The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

Her heart pounded in her chest. She feared she’d not be able to speak. Here, at last, was her father . . . and he didn’t recognize her.

“And so here you are,” the king said, sauntering up to them and grinning with conceit. “You were both seen at the Leering marking the trail. Stiev told me, of course. He always tells me things. My quiet warrior. A young man and a young woman lost in the woods, following my trail of Leerings.” He crouched down near Trynne, looking at her profile, at her face. He had a familiarity about him, as if he normally treated everyone as though they were long-lost friends.

“You could almost pass for a boy, but I have a discerning eye. You’re a lass in disguise.” He scrunched his nose. “Are you come to warn me that my kingdom is about to be destroyed? Or did you simply miss boarding the ships with all the other mastons?” He offered a small, resentful chuckle, but he didn’t look like he wanted or expected an answer.

Trynne did not understand what he meant. But she used her magic to test him. To lay bare his soul. He was skilled with the sword, much more so than most of the champions of the Gauntlets back home. He was proud of his skill, proud of his reputation. His body was lean and hard and muscled. He had cat-quick reflexes and a penchant for fighting unfairly. But his greatest weakness was inside his mind. He had tried to win a woman’s love and she had spurned him, even though she had loved him in return. The regret was a bruise on his soul that couldn’t heal. In Trynne’s mind, she could see the girl’s face emblazoned in Dieyre’s thoughts like a burning torch.

He still pined for the girl. He would do anything to get her back.

“Quivel said he saw you through the Leering in Dochte,” Dieyre said, straightening and folding his arms imperiously. “How is Hillel?

The imposter queen. I know who she really is—a wretched, nothing more.” He smirked as he said it. “I remember the first time I met her.

Poor waif. So tongue-tied. Though women usually are around me.

Have these two brought to my tent, Stiev. We need to find out why Quivel was being so sneaky. I’d bash in the faces of every Dochte Mandar if I could, only I need them.” The last bit was said resentfully.

“I will, my lord,” Owen said. The king exited the tent, leaving two guards behind.

Trynne’s father came and knelt before her, studying her with wary interest. He reached for her arm to help her rise. His touch brought so many feelings swimming through her.

“Father,” she breathed softly, willing him to believe her, to trust her.

To remember her.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


Discernment


Owen’s hand froze, his eyes widening with shock at her whispered word. Father. Trynne felt the Fountain magic stirring with her, a spark of it moving unbidden to his hand, still holding her arm. He gasped, his eyes staring at her face. Not with recognition, but with hopefulness, with eagerness.

“Do you know me?” he asked tremulously, his voice husky and soft.

“Know you?” she said with tears catching in her throat. “You are my father. And we have come a great distance to find you. To save you from this place.”

His hand still loosely grasped her elbow, and magic flowed more freely between them, binding them together. She felt it emanating from the Leering she leaned against. Somehow the magic was confirming her words, enabling her to speak the truth with convincing power.

“Who am I?” he whispered huskily, his expression rife with desperation and relief.

“Your name is Owen Kiskaddon,” Fallon said with deep respect.

“You were practically a father to me as well. This is your daughter, Tryneowy. But you always called her Trynne.”

“Trynne,” Owen said in bewilderment. As he said her name, a series of chills rushed down her spine and she trembled.

“Papa,” she said, letting the tears come, letting them wet her lashes and streak down her face. She wanted to hug him, but her wrists were still bound in irons.

One of the soldiers who had been guarding the tent door slipped outside and walked away quickly.

Owen glanced over his shoulder, watching the man go, and then quickly rose, his face darkening. He let go of her arm but then turned back and looked at her.

“Why can’t I remember?” he asked in desperation.

“Your memories were all stolen,” she replied. “What name did the king call you? Stiev?”

He nodded slowly.

“You were raised in a place called Dundrennan,” Fallon said.

“Under the tutelage of the duke of the North, Stiev Horwath. My great-grandfather. Just as I was raised under yours. You are not from this world. You were brought here by treachery, by the deepest treason. We came to fetch you home.”

Owen nodded as Fallon spoke, his look one of bewilderment but acceptance. He rubbed his wrist as he gazed down at them. “My only memories begin in a dark cell. I was kept drunk and masked. I used to have a ring on my hand. The callus is still there. Did I . . . did I have a wife?”

“Yes!” Trynne said, her chest throbbing. “You still do. Her name is Sinia. She’s not been the same since you vanished.”

“The ring you wore,” Fallon said urgently, “allows its wearer to pass between the two worlds. The ring was stolen from you, but I retrieved it. With it, we can get back home.”

“I must return to the king,” Owen said.

“No,” Trynne said, shaking her head. “I won’t let you out of my sight again.”

“If I don’t leave now, the king will suspect me,” he answered. He started walking toward the tent door and Trynne uttered the word of power to unlock the shackles. They fell away instantly, clattering to the ground. The remaining guard stationed at the door looked over at her in startled surprise. Suddenly Owen struck him on the temple with the hilt of his dagger and then caught him before he collapsed.

He dragged him away from the door and lowered him to the ground.

Trynne was about to summon the word of power to open Fallon’s cuffs when she saw him stand, the cuffs dangling from only one of his wrists. He grinned at her.

“An Espion trick,” he said wryly as he removed the other cuff.

Owen smiled. “Take his tunic,” he said, motioning to the comatose soldier, “we’ll move around easier. Now we just need to find one for you,” he finished, looking at Trynne. She invoked her magic ring and suddenly her tunic was transformed to the wine-red one. He jolted when he saw the transformation.

“This will work,” she said. Fallon gave her a smile and then hurried over to the soldier Owen had knocked out. Moving quickly, he removed the man’s belt and tugged off his tunic.

“We need to find Quivel,” Fallon said as he cinched his sword belt over the tunic.

“I know where he is,” Owen said. “He’s watching the tent.”

“I can sense him too,” Trynne said. He was nearby. His presence was so subtle that she hadn’t noticed it. She turned around and then pointed. “That way.”

“I’ve never trusted Quivel,” Owen said. “He’s the one who came for me in the cell in the dungeon. I knocked him out and changed places with him. He found me, and he’s been my shadow ever since I escaped. I’m not going back to that dungeon.”

“I’ll get the Tay al-Ard back,” Fallon said. “If either of you go, he’ll sense you coming. He won’t be able to sense me. Wait for me here. Once I have it, I’ll come back and slice a hole in the back of the tent.”

“Fallon,” Trynne said worriedly. She didn’t want him to go away either. “I’ll do it.”

He smiled confidently at her. “I’m actually better at this kind of work,” he said. “If you two stay here, it’ll keep his eyes fixed on the tent. I’ll be back soon.”