The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

They’d already been spotted.

“They will truly throw him into the river?” Owen asked in confusion.

“It’s the custom here,” she answered, her voice throbbing with worry. “It almost happened to your parents, but you prevented it.”

“We’re going to the docks, over there?”

“Yes, but we’re being followed—” she said, glancing back again.

The men had started to jog toward them. “Run!” she shouted, gripping her father’s hand.

The two of them rushed forward, assailed by the sound of rumbling boots coming up behind them. Trynne reached the stairs to the docks and they both hurried down. Their pursuers could still be heard in the distance, but suddenly the crowd went quiet, the people collectively holding their breath.

Trynne watched in helplessness as the knights upriver across the turbulent rush marched the canoe to the river’s edge, carrying it on long poles. She could only watch as the knights raised one end higher and sent the canoe into the waters of the river at an angle. A body was lashed inside and her heart clenched with pain at the sight.

Captain Staeli, her mentor. Her protector. Her friend.

The canoe bobbed to the surface and was yanked toward the falls, caught in the terrible grip of the river. She and her father raced down the length of the pier as the boat rushed toward them with increasing speed. There would be a host of men and women watching from the bridge straddling the mighty waterfall, which could be heard rumbling so near. They were too late! Too late!

Trynne saw the canoe speeding up as it came down the river toward the sanctuary. It would pass by the island where the crowds had gathered to watch. Drew stood at the royal docks, watching it happen. The woman at his side, clutching his arm, looked like Genny. But it wasn’t. There were others milling around.

She and Owen reached the end of the pier.

“Captain!” she shouted as loud as she could, hoping he would hear her voice. Praying he would recognize it. Grief swelled inside her. She could see his beard now, could see him fidgeting in the canoe, wrestling against the ropes.

Their pursuers drew up behind them, she could tell from the sound of their bootfalls, but she didn’t care. She was going to watch until the end. It was the least she could do for him.

“Lady Trynne!”

She recognized that voice.

Whirling around, she saw that Lord Amrein was one of the men running after her. He wasn’t dressed in court finery, but garbed as a beggar, no chain of office around his neck. The Espion master was looking at her with relief—and then his eyes shifted to her father standing there beside her.

“You found him!” Kevan said with hope in his eyes.

And then Trynne heard the splash from behind her as another body went into the river.

Turning around in horror, she found herself alone at the end of the dock. Her father had jumped into the rush.

That was when the miracle happened.

There was a collective gasp as the waters of the river burst apart. They seemed to spread away from Owen like a scythe cutting through stalks of wheat. Her father wasn’t floundering to swim, he was at the bottom of the river, on dry ground, and the river was parting before him as he moved.

The ring!

She’d forgotten about its power. She hadn’t told him about it either. The Espion who thronged her stared at the display of the Fountain’s power with wide eyes and open mouths.

“Sweet Lady!” one of them muttered reverently.

Trynne’s heart swelled with relief. The gap in the river widened until it stretched from the island all the way to the palace. The river roared like a frantic beast, but the waters could not pass the breach.

Trynne leaped down into the void, landing on the smooth river stone that was temporarily dry. She saw her father rushing ahead, and her breath caught in her chest when the canoe wedged into the gap, unable to move forward. The rush of the river was deafening, but Trynne grinned at the sight of her father lifting Staeli from the canoe and hoisting him over his shoulder. She reached him as he started crossing the river toward the palace. In the chasm of the river, she couldn’t see ahead, could only hear the frightening noise of the crushing waters straining the barrier, but she kept her eyes focused on the dry ground beneath them. Her father’s face was a grimace of pain. He looked to be in agony.

“What’s wrong?” she shouted to him.

“The ring is burning me,” he grunted, but his eyes were fixed ahead.

Staeli craned his neck until he saw her. His relieved smile was the most welcome sight she’d seen since her return.

“That was a little too close for comfort, lass,” he told her with naked relief.

She touched her father’s shoulder and invoked a word of power for healing, suffusing him with her magic.

Trynne felt a jolt of power coming from the other shore. It hammered against the river, trying to dispel the ring’s power. Trynne recognized the magic and she feared for a moment that the waters would come crashing down on them. That they’d all go over the waterfall together. But the ring’s power superseded Morwenna’s magic. It could not be unmade so easily.

With each step, they drew closer to the opposite side. Trynne felt Morwenna’s presence seething through the tumultuous waters.

She saw the royal docks ahead, and Drew was standing there, gaping at them in surprise. There was Genny as well, her face full of wrath and hatred. The weight of Staeli’s body was obviously a burden to Owen, but he lumbered forward.

“It’s him! It’s Lord Owen!”

They were just close enough to hear the words over the noise of the swollen river. The chasm of water defending them swelled like a majestic fountain, bubbling, rising higher and higher into the air.

“Use the poles. Fetch them out!” Drew shouted, motioning for his soldiers to drop their staves down to them.

Owen set Staeli down by the blackened posts of the pier, then hunched forward, breathing hard, hands on his knees.

Trynne drew her sword and sliced through the captain’s bonds, freeing him. “I told you I’d come back,” she said in his ear.

“Aye, lass. And I couldn’t be more grateful.”

The poles were lowered to them and the three of them climbed up to the pier, where they faced a host of the court of Kingfountain.

There was Iago and Evie, the Queen Dowager of Occitania, Elyse, and many others Trynne recognized, but not Elwis. However, Trynne’s attention was drawn to Drew. She saw the conflict raging inside him. His gaze went from her to Owen and back again.

As her father straightened, the towering waters suddenly came crashing down in a heave that made everyone cry out in fear. The canoe, which had been left behind, was splintered and broken in half, and the pieces hurtled violently toward the edge of the falls.

Trynne faced her king, sword in hand. He was gripping the pommel of Firebos, but she saw that it wasn’t his true sword. She could sense the illusion magic around it. The sword was gone, replaced by a deception.

Yet another thing Morwenna had stolen.

“What is the meaning of this?” Drew said, his voice quavering.

“Lord Owen, is it truly you?”

“This is my father,” Trynne said, stepping forward, her eyes locking with Morwenna’s.

“It’s over, Morwenna.”

“That is Genevieve,” Drew said with alarm. But there was hesitation in his voice—a sense of growing uncertainty.

“No, Your Highness,” Trynne said, shaking her head. “It is not.