“Do you know how it happened that he chose you?” Lady Evie asked. “Did you know of Myrddin’s role?”
“No,” Genevieve said. “That man completely fascinates me. Doesn’t he fascinate you as well, Trynne? What did he say, Mother? Tell me if you please.”
“If you please, there we go. Much better than a command from Your Highness.” Having finished the braiding, the older woman set her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “I heard this from Trynne’s father, of course. When the king was almost eighteen, he asked his Wizr and Lord Owen for advice on whom he should marry. He said he knew his heart, but would be guided by their counsel. Not many a young man would take such a risk. But he trusted Lord Owen’s knowledge of the foreign courts and the impact his marriage would have. And he knew Myrddin was very wise. He’s traveled to other worlds, you know. There are distant realms where water comes gushing from stones. Places where men can fly by only taking a breath. Myrddin has traveled far and has many tales.”
“But what did he tell Drew?” Genevieve pressed.
“I was getting to it. Be patient.” She smoothed the fabric along her daughter’s shoulders. “Myrddin said”—and she changed her voice to match the Wizr’s interesting accent—“‘Well lad, if you are asking for my advice, I will tell you. You should—’”
Another voice broke in at just that moment, a young man’s voice that was also mimicking Myrddin’s tone. It was Fallon. “‘—marry Tryneowy Kiskaddon, that strange pethet from Brythonica. Bah, you can even call her “my queen” so you won’t have to pronounce her awful name! I hate speaking this language. It makes my tongue all itchy.’”
Everyone was shocked by his sudden arrival through one of the Espion doors. He was three years older than Trynne, and it showed. He had sprouted into a man since their younger days, and when she’d first seen him on arriving at Kingfountain, she had almost mistaken him for one of the palace knights. His dark hair and mocking eyes appeared from the doorway, and he was grinning in his dangerous way.
“Iago Fallon Llewellyn!” Lady Evie scolded. “If you are not the rudest child a mother could ask for. How long have you been skulking behind that spy hole?”
He sauntered up to his mother, gripped her shoulders, and then stooped to plant a noisy kiss on her cheek. “Mother, all this fussing and primping is taking ages! Poor Drew is pacing at the sanctuary of Our Lady right now, wondering if his bride will ever show up. Sister, you look uncomfortable in that gown. How hard did they yank on the corset?” He bent down with an exaggerated flourish and kissed Genny on the cheek as well.
Trynne bared her teeth angrily at Fallon as he lifted up and gave her a sly wink. It did nothing to hide the fact that she’d blushed six degrees of scarlet.
“What, no kiss for you, Cousin Trynne?” he said mockingly.
Being with Fallon made her stomach feel akin to a rag being wrung out. He was probably the handsomest man in Atabyrion, a willful flirt, and tended to trample on other people’s feelings without care. He deliberately teased her about her affliction, even though she’d told him how much it hurt.
“I am not your cousin, Fallon,” she said.
“Well, it feels like it,” he said, beginning to wander the room, touching and poking at everything he saw. He lifted a bottle of his sister’s perfume, smelled it with an appreciative nod, and then set it down and folded his arms imperiously.
“Sister, you’re the ugliest wench I’ve ever seen,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “I don’t know what Drew sees in you. But alas, his blindness is your blessing. Can we all come along now? The poor chancellor is fidgeting outside, debating with himself about whether or not he should intrude. They were going to send for Father, but I volunteered. You should have named me Farrel instead of Fallon, Mother. I am rather brave.” He puffed out his chest and made a dashing pose.
“They should have named you Feckless,” Trynne countered, arching one eyebrow.
He gave her a wry look. “It was either Fallon, which means ruler, or Fionan, which means—”
“Dung shovel?” Trynne asked, fluttering her lashes.
“You two,” Lady Evie said with exasperation. “Why can’t there be some civility between you? Not so long ago, you were thick as thieves. Fallon, tell them she’s almost done. Trynne, if you’d fetch the crown? I want to make sure it will fit well on this heap of braids.”