with a very powerful knight whose doctrine states he should never leave his gate. I wish to know why you entered Annwn.”
“What has become of Richard McAllister?”
“The Knight of the Yn Saith recovers from his injuries,” Philip said. “I cannot say the same of you yet, sadly.”
There was something about how Philip mentioned Richard’s injuries—a glint in his eyes and a tone in his voice—that suggested a very different truth.
Then Bran figured out what bothered him.
It sounded like something Merle would say.
“You lie,” he said.
“I do not. He is being healed as we speak,” Philip said, the glint gone. “I repeat. What did you come here to accomplish?”
“We came to destroy some kind of seeing glass, an object you use to view my world from this one,” Bran said, deciding to play along and hopefully learn more about his situation.
“The Cauldron of Pwyll? But why?”
“To prevent you using it. That’s all I know.”
Anger darkened the king’s pale features. “What the wizard said is true, John does use it to peer into our birth world. But as is the case with wizards throughout time there is more behind the words of Myrddin Emrys than teeth. I may control the Cauldron but the Knights of the Yn Saith have the Fionúir Mirror, another such glass with similar attributes. It helps them view Annwn and keep it repressed.” He snickered. “Their audacity is astonishing. Using what the wizard knows of the future combined with the knowledge from the mirror, they twist events to suit their own desires. It is control Myrddin Emrys craves, to see his will done and his future come to pass. The knight aids him when that was never the function of his station.”
Philip paused a moment. “He and the knight said nothing of that, did they?”
Philip was right. Bran had not heard of the mirror, or thought of Merle and Richard as the worldly meddlers the king painted them to be.
Except when Richard warned Bran of Merle.
“I see they did not,” Philip commented. “They wish for you to remain ignorant, to keep even you under their control. And that is the very reason why I sit before you right now.”
“What do you mean?” Bran asked, feeling more lightheaded every moment.
“First, let us find a bit of trust. You are gravely wounded, having lost your hand,” Philip said. “The man who took it is dead. I do not tolerate such grievous incompetence when it comes to my commands. You have lost a lot of blood—it is everywhere—and I doubt you have much longer to live. Let us trust one another.”
Bran said nothing, unsure of what to say. Philip undid a water pouch at his side though, its contents sloshing like those on the back of the soldiers that had attacked Bran.
He undid the stopper and offered the pouch to Bran.
“Take a drink.”
Bran took it with his right hand. He realized for the first time he was thirstier than ever before, probably due to injury done him. He also knew Philip had no reason to poison him.
Bran drank.
The moment the water went down his throat, he almost spit it out, not from choking but from how he felt. Warmth spread throughout his body. It built from his stomach and spread through his chest out into his limbs, growing in heat until it felt like it would consume him with a well-intentioned tender touch. He ignored the taste of minerals in the water; there was something else mixed in that made him feel more alive, stronger, than ever before in his life.
Bran gained clarity, his mind clearing of the fog that had suffocated his thinking since waking. He looked down. The stump of his left hand, bloody tissue and fevered with purple veins, began to heal over, the skin knitting anew. He couldn’t believe it. The healing continued until only pink skin covered what had a few seconds earlier been a mortal wound.
“How did you…?” Bran managed, dumbfounded.
“It is not important, young Ardall,” Philip dismissed, replacing the stopper and pouch on his hip. “Now, to my proposition, one given me by my father and the Word.”
Still amazed at what had happened, Bran looked up from his healed arm to Philip. “What word? I thought you are the king and your word is gospel.”
“I am king. But my lordship does not extend over the Word.”
“The Word being…God?” Bran asked, almost laughing. “I think you are drinking the Kool-Aid or something even stronger.”
“I know not what that is but I can see you know