The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)

Sinia shook her head and then hugged her daughter. “No, you haven’t. We are just different, you and I.” She smoothed some hair away from Trynne’s brow. “When I was your age, I was in love with a boy who scarcely knew I existed, one I had only seen in my visions. A ruthless and corrupt king invaded my duchy to force me to marry him, and I had to turn to a tyrant for help.” Her mother looked at her with deep emotion. “I . . . I wanted to raise you in safety so that you wouldn’t have to feel what I did, but that was not to be.” Trynne knew her mother was talking about the attack that had stolen her smile, and also about the future they would have to face someday soon. Sinia took Trynne’s hands, squeezed them, and then kissed her knuckles. “Pardon a mother’s lament. You are growing up so fast.”

Tears stung Trynne’s eyes as she wrapped her arms around her mother and held her, suffering through her own sensations of guilt and worry and conflict.

“I love you, Tryneowy,” Sinia whispered, kissing her daughter’s hair. “Never forget that I always will. You are not a disappointment to me. I know you are trying very hard. Give my love to your father. Tell him I miss him.”

Trynne smiled, wiping her tears away with her wrist. She kissed her mother’s cheek and then, gripping the letter between her fingers, stepped over the rail of the fountain into the water. The water was repelled by her presence, shuddering away from her as if it were an animal afraid to be near.

Daughter and mother locked eyes until the mist rose to carry Trynne away.





CHAPTER NINE


Oath Maidens




When Trynne was a child, she had heard her mother whisper the word of power capable of transporting her across the realm to Kingfountain and back to Ploemeur. It was one of the first words she had discovered on her own. Kennesayrim. It drained the one who spoke it, but it also allowed him or her to use the ley lines to travel great distances. Trynne would arrive at Kingfountain in time for dinner.

Trynne loved using the ley lines to travel. It was like plunging off a waterfall—her stomach would tighten with fear, and thrill with the sense of falling. There was that moment of apprehension and concern that always happened, followed by pure giddiness when she opened her eyes and the mist parted to reveal a chamber in Kingfountain. She wasn’t powerful enough to bring someone with her yet, but her father always had an Espion waiting for her arrival on the other end. Captain Staeli would have the night off, and she imagined him enjoying a tankard of ale and kicking up his boots on a table with a self-satisfied smile. He was a soldier at heart and she could never draw him into conversations about anything other than weapons, fighting techniques, or war. If she ever tried discussing politics or trade, he’d just yawn and otherwise look disinterested.

The Espion waiting for her was Pedmond, one of Lord Amrein’s trusted men, and he greeted her warmly.

“Welcome, Lady Trynne,” he said with a bow. “Your father is waiting in the solar.”

“Any news, Pedmond?” she asked, stepping over the fountain rail and falling into step next to him. She was a little queasy from the journey, but knew from experience her stomach would probably settle within the hour.

He shrugged. “There is always news. I’m sure Duke Owen will apprise you of any he wishes you to know about.”

“You are always so courteous, but rarely very helpful,” Trynne complained, giving him an arch look. “I want gossip. Give me a morsel at the very least.”

“There is a Gauntlet coming up in Brugia’s capital,” Pedmond said. “The second time this year. They like to change theirs up regularly, making it more and more difficult. The bets are all in favor that Prince Elwis will remain the champion, though my money is on an upstart from Legault.”

Trynne raised her eyebrows. “What’s his name?”

“No one knows. People are calling him Bowman . An archer and they say he’s quite good if a bit cocksure. Maybe even Fountain-blessed. My money is on him, but the odds are in favor of the prince keeping his title.”

“That is much better, Pedmond. Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome, my lady. Captain Staeli wouldn’t approve of me speaking so freely with you, but you did insist.”

“I shall not tell him,” Trynne promised.

In due course, they reached the solar, where Owen was in conference with Lord Amrein. The spymaster’s hair was graying rapidly, but he still spoke with the energy and enthusiasm of a younger man. Her father’s hand was on his shoulder and they were both poring over a map on the table.

As she sidled up to her father, Trynne glanced down at the map, but she didn’t recognize the borders or the land shapes on it.

Her father looked up and brightened when he saw her. She gave him a hug, and he stooped to kiss her hair. “How is your mother?”

“Well enough,” she said, still feeling the guilt wriggling inside as a result of their last conversation.

Owen’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“We can speak of it later,” Trynne said, then looked down at the map again. “What is this?” She looked closer, squinting, but could not decipher any of the wording. The script was long and slanting, very elegant, with little curlicues and embellishments. It was a different alphabet than any she had seen.

“A map . . . well, an attempt at a map, of Chandigarl.”

“One of the eastern kingdoms?” Trynne asked.

“The most prominent one at the moment,” Owen answered. “There has been some blood-feuding over there in recent years, but it seems to be at an end. The region is ancient, and there have been . . . hostilities between our peoples over the centuries. In the past, Argentine kings have sent soldiers to fight in the borderlands far to the east to keep them from encroaching farther.” He looked up at Lord Amrein. “Tell her the recent news.”

Trynne gave the spymaster a fearful look. She loved talking politics with her father, but ever since Myrddin’s prediction and her mother’s vision, any news filled her with dread.

“Chandigarl has not had a single king for several generations. But there’s a man who has shown some promise. He’s young, according to the reports—not even thirty yet. He was driven from his capital as a boy, but after living in exile for many years, he retook his father’s city and proclaimed himself king. Instead of destroying his enemies, he has been getting them to serve him . . . Many are his distant kin. There are ancient palaces and fortresses in these lands, along with vast deserts that separate us.” Lord Amrein glanced at her father and he nodded. “They call him Gahalatine. And rumor is that he’s Fountain-blessed. If all of Chandigarl unites under him, it may be that he’ll turn his eye on us.”

A queer, dark feeling blotted Trynne’s soul like a shadow. “You think this is the threat, don’t you?” She was looking at her father.

“In the subtle details I’ve been able to pry from your mother’s vision,” Owen said solemnly, “we were attacked by a vast host that was not dressed in our manner. These are warriors, but their culture is different from ours. We know so little about them. This map, for example, is likely very inaccurate.”

“Where did you get it?”

“From a Genevese merchant,” Lord Amrein answered. “It cost a fortune, and it might well be a complete fabrication. We have no way of ascertaining its accuracy, yet it and other maps like it are our only window into that part of the world.”