The Hollow Crown (The Kingfountain Series Book 4)

by Jeff Wheeler

  Trynne shook her head. “I don’t know. But I know this. It wasn’t magic that made those warriors fly. I would have felt it. They are different from us, my lady. What manner of men these people are, I don’t know. But I do know that Gahalatine is honorable . . . in the realm of warfare. He could have vanquished us easily. Once he suspected betrayal, he called off the attack. His reputation was more precious to him than a quick victory. He’s not an evil man in the manner we supposed. Ambitious, to be sure! But there is so little we know about the Chandigarli. We have only Morwenna’s interpretation of them.”

  Genevieve’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed. I think it may be wise to learn more through a different source.” She gave Trynne a knowing look. “Would you be willing to go there yourself?”

  Trynne could not hold back her smile.

  “Let’s confer before you leave,” Genevieve said. “The council will be convening in several days when the others return safely to Kingfountain. Walk with me.” Arm in arm, they left the solar and started toward the council. “My husband plans to invest Prince Elwis as the new Grand Duke of Brugia. He says the man’s countenance has changed. He’s more subdued now. Less resentful. He’s bearing the full brunt of leadership.”

  “How is your father?” Trynne asked.

  “He was grievously wounded in the battle. Of course the surgeons want him to lie on his stomach and heal properly, but he chafes at being so idle. It seems hopeful he will recover.”

  “Thank the Fountain,” Trynne breathed.

  Genevieve patted her arm.

  A brooding cloud of defeat hung over the gathering of the king’s council. There were bruised, puffy cheeks and dark scowls. Trynne spied Fallon slouching in a chair, his leg wrapped in bandages, his look dark and sullen. He waved away a servant offering a drink in annoyance. As Trynne approached the king with the queen, she attracted the gaze of many onlookers.

  King Drew was conferring with Lord Amrein at the head of the table. The Espion master had a cut lip, a broken nose, and hadn’t shaved in days, which was unusual for him.

  “I have every available man searching for the painted knight, my lord,” he said. “The first reports came from the Gauntlet of Brugia. No one minded them back then. It was an oddity. The Gauntlet of Occitania was canceled. But several witnesses, myself included, have reported that the painted knight was seen on the hill the eve of the battle. Near your camp, my lord.”

  “I wonder who it is,” the king said with amazement. “We were fortunate he came.”

  “Indeed, my lord,” said Lord Amrein. “Very few had the skills to combat the enemy’s weapons. The glaive is not common in these parts. Yet I watched the painted knight fight the Chandigarli with ease. I’ve never seen the like—not even Lord Owen could fight like that. It’s a mystery.”

  “See to it, Lord Amrein. Find the painted knight. We will need him in the days ahead.”

  The queen stood by the king’s chair and gently touched his shoulder. When he looked up and saw her, he smiled with exhaustion and sadness. Together they both glanced toward the empty chair. The seat Trynne’s father had been called to sit in. The chair of the king’s defender.

  You will sit in that chair, the Fountain whispered to Trynne. But not yet.

  “My lady,” said a voice near her, pulling her attention away from the seat of the Siege Perilous. She was startled to find Prince Elwis at her elbow. He was very tall, wearing the fashions of his realm. A small red slash on his cheek had been stitched shut by a surgeon. His eyes were full of pent-up emotion, a look of intense grief and pain.

  She felt a small throb of compassion in her chest. She was about to speak, to offer her condolences, but he started speaking first.

  “Please, if you’ll allow me,” he said in a low, regretful tone. “I am sorry, Lady Tryneowy.” He looked down, abashed, then met her gaze again, and she could see that he was roiling with discomfort. “I am sorry about your father. I know the Espion will do their best to find him. But I wanted to personally assure you that if he is somewhere in Brugia, I will do everything in my power to restore him to his rightful place.” He swallowed, and she could tell there was more he wished to say, so she remained quiet. “I resented him . . . I’m ashamed to admit it now. He was an honorable man. He came to the defense of Brugia when he was needed most. My kingdom has lost—” His throat seized up as he battled with tears. But he mastered himself, keeping his voice calm and steady. “It is no matter what we lost. We all lost much to our enemies. Some have whispered that your father betrayed us. I hold no credence to such tales and will punish any who besmirch his good name. I also apologize for my unkindness toward you.” He grimaced. “I woefully regret my words to you. And I appreciate the undeserved kindness that you demonstrated to me in Occitania. I am in your debt, and humbly seek your pardon.”

  She could tell his little speech had been carefully thought over and possibly rehearsed, but it was obvious that it came from his heart. It left her speechless with wonder.

  He bowed curtly to her and started to withdraw, but she caught his sleeve. When he winced and flinched with pain, she realized he was concealing a wound in his arm.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized, but he waved off the attempt.

  “It is nothing, truly,” he said, waiting guardedly for her to speak.

  “You lost your father, my lord,” she said with sympathy. Over the years she had watched Prince Elwis with his father. Grand Duke Maxwell had often been exasperated by his son’s vengeful attitude. Perhaps there were some unspoken regrets the young man harbored. “I grieve for your loss. He was a good man.”

  The young duke gave her a pained smile. “That is kind of you.” He glanced around the room as the noise started to subside. “It seems the council is coming to order. I’d best find a place to sit down.”

  Trynne gave him a polite nod, still reeling with surprise at his humbled demeanor. She felt someone’s eyes on her and looked over to see Fallon watching her with wide eyes. He had witnessed the entire exchange and looked chagrined. Trynne gave him a cool look in return and took her seat at the table.

  The room settled into silence. Trynne had never had her own seat at the table before, and it felt both unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Silence hung in the air, along with a cloud of despair. So many things had happened in the chamber . . . She wanted to rub her hand along the polished wood of the Ring Table.

  King Drew rose and leaned forward, resting his palms on the table. The hollow crown glinted in the torchlight. He cast his gaze around the table.

  “My lords and ladies,” he began. “I bid welcome to the new members of my council. I recognize Duke Elwis of Brugia, who sits in the seat of his father. I recognize the Lady of Averanche, Tryneowy Kiskaddon.” His voice throbbed with emotion as he spoke her title. He hung his head a moment, mastering his own face. The empty seat, the Siege Perilous, sat there like an oversize Wizr piece. “On our wedding day, a few years ago, some of you remember that Lady Sinia arrived rather suddenly.” He rubbed his chin, squinting at the memory. “She came bearing news of this terrible tragedy. She had a premonition, of sorts, that our kingdom would be invaded. That her husband would be lost to us. My pain cannot equal hers, but I feel it keenly still. I have known that I would lose my champion, my defender, my friend. Now that the bitter dregs are in the cup, I must name another. Gahalatine has given us but a brief reprieve before his engine of war rouses like a tempest. If we continue to fight and squabble amongst ourselves as we hitherto have”—his gaze raked Fallon’s face, which went scarlet with mortification—“if we are proud and concerned only for ourselves and not the common well-being”—his next glance was for Elwis, who did not even flinch at the rebuke—“then we will lose all. We have already lost a goodly number of knights, archers, and stalwart soldiers. The number of wounded is nearly beyond counting. Gahalatine’s army lost only a tithe in comparison. We cannot win this forthcoming contest unless we fight with all of our strength, all of our will, all of our ingenuity. In Ceredigion
, we have a history of facing down larger forces than what we find ourselves up against now. I do not fear their numbers. I fear our own weakness more.”

  It was a powerful speech, and Trynne felt her soul moved at his words. It was a rebuke, but a loving one. He was vulnerable, for he stood to lose the most, but everyone sitting at that table would be supplanted by one of Gahalatine’s governors if the Chandigarli won the day.

  The king clenched his fists and planted his knuckles on the table. “I was given counsel by Lady Trynne and my queen that I was too hesitant to implement. It has long been the culture of our realms to forbid women the right to bear arms and to train to use them. In the distant past, according to Myrddin, there were times when men and women fought alongside each other when the need was dire. These warriors were called Oath Maidens. My queen has taken on the responsibility to arm and train any maiden who wishes to fight in defense of Kingfountain. She has the authority to call her own captains. With so many of our young men bruised and slain, we must use every resource to defend ourselves. And when the year is nearly expired, I will summon all the warriors of the realm to the Gauntlet of Kingfountain. There is no time left for local competitions. All will gain the chance to earn this seat—the Siege Perilous. From the victors, I will choose a new champion. Be they man or maid. I will brook no argument against this aim. This is my command. See that it is done.”

  After he had issued the command, the Ring Table began to thrum and vibrate. The sound of the Fountain began to murmur around the gathering, and the grooves of the table, the inner rings of the massive tree trunk, began to glow softly. A feeling of power radiated from the ancient wood.

  King Drew appeared to be startled by the sudden manifestation. The looks on the faces of everyone in the room were full of astonishment. Fallon’s mother and the queen beamed with triumph. Many looked more uncomfortable with the king’s pronouncement. Some of the men were staring aghast at the suggestion. Severn looked disdainful, but Elwis was merely subdued. He stared from the table to Trynne with deep concentration, and it made her uncomfortable to be stared at so. Fallon, on the other hand, looked grave as he shook his head and muttered something under his breath to his mother, who swatted his arm in annoyance.

  And then Trynne caught sight of Morwenna standing near the doors leading to the secret passageways. She was surprised the king’s poisoner didn’t look pleased. In fact, her look was unguarded for once, and she seemed furious.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Unrequited

  The magnolia petals had all fallen, save only a few that still stubbornly hung on to the branches. As Trynne knelt in the grass, staring up at them, she clung to the silent hope that her father still lived. Visions of his severed hand haunted the shadows in her mind both day and night. It was time to return to Ploemeur with her mother—and then Averanche. Genevieve had promised the first girls would arrive soon for their training.

  It was not possible to describe the feelings in her heart. What would have happened if she had not followed the Fountain’s direction before the battle? Would it have made a difference for her father if she had appeared in the grove with her magic and two swords? She had to trust that the Fountain had used her for the best possible good, even if that good was devastating to her personally. She had kept the oath she had sworn before Myrddin; she had obeyed the Fountain’s will. So why did it hurt so much?

  A breeze teased through her hair and the branches of the magnolia trees, carrying the sweet scent of the blooms. She shut her eyes, trying to will away the pain and the longing to see her father. Part of her had been ripped away. It was a wound of the heart, and it would never fully heal. If only she knew what had become of him, whether she would ever see him again. Eyes pressed closed, she listened for the faint stirrings of the Fountain. She hoped for something, a message—a sign.

  Nothing came except the sound of someone approaching in the grass.

  Disappointment battered her. She had hoped to find solace in her favorite spot at the palace, but even that balm was being denied to her. Opening her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Fallon Llewellyn striding toward her.

  He looked angry.

  Not now, she thought in despair. Not another burden.

  She brushed the strands of grass she’d plucked from her lap and then rose quickly. If she was on her knees when he arrived, he would tower over her.

  There was no preamble of teasing from him this time. It came out as an accusation.

  “You knew, didn’t you? About your father. That was the secret you wouldn’t tell me.”

  “I was forbidden to tell anyone,” she answered in misery. She did not want to have that conversation with him. It was too painful, and the fierce and wounded look in his eyes only added to her agony.

  She started to walk away, determined to reach the chapel fountain and return to her lands. There, she would have the slender comfort of grieving with her family. Fallon snatched at her sleeve and then gripped her arm. The warrior in her was tempted to heave him face-first onto the ground. She tensed, barely able to suppress the urge to humiliate him.

  “Leaving already?” he challenged.

  “I don’t want to argue with you, Fallon. Please let me go.”

  “Not until I’ve said my piece.”

  It tortured her to know she held secrets from him still. He was ready to complain about the least of them. She pressed her eyes with her free hand—he still gripped her arm. The wind rustled the branches again, and one of the magnolia buds broke loose and spun in a circle on its way down to the lawn. It was painful to watch it and think of that long-ago day they’d played so carelessly in that very grove.

  “Say your piece, then,” she muttered darkly, and shook her arm free of his hold.

  Fallon looked very unstable at that moment. He was too emotional. So was she. It was an ill omen.

  “You should have told me,” he said. “My parents kept me in the dark. So did my own sister. But you . . . I thought we could trust one another. I thought you would have shared the truth before it happened. I was there at Guilme, Trynne! I might have prevented it if I’d known!”

  “How?” she snapped. “What could you have done that would have helped? My mother had a vision of this long ago. She’s been carrying this grief for years. And so have I. I wasn’t at liberty to tell you, Fallon. It would have broken the king’s trust. It would have broken my father’s.”

  His forehead was wrinkled with agitation. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, muttering to himself. “There is some treachery afoot in the kingdom, Trynne. I warned you of it before. The men in silver masks.”

  She had to grit her teeth to prevent herself from accusing him of being one. She still had the cloak and mask she had taken from his tent the eve of the battle. How could she fully trust his words? He was scheming and unreliable, cavorting with Morwenna while trying to win Trynne’s trust. Or was he faithful to his sister, to King Drew, to her. He was like a glob of quicksilver, always darting away when poked.

  “My father knew of them,” she said passionately, resisting the urge to hit him. “Lord Amrein knows. If you have information that would help, say it! Stop tottering between sides, Fallon.”

  “I’m not tottering between sides!” he said, nearly shouting. “I am loyal to the king. To my sister. There is nothing I could be offered that would tempt me to break my allegiance. I want to be useful. I want to prove that I can do more.” His voice throbbed with pent-up disappointment and rancor. He stepped closer to her. “I loved your father. Maybe not as much as you do. But I always respected and admired him. I would wheedle my mother to tell stories of their childhood adventures.” He had a half smile as the memories came. Then he looked pointedly at her. “We grew up together, Trynne. I loved those years in Ploemeur. Walking on the beach of sea glass with you. Finding pies and other delights to share while we rode the lift up the mountain to the castle.”

  His voice dropped off suddenly, becoming husky. “I was there the night Dragan
hurt you.” He gently pressed his thumb to the edge of her mouth, and she saw tears dance in his eyes. His hand lingered there, his touch so soft and tender. It made her feel dizzy, and she realized he was about to say something, to commit himself in a way that would forever alter their relationship.

  “I must go,” she said, her voice shaking.

  “You must hear me out,” he insisted.

  “I . . . I don’t think—”

  He stopped her words with a kiss that startled her. She did not reciprocate it, but she could not help but feel it burn all the way down to her toes.

  His fingers had slid into the nest of her short hair, behind her neck. He pulled back, a devious smile on his mouth. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

  Part of her wanted to fling herself into his arms—to cry, sob, and kiss him back. She was stunned, off balance.

  “You are too reckless,” she said, shaking her head. She brushed her wrist against her mouth, but it could not remove the memory of the kiss that lingered there. Her blood raced, her heart was pounding in her ears, making her almost abandon all reason.

  “I am,” he said with a curt laugh. “Too much like my father, I suppose. He stole a kiss from my mother before she left Atabyrion the first time. It was his way of claiming her.” He raised his eyebrows archly.

  “Fallon,” she said, shaking her head, her heart bursting with pain. He couldn’t be hers, no matter how much she wanted him. No, she could never forget that her mother had seen her wed someone else in her vision. Trynne had made an oath to follow the Fountain’s will.

  “Trynne, I failed to protect you that night. I went off in search of pies! You don’t know . . . you cannot know how much I have regretted that choice to leave you alone. If only I had been less selfish. If I had been with you, perhaps I could have thwarted his attack.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said.