There had been so many duties to attend to that only on her evening walk did she have time to process the grand duke’s request to court her.
She thought about her promise to visit Marq for the feast day. She had not yet shown favor to any of the young suitors who had come calling for her. Some of them were not even young, like the prickly Count Bastian from Legault, who was making a ruckus down below since she’d refused a private meeting with him. He had attended dinner in the hall, for it would hardly have been polite not to invite him, along with five other would-be suitors, but she had ensured they were all seated far away from her. She pushed the thoughts from her mind and returned to a more pleasant one.
Elwis Asturias. It had taken years for her father to defeat his father, King Maxwell. Some wondered why Owen had hammered away at the defenses of Brugia’s cities rather than pressing for a more decisive battle. But Owen did not treat his soldiers’ lives rashly. He had known time was on his side. By besieging the cities, one by one, he’d strained Maxwell’s resources enough to make his people desperate for peace.
Trynne wondered, in retrospect, whether her father had taken the long road in order to gain Maxwell as an ally. The Asturiases were a proud family. A quick victory would have caused more resentment than a hard-won fight.
Her father had always played the long game.
Perhaps she was destined to marry Elwis. If so, he would have to prove himself to her with consistency and determination—and not just because her heart still yearned for another. Trynne longed for adventure, and since her little brother, Gannon, would inherit both Westmarch and Brythonica, she did not feel the need to rush into marriage. She wished to visit all the places on her mother’s map, and all of those beyond it too, including the Forbidden Court of Gahalatine.
There was noise on the battlement steps as the irate count jostled his way up the stairs. “I don’t care! Stand aside, you old badger! I will speak with her!”
Trynne hung her head for a moment. Despite her position on the king’s council, people still tried to treat her as a child, especially the most persistent of her suitors.
Count Bastian was a big man, at least thirty, attended by a whip-thin servant with groveling manners. The count was handsome and arrogant and very, very rich. He was also clearly used to getting his way.
Her herald, Farnes, could not keep up with him as he launched up the rampart steps.
Trynne turned and started walking toward them, bridling her anger.
“Ah, there you are!” Bastian said. He had clearly abandoned his composure down below. He threw up his hands. “I find it highly offensive that you have not only ignored me, but refused to see me, Lady Trynnwy. I’ve called for my carriage, and I will depart this miserable town at once. You did wrong to treat me so discourteously.”
The beetle-eyed servant looked at Trynne with open hostility. Farnes, panting, finally reached the top of the steps. “How dare you address the Lady Tryneowy in this manner,” he huffed. “If you do not leave at once, I will summon Captain Staeli—”
Trynne gave him a covert gesture to remain silent and he did.
“Captain Staeli,” Bastian sneered. “What can he do? I’ve seen your defenses, my lady, and they are woefully inadequate. You have perhaps a score of guards manning the entire castle. Twenty! I will not leave without taking what I came for.” He lowered his voice, the boastful outrage vanishing. “This man is a poisoner from Pisan,” he said, jabbing with his thumb toward the man, who had suddenly produced a dagger. “If you utter a word, he will kill your aged herald. And anyone who dares interrupt. I have fifty men concealed in the woods outside Averanche with orders to enter the city at nightfall. You are coming with me, Lady Trynnwy. Our women do not have such airs as you do. I’ve seen your little girls in the training yard.” He spat with disdain. “Believe me when I say that you are not prepared for the world of men. But I will teach you obedience. Now, you will come with me quietly or your friends will get hurt.”
He reached out and grabbed her arm.
She hit him in the fleshy part just above his throat so fast and so hard that his eyes bulged in shock and pain and he started choking.
Instantly she released the wellspring magic that had been building up inside her during his little speech. She had waited for him to make the first move because her magic always worked better in defense than in offense. As an Oath Maiden, she could draw on the experience of other Oath Maidens from a thousand lifetimes.
The poisoner gave her a startled look and dodged to the left to try to stab Farnes with the dagger. The poisoner’s dagger had flecks of powder on it, and she was wearing a gown rather than the chain hauberk she wore while training. Still, Trynne got between them in a rush, catching the poisoner’s wrist to stop the stroke. His elbow rocked back toward her chin, but she dodged to the side and kicked the back of his knee. He crumpled and then spun his other leg around to trip her, all while wrestling for control of the knife. She probed him with her magic, sensing for weakness. He was skilled with a dagger, very skilled, and he had the full accoutrements of a poisoner—vials, needle rings, and a cloth rag drenched with liquid that could instantly render someone unconscious. He was wire-thin but sturdy.