The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(55)

“I . . . I . . . speak your true n-n-name, Eresh—” the Aldermaston tried to utter, but his voice thickened and he could say nothing.

She stroked his cheek, relishing his impotence. “You will never speak again,” she whispered. Then she rose and turned her shining eyes on Martin. “Assemble the servants and every living thing in the area to the abbey and then bar the doors. Bring this man to the gardens to watch it burn. Then tie a Leering to his neck and cast him into the sea when the tide comes in at dawn.”

Martin looked at her incredulously. “My lady, you can’t mean—”

She rose imperiously, looming over Martin as if she were a giant. “You will obey me, or you will join him.”

Those terrible whining and hissing sounds—no, sensations— intensified. Martin stared at his granddaughter in horror for the command she’d given. But she had not given the order—it was the thing inside her. Trynne felt Fallon’s hand close around her wrist.

She glanced at him, saw the fear in his eyes. The warning to flee.

There was nothing they could do here. No further help they could give.

Trynne reached behind her back to where the Tay al-Ard was fastened to her belt.

Martin stood transfixed, his brow furrowed with conflict, his teeth bared like a dog about to snarl.

Trynne felt Fallon squeeze harder, as if saying, Now!



She closed her fingers around the Tay al-Ard, feeling her heart cringe from the blackness of the deeds about to be committed. The queen turned toward her. Those uncanny silver eyes locked on hers.

And then she and Fallon vanished.

Trynne brought them to the harbor where they had disembarked from the queen’s ship. There were no vessels there now, for the tide had gone out, but there were plenty of soldiers and rowboats.

“I’ve never felt so awful in my life,” Fallon whispered to her, shaking his head. He turned and looked up at the black face of the abbey. The stars swirled in a vast configuration in the sky, but the island itself looked dead and dark.

“It was pure evil,” Trynne said, shuddering. “I’ve never been so afraid.”

“Nor I,” he agreed. “This place is cursed.”

They approached a group of soldiers wearing the queen’s tunic, and Fallon said they had orders to leave the abbey and row to the mainland. A few minutes later, they were on a boat. With each stroke and grunt of the soldiers’ oars, Trynne felt a little better, but she still ached for Martin and his granddaughter. He had wanted to save her by destroying the Leering that made hetaera.

But his plan had failed. And the failure also meant they would not be able to break the hetaera’s curse from Morwenna either.

The night was cold and Trynne gathered her cloak more tightly around her. They had brought their packs with them and would seek out her father after reaching the shore. She brooded on the scene they had witnessed, on the way a fell creature had possessed the queen. She had never experienced such a thing before, and never wished to again. Despite some similarities to her home, this land felt so foreign and bizarre to her, like an oozing wound that wouldn’t heal.

She didn’t know how long she was lost in her thoughts when she heard one of the soldiers murmur, “Look! It’s burning!”



She had been facing forward on the bench, hip to hip with Fallon, and they both turned at the same time and saw that the abbey atop the spike of the island was ablaze. Her heart panged with dread and sadness as she watched the flames roaring. How could a structure made of stone burn like that? But it did burn, and unwanted tears blurred her eyes as she watched it. How many centuries had that abbey stood there, a beacon in the water? She could almost hear in her mind the distant echoes of hammers and chisels and creaking ropes. And yet it would be destroyed in a single night.

“By the Rood,” one of the soldiers muttered. “She was the last abbey.”

“Aye, man. They’re all gone now. Good riddance,” said another.

Trynne’s heart was heavy as she watched Dochte burn.

The shore was full of soldiers and tents when they arrived, but Trynne and Fallon were both wearing the tunic of the queen’s guard.

They were neither challenged nor questioned. Even if the queen had sent word right away for them, the Tay al-Ard had helped them outrun the speed of any messenger. While they had no intention to linger, they found a small tent for some privacy. Fallon removed the Wizr chest from his pack and unlocked it, and there was just enough light from the torch poles outside the tent for them to see the gleaming board.

“Here we are,” Fallon said, pointing to their pieces on the board.

“There is the black queen, right next to us. The king is already here in the camp, it seems. Look how close we are.”

“Martin was right,” Trynne said, pointing to the white king across the board. Another white knight was near it. “Dieyre and my father are still to the east, but we’re closing the distance. Only a few squares away.”

Fallon nodded and gently closed the lid and locked it. “Then let’s keep going. I don’t want to be here in the morning when new orders arrive.”

“Agreed.”

Fallon rose and then held out his hand to help her rise, a simple kindness that meant even more in this place drenched in gloom and despair. Working silently, they secured their gear and left the tent.