The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)(16)

When Trynne looked down at the map with all its hubs and spokes, she saw that it wasn’t her mother’s map at all, which relieved her for some inexplicable reason. She knew she shouldn’t be jealous of Morwenna—after all, her father had trusted the girl—but she still had misgivings. There were markings on it in a different language, a foreign tongue that Trynne recognized but couldn’t decipher.

“Trynne?”

It was her mother’s voice. Trynne abandoned the map in an instant, hurrying over to Sinia. She squeezed her mother hard, wishing the pain would leave her.

“I have matters to attend to,” Morwenna said discreetly, and then left the study, giving them some privacy.

Trynne joined her mother at the window seat, clutching her cold hands. Her mother looked queer, her face too pale, her eyes red rimmed. It was awful to see her suffering so nakedly.

“Mother,” Trynne sighed, shaking her head, not knowing what to say.

Sinia’s chest heaved. She was going to cry again. It bubbled up a bit before subsiding into trembling. “The Fountain . . . it believes I can handle . . . this. I don’t want to falter. But I’m shaking under the weight.” She took a steadying breath, tears glistening on her lashes but not falling.

Trynne bit her lip, feeling her own pain rising like a swell of the sea.

Sinia untangled their hands and then put hers on Trynne’s shoulders. “There is something I must tell you. Before I tell it to the king.”

Trynne stared at her mother in surprise. “Have you had another vision?” she asked with growing dread.

Sinia nodded firmly, her mouth pursed in a frown. She looked away from Trynne, shifting her gaze back to the sea. Her next words were cut off by a choked sob. She struggled to regain composure—dabbing her tears on her wrist—but her eyes were fixed on the scene outside.

“The Fountain bids me . . . that I must return. I must return to my origins. I must go back to the Deep Fathoms. The sea is calling me home.”





CHAPTER SIX


Deep Fathoms Beckons




The words stunned Trynne and left her breathless with dread and confusion. The Deep Fathoms was the place where the dead went, where treasures from the past were hidden. Could the living go there and survive? Even if it were possible, she knew without question it would be dangerous beyond imagining.

She’d lost her father, and now the Fountain was reclaiming her mother. The cruelty of it was beyond her faculty to understand. She couldn’t even imagine what Drew and Genevieve would say. They had lost the Wizr Myrddin on the eve of Kingfountain’s woes. Then Owen. Now Sinia. It was too much. It was asking far too much!

Sinia pulled Trynne close, hugging her to her bosom, and began stroking her hair. “Grief and pain is part of this mortal coil. But no pain so sharp as that which afflicts a mother’s heart. I think I can bear any sadness for my own sake. But seeing my children suffer . . . that is the worst pain of all.”

Trynne only then realized she was crying. She lifted her head, gazing into her mother’s face, seeing the turmoil there. Her mother had always been a source of strength for her.

“I don’t understand,” Trynne said. Never had she felt so frightened and alone.

“Neither do I, Trynne. Neither do I.” Sinia smiled sadly, wiping a tear from Trynne’s lax cheek. “I saw many things I do not as yet understand, but the vision was clear. It showed me boarding a ship in Ploemeur with Captain Pyne. We were outfitted for a long expedition, so we may be at sea for quite some time. The course we should take was not made known to me, but I saw that it would be revealed. I hear the Deep Fathoms calling to me even now.” She turned and gazed out the window again, staring longingly at the sea. “It whispers to my heart to come.”

Trynne felt nothing, not even the ripple of the Fountain inside her, but she trusted her mother’s visions.

“Mother?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Sinia turned and looked at her.

“Mother, when you saw my marriage. I know you don’t like speaking of it. But when you saw it, were you there? Will you be there?”

Sinia blinked rapidly. She reached down and took Trynne’s hands. “No. I will not be. Trynne, when I go, Brythonica will be in peril unless the wards are maintained. You must make sure that it is done.” Her look was keen. “You must, Trynne. This burden is on our house alone.”

“But Gannon knows the words,” Trynne said, feeling a yawning chasm opening and threatening to swallow her, to chain her.

“Of course he does. But he’s just a child, Trynne. You are a woman. I know you have responsibilities of your own. I know that you do not want this burden.” Her voice hinted at the disappointment she felt that her daughter had chosen not to follow her path. “You must see it done. The people will need the reassurance that a Montfort will always be near. Promise me.”

The words were like shackles fitting around Trynne’s wrists. She could feel the heaviness of them. Brythonica and Westmarch were her birthrights, her responsibilities. It was a relief to have Gannon, young though he was, to share the burden.

“I will, of course,” Trynne said, though she could not completely mask the reluctance she felt. “The king asked me to summon you to court. That is why I came.”

Sinia heaved a sigh. “This will not be welcome news.”