The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(6)

“Sister, you’re the ugliest wench I’ve ever seen,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “I don’t know what Drew sees in you. But alas, his blindness is your blessing. Can we all come along now? The poor chancellor is fidgeting outside, debating with himself about whether or not he should intrude. They were going to send for Father, but I volunteered. You should have named me Farrel instead of Fallon, Mother. I am rather brave.” He puffed out his chest and made a dashing pose.

“They should have named you Feckless,” Trynne countered, arching one eyebrow.

He gave her a wry look. “It was either Fallon, which means ruler, or Fionan, which means—”

“Dung shovel?” Trynne asked, fluttering her lashes.

“You two,” Lady Evie said with exasperation. “Why can’t there be some civility between you? Not so long ago, you were thick as thieves. Fallon, tell them she’s almost done. Trynne, if you’d fetch the crown? I want to make sure it will fit well on this heap of braids.”

Trynne went to obey, but Fallon darted impishly to the chest first, which made her anger flash to life. No doubt he planned to hold it over her head or something childish like that. She rushed over to the chest, her mind already conjuring a strategy to outwit him.

As their hands collided over the crown, Trynne stamped on his boot, distracting him with pain, and pulled out the crown first, watching as a look of wounded amusement spread across her adversary’s face.

“Trynne,” he complained. “I was just going to fetch it for you.”

“I’ll believe that when pigs fly, Fallon,” she countered. Then she handed the crown to Genevieve’s mother, who set it gently down on her daughter’s head. They all stared at the soon-to-be queen’s reflection in the mirror. Instead of opulent jewels, she had chosen a single gold-threaded necklace fixed with seven turquoise gems that Drew had given her for their engagement. The gems were symbolic of the Fountain and had been made by master craftsmen from Genevar.

The crown fit perfectly and Genevieve looked so happy and beautiful it made Trynne’s heart ache. She was exactly the sort of woman that a husband would want. She was kind but also quick to laugh; moreover, she invited confidences and made others feel comfortable. While Fallon had inherited a double portion of his parents’ impulsiveness, Genevieve’s experiences as a child hostage at Kingfountain had marked her differently. She was more sober-minded, much like her husband-to-be.

Fallon gave Trynne a curt look, still limping slightly, and then wrinkled his nose disapprovingly. “It’ll do, I suppose,” he drawled. “It’s probably too late to send for something better.”

“Thank you, Fallon. That’s the closest you’ll come to a compliment,” Genny replied with sisterly affection.

He clasped his hands behind his back. “Old king Severn was Fountain-blessed, they say, though he had a sarcastic mind and a barbed tongue. I treasure the thought that it will be my gift as well when the Fountain chooses me. It’s best to practice early.”

His mother sighed and shook her head. A tap landed on the door.

“Come in, we are ready at long last,” their mother said. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she bent over her daughter and kissed her fiercely.

“The siege has been broken!” Fallon said. He went to the door and opened it with a gallant bow.

It was a strange coincidence that Morwenna Argentine stood there, dressed in black and silver.

Trynne felt a shiver of worry go down her back. Had the girl overheard Fallon’s jibe about her father? Morwenna and Trynne were of the same age, both born within the same year, but they didn’t know each other and had never spoken. Morwenna was the only child born of the marriage of Severn and Lady Kathryn, King Drew’s mother. It made her a possible rival to her brother’s throne. She had the looks and coloring of the old king, paired with her mother’s beauty. Her hair was black and wavy and lusciously thick, and it was said that her smile could turn a boy’s head—if she ever flashed it. She was staring at Genevieve with a look that was difficult to describe. Could it be envy?

“My mother sent me,” Morwenna said with a bob of a curtsy. “The rest of the company has assembled in the courtyard of the palace for the escort to Our Lady. Shall I tell them you are ready, my lady?”

Trynne shot a quick glance at Fallon to see how he had reacted to the intrusion, but he was fiddling with flowers in a vase, not deigning to look at the girl at all.

“Yes, please,” Genevieve said, some of the brightness fading from her eyes. Morwenna was like a winter’s chill. Despite her beauty, coldness seemed to radiate from her eyes and skin like a blizzard. The effect rattled Trynne, who felt the icy tendrils try to wrap around her. The prickle of gooseflesh crept across Genevieve’s arms, and the soon-to-be queen unconsciously stroked them.

Trynne felt her own magic prickle in response. Just as she’d hoped as a young girl, Trynne had inherited her parents’ magic. The gifts of other Fountain-blessed could not affect her, or those near her, if she repulsed them. But the constraints were the same for her as for everyone with the power. Her reservoirs of magic had to be earned and stored, and she had found playing Wizr to be especially helpful in that regard. That and discussing politics with her father. As she stared at the other girl, Trynne exerted her influence on the room and suddenly the coldness sloughed away. The warmth from the braziers could be felt once again. The strange whispering feeling was silenced.