The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(83)

“How is your father?” Trynne asked.

“He was grievously wounded in the battle. Of course the surgeons want him to lie on his stomach and heal properly, but he chafes at being so idle. It seems hopeful he will recover.”

“Thank the Fountain,” Trynne breathed.

Genevieve patted her arm.



A brooding cloud of defeat hung over the gathering of the king’s council. There were bruised, puffy cheeks and dark scowls. Trynne spied Fallon slouching in a chair, his leg wrapped in bandages, his look dark and sullen. He waved away a servant offering a drink in annoyance. As Trynne approached the king with the queen, she attracted the gaze of many onlookers.

King Drew was conferring with Lord Amrein at the head of the table. The Espion master had a cut lip, a broken nose, and hadn’t shaved in days, which was unusual for him.

“I have every available man searching for the painted knight, my lord,” he said. “The first reports came from the Gauntlet of Brugia. No one minded them back then. It was an oddity. The Gauntlet of Occitania was canceled. But several witnesses, myself included, have reported that the painted knight was seen on the hill the eve of the battle. Near your camp, my lord.”

“I wonder who it is,” the king said with amazement. “We were fortunate he came.”

“Indeed, my lord,” said Lord Amrein. “Very few had the skills to combat the enemy’s weapons. The glaive is not common in these parts. Yet I watched the painted knight fight the Chandigarli with ease. I’ve never seen the like—not even Lord Owen could fight like that. It’s a mystery.”

“See to it, Lord Amrein. Find the painted knight. We will need him in the days ahead.”

The queen stood by the king’s chair and gently touched his shoulder. When he looked up and saw her, he smiled with exhaustion and sadness. Together they both glanced toward the empty chair. The seat Trynne’s father had been called to sit in. The chair of the king’s defender.

You will sit in that chair, the Fountain whispered to Trynne. But not yet.

“My lady,” said a voice near her, pulling her attention away from the seat of the Siege Perilous. She was startled to find Prince Elwis at her elbow. He was very tall, wearing the fashions of his realm. A small red slash on his cheek had been stitched shut by a surgeon. His eyes were full of pent-up emotion, a look of intense grief and pain.

She felt a small throb of compassion in her chest. She was about to speak, to offer her condolences, but he started speaking first.

“Please, if you’ll allow me,” he said in a low, regretful tone. “I am sorry, Lady Tryneowy.” He looked down, abashed, then met her gaze again, and she could see that he was roiling with discomfort. “I am sorry about your father. I know the Espion will do their best to find him. But I wanted to personally assure you that if he is somewhere in Brugia, I will do everything in my power to restore him to his rightful place.” He swallowed, and she could tell there was more he wished to say, so she remained quiet. “I resented him . . . I’m ashamed to admit it now. He was an honorable man. He came to the defense of Brugia when he was needed most. My kingdom has lost—” His throat seized up as he battled with tears. But he mastered himself, keeping his voice calm and steady. “It is no matter what we lost. We all lost much to our enemies. Some have whispered that your father betrayed us. I hold no credence to such tales and will punish any who besmirch his good name. I also apologize for my unkindness toward you.” He grimaced. “I woefully regret my words to you. And I appreciate the undeserved kindness that you demonstrated to me in Occitania. I am in your debt, and humbly seek your pardon.”

She could tell his little speech had been carefully thought over and possibly rehearsed, but it was obvious that it came from his heart. It left her speechless with wonder.

He bowed curtly to her and started to withdraw, but she caught his sleeve. When he winced and flinched with pain, she realized he was concealing a wound in his arm.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, but he waved off the attempt.

“It is nothing, truly,” he said, waiting guardedly for her to speak.

“You lost your father, my lord,” she said with sympathy. Over the years she had watched Prince Elwis with his father. Grand Duke Maxwell had often been exasperated by his son’s vengeful attitude. Perhaps there were some unspoken regrets the young man harbored. “I grieve for your loss. He was a good man.”

The young duke gave her a pained smile. “That is kind of you.” He glanced around the room as the noise started to subside. “It seems the council is coming to order. I’d best find a place to sit down.”

Trynne gave him a polite nod, still reeling with surprise at his humbled demeanor. She felt someone’s eyes on her and looked over to see Fallon watching her with wide eyes. He had witnessed the entire exchange and looked chagrined. Trynne gave him a cool look in return and took her seat at the table.

The room settled into silence. Trynne had never had her own seat at the table before, and it felt both unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Silence hung in the air, along with a cloud of despair. So many things had happened in the chamber . . . She wanted to rub her hand along the polished wood of the Ring Table.

King Drew rose and leaned forward, resting his palms on the table. The hollow crown glinted in the torchlight. He cast his gaze around the table.