Some in Genevar. The rumors . . .” He shook his head.
Trynne looked at him sternly. “Where are Captain Staeli and Gahalatine?”
Duke Ramey sighed. “The Assizes are being held in Kingfountain as we speak. Staeli is being tried for treason. If he’s not over the falls already, he will be shortly. Gahalatine is also imprisoned at the palace. The North is under revolt, Brugia too, and the king will subdue them next, now that he’s overrun Westmarch and Brythonica. I was stationed here because the king trusts me, if barely. He’s changed so much, Trynne. They all have. It’s like what happened before. Under Severn. But what can I do? What can I do but obey the king’s order?”
Trynne closed her eyes, squeezing her hands into fists. She glanced at her father, watching as he looked around the room with utter confusion. He had no understanding of the politics here. He could not help her devise a solution to the horrible situation that Morwenna had sprung on them. She had to do it. She had to think like her father.
Thierry stood up before her, his face agitated. “Lady Trynne, I must speak with you.”
Things were about to get worse. She could tell just by the look in his eyes.
“What happened, Thierry?” she asked him softly.
His brows stitched together. “My lady, before Staeli was defeated, the guards who patrol the beach say they saw someone walking alone there. The tide was out. They thought . . . they thought it was you. They called for me, and when I arrived, there were footprints in the sand. Someone had been walking the beach. The trail led to the caves along the shore.” He started to tremble. “My lady,” he whispered hoarsely, “was that you? My heart tells me it wasn’t. That it couldn’t be. It must have been Lady Morwenna in disguise.”
People are superstitious. They always fear what they do not understand. They believe in traditions handed down to them by dead ancestors. They do not question how those traditions were formed. They toss coins into water and think they are transmuted into prayers.
I’ve gathered pretenders impersonating some of the rulers of Occitania, Legault, and Atabyrion to Kingfountain to witness Staeli’s execution in the river.
The rest will learn firsthand that the Fountain was displeased with Tryneowy’s treachery when Brythonica is at last smothered by the Deep Fathoms. I made sure Duke Ramey was assigned there so he’d be lost. He was always too loyal to Owen Kiskaddon. All the rulers will obey or risk their domains drowning as well.
Morwenna Argentine
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Our Lady
The Leerings in the sea caves had been destroyed. All of them. The faces carved into the stone beneath the dripping moss had been shattered. The surf hammering against the rocks outside the caves announced the return of the tide. If Trynne did not leave soon, she would be drowned. She was sick inside, haunted by the realization of what Morwenna had done.
The defenses of Brythonica were shattered. Nothing protected the border of the duchy from the sea. The promise she had made to her mother had been broken. She trembled, quavering at the thought of what was going to happen.
Kneeling in the sand, she touched her face, feeling the spray from the ocean intruding. The water lapped closer and closer to where she knelt in the darkness. She wanted to sob, to surrender to her misery, but there was still fight left in her. In her mind, she could see the beautiful face of Morwenna Argentine taunting her. This was the poisoner’s revenge against Owen, against Trynne’s entire family.
This was what would have become of Ankarette had she allowed the need for revenge to break her loyalty to the queen whose family she secretly served.
Morwenna was wreaking havoc on the politics of Kingfountain and Chandigarl. It was not just Trynne’s kingdom that was threatened with destruction. Her husband’s realm was in trouble as well. She had seen the bottomless depth of hatred and revenge in Rucrius’s eyes during his imprisonment in her dungeon. She had seen that same look from Dieyre and Hillel. There was no slaking such a thirst. It brought nothing but curses. The only thing that could ultimately quench its fire was utter destruction.
Trynne would not allow it to happen, not while she still drew breath. When she set aside her own feelings, she could almost pity Morwenna. She was an angry woman who had let herself be twisted to darkness. But despite that pity, Trynne could not allow her to succeed. There was a way to destroy someone who was Fountain-blessed. But before that could happen, Morwenna needed to exhaust her power.
Rising from the sand, Trynne made her way back to the sharp light of the outdoors. The next wave drenched her boots as she ducked beneath the overhang. She found her father where she had left him, crouched on the beach of sea glass. He was studying the small pebbles of polished glass, gazing at the intricate shapes and variety of color. When she emerged, he straightened, hefting some of the pebbles in his hand.