The Drowned Woods (9)

Mer’s breaths came faster, her body attuned to the sudden absence of noise. The guard standing outside had gone utterly quiet: no grumblings, no shuffling of his feet, nothing at all.

She shifted, using her legs to press her back up against the wagon’s wall. It was all she could do to ready herself.

The wagon door swung open.

And Renfrew stepped inside.

Mer let the tension fall from her shoulders. “Renfrew.”

“Mererid,” he said chidingly. “Look at you. All trussed up like some hen that’s stopped laying and ready for the stew.”

“Not quite ready,” she replied.

“I thought not.” Renfrew had to duck a little as he walked into the wagon. He settled on the bench across from her like it was a comfortable chair and not the place many a prisoner had been chained. “How have they treated you?”

“As well as to be expected,” she said. “No water nor food. I’m to be taken to the prince.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Yes, you would be. As would I, if I hadn’t left the guard outside… indisposed.”

She wondered how he had done it—perhaps a choke or a drugged cloth to the nose. Renfrew had many skills at his disposal—and while death was among them, it was not his only tool.

This would have been easier if it were.

“Are you here to kill me, then?” she asked. “It would be a mercy.”

“I know it would,” said Renfrew, and his voice was all compassion and understanding. It made her hackles rise. “The prince would bind you to his service. You are merely a tool to be used or discarded at his leisure. And I fear I was the whetstone used to sharpen you.”

She blinked a few times, startled speechless. Of all the things she thought Renfrew might say to her, a half apology was not among them. Renfrew did not apologize; he was whisper and steel, poison and shadow. He did terrible things and knew no regret. She wasn’t even sure if he was capable of feeling it.

“Why?” she finally said. “Why did you come here?”

“To your inn or to this wagon?”

“Both,” she said.

A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I came for the reasons I told you. Because you are the last—and because I have need.”

“Of a water diviner?” she said.

“Of you,” he said. “You were the best. Even when you were barely taller than my knee, you were the most talented, the—”

“If you think to earn my loyalty through compliments,” she said, “I should warn you, it won’t work.”

He laughed. It was sharp and quiet. “I know. And I do not seek your loyalty—only your skills.” All the mirth vanished from his face. He set elbows to knees and leaned forward. “I have a job.”

“You said that before,” Mer replied. “But you never said what—”

“We are going to break the prince’s power.”

All the words died on her lips.

She tried to draw in a breath, but even that wouldn’t come. It took three tries before she could inhale, and a fourth before she could utter a word. “Are you jesting?”

“I am not,” he replied. “I am utterly sincere. Prince Garanhir has stood untested long enough.”

“That’s not possible,” she said. “The prince—he cannot be overthrown.”

“Why?” said Renfrew, in the same tone he’d used when teaching her lessons.

Mer stared at him incredulously. “Because the walls of Gwaelod are impenetrable. They are magicked, other-touched as much as I am. A bargain from King Arawn himself, who traded with Garanhir’s great-grandfather.”

“And what if I told you,” said Renfrew, “that I had found a way to thwart those walls?”

“I’d say you were reaching, even for you.” Mer shifted, her chains grinding against one another as she tried to adjust her posture. Her legs were aching with cold. “Armies have tried to breach those walls, to climb them, to tunnel under them. Nothing has worked.”

“There is a well,” said Renfrew quietly. “It is the heart of the magic that feeds into those walls. It has been hidden within Gwaelod for over a hundred years. It has kept those lands safe—and without its magic, the kingdom would lose that protection.”

“A well,” said Mer, unable to hide her skepticism. “That’s what feeds the magic? If it’s so simple, then why hasn’t anyone tried to take the magic?”

“Because Garanhir’s family has guarded the secret. And people have tried,” said Renfrew. “But none have succeeded.”

“Oh.” She licked her dry lips. “I get the feeling you’re about to say, ‘I plan to be the first.’”

“I will be,” said Renfrew. “Because I have one thing those others did not.”

All the pieces fell into place. And Mer finally understood why Renfrew had gone to such lengths to find her.

A well. A magical well.

“You have a water diviner,” she said quietly.

Renfrew’s eyes gleamed. “I don’t know. Do I?”

She felt entrapped by his words, as if their entire exchange had been an elaborately woven web. He could ensnare her just as easily as these physical chains.