The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(38)

A gush of excitement and gratitude flooded Trynne’s heart. The Fountain was aiding her! She willed herself not to smile, but she couldn’t help beaming.

“I know that you have always wanted to travel,” her mother said, shaking her head. “Perhaps it is the Fountain’s attempt to meet your wishes. It does respond to our thoughts in its gentle way. Trynne, do be careful! I will worry about you until you return. Marq is full of waterways, and you remember how sometimes water affects the magic, don’t you? Water can protect you, of course, but it sometimes breaks apart other spells.

“Do you think you are strong enough to take someone with you? If you’d like, I could bring Captain Staeli there myself to make sure all is clear. I don’t know why the Fountain isn’t sending me; I could be there and back in half a moment. But I think it wants to test you. To give you an opportunity to develop your power.” Sinia gave her an encouraging smile.

“I would relish this opportunity!” Trynne said, squeezing her mother’s hands hard. “Thank you, Mother!”

Sinia gently touched her hair. “In my vision, I saw you wearing a dress in the Brugian fashion. It would help conceal your identity, at any rate. There are those from Brythonica in Brugia, though not many. I’d feel better about this journey if you did go in some sort of disguise. And I trust Captain Staeli. He is an able protector.”

“I would like to try bringing him through myself. If I’m too sick or weak, then you can do it, but I’d like to try, Mother. If that’s all right.”

Sinia sighed again as she hugged her daughter. “You are growing up too fast, Tryneowy. I wish you could be a little girl for a while longer.”

Trynne felt so grateful for her mother in that moment, for her wisdom and for her devotion to the Fountain, how she heeded its directions even though her mother’s heart worried.

“Mother?” Trynne asked. “Tomorrow is the Gauntlet of Brugia. I believe it is being held in Marq.”

Sinia nodded. “Actually, it is,” she said warily. “The city will be very crowded.”

“But can I go? Would you let me?” Trynne gave her mother the most pleading look she could muster. Her heart shuddered with eagerness.

Sinia watched her thoughtfully, her brow wrinkling in concern. “Well, since Captain Staeli is going with you . . .” She let the thought dangle, and Trynne grinned and kissed her mother’s cheek.

“Thank you! I will return after the Gauntlet tomorrow.”

Sinia patted her hands and then turned to go back to her dressing table. “You can tell me who won,” she said, and Trynne felt a throb of mischief in her heart.



The city of Marq was the most fascinating place that Trynne had ever experienced. It smelled different, looked different, and sounded different—and she was thrilled to the quick of her soul to be there. The sanctuary of Our Lady of Marq had been built centuries ago, commissioned by a past ruler who had shared affinity for the religion of Occitania and Ceredigion. The people of Brugia were not devout, and no one but visitors threw coins into the fountains. The sanctuary was made of brown-gray stone and it was much shorter than the edifices she had seen in Brythonica and Ceredigion, and certainly not as impressive as the island sanctuary of Our Lady of Toussan. But it had beautiful arched windows, decorated stone apexes, and flying buttresses that held up the central spire. The grounds were vibrant and green, full of meticulously trimmed, blooming trees that were uniform in height, each surrounded by knee-high hedges that were carved to form paths around the grounds. Larger, more ancient trees intermingled with the wizened buildings.

When they left the grounds of the sanctuary, they passed over a narrow stone bridge crossing a lane of brackish water. There were little plants growing in the cracks and seams along the bridge’s face, probably wisteria. As Trynne crossed, trying not to look as excited as she felt, she watched the small gondolas pass beneath, full of passengers wearing the fashions of Brugia. She decided she’d have to ride in one before she left. It looked enchanting.

The air smelled of dampness and mold and smoked cheese and she leaned on the bridge rail, inhaling the pungent fumes with enjoyment. The magic thrummed inside her and she realized she was not at all depleted by the trip. If anything, she was stronger because of it. The ley line paths had been so easy to follow.

Captain Staeli, however, looked a little greensick. Trynne waved at him to follow her across the rest of the bridge, and he heaved a sigh and did her bidding.

Another strange thing she noticed about the Brugians was their penchant for dogs. On the sanctuary grounds, in the crowded streets—everywhere she looked there were lithe whippets. At least one in five people had one on a leash. She absorbed the information greedily, again feeling her magic swell and increase. If she had her choice, she would cross to distant lands every day to watch and learn.

As she walked with Staeli through the busy streets, seeking the bookmaker’s shop her mother had described to her, Trynne remembered one of her father’s lessons. He had once traveled in disguise as a knight of Duke Horwath, and it had taught him how much appearances matter. Wearing the badge of another duke, looking the part of a household knight, had changed the way people treated him. Whereas he was usually the focus of attention when he traveled as the Duke of Westmarch, he had been ignored as a household knight, and it had allowed him to operate undercover. The principle was on display before her. No one paid her any special attention because her style of dress matched that of the other young women her age.