The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(32)

“Six months?” Trynne said, trying not to sound devastated.

Genevieve patted her arm. “Patience can be a trial, believe me, I know. But my husband is not rash. He wishes to hear all the sides before making up his mind. You can trust that I will do my part to encourage him to see reason.”

Trynne let out a sigh. “It’s not fair, Genny. Men get to decide so many things. They can make candles, butcher hogs, train to be knights, lawyers, scribes, or whatever they wish. Yet we, as ladies, can only hunt and hawk alongside them. We can shoot arrows at a clump of thatch, but not at a soldier trying to burn our home.”

“You’re right, of course,” Genevieve said. “But when men feel threatened, just as a skittish horse, they must be handled with gentleness. They will come to see our view eventually.”

Trynne smiled, then felt self-conscious and forced it down. “There could be a lot of training in six months. How do we know this Gahalatine fellow will not invade before then?”

“We don’t,” she answered. “That is why you must continue your training in secret.” She gave Trynne a knowing look.

Her heart fluttered and she blinked rapidly.

Genevieve smiled and patted her arm. “You think your morning exercise has gone unnoticed? The Espion is pretty efficient, my dear. I’ve asked about you, and so I was told, but only because I’m the queen. I admire you more than you know, Tryneowy. So does my husband. He heard your counsel and is considering it in his own way. Give him time. I do think he’ll come around.”

Trynne felt a warm tingle of pleasure at the queen’s words. “Thank you for telling me.”

Genevieve put her arm around her and squeezed. “You have friends at court, my dear. Never forget that. Now, be an obedient daughter and go see your father.”

“I will,” she answered. She hesitated a moment and then asked, “How is . . . Fallon?”

The queen raised her eyebrows in a knowing way that made Trynne’s cheeks begin to flush. She had tried to make the query sound casual and realized her blunder immediately. She should not have asked at all.

“He’s preparing for the Gauntlet of Brugia,” the queen answered with the loving care of a devoted sister. “I think he trains nearly as hard as you.”

Trynne was flushed completely by that point, so she excused herself before the mortification made her start babbling like an idiot.



By the time she reached the solar, Trynne had barely calmed her nerves and reasserted her composure. Why had she asked Genevieve that question? The queen was Fallon’s sister—her loyalty to her brother was preeminent. She chided herself for being a fool and then knocked on the door of the solar. She waited outside to be admitted.

The door handle jiggled and she saw her father in the gap, his expression haggard and fretful. He seemed relieved to see her.

“What’s wrong, Father?” Trynne asked. As soon as she stepped into the room, she realized they were not alone. The king was sitting at the table, looking dumbstruck. Myrddin stood at the far end, his hands pressing on the wood. The Wizr looked grim. “What has happened?” Trynne asked, her insides twisting into knotted ropes as she firmly shut the door behind her.

King Drew stared up at her, obviously rattled. “Myrddin has just informed us that he must go.”

Trynne felt a moment of pure panic. She gazed at her father and then at the Wizr.

“It’s true, little sister,” Myrddin said in a kindly way. “The Fountain bids me go and I must obey. There is trouble brewing in another world. I must tend to it.”

“Do we not have troubles enough in this one?” the king said with a hint of anger. He rose from his seat and began to pace. “I am your king, Myrddin. Will you not obey my will? Why can you not stay?”

Trynne’s world was rocking. It felt as if a huge stone were being dragged across the floor. It felt like the magic of the Wizr board was at work.

“Was it not the Fountain that put the crown on your head, lad?” Myrddin said. “Was it not the Fountain that gave you the sword?”

“Actually, I arranged it,” Owen said with a half chuckle.

The Wizr gave him a piercing look. “Aye, ’tis true, my lord. But did you find that blade in the ice caves of the North by chance? Was it not put there for you to find? We may as well argue with water not to tumble off cliffs. Yet still it will fly as water is wont to do.”

The king let out a pent-up breath and shook his head in frustration. “Myrddin, we need you!”

The Wizr, who was still leaning on the table, straightened. “I know, lad. Sometimes, there are greater needs. I go where your ancestor once went after the sword of his bastard son skewered him. He went to a realm where such a wound can be healed. A realm where stones sing with water from the Fountain. A land of orchards and lavender. Of pretty gardens, which have been neglected of late. Alas, it is no longer a land of Virtus kings,” the Wizr said somberly, his countenance falling. “Their need is greater.”

His words were so softly spoken and mournful that it made Trynne feel like weeping. She stared at the Wizr, unable to imagine the knowledge he had acquired after living for so many centuries, on so many worlds. He was a man of quirks and wise sayings. But he was full of wisdom that exceeded anything she knew. Still, her heart rebelled against him leaving, knowing it would make her father more vulnerable.