The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)(41)

Morwenna looked at her eagerly, her eyes wide with interest.

Trynne patted her arm. “Thank you. Tell Fallon that I’m sorry about his parents. He must be very worried.”

“I will,” Morwenna said, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.



It was nearly midnight and the fire burned low in the hearth. Trynne sat on one of the couches in her bedchamber, her legs tucked beneath her. She still hadn’t changed out of her gown, and it was tattered and filthy from the events of the day and preceding night. Weariness had made her nod off, the Tay al-Ard still clutched in her hand. She had examined it, trying to understand how it worked and the magic that had formed it. If only she had her mother’s memory. No doubt there was some ancient legend divulging the history of these magical devices. She brushed some hair behind her ear and chewed on her lip, deep in thought.

An idea had been simmering in her mind since Morwenna had returned to Kingfountain. She was so tired, she wasn’t sure her plan was particularly wise. She tapped the cylinder against her palm. When Gahalatine thought someone was useful to him, he took that person directly to the Forbidden Court. He had done so with King Sunilik. The Wizr who had brought him to Chandigarl had used the Tay al-Ard to do so. It sounded like Queen Elysabeth had been moved the same way, to the same city. That meant Gahalatine respected her and thought she might prove useful to him. Iago had been put on board a ship, which meant he was of little value to the emperor. Gahalatine had also sent three Wizrs to Ploemeur to capture Trynne. Perhaps they’d feared Sinia would return to defend her ancient duchy. Or maybe they’d feared Trynne.

She pinched the bridge of her nose to try to stay awake. She’d never felt so tired and spent. Hundreds had perished in the attack on Ploemeur. But most of the deaths had been among the invaders, who were now stranded in Brythonica. The Chandigarli leaders she had spoken to throughout the day had been humbled by her mercy and generosity. They didn’t see Trynne as an enemy. They had set sail for Kingfountain under the impression it was a benighted realm with corrupt leadership. That the people were living in misery.

They saw for themselves that it was not true of Brythonica. Was Gahalatine just as misguided? Or could he have knowingly given his people a false pretext for the invasion?

Gahalatine was young and handsome, perhaps ten years older than her, full of energy and vigor. There was no questioning his ambition, and his successes and his power with the Fountain had emboldened him. He’d taken over the oasis despite knowing the king was good and true, something that bothered her, but he’d also shown signs of fierce intelligence. Nobility. Was he truly the enemy? Or were the men who were guiding him the problem?

She remembered something her father had taught her years after the first lessons he’d given her in the game of Wizr. Father had told her that the enchanted Wizr set, the one whose pieces represented real people, had been a gift of the Wizrs of old to the King of Ceredigion. The Argentine family had been playing the game for centuries by the time Rucrius came to Kingfountain and destroyed it with his staff—the staff she now held. What was it her father had told her? She had only been a child, but the words had struck her even back then.

Trynne felt a ripple from the Fountain magic, stirring her memory.

The Wizrs of old had made the rules. They were the ones who had lived to witness the rise and fall of several kingdoms. They were the ones who had offered the magic game of Wizr to a man who was ambitious enough to rule.

Her throat constricted, her eyes widening. That word described Gahalatine perfectly.

Had the Wizrs of Chandigarl run out of patience with the Argentine family at last? Had the game gone on too long? The king piece was not the most powerful piece on the board; the Wizr was. But the game ended when the king was defeated. Perhaps they’d feared King Drew was becoming powerful enough to usurp them?

She pushed her legs off the couch and rose. Little pinpricks of pain tingled in her feet. She feared falling asleep, afraid of what might happen to her land if she rested at a time like this. Rucrius was a dangerous man. She didn’t know what fed his power, but she’d sensed it growing even in captivity, faster than her own was growing. Knowing his powerful will, she had ordered that he be left alone, without being able to speak to his guards.

After pacing a moment, she stuffed the Tay al-Ard into her girdle and opened the door of her room. The four guards on duty were startled by her sudden appearance.

“My lady, you’re not abed?” one of them asked.

“I’m going to the dungeon. Come with me.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The palace was quiet, but there were soldiers patrolling the corridors night and day. Torchlight shone off the mirrored floors. Someone had swept them after the events of the day. She shook her head in amazement at the diligence of the palace staff. When she reached the dungeon, the captain of the night watch bowed to her and unlocked the door. She was afraid that she’d find the cell empty. She dreaded it.

“Wait here,” she bid the soldiers. “I’ll speak with him alone.”

They looked at her with concern, but they obeyed. As she walked down the dimly lit corridor, she reached out with her magic. No, Rucrius was there. She sensed him as she approached, feeling the rippling well of magic seething behind the bars of his cell. He had been sitting on the cot, but he rose and walked to the door, his pale, strong hands encircling the bars and squeezing them. His eyes were full of wrath. They glowed in the darkness, reflecting the torchlight.