The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(10)

Trynne sighed and then sidled closer to her father, resting her head on his arm while holding his hand with both of hers.

“Father, did you know Morwenna is Fountain-blessed?” she asked him softly.

“Yes,” he answered. “She started showing the signs about the same time you did.”

“I think she’s lonely,” Trynne said.

Her father grunted. “Yes, I suppose she must be. She chooses to spend so much time in Glosstyr with her father.” There was another layer of meaning to his words, and Trynne wondered what it could be. Her father was so wise and cunning. She wasn’t at all surprised that he knew about Morwenna’s ability.

“Do you know what her gift is?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Not yet. It’s early still.”

Just as they were about to leave the sanctuary and enter the tumultuous street, a voice called out from behind them. “Lord Owen?”

They turned around to face Lord Amrein. Father asked, “What is it?”

“Your wife just appeared in the sanctuary alcove with your son. I thought you’d want to know.” The spymaster wrinkled his brow in confusion as his attention shifted to Trynne. “You have some crepe or something on your dress . . .” He reached behind her and pulled off a strand of crinkled crepe that was not part of her outfit at all. Her mind flashed back to the memory of Fallon slipping his hand around her shoulders.

“He didn’t!” she seethed, and snatched it from Lord Amrein. She glowered, trying to find him in the crowd, but he was already with his family. Raw fury boiled inside her. She wished she were a poisoner and could get her revenge in any number of interesting ways.

But Trynne’s rage vanished when she saw her mother approaching them swiftly, tears streaming down her cheeks.





CHAPTER THREE


The Ring Table




Trynne had never seen her mother so distraught, and it was worrying because she knew that Sinia could see the future. The worry was a tangible thing that writhed inside her, and it only made it worse when her father told her in a curt command to take her brother to the palace and wait for them there. Gripping her little brother’s hand, she escorted Jorganon away from the sanctuary of Our Lady.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked her brother, but he looked miserable and pale. He shook his head and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

The walk to Kingfountain passed in a blur as Trynne’s mind whirled through the many possibilities. There was no way she could guess at the news, which only made her discomfort worse. Gannon, as she sometimes called him, was too young to be hounded for information. Although he was still sick, he was curious about everything and started tugging on her hand, eager to approach a vendor with a string of sausages. She reined him back and continued her hurried pace toward the palace.

“Is everything well, my lady?” asked a voice at her shoulder. It was Davyn Staeli, her Espion bodyguard. He wore no badge or insignia marking him as the duke’s man. His brown hair was balding on top and his beard was trimmed. Two swords were belted to his waist, a long sword and a shorter one, and he used both with equal proficiency. The buckles on his leather tunic front were cinched and proper. He was a meticulous man, her own personal shadow. Though he usually kept a discreet distance, he must have sensed her grave mood, her hurry.

“I don’t think so, Captain Staeli,” she murmured, casting him a worried look. “Father wouldn’t tell me.” He frowned at her words, his dark eyes brooding, and then dropped back a few paces. Still, he followed her more closely, a hand on the hilt of his short sword. She saw him make a few surreptitious nods, which indicated the presence of other unseen Espion.

Her parents had insisted that she have a personal guard after the attack. Sometimes it bothered her that she was watched night and day, but at such a vulnerable moment, she was grateful for Captain Staeli’s reassuring presence.

When she and Gannon reached the palace, there was much noise and celebratory commotion in the king’s hall. Gannon shrank a little from the tumult and started to cough. The corridors were thick with servants bustling through with trays of meats and a variety of cheeses. Pitchers of wine and mead were also brought forth in a constant flood, giving the air a sour smell amidst the scent of the crushed pine needles strewn about.

While the festering worry would not allow her any peace, Trynne still felt a thrill of excitement as she entered the king’s hall. There was no mistaking its transformation. She had come to Kingfountain many times throughout her childhood, but this was a massive change. The dais and throne were gone, and an enormous table stood in their place. Gannon tugged on her hand, wanting to get closer, eyeing it with great interest, and she let the lad drag her over to it.

As Trynne approached the gleaming polished wood, she realized that she was staring at the round of a massive tree. The circumference was not a perfect circle because of the irregular bends caused by the natural growth of the tree over time. It defied her imagination that a tree of such width could exist in nature. Three grown men could have lain on the table, end to end, and there still would have been room for a child at the farthest point. How tall must the tree have originally been? The visitors of the palace were all gathered around it, mesmerized by the sight. Twelve straight-backed chairs were arrayed around the table.

“Trynnee, can I climb on that chair?” Gannon asked, reverting to a pet name he used to call her when he was younger. He tried to yank his hand free of hers, but she kept a firm grip.