The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)

“Unignorable!” Fallon said with a disarming grin.

“That’s not a real word, dear,” Lady Evie said as they all proceeded to the door. “And it sounds too much like ignoble.” She gave Trynne a look. “I almost named him Iago Farren, which means ‘adventurous.’ Or Fane, which means ‘good-natured.’ Those are all Atabyrion names I thought might suit him. We realized soon enough that calling him by his middle name prevented much confusion. Besides, it fits his personality almost too well.” Then she shook her head. “But he’s his father’s heir, the future king of Atabyrion or duke of the North. I don’t think he’s decided yet which one he wants. To be a king or a duke.”

“Neither actually,” Fallon said, coming up alongside Trynne. “I just want to be a knight and serve my sister and brother-in-law. Being a ruler is boring. Have you seen the table that Myrddin conjured in the great hall?”

Trynne shook her head, wrinkling her brow.

“You won’t believe it,” he said with an excited laugh. When they reached the doorway, no one acknowledged Morwenna. Trynne met the girl’s gaze and saw an unreadable look there. The girl was quiet and cold, but there was a spark in her eyes.

“Inscrutable” was the word that popped into her mind.

The girl was also Fountain-blessed. Like her father.





CHAPTER TWO


Coronation




It was a part of the coronation wedding tradition for the daughters of the high nobles of Ceredigion to hold the train of the new queen as she approached the fountain for the rite. It was a solemn and momentous occasion that had not been performed since Severn’s first wife, Lady Nanette, had become queen following his usurpation of the throne, and the shadow of that event hung over the gathering. Trynne felt the tension in the hall as she carried Genevieve’s gauzy veil with the other girls.

All the lords of the realm had gathered at Kingfountain for the coronation, including the previous king. Severn’s black hair was well silvered, and he looked haggard and in ill health. Lady Kathryn stood by his side, their arms interlinked. For a moment, his stern gaze seemed to narrow on Trynne, and she felt a tremor of fear at having been singled out, only to realize that he was looking past her to his daughter, Morwenna. As they passed the nobles dressed in their finely cut doublets and vests, displaying for all to see the growing wealth and dominion of Ceredigion, Trynne realized her gown was a bit on the simple side. Her father, who smiled at her as they passed, was also simply dressed, though he wore the double badge of his two duchies, the Aurum.

Grand Duke Maxwell of Brugia, who stood near her father, had a sardonic look that rivaled Severn’s. It was clear he was not happy being a vassal of Ceredigion—the consequence of a lengthy, arduous war instigated by his ill-conceived siege of Callait, back when Trynne had been injured. The armies of Ceredigion had waged a full-scale assault on Brugia’s domain, breaking city after city, disrupting trade with blockades, and grinding down Maxwell’s army month after bitter month. Eventually there was nowhere left for Maxwell to run, though he had successfully dragged on the negotiations for his surrender for nearly a year to ensure that his son, Prince Elwis, would rule after him and not be supplanted by one of King Drew’s favorites.

Because the procession of the queen was slow and ponderous, Trynne flicked her eyes to the prince. Elwis was a tall and slender young man of eighteen with a very fair complexion and hair so blond it was nearly white. He wore the Brugian style of doublet, very opulent with frilly lace at his wrists and a wide neck ruff that looked silly at Kingfountain but was considered the height of fashion in his realm. It made him look like a strutting peacock, and any semblance of handsomeness he may have possessed was further marred by his discontented frown.

So many of King Drew’s nobles are disaffected, Trynne thought sadly. Her father had tamed all of the men instead of destroying them. But they resented him for it. She could feel that seething emotion bubbling beneath their veneer of goodwill at the gathering.

The procession stopped as the hymn the chapel choir was singing reached its culmination. She had stopped on a black tile on the checkered floor, and that felt unlucky, so she shuffled her steps until her slippers were touching a white one. Then she turned her eyes to friendlier faces. Iago and his wife were beaming with love and joy for their daughter, who would become the most powerful woman in all the realms. Standing in the same line, Fallon was looking at her. He winked and then made an exaggeratedly grotesque face—his attempt to make her break countenance. That boy could never be serious, even during such a solemn occasion! She gave him an icy look before shifting her gaze back to the assembled lords. There was Duke Ramey with his balding pate, stifling a yawn on his clenched glove. She also saw Lord Amrein, the king’s chancellor and master of the Espion, his eyes darting to the various spies planted throughout the hall acting as guests and bodyguards. He looked very worried, as if he were expecting an archer to suddenly appear.

Trynne felt her father’s magic joining the turbulent waters of the fountain. She sensed it like an ever-present feeling of comfort. Her father was one of the most powerful Fountain-blessed in all the kingdoms. The only ones who were stronger in the Fountain were possibly Trynne’s mother and the Wizr Myrddin himself.

She caught sight of the Wizr as they began ascending the steps to the fountain. He was a dumpy-looking fellow that looked more like a wandering pilgrim than an all-powerful Wizr. He wore sandals that were chafed and broken and exposed some hairy ankles. His middle was girded with a leather belt, and his dark hair was silvered at the ears and thick and wavy. Myrddin had a prominent nose and a jaw lined with slight stubble. She’d always been fascinated by his crooked walking staff that looked as if it was a massive root that had been wrung and twisted. The top had a mushroom-shaped end. A sword hung from the massive belt spanning his hips. The pommel had the design of an eight-pointed star on it, and the metal was beaten and battered.

Trynne’s attention was jarred from the Wizr when the procession came to a stop again. At that time, they were to leave Genevieve. If it had been left up to Trynne, they would have just dropped the train in a heap, but the ladies of court were particularly attuned to such details, so she helped the others neatly arrange the gauzy fabric. Morwenna caught her eye and offered a private smile before leaving the steps and joining her parents amidst the crowd.