A sudden shout of acclaim startled Trynne, and she realized she had daydreamed her way through most of the ceremony. Finally, it was over, and the city of Kingfountain would be celebrating for days. The streets had been decorated, and the people were anxious to rejoice in their new queen. Genevieve was popular, and little girls often sighed over the romantic elements of her match with King Drew. It was a story for the ages, a repetition of the legends of the past. Trynne’s father had often said that time came around over and over, like a waterwheel dipping into a river. There were roles people were destined to play. In some cases, as in Drew’s and Genevieve’s, even the names were the same.
“How did you like it, Trynne?” her father asked, bending lower so she could hear him over the tumult.
Trynne watched as King Drew kissed his bride and then held up her hand to display the glittering coronation ring. The king was a handsome man but not arrogant. His tunic bore the crest of his Argentine ancestors, the Sun and Rose, the standard of his grandfather, the beloved King Eredur. Drew’s hair was a golden color, having darkened with age to the color of wheat. The legendary sword Firebos was belted to his waist, showing he bore the authority of the kings of the past.
“I’m glad it’s over,” Trynne said as an aside. “We were standing here so long my feet hurt.”
Owen laughed and squeezed her hand. “To be honest, I’ll be grateful when this is over as well. I wish your mother were here to transport us back home instantly.”
“Fallon said that Myrddin conjured something in the throne room?”
“It’s a table,” Owen replied. They would need to start the procession back to the palace soon. “Unlike any you’ve ever seen.”
“Tell me!” she insisted.
“You’ll see it soon enough. Patience, Tryneowy.”
She liked it when he used her full name. It reminded her of another question she’d been bursting to ask—one that had only gone half answered earlier. “Why did King Drew choose Genevieve? If he’d married one of the ladies of Brugia, it would have stopped the war earlier.”
Her father’s mouth quirked with amusement. “You love discussing politics, Daughter. Probably too much.”
“I am your daughter, Father,” she replied sweetly. “He’s truly in love with her, isn’t he? I know she loves him.”
Owen nodded simply. He was staring at the couple, a strange look coming over his face. “When he asked Myrddin and me for advice on whom to marry, do you know what that shrewd old Wizr said?”
Trynne shook her head no, but gave him an eager look. At last she would hear the end of the story Fallon had interrupted.
“He said, ‘Well, that depends, lad.’” Owen didn’t mimic the Wizr’s voice like others had. He had great respect for the eccentric wanderer. They were often in counsel together for hours, just the two of them. “‘There are many wealthy, prosperous lasses you could marry who would bring you certain advantages.’ Trynne, I’ve never forgotten what he said next. ‘It will be no greater miracle that brings us into another world to live forever with our dearest friends than that which has brought us into this one to live a lifetime with them.’” Trynne felt a shiver go down her spine at the words. Her father’s voice was low and earnest and hopeful. He smiled at her. “Can you feel the Fountain shuddering at his words? I can.” He smiled and then stroked her locks. “So then Myrddin asked the king if there was a girl who was already his dearest friend.” Owen’s eyes glimmered. “And the king said yes, it was Genevieve Llewellyn of Atabyrion. Then Myrddin answered with a shrug, ‘It seems to me that you’ve chosen well on your own.’ Then he asked after Liona’s honeycakes!”
Trynne laughed out loud. “He did? I love Liona’s honeycakes, ever since you first took me to the palace kitchen at Kingfountain!”
Owen proffered his arm. “I’m sure we’ll find some at the palace. And you’ll get to see the new table.”
“I’m excited to see it,” she said, practically bouncing on her feet in excitement. “Can I stay at Kingfountain while you’re here? I don’t want to go back to Ploemeur yet. I love it here.”
Owen pursed his lips. “I’ll discuss that with your mother.”
“Please, Father? There is so much happening at court right now. Grand Duke Maxwell looks as if he’s bitten into a lemon. Elwis looks like he’s drunk vinegar. Duke Severn isn’t very happy with you either.”