The reason her mother had fought so hard to retain her position was because a Montfort needed to rule the duchy to maintain its boundaries against the Deep Fathoms. The line had almost been broken when Sinia’s parents couldn’t bring a living child into the world. Their grief had been shattering, especially since they’d known what it meant: their duchy would be swallowed up by the sea when the duke died. The grieving parents despaired, not knowing what they could do to save the kingdom. They were willing to do anything to appease the Fountain, to spare the population from drowning.
The answer was waiting for them one day on the shore of what was now Sinia’s favorite beach. A newborn baby girl. An Ondine—a gift from the Fountain.
Most people were superstitious about water sprites. They could not be immersed in water, for their very skin repelled it, and the water rite had been developed in ancient times to prove whether a foundling had been naturally born.
Sinia’s true identity was a closely guarded secret. Beyond her family, only the palace staff knew the truth of her sacred origins. As a water sprite, she had not possessed a soul until she kissed a human—Owen. Their marriage had changed her and made her human.
And now her grief for him was diminishing her.
“My lady!” chuffed the court steward, Thierry, when he rounded the corner ahead and nearly stumbled into her. He had served the Montforts for a long time, as had his father and grandfather before him. Thierry’s hair was spiked forward in the Occitanian fashion, as usual, but it was well nigh all silver now. “I had not known you were coming today! Your mother will be grateful to see you. Let me alert her that you’ve arrived from Averanche.”
“How does she fare?” Trynne asked, touching his arm.
Thierry’s countenance shaded like a cloud blotting the sun. He had always kept a certain distance from Owen, but his devotion to Sinia was unquestionable. “Lady Tryneowy, she bears her suffering with great aplomb. She has been more distant lately. More introspective.”
Trynne had feared as much. Her mother’s visions had been bereft of glimpses of her husband, which had made all of them fear the worst.
“Thank you, Thierry. I would see her at once.”
“Very well, my lady. She is with Lady Morwenna at the moment.”
The news was like a blow to Trynne’s heart. Morwenna had been in training as a Wizr’s disciple since the Battle of Guilme. Originally, Trynne had been her mother’s only student, but she had abandoned her studies in favor of training the Oath Maidens with Captain Staeli.
The daughter of Severn Argentine and Lady Kathryn, Morwenna was the king’s blood-sister. She had an aptitude for Fountain magic and had demonstrated a quickness of mind in finding words of power hidden inside The Vulgate, an ancient text of legends about the famous King Andrew and his court. When she was studying the tome, Trynne had always found her mind wandering to the training yard and affairs of state. She was happier since she’d quit her Wizr training, but Morwenna’s stunning beauty and multiple gifts had always made her feel self-conscious.
As they walked toward the study, Thierry kept up a steady stream of chatter. “There was a great shipwreck off the coast of Occitania in the last fortnight. A merchant ship, heavily laden, crashed against the reef and was destroyed. Bits of its cargo have been washing up on our shores for days since then and as far east as St. Penryn’s.”
“Were there any survivors?” Trynne asked without much hope.
“None, my lady. The manifest showed it was a Genevese merchant vessel. The crew all drowned.”
“I’m so sorry to hear it,” Trynne sighed. “What is the latest news about the Gauntlet coming up in Kingfountain?”
“They say the Grand Duke of Brugia and Duke of North Cumbria are favorites to win it. Wouldn’t it be a trick if some lass beat them both?” He gave her a cunning smile and a wink.
Trynne had been training hard for it. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to look unconcerned.
“Let me announce you,” Thierry said as they reached the door. He lifted his hand to knock.
Trynne caught his sleeve. “There’s no need. I’d rather surprise her. Thank you.”
Thierry nodded, bowed to her, and departed. Trynne stared at the polished wood, trying to gather her courage and resolve. Whenever Sinia traveled to Kingfountain, Trynne stayed in Ploemeur to await her return. If the stay ended up being longer than a few days, her mother would likely fetch her brother, Gannon, from Tatton Hall. He had been staying there, off and on, with their grandparents since being declared the Duke of Westmarch in their father’s absence, but Sinia brought him home to Ploemeur for frequent visits. The child was a favorite with the palace staff, and Trynne found herself missing him when he wasn’t around. She occasionally used the ley lines to visit him, but it wasn’t the same as living together.