by Jeff Wheeler
These tests always wore her out, sapping her magic until it was gone, and even then she’d continue to fight until she was physically exhausted and could barely stand.
The girls could not all attack at once, and she could defeat any of them individually. The test came from protecting someone else, in this case Captain Staeli, which was what she had trained to do. She was the king’s protector. She was going to become his champion.
As the magic swept through her, she reacted on instinct alone. She blocked not only the attacks aimed at her, but also the attempts at Captain Staeli. Hers was defensive magic, and she could sense every person coming against them. She did not wait until the attackers got close, but came forward and blocked and countered with crisp efficiency. Her magic pinpointed her enemies’ weaknesses instantly, allowing her to disarm them or knock them back. After training for so many months, they had all gotten better and better.
But it was impossible to face multiple foes without getting hit. Her armor protected her from fatal wounds, but every thrust that made it past hurt, and she wished she had her father’s magic scabbard to heal her wounds. Grunting and breathing hard, Trynne swiveled and pitched and kicked her way through the women attacking her and Staeli. The captain was not a docile defender himself, and the two of them together were a formidable pair.
Yet wave after wave of girls kept coming, most of them fresh and eager for a chance to prove themselves, and Trynne’s arms started to grow heavy and tired. She could feel the edges of her magic shrinking, pulling in tighter and tighter.
Suddenly five organized themselves to launch a simultaneous attack on her.
“Tychos!” Trynne shouted, invoking a word of power. The attackers struck an invisible wall and crumpled against it, falling to the courtyard floor.
“How’re you . . . feeling, lass?” Staeli said with a gasp.
She could hardly breathe and uttering the word had left her winded.
“Quite well,” she managed to say. “You?”
Staeli punched one of the girls in the stomach, twisting his leg around hers before throwing her down.
“Never better!” he shouted with a defiant grin.
Trynne’s face was dripping with sweat. But she wondered what she would do if there were no end to Gahalatine’s soldiers.
Even her magic had its limits.
My mind is much clearer now that I’ve stopped drinking the sugared poison. I still cannot remember who I am or how I came to be in this cell. But I have learned some things from the clues around me. I can summon fresh water from a carving I made in the stone wall. I don’t know how I do it, but I feel there is power inside me. My left hand once bore a ring. The skin on my ring finger is callused where it used to be. I feel an empty ache inside of me, a longing for people I cannot remember. I was married, or used to be. I know how to fight. Every time the guard comes to feed me, I am tempted to wrestle him for control of his dagger. He has some gout in his left knee, and even with these chains, I think I can overpower him. He refuses to answer my questions, but he’s worried that I’m so lucid. I think he realizes that the poison isn’t affecting me anymore.
Someone is coming. Not enough time has passed since my last bit of food. What is happening? I can feel the power the visitor is using. The door squeals as it opens. My jailor has brought a man wearing a silver mask.
CHAPTER NINE
Turandokht
As Trynne fastened a bracelet onto her wrist, there was a knock on the door. She gazed at herself in the mirror, feeling clean from her bath, fresh in a gown, and confident. She had not depleted all her magic during the test with the Oath Maidens. Far from it. After some delicious peaches and salted nuts, she felt replenished and invigorated and ready to leave for Ploemeur.
“Enter,” she said, pulling out a pair of earrings as the door opened and old Farnes entered, wheezing, with Rani Sureya behind him.
Farnes gave her a formal bow, struggling with his breath. “A carriage arrived at the gate with a nobleman from the Occitanian city of Lionn seeking to meet you. I . . . sent him away. You wished to speak to the princess.” He straightened and shut the door as he left.
Sureya, who had taken to wearing the fashions of Kingfountain, had also bathed and changed. She looked on nervously as Trynne fastened the earrings to her lobes.
“You fight very well, Sureya,” Trynne said, turning around and smoothing her dress. “I thought you came here to be taught, but you are more capable than many of the girls who have been training for months.”
Sureya blushed and bowed her head. “I am not nearly as skilled as you are, Lady Trynne.”
“Who taught you?”
“My father has only daughters. He made certain we were trained to defend ourselves. There was a man, a mercenary of Genevar who had gone to live among the Bhikhu. My father hired him to train us.”
Trynne wrinkled her brow. “Your father mentioned the Bhikhu previously. They are the ones who fight for Gahalatine.”
Sureya nodded. “I cannot float as the Bhikhu do.” She wrung her hands together. “You fought today like Turandokht, Lady Trynne. I am honored to serve you.”
Trynne approached her, appraising her further. “You fought very well yourself. You use your elbows and feet as deftly as you do your weapons. Who is this Turandokht you mention?”
“You have not heard of her?” Sureya said in surprise. “She was the most famous Fountain-blessed of her generation.”
“In our histories, the most famous Fountain-blessed was the Maid of Donremy. She was a girl from an obscure village in Occitania who led her people to victory against Ceredigion. Could we be using different names for the same person?”
“No, Turandokht is from our part of the world,” Sureya insisted. “She was from Chandigarl. Her uncle was the Emperor of Chandigarl three centuries ago. Her father’s name was Turan. In that country, dokht means ‘daughter.’ She had brothers, but she was the best fighter and horse rider in all Chandigarl. She fought with hook swords. Two of them. They were Turandokht’s specialty.”
Trynne nodded. “While I am gone, please speak to Farnes about them. He will have the castle weaponsmith make them. Thank you for sharing her story with me.”
Sureya beamed at her with pleasure. “Even your name sounds like it comes from Turan, Lady Trynne. She was famous in our lands. She refused to marry anyone who could not outwrestle her. It was said that if a man challenged her for the right, he had to give her three horses if he failed. There was grazing land dedicated to the herd of horses she’d won. No one ever did defeat her, although she did choose to marry eventually. After Turan died, her brothers fought over the inheritance. People said that she should have inherited all of her father’s wealth, for she was very wise.”
“Whom did she marry?” Trynne asked. Her father had always said that certain roles were played over and over throughout history. He had described it as being trapped on a waterwheel in a river of destiny that one could not easily escape. She knew better than to ignore coincidences.
“A man who tried and failed to murder her father,” Sureya answered with an impish smile. “The history of the East Kingdoms is lavish with intrigues.”
The words sent a tremor through Trynne, as if some heavy stone were being dragged across the floor, rumbling the entire castle. It struck her forcibly, stealing her breath.
“Are you well, my lady?” Sureya asked.
“I am,” Trynne said, though she felt slightly dizzy. “I must be away. Thank you for sharing the history with me.”
“I’ve offended you,” Sureya said, her face growing worried.
“No, you haven’t,” Trynne said, touching the girl’s arm. “My father is missing. I worry about him every day. Your words struck me, that is all. It would be . . . it would be very difficult for me to love a man who’d hurt him.” Fallon’s face flashed inside her mind, along with the remembrance of the silver mask she had taken from his tent in her guise as the Painted Knight. If Fallon had had anything to do with her fat
her’s disappearance, whatever his reasons, she would lose all respect for him.
Sureya nodded in understanding. “I should have been more cautious in my words. Forgive me. I share your pain, Lady Trynne. I too wonder what has become of my father.” Her brow furrowed with worry. “I would give anything to know.”
Trynne found herself liking the princess more and more. The two embraced, a simple gesture that strengthened their connection. Trynne gave her new friend a smile. “I will look forward to training with you when I return.”
“Is it near the Feast of St. Benedick?” Sureya asked. “Are you going to meet your lover?”
Trynne’s eyes widened with shock. “Grand Duke Elwis?”
Sureya nodded, but her eyes were guarded.
“No!” she replied, laughing a little. “No, he . . . I am not going to see him yet. And he and I are not . . . attached. I promised him that I would visit, but I need to go to Brythonica first to see my mother. She is leaving on a great journey.”
Sureya blinked with surprise. “You do not care for the grand duke? The one whom I met?” A little flush crept onto the princess’s cheeks.
Trynne shook her head no. “He is much changed from what he was. I admire him, but no . . . things are more difficult for me.” She swallowed. “I’m in love with another duke. But I know that I cannot be his. My mother is a Wizr, and she sees things that will happen in the future.” It felt good to speak about it with someone who wasn’t directly involved in the situation. Genny was understanding, but she was also Fallon’s sister.
Sureya’s jaw dropped. “There is no more powerful gift from the Fountain,” she whispered.
“That is true,” Trynne said. “She told me she has seen a vision of the man I will marry. And he is not the man that I wanted him to be.”
Sureya blinked in understanding. “How difficult for you,” she said, taking Trynne’s hands. “I’m sorry.”
Trynne shrugged. “My family is used to swimming in deep waters, you could say.”
“And your mother is leaving the court of Kingfountain?” Sureya said. “Isn’t she the king’s Wizr?”
“Yes. The king’s blood-sister will stand in for her while she’s away. My mother had a vision of the future. She will be departing by boat.”
“She seeks Fusang,” Sureya whispered reverently. “I am sorry. In your religion, it is called the Deep Fathoms.”
Trynne cocked her head. “Yes. How did you know?”
Sureya grew more excited. “There is a legend in our culture. Over a thousand years ago, a traveler came to the emperor’s palace claiming to have crossed the sea. He had discovered Fusang, the place between the worlds. One can only reach it by sea. The dead go there. But so can the living, those whom Fusang summons. There is a tree there full of different fruit. One of them grants immortality. When the emperor learned of it, he sent his chief Wizr, Xu Fu, with a fleet of ships to discover it. He never returned. They say that Xu Fu did find it and that he took the fruit of immortality for himself. That he is still alive. That he serves the people in secret and travels the world in disguise, advising kings and emperors and warning them to hearken to the Fountain. They say the tree with the fruit is the source of the Fountain. That water gushes from its roots.”
Trynne had never heard these tales, but they ignited her imagination.
“Thank you, yet again,” Trynne said, feeling brightened by the news. Maybe the Deep Fathoms was trying to help them? She had feared her mother wouldn’t return from the journey.
Sureya cast her eyes down. “The other girls have said that Grand Duke Elwis is the best warrior in all Ceredigion now. Many have cast their eyes on him, and it is said he is not unhandsome.” She swallowed, growing more subdued. “Is he . . . is he pleased that women are becoming warriors? Many men frown upon us.”
“I will have to ask him when I meet with him,” Trynne said with a sly smile. She suspected that Elwis had left an impression on the princess.
The smells on the beach of glass beads were familiar and soothing. The wind tousled Trynne’s hair, and she brushed aside the strands as she watched her mother and Gannon walk hand in hand. Her mother’s blond hair fanned out, so lovely and full. She was still heartbreakingly beautiful. There was so much Trynne admired her for—her gentleness, how quickly she responded to the needs of other realms, and her conviction in the Fountain’s direction.
Trynne would miss her sorely.
“And what kind of bird is that?” Sinia asked Gannon, nodding toward the white-breasted birds running back and forth along the shore.
“Plovers,” Gannon said excitedly. “Look, Mama! Pelicans! Five of them! That one is going to dive. Look! It did!”
“Yes, it did,” Sinia said, her pleasure at his enthusiasm evident in her tone. “They must catch a lot of fish with those big beaks.”
“And those over there are puffins. The bills are so orange.”
“And what about that one? With the long, pointed beak?”
“A curlew. Their beaks are as long as swords.” His memory had always impressed Trynne. Her heart filled with love for the little boy who was as happy and carefree as their father hadn’t been in his own youth. Owen’s absence made the child melancholy at times, but he knew how deeply he was loved, and Trynne was grateful that he had never grown tired of holding their mother’s hand.
The salty smell of the ocean, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, and the cry of the seagulls overhead—all of it flooded her with memories of other times she’d visited with her mother. It was Sinia’s favorite place, but though it was beautiful, it was also a reminder of the inexorable power of the Deep Fathoms. The tiny beads of polished glass they trampled in the sand were relics of Leoneyis, a kingdom that had been swallowed by the sea. Her mother had often described to her visions she’d seen of Leoneyis at its prime—the enormous palace full of huge glass windows and glass chandeliers, dangling prisms that spun rainbows everywhere when the sunlight struck them. Yet the great wealth of the king had corrupted his heart. In time, he had forsaken the Fountain and destroyed all the Oath Maidens, ultimately depriving his kingdom of everything. Only those who had gathered in the sanctuary of St. Penryn had been spared the tidal flood that had destroyed the realm.
They walked for some distance along the shore, hidden by the huge rocks and land that formed the edge of the coast past the beach. Only at the harbor was the water deep enough to permit boats during high and low tide. Any fleet that tried to bottle in Ploemeur would end up being dashed against the rocks if it anchored too close.
Trynne’s mother had taught her the magical defenses of the city multiple times. Yet Sinia had insisted on bringing both of her children to check on them one last time.
The first of the caves could only be reached during low tide. At high tide, the low entrance was submerged, concealing it from others. The jagged stone cliff was green with moss that dripped constantly as if shedding tears. Small gnats floated in the air, and the loamy smell of decaying vegetation filled Trynne’s nose as they walked up the crisp sand to the cave. Gannon dashed ahead impetuously, grinning with excitement as he rushed into the dark entrance. The hissing surf came nigh to the mouth of the cave.
There were guards posted at the beach to prevent people from stealing the beads of polished glass, which were sold in pieces of jewelry. Guards patrolled it at night as well. But their purpose was not only to guard the ancient glass; they also guarded the caves along the shore.
Sinia ducked her head and followed Gannon into the cave, grazing the sharp rocks with her hand as if she were petting an animal. Trynne was shorter than her mother and barely needed to dip her chin to get past the opening. Gannon’s laughter echoed through the confined darkness.
“Le-ah-eer,” Sinia whispered, invoking the word of power for light.
The interior of the cave began to glow. The light emanated from various stones, but the sources were hidden beneath skeins of moss and lichen. Gannon scrambled up onto a taller rock and dug his f
ingers through the moss to try to see it better, grinning at the magic on display.
The ground was full of sand and shells that crunched beneath their boots. It was tall enough for even Sinia to stand straight up, but the cave was pretty small. Roots from trees up on the cliffs dug into the cave, but none so deep as to penetrate the stone. Fresh water dripped from the walls, tinkling and splashing in little waterfalls to join the sand and empty into the beach.
“This is where one of you must always come,” Sinia said. The words had been spoken quietly, almost in a whisper, but they echoed off the close walls of the cave, sounding firmer, more somber. Gannon’s expression turned serious and he turned to face her, listening carefully. They had both heard this speech many times, but it felt more solemn now.
Sinia’s eyes shone in the radiance of the glowing green moss.
“Since I was very young—your age, Gannon—I have always come to these caves to invoke the magic that protects Brythonica. We will go to each of them. It doesn’t take long to come here and utter the word of power. In fact, it is sufficient to even think the word. These stones can hear you. As I’ve shown you, beneath the moss are faces carved into the rock—”
“They don’t look like faces,” Gannon interrupted.
She was not upset by it. “Not anymore, my son. We don’t know who carved them, only that they are very old. The sea has rubbed away at the stone for centuries and more. Maybe one day the protections will fail because time itself has robbed them of their faces.” She looked up at the walls with an air of reverence. “All it takes is a thought, and the protections are extended for another season. I have never forgotten my duty, nor lapsed in it in all the time since I was a little girl. Sometimes very small things have terribly large consequences.” She bowed her head, breathing in through her nose. Then she looked up at Trynne. “I am leaving with the tide. I have never before been away from Brythonica for an entire season, but this time I might be. You both know how to extend the protections. I don’t mind if Gannon does it. But Trynne, you need to ensure that it is done. Please do not let your other duties and responsibilities crowd your mind enough for you to forget.” Sinia shook her head. “You must do this, Tryneowy. I give the charge to you until Gannon is of age.” She reached out and ran her fingers through Gannon’s hair. But her eyes were riveted on Trynne.
