The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(66)

A roaring sound filled her ears, as if she were suddenly in the midst of a violent waterfall, and she was jarred back to her own body again. Fallon caught her shoulders to keep her from tumbling face-first into the water.

Gone was the roar, replaced by the tepid splashing of the beautiful fountain. Trynne’s knees buckled and she extended her arm to catch herself on the stone, but Fallon was already holding her upright—one hand on her arm, the other encircling her waist.

“Did you faint?” Fallon asked her worriedly.

Trynne glanced down at the water. The armor was still there, hidden just beneath the surface, but the people gathered around the fountain seemed oblivious to it. Only someone who was Fountain-blessed could see it.

“A little dizzy,” Trynne said, feeling the strength return to her legs.

“Here, sit down at the edge,” Fallon said, helping her. She was afraid her dress would get wet, but sitting did help calm her. The vision had been so powerful it had stolen all of her senses. The Fountain had wanted her to come to Pree. It had meant to show her where the Maid had hidden her armor.

“I will be fine, Fallon,” she said, shaking her head, trembling with the memory.

The look of worry on his face was endearing. He knelt by her side, pressing his fist against his mouth. There was no sign of teasing in his expression.

“Should I fetch a healer?” he asked.

“No, I will be well in a trice. I just felt dizzy for a moment.”

Trynne heard the sound of boots approaching.

“Not now,” Fallon muttered under his breath, his eyes darkening with anger. Then he hissed abruptly and stood, his manner and bearing changing in an instant. His shoulders flared back and he dropped a hand to his sword hilt. Trynne quickly turned and saw Prince Elwis approaching with two lackeys.

That explained the sudden change in mood. Trynne almost gasped aloud when she caught sight of Elwis’s face. He was riddled with the pox and had splotches of discolored red skin on one cheek, one brow, and over half his jaw. Even his nose had crusted over like a moldy potato.

This was no rare disease; it was magic. Trynne remembered how Elwis had taken Fallon’s ring during the last Gauntlet.

The two young lords looked as if they were about to murder each other.

“Well met, Prince Elwick,” Fallon said disdainfully. “That looks like a terrible rash. Did you forget to bathe?”

Elwis grabbed a fistful of Fallon’s tunic, his teeth bared like a wolf’s. “It won’t come off,” the prince said in a choking voice. “The ring is cursed. If I must slice off a finger to get rid of it, believe me, you will lose one as well.” His other hand tightened around a dagger on his belt.

Trynne shot up, the motion making her head spin with dizziness. “This is a sanctuary of Our Lady. Calm yourselves.”

Elwis looked at her and then did a double take in recognition.

“Prince Elwis, please,” she pressed. “Let him go. Let’s find another way.”

“It is his fault,” Elwis said. He was wearing a hooded cloak to partially conceal the disfigurement. “You better have a cure, Atabyrion braggart, or so help me I will spill blood in this sanctuary. I don’t care about the superstitions.”

“It’s my fault?” Fallon said with a bark-like chuckle. “Actually, my absentminded lordling, you started this when you insulted Trynne in the first place. I’ve had my revenge. If you want me to remove that ring safely, then you will apologize to Lady Tryneowy for your ill conduct, your pompous attitude, and your foul breath.”

Elwis’s eyes flashed hot at the insults and he clenched his fist even harder. Trynne could sense the magic coming from Elwis’s hand once he was so close. The ring was probably uncomfortable to the point of distraction. Based on the fatigue in his eyes, the Prince of Brugia hadn’t slept much since their last encounter a fortnight earlier.

“Apologize?” Elwis spat.

Trynne wanted to punch Fallon in the stomach. That was one of the reasons he had wanted to bring her with him to Occitania. He had been plotting his revenge for years and was determined to humiliate Elwis. Why did he have to be so thickheaded? She shot Fallon a frustrated look as she tried to think of the best way out of their dilemma. She could make Elwis release Fallon. His little finger was right in front of her, and if she grabbed it, she could have him groveling on his knees in a moment, but it would only humiliate him, fomenting the need for more revenge. People were staring at them, whispering and pointing. Perhaps the deconeus or the sexton would intervene.

Trynne put her hand over Elwis’s wrist—gently, not angrily. “Please, can we not be civilized?” she asked. “We’re causing a scene. Unhand him. You are peers.”

“He is not my peer,” Elwis snorted, his face flushed with anger. “What is Dundrennan compared with the might and power of Brugia? You’d be no more than an earl in my realm.”

Fallon quirked an eyebrow. “Is that your best insult? I had hoped for better. Now let go of my jacket, or I will make you.”

“Fallon,” Trynne warned.

He held up his hands, trying to show her that he wasn’t the aggressor at the moment. “All I require is an apology. You insulted a woman and my dear friend. You called her ugly, which she is not. But now you bear the stain of your own remark. How does it feel?”

Elwis’s eyes glowered with hatred.