The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(85)

She could feel Drew shudder beside her.

Amidst the cacophony of voices inside her head, she still heard the trickle of the waterfall, the warble of birds. And then she heard the tiniest sound—the press of a kiss. If she hadn’t been kneeling so close, she wouldn’t have heard it.

Followed by the sound of her father gasping.

“You may look now,” Sinia said reverently, her voice thick with tears of joy.

Trynne opened her eyes, staring up at her father. He stared back in recognition, his eyes sparkling with tears, his face awash with a thousand conflicting emotions. He sank to his knees, clutching Sinia’s waist, and buried his cheek against her abdomen while she stroked his hair, breathing fast and hard as if he’d jogged up the side of a hill. The look of a stranger was gone. Owen was finally himself.

Trynne crawled to him and hugged him, clutching him fiercely, with all the love in her heart.

“Trynne,” he gasped. “There you are! My Trynne!” He trembled like a leaf, as if all his strength was gone. “I’m . . . I’m breathless,” he said. “It’s all back. All of it. I remember . . . everything. Everything I’ve ever said. Jumping into the cistern. Ankarette’s smile.” His voice choked with emotion. “I never realized how sick she was. She was dying before she met me.” His trembling intensified. “I can remember every missive I’ve read. Every conversation. My mind is going to crack into pieces.”

Sinia dropped down to her knees, holding him protectively, drawing Trynne and Gannon close as well. “The magic of a Dryad’s kiss is potent. You’ll remember everything in greater detail. Every book you’ve ever read, my love. Or will read. You will be an even stronger servant to your king. I experienced the same when my mother kissed me. It takes some getting used to.”

Trynne looked hungrily at her mother. “Do you know what has happened to us, Mother? Did you see it from the Deep Fathoms?”

Sinia nodded. “I’m so proud of you. So proud of what you’ve done. This is what you were meant for, Trynne. I understand that now. I was blinded to it by my concern for the safety of my people.”

Trynne warmed at the sentiment. She’d long carried the guilt of not continuing her Wizr training. “So Gahalatine can get his memories back?”

“Yes. And Dragan too. But it cannot cure Gahalatine. He will die from Morwenna’s kiss.”

Trynne’s heart sank. She’d hoped his fate would be different.

“And his people? Are they doomed to perish?”

“I have seen visions of the future, Trynne. I cannot speak of all that I know, but Gahalatine has a special gift from the Fountain. His words are convincing. He must use his gift to persuade his people to enter the treasure ships that he had them build. Those who hearken to his word will live. Those who don’t believe in the judgment of the Fountain will perish. He must be returned to Chandigarl at once. His

sickness will kill him swiftly. But he still has the chance to save his people.”

Trynne’s throat closed with tears and she felt sadness but also gratitude. Some would listen. Some would heed the warning.

“Mother. What of Fallon? Have you seen a vision of Fallon?”

Her mother’s look became somber. “I have, Daughter. I cannot bring him back. Neither Myrddin nor I can change the covenant that binds the portal. The offer must be made by one who is willing. And I have seen our futures here in this world.”

Gahalatine had been confined in illness to a part of the palace that was little used and visited. It wasn’t the traitor’s tower of Holistern, but it felt like a dungeon nonetheless. A guard was stationed there to keep others out, not Gahalatine in. Trynne gestured for the man to open the door. She heard her husband’s hacking cough before she entered.

She found her husband, sick on his bed, drenched with sweat, and racked by chills. He had gray shadows beneath his eyes, and the signs of his mighty strength were already beginning to wane. As she entered, he scooted back on the bed to try to sit up, stifling a cough on his fist. His hair was slick with sweat.

“You did return,” he said gratefully, his voice hoarse. “Others t-told me”—his words were interrupted by a cough—“Lord Fallon remained behind.”

She approached his bedside and reached out and touched his leg in sympathy. “It grieves me to see you like this,” she said sadly. “I kept my promise.”

He blinked and nodded, looking uncomfortable and achy. “I knew it wasn’t you,” he said, shaking his head. “The strangest feeling wrapped around me when she entered the tower. It was . . . wrong— so different from how I felt with you in Ploemeur. How I feel with you now. I knew that Morwenna could disguise herself. She does so convincingly. But I still knew. She tried to kiss me and I turned away.

It felt . . . wrong. Vindictive. She kissed my cheek instead. And now I

am cursed to die.” He looked at her sadly, but proudly. “I kept my promise too.”

Her heart tugged with anguish. She grasped his hand in hers and slowly began to feed him with her magic, helping him recover some of his strength. She watched the color come back to his cheeks. The tremors began to fade.

It would not cure him. But it would sustain him a while longer.

The king’s council had gathered in the audience hall of Kingfountain palace at the massive Ring Table. This was the first time since Morwenna’s assault on the princess that the king’s loyal subjects had come together without disguise or illusion. Trynne and Sinia had used the ley lines to summon together those rulers whose presence had previously been faked by Morwenna’s magic.