The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(51)

Martin rubbed his thumb into his other palm, as if trying to soothe the memory of an old pain. “I want to help ye. But I cannot if I don’t know who I’m trying to help or why,” he said in a low, sincere voice. “We are going to Dahomey, as you asked. But once we get there, what next? Whom do ye seek?”

“Give us a reason to trust you,” Fallon said in a quiet, deliberate tone. “There is something binding you to this queen. You say you once served a noble prince. She is not very noble.”

His mood turned black in an instant. “I know, lad. There is very little to trust anymore in this world. The most worthy of it are done and gone. Disappeared. I could have gone with them. But I chose to stay behind because of her. Because of the queen.” His dark eyebrows cinched together. “She is my granddaughter.”

The pieces fit together in Trynne’s mind snugly.

“So it’s blood loyalty that drives you,” she said, nodding.

“Aye,” Martin replied. His shoulders bunched up and he folded his arms, as if he were suddenly very cold. “My master . . . the prince that I served . . . had a certain Gift from the Medium. He could see the future ere it happened.”

Trynne’s interest was piqued at his choice of words, and she and Fallon exchanged a look.

“I see my words struck a chord with you,” Martin said with a laugh. “Though, in all blazes, I know not why. He was the Prince of Pry-Ree. His wife was with child, his wife being the cousin of the King of Comoros, mind you. She was murdered by a hetaera—a midwife skilled in treachery—but the babe survived. A wee lass.” His voice thickened with emotion. “The Medium’s will was for the child to be raised at Muirwood Abbey in secret. The King of Comoros knew that the prince’s child might inherit his powers. A decoy was needed.” He stopped, gritting his teeth. “My own daughter . . .” He locked his lips, struggling with his emotions. “My own daughter was dying too. She also had a wee girl . . .” His voice choked off.

Fallon leaned forward. “You had the infants swapped. Everyone thinks the queen is Ellowyn Demont, the prince’s daughter, but she is not.”

Martin nodded in agreement. He sighed out through his nose.

“She was brought to Dochte Abbey. Against my will, I may add. But fighting the Medium is like trying to shove a river backward with your hands, or so I’ve learned. I tried to rescue her from Dochte before it was too late. You see, Dochte is where the hetaera make their foul oaths. There is a special Leering there, one with a serpent on it. It is the symbol of those who swear allegiance to Ereshkigal, the Queen of Storms. The ruler of the Unborn. There are many marks of a hetaera—her eyes glow with the magic, and sigils form on her chest and throat—but you can always know a hetaera from the serpent mark on her shoulder.”

Martin stepped closer to them, gritting his teeth. “I’ve told you what I’ve not shared for many years. I have my own reason for bringing my granddaughter to Dochte Abbey. I seek to destroy that Leering. To stop more of the hetaera from being made and to unmake my granddaughter’s curse. But I cannot go inside the lair.

Only a woman can.”

His eyes, reddened with emotion and wet with unshed tears, seared into Trynne’s face. “So you see, lass, before I assist you further, I will be needing your help to save my granddaughter,” he said in a dark, determined voice. “Then I’ll help you save your father or whoever ye seek in the cursed shores.”





CHAPTER TWENTY


The Aldermaston’s Fate


What struck Trynne vividly when the ship rounded the jagged coast of Dahomey and she first saw Dochte Abbey was its remarkable similarity to the sanctuary of Our Lady of Toussan in Brythonica.

Both had been constructed atop islands along the coast of their respective lands. The sight sent pangs of homesickness through her, filling her with the feverish desire to finish this mission so she could return to her own world, where things made much more sense and where her own enemy was plotting her duchy’s demise.

Fallon approached her from behind. For a moment, she thought he was about to put his hand on her shoulder, but he ended up bracing himself against the rail of the ship instead.

“Martin explained to me that the island is landlocked when the tide goes out,” he said, gazing out across the waters. “Doesn’t it look like Our Lady of Toussan?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Trynne mused. “It feels so ancient. Was this place the model for ours or the other way around?”

“Only Myrddin knows,” Fallon said with a curt laugh.

“How long do you think they will hold out?” she asked, nodding at the formidable island surrounded by thick defensive walls.



Fallon smirked. “Martin just now told me that Dieyre withdrew all his forces from the towns on the coast. There are no soldiers defending the island.”

Trynne’s brow wrinkled. “None?”

“They’ve all been summoned to the interior of Dahomey. It’s as if he . . . wants us here. Are you sure you’re willing to enter the lair of the hetaera, Trynne? I have a bad feeling about it.”

“I should try,” she answered. “Martin promises to keep helping us if I do this. Besides, if there’s something I can do to destroy the magic of that Leering, won’t it also break its grip on Morwenna?”