Trynne was flushed completely by that point, so she excused herself before the mortification made her start babbling like an idiot.
By the time she reached the solar, Trynne had barely calmed her nerves and reasserted her composure. Why had she asked Genevieve that question? The queen was Fallon’s sister—her loyalty to her brother was preeminent. She chided herself for being a fool and then knocked on the door of the solar. She waited outside to be admitted.
The door handle jiggled and she saw her father in the gap, his expression haggard and fretful. He seemed relieved to see her.
“What’s wrong, Father?” Trynne asked. As soon as she stepped into the room, she realized they were not alone. The king was sitting at the table, looking dumbstruck. Myrddin stood at the far end, his hands pressing on the wood. The Wizr looked grim. “What has happened?” Trynne asked, her insides twisting into knotted ropes as she firmly shut the door behind her.
King Drew stared up at her, obviously rattled. “Myrddin has just informed us that he must go.”
Trynne felt a moment of pure panic. She gazed at her father and then at the Wizr.
“It’s true, little sister,” Myrddin said in a kindly way. “The Fountain bids me go and I must obey. There is trouble brewing in another world. I must tend to it.”
“Do we not have troubles enough in this one?” the king said with a hint of anger. He rose from his seat and began to pace. “I am your king, Myrddin. Will you not obey my will? Why can you not stay?”
Trynne’s world was rocking. It felt as if a huge stone were being dragged across the floor. It felt like the magic of the Wizr board was at work.
“Was it not the Fountain that put the crown on your head, lad?” Myrddin said. “Was it not the Fountain that gave you the sword?”
“Actually, I arranged it,” Owen said with a half chuckle.
The Wizr gave him a piercing look. “Aye, ’tis true, my lord. But did you find that blade in the ice caves of the North by chance? Was it not put there for you to find? We may as well argue with water not to tumble off cliffs. Yet still it will fly as water is wont to do.”
The king let out a pent-up breath and shook his head in frustration. “Myrddin, we need you!”
The Wizr, who was still leaning on the table, straightened. “I know, lad. Sometimes, there are greater needs. I go where your ancestor once went after the sword of his bastard son skewered him. He went to a realm where such a wound can be healed. A realm where stones sing with water from the Fountain. A land of orchards and lavender. Of pretty gardens, which have been neglected of late. Alas, it is no longer a land of Virtus kings,” the Wizr said somberly, his countenance falling. “Their need is greater.”
His words were so softly spoken and mournful that it made Trynne feel like weeping. She stared at the Wizr, unable to imagine the knowledge he had acquired after living for so many centuries, on so many worlds. He was a man of quirks and wise sayings. But he was full of wisdom that exceeded anything she knew. Still, her heart rebelled against him leaving, knowing it would make her father more vulnerable.
“I cannot say I relish this parting, Myrddin,” Owen said, shaking his head. He approached the portly Wizr and put his hand on his shoulder. “I have learned much from you these many years and had hoped to learn more still. You are one of the Fountain’s blessings. And I admire you.” Owen’s voice thickened with emotion. “Is there anything that can be done to aid you? Would you take my scabbard with you for defense?”
Trynne nearly gasped her disapproval, but her eyes grew hot at her father’s offer.
Myrddin reached out and patted Owen’s shoulder. “No, lad. But it was generous of you to offer. You are not a pethet. And I mean that.” His own mouth quirked into a smile and he arched his eyebrows. “Unlike some others in this room who dissent against the Fountain’s will with their brooding thoughts.” He gave the king a pointed look. Then he softened a bit. “Were the need not so desperate, I would stay. I made oaths that I would obey the Fountain when it called on me. These oaths I must fulfill. And so I leave you.”
“Forgive me, old friend,” the king said, shaking his head. “And take my hand and with it my blessing. I have relied on your wisdom and counsel these many years. A seat at the Ring Table will sit empty for you until you return.” The two men clasped hands, their grips sturdy and strong. The king’s voice was haggard when he continued. “I’ve been preparing all this while to lose my right hand. To lose my left of a sudden was . . . more than I was prepared for. Forgive me, Myrddin.”