by Jeff Wheeler
Genny sighed and gave Trynne a look of pure determination. “I want you to do the king’s bidding and go to the Forbidden Court with Morwenna. I need you to try and rescue my mother. But more importantly, I need to know if Morwenna has been telling us the truth about her visits there. My heart tells me there is a spy among us. I suspect Morwenna, but perhaps I’m wrong. She’s proved her loyalty over and over. However,” she added, tapping her lip, “she is also an Argentine. Her father used to be the king. I cannot help but wonder if her loyalties are conflicted. Still, the spy may be Fallon or someone we haven’t even considered. I only know that someone has revealed our secret councils to Gahalatine. Someone has prepared his army for this invasion. There is a saying that Myrddin often repeated. ‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a thousand battles.’ That was how your father kept winning. He took the time to understand his opponents. I think our enemies have been studying us for many years.”
Trynne felt a shiver go through her. “I think you are right.”
Genny nodded firmly. “Be careful, Trynne. Morwenna doesn’t know you are an Oath Maiden. She has possibly become too powerful.”
Trynne let out her breath. “If I must go, then I think you should summon some of the Oath Maidens to Kingfountain to protect you. None of the others are Fountain-blessed, at least not that I’ve sensed, but they are skilled fighters. I would advise choosing Rani Reya or Mariette.”
“Mariette, merchant Barton’s widow, correct?”
“You have an excellent memory.”
Genny smiled. “Thank you. I will summon Mariette to wait on me. Any others you should send to Brythonica to ease your worries. Trynne, my husband believes his sister is loyal. I’ve shared my suspicions with him, but he cannot bring himself to believe it. He does not know what I’m asking you to do. Once you get there, you may be cut off from the ley lines. Remember how Reya told us that the women are kept in a compound called the zenana? That is where you will likely find my mother. You have a ring that can disguise you, the one that Morwenna originally gave Fallon. But there may not be any ley lines to help you escape. If Morwenna is planning you any harm . . .” Genny bit her lip and shook her head helplessly. “I know it’s a great risk. I hate to ask this of you, but I must. You’re the only one I can trust with such a mission.”
Trynne gave Genevieve a fierce hug. “Don’t you worry about me, Genny. I’m confident that I can get away if I need to. I didn’t only take the staff from Rucrius. He was also carrying a device the Chandigarli call a Tay al-Ard. It’s one of the magics of the Deep Fathoms, I think, and it allows the user to transport from place to place without using the ley lines at all. Morwenna doesn’t know that I have it.” She paused, then added, “I don’t think Rucrius is truly loyal to Gahalatine. When I interrogated him, he said he knew where my father was. That he’s been held prisoner, forced to wear a mask. Somehow his memories have been stolen from him. If Morwenna wants to prove her loyalty, then perhaps she can help us get information about where he’s being kept.”
Genevieve nodded. “While you are in the Forbidden Court, learn what you can about our enemy. We need to understand Gahalatine. We need to understand how he can afford to pay such exorbitant bribes. His wealth cannot be unlimited. Find that out, if you can. Then perhaps we can discern where he will strike next.”
The conversation with the queen had filled up Trynne’s reservoir of magic. She had always loved discussing politics with her father, plotting and planning maneuvers that would help them achieve their ends. A memory struck her in a flash that could only have come from the Fountain.
She smiled eagerly. “I think it was Ankarette who said that the best way to predict the future is to make it happen. Why wait to see where Gahalatine strikes next? We know what he wants. The hollow crown. He will go to wherever Drew is to get it. Some say Castle Beestone is the most defensible fortress because it is in the center of the land, but I know from my father that it is riddled with tunnels and caves. No, the strongest fortress is Dundrennan. It is the source of the river that flows down here. Fighting a battle in a winter storm would make any soldier quail. Even ones who can fly.”
The smile that came onto Genevieve’s face made Trynne flush.
“I am so grateful,” the queen whispered tenderly, “that you are on our side.”
Trynne stood in her room at the castle of Averanche, holding the Tay al-Ard in her hand. She had forewarned Mariette that the queen would summon her to the palace. The beautiful widow had bowed graciously, failing to conceal a look of eager excitement. Trynne had also spoken privately with Reya.
Trynne was prepared for her journey, dressed in the outfit Reya had worn while fleeing Chandleer Oasis, with two of the hook swords that Reya had commissioned from the blacksmith concealed in a long lute case strapped around her shoulder. She had used them in the training yard with Reya and liked how light and fast they were. She’d also had a scroll case brought to her to conceal the Tay al-Ard.
It was Trynne’s plan to avoid setting a time for their departure from Kingfountain. She did not want to give Morwenna the opportunity to plan an ambush.
Trynne stared at the device in her hand, then at herself in the mirror. The disguising ring was on her finger, but she had not yet activated it. One of her ideas was to make herself look like Reya until she reached the zenana. Then she would wander around the place until she found Lady Evie and dropped her disguise. But she hoped Reya’s outfit might be enough to help her blend in with the local populace.
Only at the end, if Morwenna proved trustworthy, would she reveal she had the Tay al-Ard. The betrayal, if it happened, would likely occur as soon as they were away from the protection of the ley lines.
After examining her costume in the mirror, she turned the device in her hand. There were no buttons or symbols on it. Her whole plan hinged on it working. When the Wizrs had used it in her presence, none of them had uttered a word of power aloud. Perhaps the device was sentient and could know her thoughts?
She fixed her thoughts on the queen’s private chamber, imagining it in as much detail as she could muster. Before she could think the word of power that allowed her to travel across the ley lines, there was a jolt, followed by a searing spasm of movement, and then an instant of nausea and dizziness. She had just finished blinking when she realized it had worked. She was in the queen’s private chamber. The rod tingled in her hand, and she felt the ebbing of Fountain magic. Not from her stores, though. The journey had taken nothing from her at all.
Smiling in triumph, she strapped the device to her forearm, covering it with the sleeve of Reya’s loose garment. Everything she had prepared for the journey had come with her. There was no one else inside the chamber.
When she left Genevieve’s room, she startled the guards who had been standing at attention. She smiled at them, nodded politely, and then started walking down the corridor toward her intended goal. She passed servants, who gave her strange looks, and found her way to the iron door that was always locked. Standing at the door, she gripped the handle.
“Ephatha,” Trynne uttered, and the lock twisted open on its own.
She was headed up to the poisoner’s tower.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Forbidden Court
Trynne’s heart was full of trepidation and excitement as she mounted the steps to Morwenna’s tower. She reached out with her magic, just a little trickle to avoid any dangers or traps that might block the way. The tower well was dark, but there were arrow slits in the wall that served as little beacons of light. Her heart beat wildly, both from the climb and from nervousness. In her mind, she pictured her father as a young boy, following Ankarette Tryneowy up the cold steps.
Her breath was coming quickly by the time she reached the top of the winding staircase. She sensed the presence of magic coming from the room and slowed her steps. Cautiously, she knocked at the door—a sound that echoed all the way down the tower shaft. Her insides twisted with concern as she
waited.
When no one answered, she reached out and tried the handle. It was locked. The word of power released the mechanism and the handle turned without Trynne touching it. Taking a breath and holding it, she pulled the door open, her senses taut, ready for action.
The room smelled of dried flowers. The curtains were open, providing sufficient light to see the tower’s simple furnishings. It would not be easy to carry a bed and feather mattress up and down stairs, so it came as no surprise that the bed against the wall matched the one she’d seen when her father had brought her up the tower’s winding stairs years before. The embroideries that Ankarette had made were all gone, save one. It was an embroidery of the White Boar, Duke Severn’s sigil, done by an expert hand.
Morwenna was not in the room.
“Hello?” Trynne called out as she entered. She stepped in cautiously, feeling the soft carpet absorb the noise of her steps. There was a brazier stocked with blackrock, but it wasn’t lit. The desk showed a beautiful mirror, Genevese craftsmanship, with a series of brushes and paints and lotions. Strands of black hair clung to the brushes. Trynne felt she was invading a private sanctuary.
The source of the magic was in the room. It had beckoned to her while she climbed the steps. Trynne hurriedly examined the contents of the table—an assortment of vials, mortars and pestles, and the accoutrements of the poisoner craft. There were concoctions already made, little vials full of amber, red, and purple ichor. Her magic warned her of the danger emanating from them. Looking at them made her skin crawl.
Would Morwenna have left any incriminating evidence in her tower? If so, where would it be hidden? It was probably still true that none of the palace staff came up there. The other entrance to the poisoner’s tower was in the kitchen, which was how Ankarette had always received her meals, left on the counter by Liona. There was a bottle of wine on a small stand by the bed, half full.
Beneath the bed, she spied a chest. Trynne listened at the doorway and heard nothing. She might not get another chance like this. Kneeling by the edge of the bed, she dragged the low chest out. But there was no magic emanating from the chest at all. There were not even any locks on it. Biting her lip, she flipped the latch that sealed it and lifted the lid.
The chest was full of men’s clothes. A tunic, a shirt, a pair of boots. But it was a badge on one of the tunics that made her heart sink like a stone. The badge of the Pierced Lion. The badge of the duke of the North. Tears pricked Trynne’s eyes as she lifted the garment to her nose. Jealousy made her feel like that pierced lion. The tunic smelled like Fallon. There was a change of his clothes in a chest beneath Morwenna’s bed. Her hands started to shake, and that’s when she heard the sound of footfalls coming from the stairwell. It was a light step. It was an urgent step.
Trynne hardly had time to consider the implications of her discovery. Her time had run out. But even as she hurriedly put the tunic back into the chest, she thought back on the clues she had witnessed before. Morwenna always told the story of how she’d accidentally appeared in Dundrennan the first time she’d used the ley lines—and then immediately fainted. She had claimed that she was trying for Kingfountain and overshot it. But Trynne realized that had probably been a lie. Morwenna likely lied a lot.
The bitter taste in her mouth was stronger than any poison. Fallon had confessed his love for Trynne. Said that he had always loved her. But had her rejection of him estranged him enough that he’d sought solace in the willing arms of another woman? She hated where her thoughts had taken her and the feelings they were breaking loose. She slid the chest beneath the bed and hurriedly sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to mask her emotions and feelings in preparation for Morwenna’s arrival.
The Argentine girl slowed her steps as she approached the landing. Trynne leaned forward, entwining her fingers, summoning her magic to defend herself if necessary. She felt Morwenna’s magic as well, spilling into the room to test for intruders. They were both aware of each other, as they had been that day in Marq. The day that Trynne and Captain Staeli had chased Dragan through the city. The day she’d first learned that Morwenna had been seeing Fallon.
Morwenna appeared in the doorway, a dagger in hand, a look of wariness on her beautiful face.
“Trynne?” Her voice was low, almost accusatory.
“I’m here,” Trynne answered, rising and clutching her bosom. “I was winded after the climb up the stairs. I’ve not been here long.”
Morwenna paused at the entry, looking suspiciously at either side of the doorway, as if anticipating an attack. She slowly lowered the dagger.
“I barely recognized you in your Eastern garb,” Morwenna said. “Where did you get it? It’s very authentic.”
“I borrowed it from someone,” Trynne answered, deliberately vague. “I think we should go to Chandigarl now. It is nearly sunset. What time of day would it be in the Forbidden Court?”
“I hadn’t heard you’d returned to Kingfountain. No one sent for me.” Morwenna glanced around the room surreptitiously, as if trying to see if any of her things had been rifled through.
“I just arrived.”
“Apparently so.” Her wariness was softening. “I’m sorry for my lack of courtesy, Trynne. I don’t entertain visitors up here . . . very often. You startled me.”
Was there a double meaning in her words? A test to see Trynne’s reaction? She wrestled with her feelings.
“I’m not surprised to hear it. It’s quite a climb.”
Morwenna shrugged. “Sunset means it is nearly sunrise in Chandigarl. I’ve found the timing to be quite opposite whenever I’ve gone there. This works well for two reasons. Firstly, the corridors will be mostly filled with servants, so we will not seem out of place. Secondly, I’ve just given Rucrius a sleeping draft. He’ll be unconscious for a long time. Some poisons impede magic. I’m sure you’ve probably guessed that. It would be better for us to leave while the potion is still working. Shall we go to the fountain, then?” She finished her words with an encouraging smile.
“Will you need to change your clothes?” Trynne asked.
Morwenna shook her head. “I have a ring that alters my appearance and radiates very little magic. There are so many treasures in the Forbidden Court, so many relics of the Deep Fathoms, ours will hardly stand out. Have you had any word from Lady Sinia? I do miss her guidance.”
Trynne had to breathe deeply to endure the stab of pain in her heart. She shook her head no.
“I pray to the Fountain she is well,” Morwenna said graciously. The two young women started down the steps together, and Morwenna linked arms with her as she’d done so often in the past.
It made Trynne cringe inside.
There was nothing in Morwenna’s demeanor or attitude that hinted she was about to perform trickery. After walking together to one of the palace fountains—each was guarded by Espion day and night—Morwenna stepped into the waters without any hint of ceremony, her arm still linked with Trynne’s. Trynne followed and they both stood together.
Into the cistern, Trynne thought, her stomach full of butterflies. It was a motto of courage she’d learned from her father. He’d feared heights when he was a child, but Lady Evie had grasped his hand and jumped into the water of the cistern at Kingfountain with him—an experience that had awoken his bravery.
“First, we go to Pisan,” Morwenna said. “It intersects the east-west ley line. Normally I would have brought us to Marq or Guilme, but both are controlled by Gahalatine.” She uttered the word of power in a low voice, “Kennesayrim,” and the magic pulled them away on the ley line. It was a familiar sensation now, and in an instant, they were standing in a small circular fountain at the poisoner school. Night had just fallen, and Trynne saw the torches on the walls, flickering orange light. The stone sconces were sculpted into the form of twisting snakes and the walls were made of wood and plaster. An old, mildewy smell of waterways and damp corners filled the air.
Morwenna wrinkled her nose, still clutching Trynne’s
arm. “Have you been to Pisan before?” she asked.
“Never,” Trynne replied.
“I would offer to show you around. The training yard is unlike anything you’ve seen, I’m sure. But perhaps another time would be better.”
Trynne nodded.
Morwenna smiled impishly. “I’ve gone to Chandigarl many times, Trynne. There are so many people, you couldn’t possibly imagine it.” She gave Trynne a coaxing smile. “Now be ready. It’s a long fall.”
The poisoner uttered the word of power again, but this time the feeling of falling down a waterfall persisted for much, much longer. Trynne’s stomach roiled with sickness and nausea as the magic swept them away. Would the journey never end? There was a fear that it might not, that she was trapped beneath some enormous cascade of water that fell into oblivion. She felt Morwenna’s arm tighten against hers.
Suddenly, they arrived. Trynne wobbled, wanting to fall down, but Morwenna held her up and uttered the word, “Anthisstemi.” It was the same word Myrddin had used when he had taken her to make her oaths.
Trynne straightened, feeling her strength instantly return.
“Thank you,” she muttered, disentangling their arms. The very air felt different, full of humidity and moisture and strange smells. She was used to the noise of morning birds chirping, but this land was full of clicking insects mixed with a different kind of birdsong.
Even the fountain was different. Instead of it being a circle, it was made of a series of half-circles at odd angles to each other. The porcelain tiles were a rich blue, and the waters had a greenish cast. No coins were resting in the basin.
Morwenna stepped outside of the fountain and her image shimmered as she disguised herself in courtly dress. Her hair was still black, but now it was done up into intricate ringlets that cascaded down from a series of headdresses. Her skin was darker, her eyes slanted, but Trynne could still tell it was Morwenna. The disguise could not shield that truth from Trynne’s magic.
