The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(65)

He was admiring her openly, with a roguish look that made her uncomfortable. His unruly hair was certainly not in the Occitanian fashion, but there would be outsiders from multiple realms visiting for the occasion.

“They built the Gauntlet track outside the city,” he said. “South side of town. The burg of St. Denys. There is a sanctuary there, I believe.”

“There is,” Trynne said. She knew of it. “Are you ready to go?”

He gestured behind him at the lapping fountain.

She turned to Captain Staeli, who was, as ever, close behind. “I’ll see you this evening, Captain.”

“As you will, my lady,” he said, giving the young prince a wary look. She could see a hint of disapproval in the older man’s frown. She touched Staeli’s arm, drawing his eyes to hers, and gave him a look that said, You can trust me not to be foolish. Pursing his lips, he gave her a curt nod.

Fallon offered his arm, which she took before stepping over the rail into the fountain. The waters receded from her immediately, leaving little spots on the tiles. Fallon stepped over next.

“We’re supposed to hold hands, aren’t we?” he asked her slyly.

“This will do,” she said, patting his arm with her free hand while trying to quell the sudden nervousness twisting her insides. She trusted herself; she trusted her instincts and her convictions. She kept a cool demeanor with Fallon because he was flirting with her deliberately. After the Gauntlet of Occitania, they were going to have a more frank talk.

Fallon looked disappointed, but didn’t object. Trynne invoked the word of power and felt the world start to lurch and spin. It was still jarring but she was more used to it, and they emerged from the fountain at St. Denys. Before leaving the mist, she reached out with her magic.

Immediately, she sensed the pull of the Fountain. The mist collapsed around them, and they both exited the small fountain in a side room of the sanctuary.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing the look on her face.

The sensation tugged at her viscerally, an awareness of another magic, a hidden tether that bound her. She had never been to St. Denys before, and yet she knew it. A strange certainty settled in her that she had been there before. There was a brooding feeling in the air, like that of a stormy sky before the rain starts. Without answering Fallon, she began to walk toward the inner sanctum.

The sanctuary was full of visitors, which wasn’t surprising since it was the epicenter of the Gauntlet. Families were gathered around the main fountain, and some children were offering their prayers and tossing coins into the waters. Trynne surveyed the crowd, trying to understand what she was feeling. She recognized the archways, the vaulted ceiling, the multifaceted stained-glass windows. All of it was familiar.

Had she been there as a child?

No, it was not that. It was a borrowed memory that came from the wellspring, a shared remembrance from another age. Another Oath Maiden had been there.

“Trynne, what is it?” Fallon asked, pitching his voice lower as they walked.

She gazed at the beautiful architecture, feeling the old stones thrum inside her bones like lute strings. There was a tall young man standing by the fountain, pressing a coin to his lips. She recognized him as one of the contestants she had met in Brugia. He was the young man who had tried to trip her. Now he had come to the sanctuary to seek strength from a ritual he had done as a child.

Trynne walked slowly to the main fountain, which was lapping loudly and forcefully, drowning out the conversation around them. The people spoke in Occitanian, but she had grown up hearing the tongue and knew what they were saying without invoking her word of power. There was excitement in the air for the upcoming test.

Trynne reached the barrier of the fountain and gazed into the water. Dark coins crowded on the bottom of the fountain, a shiny mess of them. Fallon stood at her shoulder, looking worriedly at her and then gazing up at the high arch above.

Suddenly the waters quieted. Trynne still saw them lapping and spurting, but she could no longer hear them. It felt as if her head were submerged. She sensed the magic of the Fountain opening up inside her. The mask of reality peeled back, replaced by an unexpected vision: The sanctuary was empty, save for a single person and her. There was a young woman with close-cropped dark hair kneeling at the edge of the fountain before her, facing her. The woman looked battered and weary, and there was fire in her eyes. She wore a soldier’s garb, much like what Fallon was wearing. There was a sword strapped to her waist, the tip resting on the stone tiles. The girl’s gloved hands were clasped together.

“By your will, I leave this here,” the girl said, speaking Occitanian. Trynne heard the words in her own tongue. “Until the day comes when a new maid is chosen by you.”

The kneeling girl looked up and stared right at Trynne. They were joined together for an instant, and in that instant, Trynne could feel the girl’s thoughts, her worries, her anguish. She was going to be captured by her enemies. And then she was going to be chained to a rock in the mountains behind Dundrennan.

“I leave this gift to you,” the girl said to Trynne. Reaching down, she pulled a breastplate, silver and dented, out of the sack at her feet and set it into the fountain water. Then she put in arm bracers, greaves, the entire mix required of a knight—entrusting them to the Fountain until some future day when they were needed.

The Maid of Donremy. Trynne stared at her in astonishment. The Maid had left her own armor at the sanctuary of St. Denys. She had left it for Trynne to find nearly a century later.