The Silent Shield (The Kingfountain Series Book 5)

by Jeff Wheeler

  The pallbearers grew restless, but none of them dared look her in the eye. The stillness of the grove was impressive. A few insects clicked, and a snatch of birdsong sounded through the trees. Trynne approached the canoe bier one last time. Her mind flashed to the thought of facing her mother someday. The idea filled her with misery. She reached out and laid her hand on the foot of the bundle. She could see where his nose pressed against the fabric. She would have gladly given her life to summon his back. In her mind, she pleaded with the Fountain, begging it to take her instead.

  She waited, listening to the silence, tears gathering in her stricken eyes.

  All will be well in the end. You are needed here.

  The thought in her mind was so soft, so fleeting, she wondered if it were her imagination. The thought brought a measure of comfort, but it was so small compared to the vastness of her grief. She stroked the blanket tenderly and walked around to the head of the canoe. Bending down, she pressed a gentle kiss where his forehead was.

  “Go in peace,” Trynne whispered, her voice choking on the words. She stood back and nodded to the pallbearers. It was the hardest thing she had ever done.

  The pallbearers climbed down the wooden steps leading to the edge of the platform and gently set the canoe onto the water of the pool. With its feathery tendrils of water, its verdant smell, and its lush greenery, Mortain Falls cast an idyllic scene. This was a gentle place, much more appropriate for her gentle brother than the violent rushing of a massive waterfall.

  Thierry approached her as she watched the current drag the canoe away. He had doted on Gannon more than her. But the look of anguish in his eyes was tempered by pity.

  He stood next to her, hands clasped behind his back, his gray hair combed forward in the Occitanian fashion. “I stood nearby when Lady Sinia watched her father put her mother to rest in the Fountain.” His composure started to waver. “And I was there when Lady Sinia did the same for him, the grandfather you never knew. This peaceful grove has seen its share of sorrows, child. It is fitting and proper that we should weep for the loss of those who die. It hurts because we loved them so much.” He sniffed, trying to maintain his composure. “I loved that little boy. It was not your fault, Lady Trynne. I will do everything in my power to continue to serve the Montfort line. You are the last of that line. You are the only thing standing between Brythonica and annihilation. Take care of yourself. We look to you as our savior.”

  Trynne already felt the awful weight of that burden. She turned her head slightly. “I will do my best to deserve that trust.”

  Thierry nodded, rocking backward on his heels. “Lady Sinia told me of her vision. That you will soon marry.”

  She turned to him, startled. “Soon?” she asked with an edge of panic in her voice.

  Thierry nodded. “Praise the Fountain,” he said, then kissed the edge of his forefinger. “Would you like to be alone for a while?”

  “Yes, Thierry. Send the others back to the castle.”

  She gazed up at the ivy-covered shrine to Our Lady—a stone arch suspended over the waters—and then, making her decision, took the small side trail leading up to it. The falls looked almost like white bridal veils. She ascended the path slowly, climbing the rocky steps. The ferns brushed against her skirts, and she parted some of the taller ones with her hand in order to pass. As she crested the top of the hill, she saw the stream that fed the falls.

  Walking around the little shrine, she ran her fingers through the tangled ivy, feeling the waxy petals glide against her fingers. Grief came in waves. It was subsiding, but she knew it would swell again.

  As she circled around the back of the shrine, she saw someone standing at the edge of the pool below her. Someone who hadn’t left with the others.

  Her breath stopped when she recognized that it was Fallon Llewellyn. He was dressed all in black, looking almost like Severn Argentine. He was staring up at her, his expression full of sympathy. After their eyes met, he began to ascend the steps, taking them two at a time with his long stride.

  He was before her in a moment, up near the shrine. His face showed the torture of his emotions. He was suffering deeply, and it moved her.

  “How are you even here?” she asked him, shaking her head in confusion. “Morwenna?”

  Fallon shook his head no. “I came as soon as I heard. I was in Blackpool, so I took the first available ship.”

  “But how did you hear so quickly?” she asked him.

  His lips pressed together. “I have a man in Ploemeur,” he said softly.

  Trynne bristled with anger. “The Espion are only permitted as messengers,” she said.

  He shook his head, and she could see him grow defensive. “He’s not part of the Espion, Trynne,” he said, holding up his hands. “I grew up here, remember? There are people in Ploemeur who still remember me as a boy.” He licked his lips. “He knew that I would want to know about Gannon’s death, so he sent me word.” His voice was thick. “I’m so sorry, Trynne. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. I just wanted to . . . I wanted to comfort you. I knew you’d be hurting.”

  It was exactly what she needed to hear. She rushed to him and buried her face against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. He hugged her back fiercely, protectively, holding her and swaying until it felt like she was floating. Another swell of grief started to build, coming at her with all the intensity of a tidal wave.

  “Oh no, oh no,” she started to wail as the feelings slammed into her. She sobbed against him, her shoulders shaking, squeezing him so hard, digging her fingers into his tunic, clinging to him as if he were driftwood and she were drowning. She couldn’t breathe, the veil was stifling her, and she yanked it away.

  “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, stroking her hair. His presence was such a comfort, and she was grateful she did not have to stand against these crushing waves all alone. His chest felt so warm, his hands gentle and soothing. She wished deeply that it could be some other way, that he could have been hers.

  The pain started to recede, much sooner than it had in the recent past. Fallon had helped lighten the burden. Squeezing her eyes shut, she listened to the murmur of the waterfall, and then she heard the even softer sound of his heart beating.

  “Thank you for coming, Fallon,” she said, her voice raw. She clung to him, nestled close, enjoying the feel of his arms around her shoulders. She felt as weak as a newborn puppy.

  “I’ll take you back,” he said, patting her shoulder. “We shouldn’t be alone like this. I have my reputation to maintain, you know.”

  She laughed softly, though the sound was thick with tears. He always could make her laugh. “Thank you for considering your reputation.” She craned her neck, looking up at him. He was the most handsome man in the world to her.

  “What?” he asked, seeing her expression but not understanding it.

  “Thank you, Fallon. Thank you for being here.” She hooked her hand around his neck, pulled him down, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  It was obvious he was a little startled by that, but he gave her one of his appreciative smiles. With her arm still around his waist, they walked together down the rocky steps leading to the base of the falls.

  “Is the Painted Knight coming to the Gauntlet of Kingfountain?” he asked as they maneuvered down, side by side.

  Trynne felt a shudder ripple through her. She knew she couldn’t leave.

  “She can’t,” Trynne whispered darkly.

  PART II

  Knights

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Genevar

  Trynne sat facing Fallon across the Wizr board. They were in the solar of the castle in Ploemeur, sitting on two wooden chairs in companionable silence. She cast surreptitious glances at him as he brooded over the board, deep in thought. It was her father’s set, the one King Severn had given him as a child.

  He reached out his hand, took a deconeus piece, and moved it diagonally to block a move she had been preparing to make. His interception abruptly r
uined her plan. His abilities in the game had increased over the years. In their youth, he had played impatiently, often making quick errors that she had exploited to her advantage.

  His arrival in Ploemeur had been a source of much-needed comfort to her. It did not change the terribleness of the situation, but it did soothe part of her misery. He leaned back in the chair, waiting patiently for her to make her next move.

  “Are you going to take a ship to Kingfountain for the Gauntlet?” she asked him. “It’s in three days.”

  Fallon rubbed his chin and then shook his head. “No, I’ll be riding directly. I think an overland route is safer, considering Gahalatine’s fleet is still at sea. Chandigarl may be to the east, but that doesn’t mean he can’t strike from the west.” He sniffed, stroking his upper lip. “I’ve seen some of the latest Espion maps that Kevan commissioned. Our world is like this fruit,” he said, leaning over to a nearby table and snatching up a large orange. He rubbed his thumb across the peel and slowly rotated it with his wrist. “The Genevese sail to many foreign ports. I think they know much more about Chandigarl than they are letting on.” He wagged his eyebrows at her. “It’s your move.”

  She had already planned her next three and adjusted one of her pawns forward to begin her attack.

  “Genevar has been a trading nation for centuries,” Trynne said. “They go to great lengths to keep their secrets.”

  “Who can blame them?” Fallon replied with a snort. “Without their ships moving things back and forth across the seas, we’d all starve. Well, except for Brythonica. You’d survive on your berries, but only just. That was a good move. I see what you’re trying to do.”

  “Do you now?” Trynne asked in a teasing voice. You can’t get used to this, the voice in her head reminded her, he’s not yours to keep.

  “Yes, it’s as obvious as the sunrise. Your plan won’t work.”

  “I think you are just trying to trick me into revealing something.”

  He smirked. “You’ve already given yourself away.” Then the smirk faded into a sweet smile as he glanced around the room. “I have so many fond memories of this place. Hiding in the larder to sneak fresh-baked tarts. Watching your father stare at the fireplace. Finding your mother’s shoes in odd places.”

  They were both quiet for a moment, lost in thought about how things used to be, and then Fallon heaved a sigh. “I should leave. This game could last awhile and I’m tempted to linger.” He leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees. “If there were some way I could take this pain from you, I would. My sister is preparing to flee to the sanctuary of Our Lady, trusting in the integrity of a foreign emperor to protect her and my niece. I’m not certain we can trust Gahalatine’s integrity. If he had any, he would not have attacked us in the first place.”

  “He did call off the attack at the Battle of Guilme after what happened to my father,” she reminded him. “How many battle commanders would have done the same?”

  “None that I’ve ever read about,” Fallon said with a chuckle. “But his ambition defies all belief. He’s determined to conquer the world. What happens after he does? Have you ever heard the tale of Prince Jeffrey? It’s one of the stories from King Andrew’s time.”

  Trynne wrinkled her brow and then shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one.”

  “Really?” Fallon said in surprise. “It’s about the brother of the King of Bremen. The king’s brother was made chancellor after his brother was crowned, and he was given the keys of the treasury. I think he was Fountain-blessed at spending other people’s money,” he added with a grin. “The treasury was depleted and taxes were constantly being raised because Prince Jeffrey could not stop spending. The royal harbor was full of boats that were never used. The stables full of horses that were never ridden. The paddocks full of carriages. The prince bought and he bought until the king finally had to remove him from office because the people were rebelling. The horses and boats and carriages were sold at a fraction of their value.” Fallon chuckled to himself. “What a debacle.”

  Trynne laced her fingers together. “That’s why he made it into a book, though. If the prince had been a responsible chancellor, there would have been no story to tell.”

  “I heard that story from my mother,” Fallon said, his voice becoming softer. “While she’s always loved a juicy tale, the lesson she took from it was that greed is a hunger that will never be satisfied.” He was still leaning forward, his eyes finding hers. “She shared that story with me after I returned to Edonburick after our last . . . conversation in our garden. Mother said my hunger to be recognized and appreciated was like Prince Jeffrey’s greed. It would never be satisfied. So why should I be surprised that others saw in me what I was blind to? Mothers have an interesting way of rebuking wayward children, but they do it so nicely that you have to forgive them. Even better, learn from them.” He breathed out a long sigh. “I have learned a great deal since that day, Trynne. I want to thank you for speaking the truth, even though I wasn’t ready to hear it.” He paused, judging his next words carefully. “My mother—and you—are very wise. I still wish to earn your father’s seat at the Ring Table. But only because I too would sacrifice my life for the king’s.”

  The door of the solar opened and Thierry entered, walking up to her briskly. He gave Fallon a weighing look.

  “My lady, I’ve just spoken to a ship captain from Genevar. He has news from your mother.”

  Trynne quickly rose, her heart fluttering in her chest. Her worried look prompted Thierry to continue. “My lady, the captain encountered your mother’s ship in the open seas. He hastened to Ploemeur after unloading his cargo in Genevar to share the news. Firstly, that he did encounter her ship. He had not heard of her departure and was surprised to find her so far from Brythonica. Secondly, he warned her that he had encountered an enormous fleet at anchor in the Myristican Islands and had discovered, while trading there, that they were preparing to sail toward our shores. The captain feared your mother’s ship would encounter them. He also wanted to hasten here to warn us to prepare in case they strike at Legault or Brythonica.”

  Fallon rose instantly, his expression grave. “Attacking from the west, not the east,” he said, nodding his head. “This is timely news.”

  “Indeed,” Thierry said, his head bobbing in agreement. “I can have the captain brought if you would like to speak with him yourself.”

  “I would,” Trynne said, also rising. “Fallon, I can take you to Kingfountain. The king must be told at once.”

  His eyebrows wrinkled. “Thank you for offering, but there’s no need. I will ride to Kingfountain straightaway.”

  “But I can bring you and return instantly.”

  “You are needed here, Trynne. I can be there in three days. If Gahalatine attacks Ploemeur, I will come to your aid. North Cumbria is ready to defend our shores.”

  “I know you will,” Trynne said. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. It was a little strange that he’d refused her twice, but she didn’t wish to question him. There’d been too many misunderstandings between them.

  He stared down at their hands, his mouth twitching as he wrestled with his feelings. “I must go.”

  If Thierry hadn’t been standing there, she would have hugged Fallon good-bye. Her heart was still at war with her destiny, now more than ever. Fallon squeezed her hand and then rushed from the room. The moment he left, the emptiness of the room was palpable to her. She decided to leave the Wizr board untouched.

  It wasn’t even dusk, yet Trynne was wearied by the day’s labors. The sudden news about Gahalatine’s fleet heading toward their shores had given her a new purpose, a distraction from the anguish of her brother’s and grandparents’ deaths. Knowing the massive fleet could easily blockade Ploemeur, she had ordered the Brythonican navy to set up a defensive ring around the coast and to keep watch for approaching vessels. There was enough food to withstand a siege, and the castle was full of defenders armed with bows in preparati
on for an enemy that could fly up to its walls. She was considering sending for Captain Staeli when Thierry arrived with news that he had come of his own accord.

  “Please, bring him to me!” she said. She had been studying maps in her mother’s library, but she cleared some space on the table.

  Captain Staeli arrived, looking like the soldier he was at heart, his cloak and tunic begrimed from the journey, his boots scuffed and weather-beaten. He stood in the doorway a moment, wringing the leather hood in his hands. His beard was mussed, his balding head spotted with sweat. He looked grief-stricken, and she realized that he had come after hearing the news of Gannon’s death. He was not a talkative man by nature, but he cared for her like a daughter. His lip twitched as the silence deepened between them.

  “I am so glad you came,” Trynne said, coming around the table.

  He stuffed the hood into his belt. His eyes were fierce. “I only heard the news yesterday,” he said, then sniffed. “Mariette is in charge while I’m gone. She’s a clever one, that lass.” He gave her a small smile. “Rani Reya’s not far behind her. She’s forged these strange hooklike swords. Very unnatural way to make a blade.”

  Trynne laughed. “Yes, compared to our ways,” she agreed. She reached out and gripped his hands. “Thank you for coming. We’re about to be invaded, I think. Death has struck my family. I could use a friend at the moment.”

  Staeli’s cheeks reddened at her words. “I’ve watched over you since you were a wee lass,” he said. “If Dragan has done this ill deed, as I suspect he has, then I will bring him to justice.” He sniffed. “I swear it by the Fountain.” The smoldering rage in his eyes was frightening—or it would have been had it been directed at her.

  “I must bear the loss as best I can,” Trynne said. “But I would caution you against seeking revenge. I need you to help me fight a war, my friend.” She went to the table and pulled him with her. Unfurling one of the maps, she pointed along the coast. “I’ve ordered the fleet to patrol these waters. I’ve set up riders to relay messages back to the king along the main roads here, and also here to alert Occitania. Westmarch is close and can be ready quickly to come to our aid. So can the army of Pree. Fallon said that Dundrennan will come, but that’s much farther away.” Her finger glided to that spot on the map, her heart tightening at the thought.