The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(77)

Trynne’s heart was sinking at the evidence before her. Had Fallon told her about the rebellion against King Drew to hide the fact that he was a part of it? Was this true king he spoke of Severn Argentine? His words were all buried beneath layers of nuance, but they hinted at treason. How could Fallon have gotten himself so mixed up in the intrigue? Because he wanted to be important. He wanted to be useful. If he could not be useful to Drew, perhaps he’d found a new master to serve who was willing to give him more power. Or it could be that he’d gotten so caught up in playing his game of Espion that he didn’t realize the danger to himself.

His expression changed, twisting with something like guilt. He stared at her, unable to see through the magic, but his senses were screaming at him.

“You do remind me of someone,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “Who are you?”

“Stand aside, my lord,” Trynne warned for the last time, taking a step forward.

“I’m sorry, but I won’t let you go this—”

His words were cut off when she suddenly kicked him in the stomach, knocking him backward out through the tent flap. She snatched up the cloak from the floor and felt something hard underneath it. Assuming it to be the mask, she tucked it all under her arm and stormed outside the flap. Fallon was standing again, gripping his stomach, and he leaped at her with a look of rage in his eyes. Below them there were shadows and trees and laughter and smoke, but no one was close enough to notice them. Trynne dropped into a front roll, and Fallon sailed over her, grunting as he smashed into the bark and earth. She spun and then whacked him upside the head with the bundle containing the silver mask.

He slumped to the ground again, groggy and stunned, but not unconscious.

Trynne sheathed her sword and marched partway down the hill, releasing both the magic of the ring and her own power, letting it dissipate into the wind. Then she cut another angle and hid in the brush, hoping to overhear what happened back in Fallon’s tent.

She heard Morwenna’s voice first, her tone full of worry and concern.

“Fallon? What happened? Who struck you?”

Trynne squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to blot out the memories of everything they had shared for so many years. Memories that threatened to sting her eyes with tears. She felt betrayed. The possibilities jumbling inside her mind frightened her. Had Morwenna told Fallon about Trynne’s feelings? Were they both trying to use and manipulate her somehow?

“It was that lad from the Gauntlet,” Fallon said heatedly, stifling a groan. “The painted one. I told you about him.”

“He’s here?”

“Down the road yonder.”

“I’ll go after him.”

“No!” Fallon said urgently. “My head is about to burst open. Tend to me first. Have the Espion search for him. It hurts, Morwenna!”

“Men cannot endure the slightest pains,” she chided, her voice a little mocking. “I’m going to warn the king about this.”

“Later. I’m so dizzy. Help me sit down.”

“Come, my weak prince,” Morwenna said soothingly.

Trynne couldn’t stand to hear their banter. Tears streaked down her face as she melted into the night.



The fog reached landfall after midnight.

Captain Staeli stood at her left elbow, arms folded, his finger stroking his mustache as he stared down at Gahalatine’s forces. The moon was radiant and silver in the sky, but the ocean of fog down below masked everything. It was silver and purple and rippled with an otherworldly quality. Only the highest spires of Guilme pierced it. The lights of the city were all illuminated, creating an eerie mix of colors in the deep night. The hill of the king’s camp was just barely above the fog. The fleet of treasure ships anchored off the coast had vanished in the haze.

“Real or magic?” Trynne whispered softly in awe. The air had a bite of chill to it. Her senses were searching for the presence of the Fountain. There was only silence.

“Grand Duke Maxwell said it’s normal to have mist along this coast. Comes almost every night at certain seasons.” He sniffed. “They can’t see us and we can’t see them.”

Trynne looked up the hill at the king’s camp. All the fires were out. The whole hillside seemed like it was slumbering. It was just as deceptive as the fog.

“Father is going to attack tonight,” Trynne guessed. “He’s waiting for the right moment.”

“It’ll be too loud,” Staeli countered. “And what about the net?”

“That’s why he’ll do it,” she said, smiling. “The mist evens the odds.”

Their brief discussion was interrupted by a member of the Espion who jogged up to where they were standing.

“Captain Staeli?” the man asked, out of breath.

“Aye,” he replied gruffly.

“Lord Owen wants you to make ready. He’s given the order. We’re going to attack tonight.”

Staeli turned to Trynne in shocked admiration and then started chuckling.

The Espion continued. “Quietly rouse your men. Hauberks only. Blankets are being laid down to tread on. The watchword is ‘Sinia.’ Come to the command pavilion. Your force is going with Lord Owen himself.”

Trynne felt her throat constrict.

Guard the king, the Fountain whispered to her.