by Jeff Wheeler
He nodded, his nose crinkled with suffering, but he bit back the pain.
Trynne released him and then helped him rise. He kneaded his calf, grimacing. The dawn still had not broken yet, and he was clearly winded.
“What happened while you were away?” he said, shaking his head at her. “You’re not the little girl I trained yesterday.” He straightened, rubbing his arm next.
She let out a sigh. “I am not, Captain Staeli. I have been chosen by the Fountain to protect the king. I am different now. I feel different. I guess you could say the Wizr cast a spell on me. The Fountain bids me go to Brugia and compete in the Gauntlet. Captain Staeli, I no longer need your protection.”
His eyes widened as if she’d suddenly slapped him in the face. In that brief unguarded moment, she saw real hurt. She was not an assignment to him, she realized, but almost like a daughter. He had watched over and protected her for much of her life. He had enjoyed training with her in the mornings, and the thought of being dismissed from her service was unbearably painful to him. But he was a soldier and a man, and would brook his disappointment with grim resignation. In that moment of decision, she saw his lip curl into a sad frown.
“If that is my lady’s wish,” he said solemnly.
She shook her head no. “Captain, I no longer require your protection. But I would appreciate your companionship. The Fountain bids me keep this secret from my parents and even from the king. I have been permitted to tell Queen Genevieve. And you.” She gave him one of her rare smiles.
His look softened considerably and a proud grin lifted his normally stoic mouth. “Truly? The Fountain . . . the Fountain knows me?”
“Yes, Captain. It does indeed. And I am grateful that I do not need to bear this secret alone. Have you heard the legends of the Oath Maidens?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Brugia
Trynne’s relationship with Captain Staeli changed significantly in the days following her humbling of him in the training yard. In fact, their roles reversed, and she became the teacher. Their early morning jaunts in the training yard started with him picking various weapons and asking her to teach him the techniques revealed to her by the Fountain. A rigorous master, he proved to be an equally adept learner. He hadn’t expected his charge to turn the tables on him, but there was no denying the power of her Fountain magic, and he was eager for the opportunity to test and improve his abilities.
As the time approached for the Gauntlet of Brugia, Trynne grew more and more anxious about how she was going to attend. She didn’t want to break her parents’ trust by using the ley lines without their permission. But taking a ship would likely be more dangerous, and it would certainly be more time consuming. Brugia’s capital, the city of Marq, was at a major intersection of ley lines. It was due south of Kingfountain, along a major north–south axis. It was also on the same east-west axis as the ley line that ran through Pisan, the one Trynne speculated ran eastward all the way to Chandigarl. There was a ley line from Ploemeur to Marq, so she could travel to that city instantaneously, which she felt in her heart was the best option. But she worried her mother or father would find out and banish her from the fountain rooms.
While she worried about her upcoming travel, she and Captain Staeli visited some Brugian merchant shops in Ploemeur. She was grateful that Brythonica was a trading nation, giving her access to the fashions from both continents. She bought a lovely dress from the merchant shop on her visit with Captain Staeli. The fashion for girls was a skirt with dark colors, deep maroon or violet or gray, with a front-lacing kirtle worn over a voluminous white chemise with garters at the wrist, elbow, and upper arm. It was also a Brugian tradition for both maids and men to wear stiff velvet hats in black with silver ribbons stitched into the base. These were not the puffy caps worn in Kingfountain; they fit closer to the head and fluted out slightly. Staeli also bought a costume in the Brugian fashion, one that was big enough to cover his hauberk. He grudgingly bought the black hat as well, though he was the sort of man who preferred leather hoods to such ceremonious attire. And he bought an extra costume for his “nephew”—one that Trynne would wear after arriving in Marq.
Trynne waited anxiously for the fortnight to pass, growing increasingly nervous. Her mother’s mood had gone somber after she’d learned of Myrddin’s departure. The king needed Sinia’s counsel more and more, and her responsibilities at Kingfountain had disrupted her duties as Brythonica’s duchess. But while Trynne’s mother was distracted, it remained to be seen whether the voyage to Brugia could be made in secret. With Sinia’s frequent departures, Owen’s parents were staying at the castle to help keep the order and ensure Gannon was diligently practicing his studies.
Trynne’s mother had a busy day of duties scheduled for the day of the Gauntlet, and Trynne hoped to depart Ploemeur after breakfast and return by the evening meal. She wondered if she would get to see Fallon while she was there—and if he would be able to recognize her in her disguise. The idea made her feel smug and excited at once.
The last day of waiting arrived, and that morning she found herself checking her pack once again to make sure it was ready. There was a knock at her door and Trynne was startled to find her mother’s lady-in-waiting behind it. Her name was Blanche.
“Tryneowy, your mother would like to see you ere she departs for the House of Pillars. Can you come?”
“Of course,” Trynne answered, her stomach suddenly aflutter with nerves. She knew it was the Fountain’s will that she go to the Gauntlet in Marq. But it had left the arrangements to her. Walking nervously to her mother’s sitting room, she took a deep breath and then entered, trying to appear calm and free of worries.
“Yes, Mother?” she asked. Her mother was sitting at the table, brushing her golden hair, but she looked ill at ease. When Trynne entered, Sinia set down the brush and quickly rose.
“What’s wrong?” Trynne asked her, giving her a concerned look.
Sinia approached and took her hands, her expression brooding. “I had a strange vision last night,” she said in a low voice, and Trynne’s stomach began to flop like a fish tossed on a plank.
“You did?” she replied, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. “Of what?”
Sinia’s brow furrowed even more and she clutched her daughter’s hands. “You will be sixteen soon and I know I should trust you more.”
A spasm of fear shot through Trynne. Her mother knew something was amiss. Her skin went cold and she felt a tremor starting in her knees.
“I had a vision of you in Brugia,” Sinia said, all but confirming Trynne’s worst fear. Would her mother forbid her from going? Why was her assignment turning out to be so difficult?
Trynne’s mouth was so dry she needed to swallow. “Brugia?”
“Yes. I’ve not been there myself, but it was very clear to me in the vision that you were there. I saw you with Captain Staeli.”
Before Trynne could form any response, her mother continued. “Trynne, there is an old sanctuary in the capital city of Marq. There are a lot of waterways, so there is an abundance of bridges and boats. It’s very lovely. I saw you and Captain Staeli at a bookmaker’s shop across the bridge from the sanctuary. You were holding a book in your hand. A rare copy of The Vulgate. It was in the window of the shop. I saw you buy it.” She sighed. “Trynne, I believe the Fountain wishes you to go to Brugia to retrieve that book. It may help with your Wizr training. I have to admit that I’m very nervous about letting you go. Brugia is not friendly to our family, and you are not used to bringing people with you on the ley lines.”
A gush of excitement and gratitude flooded Trynne’s heart. The Fountain was aiding her! She willed herself not to smile, but she couldn’t help beaming.
“I know that you have always wanted to travel,” her mother said, shaking her head. “Perhaps it is the Fountain’s attempt to meet your wishes. It does respond to our thoughts in its gentle way. Trynne, do be careful! I will worry about you until you return. Marq is full of waterways, and
you remember how sometimes water affects the magic, don’t you? Water can protect you, of course, but it sometimes breaks apart other spells.
“Do you think you are strong enough to take someone with you? If you’d like, I could bring Captain Staeli there myself to make sure all is clear. I don’t know why the Fountain isn’t sending me; I could be there and back in half a moment. But I think it wants to test you. To give you an opportunity to develop your power.” Sinia gave her an encouraging smile.
“I would relish this opportunity!” Trynne said, squeezing her mother’s hands hard. “Thank you, Mother!”
Sinia gently touched her hair. “In my vision, I saw you wearing a dress in the Brugian fashion. It would help conceal your identity, at any rate. There are those from Brythonica in Brugia, though not many. I’d feel better about this journey if you did go in some sort of disguise. And I trust Captain Staeli. He is an able protector.”
“I would like to try bringing him through myself. If I’m too sick or weak, then you can do it, but I’d like to try, Mother. If that’s all right.”
Sinia sighed again as she hugged her daughter. “You are growing up too fast, Tryneowy. I wish you could be a little girl for a while longer.”
Trynne felt so grateful for her mother in that moment, for her wisdom and for her devotion to the Fountain, how she heeded its directions even though her mother’s heart worried.
“Mother?” Trynne asked. “Tomorrow is the Gauntlet of Brugia. I believe it is being held in Marq.”
Sinia nodded. “Actually, it is,” she said warily. “The city will be very crowded.”
“But can I go? Would you let me?” Trynne gave her mother the most pleading look she could muster. Her heart shuddered with eagerness.
Sinia watched her thoughtfully, her brow wrinkling in concern. “Well, since Captain Staeli is going with you . . .” She let the thought dangle, and Trynne grinned and kissed her mother’s cheek.
“Thank you! I will return after the Gauntlet tomorrow.”
Sinia patted her hands and then turned to go back to her dressing table. “You can tell me who won,” she said, and Trynne felt a throb of mischief in her heart.
The city of Marq was the most fascinating place that Trynne had ever experienced. It smelled different, looked different, and sounded different—and she was thrilled to the quick of her soul to be there. The sanctuary of Our Lady of Marq had been built centuries ago, commissioned by a past ruler who had shared affinity for the religion of Occitania and Ceredigion. The people of Brugia were not devout, and no one but visitors threw coins into the fountains. The sanctuary was made of brown-gray stone and it was much shorter than the edifices she had seen in Brythonica and Ceredigion, and certainly not as impressive as the island sanctuary of Our Lady of Toussan. But it had beautiful arched windows, decorated stone apexes, and flying buttresses that held up the central spire. The grounds were vibrant and green, full of meticulously trimmed, blooming trees that were uniform in height, each surrounded by knee-high hedges that were carved to form paths around the grounds. Larger, more ancient trees intermingled with the wizened buildings.
When they left the grounds of the sanctuary, they passed over a narrow stone bridge crossing a lane of brackish water. There were little plants growing in the cracks and seams along the bridge’s face, probably wisteria. As Trynne crossed, trying not to look as excited as she felt, she watched the small gondolas pass beneath, full of passengers wearing the fashions of Brugia. She decided she’d have to ride in one before she left. It looked enchanting.
The air smelled of dampness and mold and smoked cheese and she leaned on the bridge rail, inhaling the pungent fumes with enjoyment. The magic thrummed inside her and she realized she was not at all depleted by the trip. If anything, she was stronger because of it. The ley line paths had been so easy to follow.
Captain Staeli, however, looked a little greensick. Trynne waved at him to follow her across the rest of the bridge, and he heaved a sigh and did her bidding.
Another strange thing she noticed about the Brugians was their penchant for dogs. On the sanctuary grounds, in the crowded streets—everywhere she looked there were lithe whippets. At least one in five people had one on a leash. She absorbed the information greedily, again feeling her magic swell and increase. If she had her choice, she would cross to distant lands every day to watch and learn.
As she walked with Staeli through the busy streets, seeking the bookmaker’s shop her mother had described to her, Trynne remembered one of her father’s lessons. He had once traveled in disguise as a knight of Duke Horwath, and it had taught him how much appearances matter. Wearing the badge of another duke, looking the part of a household knight, had changed the way people treated him. Whereas he was usually the focus of attention when he traveled as the Duke of Westmarch, he had been ignored as a household knight, and it had allowed him to operate undercover. The principle was on display before her. No one paid her any special attention because her style of dress matched that of the other young women her age.
How strange her magic had become after taking the oaths. Its power had grown so vast, and it roiled inside her. She felt unstoppable, full of potential.
“I think that must be the shop,” Staeli said, gesturing to a bookmaker’s shop. Trynne paused at the grimy window and peered inside. The shop was crowded, and the wonderful smell of old books exuded from it. There it was in the window—an old text with a battered leather cover. Her mother had told her to look for the red ribbon sewn into the spine. It peeked out at her.
Trynne went into the shop. She wasn’t concerned about speaking to the owner. She knew the word of power to master languages and whispered it before entering. Xenoglossia.
The owner was an excessively chatty man in his midthirties with dark hair and a self-confident demeanor. He insisted each book in his shop was a particular masterpiece, citing to Trynne how many days each one had cost him in labor and materials, and seemed almost reluctant to part with any of them. When she pointed to the one in the window, he confessed he hadn’t made that one, that it was expensive because it was so old, and few people could read the ancient script anymore. Only a collector would want it.
“It would be valueless to a young thing like you,” he said breezily. “It’s full of old tales of lords and ladies and the like written by some gout-ridden deconeus, I imagine. Are you sure you want it? I have a newer version over here that was translated by Tibbet. I printed it myself, so it’s of the finest craftsmanship. It will cost far less.”
“No, I like the antique look of it,” Trynne said, turning the book over in her hands.
“It is an antique,” the owner said, taking it from her and rubbing his palm across the cover as if it were a beloved friend. “I don’t even know why I put it in the window yesterday. I hadn’t planned on selling it. Are you sure you want it? It is nearly unreadable. I think you’d like Tibbet’s translation of The Vulgate better. Really, lass, I’m not sure I want to part with it.”
Trynne felt annoyed that he was playing such games.
“Well, I think I saw an older-looking book down the street,” she said, glancing at Staeli. “Maybe I’ll spend my coins there instead.”
“Don’t be hasty, don’t be hasty,” the proprietor said, flashing her a cunning grin. He bobbed his head a few times as he continued to stroke the book. “Since you really just want it for a decoration, as I fancy you do, then perhaps I could be persuaded to . . . I’m not sure . . . perhaps around thirt— twenty florins?”
A sudden feeling prickled in the air, nearly drowning out the man’s words. There were other patrons in the shop as well, poring over books and waiting for a turn to haggle with the owner. But Trynne sensed that Fountain magic was approaching the store from the outside. Even though the streets were crowded with people and their dogs, she sensed the disruption in the current. That feeling was getting closer.
Trynne frowned, feeling suddenly vulnerable. Had her arrival attracted unwanted attention? Had her use of t
he magic in changing languages alerted another Fountain-blessed that she was there?
Her stomach thrummed with worry. She gave Captain Staeli a warning look and watched his hand drop to the hilt of his short sword.
“Was it thirty or twenty?” Trynne demanded, feeling harried to be done.
“Which can you afford?” he pressed.
“How about twenty-five, or I’ll leave without purchasing anything,” Trynne shot back.
“I’m sure your father can afford five more florins?” he said, nodding to Staeli.
Trynne felt the presence of the magic press up against the window of the bookstore. She felt her insides writhe with worry.
“Thirty, then,” Trynne huffed. She dug into her purse and produced the proper coinage. The shop owner took the money and then handed her the book.
“A pleasure, lass,” he said, wrinkling his brow as he looked over her shoulder at the window.
Trynne felt someone watching her. She could sense someone who was Fountain-blessed standing outside, beyond the glass, looking in. She knew that they could sense her just as she could sense them. Angry at being discovered, she turned to the window to see who was staring at her.
There was no one there.
Revenge is drinking poison. One who is injured ought not return the injury, for on no account can it be right to do an injustice; and it is not right to do evil to any man, however much we have suffered from him.
Myrddin
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dragan
Fear struck Trynne’s chest like a javelin. She could sense the presence of another Fountain-blessed, as clearly as if he were standing before her, but there was no one visible. Almost a decade after her attack, she still remembered the sensation of being a little girl alone in her room, sensing that someone was there. Her father only knew one man who had such a cursed gift from the Fountain. The thief known as Dragan, her father’s mortal enemy.
