Trynne’s stomach turned sick with dread. “Can nothing stop them?”
Elwis looked equally helpless. “This Genevese captain asked the admiral of the fleet why Kingfountain had not been invited to the celebration. Do you know what he said?”
Trynne shook her head.
“He said we were too far beneath their notice. That we were nothing but a squabbling, rebellious land in need of a benevolent master.” His voice bristled with anger. “I’m growing heartily sick of this Gahalatine fellow.” She could see the depths of rage in his eyes and knew he still harbored revenge in his heart for the way his father had died.
“Thank you for sharing the news with me and not waiting until the council meets,” she said. Worry had tied her up in knots. If only Myrddin were there to advise them. If only her father were.
“Of course,” he said, waving aside her gratitude. He glanced at Genevieve and Sureya, who were standing over the baby’s crib, before continuing. “When can I see you again?” he asked in a lower voice.
She blinked with surprise.
“I don’t mean to startle you.” He sighed, looking a little chagrined. Then he gave her a self-conscious smile. “Let me try to explain this delicately. I’ve been told that Averanche is inundated with suitors seeking to impress you. A veritable flood, as if the Deep Fathoms were trying to drown you. I have not, quite deliberately, attempted to press you in that way. But I did not want you to suppose I’m being inattentive either. You are not . . . like other women I know. Far from it. You are . . . I’m making a rather bloody mess of this, aren’t I?” He laughed at himself, looking flushed and embarrassed. “Forgive me. All the little speeches I’ve rehearsed in my head have fluttered away like butterflies. I’m not very apt at wooing, Trynne. What I mean to say is that I would cherish the opportunity to spend more time with you.” For a moment she thought he would touch her hand, but he didn’t. “I would have no qualms about meeting you in Averanche, assuming I could get past all your suitors without being stabbed by one of them, or Ploemeur if you would prefer. You also have an open invitation to come to Marq. I’ve imagined taking you on a gondola ride and showing you the rich history of my state. There. I have said it. Clumsily, but there it is. I am far more confident with a sword.”
She was touched by how flustered he was, how difficult it was for him to say such things to her. She did not have feelings for him, not the kind of feelings she had harbored for Fallon for so many years. But she respected him. Still, she could not help but wonder if Elwis was motivated more by her prospects than by her.
“I do have many visitors, it is true,” she said. “Probably not as many as you fear. I’ve told them all the same thing. This is not the season to woo and marry. We are at war. I’ve also told them that if they seek my regard and notice, they should apply themselves more to their training. As you have.” She gave him one of her crooked smiles.
Elwis took her compliment with a relieved grin and backed away from her. “As always, your counsel is wise. I’ll not detain you further. By your leave.” She could tell he wanted her to accept his invitation to visit. But he did not press her, which showed admirable restraint on his part.
As he turned to go, she called out to him. “Elwis?”
He stopped and turned.
“I have no plans at the moment for the Feast of St. Benedick. I should like to visit Marq again. Perhaps you can toss coins in the fountain at the city center until then?”
“I shall,” he promised, looking at her fixedly. She gave him a nod.
It was time to bring Sureya home.
Averanche.
Trynne loved the view of the sea from the upper balustrade. The wind fought to veil the view with her own hair, and she had to keep sweeping the strands away as she leaned against the stone railing, thinking about her conversation with the Grand Duke of Brugia. The sun was finally setting—the second time for her. She loved to watch the sun lower over the ocean, the majesty of the sight paired with the sound of the waves crashing so far below.
Located on the border of Westmarch and Brythonica, Averanche was a city that had surrendered to Trynne’s father many years ago, after his successful surprise attack on the King of Occitania’s army. She’d heard so many stories about his exploits that it sometimes felt as if she had lived them too.
Upon their return, she had given instructions for Sureya to be accommodated as befit her station. The girl was still adjusting to the change in climate, and the thin silks she’d worn in the oasis were not warm enough for Ceredigion.