Trynne nodded. “He’s restless, I think. Full of ambition.” Her brow furrowed. “But I’m concerned by something he shouted just as I was leaving.” She looked into Genny’s eyes. “He said, ‘I know of you.’” A cold feeling welled up inside her, making her shiver. “He knew I wasn’t from the oasis.” She quieted, staring out at the river, at the sanctuary of Our Lady and the surging waterfall that could be heard in the distance like a soothing murmur. She imagined Kingfountain being attacked by that fleet of treasure ships. She imagined Wizrs turning the river backward and making it possible for soldiers to cross. The defenses of the city, which had once seemed impregnable, now seemed wholly inadequate.
“Yes, it’s obvious he recognized you, but that doesn’t mean he placed you.”
“It doesn’t help that I’m so small,” Trynne muttered darkly. “I worry about King Sunilik. Gahalatine will likely question him at the Forbidden Court. Without me there to protect him, the king will no longer be immune to his powers. Gahalatine may learn that I was there.”
Genevieve paled. “I hadn’t thought of that. It also seems that his people can travel outside of the ley lines. That cylinder you mentioned . . . what sort of device is it, I wonder? There’s so much we don’t know. I had assumed Gahalatine might be with his fleet.”
“Has it been spotted since it set sail earlier this summer?” Trynne asked.
Genevieve shook her head. “None of the Espion hidden in the ports along the coast have seen it. But Lord Amrein has learned that fleet doesn’t need a port. It can go for months without a harbor. What baffles me is how Gahalatine has accumulated so many vessels and conquered so much in so short a time! He’s barely older than me, and look at what he’s done! Ambition is certainly one of his gifts from the Fountain.”
Trynne nodded, rubbing her palms along the stone lip of the railing. “Do you think he will attack Kingfountain first?”
Genevieve touched her shoulder. “Would that I knew,” she answered with a sigh. “Your mother’s visions are our only hope for a warning. I’m worried about her,” she added, her voice dipping to a lower pitch. “Her grief is so consuming.”
Trynne wanted to refute her, but it was true, and there was no sense in hiding it. “She’s withdrawn deeper into herself. Morwenna has offered her some calming drafts to try and help her, but she refuses to be comforted by an elixir. When she’s not here or training Morwenna, she walks at her favorite beach in Ploemeur. She’ll be there for hours sometimes.” Trynne’s heart pinched with the pain of her own grief. Her father’s loss had struck a terrible blow to the entire Kiskaddon family.
“Drew would like to see her as soon as possible,” Genny said. “But please . . . don’t hurry her if she’s not well. We will abide without her for as long as we can.”
“Very well, my lady,” Trynne said, giving her another hug.
Genny kissed her cheek, then gripped her by the shoulders. “You haven’t asked after Fallon in a while.”
Fallon was Genny’s younger brother. She reminded Trynne of him a little in the way she smiled. Sometimes it was comforting; sometimes it was excruciating.
“No, I have not,” Trynne replied.
“He still cares for you,” Genny said.
“It would probably be for the best if he didn’t,” Trynne said. Her own heart had been dashed to pieces in their last confrontation.
The queen folded her arms and stared out at the garden. “You are my friend, and he is my brother. I hate seeing you both hurting so much. I understand your reasons for saying what you did. He deserved it. But he hasn’t come to terms with it yet. He’s fighting it. I’m . . . worried about him. Worried he may do something . . . I don’t know. He’s another one who’s difficult to predict.”
Before the Battle of Guilme, Fallon had told Trynne that he suspected Severn Argentine, the former king of Ceredigion and Morwenna’s father, was involved in a conspiracy to unseat the king. The men who were involved, he’d told her, dressed in black and wore silver masks. On the eve of the Battle of Guilme, Trynne had visited Fallon’s tent while disguised as the Painted Knight. She’d found the exact outfit he’d described—silver mask, black coat—discarded on the floor. Despite her feelings for Fallon, and her desire to believe the best of him, it had filled her with suspicion.
Trynne had taken Genny into her confidence, and when her friend had asked Fallon if he was part of a conspiracy, not divulging her source, he had admitted to her that he’d donned the outfit that night to try to draw out the conspirators. He’d even told her that the Painted Knight had humiliated him and taken the mask away. His words lined up with Trynne’s version of the events, which she was relieved to hear. But she didn’t know if he was still dabbling with his Espion contacts or traveling in secret with Morwenna.