Glancing over her mother’s shoulder, she spied the map with its maze of ley lines. The book was a priceless treasure, for few kingdoms had sufficient detail of their own domains let alone the domains of others. Trynne saw the jagged coastlines of the various kingdoms and spied the spiderlike scrawl of inky letters spelling the names of Brugia, Occitania, Ceredigion, Atabyrion, and Leoneyis. It was an ancient map, created before the latter kingdom had been flooded by the Deep Fathoms for failing to live up to the covenants of the magic.
What made this map different from ones Trynne had seen in the library were the ley lines. The map was not marked by a grid showing north, south, east, and west. Instead, there were ley lines drawn across the pages. At some points, like at Ploemeur and Kingfountain, there was a clustering of ley lines, like wagon spokes. Those clustering locations typically marked a place where the Fountain magic was the strongest. They were concentrated points of significance, usually on the borders between the sea and land.
“Hello, Trynne,” Sinia said, turning and greeting her with a sad smile. In the years since the king’s wedding, Sinia had often brooded over her husband’s fate. She was quick to smile and show concern for others, but often reverted back to thoughtful silence. “Are you ready to go to Kingfountain?”
“What were you looking at?” Trynne asked, joining her by the plinth. The book was a closely guarded secret. Just Myrddin, Sinia, Owen, and Trynne knew of it, and Trynne had been included only because she was training to be a Wizr. Myrddin was the one who had drawn the map with the ley lines during his many travels. Just looking at all the fine details filled Trynne with wonder.
She glanced down at the page and traced the ley line from Ploemeur to Kingfountain. A Wizr, using the magic summoned by the correct word of power, could travel to any point along the line nearly instantaneously. From Ploemeur, she could travel to Pree, Tatton Hall, Dundrennan, or Kingfountain. She’d been tempted more than once to suddenly appear at Dundrennan to surprise Fallon, who had been named the Duke of North Cumbria on his eighteenth birthday. They hadn’t met since parting that afternoon years before, and Trynne longed to see him again. She wondered if he was even taller now.
“I was just pondering this ley line,” Sinia said, gently touching Ploemeur and then grazing her finger over the east–west line. “This is a major ley line. See how few run parallel to it? There’s one far north . . . see how it runs through Legault? And there’s another east–west one to the south that runs through Brugia.” She touched her chin thoughtfully. “I was just wondering why there are so few that run east–west. There are more north–south ones. It’s just . . . strange.”
As Trynne squinted over the map, she saw her mother was right. The only ley lines that truly ran east–west were spaced quite far apart. From Ploemeur, the ley line going south reached the southern tip of Pisan. She wondered if that was where the poisoner school was located and felt an excited tingle.
“I’ve not noticed that before,” Trynne said, shaking her head. “There are so many ley lines, it’s always confusing to look at. Is there another map showing where these eastern ones go?” She pointed to the edge of the page.
Sinia shook her head. “No, love.” Her mother worked up a smile and then ran her fingers through Trynne’s hair. “It keeps getting shorter and shorter, Trynne, every time I look at you.”
Trynne swallowed guiltily and tried to appear unconcerned. “I don’t like it long.”
“Your husband might.”
“I’m not even sixteen, Mother! Please don’t say you and Father are planning a wedding for me already!”
Sinia cupped Trynne’s shoulders in her hands and looked her in the eyes. “Would we do that without telling you? When you reach Kingfountain, please give this letter to your father for me.” She pulled it from her girdle and handed it to Trynne. Her mother’s handwriting was impeccable and worthy of adoration. It was a reminder of another way in which Trynne fell short—she was far too impatient to worry about the quality of her penmanship.
“I will. I’m excited to see him again. It’s been a long fortnight.”
“It has,” Sinia said. She gave her daughter an incisive look. “Can I ask you a question, and will you be honest with me?”
Worry began to rattle inside Trynne’s heart. Had her mother found out about her training in the yard? Would she get in trouble for all the times she’d snuck the book of maps out of the fountain waters and studied the pages late at night after her mother was abed?