The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

“My name is Deven,” he said. “Martin suggests getting some rest before the night watch begins. Follow me.” Then his voice lowered conspiratorially. “I too am one of the Evnissyen. I’m at your service.”

The final watch was from midnight to dawn. Deven woke them up in time, and they exchanged places with the previous watch guarding the corridor outside the queen’s rooms. She had not returned from the feast yet, so the three of them guarded an empty chamber.

Deven explained the procedures of inspection, checking each door and window, examining all the places large enough for a man to hide.

The queen and her ladies-in-waiting returned well past midnight and paid no mind to the guards in the passage. They were all sleepy and drunk except for the queen. Her senses were sharp enough to notice them, and Trynne breathed a sigh of relief when they locked themselves in the room.

“I’m the watch captain, so the others will check in with me soon, now that the feast is over,” Deven said, arms behind his back. “There is a procedure for everything. Martin is very thorough.”

“Indeed,” Fallon said, rocking back on his heels. “How long have you served Martin?” he asked.

Deven gave him a wary look. “Quite a long time, actually. He saw that I needed . . . protection when I was rounded up by the sheriff of Walin.” Silence descended between them for a moment.

“Martin said I could trust you,” Deven added, having apparently come to some sort of decision. He tugged at his collar, revealing the glint of silver mesh rings beneath the tunic. Trynne didn’t understand what that meant, but Fallon nodded knowingly.

“I see. So you did not leave with the other mastons,” he whispered.

Deven shook his head. “I heard the warnings to flee,” he said guiltily. “I felt duty-bound to remain at my post. By the time I went to Muirwood, it was nothing but ruins. Everyone was gone.” He sighed.

“The sheriff in that Hundred has many hounds and constantly tries to capture any who come there. It is still a beacon, even though the abbey is no more. I deeply regret that I didn’t leave when I could.

Now I’m too late.”

There was a noise down the hall. The soft scuff of a boot that was out of place. Trynne had been listening for the thud of sentries marching to report. Something didn’t feel right.

Gazing down the corridor, she saw someone approaching, trying to make little noise. The person carried no light. Trynne instinctively reached out with her magic, sending tendrils into the corridor for a warning of danger. The person approaching was a man, very healthy and fit despite his feigned clumsiness. She sensed the danger about him, sensed poison and daggers and even a cord for choking.

Fallon saw her look and walked up to her. “Who goes there?” he asked guardedly.

“A poisoner,” Trynne whispered back, keeping her eyes fixed on the strange man.

“What?” Deven asked, turning around.

The light from the torches suspended on the wall near the queen’s chamber revealed a courtier approaching, wearing a fancy doublet and comical-looking pointed shoes. As he appeared in the light, his gait began to stagger slightly—the mark of a man who’d been drinking, though Trynne sensed no intoxication. The man was dissembling.

“Who are you?” Deven challenged.

“Mwa?” replied the man with a slur in his voice.

Deven put his hand on his blade. “Go back, you drunken fool.

This is the queen’s chamber.”

Trynne felt her pulse quicken with worry. Fallon’s attention was riveted on the newcomer. She too dropped her hands to her swords.

“This is wha . . . ?” the man said with a slur. He careened into the wall and then staggered, dropping to one knee.

And that’s when Trynne sensed the second man in the shadows.

“You fool,” Deven said, shaking his head. “Get out of here.” He started to walk toward the man, to lift him to his feet and shove him back the way he’d come.

He’d be stabbed in the heart if he did that.

“Deven,” Trynne said in warning. The night-watch captain paused, turning to her in confusion.

The sound of Fallon’s sword scraping clear of the scabbard filled the air. Trynne drew hers only a moment afterward.

The man kneeling beneath the torch suddenly lunged to his feet, grabbing the torch and yanking it from the iron ring fastened to the wall. Trynne and Fallon both charged down the corridor toward him. The man with the torch swung it at Fallon’s face. Trynne raced past him, intent on catching the other man, who had turned to run.

She pumped her legs and arms, gaining ground. The man ducked around the corridor, and as she followed, she saw a small group of guards approaching from the far end with torches, talking in low voices amongst themselves. They also wore the queen’s tunic. The stranger was trapped between them.

“Stop him!” Trynne shouted ahead to them.

The guards had just enough time to draw their weapons before he reached them. The intruder attacked viciously, knifing one of the guards in the stomach and dropping him. The others tried to attack him, but he was far more skilled than they. His boot landed a kick to one of the soldier’s faces, propelling the soldier into the wall.

Trynne reached the scene moments later, summoning her magic to defend herself. The assailant turned and threw a dagger at her. It whistled past her ear as she dodged, and a moment later she was upon him, her sword arcing toward his side. The attacker stepped in so that her forearm struck him instead. He trapped her arm and his free hand shot up to her throat to crush it.

Trynne reacted instantly, kneeing him in the groin while she brought her other arm up to defend her neck. Shouts from the other guards filled the corridor, although most were sprawled helplessly.

She released her sword and tried to knee him again, but he pivoted his body and swung her around. They were both about to fall, him on top of her. That would be the end. Reflexively, she seized his belt, tugging on it just so, and she ended up on top of him instead of the other way around. Trynne jabbed his throat with the heel of her palm and he started choking. One of the soldiers managed to stab him in the chest with his longsword.

Trynne hit his face next, crushing his nose, and then jumped away from him as he twitched and convulsed on the floor. She was breathing fast and hard, terrified, yet in control. Another soldier stabbed him again, delivering the deathblow.

Soon Fallon appeared around the corner, his eyes wide with worry. When he saw her standing, he sighed with relief. The other sentries had backed away from the dead attacker, gazing at him in surprise.

“He . . . he was a kishion,” the man said, gibbering in fear.

When Fallon and Trynne returned to the corridor leading to the queen’s room, they found the queen herself standing next to Deven, her lips curled with anger.

“Two of them?” the queen said in outrage.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Deven said, still in shock from the sudden attack. “They came to kill you. I have no doubt of it. These new guards saved your life.”

The queen turned her gaze on Fallon and Trynne. Then her eyes locked on Trynne’s. “I felt something in the corridor. Sensed it.

It was you, wasn’t it? Come closer. Who are you?”





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Hil el Lavender


The queen’s eyes narrowed. “Drag the carcass away, you two. You, remain here.” Her gaze was fixed on Trynne.

Deven promptly obeyed and hefted the dead man beneath the arms. Fallon shot Trynne a concerned look, his jaw clenching, but after a brief pause, he grabbed the dead man’s ankles and hoisted him up. The Tay al-Ard pressed against Trynne’s back—a tantalizing reminder that she could escape. But she wouldn’t leave without Fallon.

“Your Majesty?” Trynne asked in a submissive voice.

The queen stepped closer, studying her face. “What is your name?”

“My name is Fidelis.”