The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)

“You’re bearing the news better than I,” Lord Amrein said in a husky voice. He patted Owen’s shoulder and then abandoned the solar, leaving Trynne alone with her father.

She was unwilling to accept her mother’s vision as a blessing from the Fountain. No, she would fight her father’s fate with everything she had. She turned and leaned back against the window, watching her father as he stared vacantly into the distance, as if trapped in some long-ago memory.

“Father?” she called after a moment of silence.

He slouched in his chair, stroking his bottom lip thoughtfully. His eyes shifted up to meet her gaze. His eyebrows lifted, as if that was all the strength he had for a reply.

“I spoke to Severn’s daughter today,” Trynne continued. She walked up and planted her hands on the table. “She told me she’s going to Pisan.”

“Did she?” Owen answered, looking back down at the table and sighing. “That was supposed to be a secret.”

“I helped her out of an uncomfortable situation with Prince Elwis. Maybe she assumed I’d know because I’m your daughter.” She emphasized the word.

“I hope that’s the case.” He looked up at her. “Your tone of voice implies you question the wisdom of such an action.”

Trynne shrugged and stifled a smile. Her father knew her well. “It’s just that she’s . . . she’s Severn’s daughter.”

Owen smiled and sat up higher in the chair, seemingly grateful for the change in the conversation. He likely didn’t want to brood on his future any more than she did. “You remember the stories I told you about Dominic Mancini, don’t you?”

She nodded, recalling several of the episodes concerning him.

“He once said—keep your friends close. Keep your enemies closer. Now, I’m not saying Morwenna is our enemy. But Severn is not exactly a friend. Glosstyr is a different duchy with him ruling it. They are more isolated from the rest of the realm. More insular. I’d wish it were otherwise, but it is what it is. Losing a throne is hard on a man. I know he still resents it . . . resents me.” Owen rubbed his mouth. “We’ve tried to get Morwenna more involved at court, but she has no interest in fitting in here. And, to be honest, the other girls haven’t treated her in a friendly way.”

“I’ve tried,” Trynne said. “We spent a good portion of the afternoon together walking around the palace. She’s never had a friend.”

Owen nodded at her and smiled approvingly. “Her father is her closest companion. She is fiercely loyal to him. Bear that in mind, Daughter. But I’m proud of you for trying. The idea to send her to Pisan came from her mother, actually, who suggested it to me. And based on what Lord Amrein has told me, Morwenna has an aptitude for spying and has, over the years, managed to root out the Espion we’ve planted in Glosstyr. Obviously we replaced them when their covers were compromised. Maybe her gift is intrigue?” he mused.

“She was more interested in talking about politics than dresses or fashion,” Trynne said. “Actually, I enjoyed talking to her. I wish she weren’t going now. Did you talk to Mother about her becoming a poisoner? Has she had any visions?”

Owen smoothed his hands across the polished wooden table. “Yes. Your mother saw her at the poisoner school and then working as an agent for her brother. It is a difficult life and a dangerous one.” His eyes tightened with memories of the past. “But ultimately it was the king’s decision.” He glanced up at her. “It’s spring and so the daylight has lingered, but it is getting late, Trynne. I have much work to do this evening still. I’d best get to it.” He leaned forward and rose. The weight of the news had aged him, and it made her ache inside.

“Father?” she asked again as he was turning.

“Yes?”

She tried to keep her voice as casual as she could. “I don’t think it’s fair that only the boys get to use the training yard. May I have your permission to practice wooden swords with Captain Staeli tomorrow?”

He chuckled to himself. “That’s how Evie felt as well,” he said. He pursed his lips and then shrugged. “Just don’t make a nuisance of yourself, Trynne. After Myrddin’s warning today, the training yard was overcrowded with boys hoping to earn a seat at the Ring Table. That was one of Myrddin’s hopes, actually. By creating a goal to strive for, the king will inspire a generation of boys into practicing hard.”

“Thank you, Father.” She kissed his cheek and left the solar. As she started down the hall, she spied Captain Staeli following her, faithful shadow that he was. She turned and gave him a serious look. “Tomorrow before dawn. Meet me at the training yard.”

There was a wariness about him, but his only answer was a curt nod.




Sweat dripped off the tip of Trynne’s nose. Her body was trembling with the exertions of the morning. The torches they had used for light had nearly burned out, and the birds were chirping up a ruckus in the woods surrounding the Kingfountain palace. The sun had yet to show itself, but the world was pale and drowsy, and smoke lifted in puffs and plumes from the many chimneys. From her vantage point in the training yard, she could see the poisoner’s tower—the windows dark. She leaned forward, hands on her knees, and panted.

“I thought we were . . . going to use”—she gasped, shaking her head—“the wooden ones!” Her hair was tied back with a strap of leather. She wore a page boy’s clothes and was skinny enough to be mistaken for a boy. Her entire body was dripping and her muscles felt pushed past all endurance.

She had hoped to spend the morning drilling in the techniques of the sword with wooden blades. Instead, Captain Staeli had had her practice swinging iron pokers from the blacksmith forge. For a long while he had pushed her, walking around her in a circle, not exerting himself in the least. He’d had her repeat the same drills over and over again until her shoulders throbbed and her forearms hurt. She’d dropped the pokers noisily several times, earning a frown of disapproval from him whenever it happened.

Captain Staeli shook his head and stifled a yawn. “If you want me to teach you, then you will learn the way I did. If you don’t quit before a fortnight is through, then maybe we’ll get started with the wooden ones.”

“Maybe?” Trynne gasped despondently.

“A wooden sword keeps you from cutting yourself, ’tis true,” he said. “But they don’t build up the muscles you need. That will take time. A lot of time. Again.” He gestured for her to continue even though her arms were whimpering in relief over the brief rest. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to brush her own hair later that afternoon.

She gave him a determined look. “I’m not going to quit, Captain. Count on that.”