Trynne had discovered that day that The Vulgate held the secret words of power.
Her discovery had earned one of her mother’s approving smiles, as well as a hug and a kiss on her cheek and a hint as to where she might find another word of power.
The Vulgate began to make sense to her. It was tedious to read through so many pages about knights and damsels, tests of valor, and swords buffeting helmets. But every so often—in fact, it was painfully rare—she would discover another word of power. The word would whisper to her, and she would feel the magic of the Fountain bubble up inside of her, along with the knowledge that speaking the word aloud would unleash its power. Some words of power could break apart previous spells permanently. Others lasted only for a limited duration, the length depending on how much magic the Wizr poured into it. While many spells lost all efficacy when passing over water, others only worked in water. Sinia warned her not to trifle with the words or to play with them as toys. Some words, for example, could unravel the defenses that prevented the Deep Fathoms from drowning Brythonica. It amazed Trynne that words alone were preventing the sea from crashing past the glittering gems on Glass Beach and flooding the city. The thought filled her with awe and respect and even fear.
And yet it did not make her wish to be a Wizr.
In the two and a half years she had been painstakingly studying The Vulgate, she had come to realize that it would take a lifetime to read it all. She had scarcely read four volumes in all that time, and the rest seemed like a gargantuan task that she just didn’t have the heart to conquer. Why did sword fighting come more easily to her? Why was she reluctant to push her mind the same way she did her body? Every person had an aptitude for something. Trynne was different from her mother.
Realizing it was nearly the end of her study time, she marked the page with a ribbon and closed the book. She stretched her arms and then her back, feeling a little soreness in her ribs from the morning’s workout. After wandering over to the hearth, she removed two pokers from the rack and began twirling them into the hourglass pattern before ducking them behind her back in the flower drill. It was a drill she had performed hundreds of times and she could do it quickly with iron bars, swords, or even staves. Captain Staeli had taught her that speed could compensate for strength and size and had hammered into her mind that she needed to be faster than her opponents in all cases.
Because of her training and exercise, the iron skewers were easy to maneuver, and she loved the grace and simplicity of the twirling movement. The metal implements felt like an extension of her body. Her shoulders rocked back and forth as she twisted to complement the motion, listening to the swish and hum of the iron as it sped past her ears. It was a glorious feeling, and while she continued it, she felt the Fountain filling her, bringing a sense of wonder and thrill. She still loved playing Wizr, and the game still fed her power as well, but the early mornings in the training yard were special to her. She never dreaded going and she always pushed Captain Staeli to teach her more.
There was a sound at the door, and Trynne hastily returned the pokers to the rack as the latch clicked. It was not her mother, thankfully, but one of the palace servants sent to tell her that her mother was awaiting her at the chapel.
Trynne thanked her and rubbed her arms, feeling alive and giddy with the thought of her plans that night. She was to travel to Kingfountain to sup with her father.
The halls of the castle sped past as she hurried to the chapel where Sinia would be waiting. Trynne hadn’t discovered any words of power in her studies that day, but she was so distracted it was likely she would have missed them anyway.
Upon reaching the chapel, she heard the gentle pattering of the fountain. It was a solemn place, and it inspired Trynne’s reverence. Her mother was indeed waiting there, standing by the stone plinth whereon a different book sat. The book was not kept in the library; when not in use, it was concealed inside the waters of the fountain, yet it never got wet or even soggy. Only someone who was Fountain-blessed could summon it, if they knew it was there, and draw it out of the waters.
Trynne approached on soft feet, anxious to get a peek at the page her mother was looking at. Her mother was impossibly beautiful, something Trynne knew she would never be. She loved her mother deeply and passionately, but she was a little awed by her too. Sinia was the epitome of womanhood, or so Trynne thought, and she could never compare. Her mother wouldn’t sneak into the training yard or spend hours fantasizing about a dream that could never be. No, her mother was a woman of profound responsibility.