Gahalatine was young and handsome, perhaps ten years older than her, full of energy and vigor. There was no questioning his ambition, and his successes and his power with the Fountain had emboldened him. He’d taken over the oasis despite knowing the king was good and true, something that bothered her, but he’d also shown signs of fierce intelligence. Nobility. Was he truly the enemy? Or were the men who were guiding him the problem?
She remembered something her father had taught her years after the first lessons he’d given her in the game of Wizr. Father had told her that the enchanted Wizr set, the one whose pieces represented real people, had been a gift of the Wizrs of old to the King of Ceredigion. The Argentine family had been playing the game for centuries by the time Rucrius came to Kingfountain and destroyed it with his staff—the staff she now held. What was it her father had told her? She had only been a child, but the words had struck her even back then.
Trynne felt a ripple from the Fountain magic, stirring her memory.
The Wizrs of old had made the rules. They were the ones who had lived to witness the rise and fall of several kingdoms. They were the ones who had offered the magic game of Wizr to a man who was ambitious enough to rule.
Her throat constricted, her eyes widening. That word described Gahalatine perfectly.
Had the Wizrs of Chandigarl run out of patience with the Argentine family at last? Had the game gone on too long? The king piece was not the most powerful piece on the board; the Wizr was. But the game ended when the king was defeated. Perhaps they’d feared King Drew was becoming powerful enough to usurp them?
She pushed her legs off the couch and rose. Little pinpricks of pain tingled in her feet. She feared falling asleep, afraid of what might happen to her land if she rested at a time like this. Rucrius was a dangerous man. She didn’t know what fed his power, but she’d sensed it growing even in captivity, faster than her own was growing. Knowing his powerful will, she had ordered that he be left alone, without being able to speak to his guards.
After pacing a moment, she stuffed the Tay al-Ard into her girdle and opened the door of her room. The four guards on duty were startled by her sudden appearance.
“My lady, you’re not abed?” one of them asked.
“I’m going to the dungeon. Come with me.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The palace was quiet, but there were soldiers patrolling the corridors night and day. Torchlight shone off the mirrored floors. Someone had swept them after the events of the day. She shook her head in amazement at the diligence of the palace staff. When she reached the dungeon, the captain of the night watch bowed to her and unlocked the door. She was afraid that she’d find the cell empty. She dreaded it.
“Wait here,” she bid the soldiers. “I’ll speak with him alone.”
They looked at her with concern, but they obeyed. As she walked down the dimly lit corridor, she reached out with her magic. No, Rucrius was there. She sensed him as she approached, feeling the rippling well of magic seething behind the bars of his cell. He had been sitting on the cot, but he rose and walked to the door, his pale, strong hands encircling the bars and squeezing them. His eyes were full of wrath. They glowed in the darkness, reflecting the torchlight.
“Your eyes glow,” Trynne said as she advanced, keeping well clear of him.
“That is common for my race,” he said disdainfully. “I am not like you.” He still had not changed his clothes either. They stood facing each other, Trynne’s heart quailing in the face of his power. He’d been utterly spent that morning, and now it seemed like his power was filled to the brim. How?
She felt him reach out with his magic and test her, poking and judging her supply. A mocking smile creased his face. “You’re tired, Tryneowy Kiskaddon. Are you afraid to sleep? You have me locked in a cell. Why should you be troubled? These bars don’t make you feel safe?” His eyes flashed in the darkness.
She felt her fear of him deep inside her bones, but she would not let it control her. “If you try to escape, my warriors have orders to kill you.”
He pulled one hand back and examined his fingernails. “We both know that your soldiers cannot stop me from escaping if I choose, just as we both know that my Fountain magic is stronger than yours. I have permitted myself to be your captive. And I am certain you are clever enough to discern why.”
She wished her father were there. He could match wits with Rucrius. She felt young and naive. But she was also determined.
“You know where my father is,” she said.