruins—not thick enough to be a barrier, but so that Gwydion would know if anyone—or anything—stepped on them. He would be forewarned should anyone try to attack.
Pryderi unpacked a meal of half-stale pies and old bread. Gwydion had little appetite, but he forced himself to eat. Branwen drained her water flask, ate an apple, then closed her eyes.
