“We stand ready to defend the hollow crown, my king,” Trynne said humbly, bowing her head. “I have brought the Wizr Rucrius as a prisoner. He is dangerous still and his words are powerful.”
Duke Severn straightened, folding his arms. “Then let’s be done with him,” he offered with a cold look. “Send him to Dundrennan, my lord. Chain him to the rock. Let him speak to the ice and wind.”
“I will gladly take him there if you bid me, my lord,” Fallon said. He had not stopped staring at Rucrius, his eyes burning with anger. “I suspect he knows where Lord Owen is. And my mother.”
Genevieve continued to rock from foot to foot, patting the babe’s back gently, but there was a thoughtful look in her eyes.
The Wizr’s gaze was disdainful as he looked on his captors. He did not seem like a defeated enemy, even with the gag in his mouth.
“Take him to Holistern Tower,” the king ordered. “He will only be ungagged in the presence of my sister and Lord Amrein to eat his food. Death will be your reward if you defy me, Rucrius,” Drew said with a stern and hard edge in his voice. “When you last troubled us with your presence, I ordered Lord Owen to arrest you. I am grateful his daughter has fulfilled that command. Take him away and alert me when my sister returns.”
“I am here,” Morwenna said, shutting the paneled door behind her. She had just entered the room from one of the secret Espion passages, her hair windblown. She gazed at Rucrius in surprise. “Where is your staff, Wizr?” she asked, despite his inability to respond.
“I took it from him,” Trynne answered. The way Morwenna had asked about it disturbed her.
Severn’s daughter blinked as she turned. “Well done, Trynne. In my errands to the East, I learned that Rucrius was the Wizr entrusted with the Fault Staff. It is a relic with great power.”
“It is safe where I have hidden it,” Trynne answered vaguely. She did not mention the Tay al-Ard. She did not trust Morwenna to be alone with Rucrius and would have objected if the king hadn’t demanded that Kevan also be present at the inquisition. Her father had always trusted the master of the Espion.
“What would you have me do, Brother?” Morwenna asked, smiling at him. “You were going to send for me?”
“Go with Lord Amrein and take Rucrius to Holistern. See that he is fed, but do not allow him to speak. We will discuss his fate in council.”
“As you will, my lord,” Morwenna said with a bow. Lord Amrein summoned a group of knights, and together they left through the door of the audience hall. Trynne saw Fallon rise from his chair and whisper something to Morwenna. The poisoner nodded briefly before leaving with the group that had fallen in around the prisoner. Rather than sit down, Fallon leaned against the back of his chair. As Trynne stared at him, she felt distrust welling up from deep inside her.
“Trynne, how did you do it?” Genevieve asked, coming toward her, concern nakedly evident on her face. “The fleet . . . Gahalatine . . . how? All the other places that were attacked crumpled.”
She was still weary from all the work they’d done to rescue the survivors, exhausted from the lack of sleep. She met Genny with a gentle hug, careful not to press against the baby.
“Gahalatine’s fleet was disrupted by a rogue wave that struck our shores,” she said, not wanting to reveal the full truth in front of the gathered audience. Of those present, the only people she felt she could trust without reserve were the king and queen. “Our navy was patrolling outside the cove when it struck. I consider it a blessing from the Deep Fathoms that protected us.” What she said was truthful. But she withheld the rest to be told later in confidence.
Turning to face the king, she said, “Rucrius confessed that Gahalatine struck Atabyrion, Legault, Brythonica, and the capital of Brugia . . . Marq. How did those other attacks happen? Marq especially, as it is accessible by river, but not by an entire fleet.”
Drew’s exultant look diminished. “Lord Elwis?” he said, waving his hand with a gesture of weariness.
Elwis looked chagrined. “What we did not know, Trynne, was that for weeks prior, Gahalatine had been sending confederates into Marq. They were Brugians from Guilme, men and women who had been living under his rule for the last year. Apparently,” he added, scratching his neck with discomfort, “they were convinced of the justness of Gahalatine’s cause. Guilme has prospered this last year, enjoying an uncommon surge of wealth.”
“They’ve been bribed, you mean?” Trynne said, frowning.