The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)

At those words, Trynne realized that Fallon was more clever than she had realized. How had he come into possession of a cursed ring? A certain dark-haired poisoner came to mind. Trynne started to smile and then caught herself in the act. Fallon’s gaze began to narrow, his eyes crinkling at the edges. She stuffed the ring back into the prince’s pocket.

She straightened and then jangled Elwis’s chain. “I’ll take this, then. I’ve won enough today, my lord. This Gauntlet is yours.” She gestured for him to precede her, hoping she wouldn’t faint.

He pursed his lips, then shook his head. “No, you’re the one who earned the champion rank. I’ll not claim it unfairly. Take the honor, Ellis.”

Trynne shook her head, feeling her body start to wobble. “No, I’m spent, my lord. You claim it. If I don’t flee now before he rouses, I’ll not live through the night. I need to get far away.” She jiggled the necklace in her palm. A Brugian badge already hung from it, so she didn’t need to earn it twice. “This is enough.”

“It means we’ll both have four badges. I’ll see you next in Occitania. And I’ll win that one without your help.” He gave her a nod of respect.

She waited for him to go ahead through the archway leading out. Then she sucked in her breath and prayed she had enough Fountain magic to make it to the sanctuary where Captain Staeli was awaiting her.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


The Wizr of Chandigarl




Trynne’s magic was so depleted that she had collapsed after stepping outside the well of the fountain. She slumped onto the cool tiles, listening to the patter of the waters behind her as she sunk into the darkness, her body unable to rouse itself.

She awoke sometime after midnight in an unfamiliar cell. There was a little oil lamp giving off a small glow of light. She lay on a reed-sewn pallet with a small blanket covering her. Captain Staeli sat with his back to the wall, his head drooping, but he was not asleep. There was a small bowl and a crumpled, blue-stained rag nearby. Her mother would be worried about her, but she still had no strength and there was not even a prickle of awareness from the magic. She was defenseless.

“Rest, lass,” Staeli whispered. “I’m keeping watch.”

She gazed at him, grateful for his loyalty. The Gauntlet had tested her and it was harder than she had thought. Not because of the challenges themselves but because of the dishonorable conduct of the Brugians. Weariness overwhelmed her and she drifted off to sleep again.

In the morning, she changed from the men’s clothes back into the Brugian dress. Staeli assured her that the blue smudges on her face were gone. She looked and felt like a different person. She stuffed the necklace she’d taken from Elwis into the bottom of her pack and gingerly reached out to try to sense the magic. There was still nothing left. Part of her wanted to panic, but she knew what she needed to do.

Together, Trynne and Captain Staeli walked the grounds of the sanctuary and came to the spot where men often gathered to play Wizr. Several old men were already playing matches, but there was an unused set at an empty table. She and Staeli sat across from each other and started a game. As soon as her fingers started moving the pieces, she felt the whisper of the Fountain flowing into her. With it came tingles of gratitude.

The sound of boots came into the area, and she spied two men wearing the badge of Brugia. One of them had a bruise on his cheek. She recalled him from the previous night at the Gauntlet, so she kept her gaze fixed on the table.

“The sexton said there was a man and a lad who spent the night in a cell,” the bruised man muttered to his companion. “The prince will have our heads if we don’t find him.”

“I’ve never seen him so angry,” said the companion.

“Nor I,” agreed the other. “The lad took his chain.”

“I know, I know. Did you see the fight?”

“No, I got struck down in the main hall and was being tended by a pretty healer.”

“I would have loved to see Elwis knocked down. He’s too proud by half.”

“Hush, man. Too many ears.” The guards walked past, but one stopped and stared at them playing the game. Trynne felt a twinge of dread.

“Excuse me, kind sir,” said the bruised man.

Staeli frowned and looked up at him, folding his arms.

“But have you or your daughter seen a young man in the sanctuary this morning?”

Staeli frowned deeper and jogged his shoulders.

Trynne was afraid his accent would give him away. “What did he look like?” she offered in a sweet voice.

“Hard to say. It’s an Atabyrion, though. Half his face was painted blue.”

Trynne gave him an innocent look. “If we do see someone like that, should we tell the deconeus or the sexton?”

“Aye, lass. Please do. Sorry to intrude on your game.”

“It’s no problem. Can you tell me who won the Gauntlet last night? I was not feeling well and was abed early.”

The man frowned. “Prince Fallon Llewellyn took the prize. Followed by a Fountain-blessed lad from Legault. But the Atabyrion prince insists that he didn’t win the Gauntlet. He credited the blue-faced lad for being the victor and said he would hold the bag of gold for him in Edonburick. The whole city is trying to find the lad. They’re calling him the painted knight.”

“Thank you,” Trynne said, feeling a flush of approval for Fallon. She looked back at the game, trying to suppress her enjoyment of the situation.

“It’s your move, Father,” she said to Staeli, giving him a knowing look.

“Threat,” he said, blocking her early move with one of his own.

By the end of the game, she had summoned enough power to bring them home.




Trynne withdrew the book she had purchased in Marq from her bag and handed it to her mother, whom she found in the library. “I’m so sorry we were late,” she apologized yet again. “I was so drained that I needed to rest before coming back.”

Sinia did not look concerned at all, which was a relief. “I was waiting up for you, but then saw a vision of you returning this morning.” She patted Trynne’s cheek. “I think you will need to practice traveling the ley lines more, Trynne. It’s the only way you’ll get stronger at it.”

She didn’t reveal that the trip had taxed her very little. It was fighting the street gang and competing in the Gauntlet that had done that.

Her mother examined the book, opening the pages with a sense of reverence. Trynne could see how much her mother loved to read old books. She wished she could share that obsession, but she would rather have been in the training yard or visiting the Gauntlet that had been constructed at Ploemeur. She’d not been allowed to visit it, as only the participants and those helping were given permission to see it. Her plan was to save her own duchy’s test for last, prior to entering the Gauntlet in Kingfountain.

“How was the Gauntlet?” Sinia asked her, making Trynne blink with surprise. “Who won?”

“Fallon,” she answered truthfully, clasping her hands behind her back.

“Did you see him while you were there?”

Trynne bit her lip. “Actually, yes. He was staying at the Espion safe house. Prince Elwis doesn’t care for him.”

Sinia nodded knowingly. “It was both courageous and foolish of him to compete in Brugia. But I’m glad he did well.”