by Jeff Wheeler
CHAPTER FIVE
Disciple
It was well into the night before all of Count Bastion’s minions had been arrested and brought to the castle in chains. Torches flickered in the night wind as Trynne walked with Captain Staeli down the corridor to the balcony overlooking the yard. The evening was cool but not cold.
Staeli had been assigned as her bodyguard following Dragan’s brutal attack on her, which had left half of her face paralyzed. A former soldier of Westmarch, he had been trained as an Espion because of his affinity for weapons and hand-to-hand fighting. Staeli was steady as stone and wholly committed to her and her family, and rarely uttered any nonsense. He had trained Trynne in secret before the Wizr Myrddin had made her swear the five oaths that had made her an Oath Maiden. Now, he was training the corps of Oath Maidens. He drilled them hard, sometimes to the point of vomiting, and felt that bruises earned in mock combat were badges of honor.
“Aye, lass, your hunters caught them assembling in the woods earlier this afternoon and kept watch on them. Mariette brought forty of the girls out to surround and capture them. I think they could have done it with twenty, the lads were so ill trained.” He snorted in derision and pushed open the door to the balcony.
Trynne nodded to him as she walked through it, then planted her palms on the edge of the balcony and watched her warriors as they lined up the prisoners. Their armor and weapons had all been stripped away and were set in neat piles to one side. Mariette had proven to be one of the most capable of the Oath Maidens. The thirty-year-old widow was older than the rest. Tall, lithe, and blond, she was beautiful enough to be mistaken for an Occitanian princess. But Mariette was a leader, and while she’d enjoyed her position of power as the widow of a wealthy merchant, she’d always wanted to learn how to fight. Being taller than most men, she was intimidating to them. Trynne watched as she told the prisoners where to assemble, walking among them in a chain hauberk topped with a tunic bearing the badge of Averanche.
Staeli folded his arms and nodded with approval. “She’ll make a good captain for you someday,” he said, gazing at Mariette. “The new girl from the desert, I would put her under Mariette to start.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Trynne said. “I’ve had my eye on Mariette for a while. I wish I were that tall sometimes. She’s going to compete in the Gauntlet of Kingfountain.”
“Aye, and she’ll do well,” Staeli said proudly. “So will that hunter, Rhiannon. She’s from Atabyrion, a tanner’s girl. She knows more about hunting than most scouts I’ve known. She’s the one who warned us about Count Bastian’s knavery.” His smile turned into a frown. “What would you like to do with him? His face is a little purple at the moment, and not from woad.”
“Purple?” Trynne asked with a laugh. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”
“No, you did not. I did.” He puffed out his chest a little, looking satisfied with himself.
Trynne wanted to hug him. Though he trusted her to take care of herself, he was still very protective of her. “If we let him go right away, he may not learn his lesson very well. I was thinking of holding him for ransom. He is from Legault, after all. There may be others he’s treated poorly.”
Staeli scratched his beard. “Very well, lass. It’s better to kill a snake than release one, but skinning it first is helpful. The poisoner’s name is Gawne. He’s looking even more purple than the count,” he added as an aside. “An ordinary chap from Pisan. Hired by Count Backstabber to kidnap you. That’s his specialty—abducting youths. Capturing you was going to earn him ten thousand florins, of which he had already been paid half up front.”
“So little,” Trynne said, feeling sick.
“I’m offended he didn’t demand fifty. This was not a royal conspiracy. Bastian was trying to do it on the cheap. He was woefully misinformed about your . . . your vulnerability.” At this, he gave her one of his proud, fatherly smiles. By now, there were nearly a thousand Oath Maidens spread across the kingdom—women who had come to Averanche to be tutored in the arts of war by Staeli and to leave as warriors.
Trynne stared down at the yard again. The men who were gathered there had come expecting to earn a small pouch of coins for helping kidnap the Lady of Averanche. Instead, they’d been caught off guard, surrounded, and abducted by a group of highly trained women. She shifted her gaze to the Oath Maidens. There was Gillian from the Brythonican town of Passey. Haley from Dundrennan. That girl could throw a spear unlike anyone else. Maciel, who was the daughter of a sanctuary thief but had been raised by a kindhearted family. Brooke was one of the best fighters of the bunch. Emilia was a master archer. Savanne could throw down any boy her size. Camellia had shown aptitude to be an Espion, perhaps even a poisoner. There were dozens more, each with a story of how they had come to be there. They were not all equal in talent, but they had all defied tradition by seeking to defend their kingdom. She realized that they would soon be given that chance.
“What would you have me do with the poisoner?” Staeli asked in a low, meaningful tone. She recognized the tone of his voice, the implication wrapped up in his question.
She thought of the gaunt fellow she had captured and how ready he had been to stab her and claim his fee. How many girls had he abducted in the past? Where were they now? The thought filled her with such revulsion she couldn’t prevent an angry frown.
Turning to Captain Staeli, she said, “I’d like the mayor to interrogate him, Captain. See if he can learn anything about his past victims. When he can no longer provide us with any useful information, have the mayor put him to death.” She gave him a determined look. It was her right as the ruler of Averanche to invoke such a penalty. But if she could restore any of the captured children back to their families, she would.
“Aye, lass,” he said, nodding at her in approval. Then, giving her a wry smile, he said, “You’ve had a busy day. What will tomorrow bring?”
“I wish I knew,” Trynne said, rubbing the chill from her arms. “I’m going back to Ploemeur, though. There are things I must speak to my mother about, even if it pains me.”
Trynne walked down the quiet corridor of her mother’s castle. It was the home of her childhood, and it caused her pain every time she returned. She loved the sculptured pillars with the symbol of the triple faces on them, the strong smell of eucalyptus, and the tall windows that let in light through gauzy curtains. But every room held ghosts from her past, invoked memories of her missing father. She knew the cadence of his tread, and her ears constantly strained to hear a sound that wasn’t going to happen.
The rich history of Brythonica had played a large role in her childhood stories. It was an ancient place, one whose history went further back than Occitania or Ceredigion, and when Sinia was young, it had been a self-ruling duchy of Occitania. But the Occitanian king had tried to force Sinia to marry him, which had caused her to seek an alliance with Ceredigion. It had been a dangerous and delicate maneuver, but her mother had managed to pit the two kings against each other while retaining Brythonica’s sovereignty.
The reason her mother had fought so hard to retain her position was because a Montfort needed to rule the duchy to maintain its boundaries against the Deep Fathoms. The line had almost been broken when Sinia’s parents couldn’t bring a living child into the world. Their grief had been shattering, especially since they’d known what it meant: their duchy would be swallowed up by the sea when the duke died. The grieving parents despaired, not knowing what they could do to save the kingdom. They were willing to do anything to appease the Fountain, to spare the population from drowning.
The answer was waiting for them one day on the shore of what was now Sinia’s favorite beach. A newborn baby girl. An Ondine—a gift from the Fountain.
Most people were superstitious about water sprites. They could not be immersed in water, for their very skin repelled it, and the water rite had been developed in ancient times to prove whether a foundling had been naturally born.
Sinia’s true identity was a clos
ely guarded secret. Beyond her family, only the palace staff knew the truth of her sacred origins. As a water sprite, she had not possessed a soul until she kissed a human—Owen. Their marriage had changed her and made her human.
And now her grief for him was diminishing her.
“My lady!” chuffed the court steward, Thierry, when he rounded the corner ahead and nearly stumbled into her. He had served the Montforts for a long time, as had his father and grandfather before him. Thierry’s hair was spiked forward in the Occitanian fashion, as usual, but it was well nigh all silver now. “I had not known you were coming today! Your mother will be grateful to see you. Let me alert her that you’ve arrived from Averanche.”
“How does she fare?” Trynne asked, touching his arm.
Thierry’s countenance shaded like a cloud blotting the sun. He had always kept a certain distance from Owen, but his devotion to Sinia was unquestionable. “Lady Tryneowy, she bears her suffering with great aplomb. She has been more distant lately. More introspective.”
Trynne had feared as much. Her mother’s visions had been bereft of glimpses of her husband, which had made all of them fear the worst.
“Thank you, Thierry. I would see her at once.”
“Very well, my lady. She is with Lady Morwenna at the moment.”
The news was like a blow to Trynne’s heart. Morwenna had been in training as a Wizr’s disciple since the Battle of Guilme. Originally, Trynne had been her mother’s only student, but she had abandoned her studies in favor of training the Oath Maidens with Captain Staeli.
The daughter of Severn Argentine and Lady Kathryn, Morwenna was the king’s blood-sister. She had an aptitude for Fountain magic and had demonstrated a quickness of mind in finding words of power hidden inside The Vulgate, an ancient text of legends about the famous King Andrew and his court. When she was studying the tome, Trynne had always found her mind wandering to the training yard and affairs of state. She was happier since she’d quit her Wizr training, but Morwenna’s stunning beauty and multiple gifts had always made her feel self-conscious.
As they walked toward the study, Thierry kept up a steady stream of chatter. “There was a great shipwreck off the coast of Occitania in the last fortnight. A merchant ship, heavily laden, crashed against the reef and was destroyed. Bits of its cargo have been washing up on our shores for days since then and as far east as St. Penryn’s.”
“Were there any survivors?” Trynne asked without much hope.
“None, my lady. The manifest showed it was a Genevese merchant vessel. The crew all drowned.”
“I’m so sorry to hear it,” Trynne sighed. “What is the latest news about the Gauntlet coming up in Kingfountain?”
“They say the Grand Duke of Brugia and Duke of North Cumbria are favorites to win it. Wouldn’t it be a trick if some lass beat them both?” He gave her a cunning smile and a wink.
Trynne had been training hard for it. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to look unconcerned.
“Let me announce you,” Thierry said as they reached the door. He lifted his hand to knock.
Trynne caught his sleeve. “There’s no need. I’d rather surprise her. Thank you.”
Thierry nodded, bowed to her, and departed. Trynne stared at the polished wood, trying to gather her courage and resolve. Whenever Sinia traveled to Kingfountain, Trynne stayed in Ploemeur to await her return. If the stay ended up being longer than a few days, her mother would likely fetch her brother, Gannon, from Tatton Hall. He had been staying there, off and on, with their grandparents since being declared the Duke of Westmarch in their father’s absence, but Sinia brought him home to Ploemeur for frequent visits. The child was a favorite with the palace staff, and Trynne found herself missing him when he wasn’t around. She occasionally used the ley lines to visit him, but it wasn’t the same as living together.
Gripping the handle, she turned it quietly and pushed open the door to the study. Just like the rest of the house, the room was achingly familiar. The walls were lined with bookshelves laden with dusty books, and the desk in the corner was covered in globes and charts. Trynne found Morwenna sitting there, scrawling on a rough piece of parchment covered in sketches of the diagonal spokes of ley lines. She appeared to be copying something from another map, and Trynne’s stomach twisted with worry. Her mother’s book of maps was a secret they hadn’t shared with anyone.
Sinia sat at the window seat. The window was open and her golden hair rustled as the breeze wafted in. Her hand rested on the casement, her fingers limp. Her gaze was fixed on the endless sea on the horizon, and she did not seem to have noticed the sound of the door.
Morwenna lifted her head and turned. For a moment, there was a look of shocked surprise in her eyes. Almost a guilty look, as if she’d been caught stealing treats.
It was gone in an instant. Morwenna rose from the chair and quickly came to Trynne, embracing her briefly before pulling back.
“Has something happened?” she whispered, her brow furrowed with concern.
Trynne shook her head. “Nothing like that. The king wishes to see my mother.”
Morwenna nodded. “That is no surprise. So she will be gone for a few days?”
“Probably,” Trynne said. “What are you working on?” she asked, trying not to let any concern filter into her voice.
“Oh, that,” Morwenna said, gesturing toward the maps on the table. “One of Lord Amrein’s men managed to steal a map book from a treasure ship,” she said. “It’s all a great secret, but I can tell you. They already had the royal cartographers look at it. It goes far beyond anything we have seen in the past. Trynne, there’s a map to the Forbidden Court. I’ve been trying to connect it to the ones we already have. As you know, the original capital of Chandigarl was on the east-west ley line. The Forbidden Court is farther north, off the main line.”
“You’ve been to the Forbidden Court already,” Trynne said.
Morwenna nodded. “Yes, but only through the ley lines. I haven’t known where it was. This is a major clue to locating it.”
“Have you heard of Chandleer Oasis?” Trynne asked. The two young women went to the map. Trynne glanced back at her mother, but Sinia was still staring fixedly at the sea.
“It’s right here,” Morwenna said, pointing to a spot on the map amidst the huge desert. “It’s part of the spice trade.”
When Trynne looked down at the map with all its hubs and spokes, she saw that it wasn’t her mother’s map at all, which relieved her for some inexplicable reason. She knew she shouldn’t be jealous of Morwenna—after all, her father had trusted the girl—but she still had misgivings. There were markings on it in a different language, a foreign tongue that Trynne recognized but couldn’t decipher.
“Trynne?”
It was her mother’s voice. Trynne abandoned the map in an instant, hurrying over to Sinia. She squeezed her mother hard, wishing the pain would leave her.
“I have matters to attend to,” Morwenna said discreetly, and then left the study, giving them some privacy.
Trynne joined her mother at the window seat, clutching her cold hands. Her mother looked queer, her face too pale, her eyes red rimmed. It was awful to see her suffering so nakedly.
“Mother,” Trynne sighed, shaking her head, not knowing what to say.
Sinia’s chest heaved. She was going to cry again. It bubbled up a bit before subsiding into trembling. “The Fountain . . . it believes I can handle . . . this. I don’t want to falter. But I’m shaking under the weight.” She took a steadying breath, tears glistening on her lashes but not falling.
Trynne bit her lip, feeling her own pain rising like a swell of the sea.
Sinia untangled their hands and then put hers on Trynne’s shoulders. “There is something I must tell you. Before I tell it to the king.”
Trynne stared at her mother in surprise. “Have you had another vision?” she asked with growing dread.
Sinia nodded firmly, her mouth pursed in a frown. She looked away from Trynn
e, shifting her gaze back to the sea. Her next words were cut off by a choked sob. She struggled to regain composure—dabbing her tears on her wrist—but her eyes were fixed on the scene outside.
“The Fountain bids me . . . that I must return. I must return to my origins. I must go back to the Deep Fathoms. The sea is calling me home.”
CHAPTER SIX
Deep Fathoms Beckons
The words stunned Trynne and left her breathless with dread and confusion. The Deep Fathoms was the place where the dead went, where treasures from the past were hidden. Could the living go there and survive? Even if it were possible, she knew without question it would be dangerous beyond imagining.
She’d lost her father, and now the Fountain was reclaiming her mother. The cruelty of it was beyond her faculty to understand. She couldn’t even imagine what Drew and Genevieve would say. They had lost the Wizr Myrddin on the eve of Kingfountain’s woes. Then Owen. Now Sinia. It was too much. It was asking far too much!
Sinia pulled Trynne close, hugging her to her bosom, and began stroking her hair. “Grief and pain is part of this mortal coil. But no pain so sharp as that which afflicts a mother’s heart. I think I can bear any sadness for my own sake. But seeing my children suffer . . . that is the worst pain of all.”
Trynne only then realized she was crying. She lifted her head, gazing into her mother’s face, seeing the turmoil there. Her mother had always been a source of strength for her.
“I don’t understand,” Trynne said. Never had she felt so frightened and alone.
“Neither do I, Trynne. Neither do I.” Sinia smiled sadly, wiping a tear from Trynne’s lax cheek. “I saw many things I do not as yet understand, but the vision was clear. It showed me boarding a ship in Ploemeur with Captain Pyne. We were outfitted for a long expedition, so we may be at sea for quite some time. The course we should take was not made known to me, but I saw that it would be revealed. I hear the Deep Fathoms calling to me even now.” She turned and gazed out the window again, staring longingly at the sea. “It whispers to my heart to come.”
