"Any chance she didn't actually pull the trigger?"
"No." He looked at me. "I'm sorry."
"Speaking of who counseled her to get the gun, could that have been Johnson?" Ricky asked. "You might have been joking when you said--"
"I never joke."
"All right. So let's say Johnson tells her to get a gun. Does that make him responsible for her husband's death? Seems kind of..."
"Harsh?" I said. "I suppose it depends on the circumstances. If there was some way that, in telling her to get a gun, Johnson clearly caused her to shoot her husband, maybe that would qualify? Ioan didn't say he actually shot Alan Nansen. He said he was responsible for Nansen's death. What qualifies as 'responsible' to the Cwn Annwn?" I shook my head. "I'll find out, but in the meantime, we should see if Mrs. Nansen is still in need of a lawyer."
Nine
Olivia
That night, I dreamed of a Hunt. Of racing across the moor on a roan mare. Hooves thundered behind me as hounds bayed up ahead.
I am Matilda.
Mallt-y-Nos.
Matilda of the Hunt.
A stallion rode up beside mine, but I flung out a hand to ward it back. Calum's laughter rang before the wind snatched it away.
Not Calum. Arawn. Lord of the Otherworld.
My grin broadened.
It still felt like a dream. Like someone would wake me and hand me a pretty gown and tell me I was late dressing for the ball. For some girls, that would be the dream. A life of gowns and balls and dukes eyeing me like a brood mare in heat. A brood mare with land and a title.
I hated that life. Despised it with all my being. This was what I wanted. To ride. To hunt. To be with Calum, a boy from the village brought to work on the estate, my dearest friend from the moment we met and then...and then more than a friend. Much more.
An impossible situation. Resolved in a spray of magic, like something from a fairy tale.
A real life fairy tale, with real life fairies.
The Cwn Annwn. The Welsh Wild Hunt. They found me, and they told me who I was, and they proved it when I'd laughed at them.
Matilda of the Hunt, with Calum as my Arawn. Fated to be together.
"Do you want to ride with us?" the Huntsmen had asked.
What a foolish question. Of course I did.
"So you choose us?"
Choose them over what? Over the life I had by birth, a life of titles and castles and endlessly boring lessons in how to be a proper wife? Never. I chose the life I had before birth. The life I had when I lived in Wales, as Matilda.
Calum fell back to let me take the lead. That was my place now, and that was as glorious as the ride itself.
Ahead, I could see the hounds pursuing our quarry. A terrible killer who had slaughtered a fae-blood girl. Violated and then murdered her. For that, he would die. For that, he must die.
When the hounds pinned their prey, the leader of the Cwn Annwn rode up beside me. This was my first Hunt, and so he would render judgment while I bore witness. We continued riding until we neared the hounds.
"Hamish Stewart," the Huntsman said. "You are guilty of the murder of Agnes Fletcher."
"Hamish?" I said, my gut freezing as I struggled to see the man the hounds had captured. "That--that is... No, there's been some mistake."