The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)

The Wizr glanced at his king, his eyebrows knitting together. “The gates of history swing on small hinges,” he said. “I know of this tale. It has happened aforetime. But the past does not always repeat in the same way. Things were different then . . .” His words filled Trynne with confusion, but she’d learned that sometimes it was best to wait for Myrddin to explain himself. The Wizr started to walk around the circumference of the table and began tapping the chairs one by one with the knobbed end of his staff. “There is some time ere this vision is fulfilled,” he finally said. “The Fountain is giving us time to prepare, if we will. You must raise a generation of warriors, my lord, if you know a fight will press on you. If a prophecy of a drought were to come, then storing food is what I would counsel.” He smiled grimly. “Alack, many of our young men will see battle before they come of age.” He looked shrewdly at Iago and Lady Evie, and Trynne felt her heart shudder with worry for Fallon. “The difference in the tide of battle may be shifted because of the efforts of one person.”

As he said the words, he shot a knowing look at Trynne, and it kindled inside her heart a determination to thwart her father’s destiny. A rebellious flame began to dance within her skin. She had always thought it unfair that women were not allowed to become knights of the realm. And yet one girl had—a young woman from the Occitanian village of Donremy. As Trynne thought on the legend of the Fountain-blessed girl, she felt a ripple of approval from the Fountain.

She made two decisions at that moment. Two decisions she wouldn’t tell to a single soul.

Trynne would do everything within her power to be at that battle. And she was going to save her father’s life.




After the meeting was concluded, Lord Amrein was sent away to gather information from the Espion about the possible threats to the realm. The Espion was in charge of warning the kingdom in advance. Iago and Lady Evie left to find their older son and younger children, but they were commanded not to share with him what had been spoken. The king himself charged Trynne to keep the secret, even though it would be an awful burden on her. She promised that she would. Her parents offered some comfort to each other, but her mother wanted to return to Ploemeur at once. The legends were well known, and Sinia’s people became anxious whenever she and her family were gone, even if it was only for a short while. Owen promised he would be ready to return home in two days’ time, and they arranged to meet by one of the castle’s fountains so she could transport them home. Two days was not enough time in Trynne’s mind.

She found herself roaming the halls of Kingfountain, lost in thought, mulling over the decisions she had made. While the magic of the Fountain was powerful, it did not prevent all disasters from unfolding. If it was the Fountain’s will to reclaim a person to the Deep Fathoms, no amount of magic could bring that person back. The stillborn birth of her sibling proved that. To go against the Fountain’s will was to follow a path leading to destruction. The power of water was unpredictable at times. It had to be respected and handled with wisdom.

So, how could she save her father?

She heard the noise of boots clipping at a jog.

“What happened in the great hall?” Fallon huffed as he drew up beside her, out of breath from running. “My parents won’t tell me! You were there, weren’t you?”

She was not in the mood to deal with his playful banter, though she yearned to tell someone the secrets that burdened her. “The king commanded us to keep it secret,” she said.

Fallon’s eyes grew wide with wonder before his features tilted into a frown. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t tell me.”

“That’s exactly what it means,” she said in exasperation.

“Very well, you can’t say, but if I guess . . . you could give me a wink or something.” He wagged his eyebrows at her. “This is literally torturing me. My parents always tell me what’s happening. This is the first time they’ve refused.”

“I suppose that means they are honorable and value their integrity. As do I, Iago Fallon Llewellyn. The king commanded it. I’m not going to tell.”

“Trynne . . .” he said pleadingly.

“Enough, Fallon! I’m still angry at you for the crepe you put on my back.”

“That was just a little fun,” he said, waving off her glower.

“It would have been mortifying to go into the great hall with it clinging to me still. Which was exactly why you did it. Why do you delight in tormenting me?”

“Because it’s so easy!” he said in feigned shock. “You take yourself so seriously—”

“And you aren’t serious enough. Even when we were children, you could hardly sit still. You were always getting into trouble.”

“Might I remind you that it was your idea to steal the treacle pot and hide it in the bushes?” he said. “How many insects did we eat before we realized that treacle isn’t supposed to be so crunchy?”

“Stop!” Trynne said, waving her hands and shuddering in disgust. “I don’t even like remembering that happened and you keep recollecting that silly—”

Abruptly Fallon grabbed her shoulder and stopped her from walking. His voice pitched lower. “If I had a secret like that, I would tell you, Tryneowy Kiskaddon, because I trust you. We’ve known each other since we were children. You would never betray me. And I would never betray you. Our parents are old. Their duty binds them. But surely you can see it’s not fair for you to know something that I don’t.”

The weight of his hand on her shoulder sent a peculiar rush of warmth through her. He hated being left out of a joke or a jest. Yes, the secret was torturing him. But it wasn’t torturing him nearly as much as it was tormenting her.

Her heart felt like bursting. “I can’t, Fallon. And neither would you if the king commanded you not to. I know you well enough.”

He let go of her shoulder and raked his fingers through his unruly dark hair. He was put out and the sour twist of his lips made him look like he’d bitten into a lemon rind. “It’s not fair,” he muttered.

“Life isn’t fair,” she shot back, pointing to her mouth. She was angry, and that feeling helped soothe the pain in her heart. When she started walking again, she hoped that he would follow her, that he’d say something to make her feel better about her slack cheek and unresponsive lip. That he still found her pretty, even though she’d seen herself in the mirror that morning and knew she wasn’t.

He didn’t follow her.




The interior of Kingfountain’s palace was a giant circle around a verdant interior garden with bubbling fountains in the exact center. Trynne had always loved to roam the main corridor, admiring the suits of armor, the polished floors, the rich legacy sewn into tapestries and other decorations, and the familiar smell of pine and pitch. The palace had been built centuries ago and she wondered how many daughters of Westmarch had walked the same aisles. She knew about the secret corridors honeycombing the walls and recognized which decorative panels led to them and which did not. At her insistence, her father had shown them to her when she was little. She’d wanted to visit every room, hallway, and tunnel that had been part of his life while he was the old king’s hostage. Since she was not part of the Espion, she wasn’t allowed to use the passageways, but she did remember where they were.

As she passed one of the arches leading to an upward stairwell, she heard whispered voices coming from the interior. She peered into the shadows and saw two people half hidden in the gloom.

Trynne slowed her steps, trying to place the familiar voices.