The Drowned Woods (17)

“And what did you do for the otherfolk?” she asked. “Were you some kind of fighter?” She knew little of the tylwyth teg—only that they were supposed to be beautiful beyond reason and they kept monsters as pets. There were stories of revelries lasting centuries, of wars fought with magic and honeyed words, of enchantment and danger in equal measure.

Fane met her gaze. And while his mouth was a straight line, she thought she saw amusement in his eyes. “I was an ironfetch.”

Mer blinked. “A what?”

“It’s what it sounds like,” he said. “The otherfolk cannot abide the touch of cold iron. Its presence can poison their land, weaken their magic. And yes, that does include the iron in us, too.” He tapped a finger against his chest. “There are always humans trying to find their way into Annwvyn. Sometimes they perish. Sometimes they never find their way back. Those bodies have to be removed, lest they poison the magic. So the otherfolk will enchant a few humans to sense iron and send them out into the forest.”

Mer and Renfrew exchanged a look. She said, “You dealt with corpse removal.”

“And the occasional iron chain, lock, keys, armor…” Fane trailed off. “But mostly bodies, yes.”

Of course this was the kind of mercenary they would find, Mer thought, with no small amount of amusement. A former errand boy for the otherfolk, one who fought like death sat upon his shoulder and disposed of corpses for a living.

Renfrew was eyeing Fane like he regretted asking the young man to join them, and somehow, that made Mer like Fane a little more. Perhaps it was sheer contrariness.

“I wasn’t the only one,” said Fane, as if the silence needed to be filled. “There were quite a few of us. Mortals who needed a roof and warm food, and were willing to do work that the tylwyth teg cannot. I enjoyed the simplicity of it.”

“And what precisely,” said Renfrew, “did they pay you with? Gold? Spells?”

Fane’s fingers twitched, his bloodied knuckles flashing in the firelight. “Death,” he said.

If anyone else had said it, Mer would have scoffed. But Fane’s voice was uninflected, lacking in pride. He spoke like a merchant naming a price. And perhaps she still wouldn’t have believed it—but the blood of the man he’d just killed stained his fingernails.

“You have magic,” said Mer. “That’s how you managed to kill the Blaidd.”

Fane’s gaze flicked to hers. “Some are born with it. Some of us traded for it.”

Mer swallowed her surprise. He spoke to her like a peer, like he knew what she was—but he couldn’t know. Not unless part of his gift was to sense the magic of others. “Why did you leave the otherfolk, if you enjoyed working for them so much?”

Fane looked past her shoulder. East, she realized. Toward Annwvyn.

“They had no more need of me in the mountains,” he said simply. “I made my way across the countryside. I met Trefor.” He petted the dog fondly. “I found the fighting rings.”

“You should know that the Blaidd’s mercenary band is rather vengeful,” said Renfrew. “He earned them a fair bit of coin ransacking villages on the edges of Gwaelod. There were rumors that even Garanhir had paid him to wreak havoc on the other cantrefs.”

“And yet you sought to hire him?” said Fane. “Despite knowing of his loyalty to the prince?”

Renfrew shrugged. “Not to state the obvious, but mercenaries can be bought. You clearly had little love for the Blaidd. Mercenaries like him will continue to spill blood along the borders as long as those like Garanhir pay them well. But if we were to weaken Garanhir’s power, then he would be forced to call back his forces. Perhaps even begin peace negotiations with his neighbors.”

Comprehension sharpened Fane’s features. “Ah. Then that is your aim. Not a simple act of thievery—but to strike a blow against a prince.”

“We can do both,” said Renfrew. “You would be aiding those like that girl you saved, and you would walk away a wealthy man. Surely you would see the nobility in this task.”

This was Renfrew’s gift. Give him a little knowledge and he’d weave it into a net to entrap enemy and ally alike.

“And I am given to assume that this task isn’t some fool’s errand,” said Fane. “If such a treasure trove exists, I can’t believe others have not tried.”

Renfrew’s eyes gleamed. “They have. But as I said before, the cache is hidden in a well. And we have an asset that no one else did.” He put his hand on Mer’s shoulder. It did not feel so much like an affectionate touch—more like a breeder putting out a horse for show. Mer half expected him to pull back her lips to show off her nice teeth.

“You can find a well?” asked Fane.

Mer met his gaze squarely. “I would be a sorry excuse for a dowser if I could not.”

Fane’s brows drew together. She felt his gaze like a challenge and she met it evenly. If he were to join them, then he needed to know of her power. And if he did not… well, then he wouldn’t be leaving this abandoned house alive. Renfrew wouldn’t let him. She wondered if Fane knew that—perhaps it was why he hadn’t joined Mer beside the fire.

The quiet was broken only by the crackle of the dry wood and sparks drifting into the air. Mer shifted where she sat when the silence became uncomfortable.