The Silent Shield (The Kingfountain Series Book 5)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “I need some time to think,” he said, his voice shaking. “Your words have cut me deeper than any sword.”

  Then he turned and strode out of the compartment, the curtain rustling as he vanished beyond it. Exhaustion settled over her. She went to the enormous pile of fur blankets and rugs and nestled amidst the softness to wait. They smelled of cinnamon and sandalwood, and as her muscles finally began to relax, she succumbed to sleep.

  Trynne did not know how long she slept, but her dreams were peaceful. She was walking along the shore of the Glass Beach, hand in hand with Fallon. They spoke of childhood and their adventures together in Ploemeur. He reminded her of the magnolia trees and how he had caught her around the waist and twirled her around. His words brought back the memory and the dizziness, and her heart throbbed with love.

  They sat down on the beach together, listening to the crashing of the surf. She loved that sound, loved everything about that place—the salty smell of sea air, the noise of gulls, the long wings of pelicans, and the little pips of sandpipers. She looked over at Fallon, but Gahalatine was sitting there in his stead, arms crossed around his knees, the wind tousling his hair. She was confused by the transformation.

  Where had Fallon gone? She heard the sound of boots crunching in the sand and turned her head. Fallon was walking back toward the stone steps leading away from the beach. There was a woman standing in the distance, her black hair flowing in the wind. Trynne wanted to call out in warning, feeling a sudden panic in her heart.

  Her eyes blinked open and she was instantly disoriented, not recognizing the furs and cushions on which she slept. Gahalatine was sitting on a cushion on the floor near her, head propped on one hand, writing with a quill and ink on paper. The sound of the quill head scratching the paper was soft as his hand moved swiftly across the page.

  She blinked and lifted herself up on her arms. “When did you return?” she murmured, her voice quavering, her emotions still charged by the dream. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

  He glanced over at her. “You were resting so peacefully,” he said, “I dared not disturb you. So I started writing up orders to be executed after we spoke again. My heart is burning in my chest, Tryneowy. You spoke the truth. You spoke of your pain. I’m honored that you would still accept me, even after all that has happened.”

  He cocked his head to one side, sighing deeply.

  “Truth is like a double-edged sword. Is that not one of the teachings of the Fountain? It cuts through soul and spirit, joints and marrow. How did you know to strike me there, where I am most vulnerable?” He blinked rapidly, still not looking at her, his mind far away.

  “As I thought about the things you told me, Tryneowy, I felt the truth of your words. I’m not certain I could have endured them had they been spoken by any other person.” He looked at her then, his eyes full of sorrow and anguish. There were tears quivering on his lashes.

  “Surely . . . surely you are right. About everything. There is no atonement I can make for the loss of your brother. Were Rucrius here right now, I would slay him myself for such a crime. I can still defeat this castle, even with the blizzard summoned by the hollow crown. But I cannot take the crown itself by force.”

  Trynne edged close enough to rest her hand on his shoulder. He jolted when he felt her touch and looked up at her shamefacedly. He covered his mouth with one hand, closed his eyes, and began stroking the stubble on his chin.

  “My treasury is, as you say, depleted. The Mandaryn convinced me that this exploit would succeed, that our coffers would once again be overflowing.” He shook his head slightly, then gazed up at her. “I assume Sunilik is the one who told you. He saw through the illusion. He has warned me repeatedly. I’ve relied on his counsel.” He stared into her eyes. “Just as I would like to rely on yours. Is there anything else you learned about Chandigarl? Any other truths about my empire that I do not recognize?”

  Trynne sat down beside him and smoothed some of her hair back from her face. “There is something about the zenana,” she said. “When I visited it, I sensed . . . I’m not sure what it was.”

  Gahalatine sat up as well, crossing his legs and nodding encouragingly. “Go on. I have felt it as well.”

  “I don’t know what it is. But I fear it comes from these Mandaryn. The men who wear the silver masks to hide themselves. Some of them have been sighted in our kingdom. Always secretly. They come and go in stealth.”

  He looked startled. “I’ve authorized no such incursions. Rucrius would have much to answer if the dead could speak. He was the ruler of the Mandaryn.” He paused, then added, “They do not wear the silver masks as a disguise, but to hide the marks on their faces.”

  Trynne furrowed her brow. “What marks?” she asked, but even as she said it, she remembered the dark lines she’d noticed on the face of the man who’d confronted her and Sunilik.

  “The Mandaryn use an ancient magic that causes sigils to creep from their chests up their necks and to their faces. Such markings frightened the women of the zenana, so the men were kept masked. Rucrius gave a special name to the Mandaryn assigned to the zenana. He called them the Dokht Mandar—or the daughters of the Mandaryn—for their duty was to treat the women as their daughters. They were in charge of finding a suitable wife for me.” He pursed his lips and gave her a knowing look. “I was never comfortable with any of their selections. The women were all beautiful, skilled at conversation, music, and poetry. But they all felt . . . wrong.”

  Trynne felt something tugging inside her mind. “Something is not right about that place,” she said again.

  “Is that all?” he asked her gently.

  She thought once more about her dream, the ache she’d felt as she watched Fallon walk away. Then she shook her head no. She was not ready to confide that part of herself yet.

  “I have given this enough deliberation and careful thought. But it is my heart that persuades me I’d be a fool to reject your terms. I am ready to kneel before your king. I will swear homage and fealty to the Master of the Ring Table and the King of the Hollow Crown. You are a treasure worth more than crowns or rubies or palaces. Say that you will have me, and we will go this instant and declare peace. Will you be mine, Tryneowy Kiskaddon?”

  She felt the warmth emanating from him, the tickle of his breath on her skin. Her feelings were as confusing as they were complex. She still loved Fallon. She always had. But in this man, in Gahalatine, she felt no trickery or deceit. What he truly lacked was discernment—and that was something she felt she could help him with. With it, she knew he could become a truly great man. She wished her parents could have been there to help her make her choice, but even though she believed this was what her mother’s vision had bespoken, it was ultimately her decision to make.

  “I will have you,” she answered, feeling in her heart that it was the advice her mother would have given her.

  He took her fingers in his hand and brought them to his lips for a kiss. “Then I will cherish you and protect you all the days of my life,” he whispered huskily. He kissed her fingertips again.

  Then he rose and helped her stand. She gave him one of her crooked smiles, feeling self-conscious at the way he was gazing at her with undisguised admiration. She didn’t feel worthy of it.

  “You are sixteen, are you not?” he asked her, but she could see he already knew the answer.

  “I am, my lord,” she answered with a small dip of her chin.

  “Finding your father is my highest priority,” he said. “We will do all that we can. I will enlist Sunilik’s aid. He is responsible for my estates and manors. But your mother is living. I had expected her to be defending Kingfountain, but she was not there. Is she in Ploemeur?”

  Trynne shook her head. “No. The Fountain called her away on a journey. She boarded a ship and seeks the Deep Fathoms. She is not here.”

  A troubled look surfaced on his face. “Indeed?”

  “Yes,” Trynne answered.

  His look became more tr
oubled.

  “What is it?” Trynne asked.

  Gahalatine sighed, looking down. “It is one of the customs of the East Kingdoms,” he said, his brow furrowing. “A law, to be precise. It was done to protect women from being forced to marry against their will or from marrying too young. If a woman has no parents, her husband cannot consummate the marriage until she is eighteen. There are unscrupulous men who would do otherwise.”

  Trynne wrinkled her brow. “In this kingdom, a woman can be married at sixteen or seventeen. There are no such laws. And my parents are both alive, I hope. They are just not here.”

  Gahalatine nodded. “I understand the laws are different in Kingfountain. But I cannot overlook the customs and traditions of my people. I would bring dishonor on myself if I broke the law when it suited me.” He smiled and sighed dejectedly. “If I had to wait a year or two for you, it would not change my answer. It will give me an even stronger motivation to find your father quickly,” he said, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

  Trynne blushed. “I will have you, Gahalatine. I give you my promise.”

  He nodded and took her hands and kissed them again. “Until that time, we will be as brother and sister. I would not besmirch your honor for all the world.”

  “I know you would not,” Trynne replied. It was obvious the law frustrated him, but it did not hinder his resolve to do the honorable thing. She felt acutely the relief that although she had to marry someone she didn’t love—not yet—at least he was a man worthy of admiration.

  He offered her his hand. “I think your king will be anxious to hear from us.”

  Trynne could hardly believe what she was hearing. She felt like the sunlight beaming through the curtain of the tent. Would the conflict end at last? With Gahalatine’s help, would she be able to find her father? To save him and Drew and Genevieve? Would she herself be able to save the kingdom?

  She was so exhausted, she only nodded. But she reached out and squeezed Gahalatine’s hand. He looked so tender and mournful in that moment, she lifted herself onto the tips of her toes and grazed his cheek with a kiss.

  Trynne was amazed at how much the world had transformed since she had arrived with her army. The mountain Helvellyn was sheathed in heavy banks of snow with only a few gray crags visible. The roofs of the town were nearly buried under the drifts. The snow was falling in a continuous plume, threatening to bury the entire world in winter, and the air was so cold it burned her nose to breathe it. She saw Gahalatine’s warriors patrolling the battlement walls, carrying torches and shoveling the paths.

  The Wizr Albion brought them back to the great hall with the Tay al-Ard. The smell of blood and death hung in the hall and the place was full of commotion. Gahalatine’s surgeons were hard at work tending to the wounded soldiers who had fought for Trynne and the king.

  Her heart filled with grief at the destruction, especially the loss of Captain Staeli.

  The crowd parted as she and Gahalatine started to walk, arm in arm, across the slabs of paving stone. She gazed through the crowd, and looking at those prostrate and receiving care, she finally spotted him on the floor by one of the support columns. She’d expected a body, cold and stiff, but he was breathing. They were slow, shallow gulps, but where there was breath there was hope. Haley knelt by him with tears in her eyes. Trynne, awestruck, released Gahalatine’s hand and rushed over to where he lay.

  Staeli’s face was chalky gray, his mouth twisted into a rictus of agony. It was heart-wrenching to see her friend and protector in such pain, but he was conscious, and he blinked in recognition when he saw her.

  “Hello, lass,” he said with a groan. “We’ll keep fighting. I’m feeling much better. Give me a moment . . . I’ll be back on my feet. We’ll drive these blackguards out of the North.”

  She reached out and touched his arm and invoked a word of power for healing. Her magic shrank and she felt herself grow dizzy at the discharge of power.

  “You’re alive, Captain,” she said with relief, feeling tears trickle from her lashes. “I’m going to end this war. We won.”

  His brow furrowed. “Don’t be rash, lass. We can hold them off longer.”

  “I know, Captain,” she said, watching as the trembling in his body began to subside. “We didn’t surrender. The Fountain knew this would happen. What I do, I do willingly.” She gave him a tender smile and kissed his sweaty brow. When she rose, she saw Gahalatine standing nearby, speaking in low tones with the surgeon who had worked on the captain. His Wizr stood beside him.

  “My sister wounded him,” Gahalatine said somberly to Trynne. “He still lives?”

  Trynne nodded, grateful that she had returned when she did. He had been going through the death throes, but her spell was taking hold and healing him on the inside. She offered a quiet prayer of gratitude to the Fountain that she had known the right word to use.

  Then, taking Gahalatine’s arm again, Trynne proceeded across the rest of the hall to the place where Drew, Fallon, and a few others were waiting. Fallon’s leg was bandaged and he was leaning on a pike to hold himself upright. He looked anguished as he watched her approach, her arm linked with the enemy’s. Drew’s look bespoke his curiosity. Gahalatine’s sister stood near Fallon. Her armor was gone and she wore a long, nondescript gray tunic. She was studying her brother and Trynne with interest. Off to the side, Morwenna was glaring at them, her eyes full of anguish and disappointment. She seemed to understand exactly what had happened.

  They came to a stop when they reached the king, and the Wizr Albion bowed and stepped to the other side of Gahalatine. He seemed to emanate waves of nervous confusion.

  Drew had a stern look as he glanced from one to the other. “Has an accord been struck, then?” he asked, his voice throbbing with worry. “What are the terms?” She could see he was dreading the news of what he had lost.

  Gahalatine turned to Trynne and gave her a satisfied smile. Despite what he’d agreed to do, he did not look humiliated or nervous at all. She removed her hand from his arm, and he instantly stepped forward. Fallon gripped a dagger, as if worried the man was about to attack the king, but the Lord of the Distant Isles knelt before Drew and bowed his head. “I, Gahalatine, do hereby swear fealty and homage to Andrew Argentine, King of Ceredigion and Occitania, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and ruler of Kingfountain. I submit my will to yours and promise to rebuild what I have destroyed and to heal the breach between our empires. I recognize you as my sovereign lord.” He remained there, kneeling before Drew, his head still bowed.

  Trynne tried to conceal a smile as she saw the look of astonishment on the king’s face. As if completely bewildered, he gazed at her and then at Gahalatine and then back again.

  “What have you done to this poor fellow, Trynne?” Drew said, shaking his head. He stepped forward, still amazed. “Are there no conditions?”

  Gahalatine shook his head. “None, my lord. My submission to you is unconditional.”

  “Rise, man,” Drew said, gesturing quickly. He looked at Trynne again, seeking an explanation.

  Gahalatine rose to his feet. He was a bigger man than Drew, and only a few years older. “You are surprised, my lord king, but you should not be. Anyone who knows the worth of this maiden would not underestimate her abilities. This was her suggestion. Her ultimatum, actually.” He smiled wryly. “I have been led falsely by the intrigue of my court advisors.” He glowered at Albion, who blanched and seemed horrified by what he had just witnessed. “You truly deserve to wear the hollow crown. I hope, one day, to deserve your pardon and forgiveness.”

  The king chuffed as if he was about to start laughing. He smiled at Trynne with such a look of regard and respect that she felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “You did it,” Drew said sincerely. “You did the impossible.”

  She bowed her head. “Please stop the snow, my lord,” she told him. “Before Elwis’s forces freeze to death.”

  “I think I can feel the sun shining already,” Drew said triumphantly. “Send a
group to rescue the men trapped in the snow. Bring them to Dundrennan at once and tend to them. By the Fountain, this is a day that will never be forgotten!”

  The war in the foreign land was not going well when our ship arrived. Some battles had been fought, and our king’s forces had been beaten even though he outnumbered his enemy. We were ordered to help with the retreat to the ships when we were set upon by a fresh army from the enemy. I could see that we would be overrun and slaughtered if we did not act quickly. I told the captain how to turn the situation to our advantage. The captain, who had no ideas of his own and was near panicking, heeded my words, and we drove away the group attacking us. We were not as outnumbered as we’d supposed.

  The captain was grateful for my quick thinking and recommended me to the captain of the king’s guard, a man by the name of Carstone, when he arrived to inspect the new arrivals. He asked me about my training and background. I told him I couldn’t remember who I was but that I knew the arts of war. Carstone said the king valued men like me and that I’d rise in rank quickly if I proved myself. The king had failed in his conquest and could expect swift retaliation from our enemy. I told him I didn’t even know the name of our king. He was surprised no one had told me. He said the king doesn’t go by his given name. He goes by the name of the duchy he once ruled. He’s an ambitious man, an enemy to the King of Comoros he once served. His name is Dieyre and he’s an expert swordsman himself. We’ll be returning to Dahomey soon to defend it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Reunited

  The fire in the hearth in the solar roared and crackled, and Trynne warmed herself in front of it. She had changed from her battle clothes into a lady’s gown and enjoyed the feeling of satin on her skin. There were bruises all over her body, but none of her wounds were serious or deep. She glanced toward the window seat, where Gahalatine sat with arms folded, watching her with an entranced smile.