by Jeff Wheeler
“You’re speechless,” he said. “That’s a first. I blurt out my feelings for you and you gape at me like a codfish.” There was a gleam in his eye as he heaved a theatrical sigh. “Well, I’ve probably startled you. Think on what I’ve said.” He squeezed her fingers again, then released her hand and brushed his thumb against the corner of her mouth, the part that could smile. “Why do you think I’ve teased you with the name Cousin for so many years? I often say the opposite of what I feel. I’m an inconsiderate jack.”
“Stronger words than that come to mind,” Trynne said at last, finally able to unloose her tongue. She’d been wrestling with her feelings, at the surprise—nay, glee—that his words had unleashed inside of her.
“Let’s have them, then!” he said with a delighted smirk.
“First off, you are cruel,” she said with a smile of her own. “You’ve taunted me for years. You’re saying that all this time you were declaring yourself?”
“Some men woo with honeyed words. I woo with vinegar.” He shrugged.
“You are impossible.”
“Impossible, incorrigible, incomprehensible, infallible, impassible, and incontrovertible as well.”
“You forgot unintelligible,” Trynne muttered darkly, enjoying the banter and the shared memory.
“Only because I ran out of breath!” he added with laughter. Then he looked over her shoulder. “What a sunset,” he breathed. “Look at it.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around to face it. The sun was making the ocean molten silver. A few wispy clouds hung on the horizon, flaming orange and purple. The surf crashed against the cliff walls. She felt him behind her, standing close, his fingers still resting on her shoulders.
“And here I am, flirting with the Lady of Averanche. Well, tomorrow I will flirt with you in Pree.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “My, but you are short. Sometimes I think you’re still only twelve.”
She butted him in the ribs with her elbow, hard enough to make him gasp.
“Guff! I deserved that.”
“You did.” The breeze smelled of sea and salt and wildness. She leaned back against him, knowing she should break the spell he was casting around her heart, as his arms wrapped around her shoulders. Her mother had seen a vision of her marrying someone else. She wondered, obliquely, if that future lover would be a stranger who didn’t know her past, her deformity. She blinked rapidly, feeling pain strike her heart in a way that nearly made her flinch. No, she wanted to savor this moment with Fallon. She wanted to watch the sunset with him before going down to the solar and entertaining him as an honored guest.
Love was such a fragile thing.
The next morning, before dawn, Trynne was in her room, fastening on a leather arm bracer, when a knock sounded on the door. Her maid, Adalie, was a sprightly girl of fourteen. She rushed to the door and stopped there.
“Who is it?” she asked in a whisper.
Trynne didn’t hear the muffled response, but Adalie quickly unlocked the door and opened it. Captain Staeli strode in, already wearing his training gear. She gave him a concerned look. “What’s wrong, Captain?”
He scratched his beard. “I thought it best if you knew before coming down. The lord of Dundrennan is in the training yard. Should I send him away?”
Trynne blinked in surprise. “I didn’t think he rose this early.”
Staeli shrugged, unruffled as always. “It’s your castle, my lady. Do you think he suspects you?”
“Suspects me of what?” she asked.
“That you were the one he saw at the Gauntlet.”
Trynne frowned. “He hasn’t said a word about it. But I don’t think it would be wise if he caught us in the training yard this morning. I support canceling our regular training for the day. I should go entertain our guest.”
“Wearing that?” the captain asked archly.
Trynne shook her head. “No, I’ll change first. Thanks for the warning, Captain.”
He bowed and then turned away.
Adalie gave her a mischievous grin after Staeli was gone. “He’s rather handsome, my lady,” she said slyly.
“You think so? Captain Staeli has never struck me that way.”
Adalie’s smile grew even wider. “You know that’s not who I meant. Which gown would you like me to fetch?”
“Preferably one I can still swing a sword in,” Trynne answered with a raised eyebrow. “The blue one with the silver sleeves.”
After the quick change, she walked down to the training yard of the castle. It was much smaller than the one she was used to in Ploemeur, but it served the need. She had presumed that Fallon would linger abed all morning. She was a little surprised at his self-discipline, but then, he had been training for the Gauntlets.
When she reached the yard, he was sweating profusely, kneeling down with a hand resting on his sword pommel and his breath coming hard. He wore a comfortable jerkin and pants that gave no nod to his rank. She caught the glint of the chain around his neck showing the prizes he had won. He saw her approaching him from the bailey doors.
“I didn’t think you liked getting up early,” she said, hands clasped behind her back.
He rose and flourished with the sword. “I don’t. I hate it, in fact. But I do it because I am determined. All the best swordsmen in the realm train early. Strange, but true. I’d hoped to find Staeli here this morning. I’m disappointed in the man.”
Trynne blinked innocently at him. “He usually is here,” she said, glancing around as if trying to spy him in the shadows.
“Well, as long as you’re up, my lady,” he said, walking over to the weapons rack. “I suppose I could give you a lesson this morning.” He grabbed another sword from the rack and then walked over and handed it to her.
Was he testing her to see if she was the woad-faced boy who had saved him in Brugia? She stared at the blade.
“Here,” he insisted, wagging the blade at her. She took it. “Remember when we were younger? You wanted to train as a knight?”
“I remember,” she said, squeezing the weapon’s cool, leather-bound grip. He’d chosen a lighter blade for her. “So you’re going to teach me?”
“I’ve never understood the prejudice against women learning to fight,” he said, positioning himself a few steps away from her. “I heard you argued for it at court.” He raised his sword in an overhanging guard. “Come on. Follow what I do.”
Trynne stifled a smile. With her magic, she reached out to him, just a little test. He had been trained and was no novice. But he was accustomed to his opponents holding back because he was a prince. Despite his urging them to work him hard, too many had flattered him.
“Like this?” Trynne asked, bringing up her blade to mirror his, but she let her elbow droop.
“Yes, exactly. Your elbow, a little higher.”
Good for him.
“There was a young man at the Gauntlet in Marq,” he continued, moving to his left by crossing his legs in front of him. Instinctively, she began to rotate with him to keep him from flanking her. Her skirts concealed her movement. “Had half his face painted in woad.”
“In woad, you say?” she replied, trying to sound interested.
Fallon was giving her a knowing look. He did suspect her. She sensed what he was going to do just before he did it. He was going to try to trick her into revealing herself by attacking in a startling way. Someone trained in the sword would respond by instinct, thus falling into the trap.
He had no idea what she really could do.
Suddenly he double-stepped forward and swept the sword around toward her neck. It would have terrified a normal person, but she sensed his intention was not to harm her. It would have been all too easy to block, counter, and leave him on the ground weaponless.
Trynne gasped in surprise and flung down her blade. It clattered loudly on the stone.
“Fallon Llewellyn, are you trying to kill me?” she said in mock surprise, backing away from him.
He looked confused
and chagrined at how his plan had backfired.
“I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry! Forgive me!” he babbled, holding up his other hand while lowering his sword arm.
“I thought you were supposed to teach me,” she said, trying to sound rattled.
“I’m very sorry. It was part of the lesson. I should have warned you.” He was still reeling from her unexpected reaction. “You see, you never know when someone is going to really attack you. The overhanging guard, like the one I showed you, helps to counter a blow like that.”
Trynne knew all this, but she enjoyed seeing him so discomfited. “Well, what was I supposed to do?”
He transformed into a patient and gentle teacher and spent the next hour with her in the training yard, going over the basics of sword strategy. She pretended it was her very first lesson and asked many questions.
After the sun rose, he dismissed himself to change clothes for their journey to Pree. Trynne also said she was going to change and would meet him for breakfast later. As she left the yard, she found Captain Staeli in the shadows of the corridor, leaning against it with a smug look on his face.
“Well done, lass,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Sanctuary at St. Denys
Trynne had visited Pree twice before with her father. The name Kiskaddon was not a cherished one in Occitania, but it was no longer hated. Her father had defeated King Chatriyon multiple times, leading to an alliance between the countries, consummated after the king died of natural causes and his son, also named Chatriyon, succeeded to the throne as a child. Truly, his mother, once an Argentine princess, was the de facto ruler of the kingdom. Elyse Vertus had been on good terms with Owen since his childhood at Kingfountain.
Because King Drew allowed Occitania to remain self-governing, there had been multiple years of peace and prosperity. Pree was flourishing and was known throughout the realms as a center of fashion, art, and music. For the visit, Trynne had chosen a beautiful Occitanian gown of silver and lavender.
“It suits you,” Fallon told her with an impish smile when he saw her. They had arranged to meet outside the chapel in the castle of Averanche, from where Trynne would transport them over the ley lines.
Dressed in the garb of a knight of Ceredigion, he was leaning against a pillar, his thumbs hooked in his sword belt.
She inclined her head at the compliment. “Do you know where in Pree the Gauntlet will be? There are many sanctuaries in the city, and I can save us some walking.”
He was admiring her openly, with a roguish look that made her uncomfortable. His unruly hair was certainly not in the Occitanian fashion, but there would be outsiders from multiple realms visiting for the occasion.
“They built the Gauntlet track outside the city,” he said. “South side of town. The burg of St. Denys. There is a sanctuary there, I believe.”
“There is,” Trynne said. She knew of it. “Are you ready to go?”
He gestured behind him at the lapping fountain.
She turned to Captain Staeli, who was, as ever, close behind. “I’ll see you this evening, Captain.”
“As you will, my lady,” he said, giving the young prince a wary look. She could see a hint of disapproval in the older man’s frown. She touched Staeli’s arm, drawing his eyes to hers, and gave him a look that said, You can trust me not to be foolish. Pursing his lips, he gave her a curt nod.
Fallon offered his arm, which she took before stepping over the rail into the fountain. The waters receded from her immediately, leaving little spots on the tiles. Fallon stepped over next.
“We’re supposed to hold hands, aren’t we?” he asked her slyly.
“This will do,” she said, patting his arm with her free hand while trying to quell the sudden nervousness twisting her insides. She trusted herself; she trusted her instincts and her convictions. She kept a cool demeanor with Fallon because he was flirting with her deliberately. After the Gauntlet of Occitania, they were going to have a more frank talk.
Fallon looked disappointed, but didn’t object. Trynne invoked the word of power and felt the world start to lurch and spin. It was still jarring but she was more used to it, and they emerged from the fountain at St. Denys. Before leaving the mist, she reached out with her magic.
Immediately, she sensed the pull of the Fountain. The mist collapsed around them, and they both exited the small fountain in a side room of the sanctuary.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing the look on her face.
The sensation tugged at her viscerally, an awareness of another magic, a hidden tether that bound her. She had never been to St. Denys before, and yet she knew it. A strange certainty settled in her that she had been there before. There was a brooding feeling in the air, like that of a stormy sky before the rain starts. Without answering Fallon, she began to walk toward the inner sanctum.
The sanctuary was full of visitors, which wasn’t surprising since it was the epicenter of the Gauntlet. Families were gathered around the main fountain, and some children were offering their prayers and tossing coins into the waters. Trynne surveyed the crowd, trying to understand what she was feeling. She recognized the archways, the vaulted ceiling, the multifaceted stained-glass windows. All of it was familiar.
Had she been there as a child?
No, it was not that. It was a borrowed memory that came from the wellspring, a shared remembrance from another age. Another Oath Maiden had been there.
“Trynne, what is it?” Fallon asked, pitching his voice lower as they walked.
She gazed at the beautiful architecture, feeling the old stones thrum inside her bones like lute strings. There was a tall young man standing by the fountain, pressing a coin to his lips. She recognized him as one of the contestants she had met in Brugia. He was the young man who had tried to trip her. Now he had come to the sanctuary to seek strength from a ritual he had done as a child.
Trynne walked slowly to the main fountain, which was lapping loudly and forcefully, drowning out the conversation around them. The people spoke in Occitanian, but she had grown up hearing the tongue and knew what they were saying without invoking her word of power. There was excitement in the air for the upcoming test.
Trynne reached the barrier of the fountain and gazed into the water. Dark coins crowded on the bottom of the fountain, a shiny mess of them. Fallon stood at her shoulder, looking worriedly at her and then gazing up at the high arch above.
Suddenly the waters quieted. Trynne still saw them lapping and spurting, but she could no longer hear them. It felt as if her head were submerged. She sensed the magic of the Fountain opening up inside her. The mask of reality peeled back, replaced by an unexpected vision: The sanctuary was empty, save for a single person and her. There was a young woman with close-cropped dark hair kneeling at the edge of the fountain before her, facing her. The woman looked battered and weary, and there was fire in her eyes. She wore a soldier’s garb, much like what Fallon was wearing. There was a sword strapped to her waist, the tip resting on the stone tiles. The girl’s gloved hands were clasped together.
“By your will, I leave this here,” the girl said, speaking Occitanian. Trynne heard the words in her own tongue. “Until the day comes when a new maid is chosen by you.”
The kneeling girl looked up and stared right at Trynne. They were joined together for an instant, and in that instant, Trynne could feel the girl’s thoughts, her worries, her anguish. She was going to be captured by her enemies. And then she was going to be chained to a rock in the mountains behind Dundrennan.
“I leave this gift to you,” the girl said to Trynne. Reaching down, she pulled a breastplate, silver and dented, out of the sack at her feet and set it into the fountain water. Then she put in arm bracers, greaves, the entire mix required of a knight—entrusting them to the Fountain until some future day when they were needed.
The Maid of Donremy. Trynne stared at her in astonishment. The Maid had left her own armor at the sanctuary of St. Denys. She had left it f
or Trynne to find nearly a century later.
A roaring sound filled her ears, as if she were suddenly in the midst of a violent waterfall, and she was jarred back to her own body again. Fallon caught her shoulders to keep her from tumbling face-first into the water.
Gone was the roar, replaced by the tepid splashing of the beautiful fountain. Trynne’s knees buckled and she extended her arm to catch herself on the stone, but Fallon was already holding her upright—one hand on her arm, the other encircling her waist.
“Did you faint?” Fallon asked her worriedly.
Trynne glanced down at the water. The armor was still there, hidden just beneath the surface, but the people gathered around the fountain seemed oblivious to it. Only someone who was Fountain-blessed could see it.
“A little dizzy,” Trynne said, feeling the strength return to her legs.
“Here, sit down at the edge,” Fallon said, helping her. She was afraid her dress would get wet, but sitting did help calm her. The vision had been so powerful it had stolen all of her senses. The Fountain had wanted her to come to Pree. It had meant to show her where the Maid had hidden her armor.
“I will be fine, Fallon,” she said, shaking her head, trembling with the memory.
The look of worry on his face was endearing. He knelt by her side, pressing his fist against his mouth. There was no sign of teasing in his expression.
“Should I fetch a healer?” he asked.
“No, I will be well in a trice. I just felt dizzy for a moment.”
Trynne heard the sound of boots approaching.
“Not now,” Fallon muttered under his breath, his eyes darkening with anger. Then he hissed abruptly and stood, his manner and bearing changing in an instant. His shoulders flared back and he dropped a hand to his sword hilt. Trynne quickly turned and saw Prince Elwis approaching with two lackeys.
That explained the sudden change in mood. Trynne almost gasped aloud when she caught sight of Elwis’s face. He was riddled with the pox and had splotches of discolored red skin on one cheek, one brow, and over half his jaw. Even his nose had crusted over like a moldy potato.
