Suddenly the waters quieted. Trynne still saw them lapping and spurting, but she could no longer hear them. It felt as if her head were submerged. She sensed the magic of the Fountain opening up inside her. The mask of reality peeled back, replaced by an unexpected vision: The sanctuary was empty, save for a single person and her. There was a young woman with close-cropped dark hair kneeling at the edge of the fountain before her, facing her. The woman looked battered and weary, and there was fire in her eyes. She wore a soldier’s garb, much like what Fallon was wearing. There was a sword strapped to her waist, the tip resting on the stone tiles. The girl’s gloved hands were clasped together.
“By your will, I leave this here,” the girl said, speaking Occitanian. Trynne heard the words in her own tongue. “Until the day comes when a new maid is chosen by you.”
The kneeling girl looked up and stared right at Trynne. They were joined together for an instant, and in that instant, Trynne could feel the girl’s thoughts, her worries, her anguish. She was going to be captured by her enemies. And then she was going to be chained to a rock in the mountains behind Dundrennan.
“I leave this gift to you,” the girl said to Trynne. Reaching down, she pulled a breastplate, silver and dented, out of the sack at her feet and set it into the fountain water. Then she put in arm bracers, greaves, the entire mix required of a knight—entrusting them to the Fountain until some future day when they were needed.
The Maid of Donremy. Trynne stared at her in astonishment. The Maid had left her own armor at the sanctuary of St. Denys. She had left it for Trynne to find nearly a century later.
A roaring sound filled her ears, as if she were suddenly in the midst of a violent waterfall, and she was jarred back to her own body again. Fallon caught her shoulders to keep her from tumbling face-first into the water.
Gone was the roar, replaced by the tepid splashing of the beautiful fountain. Trynne’s knees buckled and she extended her arm to catch herself on the stone, but Fallon was already holding her upright—one hand on her arm, the other encircling her waist.
“Did you faint?” Fallon asked her worriedly.
Trynne glanced down at the water. The armor was still there, hidden just beneath the surface, but the people gathered around the fountain seemed oblivious to it. Only someone who was Fountain-blessed could see it.
“A little dizzy,” Trynne said, feeling the strength return to her legs.
“Here, sit down at the edge,” Fallon said, helping her. She was afraid her dress would get wet, but sitting did help calm her. The vision had been so powerful it had stolen all of her senses. The Fountain had wanted her to come to Pree. It had meant to show her where the Maid had hidden her armor.
“I will be fine, Fallon,” she said, shaking her head, trembling with the memory.
The look of worry on his face was endearing. He knelt by her side, pressing his fist against his mouth. There was no sign of teasing in his expression.
“Should I fetch a healer?” he asked.
“No, I will be well in a trice. I just felt dizzy for a moment.”
Trynne heard the sound of boots approaching.
“Not now,” Fallon muttered under his breath, his eyes darkening with anger. Then he hissed abruptly and stood, his manner and bearing changing in an instant. His shoulders flared back and he dropped a hand to his sword hilt. Trynne quickly turned and saw Prince Elwis approaching with two lackeys.
That explained the sudden change in mood. Trynne almost gasped aloud when she caught sight of Elwis’s face. He was riddled with the pox and had splotches of discolored red skin on one cheek, one brow, and over half his jaw. Even his nose had crusted over like a moldy potato.
This was no rare disease; it was magic. Trynne remembered how Elwis had taken Fallon’s ring during the last Gauntlet.
The two young lords looked as if they were about to murder each other.
“Well met, Prince Elwick,” Fallon said disdainfully. “That looks like a terrible rash. Did you forget to bathe?”
Elwis grabbed a fistful of Fallon’s tunic, his teeth bared like a wolf’s. “It won’t come off,” the prince said in a choking voice. “The ring is cursed. If I must slice off a finger to get rid of it, believe me, you will lose one as well.” His other hand tightened around a dagger on his belt.
Trynne shot up, the motion making her head spin with dizziness. “This is a sanctuary of Our Lady. Calm yourselves.”
Elwis looked at her and then did a double take in recognition.
“Prince Elwis, please,” she pressed. “Let him go. Let’s find another way.”