Evening came slowly, for all that Gwydion passed much of the afternoon in sleep. Yet come it did, and with it came Achren in a shimmer of gold and a rustling of silk. Once again, she greeted Gwydion with a radiantly inviting smile.

"Has your rest raised an appetite, Warrior?" she asked, while the servants who accompanied her brought forth another sumptuous meal. "Or simply more boredom?"

"Both," Gwydion acknowledged as he shifted himself upward and moved to sit at the edge of the bed.

"Then it is well that I came no later," Achren noted, striding closer. Upon spying the unsealed parchment that lay on the table, she asked, "Is that the letter you wish to have sent?"

"It is." Gwydion reached out and passed the sheet into her delicate hand. "Please dispatch it to King Smoit of Cantrev Cadiffor."

A look of surprise flitted across the enchantress' face. She glanced down at the parchment, then back up at Gwydion, eyebrows raised. "Only one letter? To King Smoit?" she asked drily.

"Indeed," he answered, fighting back a grin at her puzzlement.

"And you do not wish it sealed?"

"Why bother when you plan to read it yourself?"

She half-laughed at that, but her gaze turned immediately to the letter.

I am alive and well enough, it read, although injured in body and, to no small extent, pride. I have shelter, and care for my wounds, and will resume my journey as soon as I am able. Convey this to those who need know. Below that terse message, a symbol stood in place of a name.

"Truly," she remarked, "you might almost have written no message for all that this conveys. But as you wish," she added with a shrug, folding the parchment and creasing it sharply with her nails. "It will go to Smoit directly, in the hands of my most trusted messenger."

"You have my thanks."

"And you have mine," she said, "for not calling down a siege upon my head, what with all your suspicion of me."

Gwydion's expression turned serious. "I would never repay hospitality thus."

"Then you are more honorable than many." Achren eyed him shrewdly but said no more as she tucked the letter into the purse that hung from her belt.

She slipped gracefully into her seat at the table, then, while the servants cleared away the writing supplies and replaced them with the platters and bowls of the evening meal. The savory aromas wafting upward were irresistible, and even those belied the indescribable flavors that hit Gwydion's tongue when he took his first bite—more magic, no doubt; no ordinary food could taste so good, even to a starving man. He didn't much care anymore, though. Enchantment suffused the air around him, danced in the hearth, and was doubtless still flowing in his veins. Why not fill his empty stomach with it as well?

Achren's eyes glittered from across the table, brighter even than the jewels at her throat. He caught himself glancing up at them more often than was probably wise, but they offered an ambrosia all their own, like the clearest spring-water on a scorching summer day, and he found it difficult to abstain. Besides, he was thirsty for whatever he might read in those eyes—anything that might give a glimpse of her intentions.

She spoke little, and he even less. Yet, the space around them seemed to crackle with more than the sound of the hearth beyond.

As they finished the meal and the servants cleared the table, Achren claimed his gaze directly. "The evening is fairly young, Warrior," she said, "and I have no inclination to return to my duties. Have you energy enough for some entertainment?"

He took another long draught of his wine before answering. "That depends on the sort."

"Do you prefer games of strategy or chance?"

"Do games of strategy not hold a measure of chance? Of risk?"

Amusement flashed in her eyes again. "They do, indeed," she acknowledged. "And would you relish that tonight?"

"More than sitting idle, to be sure."

Her ruby lips twisted. "A round or two of gwyddbwyll, then, to while away some time. You do play that game, I presume."

"I do," he acknowledged, "although it has been long since I had any time to while away."

"Well, it has been long since I had a companion with whom to play. We may be well-matched in our lack of practice."

She gestured to her servants, who left and returned quickly with a finely-wrought game set: a stout oak board, carved and inlaid with precious stones, and two velvet pouches containing silver and gold game pieces. Achren passed the gold to Gwydion, then began laying out her own silver ones in battle lines upon the board. Gwydion watched her for a moment, then readied his own men for the fray.

As it happened, he and Achren proved to be quite well-matched in skill, although neither was as rusty as they'd claimed. At first, Gwydion thought himself the more cautious and competent player, weighing each move carefully and only taking risks that offered substantial gain. Yet, for all that his opponent's moves looked haphazard—even rash—from play to play, by mid-game he found himself hard-pressed. In an instant, the field seemed to have fallen into place in Achren's favor, its miniature soldiers guided by deceptively inscrutable strategy. Gwydion struggled onward for a time and nearly regained the upper hand, but in the end saw fit to concede.

"Fair play," he acknowledged. "You weave a trap as well as any spider. It is a shame there is no prize to reward your cunning."

Achren glowed with self-satisfaction. "We might devise a reward," she teased.

"Such as…?"

She leaned forward to rest her elbows upon the table, raising a slender hand to her chin and pressing one finger over her lips in feigned contemplation. The gesture barely repressed the smirk behind it. "The prize of an honest answer," she suggested coyly.

"To what question?"

"Whatever question the victor might ask of the vanquished."

"Making this a game of strategy within a game of strategy."

"Precisely. Would such a game please you?"

"Perhaps," he allowed, "assuming I have better success in the next match than in this one. Do the rules of this game allow one to decline to answer?"

"Hmmm…" Achren paused, biting her lip as she pondered. "Let us say that one may decline for a price: three further questions that may not be avoided."

"High stakes."

She shrugged and smiled faintly. "If you have many secrets you wish to keep."

She sat before him as serene as carved marble, all curves and luster, radiating some magnetism that held his attention captive as she stared him down. Temptation incarnate. Her magic had dulled the sharp edges of his pain but, with that distraction quelled, her beauty and wit were inciting a new ache within him, sealing one ivory hand over the mouth of reason and pulling him toward danger with the other. He did have secrets to keep—plenty. But so did she, and here was a chance to draw them out. How well did he trust his own wits?

"I will play," he agreed at last.

Her crimson smile opened to full bloom. "Splendid," she purred.

Gwydion nodded once.

Another close contest unfolded across the game board, step by calculated step. Deep into the battle, though, Achren faltered and Gwydion swept in decisively; one more move and he would seal her fate. She looked up, expressionless, then down to the board again, and without even a moment's deliberation loosed the catch of her own snare. Gwydion's stomach lurched. He'd been too eager, too careless in his confidence, and saw the fatal error now, all too late.

He swallowed hard. "Well, Lady," he said with forced calm, "you have won another victory. Claim your due."

To his surprise, she seemed in no hurry to do so. Instead, she dismissed the handmaids to wait beyond the door. Then, she set about refreshing the game board, plucking each fallen warrior from its grave and methodically placing them back into orderly ranks, piece after piece, drawing out her silence until it stretched as thin and taut as a bow string.

Gwydion's nerves stretched in kind.

"I never know whether to think it a pity or a boon that real soldiers cannot be so easily resurrected…" Achren mused aloud.

"Is that your question, Lady?"

She looked up from the board, locking eyes with him. "No—just a thought."

"Then what is?"

One eyebrow arched in subtle reprimand for his impatience. She waited a moment longer before asking at last, coolly, "Are you Gwydion Prince of Don?"

It took him a few breaths to recover from his shock. He'd expected more subterfuge, not a brazen sword-point to the throat. She must know he would not admit to that… But of course she did, he realized, aghast at his own folly in accepting her terms for the game. Only Gwydion himself would refuse to either admit or deny his identity. Answer, and she got exactly what she wanted. Demur, and she'd get the same plus three secrets more.

A mirthless half-laugh sprung from his throat. With a rueful look and incredulous shake of his head, he conceded a second defeat. "You make a fool of me, Lady. You already know my answer, and that I cannot afford to refuse giving it."

Although satisfaction glinted in her eyes, there was no mockery in her expression. "You are no fool," she said quietly. "But nor am I." She gestured to the game board. "The first move is yours—if you would still play."

He weighed the risk against the chance to salvage his pride and regain some strategic ground. Then, deliberately, he lifted a gold figure from its station and advanced it to the fore. "I will play."

The third match was his, hard-fought and satisfyingly won. He looked up from the board and studied Achren's expression, testing multiple questions on his tongue before deciding which to let fly. If she were anxious, he could see none of it in her countenance. If anything, she looked eager to see how hard a blow he would deliver. Yet, as tempting as it was to strike deeply and exact a sharp revenge, only one question weighed truly heavy on his mind: "What are your real intentions for bringing me here?"

She did not flinch. "Beyond keeping you from death, as I told you before? The answer to that is simple, but I'm afraid it will not satisfy you: I do not know yet." Once more, she took a fallen warrior into her slender fingers and returned him to the game board. "Again?" she asked.

"Again," Gwydion agreed.

For all that Achren had escaped his question unscathed, her focus in the next game seemed shaken by her previous defeat. The match was far from a rout, but Gwydion skirted around her distracted defenses to win it cleanly. The enchantress waved a somewhat impatient hand, wordlessly urging his question forward.

This time, he did not hesitate. "Are you still allied with Arawn?"

Momentary umbrage flashed across her face—the first he had seen, for all their previous banter. And for an instant, in its light, he saw her differently: the rigid set of her shoulders, the fierce pride in her eyes, the glittering dragon's hoard of jewelry she wore… all of it called to mind a cat backed into a corner, arched and bristling, desperate to appear as formidable as possible. Rapidly, though, the impression vanished beneath practiced insouciance. Her lip curled dismissively. "Oh, yes," she rejoined, "if you consider a hawk the ally of the falconer who keeps it hooded and hungry, with jesses about its legs. Arawn only thinks I hunt for him."

"You hunt only for yourself."

"Always."

"But you do not fight back? The tales of your reign are innumerable, and none of them good," Gwydion countered. "You are at the very least a fierce hawk, as you say—not some dove in the talons of a gwythaint."

"Nor am I the monster those tales would have you believe," Achren flung back. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Have you never questioned the origin of those tales? Their veracity? Why I might have chosen to let such slander roam wild?"

"You claim they are lies, then."

"Half-truths. Stern justice is easily twisted into abhorrent cruelty by the tongues of foes." She shrugged. "But that can be used to advantage. If those stories inspire some fear, then so much the better: fear commands respect and obedience and from one's subjects, and shakes the knees of one's enemies. Drape yourself in the bones of others and few will try to devour your own."

Gwydion frowned. "That is a grim way to hold allegiance."

Achren's mouth bent into the sad shadow of a smile, and bitterness seeped like gall through her words. "It is a grim world," she said. "Warrior that you are, you must know that well—and bear in mind that I have seen far more of it than even you."

Gwydion's brow furrowed. He considered the enchantress for some time. "What have you seen?" he asked quietly, steadily.

Her wry smile deepened, and she shook her head. "It would take a thousand games and a thousand questions to even begin to answer that. Perhaps, if you choose to remain here long enough, you will learn a fraction of it."

Achren looked toward the window and the sliver of dusk it framed. "But the night deepens. We would both be wise to rest for a while."

Gwydion nodded in silent agreement. Achren rose from her chair, leaving the game pieces where they lay. Then, with a flick of her wrist toward the hearth, she stoked the waning fire back to a hearty flame. She looked to Gwydion once more, her eyes alight in kind. "Tonight's contest was thrilling," she said, with no trace of flattery. "I look forward to whatever tomorrow may bring—and the days thereafter."

So saying, she turned to depart.

As the distance between them grew, an uneasiness rose in Gwydion's chest as though some unfinished business remained. Something she'd said, or done… or something she'd not said, or not done… He'd overlooked something important in the heat of their contest…

Just as she reached the door, the missing detail snapped to the forefront of his mind. "One question more—" he called out urgently.

Achren paused within the doorway and cast a glance back over her ivory shoulder. "You have not earned another one," she said, "but I will be generous. What is it?"

"Why ask my identity when you were all but sure of the answer?" he wondered. "Why squander a chance to learn more?"

A sly smile crept across Achren's lips. "It wasn't information I wanted," she answered slowly. "I wanted to see if you would lie."

She paused for a few heartbeats more, letting that answer sink into his bones, before adding, loudly enough for the servants beyond to hear, "Good night, Warrior."

Gwydion drew in a deep breath and exhaled, somewhat roughly, "Good night, Lady."