The Hollow Crown (The Kingfountain Series Book 4)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “I’d rather not say,” Trynne stammered, her mortification growing.

  “Please, I’d like to hear it. We’re your friends, Trynne. We’ll not laugh at you.” She turned and gave the others an arch look. “It was something about wanting to train like the boys?”

  Trynne looked at her father, seeking his approval even though the queen had given hers.

  Owen gestured with his hand for her to proceed. He wouldn’t countermand the queen.

  It was an awkward and uncomfortable position to be in. What would Genevieve think of her? All those years ago, she’d been hesitant about the notion of women participating in the Gauntlet. “I was just saying, Genny, that . . .” She paused to swallow, her mouth very dry. The queen took her hands and squeezed them encouragingly. “. . . that I would rather be in the training yard than the library. I’m learning declensions and ancient court etiquette when I should be learning archery. I’m balancing weights and measures instead of a beam over my shoulders with buckets, like the boys do in the yard. If we are truly going to be attacked, should I not know how to defend myself? Do I care any less about the honor of Ceredigion than does your brother or any of the other young men?”

  She had been afraid that the queen would be put off by her unwomanly sentiments. Instead, Genevieve was staring at her with startled surprise and even—if she dared assume it was such—admiration.

  Her words had gotten everyone’s attention, including Myrddin’s. The room fell quiet.

  “You are not the only one I’ve heard speak of this,” Genevieve said, still clinging to her hands. “Since we last spoke of this, I have sought the opinions of others. Many a maiden laments that while they’re allowed to pick up scythes and help harvest a field, they’re barred from picking up halberds and felling their foes. Your feelings are noble, Trynne.” She turned. “Myrddin? You have traveled vast distances and seen many civilizations. You have seen other worlds that are different from ours. What customs exist that grant women the right to defend their homelands?”

  Trynne felt an eager fire begin to burn inside her. She gazed at Myrddin, who was giving them both a canny look as he rubbed his chin with one hand, gripping his gnarled staff with the other.

  “There are many such accounts, my queen,” said the Wizr solemnly. “Many indeed.”

  “Are there?” the queen asked. “The only one I have heard of is the Maid of Donremy. And she was a singular person for certain.”

  Myrddin frowned and shook his head. “Pfah, my lady. ’Tis not an exception. The queen of the Argentine dynasty also wielded a sword. I have read Master Urbino’s history, and while it has some inaccuracies, that is not one of them. She was the mother of kings. She went to the borderlands with her first husband, as Queen of Occitania, and inspired the troops to fight.”

  “Did you hear that, Trynne?” Genevieve said eagerly, and Trynne noticed King Drew frown in concern.

  “There are others as well,” Myrddin said. “It usually happens after a period of war when there are but few men left to defend the land. In one world I have seen, they are called the Oskmey—the Oath Maidens. In another, they’re the Shield Maidens. They defend the home and hearth while their husbands and brothers go to war. Sometimes they lead battles too, fighting alongside the men. One ancient queen, Vodicia, led a rebellion against a tyrant.”

  Trynne’s heart leaped at the words. She felt a quickening inside of her, an excitement that blazed like the sun.

  Queen Genevieve hooked her arm through Trynne’s. “There, you see, Trynne? You must have the blood of these Oath Maidens in your veins!” Then her voice took on a more coaxing tone. “My lord husband, I would like to found an order for such maidens. They would be under my care, and I would ensure it’s done properly. I think Trynne’s suggestion is just what we need. There are many maidens who are anxious about the future. How could it hurt to train some of our young women? Wouldn’t it be better to prepare in advance than to delay and wish otherwise later? I would take this upon myself, my lord. I have always wanted to practice with swords. I think my mother instilled that in me. What say you, my lords?”

  The king was looking to Owen for his input. Trynne could see Drew was uncomfortable with the idea, especially given his wife’s intention to lead the group, but he clearly didn’t want to crush her idea.

  Trynne glanced at her father, feeling a little guilty for her role in the discussion. But her father did not look angry or even opposed to the idea. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Let’s not be too hasty,” he said. He turned to Myrddin. “Are there other examples of this from military campaigns in this world? The Maid is the only one from recent memory that I’ve read, but I’m not as learned as you—nor have I lived for so long.”

  Myrddin clasped both hands atop the mushroom-shaped end of his staff. “Aye, Lord Owen. There was once a great general who was badly outnumbered by the enemies who invaded his homeland. The war lasted for several years. At one point, he threatened to arm his women and his children and bring the fight to the enemy’s homeland.” The Wizr smirked. “Aye, ’tis true. It goes against our sensibilities to force the horrors of war on our womenfolk. But there are times that it has been done. And as you said, there have been times when the greatest champion in the realm has been a woman.”

  When Myrddin met Trynne’s eyes, she realized that he already knew her fate, just as she had speculated on that long-ago day. She knew she was right to be asking for this.

  “I will not be too hasty in this,” King Drew said seriously. “We will discuss it further in council around the Ring Table.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Wizr’s Oath

  Every time Trynne went to Kingfountain, it was harder and harder to leave. Sometimes she felt more at home in that palace than she did at Ploemeur. She had rarely been to Tatton Hall and had little sentimental attachment to it. Kingfountain was the center of intrigue and decisions, the hub of power and authority. It was the seat of the kings of the past, the place of legends brought to life. Kingfountain was the place where destiny was woven. She loved everything about it, from the intangible feel of the place to its beautiful trappings. At the moment, though, the king’s council was meeting behind closed doors, and she wanted desperately to know what they would decide. All she could do was pace with nervous energy, waiting and dreading the moment she’d have to return to Ploemeur.

  The sun was slanting through the windows, showing the fast-ebbing daylight that made her heart wring with emotion. As she wandered the corridors alone, she passed the archway where she’d spied Morwenna and Elwis, and the memories of what had followed rushed upon her, ending with Fallon swinging her around in a dizzying circle.

  That particular memory made her heart ache. She had known Fallon her entire life, and even though she loved to argue and debate with him, she secretly wished that he could someday overlook the fact that she would never be a beauty. Perhaps he needed someone like her to prick the bubble of his pride and prevent it from carrying him off.

  Tapping footsteps came from around the corner ahead, and she was startled when her father’s herald, Benjamin, came into view.

  “Ah, Lady Trynne,” he said with a smile. His father, Farnes, had served her father faithfully for years and Benjamin had inherited the role of messenger. He was in his late twenties and had a handsome and confident bearing. “Your father sent me to find you, but the queen asked to speak with you first. She’s in her personal chambers. Shall I escort you?”

  “Of course,” Trynne answered, hastening her steps. “Has the council ended then?”

  “It has,” he replied with a nod.

  “What did they decide?”

  “I have no idea,” he said with an apologetic smile. “I was not allowed in the deliberations.”

  Eager to find out, Trynne kept up a furious pace as they wove through the corridors toward the queen’s chambers. The doorman saw them approach and knocked on the door.

  “Lady Tryneowy Kiskaddon,” he announced in a formal tone.


  Benjamin caught her sleeve before she entered the room. “Your father wishes to see you before you return to Ploemeur. Shall I wait for you?”

  Trynne shook her head. “Is he in the solar?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I will go there afterward. Thank you.” She nodded to him and then stepped into Genevieve’s rooms. The quarters had once belonged to the queen dowager and then to Princess Elyse, who was now the Queen Dowager of Occitania. Genevieve had adopted the customs and decorations of Ceredigion rather than favor her Atabyrion tastes for fancy headdresses and furs.

  One look at Genny’s eyes told Trynne that the decision had not been favorable. Her heart sank with disappointment.

  “There you are,” Genevieve said, rushing up to her and taking her hands. “Let’s neither of us pout, Trynne. We must school our feelings in the face of rejection.” The queen kept a hold on Trynne’s hands as they began to walk in a circuit around the beautiful chamber. Trynne admired the various gowns and the huge four-post bed draped with veils and gold-threaded blankets. The backboard was nearly invisible beneath all the frilled pillows. The queen’s ladies-in-waiting were arranging her gown for the evening meal and some were tidying up.

  “The king said no?” Trynne asked despondently.

  Genevieve’s brow wrinkled. “It wasn’t a no so much as it wasn’t a yes.”

  Trynne’s shoulders fell.

  “Don’t lose heart, Trynne. I haven’t. Some men need coaxing to change their minds. I reminded the council that my mother defeated an invading army at Blackpool at the age of seventeen. I also reminded them of how the Maid of Donremy was Fountain-blessed to be a battle commander. I’ve read many of her stories and have always found them interesting. But men are rather . . . sensitive in this area. Believe me, we went through all the arguments against it like a stage performer doffs and dons costumes. But the actor is still the same beneath them all. The menfolk are wary of us, Trynne. We are a great mystery to them. Drew didn’t render a verdict. He will summon the full council within six months to discuss the matter again when my parents can also be there to offer counsel, along with the other lords of the council.”

  “Six months?” Trynne said, trying not to sound devastated.

  Genevieve patted her arm. “Patience can be a trial, believe me, I know. But my husband is not rash. He wishes to hear all the sides before making up his mind. You can trust that I will do my part to encourage him to see reason.”

  Trynne let out a sigh. “It’s not fair, Genny. Men get to decide so many things. They can make candles, butcher hogs, train to be knights, lawyers, scribes, or whatever they wish. Yet we, as ladies, can only hunt and hawk alongside them. We can shoot arrows at a clump of thatch, but not at a soldier trying to burn our home.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Genevieve said. “But when men feel threatened, just as a skittish horse, they must be handled with gentleness. They will come to see our view eventually.”

  Trynne smiled, then felt self-conscious and forced it down. “There could be a lot of training in six months. How do we know this Gahalatine fellow will not invade before then?”

  “We don’t,” she answered. “That is why you must continue your training in secret.” She gave Trynne a knowing look.

  Her heart fluttered and she blinked rapidly.

  Genevieve smiled and patted her arm. “You think your morning exercise has gone unnoticed? The Espion is pretty efficient, my dear. I’ve asked about you, and so I was told, but only because I’m the queen. I admire you more than you know, Tryneowy. So does my husband. He heard your counsel and is considering it in his own way. Give him time. I do think he’ll come around.”

  Trynne felt a warm tingle of pleasure at the queen’s words. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Genevieve put her arm around her and squeezed. “You have friends at court, my dear. Never forget that. Now, be an obedient daughter and go see your father.”

  “I will,” she answered. She hesitated a moment and then asked, “How is . . . Fallon?”

  The queen raised her eyebrows in a knowing way that made Trynne’s cheeks begin to flush. She had tried to make the query sound casual and realized her blunder immediately. She should not have asked at all.

  “He’s preparing for the Gauntlet of Brugia,” the queen answered with the loving care of a devoted sister. “I think he trains nearly as hard as you.”

  Trynne was flushed completely by that point, so she excused herself before the mortification made her start babbling like an idiot.

  By the time she reached the solar, Trynne had barely calmed her nerves and reasserted her composure. Why had she asked Genevieve that question? The queen was Fallon’s sister—her loyalty to her brother was preeminent. She chided herself for being a fool and then knocked on the door of the solar. She waited outside to be admitted.

  The door handle jiggled and she saw her father in the gap, his expression haggard and fretful. He seemed relieved to see her.

  “What’s wrong, Father?” Trynne asked. As soon as she stepped into the room, she realized they were not alone. The king was sitting at the table, looking dumbstruck. Myrddin stood at the far end, his hands pressing on the wood. The Wizr looked grim. “What has happened?” Trynne asked, her insides twisting into knotted ropes as she firmly shut the door behind her.

  King Drew stared up at her, obviously rattled. “Myrddin has just informed us that he must go.”

  Trynne felt a moment of pure panic. She gazed at her father and then at the Wizr.

  “It’s true, little sister,” Myrddin said in a kindly way. “The Fountain bids me go and I must obey. There is trouble brewing in another world. I must tend to it.”

  “Do we not have troubles enough in this one?” the king said with a hint of anger. He rose from his seat and began to pace. “I am your king, Myrddin. Will you not obey my will? Why can you not stay?”

  Trynne’s world was rocking. It felt as if a huge stone were being dragged across the floor. It felt like the magic of the Wizr board was at work.

  “Was it not the Fountain that put the crown on your head, lad?” Myrddin said. “Was it not the Fountain that gave you the sword?”

  “Actually, I arranged it,” Owen said with a half chuckle.

  The Wizr gave him a piercing look. “Aye, ’tis true, my lord. But did you find that blade in the ice caves of the North by chance? Was it not put there for you to find? We may as well argue with water not to tumble off cliffs. Yet still it will fly as water is wont to do.”

  The king let out a pent-up breath and shook his head in frustration. “Myrddin, we need you!”

  The Wizr, who was still leaning on the table, straightened. “I know, lad. Sometimes, there are greater needs. I go where your ancestor once went after the sword of his bastard son skewered him. He went to a realm where such a wound can be healed. A realm where stones sing with water from the Fountain. A land of orchards and lavender. Of pretty gardens, which have been neglected of late. Alas, it is no longer a land of Virtus kings,” the Wizr said somberly, his countenance falling. “Their need is greater.”

  His words were so softly spoken and mournful that it made Trynne feel like weeping. She stared at the Wizr, unable to imagine the knowledge he had acquired after living for so many centuries, on so many worlds. He was a man of quirks and wise sayings. But he was full of wisdom that exceeded anything she knew. Still, her heart rebelled against him leaving, knowing it would make her father more vulnerable.

  “I cannot say I relish this parting, Myrddin,” Owen said, shaking his head. He approached the portly Wizr and put his hand on his shoulder. “I have learned much from you these many years and had hoped to learn more still. You are one of the Fountain’s blessings. And I admire you.” Owen’s voice thickened with emotion. “Is there anything that can be done to aid you? Would you take my scabbard with you for defense?”

  Trynne nearly gasped her disapproval, but her eyes grew hot at her father’s offer.

  Myrddin
reached out and patted Owen’s shoulder. “No, lad. But it was generous of you to offer. You are not a pethet. And I mean that.” His own mouth quirked into a smile and he arched his eyebrows. “Unlike some others in this room who dissent against the Fountain’s will with their brooding thoughts.” He gave the king a pointed look. Then he softened a bit. “Were the need not so desperate, I would stay. I made oaths that I would obey the Fountain when it called on me. These oaths I must fulfill. And so I leave you.”

  “Forgive me, old friend,” the king said, shaking his head. “And take my hand and with it my blessing. I have relied on your wisdom and counsel these many years. A seat at the Ring Table will sit empty for you until you return.” The two men clasped hands, their grips sturdy and strong. The king’s voice was haggard when he continued. “I’ve been preparing all this while to lose my right hand. To lose my left of a sudden was . . . more than I was prepared for. Forgive me, Myrddin.”

  The Wizr gave him an approving smile. “Thank you, lad. I have not felt so appreciated in all my travels. There are rapids in the river ahead. Perilous times are coming. Be courageous. Paddle hard.” He grinned dangerously. “Avoid the rocks if you can.”

  The Wizr and the king hugged one another. Trynne’s father’s emotions were obviously churning, so she went to his side and held him. For once, she was the comforter rather than the comforted, and she hardly noticed when his arm slipped around her shoulder.

  Myrddin smiled at them, and then she experienced the rushing sensation of the Fountain magic as he vanished before their eyes.

  There was a long, stunned silence in the solar after the Wizr disappeared.

  The brazier coals were fresh and sizzling and the windows were still open from the day, letting in the night air. It was nearly time for Trynne to go home, but her reluctance to go had only grown.