The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)(14)

“So little,” Trynne said, feeling sick.

“I’m offended he didn’t demand fifty. This was not a royal conspiracy. Bastian was trying to do it on the cheap. He was woefully misinformed about your . . . your vulnerability.” At this, he gave her one of his proud, fatherly smiles. By now, there were nearly a thousand Oath Maidens spread across the kingdom—women who had come to Averanche to be tutored in the arts of war by Staeli and to leave as warriors.

Trynne stared down at the yard again. The men who were gathered there had come expecting to earn a small pouch of coins for helping kidnap the Lady of Averanche. Instead, they’d been caught off guard, surrounded, and abducted by a group of highly trained women. She shifted her gaze to the Oath Maidens. There was Gillian from the Brythonican town of Passey. Haley from Dundrennan. That girl could throw a spear unlike anyone else. Maciel, who was the daughter of a sanctuary thief but had been raised by a kindhearted family. Brooke was one of the best fighters of the bunch. Emilia was a master archer. Savanne could throw down any boy her size. Camellia had shown aptitude to be an Espion, perhaps even a poisoner. There were dozens more, each with a story of how they had come to be there. They were not all equal in talent, but they had all defied tradition by seeking to defend their kingdom. She realized that they would soon be given that chance.

“What would you have me do with the poisoner?” Staeli asked in a low, meaningful tone. She recognized the tone of his voice, the implication wrapped up in his question.

She thought of the gaunt fellow she had captured and how ready he had been to stab her and claim his fee. How many girls had he abducted in the past? Where were they now? The thought filled her with such revulsion she couldn’t prevent an angry frown.

Turning to Captain Staeli, she said, “I’d like the mayor to interrogate him, Captain. See if he can learn anything about his past victims. When he can no longer provide us with any useful information, have the mayor put him to death.” She gave him a determined look. It was her right as the ruler of Averanche to invoke such a penalty. But if she could restore any of the captured children back to their families, she would.

“Aye, lass,” he said, nodding at her in approval. Then, giving her a wry smile, he said, “You’ve had a busy day. What will tomorrow bring?”

“I wish I knew,” Trynne said, rubbing the chill from her arms. “I’m going back to Ploemeur, though. There are things I must speak to my mother about, even if it pains me.”



Trynne walked down the quiet corridor of her mother’s castle. It was the home of her childhood, and it caused her pain every time she returned. She loved the sculptured pillars with the symbol of the triple faces on them, the strong smell of eucalyptus, and the tall windows that let in light through gauzy curtains. But every room held ghosts from her past, invoked memories of her missing father. She knew the cadence of his tread, and her ears constantly strained to hear a sound that wasn’t going to happen.

The rich history of Brythonica had played a large role in her childhood stories. It was an ancient place, one whose history went further back than Occitania or Ceredigion, and when Sinia was young, it had been a self-ruling duchy of Occitania. But the Occitanian king had tried to force Sinia to marry him, which had caused her to seek an alliance with Ceredigion. It had been a dangerous and delicate maneuver, but her mother had managed to pit the two kings against each other while retaining Brythonica’s sovereignty.

The reason her mother had fought so hard to retain her position was because a Montfort needed to rule the duchy to maintain its boundaries against the Deep Fathoms. The line had almost been broken when Sinia’s parents couldn’t bring a living child into the world. Their grief had been shattering, especially since they’d known what it meant: their duchy would be swallowed up by the sea when the duke died. The grieving parents despaired, not knowing what they could do to save the kingdom. They were willing to do anything to appease the Fountain, to spare the population from drowning.

The answer was waiting for them one day on the shore of what was now Sinia’s favorite beach. A newborn baby girl. An Ondine—a gift from the Fountain.

Most people were superstitious about water sprites. They could not be immersed in water, for their very skin repelled it, and the water rite had been developed in ancient times to prove whether a foundling had been naturally born.

Sinia’s true identity was a closely guarded secret. Beyond her family, only the palace staff knew the truth of her sacred origins. As a water sprite, she had not possessed a soul until she kissed a human—Owen. Their marriage had changed her and made her human.

And now her grief for him was diminishing her.

“My lady!” chuffed the court steward, Thierry, when he rounded the corner ahead and nearly stumbled into her. He had served the Montforts for a long time, as had his father and grandfather before him. Thierry’s hair was spiked forward in the Occitanian fashion, as usual, but it was well nigh all silver now. “I had not known you were coming today! Your mother will be grateful to see you. Let me alert her that you’ve arrived from Averanche.”

“How does she fare?” Trynne asked, touching his arm.

Thierry’s countenance shaded like a cloud blotting the sun. He had always kept a certain distance from Owen, but his devotion to Sinia was unquestionable. “Lady Tryneowy, she bears her suffering with great aplomb. She has been more distant lately. More introspective.”