Chapter 32 Non #3
Hefina scoffed. “It's a good job my sister has a pretty face, because she certainly lacks any bloody brains.
It grows abundantly all around this country; any bugger could walk a hundred metres into a forest and pick one for themselves.
Locking it up! I've never heard anything so ridiculous!” She threw her arms in the air. “Stupid woman.”
Hefina was right; it was a flower that you see everywhere. Hell, our garden back at Caerglan was covered in the things.
Dylan dropped to his knees beside me, picking up my hand in his. His expression turned apologetic before he spoke.
“What this means, Non, is that someone has been giving you this poison without your knowledge.”
“Doesn't take a genius to work out who,” Hefina mumbled as she walked back to her workbench.
“Clearly, I'm not a genius because I haven't the faintest idea who would do—”
Then the penny dropped.
“Granny?” My voice broke.
Dylan took a deep breath in and held it for a moment as he contemplated what to say next. “She seems the most plausible. Considering she has the flower under lock and key in her own castle, and she has a valid motive.”
“You really think she has it in her to poison her own granddaughter?” As soon as I said it out loud, I realised how naive I sounded.
Zenn, who'd moved to help Hefina lift the pot to her counter, interjected. “Do you know Ledr Bronwen, like at all? She'd cut off her nose to spite her face.”
“Zenn,” Dylan bit out.
“What? She needs to know the truth, Dyl! Bron is a fucking monster.”
“I second that,” Hefina added.
I shifted my gaze to Dylan, his eyes already searching my face.
“That's why you've never been able to wield, Non.
You've had this poison in your blood for so long, it has completely dampened your power.
We think Bronwen might have known for a while that you had the power of Llyr and not D?n, and that's why she gave it to you. To hide or suppress your power.”
I focused on the crackling fire at the centre of the hearth as a single tear rolled down my cheek. Dylan leaned in and swiped it away with his thumb. He continued stroking my cheek as more tears fell.
I'd accidentally nodded off after staring at the fire for so long. When I woke, my face was still damp with tears. Dylan was still at my side, sweeping a reassuring thumb over my cheek as he tucked my hand into his chest.
“Where did Hefina and Zenn go?” I croaked.
“They thought it was best to give you some space. You've had a lot of information to process in such a short space of time. I can leave, too, if that would make you more comfortable?”
“No,” I snapped quickly, too quickly. “Stay, please.”
Dylan nodded and pressed his lips to the back of my hand.
“How long do we have until the Anoethau begin?”
“Thankfully, the first trial, trial by beast, doesn't traditionally start until dusk, so we have some time.”
I gave him a questioning look.
“Did they not explain the pattern the trials follow?”
“What do you think?”
“Of course they didn't.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“The trials follow the same pattern each year: trial by beast, trial by bone, trial by blood.
This is a tradition that goes back centuries, originating from the first Anoethau, when a prince was forced to complete three trials so he could marry the King of Giants' Daughter.
Our history says the victor was granted not only her hand in marriage but also power from one of the gods themselves.
They became the first vassal. What we'll face today is still unknown; they change the specifics every year. But the three trials always follow this pattern.”
“We'll be fighting a beast today? Will it be another Cyhyraeth?”
Dylan considered what I said for a moment. “It could be, although any known Cyhyraeth in this realm serve the Orddu. But Aeron is the one who designs the trials. I wouldn't put anything past him.”
The food in my stomach turned sour at the thought of having to possibly fight one of those again.
Dylan tilted my chin up with his knuckle, forcing me to meet his stare. “If that's what today's trial is, then you have nothing to worry about. You just took down four of them almost single-handedly.”
I scoffed. “And died in the process.”
All the rakish humour disappeared from Dylan's face as he fixed his gaze on the ground.
“I didn't leave your side the whole time you were out.
I was so worried that if I did, I'd never see you again. This morning, Zenn resorted to threats to get me to leave that rocking chair for the first time in nearly two weeks. When he came to get me this morning, I thought—” He choked on his last word.
“It's okay.” I touched my hand to the one he still held tentatively against my cheek. “Your nagging was too convincing. Made me rethink the whole dying thing. Besides, who's going to keep that giant ego of yours in check?”
Dylan smirked. “What you're saying is that you came back for me, cariad?”
“Actually, I kept thinking the whole time I was out how super fucking annoying your whining was. I came back to tell you to shut the fuck up.”
For a moment, I thought my distasteful humour had gone too far, but Dylan let out a roar of laughter that made my chest feel lighter. He stood, placing a kiss on the palm of each of my hands.
“I have something for you. I'd planned on giving it to you during one of our training sessions before the first trial, but now is as good a time as ever.”
He reached out a palm, and from a flurry of water, he pulled out a dagger. It was nearly identical to Carnwennan, the only difference being that this one had a black hilt instead of white like my dagger.
On the blade itself, the same symbol I'd worn around my neck the night of the celebration was engraved.
He handed it to me, and as my bandaged palm covered the hilt, I felt the connection instantly. The hum Carnwennan gave off was light, almost feminine. But this one’s was a deep baritone.
“Where did you get this from?”
Dylan tucked his chin to his chest. I could have sworn I saw heat rise to his cheeks. Was the Son of the Sea blushing?
“I made it for you. You've been doing so well wielding Carnwennan, I felt like you needed something to do with your other hand.”
I looked from the blade to Dylan. “You made this?”
He nodded. “They don't call me the Forgemaster of the West for nothing.”
“I thought they called you Son of the Sea?”
The corner of his lips kicked up. “They call me that, too. I'm the one who makes all the Arfs for the Witches of Llyr. My mother was the Forgemistress before me; she taught me everything I know.”
Dylan's generosity made me uncomfortable, but not because he'd overstepped a line or anything. I'd just never been given, let alone made, anything quite like this.
“What are you going to name it?”
“I thought only god weapons had names?”
He ran a hand through his hair as he moved towards the cottage door. “Just name the damn thing.”
A name formed on the tip of my tongue: “Cynddaredd.” Where that name came from, I didn't know. I wasn't even aware I knew what that word meant.
“Fury?” Dylan studied me closely before nodding in agreement, “Seems fitting.”
Fury. Where had I pulled that one from?
As he pushed the front door open, he spoke over his shoulder. “We had your uniform for the Anoethau delivered here. I'll go fetch it along with Carnwennan and anything else you might need for today.”
“Dylan.” He froze just before he pulled the door shut.
“Thank you, not just for the dagger but for everything. I don't think I'd still be here if it weren't for you.”
He half turned back to me, and for a moment, his face was unreadable. “You're welcome.” Then he painted on his usual cocksure smirk. “Just don't let Hefina hear you say that. I wouldn't wish that full bladder hex on my greatest enemy.”