The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(52)

He gazed at the sea, his mouth tugged down with concern. He brooded a while before answering. “I would hope so. But I’d rather not risk you to save her.”

His words touched a chord in her heart.

Before the sun set that evening, the queen’s fleet had captured the island sanctuary and manned the walls with knights from Comoros.

The rest of the fleet began unloading troops and supplies with rowboats to form a beachhead. The ships would linger in the bay when the tide went out to avoid being trapped in the sand.

Fallon and Trynne were part of the guard that brought the queen onto the island after it had been taken. The queen’s narrowed eyes gazed up at the torchlit fortress, her lips curling into a strange grimace. It was clear to Trynne that her memories of the place were not benevolent.

Martin arranged for the rest of the queen’s escort to bring her up to the pinnacle of the hill. He told her that he’d go on ahead to make sure his men had secured the castle. Instead of taking the main road to the abbey, Martin brought Trynne and Fallon on a series of byways, which he demonstrated previous knowledge of, and led them through a secret gate into the gardens cloistered within the abbey grounds.

The smells of the garden struck Trynne instantly. The fragrant aroma of star jasmine and other night flowers filled the air, but her heart was full of foreboding at the secret errand that lay ahead.

There were trellises and comfortable benches, and the gardens were sheltered by enormous trees. As they passed under a magnolia, Fallon bent down and picked up a seed pod.

“Don’t,” she said, giving him a warning look, remembering how they had flung such seed pods at each other at the gardens of Kingfountain.

The impish smile on his mouth promised nothing, but he did stuff the seed pod into his pocket instead of hurling it at her.

“It’s over yonder,” Martin said, encouraging them to follow. “We don’t have much time before the queen reaches the abbey.” They trod across the greenery and Martin brought them to a small secluded area, heavily overgrown.

“This is the entrance,” he said, stopping and pulling his pack off his shoulders and setting it down. He hastily undid the straps and pulled it open. He withdrew several torches and handed them to Fallon with a flint and iron. Then he pulled out a piece of wrapped canvas and quickly untied the bindings.

Fallon had a practiced hand, and it took him but a moment to light two of the torches. Martin took one from him and brought it to the bundle he had brought out. His demeanor was grave and determined, his mouth twisted into a frown. “Every Leering is carved out of stone by an Aldermaston. Time can weather the face away year by year, but the power remains so long as even a part of it is left.”

He flipped open the canvas, revealing a series of heavy mallets and chisels. “Your work, lass,” he said, shooting her a fierce look.

“The lair is beneath that stone cover. Go down there and smash the serpent off the stone Leering. Unmake it.” He grabbed one of the mallets, hefting it in his palm. “You do this for me, lass, and I’ll do everything I can to help you find the one you seek. The boy can stand guard. If the queen comes before you finish, I will delay her as long as I can and warn you before she comes. She may try to return to this very place.”

Trynne took a deep breath. “I will try my best, Martin.”

When he nodded his acceptance, she wrapped up the bundle again. After securing it inside her pack, she put the pack back on.

She felt unsure of herself, but she’d trained long enough that she trusted her arm muscles to be up to the work.

“I’ll hold the light, lad. You drag away the stone,” Martin said to Fallon, gesturing with the flaming torch.

Fallon handed his torch to Martin before kneeling by the stone.

Trynne watched him strain against the heavy lid. It took a few moments, but it finally moved under his effort. Only a little at first and then it slid off with a grinding noise. Fallon rocked back on his heels and stepped away.

The depths of the hole were blacker than the night.

Trynne crouched by the entrance, looking down into the darkness. She did not sense any magic coming from it, but a bleak feeling emanated from within. Suddenly, she felt the nuzzling, agitated presence of unseen beings all around them—just like she had on her first night in this desolate world. It put her on her guard, and she swallowed thickly.

“Be careful,” Fallon said seriously, looking her in the eye.

“Help me down,” she said.

He gripped both of her hands as she stood poised over the hole. She leaned backward, pulling against Fallon’s arms as she scrabbled against the edge of the wall with her boots, finding toeholds. Fallon looked stern and worried as he helped lower her down. She felt grateful his reach was so long. By the time her feet reached the ground at the bottom, the darkness had engulfed her like smoke.

“Take a torch, lass,” Martin said. “There be snakes down there.”

“You waited to tell me until now?” she asked with a tremor in her voice. She stood aside and Martin dropped one of the torches down to her. It landed with a hiss on the sandy ground, thankfully still lit.

Reaching down, she picked it up and peered into the gloom while she drew one of her swords.

There were snakes.

Dead ones.

Her skin crawled with revulsion as she gingerly stepped forward. The withered serpents were everywhere, black scales turned a musty gray. She felt her courage failing but edged forward anyway.