Deceptions
Page 71
I shook my head. “Okay, you lost me.”
“For the Tylwyth Teg, the goal is for a new Matilda to meet her Gwynn, but not her Arawn, because that restarts the original scenario. Likewise for the Cwn Annwn.”
“So she meets one and . . . There are babies involved here, aren’t there?”
She laughed. “Only if you want them, which I think you do not. No, the only requirement is the bond. Of course, the stronger the bond, the more likely they can woo the girl to their side, so they would not object to babies.”
“Well, they aren’t getting them. If Gabriel is the new Gwynn, and we’re friends, that’s it, then, right? The bond is there. My mission accomplished.”
“There’s more to it than that—the fate that awaits the Tylwyth Teg if you don’t actually choose them.”
She settled onto the ground as the sun rose again. I sat in front of her.
“Fate?”
“Extinction.”
“You mean . . . wiped out?”
“For this settlement, yes. It happens. Nothing lasts forever. There are other Tylwyth Teg and Cwn Annwn, other groups. Fewer and fewer. Our time is past, yet we are stubborn. But what keeps fae alive is limited, and it dwindles as the world is consumed by what passes for progress.”
“And what keeps fae alive? Wait. Ley lines, correct? Cainsville is built on a ley line.”
She laughed, the sound tinkling. “Ley lines are a human invention. What sustains us are three of the four elements. Air, water, earth. The other—fire—kills. But the first three keep us alive, so long as they are pure and untainted. Tell me, what is a ley line?”
“A geographical alignment. Streams combining with mountain ridges and such.”
“In broader terms, then, it is a mixing of elements, such as water and rock. Humans had an inkling of the truth there, though they overcomplicated the matter. For fae, the ideal habitat is one that combines as many elements of nature as possible. Rock, rich earth, water, forest, meadow . . .”
“Like Cainsville,” I said. “Bounded on one side by river, another by marsh, the third by rocky ground. Surrounded by field and forest. The Cwn Annwn use that forest, other forests, too. They’re more nomadic. Less bound to territory. Still, both govern land valuable to other fae. And as remaining woodlands are developed, Cainsville becomes more valuable, and threats emerge.”
“They do. Even as we speak. Those others grow bolder, knowing you’re here. Yet even here, the land dies. It cannot avoid contamination—air, earth, and water. You can cleanse and renew it, and give them the power to resist those threats.”
“Hopefully not with my blood, scattered over the land.”
“Nothing so drastic. You cleanse the land of Cainsville by living on it. You would cleanse the lands of the Cwn Annwn by riding with them.”
“How about the Persephone solution? Not that I’m volunteering . . .”
“Neither will accept that, because it dilutes your power and they both want it all. They will insist you choose.”
“Framing Gabriel for James’s murder is part of this, isn’t it?”
“Presumably, yes, but do not ask me to name the murderer or the motive. I know only what you do.”
“I’m guessing it was the Cwn Annwn. Moving the Tylwyth Teg’s champion off the field to make room for their own. To ensure I meet Arawn—his representative, right?”
A giggle rocked her whole body. “That is a silly question, and you know it. The cycle is already repeating, and the longer you pretend you don’t know who Arawn is . . .”
“Ricky.” I forced his name out on a sudden exhalation of breath, as if I might not let it escape otherwise. “It’s Ricky, isn’t it? The Hunt. That’s why he hears it. Why he’s drawn to it. He’s . . .”
“Cwn Annwn. Motorcycles instead of steeds. The joy of the ride, of the hunt. You feel it, too.”
Fast cars. Fast bikes. The way I craved speed, that unbelievable adrenaline rush.
I always had.
“He doesn’t know,” I said. “He can’t know. And his father . . . his father isn’t a Huntsman. Is it his mother? Is that possible? No.” The answer came quickly. “It’s Don Gallagher’s father. He was never in the picture, and that’s why. Don is the son of a Huntsman. Ricky is a grandson.”
I took shallow breaths, struggling to orient myself. The girl stayed silent, watching me with a look between sympathy and pity.
I’d known. Somehow, deep inside, I’d known.
Known and feared.
I don’t want this. I don’t want him touched by this. It’s not fair.
Not fair to him, to be sure. But also, if I admitted it, not fair to me. Ricky was my one good and pure thing right now. Even telling him about Cainsville and the omens had been difficult, as if it tainted what we had with the madness that was my life these days.
Matilda. Gwynn. Arawn. The cycle repeating.
“Is it fated, then?” I asked. “Us?”
“You mean does Ricky love you because he has to? No. It’s not fated that you’ll meet. It’s not fated that you’ll feel the same. You aren’t truly Matilda. They aren’t truly Arawn and Gwynn. The cycle isn’t set. It shifts and it changes. You could choose Arawn this time. You could choose Gwynn again. You could choose . . . and they might not reciprocate. Nothing is decided.”
“And which is the best solution?”
“For the Tylwyth Teg, the goal is for a new Matilda to meet her Gwynn, but not her Arawn, because that restarts the original scenario. Likewise for the Cwn Annwn.”
“So she meets one and . . . There are babies involved here, aren’t there?”
She laughed. “Only if you want them, which I think you do not. No, the only requirement is the bond. Of course, the stronger the bond, the more likely they can woo the girl to their side, so they would not object to babies.”
“Well, they aren’t getting them. If Gabriel is the new Gwynn, and we’re friends, that’s it, then, right? The bond is there. My mission accomplished.”
“There’s more to it than that—the fate that awaits the Tylwyth Teg if you don’t actually choose them.”
She settled onto the ground as the sun rose again. I sat in front of her.
“Fate?”
“Extinction.”
“You mean . . . wiped out?”
“For this settlement, yes. It happens. Nothing lasts forever. There are other Tylwyth Teg and Cwn Annwn, other groups. Fewer and fewer. Our time is past, yet we are stubborn. But what keeps fae alive is limited, and it dwindles as the world is consumed by what passes for progress.”
“And what keeps fae alive? Wait. Ley lines, correct? Cainsville is built on a ley line.”
She laughed, the sound tinkling. “Ley lines are a human invention. What sustains us are three of the four elements. Air, water, earth. The other—fire—kills. But the first three keep us alive, so long as they are pure and untainted. Tell me, what is a ley line?”
“A geographical alignment. Streams combining with mountain ridges and such.”
“In broader terms, then, it is a mixing of elements, such as water and rock. Humans had an inkling of the truth there, though they overcomplicated the matter. For fae, the ideal habitat is one that combines as many elements of nature as possible. Rock, rich earth, water, forest, meadow . . .”
“Like Cainsville,” I said. “Bounded on one side by river, another by marsh, the third by rocky ground. Surrounded by field and forest. The Cwn Annwn use that forest, other forests, too. They’re more nomadic. Less bound to territory. Still, both govern land valuable to other fae. And as remaining woodlands are developed, Cainsville becomes more valuable, and threats emerge.”
“They do. Even as we speak. Those others grow bolder, knowing you’re here. Yet even here, the land dies. It cannot avoid contamination—air, earth, and water. You can cleanse and renew it, and give them the power to resist those threats.”
“Hopefully not with my blood, scattered over the land.”
“Nothing so drastic. You cleanse the land of Cainsville by living on it. You would cleanse the lands of the Cwn Annwn by riding with them.”
“How about the Persephone solution? Not that I’m volunteering . . .”
“Neither will accept that, because it dilutes your power and they both want it all. They will insist you choose.”
“Framing Gabriel for James’s murder is part of this, isn’t it?”
“Presumably, yes, but do not ask me to name the murderer or the motive. I know only what you do.”
“I’m guessing it was the Cwn Annwn. Moving the Tylwyth Teg’s champion off the field to make room for their own. To ensure I meet Arawn—his representative, right?”
A giggle rocked her whole body. “That is a silly question, and you know it. The cycle is already repeating, and the longer you pretend you don’t know who Arawn is . . .”
“Ricky.” I forced his name out on a sudden exhalation of breath, as if I might not let it escape otherwise. “It’s Ricky, isn’t it? The Hunt. That’s why he hears it. Why he’s drawn to it. He’s . . .”
“Cwn Annwn. Motorcycles instead of steeds. The joy of the ride, of the hunt. You feel it, too.”
Fast cars. Fast bikes. The way I craved speed, that unbelievable adrenaline rush.
I always had.
“He doesn’t know,” I said. “He can’t know. And his father . . . his father isn’t a Huntsman. Is it his mother? Is that possible? No.” The answer came quickly. “It’s Don Gallagher’s father. He was never in the picture, and that’s why. Don is the son of a Huntsman. Ricky is a grandson.”
I took shallow breaths, struggling to orient myself. The girl stayed silent, watching me with a look between sympathy and pity.
I’d known. Somehow, deep inside, I’d known.
Known and feared.
I don’t want this. I don’t want him touched by this. It’s not fair.
Not fair to him, to be sure. But also, if I admitted it, not fair to me. Ricky was my one good and pure thing right now. Even telling him about Cainsville and the omens had been difficult, as if it tainted what we had with the madness that was my life these days.
Matilda. Gwynn. Arawn. The cycle repeating.
“Is it fated, then?” I asked. “Us?”
“You mean does Ricky love you because he has to? No. It’s not fated that you’ll meet. It’s not fated that you’ll feel the same. You aren’t truly Matilda. They aren’t truly Arawn and Gwynn. The cycle isn’t set. It shifts and it changes. You could choose Arawn this time. You could choose Gwynn again. You could choose . . . and they might not reciprocate. Nothing is decided.”
“And which is the best solution?”
