The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(7)

Forsaken


Trynne walked a corridor of the palace of Kingfountain, feeling ill and dejected. She was cut off from her husband, and the memory of his look of betrayal still stung her. He was an honorable man at his core, but he had accused her of duplicity in front of the entire council. She wanted to prove herself by her actions, to lay bare her very soul to him and convince him that she had not tricked him in any way.

The corridor was abandoned until she reached Genevieve’s room, where she found two Oath Maidens on duty protecting it.

Mariette looked at her in concern. The tall Oath Maiden had become somewhat of a trusted intermediary between Lord Amrein and the queen. Trynne had often spied Mariette, who was a widow, deep in conversation with the Espion master. She suspected the two fancied each other.

“My lady,” the woman said worriedly. “Rumors are rife throughout the palace. Some swear they saw Gahalatine return to the palace and then leave again abruptly. Is all well?”

Trynne was not up to any deception. She felt the frown tugging at her mouth, but she would confide herself to Genny. No one else.

“There is grievous news,” Trynne said. “Is the queen in her chamber?”

“Yes, she is.” Mariette nodded to the other maiden, who quickly knocked on the door and then opened it for her. Giving Trynne a knowing look, Mariette warned her, “She’s with her brother.”

If Trynne had known, she would not have come. Part of her wanted to flee. She couldn’t face Fallon, not now, not with her cheeks still flaming. If she could have vanished, she would have.

The other maiden opened the door wider and gestured for Trynne to enter.

Squeezing her hands into fists, Trynne took a deep breath and stepped into Genny’s private chambers. A hint of lilac was in the air.

Sunlight slanted in from the curtained windows, exposing Fallon’s slouched form on the window seat, his injured leg propped up on a stool. He was watching for her, his eyes seeking hers, but he looked away as soon as they made eye contact.

He grunted as he brought his leg off the stool and then stood.

For some reason, the badge of the Pierced Lion on his trim leather tunic made him achingly handsome to her. His hair was unruly, as if he’d raked his fingers through it in frustration. His mouth attempted to be neutral, even welcoming, but she saw the anguish he was struggling, and failing, to subdue.

“I’ll be on my way,” Fallon said courteously. He walked over to his sister with a pronounced limp and kissed her on the top of her head. “Are you going to come see Father and Mother off when the tide comes in? I’m not sure I fancy a walk down the steps to the docks.”

Genevieve squeezed her brother around the waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. She looked up at him, a serious look on her face. “I was planning on it. You should come too, Fallon.”

He shrugged and then gripped her shoulders. “Best if I leave the two of you alone for your conference.” He looked at Trynne furtively. “The ley lines are closed. Aren’t they?”

“Did you already know about the fire in Chandigarl?” she asked him, trying to keep the tone of accusation from her voice.

He shook his head no. “No, I did not know about the Forbidden Court. I haven’t heard any intelligence about the ley lines either. It was just a guess based on today’s . . . display. I had no idea Gahalatine would arrive today.” His eyes began to smolder with fury.

“If I had, I wouldn’t have come.” He gently pinched Genny’s cheek.

“I’ll see you at the docks.”

“Would you like me to have some of the maidens carry you down?” she joked.

Fallon pursed his lips, trying not to smile. “I’m half-tempted. I’ll be punctual. Punctilious even. Sadly, I cannot think of a third to make it a set. I must be tired.” He rubbed his eyes, gave his sister an affectionate smile, and started limping toward the door. Trynne stood stock-still, though her heart ached with pain.

Fallon stopped in front of her. “By your leave, Cousin.”

She bit her bottom lip. “I’m not your cousin, Fallon.”

“You are now, Trynne,” he said. His look was full of poignant meaning, unspoken grief, and firmness of purpose. With those final words, he left the room.

Trynne felt her own emotions bubbling up from the place she’d hidden them, coming to a boil and threatening to spill out. She bit her lip again, willing herself not to think about all she had lost. Not to cry.

Genny’s hand touched her shoulder, the comforting gesture pulling her back from the storm raging inside her.

“You never made it to Chandigarl.” Genny turned her away from the newly closed door.

Trynne shook her head. “Fallon was right. All the ley lines have been severed. Every one. They are cut off from the rest of the world.” She cupped her hands over her mouth. “It takes months by ship to reach that part of the world. I cannot go there.”

Genny looked sympathetic. “No, you cannot. We will send as many ships as we can to help.”

Trynne nodded, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

“Where will you go?” Genny asked. “Ploemeur?”

“Yes. My duty to Brythonica is the most urgent. Besides, there is more good I can do for my husband from there.” Even using the words hurt. My husband.

“He will come around, Trynne,” the queen said. “When one loses something they treasure, they do not always think clearly. He’s been deceived. He will see our goodwill from the ships and assistance we send. He will judge us by our actions and not the hollow words of traitors. Even he realized that the Wizrs were manipulating him.” She squeezed Trynne’s shoulder. “Truth will win out.”