“I’m not afraid of you,” Trynne said.
“We’re both going to die in this place. I will not come with you to stand before my brother. To be dragged to an icy mountain.
Chandigarl will perish by flood. And so will Brythonica. No one will remember your name or who you were named after. Is it any wonder that those who love you forget you? You’ve always been forgettable.
Do you finally see how insignificant you are? It’s a pity your mother isn’t here to see your next failure.”
Morwenna was trying to goad her, to make her give in to her anger. Her desire for revenge. Trynne kept her emotions bottled up, sensing for weakness, waiting to be attacked so that she could use her powers to their best advantage.
“It’s a pity Fallon isn’t here to witness your failure,” Trynne said with a hard edge. “How it must gall you that he chose me, disfigured and short, over you. It tortured you so much that you had to steal his clothes just so you could pretend he was yours.”
Morwenna stepped out from around a boulder, emerging behind Trynne. She whirled to face the poisoner, who was gripping her dagger so hard her knuckles were bone white. The curl of her lip was almost that of an animal about to attack.
“He only pitied you,” Morwenna said darkly.
“He loved me,” Trynne shot back, her heart racing in her chest.
“He sacrificed himself so that my father could return to Kingfountain.
He outsmarted you. He saw through all your tricks.”
“And you’ve condemned him to die in that forsaken land with all its forsaken thrones,” Morwenna spat. “That alone would give me reason enough to hate you. At least we die together. Like sisters.
Invocamorayim! ”
Trynne had never heard that word of power before. But she sensed its potency. It felt as if Morwenna had unleashed the entire ocean instead of just a few waves. The binding was loosened and an avalanche of water was let go. It was a command to flood the earth, to break loose all boundaries.
Dagger in hand, Morwenna rushed Trynne, slashing down with the poisoned blade. Trynne caught the poisoner’s forearm with her own, punching her other fist into Morwenna’s sternum. She couldn’t think, only act, as Morwenna’s boot came spinning up at her brow, forcing her to duck. They traded blows, each one connecting, each one causing the other pain.
A searing rip of pain tore Trynne’s arm. She saw her own blood on Morwenna’s dagger, saw the delight of victory on the poisoner’s face. Morwenna’s boot connected with Trynne’s stomach, knocking her down, but she rolled backward and landed on her feet again.
Pain bloomed down her arm, as if a torch had been pressed to the wound. Her bone felt as if it were on fire.
Morwenna kicked at her again, but Trynne dodged the blow and the boot hit a stone instead. Wincing, Morwenna grabbed Trynne’s arm with her hand. The dagger followed, coming right for her throat.
She caught the blow, gripping Morwenna’s wrist, and then flipped her down on the sand. She followed through, hoping to slam her nose, but the poisoner spun in the wet sand and kicked Trynne
back against the rocks. The waves were rushing toward them now, moving like white storm clouds.
Trynne had to break the spell, had to smother Morwenna’s power. With her arm throbbing from the poison’s fire, she invoked her power of speed and rushed up to Morwenna. It felt as if time had slowed down to a crawl. She saw the glitter of sunlight off the white crests of water. Saw the waves engulfing the rocks slowly, crashing into them at a turtle’s pace. Trynne kneed Morwenna in the stomach, bending her double, and then wrapped her good arm around her neck in a vice and clasped her hand around her wrist to secure the lock. The chokehold would rob Morwenna of air in seconds.
She felt a pinprick of pain on her forearm and sensed the ring on Morwenna’s hand, its secret needle exposed. The poison was fast acting and Trynne’s arm went numb. Still, she gripped Morwenna’s neck, arching her backward. The dagger stabbed Trynne’s leg once, twice. She endured it, feeling the ribbons of blood running down her leg. Then her leg was on fire with pain as well.
Her grip on Morwenna’s neck tightened. She’d cut off her air completely. Morwenna thrashed, unable to breathe, her consciousness fluttering. A hand, the nails gritty with sand, clawed at Trynne’s face. She felt another stab of the needle ring on her slack cheek.
Then the waters hit them. Trynne and Morwenna crashed against the rocks, both upended by the force of the raging surf. It ripped the poisoner out of Trynne’s arms and sent her tumbling end over end. Her mouth was full of the horrid taste of saltwater and she choked. There was no up, no down. Her head struck against stone and all went black.