The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

“Captain!” the knight shouted as those around them started to guffaw.

Trynne shifted her gaze to the gatehouse, where she saw a man already watching them. He had dark brooding eyes and a graying beard, and wore a chain hood pulled down around his tunic front. The look he gave them was fierce and intense as he stepped out of the shadows. “By Cheshu, what is the matter, Sir Peter?” He had a strange accent, one that was reminiscent of Fallon’s family in Atabyrion.

“You’ll want to see these two, Captain,” the knight said.

“I saw the tall one put you to shame already,” the gruff captain said. “You can’t handle the little one either?”

“He has two swords!” Sir Peter complained.

“Aye, and so do I.”

Trynne noticed that he had two short swords belted to his waist.

He drew them, revealing two curved blades, reminiscent of tapered leaves. Sir Peter backed away quickly, as if grateful to leave this fight to the other man.

“Well, lad,” the captain said gruffly, facing Trynne with a catlike posture. He wasn’t tall, but she could sense the prowess in him. He reminded her of Captain Staeli, except this man had more hair. “My name is Martin Evnissyen, and I am captain of the queen’s guard.”

“Hello, Captain,” Trynne said. She crossed her blades in front of her.

Martin’s eyebrows knit together. “Where did you train to handle two blades, I wonder?”

Trynne summoned her magic, letting it prod the captain’s defenses. He was hale and strong for an older man. He had fought and trained for most of his life, and there were no glaring gaps or weaknesses in his defenses, except for his hands. She could tell his hands were scarred and pained him.

He gave her a curious look, as if he sensed the magic coming from her. As if he were aware of it . . . But there was no time to think about it. He immediately attacked, lunging at her neck with both blades and trying to stomp on her foot at the last moment. She tucked her foot back so he stomped on the stones instead and then levered her foot behind his ankle as their blades clashed.

It happened in just a moment. She saw his intention, and suddenly he was flailing backward and landing on his back, his blades clattering from his hands.

She had done nothing to disarm him.

Sir Peter gasped in shock and surprise and Trynne found herself staring at the crowd, who gaped at her in awe. The captain, this Martin Evnissyen, shook his head at her, chortling. He had lost to her on purpose and ended the fight just as it had begun.

“Well, I’ll be a goose in a pot,” he said. He tugged off his gloves and then reached up a hand for her to help him up.

Trynne sheathed her swords and looked at him more closely, not able to understand what had happened or why. She glanced at Fallon and saw a look of concern on his face. He was trained enough to know that the fight had ended too abruptly. She stepped forward to take Martin’s hand, keeping her magic ready in case he tried to sweep her off her feet.

His grip was like iron as she pulled him up. He brushed off his legs with one hand, still gripping her hand with the other, shaking his head ruefully.

“By Cheshu, I’ve not been bested in a while,” he confessed with hearty approbation. “You both will come to the castle. Sir Peter, finish off this crowd and then lock the gate for the night.” He was still holding Trynne’s hand, and he tapped each of her fingers individually with his littlest finger. She tried to jerk her hand away but he tightened his hold on her. What was happening? Was he an enemy?

A friend?

“Come, lad,” Martin said to Fallon, taking them both by the arm and leading them to the archway he had come from. As soon as they were inside the small guardroom beyond the arch, he stopped and whirled Trynne around, pushing her back against the wall. His demeanor changed in an instant and his voice dropped to a low growl as he turned his face to Fallon.

“Are you utterly mad bringing her here?” Martin said, very low and covert, his eyes raking Fallon accusingly.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Corruption


Martin turned his sharp gaze to Trynne, his eyes full of suspicion.

“You both have some explaining to do. For all I know, the queen was watching from the windows over the yard. Speak quickly, or I can’t help you. Where were you caught? Muirwood?”

Fallon looked anxious and determined. Martin had put himself between them. There was no one else in the small guardroom, which had polished marble floors, giving the feeling that it was once used for another purpose.

“Who do you suppose we are?” Fallon asked, edging closer.

Trynne had the suspicion he was preparing himself to fight the captain.

“It’s obvious you are both mastons,” Martin said in his thick brogue. “At least she is. Your disguise may fool most, lass, but I saw through it, and your fingers reveal the truth to anyone who cares to see it. You can always tell a girl by the length of her different fingers.”

Trynne squeezed her hand into a fist, feeling vulnerable. “I’m not a maston,” she said.

Martin snorted. “I know what I felt, lass.” He shook his head curtly. Then his eyes shifted back to Fallon. His voice became less agitated. “I’ve helped smuggle many mastons out of the city, out of danger. The man I served in my younger days, he was a wise and able prince.” His voice throbbed with emotion. “I’ll help ye if I can.

But you are in the king’s city, Comoros, and they kill mastons here.

Are you indeed from Muirwood?”

Trynne shot Fallon a warning look, but she could see Fallon was not disposed to trust the surly captain. “We’re going to Dahomey. Can you get us on the queen’s ship?”

Martin chuffed as if Fallon were completely mad. “The queen’s ship? The queen’s ship? Aye, she’s set to depart for Dochte Abbey.

’Tis the only abbey left.” He gave them a grim look. “But you won’t be finding shelter there, I promise you that. The Aldermaston leads the Dochte Mandar now, not the—ah, so you know that name?”

Trynne hadn’t been able to conceal her startled surprise when he’d mentioned the Dochte Mandar. This man was keenly observant.

“Yes, we know of them,” Fallon said. “We still need to go. Can you get us there?”

“That abbey is blighted,” Martin said with an angry scowl. “What seek ye in Dahomey?” His eyes seared into Trynne’s. “Do you wish to join them, lass? As a hetaera?” She saw his free hand tighten around the hilt of one of his short swords. He still held her to the wall with the other.

Trynne was very reluctant to say anything, but he was judging whether they were a threat. Besides, his gruff and taciturn way put her even more in mind of Captain Staeli.

“Never,” Trynne said vehemently, shaking her head no.

He eased his grip on the short sword. “That’s a relief. I’m asking about your Hundred because you both look like you have been dragged through the Bearden Muir.” He plucked a twig from Trynne’s cloak and then smelled it. “Och, yes. I recognize that stench. I used to be the hunter at Muirwood Abbey in that Hundred. Now I’m captain of the queen’s guard.” His voice had a cynical edge to it.

“Queen Ellowyn Demont. I don’t want to draw any more eyes to us.

I’ll find you some fresh tunics. These rags you’re wearing are for common soldiers. If you are truly bound for Dahomey, mayhap I can help. But if you try to escape, you’ll only cause trouble for

yourselves.” He turned and fixed Fallon with a pointed finger. “I take it you’re her protector? Hmmm? As if she needed one, by Cheshu.”

“You’re right. She doesn’t need one,” Fallon answered with a wry smile.

They’d been left in a small barracks room to bathe and change.