by Jeff Wheeler
“I will, Mother,” Trynne promised, blinking back tears.
The cave loomed above her as if it would crush her beneath its bulk. She did not want the responsibility. She did not want to be shackled for the rest of her life to Ploemeur. But neither had she made the promise lightly. She knew what was at stake.
But there was a dark part of her, a small whispering doubt as tiny as an insect, that warned her that she might not be able to fulfill her vow.
CHAPTER TEN
Upon the Feast of St. Benedick
Brythonica had long maintained a sizable navy and had standing ties with the Genevese to ship the duchy’s berries to distant realms. As Trynne stood on the stone quay in Ploemeur, she watched the sailors crawling up and down the rigging of her mother’s ship. It was a beautiful, solid galleon that could brave the open ocean.
Gannon was dabbing his tears on his sleeve, but there was a look of trembling courage on his face that hearkened to the man he would become. Trynne’s heart was heavy as she watched Sinia speaking gently with Owen’s mother and father. Morwenna had come to Ploemeur earlier to say farewell, but only family members had come to the dock. They had been gathered there for some time, and it was obvious the Genevese captain of the vessel, Captain Pyne, with his stubbled head and cheeks, was ready to leave. He kept rocking back and forth on his heels and glancing at the ship.
As soon as she finished speaking with Trynne’s grandparents, Sinia lowered herself down to Gannon’s level. She was smiling, trying to project confidence and motherly assurance, but Trynne saw the pain in her eyes. “Now you, little duke, must obey your grandparents and your sister while I’m away.”
Gannon threw his arms around her neck and kissed her cheek. “But if I’m a duke, then must not they obey me?” He said it in his teasing way.
Sinia smoothed the hair from his forehead before kissing him there. “You can only have the authority of your station when you’re older, after you’ve proven yourself. But remember, my son, that leading means serving. You serve the people of Westmarch. You serve Brythonica.” She tugged and straightened his tunic front. “I will take so many pleasant memories with me on my journey. You are a wonderful son, and I love you with all my heart.”
“I feel sorry for Trynne, then,” replied Gannon with a grin. “There’s none left for her!”
Trynne arched her brow at him, but his smiles were infectious.
“There is room in my heart for both of you,” Sinia said, tapping his nose. She hugged him fiercely then, squeezing her eyes shut with such a look of pain that Trynne’s throat caught.
Brushing away a tear, Sinia rose and came to Trynne. They hugged each other, saying nothing. Trynne felt the warmth of her mother’s breath against her hair. For so long she had worried she’d disappointed her mother by not becoming a Wizr, and the secrets the Fountain had bid her to keep had created a gulf between them.
The biggest of those secrets was the one that Fallon now knew—that Trynne was the Painted Knight. Rumors abounded about the knight, about Trynne, as the Gauntlet of Kingfountain loomed nearer. The legends were vastly different than the truth, each story growing grander as it was passed along. Someone had seen the Painted Knight in Atabyrion defeating twelve men at once. Some said the Painted Knight was a ghost from the drowned kingdom of Leoneyis. Others said his face was painted because a poisoner from Pisan was trying to kill him. Each tale was a fabrication, but that did not stop them from spreading like wildfire. Everyone expected the Painted Knight to come and compete against the best knights of the realm.
She wanted to tell her mother before she left, but the Fountain had told her it was not yet time.
“Trynne,” Sinia said, pulling away from the hug. She stanched tears on her sleeve cuff. “The king will still need you. I know that he will. There are dark days ahead for him. This war with Gahalatine will test his mettle, his confidence, and his will to rule. I know that you will need to go to Kingfountain. I just ask that you make sure Brythonica is watched over. Owen’s father is a wise man and has served me for many, many years. He must play the role of father to his grandchild.” She sighed, looking down. “It is so difficult for me to leave you and Gannon. It will take courage to find the Deep Fathoms. Or the land of Fusang, as the Oasis princess described it to you. It goes by many names. It calls to me still.” She looked out toward the sea, her expression suddenly distant, as if she heard a voice at that very moment.
“I’m glad you chose Captain Pyne,” Trynne said. “He’s one of the best sea captains in Genevar.”
Sinia nodded, then pressed a kiss on Trynne’s cheek. “I love you, Tryneowy Kiskaddon. You have not been a disappointment to me. I love you with a mother’s heart. Nothing can change that, no matter what choices you make. The Fountain has work for you to do.” She smiled tenderly. “I don’t know what it is, for the Fountain has not revealed it to me. But I sense its importance. You are my greatest treasure.”
Her words made Trynne’s heart shudder and tears spill from her eyes. They embraced again, holding each other tightly.
“Ahem,” Captain Pyne murmured, coughing into his fist. “The tide, my lady.”
Sinia ignored him, holding Trynne and stroking her hair while she wept, but she finally stepped away. It hurt to watch as the captain escorted Sinia up the gangplank. There were sailors and servants, archers and knights, all wearing white tabards decorated with the Raven badge of her mother’s house. There were ravens in the rigging, she noticed, birds that would go out to sea with the ship. Trynne felt a hand on her shoulder and noticed her grandmother had sidled up next to her. The tears in the older woman’s eyes reminded her that she was not alone in her grief. Hugging her grandmother, Trynne watched as the boat left the pier, the wind filling the small sails as the captain barked orders.
It grew smaller and smaller until it was gone.
The feast day of St. Benedick had finally arrived, and Trynne was at once nervous and excited to spend the afternoon with Elwis Asturias in Marq. Her mother’s ship had been gone for nearly a fortnight, and the palace at Ploemeur had already begun to feel like a prison. Trynne still started each morning at the training yard in Averanche before bathing and changing into a gown and returning to Ploemeur in time for breakfast. She had never been more thankful for the ability to use the ley lines to travel.
Today, she wore the gown she had purchased with Captain Staeli on the trip they’d made to Marq. Her stomach was full of butterflies as she stared at herself in the mirror, making sure the lacings were all fastened and tidy. The white blouse was bunched together with garters at the upper arms, elbows, and wrists. The black velvet hat with the silver edging was still waiting at the table. It wasn’t fashionable to wear such hats in Brythonica, so Trynne hadn’t put it on yet. She had enjoyed strolling the city and seeing the canals and gondolas. What would it be like to ride in one with Elwis handling the oars? Her stomach did a little turn.
It occurred to her that they would both be competing at the Gauntlet of Kingfountain shortly afterward. She and the Oath Maidens had been preparing for the event for months. Would she be able to reveal herself at last? She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, but the crooked part of it seemed to mock her.
It was in this very room that Dragan had attacked her.
Just thinking about her father’s enemy kindled a dark, evil feeling in her heart—along with the fear she had long sought to control. She was no longer a helpless child. She remembered sensing Dragan in the room that day. He had the uncanny gift of being able to turn invisible. Well, she knew the word of power that could expose him. And he knew that she could. The last time she had seen him was on her first, fateful trip to Marq. She wondered, darkly, not for the first time, if he had been involved in her father’s disappearance.
A rap at the door startled her, making her heart quicken with a spasm of dread.
“Enter,” she called, fussing over her skirts once again, feeling herself hideous and unworthy of any man’s love.
The
door opened and Benjamin entered.
“My lady, there’s a messenger here from Brugia. A captain by the name of Abinante. He says he bears a message from Grand Duke Elwis that he’s to deliver to your hand alone.”
Trynne pursed her lips. “Is he with you?”
“He is waiting in the solar, my lady.”
“You can bring him here,” Trynne said.
Benjamin nodded and quickly departed. A moment later, the door opened and Gannon came in with their grandmother.
“It’s time to go to the House of Pillars,” Gannon said, holding their grandmother’s hand and swinging it eagerly. “Are you coming with us? Grandpapa has the carriage ready.”
Trynne shook her head. “I have a messenger from Brugia to see first. Why don’t you go ahead and I will meet you down there. I’ll probably get there before you will.”
“Very well,” Grandmother said, tugging at Gannon’s hand. She shot Trynne a conspiring look. “You are leaving for Brugia at noon, my dear?”
Trynne nodded, but she could barely pay attention—her heart was thumping as she considered what news the messenger might have brought. Her family left, and shortly thereafter Benjamin returned with a tall, barrel-chested man who was bald and bore earrings. With a crinkled white collar that fanned out at the throat, his outfit was distinctly Brugian. The fabrics were of the very best quality, she noticed, and he wore a sword at his side. Still, it was the medallion around his neck that caught her attention most. She’d seen that kind before, a circle with several rays shining from it. Gahalatine had worn something similar, and the sight of it put her immediately on her guard.
“Captain Abinante,” Benjamin said with a bow, but he did not leave.
“Lady Tryneowy,” the captain said with a gregarious smile, “it is a pleasure to meet you. I believe that was your younger brother I passed on my way in?”
“It was,” Trynne said, feeling her anxiety grow.
“A charming lad. I have been in Ploemeur for two days, my lady, and will leave with the turning of the tide today. I have served House Asturias for many years. My lady, the grand duke is a changed man, and I attribute that to your influence and his father’s untimely demise. He is one of the most determined men I know. None of this has he commanded me to say.” He smiled in chagrin. “I just wanted to speak his praises myself. He gave me this note, fixed with his seal, to deliver to you on the morning of the Feast of St. Benedick. I don’t know what it contains, but I have discharged my duty.” He withdrew a folded and sealed note from his wide belt, offered it to her, and bowed with a flourish.
Trynne accepted it graciously. “Thank you for taking the trouble, Captain.”
“It was no trouble at all, my lady,” he said with a smile. “I hope you will grace our fair kingdom soon with your presence. Good day to you.” He bowed again and departed. Benjamin escorted him to the doorway and out, but paused and looked back at Trynne as she examined the letter addressed to “My Lady” in an elegant hand.
She wondered if the letter were from Elwis at all. Poisoners were deceitful people, capable of anything. She opened herself to her magic, letting it test the paper, the seal, and the contents for signs of danger. There were none, which relieved her, but the dread she’d felt earlier, from the mere memory of Dragan, lingered. Her heart began to beat faster and she was overcome by the sudden urge to flee. Determined to face her terror with courage, she walked calmly and deliberately to the balcony and stepped outside into the fresh air.
There was a wall of fog out at sea, but it had not come ashore today. The air was flavored with eucalyptus and salt. Standing at the balcony edge, she suddenly felt vulnerable. The cliff down to the city below was sharp from her vantage point. She heard the jangle and clack of the carriage carrying her brother and grandparents as the horses started down the road leading to the House of Pillars, the place of judgment in Ploemeur, which her mother had long presided over.
To dispel her nervousness, she broke the wax seal and carefully unfolded the paper. The breeze tousled her hair as she leaned back against the railing and read the short message.
My Lady Trynne,
If my messenger has found you, then you are reading this on the morning of the Feast of St. Benedick. I will be awaiting you at the sanctuary of Our Lady of Marq. I have no expectations of you. I am filled with gratitude that you condescended to meet me. I would be lying if I said I was not looking forward to showing you the wonders of this great city where I spent much of my childhood. There is a beautiful fountain amidst the waterways that I am most eager to share. I think you will like it. I pray to the Fountain this will not be our only opportunity to grow better acquainted.
With great respect,
Elwis
Trynne blinked, feeling a rush of relief. Elwis had calmed her worries about the visit in one simple note. There were little clues throughout his message that his feelings for her were deeper than he’d expressed them to be. But he was determined to woo cautiously and allow her behavior to guide him. So unlike the daft nobles who had pressed for interviews with her in Averanche.
She read the letter again quickly, admiring the steady hand and penmanship. Had he copied the letter several times to get it right? She assumed he had not delegated the writing of such an intimate matter to one of his scribes.
It made her smile, and she pushed away from the railing and turned to look over the city once more. A sunrise in Averanche. A sunset in Marq. She was so grateful to have the ability to traverse the kingdom in a mere moment. It would be a memorable day, an opportunity that would not come again now that the threat of war was on the horizon.
There was a cracking noise in the distance, followed immediately by the screams of horses. Trynne’s heart lurched as her eyes went to the source. A plume of dust churned into the air, and she watched in horror as the carriage carrying her brother skidded off the side of the mountain, dragging the terrified horses with it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mortain Falls
There were no majestic, towering waterfalls in Brythonica. But Mortain Falls was just on the outskirts of Ploemeur, nestled in one of the beautiful hunting woods preserved by the house of Montfort. It was forbidden to hunt in the woods except by leave of the duchess. The falls were a series of steplike rocks, full of moss and fern, down which water fell steadily, radiating a comforting sound. Part of the stream was diverted around a larger outcropping, breaking the falls into two, around a cluster of fern and gorse. An ivy-covered shrine dedicated to Our Lady sat at the head of the falls, but there was a wooden deck built lower in the grotto that permitted visitors to come and throw coins into the water. Tarnished coins sparkled in the depths.
Mortain Falls was where the bodies of the dead rulers of Brythonica were sent to rest in the Deep Fathoms. The woods were thick and teeming with life, but the birds sounded less exuberant than usual as they observed the silent throng assembled at the falls.
Trynne stood in mute agony, wearing a black gown and a matching veil. The small canoe bearing her brother, Gannon, was carried by pallbearers. The body was covered in blankets to conceal the injuries that had inflicted his death. Sometimes it felt like a nightmare. If only she could pinch herself awake. She was broken to pieces inside, a boulder that had fallen off a cliff and shattered on the rocks below. Her grief came in waves that left her drowning. She clung to the rites of the Fountain for comfort as she assumed the roles she had inherited from both her parents. She had two vast realms to rule because there was no one else.
The pallbearers stood at the edge of the wooden platform, overlooking the small pool that emptied into a stream that would carry the body away. They stood silently, awaiting her orders. A nod was all it required. But she could not bring herself to give it.
She clung to a desperate hope that the Fountain would intervene, that one of her parents would arrive at the last instant, sent by the Fountain to speak the word of power that could revive Gannon. Trynne knew the word just as they did, but her mother had taught he
r never to use it against the Fountain’s will. It wouldn’t work, and the effort would likely kill her. In her grief, she had nearly risked it. She had waited to fulfill the funeral rite for two full days, hoping the Fountain would send her the message she so desperately wanted to receive. Hoping that someone or something would intervene.
She could still feel the Fountain magic. It offered a measure of solace in her darkest hours. But it did not grant her deepest desire.
Her eyes were sore from crying. She felt hollow. Her father’s eldest brother, Gannon’s namesake, had been strapped to a canoe and executed by waterfall following the Battle of Ambion Hill years before. It felt as if that horrible legacy had come full circle.
Trynne’s grandparents had also both died in the accident. Their bodies were being taken to Westmarch to be mourned after by the people who had once honored them as rulers.
The carriage had been demolished in the fall, but there was evidence that someone had tampered with the rear wheel. Trynne had not been the only horrified witness. Many people had watched the carriage plummet off the downward descent as it was making a turn. The momentum had carried it over the edge, and the weight had pulled the horses with it. Her mind instantly went to the thief Dragan. Had he sabotaged the wagon? Was he still intent on punishing her house in another act of grim revenge? Oh, if only she had caught him that day in Marq. She hoped she never saw him again. She was afraid if she did that she would violate one of the five oaths she had sworn.
