Know that my heart will always belong to you.
To stay here, this had to be done willingly. No one forced me, Trynne. But I need to step aside so that Gahalatine can have you and so that we cannot be tempted to do something that would bring shame on both of us. I will live my life in this world with the burning hope that we may reunite again when we both reach the Deep Fathoms.
With all my love,
Fallon
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nightmares
In her dream, Trynne was slogging through the fetid swamp surrounding Muirwood Abbey, being hunted and chased by baying hounds. She was trying to find Fallon. There were occasional glimpses of him up ahead, but every time she tried to call out to him, to plead with him to stop, she was too breathless to speak. Her eyes blinked awake and the dream began to dissolve like dew under rays of sunlight.
Trynne had spent much of the two days following the confrontation with Morwenna sleeping and regaining her strength.
The rest was fitful, and she’d often awoken with her pulse racing, fearing someone wanted to hurt her.
Each day she checked with the healers on Morwenna’s progress. The poisoner had not regained consciousness for more than brief moments, just enough to sip some broth. She had lost a lot of blood, and the injuries all over her body were frightening. There was no spark of Fountain magic in her. Trynne made sure she was guarded night and day.
As Trynne stared at herself in the mirror, looking at her simple soft gown, she saw that her own scars had indeed healed. At least the ones on the outside. Her hair was clean and brushed, her skin scrubbed relentlessly to free it from the caked-in dirt from her perilous journey. She had bruises on her arms and puckered skin that had been stitched and restored. As she gazed at herself, she felt older than her years, wearied by the ordeals she had faced.
She blinked, feeling suddenly on the verge of tears. Her husband, Gahalatine, had been kissed by Morwenna. He was infected by the disease that she had sensed while in the world of Muirwood. There was no cure for it. What fate did it spell for Gahalatine’s people, for the East Kingdoms? Was Morwenna right?
Would the game end with Gahalatine’s death? Would his vast domains incur the floods of the Deep Fathoms? She dreaded it was so. Surely Sunilik was still on his way back to those lands. The journey took several months at sea.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and Trynne turned in her seat, feeling some of her stitches pull with the movement. She winced before calling out, “Yes?”
The door was opened by Thierry. “Good morning, my lady. I knocked softly because I wasn’t sure if you were still abed. You look much improved.”
Trynne rose from her seat and walked to him. “Has Morwenna awakened?”
He shook his head no. “She is still fighting for her life. She murmurs in her sleep. No, I came with news. King Drew’s herald just arrived. The king is at his heels with your father and Captain Staeli.
They’ve crossed into Brythonica with a small retinue of knights and are coming to Ploemeur. They should be at the palace by midday.”
Trynne’s brow furrowed. “He’s come here? I was going to go to Kingfountain to—”
Thierry held up his hand. “I took the liberty, my lady, of dispatching a trusted servant to the palace to apprise the king of your success in capturing his sister. And of the injuries you sustained. But my messenger found them already en route. He returned with the herald after delivering the message. The king is eager to declare to the world that you are no traitor to Kingfountain, but its greatest hero. Your husband was too ill to ride.”
She blinked with surprise—so full of emotion she was not sure how to interpret her feelings. “And my father is with them?”
“He is indeed. They stopped at Tatton Hall yesterday.
Apparently there was a great deal of commotion upon his arrival.”
Thierry grinned at her.
Trynne nodded, feeling how strange the world had become. “If they’ve entered the borders of Brythonica through Westmarch, they will come by way of the grove, will they not?”
“Aye,” Thierry said. “I thought you might care to meet them there?”
Trynne nodded. “I would. Please keep a constant vigil on Morwenna. I don’t think she is a danger to anyone in her state, but I dare not take that for granted.”
“Of course, my lady.” He paused, hesitating.
“What is it, Thierry?”
“Will you . . . will you be staying among us for a while? Or do you plan to return to Averanche? The people long for you to stay. To remain and accept your rightful place here. There have been flowers sent to the castle, baskets of berries and jams. Small tokens of respect and honor. They continue to come daily, hoping for a glimpse of you. I know you prefer your privacy. But the people still need you.”