“And you took my staff and my Tay al-Ard. But even more important, Tryneowy, you are protected from my magic. Just like your father.” His voice was oily and cunning. “I didn’t know that you’d inherited that gift from him. How curious. What Gahalatine would do to know that . . . Do you know how powerful you are, Tryneowy? He has long wished to heave off the yoke of the Mandaryn. Do you even know what they are? I doubt it.”
She felt chills shoot through her. The Wizr was toying with her, manipulating her, saying things to make her desperate for information.
“Where is my father?” she asked, keeping her tone calm and measured.
“You want to barter? How quaint. Give me the Tay al-Ard and I will take you to him.”
“Assuming you have him imprisoned, then your offer to take me to share his prison isn’t acceptable.”
He gave her a lazy smile. “We both have what the other wants. But time is on my side, Tryneowy. Your father wears chains and is being kept in the dark.” His face turned cruel as he spoke. “His face is sheathed in a hood that makes it difficult to breathe. He reeks of his own filth. And best of all, he has forgotten you completely. Yes, my dear. He cannot remember you. He cannot remember his wife. He doesn’t know his own name. You have no comprehension of the power that we possess. You will not find him on your own. And if anyone tries to free him, he will be killed without mercy. Even to attempt it risks his life.”
He pressed his cheek against a bar of his cell, his glowing eye glaring at her like a cat’s. It made him seem inhuman. Everything inside of her wanted to react to him, but she tried to stifle her horror. Clenching her teeth, balling her hands into fists, she stared back at him.
“Why?” she demanded hotly.
“You might be wondering how I’ve managed to add to my store of power in this cell,” Rucrius said. “Revenge. You, my dear, deeply underestimate the force of that motive. I do not need to stack tiles. I don’t need to stitch or play a harp. Revenge is the power of thought. And you cannot stop me from thinking. You stole from me the only woman I loved. I tried to get her back. You will never live up to your potential, Tryneowy, until you embrace revenge in your heart and in your will. You’ve had so many chances to learn that lesson. That disgusting slack cheek of yours started it. You’ve shied away from the truth, but you’ll find that revenge endures forever. Like it or not, you are already becoming one of us.”
He smiled at her through the bars and it made her sick.
The infection of his words had begun to shake part of her loose inside, rattling her to break apart like a . . . like a wagon wheel. Her eyes widened with horror at the thoughts.
“My brother,” she gasped.
And the knowing look on Rucrius’s face made her shrink.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Fault Staff
Not since taking the five oaths had Trynne been so tempted to break one of them. She wanted to punish Rucrius, to inflict pain on him and force him to reveal where her father was being held prisoner. But she would not. She knew she could not trust what he told her; his words were infectious and subtle, and she knew that he was trying to manipulate her and her emotions. So she left without a word, giving her guards the order that if he tried to escape, he should be executed immediately. His death would be in his own hands.
But as Trynne fitfully tried to sleep that night, she could not purge the words that continued to haunt her mind. Her father had been stripped of all sense of himself. How could they do such a thing? Owen had always been immune to the Fountain magic of others. Perhaps it had been managed with another relic of the Deep Fathoms. It was hard to banish the image of her father in a cramped, dark cell wearing a mask. The memory of her little brother’s wagon going off the side of the cliff. The feeling of helplessness was anguishing.
She had to return to Kingfountain to speak with the king, but she dared not leave Rucrius behind in Brythonica. There was no end to the havoc he could unleash on her people. With his power, he could seek out and dismantle the barriers that kept the tides at bay. No, he could not be kept in Ploemeur.
As sunrise finally began to cast away the shadows of night, she sat up in her bed in her nightclothes, staring at the brightening sky, arms crossed and resting on her knees. The realization struck her that she had defeated a portion of Gahalatine’s forces. The other three locations he’d attacked had been lost. What would Gahalatine do when he discovered the attack on Ploemeur had ended in failure? It was likely his first. A small smile twitched on her mouth, bringing with it a little shiver. Would he come for her himself next time?