The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)

She thought of the gaunt fellow she had captured and how ready he had been to stab her and claim his fee. How many girls had he abducted in the past? Where were they now? The thought filled her with such revulsion she couldn’t prevent an angry frown.

Turning to Captain Staeli, she said, “I’d like the mayor to interrogate him, Captain. See if he can learn anything about his past victims. When he can no longer provide us with any useful information, have the mayor put him to death.” She gave him a determined look. It was her right as the ruler of Averanche to invoke such a penalty. But if she could restore any of the captured children back to their families, she would.

“Aye, lass,” he said, nodding at her in approval. Then, giving her a wry smile, he said, “You’ve had a busy day. What will tomorrow bring?”

“I wish I knew,” Trynne said, rubbing the chill from her arms. “I’m going back to Ploemeur, though. There are things I must speak to my mother about, even if it pains me.”



Trynne walked down the quiet corridor of her mother’s castle. It was the home of her childhood, and it caused her pain every time she returned. She loved the sculptured pillars with the symbol of the triple faces on them, the strong smell of eucalyptus, and the tall windows that let in light through gauzy curtains. But every room held ghosts from her past, invoked memories of her missing father. She knew the cadence of his tread, and her ears constantly strained to hear a sound that wasn’t going to happen.

The rich history of Brythonica had played a large role in her childhood stories. It was an ancient place, one whose history went further back than Occitania or Ceredigion, and when Sinia was young, it had been a self-ruling duchy of Occitania. But the Occitanian king had tried to force Sinia to marry him, which had caused her to seek an alliance with Ceredigion. It had been a dangerous and delicate maneuver, but her mother had managed to pit the two kings against each other while retaining Brythonica’s sovereignty.

The reason her mother had fought so hard to retain her position was because a Montfort needed to rule the duchy to maintain its boundaries against the Deep Fathoms. The line had almost been broken when Sinia’s parents couldn’t bring a living child into the world. Their grief had been shattering, especially since they’d known what it meant: their duchy would be swallowed up by the sea when the duke died. The grieving parents despaired, not knowing what they could do to save the kingdom. They were willing to do anything to appease the Fountain, to spare the population from drowning.

The answer was waiting for them one day on the shore of what was now Sinia’s favorite beach. A newborn baby girl. An Ondine—a gift from the Fountain.

Most people were superstitious about water sprites. They could not be immersed in water, for their very skin repelled it, and the water rite had been developed in ancient times to prove whether a foundling had been naturally born.

Sinia’s true identity was a closely guarded secret. Beyond her family, only the palace staff knew the truth of her sacred origins. As a water sprite, she had not possessed a soul until she kissed a human—Owen. Their marriage had changed her and made her human.

And now her grief for him was diminishing her.

“My lady!” chuffed the court steward, Thierry, when he rounded the corner ahead and nearly stumbled into her. He had served the Montforts for a long time, as had his father and grandfather before him. Thierry’s hair was spiked forward in the Occitanian fashion, as usual, but it was well nigh all silver now. “I had not known you were coming today! Your mother will be grateful to see you. Let me alert her that you’ve arrived from Averanche.”

“How does she fare?” Trynne asked, touching his arm.

Thierry’s countenance shaded like a cloud blotting the sun. He had always kept a certain distance from Owen, but his devotion to Sinia was unquestionable. “Lady Tryneowy, she bears her suffering with great aplomb. She has been more distant lately. More introspective.”

Trynne had feared as much. Her mother’s visions had been bereft of glimpses of her husband, which had made all of them fear the worst.

“Thank you, Thierry. I would see her at once.”

“Very well, my lady. She is with Lady Morwenna at the moment.”

The news was like a blow to Trynne’s heart. Morwenna had been in training as a Wizr’s disciple since the Battle of Guilme. Originally, Trynne had been her mother’s only student, but she had abandoned her studies in favor of training the Oath Maidens with Captain Staeli.

The daughter of Severn Argentine and Lady Kathryn, Morwenna was the king’s blood-sister. She had an aptitude for Fountain magic and had demonstrated a quickness of mind in finding words of power hidden inside The Vulgate, an ancient text of legends about the famous King Andrew and his court. When she was studying the tome, Trynne had always found her mind wandering to the training yard and affairs of state. She was happier since she’d quit her Wizr training, but Morwenna’s stunning beauty and multiple gifts had always made her feel self-conscious.

As they walked toward the study, Thierry kept up a steady stream of chatter. “There was a great shipwreck off the coast of Occitania in the last fortnight. A merchant ship, heavily laden, crashed against the reef and was destroyed. Bits of its cargo have been washing up on our shores for days since then and as far east as St. Penryn’s.”

“Were there any survivors?” Trynne asked without much hope.

“None, my lady. The manifest showed it was a Genevese merchant vessel. The crew all drowned.”

“I’m so sorry to hear it,” Trynne sighed. “What is the latest news about the Gauntlet coming up in Kingfountain?”

“They say the Grand Duke of Brugia and Duke of North Cumbria are favorites to win it. Wouldn’t it be a trick if some lass beat them both?” He gave her a cunning smile and a wink.

Trynne had been training hard for it. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to look unconcerned.

“Let me announce you,” Thierry said as they reached the door. He lifted his hand to knock.

Trynne caught his sleeve. “There’s no need. I’d rather surprise her. Thank you.”