Trynne avoided the sweep of his leg. Though he was still struggling to regain his breath, Bastian grabbed at her from behind in a bear hug. Trynne ducked low, shouldered him in the stomach, and then rocked him over her back, sending him down hard onto the stone. The poisoner lunged at her next, and she had to arch her back to avoid the dagger slicing through her shoulder. As soon as his blow went wide, she flipped back up and kicked the poisoner in the face.
He pinwheeled away, but Trynne leaped at him, kicking him again in the middle with enough force that the air gushed out of his chest in a wheeze. She torqued his arm until he released the dagger and then brought her arm around his throat until he collapsed, unconscious.
Farnes stared at her in admiration, his knees wobbling, and gripped the balustrade for support.
She picked up the dagger, examining the dust on the blade. Vicarum, a poison that paralyzed its victims for several hours. Turning the blade over in her hand, she looked at Farnes.
“No more suitors,” she said adamantly. “Send them all away. I don’t have time for this nonsense. But put these two in chains. I think Captain Staeli will wish to talk to them.”
I think the poison affects my mind. It stops me from remembering. It’s making me mad. My thoughts are muddled and sluggish. I’ve asked for water, but the jailor only gives me the sickly sweet drink. How can I stop drinking the cup? I think on it again and again. If I can figure out a way to stop drinking it, perhaps I will get my memories back. It’s difficult to focus. There is no sense of time. Yet a strange idea came to me while I was stacking my little chips of broken stone today. Where did the chips come from? So I felt around the wall and discovered a broken section. Someone has chipped away at the stone. Did I do it?
As I felt the broken wall with my fingers, rough and jagged, I realized there’s a pattern to it. The pieces are at angles. I’m so thirsty. I’ve tried not to drink for two days, but I can’t die of thirst. It torments me. Water. I need water. I’m going mad. Because I hear water. Trapped inside the wall. It wants to come out so I can drink it. In my mind, I see a vision of a man with a crooked staff. A wild, ancient man. He hits a rock with the staff, and water gushes out. Water is in the stone. Water is in the stone.
CHAPTER FIVE
Disciple
It was well into the night before all of Count Bastion’s minions had been arrested and brought to the castle in chains. Torches flickered in the night wind as Trynne walked with Captain Staeli down the corridor to the balcony overlooking the yard. The evening was cool but not cold.
Staeli had been assigned as her bodyguard following Dragan’s brutal attack on her, which had left half of her face paralyzed. A former soldier of Westmarch, he had been trained as an Espion because of his affinity for weapons and hand-to-hand fighting. Staeli was steady as stone and wholly committed to her and her family, and rarely uttered any nonsense. He had trained Trynne in secret before the Wizr Myrddin had made her swear the five oaths that had made her an Oath Maiden. Now, he was training the corps of Oath Maidens. He drilled them hard, sometimes to the point of vomiting, and felt that bruises earned in mock combat were badges of honor.
“Aye, lass, your hunters caught them assembling in the woods earlier this afternoon and kept watch on them. Mariette brought forty of the girls out to surround and capture them. I think they could have done it with twenty, the lads were so ill trained.” He snorted in derision and pushed open the door to the balcony.
Trynne nodded to him as she walked through it, then planted her palms on the edge of the balcony and watched her warriors as they lined up the prisoners. Their armor and weapons had all been stripped away and were set in neat piles to one side. Mariette had proven to be one of the most capable of the Oath Maidens. The thirty-year-old widow was older than the rest. Tall, lithe, and blond, she was beautiful enough to be mistaken for an Occitanian princess. But Mariette was a leader, and while she’d enjoyed her position of power as the widow of a wealthy merchant, she’d always wanted to learn how to fight. Being taller than most men, she was intimidating to them. Trynne watched as she told the prisoners where to assemble, walking among them in a chain hauberk topped with a tunic bearing the badge of Averanche.
Staeli folded his arms and nodded with approval. “She’ll make a good captain for you someday,” he said, gazing at Mariette. “The new girl from the desert, I would put her under Mariette to start.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Trynne said. “I’ve had my eye on Mariette for a while. I wish I were that tall sometimes. She’s going to compete in the Gauntlet of Kingfountain.”