The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(12)

She frowned, conflicted. “I wish you would. Maybe I can help?”

The Wizr chuckled to himself. “Maybe indeed, little sister.” He sighed. “Maybe indeed. It might be best to let things run their course. A lot has changed since I last walked these dusty roads. The faces are new, but they are the same. Like that one,” he said, dipping the end of his staff forward. “The Prince of Brugia. Now he is a pethet.” He shook his head. “Look at how he swaggers. Never satisfied.” He sniffed. “He considers himself diminished because his father swore fealty to the king. He is still the heir of his father’s lands, no? He still wears his thallic clothes, the preening sop.”

Trynne’s eyes found Elwis in the crowd. Arms folded, head cocked to the side, he bore the expression of a man who believed himself above his company.

“You can hear all of our thoughts, can’t you?” she asked.

Myrddin’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Aye, little sister. Though sometimes I wish I could plug my ears with wax and be done with this gift from the Fountain!” He shook his head. “He chafes and he bubbles and he stews. He deserves better than to swear homage to another man. Bah!” Leaning toward her, he pitched his voice for her ears alone. “But where would the king be now if Grand Duke Maxwell had won? Why, he would have been lashed to a boat and fed into the river to drown in the Deep Fathoms. What that lad considers an injustice is actually mercy.” He shook his head. “Sadly, he cannot see the truth of things. That’s why he’s a pethet.”

Trynne noticed Drew and Genevieve approaching them and felt a whir of excitement inside her. They were holding hands and looked so radiantly happy it made her a little envious.

King Drew cut a fine figure in his royal regalia. He wore the hollow crown, another relic infused with Fountain magic that tied the kingdom’s weather to the ruler’s moods and temperament. He must have been very happy about the wedding because the day could not have been nicer outside. He flashed Trynne a smile.

“I don’t mean to intrude on your conversation, Myrddin,” he said, putting his hand on the Wizr’s stooped shoulder. “But I think everyone is here now. Hello, Trynne. Your parents just arrived. Over there.” He nodded toward the door leading to the corridor closest to the chapel. Relief settled over her; her parents would explain what was happening and all would be well.

Trynne looked down and saw that her brother was crunching into the apple’s core, eating even the seeds. “Gannon!” she said with a laugh and tugged his arm.

Myrddin touched her shoulder, startling her.

“I know you’ve wondered why the Fountain’s magic hasn’t fully healed you,” he said in a low voice. “Just remember, little sister, that it could have. Sometimes the greatest blessings are those that are withheld from us.”

That made absolutely no sense to her, but she tried to suppress a spasm of resentment. To avoid responding to him, she took her brother’s hand and started to escort him toward her parents. His fingers were sticky from the apple he’d devoured.

“If you are ready, Your Highnesses?” Myrddin said with a bow and flourish, shifting his attention to the young couple.

“As ready as we can be,” King Drew said. He winked at Trynne as she walked away and then turned to face the hall. It quieted instantly, as if a spell had been cast on it.

Trynne threw a worried look at her parents as she approached, hoping for a comforting nod or reassuring look. Her father’s face was pale, his mouth tight with worry. Her mother’s eyes were red from crying, and as soon as Trynne came within reach, her mother pulled her into a fierce embrace and kissed her brow and her hair. Then Sinia reached down and pulled Gannon closer, as if she were clinging to both her children to prevent herself from drowning in sorrow. Trynne glanced up at her father, but he was looking worriedly at the king.

“Father?” she whispered in a pleading tone.

He shook his head.

“I bid you welcome and greet you most warmly,” King Drew said in a firm, bold voice. “Today is a day of celebration.” He lifted Genevieve’s hand, still entwined with his, and kissed her knuckles. “I have hearkened to the counsel of the wise Myrddin and chosen our queen. Finally, we have peace in Ceredigion.” Trynne noticed Prince Elwis standing aloof, his eyes glittering with anger. “Peace is always a fragile thing,” Drew went on. “In the days of our ancestors, when King Andrew ruled from this fortress, he had his Wizr create the Ring Table.” At those words, the king gestured with his free hand to the magnificent table before them. He then rested his hand on one of the tall-backed carved chairs. “A circle has no beginning or end. No one part of it is above or beneath another. I am your king, chosen by the Fountain to draw the sword Firebos from the waters. But I am not above you. I was once nobody, and I remember what it was to feel powerless, afraid, and uncertain.”

Trynne had always admired the king’s way of speaking. He wasn’t proud or commanding. When he said he remembered a life before the throne, he meant it.

“One does not need to be Fountain-blessed to gain a seat at this table. One must only espouse the ways of Virtus—the courtly valor, grace, and wisdom that I have come to admire in all the lands I have visited. Those entrusted with a seat at the Ring Table will serve on my high council. Each seat is uniquely carved. Each who serves will be just as unique. My councilors will speak on my behalf and travel to the farthest points of this kingdom to dispense the king’s justice in my name. They will share in my authority and in my dominion. In a sense, they will be kings and queens themselves, sharing in our honor and in our grace.” He lifted his bride’s hand again.