Trynne laced her fingers together. “That’s why he made it into a book, though. If the prince had been a responsible chancellor, there would have been no story to tell.”
“I heard that story from my mother,” Fallon said, his voice becoming softer. “While she’s always loved a juicy tale, the lesson she took from it was that greed is a hunger that will never be satisfied.” He was still leaning forward, his eyes finding hers. “She shared that story with me after I returned to Edonburick after our last . . . conversation in our garden. Mother said my hunger to be recognized and appreciated was like Prince Jeffrey’s greed. It would never be satisfied. So why should I be surprised that others saw in me what I was blind to? Mothers have an interesting way of rebuking wayward children, but they do it so nicely that you have to forgive them. Even better, learn from them.” He breathed out a long sigh. “I have learned a great deal since that day, Trynne. I want to thank you for speaking the truth, even though I wasn’t ready to hear it.” He paused, judging his next words carefully. “My mother—and you—are very wise. I still wish to earn your father’s seat at the Ring Table. But only because I too would sacrifice my life for the king’s.”
The door of the solar opened and Thierry entered, walking up to her briskly. He gave Fallon a weighing look.
“My lady, I’ve just spoken to a ship captain from Genevar. He has news from your mother.”
Trynne quickly rose, her heart fluttering in her chest. Her worried look prompted Thierry to continue. “My lady, the captain encountered your mother’s ship in the open seas. He hastened to Ploemeur after unloading his cargo in Genevar to share the news. Firstly, that he did encounter her ship. He had not heard of her departure and was surprised to find her so far from Brythonica. Secondly, he warned her that he had encountered an enormous fleet at anchor in the Myristican Islands and had discovered, while trading there, that they were preparing to sail toward our shores. The captain feared your mother’s ship would encounter them. He also wanted to hasten here to warn us to prepare in case they strike at Legault or Brythonica.”
Fallon rose instantly, his expression grave. “Attacking from the west, not the east,” he said, nodding his head. “This is timely news.”
“Indeed,” Thierry said, his head bobbing in agreement. “I can have the captain brought if you would like to speak with him yourself.”
“I would,” Trynne said, also rising. “Fallon, I can take you to Kingfountain. The king must be told at once.”
His eyebrows wrinkled. “Thank you for offering, but there’s no need. I will ride to Kingfountain straightaway.”
“But I can bring you and return instantly.”
“You are needed here, Trynne. I can be there in three days. If Gahalatine attacks Ploemeur, I will come to your aid. North Cumbria is ready to defend our shores.”
“I know you will,” Trynne said. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. It was a little strange that he’d refused her twice, but she didn’t wish to question him. There’d been too many misunderstandings between them.
He stared down at their hands, his mouth twitching as he wrestled with his feelings. “I must go.”
If Thierry hadn’t been standing there, she would have hugged Fallon good-bye. Her heart was still at war with her destiny, now more than ever. Fallon squeezed her hand and then rushed from the room. The moment he left, the emptiness of the room was palpable to her. She decided to leave the Wizr board untouched.
It wasn’t even dusk, yet Trynne was wearied by the day’s labors. The sudden news about Gahalatine’s fleet heading toward their shores had given her a new purpose, a distraction from the anguish of her brother’s and grandparents’ deaths. Knowing the massive fleet could easily blockade Ploemeur, she had ordered the Brythonican navy to set up a defensive ring around the coast and to keep watch for approaching vessels. There was enough food to withstand a siege, and the castle was full of defenders armed with bows in preparation for an enemy that could fly up to its walls. She was considering sending for Captain Staeli when Thierry arrived with news that he had come of his own accord.
“Please, bring him to me!” she said. She had been studying maps in her mother’s library, but she cleared some space on the table.
Captain Staeli arrived, looking like the soldier he was at heart, his cloak and tunic begrimed from the journey, his boots scuffed and weather-beaten. He stood in the doorway a moment, wringing the leather hood in his hands. His beard was mussed, his balding head spotted with sweat. He looked grief-stricken, and she realized that he had come after hearing the news of Gannon’s death. He was not a talkative man by nature, but he cared for her like a daughter. His lip twitched as the silence deepened between them.