The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)(19)

Fallon’s herald, a man by the name of Stroud, arrived shortly thereafter. He was tall, nearly fifty years old, with thinning, graying dark hair and a serious set to his mouth.

“Lady Tryneowy, this is an unexpected pleasure,” he said in a deferential yet formal tone. “Lord Fallon will attend you at once. Please follow me.”

“Thank you, Master Stroud,” Trynne said. He was tall, and his stride was much longer than hers, but she followed him as best she could. They approached an open door leading to the solar, from which she saw and heard the crackling hearth fire, but to her surprise, they walked past it.

Stroud brought her through several twisting tunnels before stopping in front of Fallon’s personal chamber. If she had been nervous before, it was eclipsed by his decision to meet her in his private space. The great hall was for meeting strangers. The solar for more intimate friends. What could she make of this?

Stroud rapped on the door and opened it without awaiting a response. He bowed stiffly, gesturing for Trynne to enter first.

Trying to quell the wild feeling in her chest that made her want to flee, Trynne forced herself to step into the chamber.

There was a flurry of movement to her left and she saw Fallon emerge from behind a changing screen, fastening a belt and scabbard around his waist. He had a rushed and agitated air about him. When he saw her standing there, he gave her a glance and hurried to a massive desk full of scrolls and papers and things. He picked up a signet ring from a gold plate and twisted it onto his littlest finger.

She had not seen him in months, and the changes in him immediately struck her. He was bigger, his shoulders broader, his gait and posture more robust. He was even more impossibly handsome than she had remembered. Fallon had always been tall, but now he seemed to fill the room with his presence. Grabbing a towel from the desk, he mopped his neck and brow.

“I was training in the yard,” he said, by way of excuse. His voice was wary, with none of the warmth or friendliness that they had once shared. There was no humor in his eyes, no mischievous grin just for her. “I needed a moment to make myself more presentable for the palace. I’m assuming you came to bring me there. Have we been attacked by Gahalatine?”

Their estrangement pained her deeply, but they could not undo what had happened. She could only hope time would heal them both.

“No, it’s not that,” Trynne said, trying to find her way through the dangerous waters between them.

He rifled through some of the papers on the desk, picked up several, and stuffed them into his pocket. It did nothing to hide the pain in his eyes. “Then why did you come?”

She wondered at all the correspondence on his desk. It would appear he was still dealing in secrets. His obsession with the Espion was one of the chief reasons she had difficulty trusting him.

“I did come to bring you to the palace,” she said. “There is news, just not the tidings you were expecting. We did receive word that Gahalatine’s fleet is on the way. Part of it was sighted by a Genevese merchant.”

Fallon nodded in a way that implied he already knew of it. “What news, then?” he asked. “If you can tell me.” The way he said it reminded her of another wall between them. The last time he’d asked her to share a secret with him, it had not been hers to tell.

Trynne licked her lips, feeling the discomfort of the moment yawn between them. Stroud stood in the doorway behind them, a silent observer, but Fallon gave him a dismissive nod, and the door quietly shut, leaving them alone together.

“I am sorry it has come to this, Fallon,” she said. “I am sorry to have lost your friendship. I never wanted that.”

He stood by the table, his arms folded guardedly. They were so much bigger now. She could see the scars on his hands, along with one on his cheekbone. She wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to soothe the anger she saw churning inside him. There was so much she wished for, so much she could not have.

Where once he had been glib and spontaneous, now he seemed to be struggling for words. Gazing down at the mess of correspondence, he sighed, favoring her with a sidelong look. His mouth twitched, reminding her of her old friend, the one who had never tired of teasing her. But the look was swept away like a cloud on the wind. “It was my own fault,” he said in a formal, self-deprecating tone. “I acted against my better judgment when I approached you that day. You were so kind as to point that out to me.” Again, the formality of his speech hurt her. “So, must I wait for this news until I get to Kingfountain? Has it to do with the Gauntlet? Is the king canceling it?”

“Not at all,” she said, shaking her head. Her legs felt locked in place, so she took a hesitant step closer to him. She pressed her thumb in circles across her palm, fidgeting slightly. She knew that Fallon was preparing for the Gauntlet of Kingfountain. He had made no secret of his wish to take her father’s seat at the Ring Table, the one known as the Siege Perilous. It was the seat of the king’s champion. Gahalatine had given Drew one year to choose a replacement for Owen if he could not be found. The winner of the Gauntlet would win that title.

What Fallon did not realize was the Fountain had whispered to Trynne that she must sit in the chair.

He was looking at her pointedly now, his gaze penetrating. He had the clearest gray-green eyes she had ever seen. Memories of their childhood together buffeted her.

“The Fountain has bid my mother to depart Ceredigion,” she said at last. The anguish of the feeling was still fresh and raw. “She will be leaving imminently to seek the Deep Fathoms at sea.”