The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(5)

“Did you not tell me that you killed the Wizr Rucrius?” he challenged.

“I did it with my own sword,” Trynne answered firmly.

“I saw him myself!” Gahalatine snapped. “Very much alive and boasting that the two of you have been in league all this while. That he gave you the Fault Staff to enable you to destroy his fleet at Ploemeur. He says that you have it still.” He held up his hands.

“What am I to think, Tryneowy? All along, I suspected he was trying to induce me to marry the Argentine girl, but he fooled me into falling in love with you.” His lack of love, the violence in his eyes and voice shook her to her core. She was speechless, dumbfounded, horrified.

“He arranged for you to be fed information about my kingdom’s financial straits. I’ve been such a fool. Such a trusting fool. And now the Fountain is punishing me for my arrogance. For my pride. I wed myself to someone far below my station in the hopes of overthrowing the very chains that are now locked about me in every possible way.

I rushed into it, heedless of the cliff.”

He turned his brooding gaze to the king and the council seated around the Ring Table. He looked at them each in turn, his gaze full of disgust and loathing. “I only came here to concede my defeat, Your Majesty.” He nearly spat out the words. “My city is still burning. I cannot tell you how many have burned to death in their homes. The devastation is unspeakable.” He quivered again, trembling. “I forfeit my seat at this table. Now I must attend to my suffering people. It was my decision that brought this calamity on them. Farewell.”

“No,” Trynne gasped, reaching out and taking hold of his arm.

“This is not true. None of it.”

“Do not touch me!” he roared at her, jerking his arm away. “I loathe the sight of you. Albion, take me back to the zenana at once.”

Trynne’s attention had been so fixed on Gahalatine, she had not noticed the Wizr’s presence. “Yes, my lord,” Albion said, but he wasn’t looking at his emperor. He was looking at her, unable to conceal a victorious grin. It brought her no comfort to learn Gahalatine’s destination. On her short visit to his land, she had sensed a subtle but persistent evil rooted in that place.

Gahalatine glared hotly at Trynne. “I will come for you in Ploemeur when I am ready for you. You are my wife still. Await my coming.”

Trynne watched in horror as the Wizr Albion hooked his finger on Gahalatine’s sleeve and the two vanished through the power of a Tay al-Ard.

The room was spinning as she blindly clutched at her chair.

Trynne felt her pulse in her temples, herself at the verge of fainting.

This could not be happening. It had to be a nightmare. Surely she’d awaken from it gasping and terrified in her bed.

And yet she did not.

Someone was there, holding her as she trembled. It was the queen, and Genny had a look of grief and fierce concern.

“How dare he?” Genny whispered with almost a growl. She held Trynne, squeezing her tightly, stroking her hair. Trynne couldn’t think.

Her mind was whirling as fast as the room.

“I would not have imagined such words coming from such a man as he,” Drew said in disbelief. “He is a man of honor, but he speaks as one convinced that he’s been betrayed. This tragedy has addled his senses.”

“What he did to Trynne was inexcusable,” Genny said, still clinging to her. “I have no doubt that the devastation he depicted is true. Based on what we’ve learned, the buildings in the Forbidden Court are arranged close together. A fire could easily devastate such a place.”

“But what of Rucrius?” Lord Amrein wondered. “I’ve been fixed on that point since he repeated his name. Trynne, you killed him in Pisan—isn’t that true?”

“I did,” she answered, her voice sounding strained in her own ears. She avoided glancing at Fallon. It would be unbearable to see his face at such a moment. “I left his body in the fountain that we appeared in. I can go back there . . .”

“No!” Genny and Drew said in unison.

Lord Amrein shook his head. “That may be exactly what the Wizrs are expecting you to do. You are their greatest threat. I know that some Fountain-blessed can disguise themselves. Isn’t it obvious that someone was impersonating Rucrius? You took off his head, did you not? Forgive me for being sordid, but one cannot be revived from that, correct?”

Trynne swallowed, trying to contain her emotions. “I do not know for certain,” she said, trembling violently. There was a story in The Vulgate, the ancient book of magic, of a man who was enchanted and could be revived after being decapitated. She wanted to be sick. She was afraid it would happen in front of all of them.

“Come sit down,” Genny coaxed, helping her to a nearby bench.

“What purpose could this serve?” Lord Amrein said, tapping his fingers on the table. “Clearly we’re still at war.”

“Or the game is still being played,” Lady Evie said, speaking up.

“Another game. One whose rules we don’t know.”

Trynne could still imagine the roar of flames. The cries of Gahalatine’s people. They were her people too. She was their uncrowned queen.

“I must go there,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“To Chandigarl?” Genny asked with concern.