“Gwynn never could—never would—believe it. He kept their engagement a secret until two nights before the wedding.”

The sun went out, pitching the field into darkness. I heard voices, angry voices, speaking Welsh. Arawn and Gwynn, the venom in their words growing stronger with each exchange.

The girl said, “They were young—Arawn hot-tempered and impulsive, Gwynn intense and unbending. That night, both said things they didn’t mean. Eventually, they came to an agreement. A terrible agreement. One they didn’t—again—share with Matilda. She would get one last chance to choose. On the eve of her wedding, if she stayed with Gwynn, then she was his and the land of the Cwn Annwn was closed to her forever.”

“And if she went to Arawn, she was his and the land of the Tylwyth Teg would close.”

As soon as I said it, the dark field erupted in flame, and I quickly turned away, wrapping my arms around myself and trying not to remember what it felt like to be immersed by that flame, plunging into it, trying to return to Gwynn. I could hear Arawn shouting, so loud his voice cracked.

“He couldn’t save her,” the little girl said. “Neither of them could, each on his side. In trying to return to Gwynn, Matilda plunged into the fiery abyss and was lost. They never forgave themselves . . . or each other. Those flames of rage and guilt burned through every tie between the Tylwyth Teg and the Cwn Annwn. Late in life, the two kings came to fully understand the damage they’d done to their peoples, and they reconciled. While they managed to bring an uneasy peace to their lands, it was not the same. It would never be the same.”

“And now they’re enemies again? The two sides?”

She pursed her lips. “Not enemies. They have been known to help one another, but it is not so much kindness as survival. There are other groups of fae. Some are allies, others are not. The Tylwyth Teg and the Cwn Annwn will help one another to stand against them, but their ultimate goal is freedom from that obligation—to stand strong enough that they do not require the other’s help.”

“And I play a role in that because I’m the new Mallt-y-Nos. The new Matilda. Or something like that.”

She smiled. “Yes, something like that. The cycle repeats. New Matildas are born. Not often. Not at all often. She must share the blood of the original, and she must be, like the original, of both sides.”

“Half . . . ? If Pamela is Tylwyth Teg, then Todd is . . . ?”

“Cwn Annwn. That is, they have the blood. Strong blood, mingled many times, from many sources, one path linking back to the family of the original Matilda.”

“Okay, so a new Matilda is born, and she meets the new Gwynn, presumably from the same bloodline as the original . . .”

“She may not meet him. I never did.”