The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(15)

“Trynne . . .” he said pleadingly.

“Enough, Fallon! I’m still angry at you for the crepe you put on my back.”

“That was just a little fun,” he said, waving off her glower.

“It would have been mortifying to go into the great hall with it clinging to me still. Which was exactly why you did it. Why do you delight in tormenting me?”

“Because it’s so easy!” he said in feigned shock. “You take yourself so seriously—”

“And you aren’t serious enough. Even when we were children, you could hardly sit still. You were always getting into trouble.”

“Might I remind you that it was your idea to steal the treacle pot and hide it in the bushes?” he said. “How many insects did we eat before we realized that treacle isn’t supposed to be so crunchy?”

“Stop!” Trynne said, waving her hands and shuddering in disgust. “I don’t even like remembering that happened and you keep recollecting that silly—”

Abruptly Fallon grabbed her shoulder and stopped her from walking. His voice pitched lower. “If I had a secret like that, I would tell you, Tryneowy Kiskaddon, because I trust you. We’ve known each other since we were children. You would never betray me. And I would never betray you. Our parents are old. Their duty binds them. But surely you can see it’s not fair for you to know something that I don’t.”

The weight of his hand on her shoulder sent a peculiar rush of warmth through her. He hated being left out of a joke or a jest. Yes, the secret was torturing him. But it wasn’t torturing him nearly as much as it was tormenting her.

Her heart felt like bursting. “I can’t, Fallon. And neither would you if the king commanded you not to. I know you well enough.”

He let go of her shoulder and raked his fingers through his unruly dark hair. He was put out and the sour twist of his lips made him look like he’d bitten into a lemon rind. “It’s not fair,” he muttered.

“Life isn’t fair,” she shot back, pointing to her mouth. She was angry, and that feeling helped soothe the pain in her heart. When she started walking again, she hoped that he would follow her, that he’d say something to make her feel better about her slack cheek and unresponsive lip. That he still found her pretty, even though she’d seen herself in the mirror that morning and knew she wasn’t.

He didn’t follow her.



The interior of Kingfountain’s palace was a giant circle around a verdant interior garden with bubbling fountains in the exact center. Trynne had always loved to roam the main corridor, admiring the suits of armor, the polished floors, the rich legacy sewn into tapestries and other decorations, and the familiar smell of pine and pitch. The palace had been built centuries ago and she wondered how many daughters of Westmarch had walked the same aisles. She knew about the secret corridors honeycombing the walls and recognized which decorative panels led to them and which did not. At her insistence, her father had shown them to her when she was little. She’d wanted to visit every room, hallway, and tunnel that had been part of his life while he was the old king’s hostage. Since she was not part of the Espion, she wasn’t allowed to use the passageways, but she did remember where they were.

As she passed one of the arches leading to an upward stairwell, she heard whispered voices coming from the interior. She peered into the shadows and saw two people half hidden in the gloom.

Trynne slowed her steps, trying to place the familiar voices.

Suddenly the sound of bootfalls met her ears and Prince Elwis strode down the steps and appeared in the hall. He looked vicious, and his eyes flashed with rage when he saw her. “What are you standing there for, Kiskaddon?” he snarled.

Trynne was startled to see him and even more startled by the vehemence of their introduction. They had never spoken together before, yet he obviously knew who she was and hated her for it. Blood began to pound in her ears as her heart raced.

“I heard voices. I was just looking,” she answered, feeling a little flush stain her cheeks.

“Or you were spying on me,” he replied in a challenging voice. He was looking at her face, and his lips curled with revulsion. “It is true. You are ugly.” Then he glanced behind her, probably at Captain Staeli, who was never far away, turned on his heel, and strode away quickly as shock and pain ripped open the old wounds inside her. She stood there mutely, her mind unable to develop a retort out of the shock of his deliberate insult.

Morwenna appeared in the arched stairway from which the prince had emerged. The girl was chafing her wrist and gazing down the corridor at the malcontent. She then turned to Trynne and said, “I’m glad you came when you did. Thank you.”

Trynne felt like a fish yanked from the waters and passed from one fisherman to another. Why wouldn’t her mouth work?

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Trynne said haltingly, her cheeks still flaming. “It’s just . . . I hadn’t expected him to be so rude.”

Morwenna smiled at that comment, a lovely smile that made Trynne ache with jealousy. She hooked arms with Trynne, and they started walking the other way by silent agreement. “He is ill-mannered.” Morwenna glanced back at Elwis, who had nearly reached the end of the hall. “His father wants him to marry me. I think he’s used to getting what he wants.”

“To marry you?” Trynne said with disgust. “He’s eighteen and we’re only . . .”