The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)

“Are you going to attack them?” Trynne asked her father, her eyes bulging.

Owen smiled. “I have enough trouble of my own, Trynne. I’m not about to lead an army across the Marusthali Desert. Lord Amrein has Espion infiltrating the region and learning what they can. It would not be easy for an army to make the march. Hopefully, we would see them coming and fight them there instead of here.” He leaned back against the table and folded his arms. “The goal is to see how quickly we can receive word from the borderlands. It takes several weeks even by ship, but we are trying to trim the delay down to days. The area is so vast, though, that this has proven to be a challenge.”

“I could help,” Trynne offered, staring at her father. “There is a ley line from the southern tip of Pisan that goes eastward. I could—”

Her father held up his hand. “Now just a minute, Trynne. I’ve seen the book, and I know the one you are talking about. I won’t even let your mother travel that ley line. I’m not about to allow you.”

“But why not, Father?” she said, shaking her head. “It may be the fastest way to get information.”

The look in his eyes told her that pushing him would be pointless. “I appreciate your desire to help, Trynne. Truly.” He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “But I’ll not risk you in such a way. The ley line may go nowhere. Or it may send you straight to the middle of Chandigarl. No, I absolutely forbid you to try. If I thought you had, or were going to, I would have a guard stationed at the fountain night and day. But I know you won’t do something you’ve given your word about. Promise me, Trynne.”

He had outmaneuvered her again and it frustrated her. It was exasperating talking to someone who could think six steps ahead in a game of Wizr. But she knew he would insist on it, and if she refused, he would make good on his promise right there and then. She didn’t want to do anything to compromise his trust in her.

“Of course, Father,” she answered meekly. “I promise. I just wanted to do something to help.”

“I know, lass,” he said, smiling tenderly at her. “And I do appreciate it. When you came, you were a bit downtrodden. What is wrong?”

She glanced down at the map once more.

“I’ll be in the Star Chamber,” Lord Amrein said, correctly divining that father and daughter needed some time alone. He bowed and left the solar at once.

At first, Trynne couldn’t meet her father’s eyes, but feelings were bubbling inside her like seething soup in a kettle. Her father had given her permission to train with Captain Staeli. But he had no idea how far she had progressed, and she dared not tell him for fear he would revoke his permission. She also carried the burden of another secret: that the Fountain intended her to sit in her father’s chair after he fell in battle. Although she wanted to speak freely, she couldn’t, and her secrets were tormenting her.

Owen waited until she was ready to speak.

Her voice was tremulous, but she pressed on even though she hated showing weakness. “I want to do more than just deliver messages for you. When you were my age—”

“I was training for war at Dundrennan,” Owen said, interrupting her. He had a wise look in his eyes, as if he were trying to root out her secrets.

“Yes, I know that. That’s not what I’m asking. What was Lady Evie doing? Wasn’t she learning battle tactics as well? Was she allowed in the training yard?”

His brow wrinkled. “What’s this about, Trynne?”

She clenched her fists and tried to calm herself. He would not respect her ideas if she came across as too emotional. Taking a deep breath, she said softly, firmly, “I don’t think that I am meant to be a Wizr.”

He didn’t seem shocked by her statement, but he waited a moment to respond, considering her words. “Is it because The Vulgate is so tedious to read?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Well, it is, but that’s not the reason. What I don’t understand is that if we are getting invaded by Chandigarl—”

“We don’t know that for certain.”

“I know, Father! Hear me out.” She clasped her hands together and started pacing, trying to choose her words carefully. “What I’m trying to say is why cannot the young women my age also train in the arts of war?”

As the words left her mouth, the door of the solar opened, revealing King Drew, Queen Genevieve, and Myrddin. Her cheeks flushed when she saw them enter, for she realized that she had spoken loudly and passionately enough for them to have heard her.

“I’m afraid we’re intruding,” Drew said, looking a little taken back. “I apologize. I should have knocked first.”

Owen chuckled. “This is your chamber, lad. No need to apologize. And we did agree to meet here for dinner. Lord Amrein and I wanted to share the map with you.”

The king nodded. “We saw him leaving and he mentioned you were both here. Hello, Trynne.” He flashed her a charming smile and bowed slightly. “Good to see you.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Trynne muttered, cheeks hot, her stomach twisting and flipping with embarrassment.

“What were you speaking to your father about?” Genevieve asked. She looked absolutely regal in her green gown studded with sparkling little beads of glass. A simple but beautiful coronet graced her dark hair. She walked up and gave Trynne a hug and pressed a kiss to her cheek. The queen had grown even more beautiful over the last few years, and had settled into her role with confidence and grace. Up close, Trynne noticed how much the dress accentuated her hazel eyes.

“I’d rather not say,” Trynne stammered, her mortification growing.

“Please, I’d like to hear it. We’re your friends, Trynne. We’ll not laugh at you.” She turned and gave the others an arch look. “It was something about wanting to train like the boys?”

Trynne looked at her father, seeking his approval even though the queen had given hers.

Owen gestured with his hand for her to proceed. He wouldn’t countermand the queen.

It was an awkward and uncomfortable position to be in. What would Genevieve think of her? All those years ago, she’d been hesitant about the notion of women participating in the Gauntlet. “I was just saying, Genny, that . . .” She paused to swallow, her mouth very dry. The queen took her hands and squeezed them encouragingly. “. . . that I would rather be in the training yard than the library. I’m learning declensions and ancient court etiquette when I should be learning archery. I’m balancing weights and measures instead of a beam over my shoulders with buckets, like the boys do in the yard. If we are truly going to be attacked, should I not know how to defend myself? Do I care any less about the honor of Ceredigion than does your brother or any of the other young men?”

She had been afraid that the queen would be put off by her unwomanly sentiments. Instead, Genevieve was staring at her with startled surprise and even—if she dared assume it was such—admiration.