She stuffed the chain necklace into her bodice to hide it from Fallon. She did not want to see him so soon. Her heart was too raw. It was clear as day that he was obsessed with Morwenna.
“I have to get back to Brythonica,” she said, turning around and giving him a dark look.
“I know, but I wanted to speak with you ere you left,” he said, pausing to catch his breath. A butler shouldered past him down the hall, earning an angry frown from Fallon.
Trynne folded her hands behind her back, squeezing her thumb sharply to distract herself from the pain in her heart. She moved aside, realizing they were causing obstacles for the palace staff, and leaned back against the cool stone wall. She looked up at him, disliking the fact that he was so tall.
He pressed his forearm against the wall and gazed down at her. “I hate how they treat us like little children,” he said in an aggrieved tone.
Trynne blinked in surprise. “We are young, Fallon.”
“I know that, but they deprive us of experience we need. Our parents were doing so much more when they were our age. I’m not afraid to go to Chandigarl. Don’t you feel we are being wronged?”
“Not really,” Trynne said truthfully.
He looked at her in annoyance, his cheek muscles twitching with suppressed anger. “They were having grand adventures. Your father went to Edonburick in disguise.”
“Only because he was Fountain-blessed,” Trynne explained. “King Severn could only trust someone who wouldn’t be deceived by the magic.”
“I know that!” he snapped. He flushed, no doubt aggrieved with himself for losing his temper, and when he spoke again, it was in a steadier tone. “I didn’t come to fight with you, Trynne. We’ve both heard the stories all our lives. But you are Fountain-blessed too. You have gifts that I cannot have, no matter how hard I work. I’ve trained and I’ve pushed myself and done everything I can do to prove myself worthy of a single, meager gift.” He shook his head. “Yet I hear nothing. Nothing.” He gazed down the hall, his expression brooding. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s even real.”
She stared up at him, surprised that he was being so vulnerable with her. But considering how he had treated her the previous day, she was determined to be frosty.
“It’s real, Fallon,” she said. “And this isn’t a game for children. If you want to be trusted, stop acting like one.”
He shot her a surprised look. “What?”
There were so many people in the corridor, many of them glancing their way, and she felt uncomfortable with all the spectators. She didn’t wish to argue with him in front of strangers.
“Admit it, Fallon. You’re only angry because they won’t let you go with Morwenna.”
“Of course I’m angry! She’s the king’s sister . . . his blood-sister, and she’s being used like a political pawn.”
“She is a political pawn,” Trynne said with annoyance. “That’s exactly what she has wanted to be.”
He looked at her in confusion. “You’re jealous of her. I cannot imagine why.”
Trynne shot him a hot look. “Because she’s beautiful and accomplished and deadly and capable. She’s like Ankarette—”
“Tryneowy,” Fallon said softly, reaching out and brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. The way he said the name made her bones want to melt, but was he referring to her or the famous poisoner?
“What?” she said sulkily, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. Why did he have to make things so difficult?
“She’s like Ankarette Tryneowy,” he said, dropping his voice lower. “That’s why you are jealous of her. But don’t you realize that she is jealous of you? Her father used to be the king, but now is a pariah who lurks in Glosstyr like it’s his prison. Her mother dotes on her older brother. Both of your parents dote on you.”
“They do not,” she stammered.
He reached down and tipped up her chin. He was looming over her, his smell washing over her, and her insides were fluttering like a mass of whirring butterflies. Was he going to kiss her? She pressed the flat of her hands against the wall to steady herself.
“They do,” he said with a wry smile. “And so do I. We’ve been friends since we were little children, Trynne. You are so disciplined and methodical, like a Wizr set. So stern, sometimes. You have an old soul. I’ll admit I’m too hasty and impetuous. I was an utter jack in Brugia, and I hate that I hurt you.” He stared up at the wall, shaking his head. “That feels so long ago. I’m still sporting bruises where Elwis’s lackeys punched me. They couldn’t abide me winning the Gauntlet under their noses. I’ll get my revenge. But I digress. I was trying to apologize.” He gazed down at her again. “I couldn’t stand to lose you as a friend, Trynne. Say you forgive me.”