The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(18)

Captain Staeli shook his head and stifled a yawn. “If you want me to teach you, then you will learn the way I did. If you don’t quit before a fortnight is through, then maybe we’ll get started with the wooden ones.”

“Maybe?” Trynne gasped despondently.

“A wooden sword keeps you from cutting yourself, ’tis true,” he said. “But they don’t build up the muscles you need. That will take time. A lot of time. Again.” He gestured for her to continue even though her arms were whimpering in relief over the brief rest. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to brush her own hair later that afternoon.

She gave him a determined look. “I’m not going to quit, Captain. Count on that.”

“We’ll see,” he said with an unconvinced sniff. “Girls are made of softer stuff than men.”

His words sent a shock of outrage and anger, giving her a new burst of strength. But she realized almost as quickly that he had said it on purpose to goad her into working harder. After giving him a black look, she continued. She had been given two pokers, one for each arm. Captain Staeli had told her that most men were trained to favor one arm and use the other with a shield. He had been trained with two weapons equally and found advantages in being able to attack with two. It would give her an advantage that might compensate for her smaller size and frame.

And so she drilled with the heavy iron poles.

And she drilled.

Until she vomited.

Then, after pushing her that far, it was enough and the lesson was over. She wiped the spittle from her lips, sitting on her knees, shaking all over. Then she saw him smile. Just a small one.



Trynne found Morwenna later that day and the two resumed their conversation as they walked through the palace together. The day before, they had been hesitant with each other, unsure of how much to share. But after talking with her father, Trynne felt better about developing a connection with Morwenna, who was despised because of her own father just as Trynne felt shamed because of her palsied face. As they spoke, they shared more and more about their life experiences and found in each other a sympathetic companion.

“What I don’t understand,” Morwenna said, shaking her head, “is your parents both are Fountain-blessed. Could not they heal you?”

“They tried to,” Trynne said, feeling the familiar taste of bitterness once again. “Many things are possible with Fountain magic, but nothing they tried worked. Perhaps it was because they did not use their magic straightaway. Perhaps it was because it wasn’t what the Fountain willed to happen.”

Morwenna frowned at that. “You speak of the Fountain as if it were a person.”

“I’ve—my father has heard it speak to him,” Trynne said, catching herself in time. “The magic is benevolent. It is aware of us and our circumstances.”

Morwenna smirked and shrugged. “It has its favorites, then,” she said with a gleam in her eye.

“Those who serve it tend to be favored,” Trynne pointed out. “But not all who do are Fountain-blessed. If one is capable of practicing the principles of the magic, it will respond to them, regardless of their motives.”

Morwenna’s eyes narrowed on her. “Like my father.”

“I didn’t mean that at all,” Trynne said, shaking her head.

Morwenna shrugged. They continued to walk for a moment in silence, connected only by their clasped arms. Then the raven-haired girl spoke again. “Have you ever felt a sense that the Fountain knows your destiny?” She cast a sidelong look at Trynne.

Licking her lips, Trynne nodded. “Yes. I have.”

Morwenna nodded. “So have I. I feel it bubbling inside me sometimes. A huge and powerful certainty. That I am meant to do something. To be something.” She shook her head. “No one understands me. At least, no one did. Until now.” She gave Trynne a furtive look.

Trynne nodded to her, feeling her own secret writhing inside of her. Long ago, when she was a child, her father had told her that her namesake, Ankarette Tryneowy, had explained that secrets were like butterflies trying to escape the cocoon. The Fountain had trusted her with a secret. She was determined to keep it, especially from her parents. Especially if it could somehow help her save her father.

From the corridor ahead, Trynne spied Fallon walking toward them. He had a cocksure look on his face and was wearing a padded leather doublet that was scuffed and battered, the kind that was used in the training yard. His prince’s finery was gone.

“Be warned. He is very rude,” Trynne said to her companion in a low voice.

“The excessively handsome can afford to be,” Morwenna murmured back with a smirk.

“I was just on my way to the training yard,” Fallon said proudly. “Would you two ladies care to join and watch my heroic exploits?”

“Will there be any, I wonder?” Trynne pondered, arching her eyebrows and sounding indifferent.

Morwenna gave her a startled look.

“Come and see for yourself. Lady Morwenna, I don’t believe we’ve ever conversed. My name is—”

“Fastidious Llewellyn,” Trynne supplied for him. “He goes by the nickname Tedious, though.”

“Fallon, actually,” he said, giving Trynne an annoyed look. “It means featherbrained. Doesn’t it, Cousin?”

“It is nice to meet you, Prince Fallon,” Morwenna said, bowing her head respectfully and curtsying. “We would be happy to join you.” She glanced at Trynne. “Well, I would.” A little blush came to her cheeks.