by Jeff Wheeler
“You should be abed,” Trynne said, glancing up at her mother, wanting to be alone with her.
Gannon’s brow wrinkled. “I know, but Mama wanted me to stay.” He smashed the pieces together again as he made hissing and clashing noises.
Sinia closed the book on her lap and set it aside. “Your sister and I have much to discuss. Off to bed.”
Gannon pouted a bit, but he was an obedient lad by nature. He stuffed the lead figures into his pockets and then gave Trynne a willing hug and a sloppy kiss. Sinia held him for a moment, a contented smile on her face, and patted his cheek before he bounded out of the library.
“Sometimes, when I look at your brother,” Sinia said wistfully, “I remember that your father was about his age when your grandmother sent him away to Kingfountain to be a hostage. It makes me weep sometimes, the thought of what it must have done to her. Seeing her in the palace so often reminds me of it. He’s such a little boy. With no guile.” She took one of the couch pillows and hugged it to her breast. “Sit with me,” she said, brushing a tear from her eye and then caressing the cushion next to her.
Trynne’s throat was thick. She sat down at the edge of the couch, miserable. “You probably already know what I’m about to tell you. It’s not fair.”
Her mother played with some strands of Trynne’s hair. “Some things I know through visions, Trynne. But I can guess at enough through my own observations.”
“It still isn’t fair,” Trynne said, shaking her head.
“Very little in life is,” Sinia replied. “A philosopher said, ‘Only by joy and sorrow does a person ever know anything about themselves or their destiny.’ They learn what to do and what to avoid.”
Trynne entwined her fingers together, twisting them as her emotions battled inside. She let out a deep sigh. “I’m not meant to be a Wizr, Mother,” she whispered.
The stroking hand on her shoulder stopped its ministrations. Trynne felt tears burning in her eyes. She hung her head.
“I suppose not,” her mother said, her voice throbbing with sadness.
“I have tried. But in my heart, I would rather be . . .” Trynne’s words failed her.
“Preparing a castle for a siege?” her mother supplied. “Well, it seems you may get your wish after all.”
Trynne turned her head abruptly, staring at her with surprise. “What do you mean?”
Sinia had a pensive look. She was mastering her disappointment, but Trynne could still see it in her eyes, in her dejected countenance.
“One of the things we discussed in the council was the defense of the kingdom. You already know that the Wizr board has been broken. Rucrius’s magic cracked the stone. That special set has been a key to our kingdom’s defenses for centuries. No one could ever surprise King Drew because the board showed him plainly who was friend and who was foe. It also showed us which direction the enemy pieces were coming from. Who was moving against our king. We’ve been struck blind.”
Trynne reached for her mother’s hands worriedly. “And the pieces?”
“They are just stone now. They do not change color when someone switches sides.”
“Can you fix it?” Trynne asked hopefully.
Sinia shook her head. “That set was created long ago. It’s a relic of the Deep Fathoms. Myrddin said that it was a gift to the original King Andrew, and he used to play the game with his knights. It was stolen, along with the king’s sword and the scabbard, before the battle leading to his grave wound.”
Trynne’s heart shuddered. “Then I should not do this!” she said with anguish. “My duty is here. You are needed at court, Mother. The king needs you.”
Sinia clasped Trynne’s hands and stroked them gently. “Your duty is not here, Trynne,” she said. “As much as I might wish it were otherwise, I can see that your heart isn’t fulfilled by the study of magic. It is a burden to you.” She shook her head, gazing away a moment, as if preparing herself to speak difficult words. She let out her breath and then straightened her shoulders. “Daughter, the king’s men will be arriving shortly with an embassy from the palace. Your father and I have discussed it. The king and queen are investing you with the title of countess. Along with the title, you will be given lands, certain freedoms, and a royal pension. You are to be the Lady of Averanche shortly.”
Trynne’s heart whipped into a frenzy. “Can this be true?”
“I would never lie to you, Trynne,” her mother said with an arch smile.
The thought was almost too much to consider. Her? A part of the royal court in her own right, and not just because she was the daughter of powerful parents?
Her mother wasn’t done speaking. “You will hold that title independently. It was going to be invested on you when you turned sixteen, but in light of recent events, it will happen straightaway. You did great service to the people of Kingfountain. You have earned the king’s trust and demonstrated responsibility belying your youth. We chose Averanche because it is between both of our duchies and closest to Pree. Without the board, we cannot see threats coming. You will be responsible for defending our borders and preparing soldiers to fight with the king when the invasion comes.”
“I will be part of the battle?” Trynne gasped with wonderment.
“Of course not!” Sinia said, wrinkling her brow. “No, Trynne. You will help defend the homeland. The queen has been given command over the home army. She will choose one of the dukes of the realm to be her battle commander. Westmarch will go with your father to fight Gahalatine. Brythonica was chosen to help defend Ceredigion. When it’s time for battle, your army will march under your father’s banner whilst you remain here in Ploemeur. I will away to Kingfountain to advise the queen.”
Trynne felt the wrongness of the plan. It was not her destiny to remain behind. She had to go with the king to protect him when the time came.
“I thought you’d be pleased with this news?” Sinia said, looking concerned at her reaction.
“I am pleased,” Trynne said anxiously. “The Lady of Averanche. I had no idea. I’m just so surprised.”
Sinia seemed to accept her change in tone. “I knew you would be. For too long you have lived under the shadow of the past. And your father and I have perhaps coddled you more than we ought. You are a capable young woman. Captain Staeli will go with you—not as your protector, but as your captain. He served under your father for many years before joining the Espion. You will have your own household, your own herald—your father said that you cannot have Benjamin, but Farnes is willing to come out of retirement to help advise you.” She reached out and brushed some locks of Trynne’s hair away. “My heart is bursting right now, Daughter. Have I taught you enough? I led all of Brythonica when I was younger than you. That was forced on me when my parents died. You need to grow up so fast. It won’t be much longer before . . .” Her voice thickened and tears spilled from her lashes.
Trynne hugged her mother fiercely, burying her mouth against her neck. The vision of her father’s death hung like storm clouds over them. Mother and daughter tried to comfort each other. The grief of the moment was too powerful for words.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lady of Averanche
The castle of Averanche commanded a stunning view of the sea. It was built atop a hill along the coast, the town nestled inside a sturdy wall that had withstood sieges for generations. The battlements were usually windy, but Trynne loved to scale the stairs leading to them and walk alone, staring out over her domain, wondering at all that had befallen her in recent weeks.
The Lady of Averanche.
Her days were no longer solely devoted to books and the study of swordplay. She had been given a household staff to help her manage her responsibilities and rarely had a moment of peace. But she loved every moment. Trynne was decisive by nature and had good instincts. She often saw smiles and nods of approval from the mayor, who brought many of the city’s disputes before her. She dispensed justice but tempered it with mercy. Her banner bore a castle with a fish ov
er it between two moons. In the game of Wizr, her piece would have been a tower. It was a defensive piece, which felt right. Averanche had always been a border town and had changed sides between Occitania and Ceredigion many times over the centuries. It had been one of her father’s castles since he was about her age.
She leaned forward against the battlement wall, the wind whipping her hair in front of her face. In the distance she could see the island sanctuary of Our Lady of Toussan. Ploemeur was tucked into a cove beyond it. The air carried the tangy smell of the sea and she let herself smile because no one was watching her.
Part of her still wished that she hadn’t let her mother down. Sinia took her responsibility to protect the people of Brythonica very seriously. She needed an heir to maintain the defenses, and Trynne had always been the logical choice because she had shown signs of being Fountain-blessed at a young age. Gannon, on the other hand, had not. But he was still young; there was still a chance.
No, Trynne knew she would feel guilty for years to come, but it felt right deep down to her bones. She was answerable to the queen and took her commands from her instead of her own mother. The queen who was with child at such a calamitous time. Queen Genevieve had sent Trynne several missives—sealed, of course—telling her to prepare for some new arrivals. The queen was handpicking young women from throughout the realm to become Oath Maidens. They would be summoned to the court, sworn to silence, and then sent to Averanche to be trained by Captain Staeli and Trynne herself. Trynne bubbled with excitement, anxious to see who would be chosen.
Standing there on the battlements, squinting at the distance, she tried to make out the sanctuary of St. Penryn’s. She loved her freedom. She had used the ley lines to travel a little bit more, visiting places—mostly sanctuaries—that she hadn’t seen in a long time. The deconeuses and sextons all knew her on sight, and none asked who had given her permission to visit. She was a lady of the realm; it was her right.
The sound of shuffling steps came from the stairs alongside the battlement walls. Farnes reached the top wheezing; his hair, mostly gray now, ruffled in the breeze.
“My lady . . .” he gasped, stiff jointed and walking gingerly, “you have a visitor.”
That was no longer uncommon. She leaned back against the stone wall. “Who is it?”
She saw him before Farnes could respond. Fallon had followed the aging herald up the stairs, obviously sneaking.
Farnes, who plainly hadn’t seen him, began to speak, “It’s—”
“Cousin!” Fallon boomed, scaring the old man nearly out of his boots.
Trynne gave him a half smile.
“Thank you, kind father, for showing me the way up here,” Fallon said, clapping Farnes on the back. “If you’d just pointed, I would have saved you the arduous journey up the stairs. Hello, Cousin,” he said, bowing gracefully in front of Trynne. “I’ve come as promised.”
Farnes was clutching his heart, his eyes still wide from the surprise. He looked at Trynne for her orders. Now that she was the Lady of Averanche, she was no longer expected to have a constant chaperone. She could be alone with Fallon if she chose.
“Thank you, Farnes. I’ll be down shortly.”
“As you will, my lady,” he said, giving Fallon a wary look. He started shuffling back toward the stairs.
“You nearly killed my herald,” Trynne scolded.
“I couldn’t help it,” Fallon replied with a grin. He walked to the edge of the battlements and leaned down, resting his elbows on the wall. He faced the sea. She faced away from it.
“I thought we were going to meet in Ploemeur?” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“That was before you became so important,” he said with a dark look. Was it jealousy?
“I’m glad you found me nonetheless. You came from Dundrennan?”
He shook his head. “No, Edonburick. I had reason to go there first.” He glanced at her surreptitiously and then looked away.
“What is it, Fallon?” she pressed.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, gazing down the cliff at the water dashing the rocks below. The harbor was small and easily blockaded. His normal jovial nature was wilting before her eyes. He looked fidgety. Uncomfortable.
“I might if you tried to explain,” she suggested.
He turned slightly, leaning his weight on his elbow, and gazed at her. With his crouched position, he was nearly eye level with her.
“I don’t think you would, Trynne.” He sighed. “You always follow the rules.”
She narrowed her gaze. “What’s wrong?”
He had a sullen look. “Just a hunch, really. A suspicion.” He gave her an intense look. “I think Duke Severn is plotting a rebellion.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Impossible
At Fallon’s words, Trynne’s heart clenched with dread. Severn was no longer the power he had once been. The duchy of Glosstyr was autonomous, which gave the former king his independence, but it was a seat with little power. It had never hosted the Assizes or the king’s court. It was a bruise on the skin.
“If you know something, you must tell the king,” she told him with concern.
Fallon’s smile was patronizing. “I have nothing to accuse him of, Trynne. Not yet.”
She turned to face him more directly. “What evidence do you have?”
He scratched along the side of his neck and then pursed his lips, considering her words. “If I’m wrong . . .”
“Just tell me!” she insisted.
“Very well, Trynne,” he said, holding up his hands. “You keep your own secrets, you know.”
She sighed with exasperation.
“That wasn’t fair. Forgive me. Lord Amrein once said, and I believe he heard the saying from your father, that a wise ruler keeps his friends near and his enemies nearer. I don’t think they’ve followed their own advice in regards to Severn. He’s been isolated for far too long, and I know he wishes revenge against your father.”
“How do you know this?” she pressed. “From Morwenna?”
He nodded curtly. “She is worried her father’s loyalty was broken by his defeat. She’s his own daughter, and you can imagine she feels the conflict most keenly. But that is not my only evidence.” He rubbed his hand along the stone rampart. His hair was tousled by the wind, and she had the urge to smooth it out. “For the last few years, I have been . . . how do I say this? . . . getting to know the Espion better.” He gave her a rakish look. “There is so much that happens in this realm. So much intrigue that never is discussed in wider circles. Lord Amrein isn’t getting any younger. I flatter myself that perhaps the king will choose me as his replacement. In the future,” he hedged, holding up his hands. “Your father was younger than me when he was entrusted with the duty,” he added under his breath, and Trynne once again heard the throb of jealousy in his voice. Fallon had long bristled at feeling underused, forced to live in the shadow of the older generation. “Be that as it may—I don’t know why I am rambling so much—I’ve gotten to know many of the Espion on very familiar terms. They love to boast and brag. When we were in Brugia, for example, you found me at their hideout. That’s not the first time I’ve been to one.”
“You are rambling,” Trynne said, shaking her head. “Just say it, Fallon. What do you know?”
“The Espion has said that the old king has some new acquaintances. Men, or so it’s believed, who wear black robes and silver masks. The masks hide their identities. Several of them have arrived at Glosstyr within the last year. No one knows where they come from or who they are.”
Trynne’s brow wrinkled. “What does Morwenna say about them?”
He held up his hand abruptly. “I haven’t asked her that. And I’m not sure she would know. They started coming after she left for poisoner school, and she’s not been back very often. These men in silver masks do not stay long. The Espion struggle to stay informed in Glosstyr, as you well know, so by the time we hear about them, they are long gone. Men in masks, Tryn
ne? Does that not sound like a conspiracy to you?”
“It does,” she answered, her insides roiling even more. “My father knows, doesn’t he?”
Fallon shook his head. “I’ve not said anything yet, as I have no solid proof. Only suspicions. Why do you think I’ve been acting so interested in Morwenna? To rankle Elwis, naturally, but also to create the idea that I would be interested in becoming part of the conspiracy.”
Trynne stared at him in shock.
“You should see the look on your face!” he said, laughing. “I suppose I have enough guile for both of us.” Her hand was also resting on the stone, and suddenly he put his hand on top of it. “I wanted you to hear this from my own mouth, Tryneowy Kiskaddon. I am loyal to the king. I am loyal to my sister. And I am loyal to both of your parents. If I seem a bit angry and petulant, especially in public, please understand that I’m trying to be useful to the crown in another way. A spy is only as good as his deception. I’ll not ask to go to poisoner school or anywhere like that. But I have been training secretly with the Espion in Dundrennan. Clark has been a mentor of mine for many years.” He squeezed her fingers. “And you have been my dearest friend since childhood. You deserve to know the truth, especially if you hear rumors or nonsense about Morwenna and me. Rest assured; I do not love her. My affections have been elsewhere for some time.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “Just so we understand each other.”
Her mouth had gone totally dry at his words and she felt a flush creeping into her cheeks. Her mother had once warned her that she would not marry Fallon Llewellyn. That thought had disappointed her, since they were such dear friends and companions. Should she tell him this at such a tender moment? How would he react if she did?