The Hollow Crown (The Kingfountain Series Book 4)

by Jeff Wheeler

  Morwenna’s eyebrows lifted just slightly and her gray eyes settled on Trynne. A small, curious smile stretched on her mouth.

  “Thank you for fetching us, Morwenna,” Fallon said, starting to march toward the door. “Come along; you’re shamefully late, my sister. Come along, Cousin Trynne. Mother, can I take your arm and escort you? If I don’t, you’re likely to prattle on with half the castle staff.” He wagged his finger at her.

  “You are incorrigible,” his mother said affectionately.

  “Incorrigible, incomprehensible, infallible, impassible, and incontrovertible as well,” he added. “I’m sure you regret making me study so hard instead of spending all my time in the practice yard.”

  “You forgot unintelligible,” Trynne muttered.

  “Only because I ran out of breath,” he shot back. “Really, Trynne. You can be so childish sometimes. But then again, you are only twelve.”

  His mistake was another deliberate insult, for he knew she was thirteen. She wanted to stomp on his foot again, but Genevieve caught her arm and interlocked it with hers. “Ignoring Fallon is difficult, Trynne, but it’s the only thing that truly works.” She gave her brother a sidelong look.

  “Unignorable!” Fallon said with a disarming grin.

  “That’s not a real word, dear,” Lady Evie said as they all proceeded to the door. “And it sounds too much like ignoble.” She gave Trynne a look. “I almost named him Iago Farren, which means ‘adventurous.’ Or Fane, which means ‘good-natured.’ Those are all Atabyrion names I thought might suit him. We realized soon enough that calling him by his middle name prevented much confusion. Besides, it fits his personality almost too well.” Then she shook her head. “But he’s his father’s heir, the future king of Atabyrion or duke of the North. I don’t think he’s decided yet which one he wants. To be a king or a duke.”

  “Neither actually,” Fallon said, coming up alongside Trynne. “I just want to be a knight and serve my sister and brother-in-law. Being a ruler is boring. Have you seen the table that Myrddin conjured in the great hall?”

  Trynne shook her head, wrinkling her brow.

  “You won’t believe it,” he said with an excited laugh. When they reached the doorway, no one acknowledged Morwenna. Trynne met the girl’s gaze and saw an unreadable look there. The girl was quiet and cold, but there was a spark in her eyes.

  “Inscrutable” was the word that popped into her mind.

  The girl was also Fountain-blessed. Like her father.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Coronation

  It was a part of the coronation wedding tradition for the daughters of the high nobles of Ceredigion to hold the train of the new queen as she approached the fountain for the rite. It was a solemn and momentous occasion that had not been performed since Severn’s first wife, Lady Nanette, had become queen following his usurpation of the throne, and the shadow of that event hung over the gathering. Trynne felt the tension in the hall as she carried Genevieve’s gauzy veil with the other girls.

  All the lords of the realm had gathered at Kingfountain for the coronation, including the previous king. Severn’s black hair was well silvered, and he looked haggard and in ill health. Lady Kathryn stood by his side, their arms interlinked. For a moment, his stern gaze seemed to narrow on Trynne, and she felt a tremor of fear at having been singled out, only to realize that he was looking past her to his daughter, Morwenna. As they passed the nobles dressed in their finely cut doublets and vests, displaying for all to see the growing wealth and dominion of Ceredigion, Trynne realized her gown was a bit on the simple side. Her father, who smiled at her as they passed, was also simply dressed, though he wore the double badge of his two duchies, the Aurum.

  Grand Duke Maxwell of Brugia, who stood near her father, had a sardonic look that rivaled Severn’s. It was clear he was not happy being a vassal of Ceredigion—the consequence of a lengthy, arduous war instigated by his ill-conceived siege of Callait, back when Trynne had been injured. The armies of Ceredigion had waged a full-scale assault on Brugia’s domain, breaking city after city, disrupting trade with blockades, and grinding down Maxwell’s army month after bitter month. Eventually there was nowhere left for Maxwell to run, though he had successfully dragged on the negotiations for his surrender for nearly a year to ensure that his son, Prince Elwis, would rule after him and not be supplanted by one of King Drew’s favorites.

  Because the procession of the queen was slow and ponderous, Trynne flicked her eyes to the prince. Elwis was a tall and slender young man of eighteen with a very fair complexion and hair so blond it was nearly white. He wore the Brugian style of doublet, very opulent with frilly lace at his wrists and a wide neck ruff that looked silly at Kingfountain but was considered the height of fashion in his realm. It made him look like a strutting peacock, and any semblance of handsomeness he may have possessed was further marred by his discontented frown.

  So many of King Drew’s nobles are disaffected, Trynne thought sadly. Her father had tamed all of the men instead of destroying them. But they resented him for it. She could feel that seething emotion bubbling beneath their veneer of goodwill at the gathering.

  The procession stopped as the hymn the chapel choir was singing reached its culmination. She had stopped on a black tile on the checkered floor, and that felt unlucky, so she shuffled her steps until her slippers were touching a white one. Then she turned her eyes to friendlier faces. Iago and his wife were beaming with love and joy for their daughter, who would become the most powerful woman in all the realms. Standing in the same line, Fallon was looking at her. He winked and then made an exaggeratedly grotesque face—his attempt to make her break countenance. That boy could never be serious, even during such a solemn occasion! She gave him an icy look before shifting her gaze back to the assembled lords. There was Duke Ramey with his balding pate, stifling a yawn on his clenched glove. She also saw Lord Amrein, the king’s chancellor and master of the Espion, his eyes darting to the various spies planted throughout the hall acting as guests and bodyguards. He looked very worried, as if he were expecting an archer to suddenly appear.

  Trynne felt her father’s magic joining the turbulent waters of the fountain. She sensed it like an ever-present feeling of comfort. Her father was one of the most powerful Fountain-blessed in all the kingdoms. The only ones who were stronger in the Fountain were possibly Trynne’s mother and the Wizr Myrddin himself.

  She caught sight of the Wizr as they began ascending the steps to the fountain. He was a dumpy-looking fellow that looked more like a wandering pilgrim than an all-powerful Wizr. He wore sandals that were chafed and broken and exposed some hairy ankles. His middle was girded with a leather belt, and his dark hair was silvered at the ears and thick and wavy. Myrddin had a prominent nose and a jaw lined with slight stubble. She’d always been fascinated by his crooked walking staff that looked as if it was a massive root that had been wrung and twisted. The top had a mushroom-shaped end. A sword hung from the massive belt spanning his hips. The pommel had the design of an eight-pointed star on it, and the metal was beaten and battered.

  Trynne’s attention was jarred from the Wizr when the procession came to a stop again. At that time, they were to leave Genevieve. If it had been left up to Trynne, they would have just dropped the train in a heap, but the ladies of court were particularly attuned to such details, so she helped the others neatly arrange the gauzy fabric. Morwenna caught her eye and offered a private smile before leaving the steps and joining her parents amidst the crowd.

  With everything in order, Trynne joined her father’s side and reached for his hand. Against her best intentions, she glanced at Fallon, who was wagging his eyebrows at her and giving her a mocking smile. It made her want to stomp on his other foot.

  The anthem finished with a swell of voices, instruments, and pitch that made the vaulted ceiling ring. Trynne tried not to fidget, but she was ready for the ceremony to be finished. She was eager to get back to the palace to see the new table in the throne r
oom.

  As the music calmed, the deconeus began to speak in a sonorous voice that made Trynne want to writhe in frustration. But then she caught sight of Myrddin again, and it put her in mind of how well Fallon had mimicked the Wizr’s voice. Myrddin did have an odd manner of speech; his Ceredigic was heavily accented, and he often spouted off words and phrases that no one else understood. She’d asked her father if he was Genevese because he was so fat. Owen had told her many stories about Dominic Mancini, and she’d come to associate Myrddin with the wily spy in her imagination. Her father had laughed at that and said that Myrddin was from another world. In that other world, he was called a Wayfarer, not a Wizr. He’d also whispered to her that despite his ill-looking aspect, he was more than capable with his twisted staff and sword. Anyone who could handle weapons earned Trynne’s respect. She knew that he was, miraculously, the same Wizr who’d served the original King Andrew, the ruler who had brought all the kingdoms together. His return had helped Drew achieve the same accomplishment.

  Growing increasingly bored with the ceremony, Trynne glanced across the various faces again, deliberately avoiding Fallon. Her eyes settled on Morwenna. What was the other girl thinking at that moment? Did she crave the crown for herself? Trynne imagined that her life had not been easy. Her father, who had been king, was relegated to the office of duke. No one willingly gave up power, but the girl could have no memory of her father’s previous glory. Morwenna had not been raised at court and had seldom traveled outside of Glosstyr. Despite Morwenna’s renowned beauty, which stirred Trynne’s jealousy, Trynne had heard her name mentioned before in a teasing way. Some claimed she’d been born out of Lady Kathryn’s pity for the crushed king. Others argued Severn had used his twisted power with the Fountain to persuade Morwenna’s mother to love him—and the girl would never have existed if he hadn’t committed that grave wrong. Having been teased herself because of her face, Trynne felt some sympathy for Morwenna.

  A sudden shout of acclaim startled Trynne, and she realized she had daydreamed her way through most of the ceremony. Finally, it was over, and the city of Kingfountain would be celebrating for days. The streets had been decorated, and the people were anxious to rejoice in their new queen. Genevieve was popular, and little girls often sighed over the romantic elements of her match with King Drew. It was a story for the ages, a repetition of the legends of the past. Trynne’s father had often said that time came around over and over, like a waterwheel dipping into a river. There were roles people were destined to play. In some cases, as in Drew’s and Genevieve’s, even the names were the same.

  “How did you like it, Trynne?” her father asked, bending lower so she could hear him over the tumult.

  Trynne watched as King Drew kissed his bride and then held up her hand to display the glittering coronation ring. The king was a handsome man but not arrogant. His tunic bore the crest of his Argentine ancestors, the Sun and Rose, the standard of his grandfather, the beloved King Eredur. Drew’s hair was a golden color, having darkened with age to the color of wheat. The legendary sword Firebos was belted to his waist, showing he bore the authority of the kings of the past.

  “I’m glad it’s over,” Trynne said as an aside. “We were standing here so long my feet hurt.”

  Owen laughed and squeezed her hand. “To be honest, I’ll be grateful when this is over as well. I wish your mother were here to transport us back home instantly.”

  “Fallon said that Myrddin conjured something in the throne room?”

  “It’s a table,” Owen replied. They would need to start the procession back to the palace soon. “Unlike any you’ve ever seen.”

  “Tell me!” she insisted.

  “You’ll see it soon enough. Patience, Tryneowy.”

  She liked it when he used her full name. It reminded her of another question she’d been bursting to ask—one that had only gone half answered earlier. “Why did King Drew choose Genevieve? If he’d married one of the ladies of Brugia, it would have stopped the war earlier.”

  Her father’s mouth quirked with amusement. “You love discussing politics, Daughter. Probably too much.”

  “I am your daughter, Father,” she replied sweetly. “He’s truly in love with her, isn’t he? I know she loves him.”

  Owen nodded simply. He was staring at the couple, a strange look coming over his face. “When he asked Myrddin and me for advice on whom to marry, do you know what that shrewd old Wizr said?”

  Trynne shook her head no, but gave him an eager look. At last she would hear the end of the story Fallon had interrupted.

  “He said, ‘Well, that depends, lad.’” Owen didn’t mimic the Wizr’s voice like others had. He had great respect for the eccentric wanderer. They were often in counsel together for hours, just the two of them. “‘There are many wealthy, prosperous lasses you could marry who would bring you certain advantages.’ Trynne, I’ve never forgotten what he said next. ‘It will be no greater miracle that brings us into another world to live forever with our dearest friends than that which has brought us into this one to live a lifetime with them.’” Trynne felt a shiver go down her spine at the words. Her father’s voice was low and earnest and hopeful. He smiled at her. “Can you feel the Fountain shuddering at his words? I can.” He smiled and then stroked her locks. “So then Myrddin asked the king if there was a girl who was already his dearest friend.” Owen’s eyes glimmered. “And the king said yes, it was Genevieve Llewellyn of Atabyrion. Then Myrddin answered with a shrug, ‘It seems to me that you’ve chosen well on your own.’ Then he asked after Liona’s honeycakes!”

  Trynne laughed out loud. “He did? I love Liona’s honeycakes, ever since you first took me to the palace kitchen at Kingfountain!”

  Owen proffered his arm. “I’m sure we’ll find some at the palace. And you’ll get to see the new table.”

  “I’m excited to see it,” she said, practically bouncing on her feet in excitement. “Can I stay at Kingfountain while you’re here? I don’t want to go back to Ploemeur yet. I love it here.”

  Owen pursed his lips. “I’ll discuss that with your mother.”

  “Please, Father? There is so much happening at court right now. Grand Duke Maxwell looks as if he’s bitten into a lemon. Elwis looks like he’s drunk vinegar. Duke Severn isn’t very happy with you either.”

  “These are my concerns, Trynne,” he said, patting her arm. “And there are even more you don’t know about yet.”

  “Like what?”

  “Now is not the time. Lord Amrein told me that some Genevese ships returned recently from the East. There’s a civil war going on in Chandigarl.”

  “I’ve not even heard of that place,” Trynne said, scrunching up her nose in embarrassment.

  “It’s one of the massive eastern kingdoms far from our borders. They invented the game of Wizr over there. Something to keep an eye on.” Together they started down the steps to join the procession.

  There was a tug on Trynne’s arm, and suddenly Fallon was at her other side. He was easily as tall as her father, which she detested because she was short, like her mother.

  “What do you want?” she said scornfully. She shot a glance at her father. “He tried to get me to laugh by making faces at me.”

  “No, I was trying to make you smile,” Fallon said. He put one arm around her shoulders in a sideways sort of hug. “You looked so serious.”

  “And smiling would have helped?” she asked with growing anger. She still hadn’t forgiven him for his rude remarks from earlier.

  “I like your smile, Cousin!” he said, and then he made an exaggeratedly serious look that was mocking her on another level.

  “Fallon, you are—!” she started, nearly grinding her teeth with fury, but he barked out a laugh and interrupted.

  “Actually, I came to apologize for my rudeness earlier. I’m a jack and I know it. I can’t help myself. You just take yourself too seriously, Trynne. I consider it my duty to make you stop. See you at the palace.” He patted her on
the back in a brotherly way and then skipped down the steps to join his parents.

  Trynne kept walking down the steps to the front of the sanctuary, but her mind was busy unraveling her feelings about Fallon. In many ways he was like an older brother or a cousin. He had been sent in wardship to Owen and Sinia for several years during their youth to learn how to be a man. After his fourteenth birthday, he’d returned to Atabyrion. It was there he’d sprouted like a beanstalk. She wondered whether her parents—and his—had intended them for each other. Her mother could see the future, but she rarely spoke of events until after they happened. When Trynne tried to pry for secrets, her mother would look at her seriously and then say nothing. It was infuriating.

  Trynne sighed and then sidled closer to her father, resting her head on his arm while holding his hand with both of hers.

  “Father, did you know Morwenna is Fountain-blessed?” she asked him softly.

  “Yes,” he answered. “She started showing the signs about the same time you did.”

  “I think she’s lonely,” Trynne said.

  Her father grunted. “Yes, I suppose she must be. She chooses to spend so much time in Glosstyr with her father.” There was another layer of meaning to his words, and Trynne wondered what it could be. Her father was so wise and cunning. She wasn’t at all surprised that he knew about Morwenna’s ability.

  “Do you know what her gift is?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “Not yet. It’s early still.”

  Just as they were about to leave the sanctuary and enter the tumultuous street, a voice called out from behind them. “Lord Owen?”

  They turned around to face Lord Amrein. Father asked, “What is it?”

  “Your wife just appeared in the sanctuary alcove with your son. I thought you’d want to know.” The spymaster wrinkled his brow in confusion as his attention shifted to Trynne. “You have some crepe or something on your dress . . .” He reached behind her and pulled off a strand of crinkled crepe that was not part of her outfit at all. Her mind flashed back to the memory of Fallon slipping his hand around her shoulders.