Prologue

Arianrhod

“You can’t rely on hope, Sister. You know that.”

I leaned over the rail of the boat, trailing my fingers in the water and ignoring my brother, Gwydion, as I usually did. He might be a great warrior, and my senior by millennia, but what he didn’t know about matters of the heart could fill Taliesin’s great tome.

I grasped Gwydion’s hand as he helped me onto the shore and then tilted my head to feel the warmth of the sun on my face. Mist had descended on the water as I’d made the journey across the sea, moving from the human world to that of the sidhe. But the sun always shone on my Isle of Glass.

“Arianrhod—”

“I am listening, Gwydion, but you have never been a parent and cannot know what it means to have a son. Mabon is my child—”

“You may wear a glamour in the human world,” Gwydion said, “but I have never seen it cloud your thinking as it has in this case. You can’t fix this merely by wishing. Mabon has left you, and if you can’t find him before another does, he will face the greatest punishment our kind can inflict on one of its own.”

“I know that,” I said.

And I did. If the Sidhe Council, of which I was a member and which my mother and father had ruled through all the ages of the world, discovered that Mabon sought the Thirteen Treasures of Britain, they would strip him of his powers and condemn him to walk the earth as a human man. The Treasures were great gifts of the sidhe to the Welsh, the possession of only a handful of which would give Mabon enough power to usurp my father’s seat.

My father, Beli, had described his command of the Council as akin to riding an untamed horse. With the coming of the Christian God and the failing of the old ways, it seemed at times as if he’d dropped the bridle. He would want to make an example of Mabon to prove that this was not the case.

Mabon might not survive such a fall from grace.

“What of your champion? This Cadwaladr ap Cadwallon—can he help?” Gwydion said.

“Not this time,” I said.

Cadwaladr ap Cadwallon, the future High King of Wales, might prevail over his Saxon enemies and thwart my son’s plans again, but I couldn’t depend upon it, not without interfering in the human world myself more than my father would condone.

“Besides, he hates Mabon.”

Gwydion snorted laughter. “For good reason. But Cadwaladr doesn’t hate you. He has served you well in the past.”

I had given Cadwaladr the power of the sidhe, and because of that gift, he had succeeded in banishing Arawn, Mabon’s father, to the Underworld. Arawn, at least, wouldn’t be interfering in human affairs for some time to come. In addition, Beli had spoken harshly to him of his foolish actions—of stepping beyond his mandate as the Lord of the Underworld. That Arawn had done so out of love for Mabon couldn’t excuse the error. It was probably better not to dwell upon what my father might say about my own meddling, which, admittedly, was unlike me. I hadn’t had a true champion among humankind for centuries—I hadn’t wanted one nor seen the need.

“Will you help me, Gwydion?” I said. “Will you find Mabon for me before our father discovers what he’s trying to do?”

Gwydion gazed over my shoulder, towards Wales, though of course he couldn’t see it from where we stood. For a moment his face was shadowed, as if a cloud had crossed the sun. But that couldn’t be … could it?

“I have distanced myself from the human world of late. You know that.”

“The bard, Taliesin—” I said.

“No longer sees. He is the last of his line. Given that, I’ve seen little use in furthering my patronage.” Gwydion focused on me and though his face was bright, my memory of the shadow hadn’t faded. “It is a fine line we walk, Arianrhod. I sometimes wonder why we ever desired interaction with humans at all.”

I couldn’t make sense of that so I changed the subject. “Speak to Taliesin now. He will not have forgotten you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Gwydion said.

“What do you fear?” The words burst from me, though I’d never known Gwydion to fear anything.

“We are fading, Arianrhod. Our power wanes, even as Father strives to rule the council as he always has, hanging onto his dignity with both hands—while Mabon tries to take it from him.”

“The sun still shines—”

“Don’t be a child, Arianrhod,” Gwydion said. “A darkness has crept into the world, filling the chasm between us and this new God of the Christians. It stands now as a barrier between me and my servant, Taliesin.”

“I don’t believe it,” Arianrhod said. “You are the son of Beli. You can do anything.”

Gwydion pursed his lips. “If I do as you ask, if I renew my ties with Taliesin, you must promise me something.”

“Anything.” Hope rose within me. Gwydion was wavering.

“You must go to our father and reassure him of our loyalty. You are the goddess of battle, as well as time and fate. Look to your duties and stop trying to protect your son. He does not deserve your love.” Gwydion’s eyes bored into me.

“And Cadwaladr?” I said.

“Leave him to his fate.” Gwydion turned away, ending the conversation. He strode away from me, into the mist.

“I don’t know if I can do that.” Though I’d allowed my brother to vanish before I answered him.