The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

“Not yet.” He stuffed the Tay al-Ard into his belt and then motioned them toward the Leering. “Sit down there. I have questions before you see the king. Go on. Sit.” He gestured with a slight frown of impatience.

Fallon glanced at Trynne and she nodded. She could free them from the chains in an instant. It would only take a single word of power. But it would be best if Quivel didn’t know she’d trained as a Wizr. Outside the pavilion, she heard crackling cookfires and soldiers milling around talking and complaining about the quality of the rations. Smoke lingered in the air, making it hazy. Trynne eased down next to the Leering and Fallon joined her.

Quivel looked satisfied by their act of submissiveness. He lowered his voice and approached them in a very candid manner.

“Very well, I’ll get to the point. I need to get off this world. Things are going from bad to worse. I was told a man would be sent to take my place. A thief lord. Where is he? Do you know of him?”

Could it be?

Fallon turned his head and looked at Trynne. “You mean Dragan?” he asked.

Quivel’s eyes brightened. “Yes! That’s the one. He’s supposed to be here collecting the treasures, not I.”

“He was captured,” Trynne said, keeping her voice steady.

“Blast it,” Quivel muttered, and began to pace. “That explains why he wasn’t with you. Everything is going wrong. The plan is unraveling. These people are on the verge of slaughtering each other. Three armies are marching here right now. If we don’t get away soon, we’ll all die here. So, perhaps we can cooperate. Dochte Abbey is burned. That was to be the signal that the final war was starting. I saw you both”—he said, wagging his finger at them —“standing near her. Queen Ereshkigal, that is. Nasty creature. I wasn’t there, but I saw you through the Leering in the cell. When you vanished, I knew you had a Tay al-Ard. So, let us help one another, shall we?” His voice had a desperate edge to it. “You don’t want to be trapped here any more than I do. I think Rucrius intended to abandon me. Too much time has passed since I last heard from him.”

“And you won’t,” Trynne said, trying to understand the maze of words. “Rucrius is dead.”

The news struck Quivel like a blow. His cheeks twitched with dread. “No,” he gasped. He continued pacing, shaking his head in wonderment. “It’s worse than I feared. We need to get away. Dieyre is luring the other kingdoms here for a final conflict. The strategy is elegant and simple. He’ll get them all to fight each other through treachery and deceit. You see, the curse in these woods takes its toll on everyone who enters. His camp is shielded from it for now.

Ereshkigal wants everyone dead, so she’ll never withdraw. Not even if her men are dying in droves. There will be no one left. Is Morwenna still waiting to bring you back? Does she not have the ring still?”

So he knew about the ring. And he was allied with Morwenna and assumed the same was true of them. Trynne adjusted herself into a more comfortable position, trying to come up with a strategy.

“Do you think she would let it go willingly?” Fallon asked with a snort. “We were sent to get Kiskaddon and bring him back. Help us, and you’ll be helped.”

Quivel’s mouth turned into an angry frown. “You intend to leave me behind. I don’t think so. I will not be stranded here. There are two of you, so who was—”

Fallon leaned forward, his voice rising angrily, “If you hadn’t drained the Tay al-Ard, we could all be back at Muirwood right now. I know the plan for leaving. You don’t. I know the password. You don’t.

Now bring Kiskaddon here and release us. Don’t be a fool, Quivel!”

The Dochte Mandar stopped pacing. He glared at Fallon. “You will not leave me behind. I figured out Rucrius’s plan long ago.

Gather up all the gold in Comoros, Dahomey, and everywhere else in this cursed place. The plague is killing everyone anyway. The dead do not need wealth. We can do it without him. We’ll bring the gold back to Chandigarl through the treasure ship sent to take Brythonica. Crisis averted! There’s no need for Gahalatine to defeat the people in this world, they’re too busy defeating themselves!” He began muttering to himself. “So Dragan was captured and now I’m to be left behind.” Finally, he stopped pacing. “I’ll frustrate Morwenna’s plan,” he announced. “I can get Kiskaddon and the gold. At least enough of it to make this disastrous mission worth our while. But I need a way out of here. I want more than promises. They’ll all be dead within a fortnight. Mark my words. The disease is ravaging every city and still the rulers squabble like beggars over dried figs.”

He snorted.

“Then let us strike a bargain,” Fallon said. “None of us want to be trapped here. I know where they are keeping Dragan. He wanted to come here.”

Quivel gave Fallon a sharp look. “Who are you?”

“The truth? I’m Fallon Llewellyn. Head of the Espion. Morwenna has seized the throne.”

Quivel’s nostrils flared. He looked from Fallon to Trynne and then back again. “And you have the ring? You can get me out of here?” he asked.

The pavilion door rustled and one of the soldiers poked his head in. “My lord, the king is coming.”

Quivel straightened. “Here?”

“Yes!”

Trynne sensed the approach of two Fountain-blessed people coming toward the tent. She squirmed beneath the chains, feeling the mounting tension in the air.

Fallon ground his teeth. “Take these chains off, man. Let me help you!”

“There’s no time,” Quivel snapped, looking more agitated. “Just tell Dieyre that you are defectors from Comoros come to join him.

We captured you and brought you here. Why is he coming now?

This makes no sense!”

A voice grunted from outside the tent. Trynne sensed the presence of the two Fountain-blessed just beyond the thick material.

Sweat gathered at her brow and beneath her arms. Her mouth went dry with anticipation.

The tent parted and a man ducked inside. He wasn’t someone Trynne recognized, but he was a handsome fellow with unruly dark hair and a close-trimmed beard. His jaunty attitude reminded her of Fallon if she were being honest. From the way he glared at the soldiers who had blocked the entry, she could tell he was very self-assured, very accustomed to being obeyed. He wore a royal tunic that was travel stained but still impressive. It was the same color as the tunics worn by his soldiers, except an oak tree was emblazoned on the front in silver thread.

Arriving just behind the king was her father. Her heart lurched seeing him, wearing the same garb she had seen in her vision at the Leering. He looked stern and serious, his eyes full of distrust for the Dochte Mandar.

“Your Majesty!” Quivel said, bowing obsequiously. “You do me honor to visit my humble tent! Surely I would have come to you!”

“How long were you planning to wait before telling me you’d arrived with the prisoners, Quivel?” the king said. “Stiev was right, as ever,” he said, nodding toward Owen. “He said you’d interrogate them yourself before bringing them to me as ordered.”

Quivel’s eyes widened in surprise, and his mouth gaped open, quivering as if he was seeking the words that would earn the king’s forgiveness.

“I’ve never had a more cunning or clever man serve me,” the king said. “Faithful. I’ve never seen the like. Well, not since all the mastons departed!” he added with a chuckle. Then his eyes narrowed angrily. “Get out.”

“My lord, let me—”

“Get out!” Dieyre snapped.

Quivel looked like a beaten pup as he skulked out of the tent with his two guards, the Tay al-Ard still stuffed into his belt. Trynne turned and looked at her father, saw him staring at her. His magic reached out and swelled around her, probing her for weaknesses, for information. He could sense her power, just as she could sense his and the king’s. She saw his eyes narrow slightly, but he looked at her with an utter lack of recognition. As if she were a stranger with no connection to him at all.