The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(78)

All was silent in her mind.

She was supposed to capture Morwenna, then. Bring her to justice at Kingfountain.

Trynne dropped her twin swords. The two blades embedded in the sand. She kept walking down the slope of packed sand, weaponless. The swords would only kill Morwenna. There had to be another way.

Morwenna’s lip curled into a sneer. She drew one of her daggers. Wet poison glistened on the blade.





CHAPTER THIRTY


Drowning


Morwenna’s eyes flashed and a pulse of magic seared at Trynne. It had no effect. Then sand exploded from the shore, sending up a blinding haze of stinging pebbles and grit that whirled around in a vortex. Trynne walked through it, shielding her eyes. She could no longer see Morwenna, but she could still sense her. The poisoner was retreating deeper into the ruins of Leoneyis.

Trynne trudged forward, sensing the barnacle-encrusted pillars that rose around her, the bones of the ancient kingdom. The wind died down, giving her relief from the pelting sand. She couldn’t see Morwenna anymore, but there was no mistaking where she was concealing herself—she’d hidden behind some of the broken fragments of rock. Trynne saw the tide still stretching out, building up for another colossal charge. She had to hurry, had to defeat Morwenna quickly enough to stop the surge. Glancing back, she saw Myrddin on his knees, still gripping the gnarled staff in his hands, head bent low. But she also saw others flocking to the beach, the citizens of Ploemeur coming out to see what was going on. She wanted to scream at them to flee, to get to higher ground. They were arriving in droves.

“I’ve waited for this,” Morwenna taunted, her voice ghosting behind the rocks. “For the chance to face the Painted Knight myself.”

Despite all the seaweed and encrustations, Trynne could see the carved face on the rock—as ancient and decayed as the ruins itself.

“I do not seek revenge against you, Morwenna,” Trynne said. “I arrest you by command of the king. Your brother, whom you betrayed.”

“My brother,” the poisoner laughed. “The son of a coward. The heir of a withered dynasty. He doesn’t deserve to wear the tunic of the Sun and Rose. He didn’t earn it, as my father did. You should know all about betrayal. Your father betrayed mine.”

“My father served the Fountain. And your father served the true king. He gave his life to defend Kingfountain.” Morwenna continued to retreat deeper into the hulking stones. Beautifully colored starfish clung to many of the ruined buildings, and vagrant strands of kelp draped across the stones. It was getting colder, darker, as she followed Morwenna deeper into the ruins.

“Your father tricked mine through the help of a poisoner. Isn’t it fitting that you’ve been duped by one as well? Ankarette was afraid of my father, you know. She was afraid to face him.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Trynne said.

“We’re both going to die in this place. I will not come with you to stand before my brother. To be dragged to an icy mountain.

Chandigarl will perish by flood. And so will Brythonica. No one will remember your name or who you were named after. Is it any wonder that those who love you forget you? You’ve always been forgettable.

Do you finally see how insignificant you are? It’s a pity your mother isn’t here to see your next failure.”

Morwenna was trying to goad her, to make her give in to her anger. Her desire for revenge. Trynne kept her emotions bottled up, sensing for weakness, waiting to be attacked so that she could use her powers to their best advantage.

“It’s a pity Fallon isn’t here to witness your failure,” Trynne said with a hard edge. “How it must gall you that he chose me, disfigured and short, over you. It tortured you so much that you had to steal his clothes just so you could pretend he was yours.”

Morwenna stepped out from around a boulder, emerging behind Trynne. She whirled to face the poisoner, who was gripping her dagger so hard her knuckles were bone white. The curl of her lip was almost that of an animal about to attack.

“He only pitied you,” Morwenna said darkly.

“He loved me,” Trynne shot back, her heart racing in her chest.

“He sacrificed himself so that my father could return to Kingfountain.

He outsmarted you. He saw through all your tricks.”

“And you’ve condemned him to die in that forsaken land with all its forsaken thrones,” Morwenna spat. “That alone would give me reason enough to hate you. At least we die together. Like sisters.

Invocamorayim! ”

Trynne had never heard that word of power before. But she sensed its potency. It felt as if Morwenna had unleashed the entire ocean instead of just a few waves. The binding was loosened and an avalanche of water was let go. It was a command to flood the earth, to break loose all boundaries.

Dagger in hand, Morwenna rushed Trynne, slashing down with the poisoned blade. Trynne caught the poisoner’s forearm with her own, punching her other fist into Morwenna’s sternum. She couldn’t think, only act, as Morwenna’s boot came spinning up at her brow, forcing her to duck. They traded blows, each one connecting, each one causing the other pain.

A searing rip of pain tore Trynne’s arm. She saw her own blood on Morwenna’s dagger, saw the delight of victory on the poisoner’s face. Morwenna’s boot connected with Trynne’s stomach, knocking her down, but she rolled backward and landed on her feet again.