The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

“I will heed your counsel, Thierry,” Trynne answered. “Will you send word for my aunt to come and see me this evening? Then draft the delegation of my authority and I will sign it. Thank you for helping me make it through these difficult months.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “My lady, you have experienced grief that is unsurpassed in recent memory. Some of the people . . . some of the citizens have begun calling you the Lady of Sorrows.” He cast a wary look at her. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say so, but others are saying that your family has been cursed by the Fountain.”

They had been strolling slowly along the shore, staying just beyond the grasping reach of the foaming surf. Her guards had kept the area clear for them, but they must have allowed someone to pass. A man was walking across the beach toward them, someone she did not recognize.

Thierry noticed her gaze and turned to follow it. “That is Aumbale of the Espion if I’m not mistaken.”

Trynne did not recognize him, but they met him partway.

Aumbale had a strong stride and wore a tunic splattered in mud and riding gloves that he tugged off and stuffed into his belt as he approached. He’d not shaved for several days and looked saddle-weary.

“My lady,” he said, bowing stiffly and producing a letter. “I come from the Star Chamber at the behest of my master, Lord Amrein. I left three days ago. I watched him pen this note with my own eyes before he fixed the seal. I’m certain the news will be coming at my heels. Your husband, Lord Gahalatine, arrived in Kingfountain by treasure ship. He awaits you there.”

Trynne’s hands were shaking so badly that she had to ask her maid to help arrange her hair. Now that the time had finally come, she felt unprepared to see Gahalatine. She’d expected him in Ploemeur, but he’d come to Kingfountain instead. Why?

There was no time to consider it. They were waiting for her.

Once she was dressed to befit the occasion, she made her way to the chapel and stepped into the waters. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she invoked the word of power, and in the next moment she was standing in the palace. Two of King Drew’s knights awaited her.

“Welcome, Lady Trynne,” one of them offered. “The king has been expecting you. He asked us to direct you to the solar when you arrived.”

She thanked him and started down the corridor, wringing her hands as she walked, unable to quell the feelings of doubt and worry. She had not seen Gahalatine in six months. She had turned seventeen in that time, bringing her ever closer to her eighteenth birthday. According to the laws and customs of the East Kingdoms, Gahalatine could not consummate their marriage, without her parents’ permission, until she turned eighteen. The thought of continuing their marriage this way—with him hating her, avoiding her —filled her with dread. She had to dispel the lies the Wizrs had told him about her. This was her moment to speak the truth.

As she approached the double doors leading to the solar, she reached out with her magic, not wanting to be caught off guard. She immediately sensed the presence of several Fountain-blessed in the room opposite her. One of them was Gahalatine himself. Magic was being used in the chamber and its essence hung in the air.

Trynne could sense Gahalatine’s power had been restored, though it was not as vast as it had once been. His power had been connected to that of his sister. Her death had diminished him, but his reserves were full. He was not the one invoking his power. It was coming from someone else.

The guard at the door announced her and she strode into the solar, a place she had often visited to see her father. A room full of maps and globes and a comfortable table always supplied with trays of food and wafers. A crackling fire was in the hearth, for the sun had gone down, and the candles and torches were the main sources of light. The feeling of magic began to ebb immediately.

Her husband sat at the window seat, arms folded, his eyes leveled on the door as she entered the room. He looked guarded and impassive, in total control of himself . . . until their gazes met.

There was a twitch at his cheek as she walked in and a mixture of emotions welled in his eyes. The Wizr Albion stood in front of Gahalatine, the same one who’d accompanied him on his ill-fated visit to the council six months ago. She sensed a piece of magic around his neck in the form of a medallion. It was still cooling from recent use. This was the source of the magic she’d sensed.

The other Fountain-blessed was not a Wizr but King Sunilik.

She was startled to see him in the solar, even more so to find his daughter Sureya at his side. There were several warriors wearing the leaf armor, all of whom gave Trynne angry looks as she entered.

They were there to protect Gahalatine from harm. From her.

“Trynne,” Drew said, his voice sounding strained. “I’m glad you came so quickly.”

“Of course I came,” she answered, approaching Gahalatine at the window seat. He stared at her as if she were a threat to him, as if she were a distrusted enemy. Part of him responded viscerally by backing away, leaning against the window behind him. She cast a defiant look at the Wizr and then knelt before Gahalatine.

“My lord, I am so grateful to see you,” she said, looking at him with pain and entreaty. She still felt the lingering effects of the Fountain magic in the room. She could almost see it twisting Gahalatine’s heart into hate.

Her husband looked wary, his brow furrowing at the sight of her kneeling before him. He looked conflicted, as if part of him were at war within himself.

“I’d almost forgotten,” he said in a low, husky voice, “how beautiful . . .” Then he shook his head and abruptly stood. “Rise, my lady. You are my equal, not my inferior. Even though the coronation has not happened, you are still my wife. You need never kneel before me.”

She clung to the bit of hope dangling in front of her. He was conflicted. The Wizrs had discovered a way to manipulate him with their powers. Well, that would not work with her nearby. Rising to her feet, she wondered how to greet him. They had shared a kiss at their marriage. Several, in fact, but they had all been tame kisses of brotherly affection. Nothing like the kiss Fallon had given her atop the tower at Dundrennan. If they overcame this obstacle, she was convinced their relationship would change with time, that passion would grow.

“So you arrived three days ago?” she said, at a loss for words.

“By ship?”

“Indeed,” he answered coldly.

She glanced around the room. Lord Amrein stood at the table with the king. Genevieve was there, but not the young princess. The queen looked stern and serious. She was studying Gahalatine with a slight frown of disapproval.

“I thought you would come to Ploemeur,” she said, still feeling the awkwardness of the moment. She wished to be alone with him, not in a crowded room full of witnesses.

He looked at her incredulously. “How could I risk that?” he said with a curt laugh. “After what you did to my fleet?” His anger was still evident but under control. “None of my crews dare enter your waters, my lady.”

The scene was becoming more befouled by the moment. “Why did you come, then?” she challenged.

“King Sunilik convinced me,” Gahalatine answered. “And by my troth, we must work out some arrangement. Some truce, if you will.

The Mandaryn insist I cannot trust you, but Sunilik has advised me to hear your side. To listen patiently to your explanations.” He swallowed, looking down for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “I knew this would be painful. For us both. But I am determined to endure it. I believe that I wed myself to you in a cunning ploy. I do not see how the evidence can be interpreted differently, but I will listen to you. The Mandaryn have agreed to these conditions. Apparently I did not require enough stipulations or conditions last time.” His barbed words stung her.

“I will gladly justify myself. I look forward to the opportunity,”