by Jeff Wheeler
Trynne felt nothing, not even the ripple of the Fountain inside her, but she trusted her mother’s visions.
“Mother?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Sinia turned and looked at her.
“Mother, when you saw my marriage. I know you don’t like speaking of it. But when you saw it, were you there? Will you be there?”
Sinia blinked rapidly. She reached down and took Trynne’s hands. “No. I will not be. Trynne, when I go, Brythonica will be in peril unless the wards are maintained. You must make sure that it is done.” Her look was keen. “You must, Trynne. This burden is on our house alone.”
“But Gannon knows the words,” Trynne said, feeling a yawning chasm opening and threatening to swallow her, to chain her.
“Of course he does. But he’s just a child, Trynne. You are a woman. I know you have responsibilities of your own. I know that you do not want this burden.” Her voice hinted at the disappointment she felt that her daughter had chosen not to follow her path. “You must see it done. The people will need the reassurance that a Montfort will always be near. Promise me.”
The words were like shackles fitting around Trynne’s wrists. She could feel the heaviness of them. Brythonica and Westmarch were her birthrights, her responsibilities. It was a relief to have Gannon, young though he was, to share the burden.
“I will, of course,” Trynne said, though she could not completely mask the reluctance she felt. “The king asked me to summon you to court. That is why I came.”
Sinia heaved a sigh. “This will not be welcome news.”
“Indeed, it will not,” Trynne said. “I think he is anxious for word on where Gahalatine will press his attack. We have too many vulnerabilities. The fleet of treasure ships is on its way. They are coming to invade us, and his Wizr is about to tell him that the Fountain bids her to leave.” The panic and dread inside Trynne’s heart threatened to consume her.
“The king has another Wizr,” Sinia said, her voice flat. Although she was looking at Trynne, it was understood that she meant the king’s sister. “Morwenna is powerful. She finds new words of power almost daily. She’s drawn to them somehow, as if the books are trying to teach her quickly. I’ve never seen this before. She has surpassed where I was at her age.” Her voice grew softer. “The Fountain has provided another to take my place.”
It felt like another blow.
Trynne had been there the day Myrddin had told King Drew and her father that he was leaving. The threat they had faced was less real back then; they had not been attacked by their enemies at that point, so Gahalatine had not yet possessed a foothold in their realm.
Trynne watched as Drew absorbed her mother’s news in stunned silence. They were gathered in the solar of the palace at Kingfountain. Genevieve cradled their tiny babe in her arms, wrapped in the softest of blankets, and pressed little kisses against her feather-light tufts of hair. The babe’s namesake, Lady Kathryn, was also present. She and Morwenna were standing side by side, and while Kathryn was clearly surprised by the news, a strange look had passed across her daughter’s eyes. Perhaps Morwenna was thinking about being the realm’s only Wizr. It was a powerful position, to be sure, and a dangerous one.
Drew was openly shocked. He was like an uncle to Trynne, and her heart went out to him as she witnessed him take the blow, as sharp and painful as a staff slammed into his gut. Tall and strong, he had the Argentine good looks, though he favored his grandfather, Eredur, more than he did his dark and severe uncle Severn. He was often serious, but had a habit of defeating tension with humor.
There was no humor in him now.
He stared at Sinia with confounded disbelief. “Surely,” he said in a half-strangled voice, “the Fountain would not summon you when our need be so great. Myrddin assured me that the situation elsewhere he was summoned to was worse than our situation. Although I cannot see how.”
Trynne ached at the tone of his words, for she felt the same way.
“My lord,” Sinia said, “it is not my desire to abandon you. My visions have never explained why things happen. Only that they will.”
“When I called for you,” Drew stammered, “I had not expected such news. Forgive me; I need a moment.” He walked over to Genevieve, who was sitting at a little bench near his mother. He put his hand on her shoulder, as if she were the rope that would save him from drowning. Genny looked up at him worriedly, gently rocking the babe, who was starting to squirm and mewl with hunger pangs.
Kathryn offered to hold Kate, giving Genevieve a sweet, comforting smile, and the queen handed the babe over. The queen dowager spent half of each year living in Glosstyr with her husband. Now that her grandchild had been born, Trynne imagined she’d be more likely to stay at court. Morwenna gave the infant a brief dispassionate look before returning her gaze to Sinia.
The silence in the room was uncomfortable and growing worse.
“I apologize for adding to your worries,” Sinia said.
Genevieve took her husband’s hand and squeezed it. “You have ever been our loyal friend and wise counselor, Lady Sinia. It would not hurt to remember that without your aid, this kingdom would have been buried in snow and ice over a decade ago. You have proven yourself a loyal ally of Kingfountain many times. May it always be so.”
Trynne appreciated Genny’s calming words. She was always so levelheaded. As Trynne mulled over their predicament, she glanced again at Morwenna. The girl was struggling for composure—her lips were pressed into a flat line, and her eyes were glowering with some dark emotion.
Morwenna looked down, her cheeks a little flushed, before lifting her gaze to Trynne. Realizing her discomfort had been observed, she shook off whatever mood had gripped her—blinking rapidly and squaring her shoulders—and offered Trynne an apologetic smile.
“We must tell the council at once,” Drew said, shaking his head. He put his arm around Genny’s shoulder. “Send a summons. Sister, can you and Trynne help gather them all to the Ring Table?”
“Of course,” Morwenna said, looking much less agitated than she had moments before.
“Whatever provisions you need,” Drew said, looking at Sinia. “Name them. I will send you on my best galleon. If you go to the Deep Fathoms, perhaps you can seek aid for us. We are in sore need of it.”
Sinia demurred. “We are going into uncharted waters. I need a sturdy merchant vessel of Genevese make. Indeed, I saw it in my vision. You will need all the ships you have. I do not wish to impose on Your Grace.”
“Very well, then I will coax you no further.” Turning toward Trynne and Morwenna, he said, “Duke Elwis is already here at the palace. Gather Iago and Elysabeth, Duke Ramey, Deconeus Stellis, and Fallon, of course. Best if they all hear the news straightaway. See it done.”
His tone was one of command, and both girls bowed in deference. Morwenna hooked her arm through Trynne’s as they left the solar. Trynne was uncomfortable, wishing she hadn’t seen that look on the other girl’s face. But Morwenna was ever one to plunge into dark waters and dive to the heart of the matter.
“I’m sorry you caught me in a moment of self-pity,” she said as they walked. “I know it’s childish, but it pains me to hear my father’s defeat mentioned so casually or as a point worth celebrating.” She squeezed Trynne’s arm. “It shattered him, Trynne. He was the King of Ceredigion. This was his castle once. It might have been mine under different circumstances.” She sighed. “Well, there’s no use fretting about a coin lost in a river. We have all lost things that were important to us.” She gave Trynne a knowing look, full of sympathy. “Or will yet lose. Your mother has surprised us all. Had you suspected this would happen?”
Trynne and Morwenna had once been friends, but they’d slowly grown apart once the poisoner had begun studying under Trynne’s mother. It was painful hearing about her accomplishments and progress, especially since Trynne had struggled so much to learn the craft. Then there was the fact that Morwenna was tall and darkly beautiful, capable of turning heads jus
t by walking into a room. While she was Fountain-blessed, Trynne did not know what her powers were, only that she got a cold feeling in her presence at times. Still, in many ways, Morwenna was practically the reincarnation of Ankarette Tryneowy, Trynne’s own namesake.
“No, I was as surprised as everyone else,” Trynne answered truthfully.
“I’ve never seen my brother so distraught. Don’t you find it strange that his strong pieces are all being swept from the board? I don’t mean to be brash, but this feels like a game of Wizr. The set that Rucrius broke when he came to deliver his warning. You remember it?”
“Of course I do,” Trynne said, trying not to sound peevish. “It was the ancient set played by the original King Andrew. The one that helped the Argentines stay in power all these years.”
“One by one, our pieces are falling,” Morwenna said as they walked toward the closest fountain to travel on the ley lines. “You don’t think . . . ? No, I’d best not say it.”
Her refusal only made Trynne more curious. Which was probably her intent.
“What?” Trynne pushed.
“I was just wondering,” Morwenna said, letting her words trail off as she came to a sudden stop next to a large glass window with a spacious view of the gardens below. The sky was roiling with storm clouds. “Just wondering,” she continued in an almost absentminded way, “if the Fountain heeds those with the strongest will. Does not Gahalatine serve the Fountain as well? And do not we? How can we both be serving the same power? Perhaps it has chosen one of us.”
Their conversation was interrupted as heavy drops of rain began to lash against the glass. They both stared at the glass as the surprise squall opened over the city. It had been a cloudless day when they’d arrived. The limbs of the magnolia trees beneath them swayed and jerked as the wind started to gust.
It was the very garden where Trynne and Fallon had argued. Was it coincidence that had brought them there?
“I will go to Edonburick,” Morwenna said, putting her hand on Trynne’s shoulder. “I’ve not seen my grandfather in some time and should like to. Why don’t you go to Dundrennan to fetch Fallon?”
Trynne gritted her teeth, her feelings tangled and tender. “I would rather not,” she muttered.
“I know,” Morwenna said with one of her lovely smiles. “Which is all the more reason that you should. Fallon is a dear friend. You really hurt him, Trynne. I think it’s time the two of you mended the breach.”
Trynne believed she was right. But it didn’t make her eager to do it. She sighed, trying to summon her courage. It would be painful to see him. But she would try. “Very well,” she said.
“How strange that it’s raining so suddenly,” Morwenna said, cocking her head. A white flash exploded outside the window, blinding them both. Thunder boomed heavily over the castle, shaking the stones.
“I think it struck the rod atop the poisoner tower,” Morwenna said, her voice shaking from the sudden thrill of danger. “I’m glad I wasn’t up there just now!”
Trynne wondered if the sudden storm was a freak of nature. Or if the king’s brooding had invoked the secret power of the hollow crown.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dundrennan
It was cold in the North. Even the hissing torches lining the walls could not ward off the chill. Even the air smelled different. There was an inescapable scent of crushed pine needles, of mountain air so clean and cold it made her chest burn.
Dundrennan was a spacious fortress, nestled in a mountain valley in the highlands with an incomparable view of an enormous waterfall. It was nearly the headspring of the river that ended at Kingfountain. Memories of the place flittered through Trynne’s mind. Her father had been raised in this place after spending his boyhood in Tatton Hall, and while she had not visited the North often as a girl, she’d always loved imagining her father playing with his tiles by the hearth, or chatting with Fallon’s mother and her grizzled grandfather, Duke Horwath. The standard of the Pierced Lion still dominated the tapestries. It made her heart flutter to realize she was now in Fallon’s domain.
As soon as she’d appeared in Dundrennan, a servant had seen her and hastened to fetch the master of the castle. It was not uncommon to receive strange visitors from the chapel, but Trynne could tell they were used to someone else. Morwenna. The servant’s eyes had widened with surprise, and she’d stammered her name as she hurried away.
Fallon’s herald, a man by the name of Stroud, arrived shortly thereafter. He was tall, nearly fifty years old, with thinning, graying dark hair and a serious set to his mouth.
“Lady Tryneowy, this is an unexpected pleasure,” he said in a deferential yet formal tone. “Lord Fallon will attend you at once. Please follow me.”
“Thank you, Master Stroud,” Trynne said. He was tall, and his stride was much longer than hers, but she followed him as best she could. They approached an open door leading to the solar, from which she saw and heard the crackling hearth fire, but to her surprise, they walked past it.
Stroud brought her through several twisting tunnels before stopping in front of Fallon’s personal chamber. If she had been nervous before, it was eclipsed by his decision to meet her in his private space. The great hall was for meeting strangers. The solar for more intimate friends. What could she make of this?
Stroud rapped on the door and opened it without awaiting a response. He bowed stiffly, gesturing for Trynne to enter first.
Trying to quell the wild feeling in her chest that made her want to flee, Trynne forced herself to step into the chamber.
There was a flurry of movement to her left and she saw Fallon emerge from behind a changing screen, fastening a belt and scabbard around his waist. He had a rushed and agitated air about him. When he saw her standing there, he gave her a glance and hurried to a massive desk full of scrolls and papers and things. He picked up a signet ring from a gold plate and twisted it onto his littlest finger.
She had not seen him in months, and the changes in him immediately struck her. He was bigger, his shoulders broader, his gait and posture more robust. He was even more impossibly handsome than she had remembered. Fallon had always been tall, but now he seemed to fill the room with his presence. Grabbing a towel from the desk, he mopped his neck and brow.
“I was training in the yard,” he said, by way of excuse. His voice was wary, with none of the warmth or friendliness that they had once shared. There was no humor in his eyes, no mischievous grin just for her. “I needed a moment to make myself more presentable for the palace. I’m assuming you came to bring me there. Have we been attacked by Gahalatine?”
Their estrangement pained her deeply, but they could not undo what had happened. She could only hope time would heal them both.
“No, it’s not that,” Trynne said, trying to find her way through the dangerous waters between them.
He rifled through some of the papers on the desk, picked up several, and stuffed them into his pocket. It did nothing to hide the pain in his eyes. “Then why did you come?”
She wondered at all the correspondence on his desk. It would appear he was still dealing in secrets. His obsession with the Espion was one of the chief reasons she had difficulty trusting him.
“I did come to bring you to the palace,” she said. “There is news, just not the tidings you were expecting. We did receive word that Gahalatine’s fleet is on the way. Part of it was sighted by a Genevese merchant.”
Fallon nodded in a way that implied he already knew of it. “What news, then?” he asked. “If you can tell me.” The way he said it reminded her of another wall between them. The last time he’d asked her to share a secret with him, it had not been hers to tell.
Trynne licked her lips, feeling the discomfort of the moment yawn between them. Stroud stood in the doorway behind them, a silent observer, but Fallon gave him a dismissive nod, and the door quietly shut, leaving them alone together.
“I am sorry it has come to this, Fallon,” she said. “I am sorry to have lost your friendsh
ip. I never wanted that.”
He stood by the table, his arms folded guardedly. They were so much bigger now. She could see the scars on his hands, along with one on his cheekbone. She wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to soothe the anger she saw churning inside him. There was so much she wished for, so much she could not have.
Where once he had been glib and spontaneous, now he seemed to be struggling for words. Gazing down at the mess of correspondence, he sighed, favoring her with a sidelong look. His mouth twitched, reminding her of her old friend, the one who had never tired of teasing her. But the look was swept away like a cloud on the wind. “It was my own fault,” he said in a formal, self-deprecating tone. “I acted against my better judgment when I approached you that day. You were so kind as to point that out to me.” Again, the formality of his speech hurt her. “So, must I wait for this news until I get to Kingfountain? Has it to do with the Gauntlet? Is the king canceling it?”
“Not at all,” she said, shaking her head. Her legs felt locked in place, so she took a hesitant step closer to him. She pressed her thumb in circles across her palm, fidgeting slightly. She knew that Fallon was preparing for the Gauntlet of Kingfountain. He had made no secret of his wish to take her father’s seat at the Ring Table, the one known as the Siege Perilous. It was the seat of the king’s champion. Gahalatine had given Drew one year to choose a replacement for Owen if he could not be found. The winner of the Gauntlet would win that title.
What Fallon did not realize was the Fountain had whispered to Trynne that she must sit in the chair.
He was looking at her pointedly now, his gaze penetrating. He had the clearest gray-green eyes she had ever seen. Memories of their childhood together buffeted her.
“The Fountain has bid my mother to depart Ceredigion,” she said at last. The anguish of the feeling was still fresh and raw. “She will be leaving imminently to seek the Deep Fathoms at sea.”
