The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)

King Drew appeared to be startled by the sudden manifestation. The looks on the faces of everyone in the room were full of astonishment. Fallon’s mother and the queen beamed with triumph. Many looked more uncomfortable with the king’s pronouncement. Some of the men were staring aghast at the suggestion. Severn looked disdainful, but Elwis was merely subdued. He stared from the table to Trynne with deep concentration, and it made her uncomfortable to be stared at so. Fallon, on the other hand, looked grave as he shook his head and muttered something under his breath to his mother, who swatted his arm in annoyance.

And then Trynne caught sight of Morwenna standing near the doors leading to the secret passageways. She was surprised the king’s poisoner didn’t look pleased. In fact, her look was unguarded for once, and she seemed furious.





CHAPTER THIRTY


Unrequited




The magnolia petals had all fallen, save only a few that still stubbornly hung on to the branches. As Trynne knelt in the grass, staring up at them, she clung to the silent hope that her father still lived. Visions of his severed hand haunted the shadows in her mind both day and night. It was time to return to Ploemeur with her mother—and then Averanche. Genevieve had promised the first girls would arrive soon for their training.

It was not possible to describe the feelings in her heart. What would have happened if she had not followed the Fountain’s direction before the battle? Would it have made a difference for her father if she had appeared in the grove with her magic and two swords? She had to trust that the Fountain had used her for the best possible good, even if that good was devastating to her personally. She had kept the oath she had sworn before Myrddin; she had obeyed the Fountain’s will. So why did it hurt so much?

A breeze teased through her hair and the branches of the magnolia trees, carrying the sweet scent of the blooms. She shut her eyes, trying to will away the pain and the longing to see her father. Part of her had been ripped away. It was a wound of the heart, and it would never fully heal. If only she knew what had become of him, whether she would ever see him again. Eyes pressed closed, she listened for the faint stirrings of the Fountain. She hoped for something, a message—a sign.

Nothing came except the sound of someone approaching in the grass.

Disappointment battered her. She had hoped to find solace in her favorite spot at the palace, but even that balm was being denied to her. Opening her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Fallon Llewellyn striding toward her.

He looked angry.

Not now, she thought in despair. Not another burden.

She brushed the strands of grass she’d plucked from her lap and then rose quickly. If she was on her knees when he arrived, he would tower over her.

There was no preamble of teasing from him this time. It came out as an accusation.

“You knew, didn’t you? About your father. That was the secret you wouldn’t tell me.”

“I was forbidden to tell anyone,” she answered in misery. She did not want to have that conversation with him. It was too painful, and the fierce and wounded look in his eyes only added to her agony.

She started to walk away, determined to reach the chapel fountain and return to her lands. There, she would have the slender comfort of grieving with her family. Fallon snatched at her sleeve and then gripped her arm. The warrior in her was tempted to heave him face-first onto the ground. She tensed, barely able to suppress the urge to humiliate him.

“Leaving already?” he challenged.

“I don’t want to argue with you, Fallon. Please let me go.”

“Not until I’ve said my piece.”

It tortured her to know she held secrets from him still. He was ready to complain about the least of them. She pressed her eyes with her free hand—he still gripped her arm. The wind rustled the branches again, and one of the magnolia buds broke loose and spun in a circle on its way down to the lawn. It was painful to watch it and think of that long-ago day they’d played so carelessly in that very grove.

“Say your piece, then,” she muttered darkly, and shook her arm free of his hold.

Fallon looked very unstable at that moment. He was too emotional. So was she. It was an ill omen.

“You should have told me,” he said. “My parents kept me in the dark. So did my own sister. But you . . . I thought we could trust one another. I thought you would have shared the truth before it happened. I was there at Guilme, Trynne! I might have prevented it if I’d known!”

“How?” she snapped. “What could you have done that would have helped? My mother had a vision of this long ago. She’s been carrying this grief for years. And so have I. I wasn’t at liberty to tell you, Fallon. It would have broken the king’s trust. It would have broken my father’s.”

His forehead was wrinkled with agitation. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, muttering to himself. “There is some treachery afoot in the kingdom, Trynne. I warned you of it before. The men in silver masks.”

She had to grit her teeth to prevent herself from accusing him of being one. She still had the cloak and mask she had taken from his tent the eve of the battle. How could she fully trust his words? He was scheming and unreliable, cavorting with Morwenna while trying to win Trynne’s trust. Or was he faithful to his sister, to King Drew, to her. He was like a glob of quicksilver, always darting away when poked.

“My father knew of them,” she said passionately, resisting the urge to hit him. “Lord Amrein knows. If you have information that would help, say it! Stop tottering between sides, Fallon.”

“I’m not tottering between sides!” he said, nearly shouting. “I am loyal to the king. To my sister. There is nothing I could be offered that would tempt me to break my allegiance. I want to be useful. I want to prove that I can do more.” His voice throbbed with pent-up disappointment and rancor. He stepped closer to her. “I loved your father. Maybe not as much as you do. But I always respected and admired him. I would wheedle my mother to tell stories of their childhood adventures.” He had a half smile as the memories came. Then he looked pointedly at her. “We grew up together, Trynne. I loved those years in Ploemeur. Walking on the beach of sea glass with you. Finding pies and other delights to share while we rode the lift up the mountain to the castle.”

His voice dropped off suddenly, becoming husky. “I was there the night Dragan hurt you.” He gently pressed his thumb to the edge of her mouth, and she saw tears dance in his eyes. His hand lingered there, his touch so soft and tender. It made her feel dizzy, and she realized he was about to say something, to commit himself in a way that would forever alter their relationship.

“I must go,” she said, her voice shaking.

“You must hear me out,” he insisted.

“I . . . I don’t think—”

He stopped her words with a kiss that startled her. She did not reciprocate it, but she could not help but feel it burn all the way down to her toes.

His fingers had slid into the nest of her short hair, behind her neck. He pulled back, a devious smile on his mouth. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Part of her wanted to fling herself into his arms—to cry, sob, and kiss him back. She was stunned, off balance.