He seemed surprised by her sudden embrace, but after another moment passed, he put his arms around her shoulders and rested his cheek against her hair. She felt so short compared to him, yet so warm and protected too. She savored the moment, drowning in it.
“I’ve told you this because I trust you completely, and I know that you are truly loyal to the king. I’ve harbored doubts about Morwenna for some time, and she proved herself a traitor this evening by accusing you of her treachery. My Trynne.”
He pulled back a little and lifted her chin so she could look up at him. The silver moonlight revealed his expression of hunger and torment and fierce protectiveness. The wind blew hair across her face again, and this time, he cleared it away before she could.
“Trynne,” he whispered urgently.
Her heart was aching. It hurt down to her deepest core. She loved him still. She had always loved him.
And when he started kissing her cheek, her nose, and then her mouth, she lost all control of herself and kissed him back, clinging to him to keep from flying away on the next gust. He pulled her against him as she gripped the front of his tunic. Warmth and giddiness tore loose inside her. She wanted to be his. She wanted to be his always.
The sound of the trapdoor slamming against the flagstones behind her caused her to flinch and pull away. She hastily parted from Fallon, still feeling the memory of his mouth on her lips, her legs trembling with exhilaration.
When the aging captain poked his head up, Fallon looked at the man as if he were sorely tempted to blister his ears with curses.
“Unless the battle has just started, you’d better have a good excuse for interrupting me . . .” he said.
The captain shrugged helplessly. “The thief is dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Rage
Silence followed the captain’s pronouncement. Dead? The man who’d hurt her family so much was dead? She wasn’t sure how to feel.
A scowl crossed Fallon’s face, and he said, “I will be down shortly. Do not touch the gate. It could be a trick.”
“Aye, my lord,” the captain said, ducking back down. He left the trapdoor open for them to follow. Fallon stood there for a moment, one hand on his side, the other gripping his furrowed brow. Trynne’s heart pained her. Their situation buffeted her worse than the wind.
“We should go back down,” she said, knowing it was wise but not wanting to be wise at that moment. She gazed up at the tortured look on his face.
“Trynne,” he said, stepping forward. She retreated, keeping space between them, holding up her hand. He looked at her hand as if it were a stone wall.
He shook his head at her. “Please don’t push me away.”
“I must,” she whispered, but she doubted he could hear her over the wind.
He reached out and pressed his palm against hers, then entwined their fingers. “I will never stop hoping,” he said.
The heartsick look on his face worsened her own pain. “We have a duty, Fallon,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You cannot play in the river near the falls without the risk of being pulled into the current. Please, we must go down.”
He nodded in agreement and, holding her hand still, guided her to the edge of the trapdoor and the ladder.
They both halted at the same time. A snake made of a thousand torches wound all the way down the valley road toward Dundrennan. It shimmered in the black, stark night against the stone and trees. Gahalatine’s army would arrive by midnight.
Fallon’s expression turned dark and severe. “He won’t wait for the dawn,” he said with conviction. “He will attack tonight.”
Captain Staeli finished the final buckle of Trynne’s armor—the Maid of Donremy’s armor, which Trynne had found in a sanctuary in Occitania. The captain had carried the heavy armor with him, uncomplaining, on their journey. Once it was on, he stood back and appraised her with a frown. His chain cowl was down around his shoulders, but he had on the battered breastplate she’d seen him wearing at the Battle of Guilme. His belt was equipped with a throwing axe, several daggers, and a glaive. His sullen expression and bearded mouth looked so familiar to her, so dear.
“The woad, then?” he asked.
She was wearing the spelled ring under her gauntlets. She had felt the Fountain’s subtle suggestion that she should dress the part of the Painted Knight and then use the ring to hide her distinctive armor and painted face.
Tonight, she sensed, would be the night she revealed the truth to all.
She nodded and Captain Staeli reached for the bowl of woad. He scooped up a wad of the doughy material with his forefingers and carefully and gently smeared it across half of her face. She closed her eyes, almost feeling herself transform into the persona of the Painted Knight. What the night would bring, she did not know. But she felt certain the battle would be momentous. If she needed to, she would bring Drew to another fortress and rally more defenders to them there. She felt a crushing duty to protect the king from harm. She was his shield, his secret protector. Fallon had been given the right to her father’s seat, but it had been intended for her.