The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(18)

She wasn’t sure she could trust herself to speak, but she tried.

“Yes, I was . . . injured as a child,” she said, feeling enormously self-conscious. “That is not important right now. We did make an alliance between our people. The customs of Chandigarl demand that a husband and wife wait to consummate the marriage if the wife is too young and her parents are unable to give permission. My parents are both missing. So we have not”—her cheeks flamed scarlet —“been as man and wife yet. When you returned to Chandigarl after our wedding, a lightning storm struck your palace and burned down a large part of the city. You blamed me . . . blamed the Fountain for it. You were coming here, to Ploemeur, to reconcile with me.”

His lips parted in surprise. He stared at her, listening to her words as if she’d spoken in a foreign language, wrestling to make sense out of them. The apathetic look on his face revealed that he was less than entranced with her. Did he think he had taken her to wife out of pity? She could not bear to consider it.

“My lady!”

Trynne spun around at the sound of the healer’s voice.

“He’s waking!”

She saw Lord Amrein leaning up on one arm. He’d just vomited into a bowl. Several other healers had gathered around his bed. She felt a thrill of relief, a spark of hope amidst a blackness of soul.

The healer knelt by the chancellor, gripping his wrist and pressing the back of his free hand against the man’s forehead. “He’s very weak still. My lord, do you know your name? Do you know where you are?”

Lord Amrein glanced around the room in confusion. Those who’d been injured in the grove lay all around him, receiving treatment from other healers. “I recognize the symbol of the triple face on the pillar over there. This is Ploemeur, is it not?”

“Thank the Fountain,” Trynne gushed, spanning the remaining distance between them.

He looked at her, his brow furrowing. “My lady,” he said broodingly.

“I tried reviving him with salts and it did the work,” the healer said. “My lord, you sustained a head injury along the journey.”

“It was a hailstorm,” Lord Amrein said.

“Indeed,” Trynne said, nodding. “When you are feeling more rested, we will need to leave for Kingfountain immediately. There is news I must share with the king and queen at once.”

Lord Amrein frowned, his brow knitting. “If I could sit on a horse, I’d go now,” he said.

“No, there is no need. We could take the fountain and be there straightaway. But you look so ill.”



He nodded and leaned forward on the bed. “If I could be helped there? We should go at once.”

Trynne directed two of her knights to help carry him there. Then she waved over Thierry, who was still baffled by the abrupt turn the day had taken. He could hardly be blamed. One moment they’d been preparing for Gahalatine’s visit—the next, the hall had become a sickroom. And where was Captain Staeli? Why had he not appeared in the grove to defend it? Not knowing only made her anxiety worse.

“I need to know Captain Staeli is well and to seek his counsel.

Please send a rider out and have him come to Ploemeur at once. I’m taking Lord Amrein to the palace to warn the king about what has happened. I leave Gahalatine in your charge. Answer his questions.

Help explain who he is and why he is here. I will return as soon as possible. Talk to Reya when she awakens again. See if she can explain why they went to the grove against my express command.”

“I will do so, my lady,” Thierry answered. “Can you explain to me what has happened? Was it a freak storm? The weather was so clear. It doesn’t make sense.”

She couldn’t share the grove’s secrets, but her steward had expressed her own thoughts so precisely. “I know, Thierry. None of it makes sense.”

When they arrived at the chapel fountain in Kingfountain, Lord Amrein dropped to his knees from the rush of magic, planted his hands on the rim of the font, and then proceeded to retch once again in a series of spasmodic jerks that produced nothing but a little bile.

The Espion assigned to the chapel rushed in to help him out.

“What happened? I’ve never known him to travel this way,” one of the Espion asked Trynne. The chancellor was clearly in no shape to answer the question himself.

“It was urgent we both arrive.” Invoking the word of power for healing, she reached out and touched Lord Amrein’s shoulder. Her own stores of magic were continuing to dwindle, but her effort had improved his color noticeably. “We need to see the king and queen at once.”

Both Espion exchanged a look before glancing back at her.

“What is it?” Lord Amrein demanded. “I saw the look you gave each other.”

One of the Espion leaned in and whispered something in his ear.

The chancellor’s head jerked back. “Take me to the king.”

“What has happened?” Trynne asked in concern.

Lord Amrein stared at her. “The baby, Kate, is critically ill. The whole palace is concerned she will die.”

Trynne blinked. “Where is she?”

“The queen has been nursing her. The doctors are all baffled as to the cause. She was healthy three days ago when I left, and now she’s . . . failing?” He looked again at the Espion who had conveyed the message.