The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

“As for her ability with disguise . . . Morwenna is a poisoner. She was trained in the art of disguise, and she has a magic relic that allows her to assume the shape of anyone else. Her plan hinges on killing the princess. I must find a cure, but I do not know where to look. Maybe I should go to the poisoner school.” The words felt toxic on her lips, but she was desperate.

“No!” Reya said, shaking her head. “You could not trust anything they told you. And they may not even know the answer. I must ask— does Grand Duke Elwis have a poisoner? Perhaps we could ask him?”

Trynne liked the idea. The thought of doing nothing but waiting for Drew to invade Brythonica made her desperate. “I could find out.

He wasn’t at the palace. Neither were Lady Evie or King Iago. We need supporters and quickly. I’m certain they would help us.”

“Bring me with you,” Reya pleaded. “Grand Duke Elwis and I have become . . . friendly”—her cheeks pinkened slightly as she said it—“and I can speak to him on your behalf. By helping you, I help the queen as well. She is in great danger too.”

Trynne nodded through her exhaustion. There was no denying it. Gahalatine knelt and gazed at Kate. “So weak and ill,” he said, looking distraught. “Who would do this to a babe?” He looked at Trynne, still not recognizing her, but compassionate. “I wish I could

help,” he said again. “Might not the poison have come from Chandigarl?”

Trynne didn’t even want to consider that. If he was right, Morwenna herself might be the only one who knew the cure.

There were only two days of silence from Kingfountain. And then the word went out. Tryneowy Kiskaddon was a traitor to the crown. The king was gathering his army to march on Westmarch and Brythonica and subdue the two duchies. They would be made crown lands, and the rulers would be chosen by the king himself.

The grim news was brought by none other than Captain Staeli, who was not only unharmed, but was totally unaware of the attack on the grove, which only added to the mystery.

He arrived at dusk the day after Trynne had returned from Brugia with Elwis’s poisoner. Reya had fainted after crossing the ley lines, and Elwis, very attentively, had insisted that she remain behind with his physicians until she fully recovered. He had listened to their tale and promised Trynne to do everything in his power to assist her as an intermediary with the king, even if it meant resisting the crown.

The poisoner Elwis had sent with Trynne, Michal, had served the grand duke’s father. He was tall and gaunt, with shorn gray hair and a serious and unexpressive face. Every part of him was exact, from the length of his fingernails to the creases in his doublet. In his thick Brugian accent, he had told Trynne after examining Kate that, although he could not discern the specific poison by the symptoms, he knew his business well. In his estimation, he had announced in a colorless tone, the babe would die within the next two days. With that, he’d borrowed a steed and left. Trynne had been too loath to leave Kate to bring him back through the ley lines.

Though she knew Evie and Iago would give her their support, unquestioningly, should she ask for it, Trynne could not stomach the thought of making a visit in person. Not when she’d have to report that she’d saved Kate from Morwenna—but the princess was likely to die anyway. She’d sent a courier, telling them the whole sordid tale, and then she’d spent every waking moment poring over The Vulgate, hoping she’d find an answer.

She’d found none.

And now Captain Staeli had come to Ploemeur and told her that her parents’ lands were about to be invaded. Trynne pressed her face into her hands in stunned acceptance that her worst fears had come to pass. “This is unbearable,” she moaned. They had retired to her private chamber, where they could speak privately.

Captain Staeli had always been a taciturn man. He scratched his gray-flecked brown beard. His balding pate was moist with sweat from his ride from Averanche.

“It’s as bad as that if not worse, lass,” he told her, his lips pressed firmly into a frown. “Lord Fallon was named head of the Espion.”

Trynne gaped in shock. “What of Kevan Amrein?”

“He was struck down by a mysterious illness,” Staeli said. “He’s not moved from his sickbed since you left. Folk are saying he met with foul play here in Ploemeur. What happened here, my lady?”

“Morwenna,” Trynne said angrily, squeezing her fists. “She is behind all this anger and deceit.”

“I know, lass,” he said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the king’s army is on its way. Severn’s brat won’t put you on trial, my lady. She’ll kill you with her own hands, and then she’ll destroy this kingdom. We cannot allow it.”

Trynne rose from the window seat and began pacing, drumming her fingers together as she walked. “I’ve sent word to Atabyrion, but it will be too late. What can they do to help Kate? To help us?”

“You’ve little time left,” Staeli said, shaking his head. “Your fleet, my lady, is supporting the East Kingdoms at the moment. Most of your soldiers are away.”

Trynne stared at him, her stomach bunching into knots. “I can’t defeat the king.”

“Yes, you can,” Staeli said, walking toward her. “You are the best knight in all the lands. You’ve proved it over and over. If he comes at you, then you fight him.”

“But he is the king!” Trynne said in anguish.

“Aye, and he’s been misled. And controlled by magic. You’ll gain nothing by pouting and pretending. You need to fight, my lady.

Defend your lands. You control the most powerful duchies and the king knows it. Conquering these lands won’t be easy, nor should it be. Your father wouldn’t lie down and die.”

Trynne rubbed her eyebrow. “I wish he were here,” she said. “I do not know how to take this news. I have a duty to my people. A sacred duty I cannot abandon. My mother charged me with defending our borders.” She paused and looked at him. “You need to know what happened here. How this all began. Oh, where to start?”

She quickly explained to him how Gahalatine had arrived suddenly at Kingfountain, demanding to see her in her domain. How the Mandaryn had filled him with distrust and wariness of her. She then related how the party had suffered the brunt of the magic of the silver bowl, and finally shared her theory—that Morwenna had tricked the men and led them to their fate. That the poisoner had used a spell to steal Gahalatine’s memory, just as she’d done with Dragan.

“My question to you,” she continued after finishing the disturbing tale, “is why weren’t you summoned to the grove? That should have happened following the ice storm. Let me see my father’s ring.”

Captain Staeli wrenched free his glove and offered her his callused hand. The ring was invisible while being worn, so the first time she’d seen it was after removing it from the severed hand found in the grove.

The ring was made of white gold on top of yellow gold, with concentric circles around the band. Her father had won it after mortally wounding Marshal Roux, who had died after charging Owen to protect Sinia. The ring had forced him to defend the grove from any uninvited intruders.

“I sensed nothing when you said the magic should have summoned me,” Captain Staeli answered sternly, gazing at his hand.

“To be honest, I’ve never felt anything particularly special about this ring. Occasionally the magic has felt . . . active, but nothing ever happened. I only had the feeling of being watched. I thought it might be the grove’s magic checking in.”

A ring was only a ring. A master craftsman could have made another one that looked identical to it. A Wizr could enchant it and give it properties of invisibility. Perhaps the true wearer of the ring had been summoned to the grove by the hailstorm after all.

“Could this be another one of Morwenna’s tricks?” Trynne said, shaking her head. “My mind is reeling from the implications.”

A breeze came from the window, followed by a smell that infiltrated her chamber. The smell of flowers . . . magnolia flowers.