The Winter Prince (The Lion Hunters:01)(60)

Darkly shadowed sky and glen;



Nine score hardships had he suffered



In its top, Lleu Llaw Gyffes.”



“Ah, shut it,” Lleu said.

“Even now you remind me of your namesake,” I said gently. “You can no longer rely on the strength of your own body, the integrity of your own mind. Think of Lleu enchanted, imprisoned in another form! Think how it must be to look at your hands and see an eagle’s talons, clawed and cruel.”

Lleu interrupted with a wordless cry of horror. He slammed his hands over his ears and said furiously, “That tale ends with order restored and justice done. You know that. Lleu is rescued and healed; his lands are returned to him, and he is revenged.”

“And in truth, his punishment seems little worse than the visions you are enduring,” I said. I drank some of the wine without heating it, and rubbed a fistful of snow over my forehead. “What makes you shiver so?”

He stared at me with hatred and derision. He sat with his knees drawn up close to his chest, his gloved hands in tight fists beneath his chin. “Come,” I said, an1D; had held out an arm so that he might sit against my shoulder.

He muttered, “I don’t want your cold.”

“I offer you my warmth,” I said.

Reluctantly, resentfully, he curled himself into the hollow between my arm and chest. I murmured low,

“Grows an oak upon a steep,



The sanctuary of a fair lord;



If I speak not falsely,



Lleu will come into my lap.”



Lleu sighed and closed his eyes, but soon forced them open again, mistrusting me. He stared at the fire as it burned lower and lower.

But I was tired beyond endurance in my own right. Before long we were both dozing. I did not have the energy to struggle with Lleu, and let him sink into the deep, sound sleep of utter exhaustion. Finally I folded the blankets around us both and slept also.

I woke because I was cold. The fever had peaked and broken while I slept, and I sat up in the dark, thirsty and chilled. The fire had gone out, but the night was not completely black; the clouds had cleared, and the sky through the bare trees blazed with starlight. The moon was new and had already set. I could see Lleu in the dim light; he slept profoundly with his dark head muffled in the dark leather of his sleeve, vulnerable. Cautiously, quickly, I drew the knife from his belt and cut his bowstring.

But I woke him doing this. Lleu forced his eyes open and propped his head on an elbow, shivering, to sit up suddenly as he realized what had happened. He stayed frozen, apprehensive; then, shifting his weight slowly, he marked where my hand flashed with the glimmer of silver. He leaped at me and in our struggle I dropped the dagger, but caught it by the blade with my other hand.

After a moment of absolute stillness Lleu reached down and seized my wrist. He threw all his weight against my arm, and when he had it pinned beneath him, he forced my stiff fingers shut around the dagger’s edge. Then he slowly but firmly wrenched the knife out of my hand—

Ah, God, my hand.

The blade cut through my glove, deep across my palm and the inside of my fingers. I gasped and pulled away from him, overwhelmed.

Lleu said fiercely, “That hurt, didn’t it! You’re bleeding.”

Malevolent, swift, I tore off the glove and dashed my hand across his face.

He cried out in horror and hid his face in his sleeve. Then he drove the knife through the darkness until he held it against my throat. We both were still again, poised like that: I breathing through clenched teeth in short, harsh bursts, Lleu utterly silent. He held the knife there for a few moments, then flung it skittering away into the dark. “I’ve never killed anyone, any man,” he whispered. “I cannot do it.”

“You have the skill,” I whispered in answer. I pressed my throbbing hand to my side beneath my other arm. “But you need more than skill, do you not?”

Lleu sat dumb. He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t hate you,” he said stubbornly. “I don’t want to kill you.”

“Death,” I whispered, “often has very little to do with hatred. When hunting one kills through need of food or else for sport and love of skill—never through hatred. When you hate something you do not kill u dto do it. You hurt it.” The pain in my hand made me mindless, and ruthless, and I was determined to punish him. I rested another moment; then with sudden strength I forced Lleu to the ground and held him there with one arm pinned beneath him, and drew my torn hand across his mouth and over his eyelids. Lleu screamed.