by Jeff Wheeler
“Hello, Trynne,” Sinia said, turning and greeting her with a sad smile. In the years since the king’s wedding, Sinia had often brooded over her husband’s fate. She was quick to smile and show concern for others, but often reverted back to thoughtful silence. “Are you ready to go to Kingfountain?”
“What were you looking at?” Trynne asked, joining her by the plinth. The book was a closely guarded secret. Just Myrddin, Sinia, Owen, and Trynne knew of it, and Trynne had been included only because she was training to be a Wizr. Myrddin was the one who had drawn the map with the ley lines during his many travels. Just looking at all the fine details filled Trynne with wonder.
She glanced down at the page and traced the ley line from Ploemeur to Kingfountain. A Wizr, using the magic summoned by the correct word of power, could travel to any point along the line nearly instantaneously. From Ploemeur, she could travel to Pree, Tatton Hall, Dundrennan, or Kingfountain. She’d been tempted more than once to suddenly appear at Dundrennan to surprise Fallon, who had been named the Duke of North Cumbria on his eighteenth birthday. They hadn’t met since parting that afternoon years before, and Trynne longed to see him again. She wondered if he was even taller now.
“I was just pondering this ley line,” Sinia said, gently touching Ploemeur and then grazing her finger over the east–west line. “This is a major ley line. See how few run parallel to it? There’s one far north . . . see how it runs through Legault? And there’s another east–west one to the south that runs through Brugia.” She touched her chin thoughtfully. “I was just wondering why there are so few that run east–west. There are more north–south ones. It’s just . . . strange.”
As Trynne squinted over the map, she saw her mother was right. The only ley lines that truly ran east–west were spaced quite far apart. From Ploemeur, the ley line going south reached the southern tip of Pisan. She wondered if that was where the poisoner school was located and felt an excited tingle.
“I’ve not noticed that before,” Trynne said, shaking her head. “There are so many ley lines, it’s always confusing to look at. Is there another map showing where these eastern ones go?” She pointed to the edge of the page.
Sinia shook her head. “No, love.” Her mother worked up a smile and then ran her fingers through Trynne’s hair. “It keeps getting shorter and shorter, Trynne, every time I look at you.”
Trynne swallowed guiltily and tried to appear unconcerned. “I don’t like it long.”
“Your husband might.”
“I’m not even sixteen, Mother! Please don’t say you and Father are planning a wedding for me already!”
Sinia cupped Trynne’s shoulders in her hands and looked her in the eyes. “Would we do that without telling you? When you reach Kingfountain, please give this letter to your father for me.” She pulled it from her girdle and handed it to Trynne. Her mother’s handwriting was impeccable and worthy of adoration. It was a reminder of another way in which Trynne fell short—she was far too impatient to worry about the quality of her penmanship.
“I will. I’m excited to see him again. It’s been a long fortnight.”
“It has,” Sinia said. She gave her daughter an incisive look. “Can I ask you a question, and will you be honest with me?”
Worry began to rattle inside Trynne’s heart. Had her mother found out about her training in the yard? Would she get in trouble for all the times she’d snuck the book of maps out of the fountain waters and studied the pages late at night after her mother was abed?
“Of course!” Trynne said after hardly a moment’s hesitation. She felt so guilty inside, yet she managed a lighthearted tone.
“Do you enjoy studying The Vulgate?”
The question caught her off guard. She wrinkled her brow. “Of course I like it. The stories are very interesting, and I love it when I discover a new word of power. I know twelve already.”
Sinia clasped her hands behind her back. “But do you enjoy it? Reading it is burdensome to you, is it not?”
Trynne felt guilt wash down her body into her toes. She couldn’t lie to her mother, not when addressed so honestly and openly. She knew what she ought to say. How many girls were given the chance to train to be a Wizr, an advisor of kings and rulers? It was a precious responsibility; without someone to utter the words of power to protect Brythonica, the duchy could be flooded. It was a duty she could not refuse until her brother came of age.
She didn’t know what to say, and that seemed to be all the confirmation Sinia needed.
“I see,” Sinia said with a hint of regret in her voice.
“Mother, I have tried,” Trynne said with all the pain of her inner turmoil. “And I will not give up. I have much to learn still. I . . . I truly enjoy some of the stories. There are just so many of them.”
“I’m not ashamed of you, Tryneowy,” her mother said gently. And yet there was a look of sadness in her eyes again. Of disappointment. “I want to share this part of my life with you. I enjoy teaching you. But I can sense that it’s not where your heart is.”
Trynne was miserable. “I’ve failed you.”
Sinia shook her head and then hugged her daughter. “No, you haven’t. We are just different, you and I.” She smoothed some hair away from Trynne’s brow. “When I was your age, I was in love with a boy who scarcely knew I existed, one I had only seen in my visions. A ruthless and corrupt king invaded my duchy to force me to marry him, and I had to turn to a tyrant for help.” Her mother looked at her with deep emotion. “I . . . I wanted to raise you in safety so that you wouldn’t have to feel what I did, but that was not to be.” Trynne knew her mother was talking about the attack that had stolen her smile, and also about the future they would have to face someday soon. Sinia took Trynne’s hands, squeezed them, and then kissed her knuckles. “Pardon a mother’s lament. You are growing up so fast.”
Tears stung Trynne’s eyes as she wrapped her arms around her mother and held her, suffering through her own sensations of guilt and worry and conflict.
“I love you, Tryneowy,” Sinia whispered, kissing her daughter’s hair. “Never forget that I always will. You are not a disappointment to me. I know you are trying very hard. Give my love to your father. Tell him I miss him.”
Trynne smiled, wiping her tears away with her wrist. She kissed her mother’s cheek and then, gripping the letter between her fingers, stepped over the rail of the fountain into the water. The water was repelled by her presence, shuddering away from her as if it were an animal afraid to be near.
Daughter and mother locked eyes until the mist rose to carry Trynne away.
CHAPTER NINE
Oath Maidens
When Trynne was a child, she had heard her mother whisper the word of power capable of transporting her across the realm to Kingfountain and back to Ploemeur. It was one of the first words she had discovered on her own. Kennesayrim. It drained the one who spoke it, but it also allowed him or her to use the ley lines to travel great distances. Trynne would arrive at Kingfountain in time for dinner.
Trynne loved using the ley lines to travel. It was like plunging off a waterfall—her stomach would tighten with fear, and thrill with the sense of falling. There was that moment of apprehension and concern that always happened, followed by pure giddiness when she opened her eyes and the mist parted to reveal a chamber in Kingfountain. She wasn’t powerful enough to bring someone with her yet, but her father always had an Espion waiting for her arrival on the other end. Captain Staeli would have the night off, and she imagined him enjoying a tankard of ale and kicking up his boots on a table with a self-satisfied smile. He was a soldier at heart and she could never draw him into conversations about anything other than weapons, fighting techniques, or war. If she ever tried discussing politics or trade, he’d just yawn and otherwise look disinterested.
The Espion waiting for her was Pedmond, one of Lord Amrein’s trusted men, and he greeted her warmly.
“Welcome, Lady Trynne,” he said with a bow. “Your father is wai
ting in the solar.”
“Any news, Pedmond?” she asked, stepping over the fountain rail and falling into step next to him. She was a little queasy from the journey, but knew from experience her stomach would probably settle within the hour.
He shrugged. “There is always news. I’m sure Duke Owen will apprise you of any he wishes you to know about.”
“You are always so courteous, but rarely very helpful,” Trynne complained, giving him an arch look. “I want gossip. Give me a morsel at the very least.”
“There is a Gauntlet coming up in Brugia’s capital,” Pedmond said. “The second time this year. They like to change theirs up regularly, making it more and more difficult. The bets are all in favor that Prince Elwis will remain the champion, though my money is on an upstart from Legault.”
Trynne raised her eyebrows. “What’s his name?”
“No one knows. People are calling him Bowman . An archer and they say he’s quite good if a bit cocksure. Maybe even Fountain-blessed. My money is on him, but the odds are in favor of the prince keeping his title.”
“That is much better, Pedmond. Thank you.”
“You are quite welcome, my lady. Captain Staeli wouldn’t approve of me speaking so freely with you, but you did insist.”
“I shall not tell him,” Trynne promised.
In due course, they reached the solar, where Owen was in conference with Lord Amrein. The spymaster’s hair was graying rapidly, but he still spoke with the energy and enthusiasm of a younger man. Her father’s hand was on his shoulder and they were both poring over a map on the table.
As she sidled up to her father, Trynne glanced down at the map, but she didn’t recognize the borders or the land shapes on it.
Her father looked up and brightened when he saw her. She gave him a hug, and he stooped to kiss her hair. “How is your mother?”
“Well enough,” she said, still feeling the guilt wriggling inside as a result of their last conversation.
Owen’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”
“We can speak of it later,” Trynne said, then looked down at the map again. “What is this?” She looked closer, squinting, but could not decipher any of the wording. The script was long and slanting, very elegant, with little curlicues and embellishments. It was a different alphabet than any she had seen.
“A map . . . well, an attempt at a map, of Chandigarl.”
“One of the eastern kingdoms?” Trynne asked.
“The most prominent one at the moment,” Owen answered. “There has been some blood-feuding over there in recent years, but it seems to be at an end. The region is ancient, and there have been . . . hostilities between our peoples over the centuries. In the past, Argentine kings have sent soldiers to fight in the borderlands far to the east to keep them from encroaching farther.” He looked up at Lord Amrein. “Tell her the recent news.”
Trynne gave the spymaster a fearful look. She loved talking politics with her father, but ever since Myrddin’s prediction and her mother’s vision, any news filled her with dread.
“Chandigarl has not had a single king for several generations. But there’s a man who has shown some promise. He’s young, according to the reports—not even thirty yet. He was driven from his capital as a boy, but after living in exile for many years, he retook his father’s city and proclaimed himself king. Instead of destroying his enemies, he has been getting them to serve him . . . Many are his distant kin. There are ancient palaces and fortresses in these lands, along with vast deserts that separate us.” Lord Amrein glanced at her father and he nodded. “They call him Gahalatine. And rumor is that he’s Fountain-blessed. If all of Chandigarl unites under him, it may be that he’ll turn his eye on us.”
A queer, dark feeling blotted Trynne’s soul like a shadow. “You think this is the threat, don’t you?” She was looking at her father.
“In the subtle details I’ve been able to pry from your mother’s vision,” Owen said solemnly, “we were attacked by a vast host that was not dressed in our manner. These are warriors, but their culture is different from ours. We know so little about them. This map, for example, is likely very inaccurate.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From a Genevese merchant,” Lord Amrein answered. “It cost a fortune, and it might well be a complete fabrication. We have no way of ascertaining its accuracy, yet it and other maps like it are our only window into that part of the world.”
“Are you going to attack them?” Trynne asked her father, her eyes bulging.
Owen smiled. “I have enough trouble of my own, Trynne. I’m not about to lead an army across the Marusthali Desert. Lord Amrein has Espion infiltrating the region and learning what they can. It would not be easy for an army to make the march. Hopefully, we would see them coming and fight them there instead of here.” He leaned back against the table and folded his arms. “The goal is to see how quickly we can receive word from the borderlands. It takes several weeks even by ship, but we are trying to trim the delay down to days. The area is so vast, though, that this has proven to be a challenge.”
“I could help,” Trynne offered, staring at her father. “There is a ley line from the southern tip of Pisan that goes eastward. I could—”
Her father held up his hand. “Now just a minute, Trynne. I’ve seen the book, and I know the one you are talking about. I won’t even let your mother travel that ley line. I’m not about to allow you.”
“But why not, Father?” she said, shaking her head. “It may be the fastest way to get information.”
The look in his eyes told her that pushing him would be pointless. “I appreciate your desire to help, Trynne. Truly.” He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “But I’ll not risk you in such a way. The ley line may go nowhere. Or it may send you straight to the middle of Chandigarl. No, I absolutely forbid you to try. If I thought you had, or were going to, I would have a guard stationed at the fountain night and day. But I know you won’t do something you’ve given your word about. Promise me, Trynne.”
He had outmaneuvered her again and it frustrated her. It was exasperating talking to someone who could think six steps ahead in a game of Wizr. But she knew he would insist on it, and if she refused, he would make good on his promise right there and then. She didn’t want to do anything to compromise his trust in her.
“Of course, Father,” she answered meekly. “I promise. I just wanted to do something to help.”
“I know, lass,” he said, smiling tenderly at her. “And I do appreciate it. When you came, you were a bit downtrodden. What is wrong?”
She glanced down at the map once more.
“I’ll be in the Star Chamber,” Lord Amrein said, correctly divining that father and daughter needed some time alone. He bowed and left the solar at once.
At first, Trynne couldn’t meet her father’s eyes, but feelings were bubbling inside her like seething soup in a kettle. Her father had given her permission to train with Captain Staeli. But he had no idea how far she had progressed, and she dared not tell him for fear he would revoke his permission. She also carried the burden of another secret: that the Fountain intended her to sit in her father’s chair after he fell in battle. Although she wanted to speak freely, she couldn’t, and her secrets were tormenting her.
Owen waited until she was ready to speak.
Her voice was tremulous, but she pressed on even though she hated showing weakness. “I want to do more than just deliver messages for you. When you were my age—”
“I was training for war at Dundrennan,” Owen said, interrupting her. He had a wise look in his eyes, as if he were trying to root out her secrets.
“Yes, I know that. That’s not what I’m asking. What was Lady Evie doing? Wasn’t she learning battle tactics as well? Was she allowed in the training yard?”
His brow wrinkled. “What’s this about, Trynne?”
She clenched her fists and tried to calm herself. He would not respect her ideas if she came across as too
emotional. Taking a deep breath, she said softly, firmly, “I don’t think that I am meant to be a Wizr.”
He didn’t seem shocked by her statement, but he waited a moment to respond, considering her words. “Is it because The Vulgate is so tedious to read?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Well, it is, but that’s not the reason. What I don’t understand is that if we are getting invaded by Chandigarl—”
“We don’t know that for certain.”
“I know, Father! Hear me out.” She clasped her hands together and started pacing, trying to choose her words carefully. “What I’m trying to say is why cannot the young women my age also train in the arts of war?”
As the words left her mouth, the door of the solar opened, revealing King Drew, Queen Genevieve, and Myrddin. Her cheeks flushed when she saw them enter, for she realized that she had spoken loudly and passionately enough for them to have heard her.
“I’m afraid we’re intruding,” Drew said, looking a little taken back. “I apologize. I should have knocked first.”
Owen chuckled. “This is your chamber, lad. No need to apologize. And we did agree to meet here for dinner. Lord Amrein and I wanted to share the map with you.”
The king nodded. “We saw him leaving and he mentioned you were both here. Hello, Trynne.” He flashed her a charming smile and bowed slightly. “Good to see you.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Trynne muttered, cheeks hot, her stomach twisting and flipping with embarrassment.
“What were you speaking to your father about?” Genevieve asked. She looked absolutely regal in her green gown studded with sparkling little beads of glass. A simple but beautiful coronet graced her dark hair. She walked up and gave Trynne a hug and pressed a kiss to her cheek. The queen had grown even more beautiful over the last few years, and had settled into her role with confidence and grace. Up close, Trynne noticed how much the dress accentuated her hazel eyes.
