“Not at all,” she said, shaking her head. Her legs felt locked in place, so she took a hesitant step closer to him. She pressed her thumb in circles across her palm, fidgeting slightly. She knew that Fallon was preparing for the Gauntlet of Kingfountain. He had made no secret of his wish to take her father’s seat at the Ring Table, the one known as the Siege Perilous. It was the seat of the king’s champion. Gahalatine had given Drew one year to choose a replacement for Owen if he could not be found. The winner of the Gauntlet would win that title.
What Fallon did not realize was the Fountain had whispered to Trynne that she must sit in the chair.
He was looking at her pointedly now, his gaze penetrating. He had the clearest gray-green eyes she had ever seen. Memories of their childhood together buffeted her.
“The Fountain has bid my mother to depart Ceredigion,” she said at last. The anguish of the feeling was still fresh and raw. “She will be leaving imminently to seek the Deep Fathoms at sea.”
His eyes widened with disbelief, and she took some small satisfaction in having shocked him. She took advantage of his stunned silence to continue. “She saw this in a vision. Drew and Genny are just as surprised as you are. As we all are. The king has summoned his council to the Ring Table to tell them. Morwenna is fetching your parents. She . . . suggested that I come for you.”
“Trynne,” he breathed, a look of pain and anguish on his face. “How can this be? How can the Fountain even . . . ?” He stopped short of speaking blasphemy. “You must be devastated. Both your parents?”
She bit her lip, not letting herself take too much comfort in his sympathy. “It is not what my mother wishes. Her visions show what will happen. Not why.”
“And she has not seen Gahalatine’s invasion yet? It means we’ll have no forewarning of where he will strike.” He shook his head in wonderment, gazing away from her, hands on his hips. “This is grave news indeed. I am sorry for you, Trynne.” When he returned his gaze to her, his eyes were full of compassion.
She took another step closer to the desk.
“I believe in the Fountain,” Trynne said softly. “Even when I don’t understand its will.”
“You have more faith in it at the present than I.” He chuffed, shaking his head. She reached the edge of the table, adjacent to where he stood. So many papers. So many secrets. It was like Lord Amrein’s desk in the Espions’ Star Chamber in Kingfountain. It would be easy for her to return and rifle through them, using her magic to make herself invisible. Where did his true loyalty lie? Would she find evidence here to incriminate him in a conspiracy? Or was he truly seeking to unmask the king’s enemies by pretending to be one of them?
“So Morwenna sent you,” Fallon said coolly after the silence became uncomfortable. He pursed his lips. “I had hoped you’d come of your own accord. But it matters little. I understand you have been very busy of late.” He gave her an arch look. It reminded her of his frustration that the king didn’t use him for important assignments.
“Fallon, let’s not argue,” she said.
“It’s not my intention to argue,” he said, folding his arms again. “I have no wish for another drubbing. When Stroud told me you had come, I had thought your news might be . . . well, that’s not really important now. I was wrong.”
“What were you wrong about?” Trynne asked, more confused than ever.
“It’s of no consequence. Shall we go to the chapel, then?”
“Fallon,” she said as the familiar pain rose. “Will we ever start trusting each other again? I told you the truth about why I came here.”
“I know; I understand,” he said curtly. He was growing more agitated. “I had thought you were here to deliver other news.”
She blinked at him, trying to discern his meaning.
“As I said, it’s of no matter. But I see I’m in the wrong again. I’ve failed you before by not saying what’s on my mind. Let me say now, and you can call me a fool.” He leaned forward and planted his palms on the table, gazing at the heap of papers. “One of the questions that has been plaguing the Espion for months is the true identity of the Painted Knight. This person fought near the king at the Battle of Guilme. This person entered my tent the eve before the battle and took something from me.” He looked at her with knowing, accusatory eyes.
Trynne felt her heart flutter in a sudden panic.
“I think I’ve known for some time who it is,” Fallon said in a low, confident tone. “The woad is a clever disguise, but I believe I’ve solved the riddle. I think my sister knows too, but the king certainly does not. I had hoped, Trynne, that I would not have to unmask the fellow myself. I’m the only person who even knows his name. Sir Ellis. Fidelis. A nickname you once teased me with, and a virtue you claim that I lack.”