“Then you two must fix this together,” the queen said brightly.
“When you and Gahalatine return, I hope to see some evidence that things have improved.”
“I hope so too,” Trynne sighed. “I desperately hope so.”
CHAPTER SIX
Transgression
Gahalatine’s approaching visit to Brythonica was heralded with shock and nervous anticipation. The short time to prepare had driven the staff at the palace, normally staid and composed, into a fit of hurry. The arrangements started immediately upon Trynne’s return— the capital city eager to properly welcome her husband to the ancient duchy so richly blessed by the Fountain. Trynne hoped that Gahalatine would feel the presence of the Fountain magic as he entered the peaceful domain. The berry farmers were hard at work with the spring planting. The climate was mild and the sky could not have been a purer shade of blue.
Trynne paced in the audience hall, feeling her stomach tingle with both worry and hopefulness. She had sent Sureya and an escort to greet her husband at the borders of the wood. Word had reached her from Lord Amrein that Gahalatine’s mood had softened as they crossed Westmarch. He’d become more prone to laughter and intensely curious about the history of the land. But his laughter always seemed to wane, his mood to sour and darken, after he consulted with his Wizr each evening.
The company of travelers had made fast progress through the realm, exchanging their horses for fresh mounts to ensure they were not delayed.
Because the road to Ploemeur led directly to the sacred wood, Trynne had left explicit orders with her mother’s aging battle captain, Marshal Soeur, that none of the entourage was to visit the grove.
Only a command from her personally could revoke the order. Any of the Fountain-blessed who passed through that wood would sense the magic there—and be intrigued by it—but Marshal Soeur had promised that her order would be obeyed.
Thierry entered the audience hall with news from the baking guild that all the food would be prepared and in order. “They seek to honor and welcome your husband with the finest fare that Brythonica can offer,” he said with a hint of smugness. “I think, my lady, that he will be duly impressed.”
“Thank you,” Trynne answered, feeling herself start to fidget again. “Any word on their progress?”
Thierry pursed his lips and rocked back on his heels. “Word just arrived from Sir Louden that the travelers are on pace to reach Ploemeur in time for dinner, if not earlier. The meeting with Marshal Soeur at the border was amicable. No demands were made.”
Trynne bit her lip and nodded. “Excellent, thank you.”
“I have duties to attend to with the goldsmith guild,” he said, bowing to her before departing.
She walked to the nearest window seat and stared out at the beautiful cove, the rippling waters of the bay, and the city hunkered down amidst green hills decked with manor houses and gardens.
Ploemeur was truly an idyllic setting, but her fears would not be settled until she had reconciled with her husband. She would do anything in her power to soothe his concerns and regain the lost trust between them. Deliberately, she had not reclaimed the Fault Staff from where she had hidden it, for its power could be sensed by anyone Fountain-blessed.
While she believed Gahalatine genuinely wished to destroy it, something told her Albion did not share his emperor’s intentions.
She had concealed it at the sanctuary of Our Lady at Penryn. No one knew where it was except for her.
Biting her lip, she gazed at the ships at harbor, all the Genevese trading vessels that came in and out. Part of her own fleet was anchored in the tranquil bay. The sight of all those ships made her think of her mother. Sinia had been sent to the Deep Fathoms—the great unknown—and yet she’d accepted the Fountain’s summons with calm fortitude. Trynne felt none of her mother’s serenity.
She tugged the window open by its handle, letting in the fresh ocean breeze to caress her face. She closed her eyes, listening to the trills of birds and the distant noise from far below. Easing herself onto the bench, she sat for a moment, enjoying the stillness, her mood contemplative.
She’d not been sitting there long when she heard the distant rumble of thunder from a cloudless sky. A pit opened in her stomach.
Rising from the window seat, she walked briskly to the other side of the room. The view on that side looked down on the sacred woods.
A layer of clouds had suddenly appeared on the horizon, overshadowing the trees. The pit in her stomach began to suck everything inside it. Her temples throbbed and her pulse quickened with fear. The magic of the silver bowl had just been summoned.