The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(54)

Martin nudged the man with his boot. “You know what Forshee looks like. How did you not know whether it was him?”

“He wore a mask,” the Aldermaston said with a sigh. “We kept him drunk on cider at first. But after a few months, he suddenly became more lucid. He played with the bits of stone over there. He’d stack them up and then knock them down.” Trynne and Fallon exchanged a look of recognition. Stacking tiles was one of the ways her father replenished his Fountain magic.

“He even carved a Leering into the wall, we discovered,” the Aldermaston continued. “It’s still there. It would have taken months of persistence. We had orders to kill him immediately if someone tried to rescue him. I thought it might be Forshee. A hostage to sway the queen. I wasn’t sure . . . I didn’t know what was the truth. Dieyre was born to speak falsely. But the man in the mask escaped. He got off the island. None of us could find him. Dieyre and the queen were so angry. So angry.” He shook his head.

“Where is Dieyre now?” Trynne asked coldly.

“Drawing all his forces into the mountains east of here. Surely the three kingdoms combined will not fail to defeat him.” He shook his head. “But he is relentless. He will fight them all. Surrender? Not Dieyre. I think he’d rather everyone died than admit failure. This will be a war unlike any other.”

The Aldermaston stared fixedly at the wall, his cheeks twitching as if in contemplation of the looming destruction.

The noise of marching boots heralded new visitors.

“The queen has come,” announced a guard who had hurried ahead.

The Aldermaston’s face blanched. “I am a dead man.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


The Cursed Shores


There was a sniveling tone to the Aldermaston’s voice as he pleaded for his life. Trynne watched the scene unfold before her eyes in the dark dungeon beneath the abbey.

“I beg you, spare me,” the Aldermaston whined as Martin held him up by the collar of his fancy arrayments.

“It is interesting that you speak now of mercy, Aldermaston,”

Queen Ellowyn said with loathing in her voice. “Where was your mercy when you sent innocents to die in the flames? Where was your mercy when you sent two kishion to murder me? How can you beg for mercy now yourself?”

The Aldermaston made a strangled sound. “I did not send—”

His voice choked off as Martin throttled him.

“We have the orders you sent,” the captain growled. “You’ve betrayed the name of Aldermaston in every possible way. Face your fate like a man!”

“I beg you,” the Aldermaston pleaded, the chains on his wrists rattling. “Spare my life! I may still be of use to you. Remember,” he said, staring up at the queen, “it was I who first trained you in your powers. I who lifted you up to become Comoros’s queen!”

She looked at him with revulsion. “Yes, I remember you very well. The fetes and parties. The Dochte Mandar whom you sent to teach me. To bind me to your allegiance. But as you can see, we are stronger than you. We are many now. I think it is fitting that you should die like those you condemned. The abbeys must burn, Aldermaston. All of them. Including this one.”

His eyes widened with horror. “But Dochte was to be spared! It was promised to me!”

She took obvious glee in his pathetic pleading. “All of them, Aldermaston. The reign of the mastons has ended. Even Muirwood was burned to the ground.”

“No,” the Aldermaston pleaded, sprawling out in front of her, his shoulder convulsing. “I beg you, spare this final one! I was promised, by Ereshkigal herself, that it would be spared!”

“You thought a promise made to a man would be honored by Ereshkigal? Was it not your own teaching that women are mutable?

Changeable by nature? Are we not water that molds to the shape of the dish? Poor Aldermaston.” She crouched down by his prostrate form and gently stroked his head. “Where is the Medium to aid you now? Where is the power you once took for granted? You have nothing left that I need or want.”

The Aldermaston sobbed like a broken man, his shoulders heaving.

“Poor Aldermaston,” she crooned. Her voice pitched lower.

“Gideon wept as Muirwood burned too. He heard the screams from inside as the fire consumed it. As will you.”

The feeling in the room grew so bleak the torches seemed to dim. A sick, strangling feeling seized Trynne’s chest as she listened to the queen’s voice. It had stopped sounding like her, the voice slowly changing to another’s, as if multiple voices were speaking at the same time. Trynne’s thoughts went blank with fear, and cold sweat seeped from her pores.

“Look at me,” the queen said, her eyes glowing silver and swallowing what little light there was in the fetid prison.

The Aldermaston lifted his head, his mouth wet with drool. He shivered uncontrollably as the queen lifted his chin to face her. Her power swept over him, compounding his grief and remorse, his fear and desolation. The room seemed to echo with hissing noises, but Trynne felt rather than heard them—the delighted purring and growling of those unseen monsters feeding on the man’s desolation.

“A rich bounty indeed,” the queen said with relish. “You served me well, Aldermaston. But now I release you.”

The queen bent her neck and kissed the Aldermaston’s forehead. As soon as her lips touched his flesh, Trynne felt a little prick of magic, a spell of some kind imparted by the kiss. She felt the invocation of something, like a whisper of death, and the Aldermaston’s shoulders slumped as if he knew what would happen because of it.