The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)

Trynne stood in her room at the castle of Averanche, holding the Tay al-Ard in her hand. She had forewarned Mariette that the queen would summon her to the palace. The beautiful widow had bowed graciously, failing to conceal a look of eager excitement. Trynne had also spoken privately with Reya.

Trynne was prepared for her journey, dressed in the outfit Reya had worn while fleeing Chandleer Oasis, with two of the hook swords that Reya had commissioned from the blacksmith concealed in a long lute case strapped around her shoulder. She had used them in the training yard with Reya and liked how light and fast they were. She’d also had a scroll case brought to her to conceal the Tay al-Ard.

It was Trynne’s plan to avoid setting a time for their departure from Kingfountain. She did not want to give Morwenna the opportunity to plan an ambush.

Trynne stared at the device in her hand, then at herself in the mirror. The disguising ring was on her finger, but she had not yet activated it. One of her ideas was to make herself look like Reya until she reached the zenana. Then she would wander around the place until she found Lady Evie and dropped her disguise. But she hoped Reya’s outfit might be enough to help her blend in with the local populace.

Only at the end, if Morwenna proved trustworthy, would she reveal she had the Tay al-Ard. The betrayal, if it happened, would likely occur as soon as they were away from the protection of the ley lines.

After examining her costume in the mirror, she turned the device in her hand. There were no buttons or symbols on it. Her whole plan hinged on it working. When the Wizrs had used it in her presence, none of them had uttered a word of power aloud. Perhaps the device was sentient and could know her thoughts?

She fixed her thoughts on the queen’s private chamber, imagining it in as much detail as she could muster. Before she could think the word of power that allowed her to travel across the ley lines, there was a jolt, followed by a searing spasm of movement, and then an instant of nausea and dizziness. She had just finished blinking when she realized it had worked. She was in the queen’s private chamber. The rod tingled in her hand, and she felt the ebbing of Fountain magic. Not from her stores, though. The journey had taken nothing from her at all.

Smiling in triumph, she strapped the device to her forearm, covering it with the sleeve of Reya’s loose garment. Everything she had prepared for the journey had come with her. There was no one else inside the chamber.

When she left Genevieve’s room, she startled the guards who had been standing at attention. She smiled at them, nodded politely, and then started walking down the corridor toward her intended goal. She passed servants, who gave her strange looks, and found her way to the iron door that was always locked. Standing at the door, she gripped the handle.

“Ephatha,” Trynne uttered, and the lock twisted open on its own.

She was headed up to the poisoner’s tower.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


The Forbidden Court




Trynne’s heart was full of trepidation and excitement as she mounted the steps to Morwenna’s tower. She reached out with her magic, just a little trickle to avoid any dangers or traps that might block the way. The tower well was dark, but there were arrow slits in the wall that served as little beacons of light. Her heart beat wildly, both from the climb and from nervousness. In her mind, she pictured her father as a young boy, following Ankarette Tryneowy up the cold steps.

Her breath was coming quickly by the time she reached the top of the winding staircase. She sensed the presence of magic coming from the room and slowed her steps. Cautiously, she knocked at the door—a sound that echoed all the way down the tower shaft. Her insides twisted with concern as she waited.

When no one answered, she reached out and tried the handle. It was locked. The word of power released the mechanism and the handle turned without Trynne touching it. Taking a breath and holding it, she pulled the door open, her senses taut, ready for action.

The room smelled of dried flowers. The curtains were open, providing sufficient light to see the tower’s simple furnishings. It would not be easy to carry a bed and feather mattress up and down stairs, so it came as no surprise that the bed against the wall matched the one she’d seen when her father had brought her up the tower’s winding stairs years before. The embroideries that Ankarette had made were all gone, save one. It was an embroidery of the White Boar, Duke Severn’s sigil, done by an expert hand.

Morwenna was not in the room.

“Hello?” Trynne called out as she entered. She stepped in cautiously, feeling the soft carpet absorb the noise of her steps. There was a brazier stocked with blackrock, but it wasn’t lit. The desk showed a beautiful mirror, Genevese craftsmanship, with a series of brushes and paints and lotions. Strands of black hair clung to the brushes. Trynne felt she was invading a private sanctuary.

The source of the magic was in the room. It had beckoned to her while she climbed the steps. Trynne hurriedly examined the contents of the table—an assortment of vials, mortars and pestles, and the accoutrements of the poisoner craft. There were concoctions already made, little vials full of amber, red, and purple ichor. Her magic warned her of the danger emanating from them. Looking at them made her skin crawl.

Would Morwenna have left any incriminating evidence in her tower? If so, where would it be hidden? It was probably still true that none of the palace staff came up there. The other entrance to the poisoner’s tower was in the kitchen, which was how Ankarette had always received her meals, left on the counter by Liona. There was a bottle of wine on a small stand by the bed, half full.

Beneath the bed, she spied a chest. Trynne listened at the doorway and heard nothing. She might not get another chance like this. Kneeling by the edge of the bed, she dragged the low chest out. But there was no magic emanating from the chest at all. There were not even any locks on it. Biting her lip, she flipped the latch that sealed it and lifted the lid.

The chest was full of men’s clothes. A tunic, a shirt, a pair of boots. But it was a badge on one of the tunics that made her heart sink like a stone. The badge of the Pierced Lion. The badge of the duke of the North. Tears pricked Trynne’s eyes as she lifted the garment to her nose. Jealousy made her feel like that pierced lion. The tunic smelled like Fallon. There was a change of his clothes in a chest beneath Morwenna’s bed. Her hands started to shake, and that’s when she heard the sound of footfalls coming from the stairwell. It was a light step. It was an urgent step.