The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)(39)

Trynne gripped the medallion in her hand, staring at Rucrius as he rolled slowly onto his back. His energy was completely wasted. “I hear you,” he said in a guttural tone.

Trynne knew through her magic, which had probed him, that he’d struck his head on a timber and swallowed too much seawater. He was injured enough to not be a threat to them. Yet. She wondered how he regained his power. Was it through games of strategy, skill with the staff, or some other habit he possessed that was unknown to them?

“We saved as many as we could, Rucrius,” Trynne said.

He opened his eyes and stared at her with eyes full of loathing. “You. Won.”

Trynne felt a shiver of fear, even knowing he was helpless. “Well, if this is but a game of Wizr, then your piece comes off the board, I suppose. One of your fellows escaped. The other you killed with your staff while trying to strike me. You are our prisoner, Rucrius.”

He turned his chin away from her and his head lolled to the side. He blinked, staring at the dead woman lying beside him.

“I will have my revenge for this,” he whispered thickly, his cheeks quivering with grief.



It wasn’t until later that day, after Trynne had some time to rest, that she decided to face Rucrius again. Her mind still felt as thick and tangled as fleece from lack of sleep. The tide was starting to come in again, bringing with it more debris from the wreckages. The navy of Brythonica was on full alert, for some Genevese ships had arrived that day with news that Legault had been conquered and a squadron of treasure ships and support ships were anchored in the harbor there. The victory at Ploemeur had not ended Gahalatine’s threat. Trynne dispatched ships and riders to Kingfountain immediately with the news.

The palace had no murky dungeon full of torture equipment. Though infrequently used, the cells were clean and well kept by the palace staff. Trynne had never considered it before, but they were positioned away from the ley lines that ran through the palace.

As she walked to the place where prisoners were kept, she fingered the brass cylinder. She remembered Rucrius had called it a Tay al-Ard and she surmised from his words that it worked without the help of ley lines. It was a piece of curious workmanship, very similar to the type of looking glasses sea captains used on their vessels to spy distances. But instead of curved glass at the end, there were brass fittings bedecked with gems. The cylinder contained Fountain magic. She knew how to break the bindings of the device, but while it could be unmade very easily, she had no idea how to recreate it. The talents of the Wizrs of the East were clearly superior. Stuffing the cylinder into her girdle, she nodded to the guardsmen at the door and they opened it for her.

Inside, there was a corridor lined with cells. None were occupied except for Rucrius’s. After claiming the armor and weapons of Gahalatine’s army and bringing them to the palace, she had made sure that each survivor was assigned a place to stay. She had entrusted the leaders to the noble families in Ploemeur, who would keep them separated but treat them with courtesy and respect. But Rucrius was an enemy who needed to be kept nearby.

As she approached, she found him pacing in his cell, hands clasped behind his back. There was a stack of folded clothes on a chair, a new tunic and pants in the Brythonican fashion, but Rucrius still wore his ruined vestments. His jewelry and weapons had all been taken away. She summoned her magic and reached out to him, trying to sense his stores.

He noticed her prodding immediately and rushed up to the bars, gripping them with his hands.

“You dare test me?” he growled, his face contorted with anger.

Trynne was grateful he was in a cage. He had no weapon, but her instincts told her that he was dangerous.

Even so, she ignored his angry remark and continued to prod him. His reserves were still depleted, but they were growing again. Somehow, though he was doing nothing more than pacing in his cell, something was feeding him.

Trynne stood apart from him, far enough that she was out of reach. His eyes went from gazing hotly at hers to glancing down her body to the cylinder in her girdle. His eyebrows twitched with fury as he stared hungrily at it. He wanted it back with a fierce desperation. She had no doubt he would kill her to get it.

She wondered what sort of power his access to the magic gave him, but doubted he would reveal the truth to her intentionally.

“Where did Gahalatine strike? You said last night he would strike in four places at once. Brythonica obviously. Where else?” She knew about Legault, of course, but she wished to see if he would be truthful.

His hands squeezed the bars until his knuckles were white, his brows narrowed scornfully. “Connacht in Legault, Marq in Brugia, and, of course, Edonburick. I tell you this not because I am disloyal to Gahalatine. I am not. I say this because it takes your kingdoms pitifully long to communicate, and you will undoubtedly hear this same news later.”

He was trying to provoke her, and she knew it. “Then no doubt news of your defeat will also travel quickly.”

His teeth clenched and his body trembled with rage. “You will not have power over me for long. Do you intend to execute me? You would be wise to release me. If you give me that scroll, I can be of greater service to you than you can possibly imagine.”

“I doubt you would keep your word,” Trynne said. “I have some questions for you.”

“Give me that scroll,” he said more intently. She felt a push of magic, but it was no more forceful than an infant tugging on her arm.