No, Trynne knew she would feel guilty for years to come, but it felt right deep down to her bones. She was answerable to the queen and took her commands from her instead of her own mother. The queen who was with child at such a calamitous time. Queen Genevieve had sent Trynne several missives—sealed, of course—telling her to prepare for some new arrivals. The queen was handpicking young women from throughout the realm to become Oath Maidens. They would be summoned to the court, sworn to silence, and then sent to Averanche to be trained by Captain Staeli and Trynne herself. Trynne bubbled with excitement, anxious to see who would be chosen.
Standing there on the battlements, squinting at the distance, she tried to make out the sanctuary of St. Penryn’s. She loved her freedom. She had used the ley lines to travel a little bit more, visiting places—mostly sanctuaries—that she hadn’t seen in a long time. The deconeuses and sextons all knew her on sight, and none asked who had given her permission to visit. She was a lady of the realm; it was her right.
The sound of shuffling steps came from the stairs alongside the battlement walls. Farnes reached the top wheezing; his hair, mostly gray now, ruffled in the breeze.
“My lady . . .” he gasped, stiff jointed and walking gingerly, “you have a visitor.”
That was no longer uncommon. She leaned back against the stone wall. “Who is it?”
She saw him before Farnes could respond. Fallon had followed the aging herald up the stairs, obviously sneaking.
Farnes, who plainly hadn’t seen him, began to speak, “It’s—”
“Cousin!” Fallon boomed, scaring the old man nearly out of his boots.
Trynne gave him a half smile.
“Thank you, kind father, for showing me the way up here,” Fallon said, clapping Farnes on the back. “If you’d just pointed, I would have saved you the arduous journey up the stairs. Hello, Cousin,” he said, bowing gracefully in front of Trynne. “I’ve come as promised.”
Farnes was clutching his heart, his eyes still wide from the surprise. He looked at Trynne for her orders. Now that she was the Lady of Averanche, she was no longer expected to have a constant chaperone. She could be alone with Fallon if she chose.
“Thank you, Farnes. I’ll be down shortly.”
“As you will, my lady,” he said, giving Fallon a wary look. He started shuffling back toward the stairs.
“You nearly killed my herald,” Trynne scolded.
“I couldn’t help it,” Fallon replied with a grin. He walked to the edge of the battlements and leaned down, resting his elbows on the wall. He faced the sea. She faced away from it.
“I thought we were going to meet in Ploemeur?” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“That was before you became so important,” he said with a dark look. Was it jealousy?
“I’m glad you found me nonetheless. You came from Dundrennan?”
He shook his head. “No, Edonburick. I had reason to go there first.” He glanced at her surreptitiously and then looked away.
“What is it, Fallon?” she pressed.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, gazing down the cliff at the water dashing the rocks below. The harbor was small and easily blockaded. His normal jovial nature was wilting before her eyes. He looked fidgety. Uncomfortable.
“I might if you tried to explain,” she suggested.
He turned slightly, leaning his weight on his elbow, and gazed at her. With his crouched position, he was nearly eye level with her.
“I don’t think you would, Trynne.” He sighed. “You always follow the rules.”
She narrowed her gaze. “What’s wrong?”
He had a sullen look. “Just a hunch, really. A suspicion.” He gave her an intense look. “I think Duke Severn is plotting a rebellion.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Impossible
At Fallon’s words, Trynne’s heart clenched with dread. Severn was no longer the power he had once been. The duchy of Glosstyr was autonomous, which gave the former king his independence, but it was a seat with little power. It had never hosted the Assizes or the king’s court. It was a bruise on the skin.
“If you know something, you must tell the king,” she told him with concern.
Fallon’s smile was patronizing. “I have nothing to accuse him of, Trynne. Not yet.”
She turned to face him more directly. “What evidence do you have?”
He scratched along the side of his neck and then pursed his lips, considering her words. “If I’m wrong . . .”