The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(15)

Only a command from her personally could revoke the order. Any of the Fountain-blessed who passed through that wood would sense the magic there—and be intrigued by it—but Marshal Soeur had promised that her order would be obeyed.

Thierry entered the audience hall with news from the baking guild that all the food would be prepared and in order. “They seek to honor and welcome your husband with the finest fare that Brythonica can offer,” he said with a hint of smugness. “I think, my lady, that he will be duly impressed.”

“Thank you,” Trynne answered, feeling herself start to fidget again. “Any word on their progress?”

Thierry pursed his lips and rocked back on his heels. “Word just arrived from Sir Louden that the travelers are on pace to reach Ploemeur in time for dinner, if not earlier. The meeting with Marshal Soeur at the border was amicable. No demands were made.”

Trynne bit her lip and nodded. “Excellent, thank you.”

“I have duties to attend to with the goldsmith guild,” he said, bowing to her before departing.

She walked to the nearest window seat and stared out at the beautiful cove, the rippling waters of the bay, and the city hunkered down amidst green hills decked with manor houses and gardens.

Ploemeur was truly an idyllic setting, but her fears would not be settled until she had reconciled with her husband. She would do anything in her power to soothe his concerns and regain the lost trust between them. Deliberately, she had not reclaimed the Fault Staff from where she had hidden it, for its power could be sensed by anyone Fountain-blessed.

While she believed Gahalatine genuinely wished to destroy it, something told her Albion did not share his emperor’s intentions.

She had concealed it at the sanctuary of Our Lady at Penryn. No one knew where it was except for her.

Biting her lip, she gazed at the ships at harbor, all the Genevese trading vessels that came in and out. Part of her own fleet was anchored in the tranquil bay. The sight of all those ships made her think of her mother. Sinia had been sent to the Deep Fathoms—the great unknown—and yet she’d accepted the Fountain’s summons with calm fortitude. Trynne felt none of her mother’s serenity.

She tugged the window open by its handle, letting in the fresh ocean breeze to caress her face. She closed her eyes, listening to the trills of birds and the distant noise from far below. Easing herself onto the bench, she sat for a moment, enjoying the stillness, her mood contemplative.

She’d not been sitting there long when she heard the distant rumble of thunder from a cloudless sky. A pit opened in her stomach.

Rising from the window seat, she walked briskly to the other side of the room. The view on that side looked down on the sacred woods.

A layer of clouds had suddenly appeared on the horizon, overshadowing the trees. The pit in her stomach began to suck everything inside it. Her temples throbbed and her pulse quickened with fear. The magic of the silver bowl had just been summoned.

Without pausing to consider the implications, she stalked from the audience hall and hurried to the fountain she used to travel the ley lines. As she briskly strode, it felt as if some inner voice was howling for her to run, not walk.

“My lady?” one of the serving girls asked.

“Find Thierry,” she ordered. “Tell him I’m going to the grove.

Something’s wrong.”

The maid bobbed quickly and rushed away. Worries began to cascade through her. When the bowl was invoked, the guardian of the grove was summoned. Captain Staeli had been gravely wounded in the Battle of the Kings, but he had healed with help from her magic. He was the one who wore the ring of the grove and would be summoned to defend the place. If he was defeated, the ring could be claimed by another person. This thought, this fear, was what made her stop her determined walk and break into a run. Servants stared at her in concern as she rushed past them. The knights stationed at the fountain looked at her worriedly as she stepped inside.

“My lady?” one of the knights demanded.

“Send knights to the grove,” she ordered. “At once. I fear something awful has happened.”

With the message still on her lips, she thought the word of power to cross the ley lines and felt the magic engulf her, as if she’d plummeted off a waterfall.

She arrived in the grove instantly. Chunks of ice as big as fists crashed down all around her, the hailstorm creating a cacophony.

There were soldiers all about, some huddled under shields, arms raised to deflect the bombardment. Most were sprawled on the muddy ground that was thick with frozen shards of ice, bleeding from the impact of the jagged chunks.

Her father had brought her to the grove long before he was attacked there. He had shown her how to summon its magic and what it did. The storms summoned by the silver bowl had always terrified her, but the magical assault never lasted long.

“Aspis!” she cried, creating a shield around herself and those nearby. She gazed through the pelting storm, trying to find someone she recognized. The aura of Fountain magic was everywhere. The air tingled with it.

The hailstorm ended abruptly, and in the wake of its commotion, she heard the groans of the survivors. People had collapsed everywhere. There were no horses. They must have all bolted away.

The sounds of pain were dissonant with the angelic song of the birds that suddenly appeared on the limbs of the denuded oak tree.

The hauntingly beautiful chorus had always wrung tears from her eyes in the past. But today she was desperate to find her husband and her friend, to help them and the wounded men.