Trynne and Morwenna had once been friends, but they’d slowly grown apart once the poisoner had begun studying under Trynne’s mother. It was painful hearing about her accomplishments and progress, especially since Trynne had struggled so much to learn the craft. Then there was the fact that Morwenna was tall and darkly beautiful, capable of turning heads just by walking into a room. While she was Fountain-blessed, Trynne did not know what her powers were, only that she got a cold feeling in her presence at times. Still, in many ways, Morwenna was practically the reincarnation of Ankarette Tryneowy, Trynne’s own namesake.
“No, I was as surprised as everyone else,” Trynne answered truthfully.
“I’ve never seen my brother so distraught. Don’t you find it strange that his strong pieces are all being swept from the board? I don’t mean to be brash, but this feels like a game of Wizr. The set that Rucrius broke when he came to deliver his warning. You remember it?”
“Of course I do,” Trynne said, trying not to sound peevish. “It was the ancient set played by the original King Andrew. The one that helped the Argentines stay in power all these years.”
“One by one, our pieces are falling,” Morwenna said as they walked toward the closest fountain to travel on the ley lines. “You don’t think . . . ? No, I’d best not say it.”
Her refusal only made Trynne more curious. Which was probably her intent.
“What?” Trynne pushed.
“I was just wondering,” Morwenna said, letting her words trail off as she came to a sudden stop next to a large glass window with a spacious view of the gardens below. The sky was roiling with storm clouds. “Just wondering,” she continued in an almost absentminded way, “if the Fountain heeds those with the strongest will. Does not Gahalatine serve the Fountain as well? And do not we? How can we both be serving the same power? Perhaps it has chosen one of us.”
Their conversation was interrupted as heavy drops of rain began to lash against the glass. They both stared at the glass as the surprise squall opened over the city. It had been a cloudless day when they’d arrived. The limbs of the magnolia trees beneath them swayed and jerked as the wind started to gust.
It was the very garden where Trynne and Fallon had argued. Was it coincidence that had brought them there?
“I will go to Edonburick,” Morwenna said, putting her hand on Trynne’s shoulder. “I’ve not seen my grandfather in some time and should like to. Why don’t you go to Dundrennan to fetch Fallon?”
Trynne gritted her teeth, her feelings tangled and tender. “I would rather not,” she muttered.
“I know,” Morwenna said with one of her lovely smiles. “Which is all the more reason that you should. Fallon is a dear friend. You really hurt him, Trynne. I think it’s time the two of you mended the breach.”
Trynne believed she was right. But it didn’t make her eager to do it. She sighed, trying to summon her courage. It would be painful to see him. But she would try. “Very well,” she said.
“How strange that it’s raining so suddenly,” Morwenna said, cocking her head. A white flash exploded outside the window, blinding them both. Thunder boomed heavily over the castle, shaking the stones.
“I think it struck the rod atop the poisoner tower,” Morwenna said, her voice shaking from the sudden thrill of danger. “I’m glad I wasn’t up there just now!”
Trynne wondered if the sudden storm was a freak of nature. Or if the king’s brooding had invoked the secret power of the hollow crown.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dundrennan
It was cold in the North. Even the hissing torches lining the walls could not ward off the chill. Even the air smelled different. There was an inescapable scent of crushed pine needles, of mountain air so clean and cold it made her chest burn.
Dundrennan was a spacious fortress, nestled in a mountain valley in the highlands with an incomparable view of an enormous waterfall. It was nearly the headspring of the river that ended at Kingfountain. Memories of the place flittered through Trynne’s mind. Her father had been raised in this place after spending his boyhood in Tatton Hall, and while she had not visited the North often as a girl, she’d always loved imagining her father playing with his tiles by the hearth, or chatting with Fallon’s mother and her grizzled grandfather, Duke Horwath. The standard of the Pierced Lion still dominated the tapestries. It made her heart flutter to realize she was now in Fallon’s domain.
As soon as she’d appeared in Dundrennan, a servant had seen her and hastened to fetch the master of the castle. It was not uncommon to receive strange visitors from the chapel, but Trynne could tell they were used to someone else. Morwenna. The servant’s eyes had widened with surprise, and she’d stammered her name as she hurried away.