The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(79)

Pain bloomed down her arm, as if a torch had been pressed to the wound. Her bone felt as if it were on fire.

Morwenna kicked at her again, but Trynne dodged the blow and the boot hit a stone instead. Wincing, Morwenna grabbed Trynne’s arm with her hand. The dagger followed, coming right for her throat.

She caught the blow, gripping Morwenna’s wrist, and then flipped her down on the sand. She followed through, hoping to slam her nose, but the poisoner spun in the wet sand and kicked Trynne

back against the rocks. The waves were rushing toward them now, moving like white storm clouds.

Trynne had to break the spell, had to smother Morwenna’s power. With her arm throbbing from the poison’s fire, she invoked her power of speed and rushed up to Morwenna. It felt as if time had slowed down to a crawl. She saw the glitter of sunlight off the white crests of water. Saw the waves engulfing the rocks slowly, crashing into them at a turtle’s pace. Trynne kneed Morwenna in the stomach, bending her double, and then wrapped her good arm around her neck in a vice and clasped her hand around her wrist to secure the lock. The chokehold would rob Morwenna of air in seconds.

She felt a pinprick of pain on her forearm and sensed the ring on Morwenna’s hand, its secret needle exposed. The poison was fast acting and Trynne’s arm went numb. Still, she gripped Morwenna’s neck, arching her backward. The dagger stabbed Trynne’s leg once, twice. She endured it, feeling the ribbons of blood running down her leg. Then her leg was on fire with pain as well.

Her grip on Morwenna’s neck tightened. She’d cut off her air completely. Morwenna thrashed, unable to breathe, her consciousness fluttering. A hand, the nails gritty with sand, clawed at Trynne’s face. She felt another stab of the needle ring on her slack cheek.

Then the waters hit them. Trynne and Morwenna crashed against the rocks, both upended by the force of the raging surf. It ripped the poisoner out of Trynne’s arms and sent her tumbling end over end. Her mouth was full of the horrid taste of saltwater and she choked. There was no up, no down. Her head struck against stone and all went black.

Her last thought as she struggled to breathe was the realization she was drowning.

The first noise Trynne discerned was the sound of a seagull. Her clothes were drenched and she felt the sucking of the sand as a gentle wave lapped across her, lifting her slightly and then settling her back down. The water was so cool against the fire burning on her leg. She couldn’t move, although she tried. Her entire body was paralyzed. The webbed feet of the seagull pattered up to her and she thought drowsily that it might start pecking her hair.

“I found her!”

The voice was garbled through the seawater still in her ears.

She heard the slapping noise of boots against the wet sand and then suddenly two sets of arms were pulling her away from the clutch of the sea. Her head drooped low, her hair thick with sand. She felt the particles everywhere, but she couldn’t budge. The poison was doing what the water could not. Killing her. She felt every heartbeat, for each one was shuddering in her chest as her heart gave out. Was she even breathing? Could she breathe?

“It’s Lady Trynne! We found her!”

She wanted to speak, but could not so much as grunt. She’d never felt so exhausted, so drained. Her Fountain magic was empty, completely empty.

“Bring her here. Come now, over here.” It was Myrddin’s voice.

“She’s not breathing,” someone said.

“Look at all the blood. Is she even alive?”

“Of course she’s alive,” Myrddin crooned. “Have you ever heard of a Fountain-blessed drowning, eh? Don’t be a pethet, of course she’s alive. Bring her here.”

Her heart was beating painfully. The pain in her arm and her leg was so intense she wanted to cry out.

“There, there, little sister. All will be well. All is well. Lay her down.”

She saw the sun in the sky. She tried to blink but could not. The worried faces of several of her people passed before her gaze.

“She’s dead,” one of them whimpered.

“She’s not dead,” Myrddin said. “She’s only asleep.” Then he bent over her and she saw his face, saw the gentleness in his look, the admiration. He gazed down at her tenderly. The sun was just beyond his thick dark hair.

Her heart stopped. She felt herself moving toward the light beyond Myrddin, but a single word stopped her flight.

“Nesh-ama.”

All the pain, all the weariness vanished. She felt tingling all over her body. The burning fire from her wounds vanished, replaced by tender skin. She took in a breath of air and it tasted delicious. The smells of eucalyptus, of seafoam, of oysters filled her senses. Trynne stared up at Myrddin, saw him leaning back from her with a smile on his face.

“There, lass,” he whispered. “You’ll be mending now.”

She saw him stuff some shriveled green moss into a pouch at his waist.

The voices whispered with reverence around her. “She’s alive!”

“She’s alive!” “Tell Thierry. Quickly!”

Somehow they had been saved. Her people had not been drowned after all.

Myrddin grasped his crooked staff and winced as he tried to rise. He was clearly weak, the battle must have drained him considerably, but he still managed to make it to his feet. Gripping his staff, he reached down and caught her hand and helped pull her to her feet.