The Forsaken Throne, page 12
part #6 of Kingfountain Series
It didn’t take long to find a bog to cross.
The path ahead was soon interrupted by a huge expanse of filthy, muck-strewn water. The noise of bullfrogs became deafening as they approached it. Fallon tapped his nose and winked at her, motioning for her to join him where the chorus was the loudest. Some gray reeds drooped ahead, providing almost a screen. The bog stretched out as far as they could see, interrupted occasionally by small hills that rose above the waters and were crowded with stunted oaks.
Fallon stood at the edge of the pond and cocked his head. The sounds from the hunters and dogs were still miles off, though drawing closer. The afternoon light was beginning to wane. He nodded and then motioned for her to wait at the edge while he stepped into the brackish water.
She felt the magic rush around them as his foot pushed into the water, repelling it away from him as if the waters were shivering in terror. Instead of becoming mired in the mud and muck, his boots stepped easily onto the surface of the ground beneath the water—as if it had suddenly hardened. He looked down at his boots as he was standing there, the magic splaying the water away from him. Then he motioned for her and reached up to help her join him. She thought he’d take her by the hand, but he surprised her by fixing his grip on her elbow instead. She joined him in the small dry patch and together they started making their way through the pond, the path opening ahead as they walked, and the waters closing in behind them. She smiled at the thought of the hounds and men reaching the shore, only to be baffled by the abrupt end to the trail.
They walked swiftly, getting accustomed to the influence of the magic as it cleared the way for them to pass. She glanced up at Fallon’s face, feeling grateful to him . . . but also confused. They were alone together in another world, traveling companions. She was married to a man who didn’t remember her—one who’d shunned her shortly after their marriage. But she was here with Fallon, whom she had loved and cared for since childhood. It was a dangerous thought and she found herself wanting to look away from his face. Except she noticed the tightness around his eyes, and his slight pained frown. Something was wrong.
“Fallon?” she asked worriedly.
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
“The ring is . . . painful,” he said, his voice neutral, barely hinting at his discomfort. “It’s like a toothache, except on my finger. I can bear it.”
“Did it start when you invoked the magic?” she asked him.
He nodded firmly, saying little else. “I’ll be all right.”
Knowing that the ring was doing him harm, she hurried her pace, trying to force him to lengthen his stride. The pond was vast, and when they reached the other side, she was grateful to return to normal ground. Again, he was wincing, rubbing his hand surreptitiously.
“Let me see it,” she insisted.
“It’s all right, Trynne. I’ll be fine.”
“Please, Fallon.”
He showed her his hand and her eyes widened with surprise. His ring finger was gray, the nail fringed with black. She took his hand in hers, gazing at it with concern.
“It feels better already,” he said dismissively and tried to tug it away.
She held on tightly and began whispering the words of healing magic. She felt her stores diminish, but only by a little. He sighed and nodded.
“Much better. Thank you.”
She patted his hand and they continued their walk. Shortly afterward, they heard a frantic series of barks and shouts of surprise coming from the direction of the brackish pond behind them. Several dogs were howling and baying in confusion, and loud shouts of anger from men, the words indistinguishable, joined the mix.
“Well done, sir.” Trynne complimented him, and again he shrugged as if it were of no importance. She eyed him furtively, struck again by how much he had altered. He had once been dependent on praise and kind words. Now he shunned them.
When nightfall caught them, they chose to hunker down on a hill in the middle of another secluded pond. They made a little camp beneath an oak. Neither thought it wise to risk a fire, so they hurriedly ate from their provisions before the sun was completely gone.
There was a fluttering sound above their heads and Trynne saw little gray shapes streaking in and out of sight, just barely visible in the deepening gloom.
“Bats,” Fallon said, wagging his eyebrows at her. “I hope they gorge themselves on these malevolent insects. You have six lumps on your face. They probably itch. How many do I have? I think a dozen.”
She had to smile at that, but she hadn’t bothered to notice—or count—so she just shrugged and ate a portion of her bread in silence.
When their scanty meal was finished, they packed up their gear and brought out the sleeping blankets.
“I’ll keep first watch, if that’s okay,” Fallon whispered. “I’ll wake you at midnight. Or whenever I guess it to be midnight. I don’t know the stars in this place. Or the moon. Do you think they will look different from ours?”
“I imagine they must,” she said, drawing the blanket around her. She cleared away some of the debris and nestled down onto the earth. She was exhausted, but her mind was alive with thoughts and worries. Where was her father on such a night? She felt closer to him than she had since the night he’d disappeared, but still so very far away . . . She shivered beneath the blanket.
Fallon stepped away a pace or two and settled against the trunk of the oak tree, his sword in his lap. He was silent, but she heard his breathing and found herself listening intently to the little noises he made while trying to get comfortable. Her heart ached to talk to him. More bats continued to flutter overhead, and the drone of mosquitoes and water bugs was soon conquered by other night sounds—the distant hoot of an owl, the croaking of frogs, and the ticking noise of some unfamiliar insects. The waters of the pond lapped against the hillock. But Fallon was silent. She was grateful that he showed her respect. Not once had he taken a liberty with her.
“Can I ask you a question?” She said it in a whisper, hoping they were still close enough to speak in low voices.
“Aren’t you weary?”
“I am, but my head is too full to sleep. You don’t have to answer.”
“There’s more time now than we had last night. You can ask me anything. But if I fall asleep during your interrogation, revive me, since I’m supposed to be keeping watch.”
“But will you be honest with me, Fallon?”
“Yes, Trynne. What troubles you?”
She was still not quite warm enough beneath her blanket, so after a shiver and adjusting her blanket more tightly around her, she broached her question. “How do you feel . . . about Morwenna?”
He let out a long breath through his nose. “You’re not going to throw anything at me if I tell you the truth?”
“I promise I won’t.”
“Good. At least there are no magnolia trees nearby.” He chuckled to himself, but when he spoke again, his tone was serious. “Morwenna Argentine. She is . . . she is like fire. I think it is normal for a person to be attracted to something even though you know deep down it will burn you if you touch it. The essence of your question, I suppose, is whether I’m smitten by her. I suppose yes. To some degree. It plays to any man’s vanity to have a beautiful woman show interest in him. But I’ve never forgotten who she was. Or what she was.” He fell silent a moment, brooding. “I think it’s time you knew her story.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Unseen
“The thing you must first understand about Morwenna, Trynne,” Fallon said in a quiet, thoughtful way, “is she was just as fiercely loyal to her father as you are to yours. She sought his approval beyond all others. She pitied his fall, and I think the notion of avenging him was what drove her from the start.”
“She told you this?” Trynne interrupted. She was grateful she couldn’t see him in the dark. His words had already sliced through her.
He hesitated. “In a way. I’ve learned a great deal from the Espion. It is no secret to you that I admire that organization and have the ambition to lead it someday. Over the years, I have coaxed Morwenna into confiding in me. I didn’t share everything I learned with my sister. But I shared most of it. Morwenna has been secretly manipulating events to overthrow her brother. Not to kill him, but to depose and exile him, just as happened to her father. To do that, she needed to first banish your father. As much as she resented him for removing Severn from power, she thought she may need him if the Mandaryn ever united against her.”
He paused and they listened to the sounds of croaking for a while.
Trynne thought it a good opportunity to ask a question. “During the Battle of the Kings, she joined our side in fighting Rucrius. Without her, Rucrius may have destroyed our army with the storm he summoned. Was that planned? It didn’t feel so at the time. He murdered her father in front of her.”
“Ah, yes. That was not planned.” His voice grew more somber. “You know how one move in Wizr can trigger subsequent moves that shift the power of the game? Sometimes there are too many unknowns to account for every possible outcome. You were the unknown in this situation, Trynne. You kept interfering with their plans. Morwenna didn’t know about the Oath Maidens you were training in secret early on. She certainly didn’t know you were the Painted Knight. I kept your secret and never told her. During that battle, I think Rucrius and the Wizrs realized Morwenna wouldn’t be Gahalatine’s chosen bride. He was so clearly fascinated by you.
“Morwenna was the mastermind behind the plot, and they saw her weakened condition as an opportunity to throw off her control. She was completely spent after that battle. All her Fountain magic was drained away. They would have won, but you chased down Rucrius and killed him, toppling the board. You thwarted their plans. Again. You cannot understand how much she resents you. Because of you, her father is dead.”
“So it’s my fault her treason failed, is it?” Trynne asked cynically.
He shrugged—a small gesture barely seen in the dark. “You stole her husband. You ruined her plans. When a person has little or nothing left to lose, it alters their thinking. Risks they naturally would avoid become acceptable . . . no matter how far-fetched. As you no doubt guessed, Morwenna caused the lightning storm in the Forbidden Court. She impersonated Rucrius and set the city ablaze. She killed Gahalatine’s sister. Imagine, if you would, what would have happened after King Eredur’s death if Ankarette had run amok and began executing the nobility of Ceredigion rather than staying loyal to the queen. Morwenna has become . . . reckless. She wants revenge on you—and at any cost.”
Trynne shuddered. She had never told Fallon about the caves on the beach of Brythonica, the magical protections that held the waters at bay. She had only a fortnight to return and make sure that the proper words of power were said to maintain them. If Morwenna wandered onto that beach, she might be able to sense the magic. Please no, she thought in her mind. Worry radiated through her whole body.
“One of the ways Morwenna sought revenge,” Fallon continued, unaware of her silent struggles, “was with me.”
Trynne rolled over, turning her back to Fallon, clinging to the blanket in anticipation of the words that were coming.
“She used magic on me,” Fallon said softly. “The power of the medallion that I showed you, the kystrel. The feelings she tempted me with were very real. Very powerful. It was like finding myself in a strange waking dream. I fell madly in love with her. Even though I knew nothing had changed between us. Even though I knew I was being manipulated. But the feelings were so powerful, so real.” He sighed. “I also knew she had the ability to watch me from afar. I played the role of besotted lover in front of my sister and even Drew. Only after she gave the medallion to me and I refused to put it on did the magicked feelings truly begin to abate. But I’ll be honest, as I promised I would be. She has compromised me emotionally. When I drugged her with the nightshade and she revealed her full plans to me, part of me was deeply tempted to give her more of the poison . . . enough to kill her.” His voice was very low, very soft, and she could hear the turmoil in his words. “But I . . . I couldn’t. It would have been like stabbing myself in the heart. She has power over me. I had to escape, to run away. I cannot face her again, Trynne. I’m afraid of what I might do.” He fisted his hands on his lap. “I knew that she was intending to betray me. She revealed her plans, almost laughing at her mischief as she did so. She’s impersonating my sister. She was willing to murder my little niece to clear the way to the throne. She’s become the very monster we all feared she would be. The same kind of monster her father became. There is no longer any loyalty that binds her to anyone. Not even to me. I had hoped . . . whatever happened . . . that I could keep her from doing her worst, but she’s beyond help. Knowing all of this, I still could not hurt her.”
He sniffed and sighed again. There was hurt in the sound, the sound of a man betrayed by a friend. Trynne felt anguish for him and wished she could comfort him. She imagined herself holding him, stroking his hair, and whispering soothing words. Then she imagined him kissing her cheek in thanks, and her blood began to quicken with heat, hoping he would kiss her jaw, then her neck, then . . .
As heat radiated through her, she became aware that they were not alone on the hillock anymore. There had been no noise, not the cracking of twigs or the rustle of bushes, but she still sensed a presence—some force she could not see. There was almost a mewling sound, so high-pitched it was nearly lost in the sound of the wind. A feeling of dread and fear mounted inside her.
“Do you feel them?” Fallon whispered darkly.
Her skin crawled. It felt as if something catlike was nuzzling her back. She quickly sat up, and more thoughts crowded into her mind. She loved Fallon. She always had. Her husband didn’t love her. He would never know. She would never tell.
“What are they?” Trynne asked, her voice quavering.
“I don’t know,” he said. “They started coming soon after we began talking. Maybe they were drawn by the kystrel in my pocket.” She heard the scratching sound of his nails against the stubble on his throat. “They must feed on our emotions somehow. We should stop talking, or at least stop until daylight. Why don’t you go to sleep?”
“I’ll try,” Trynne whispered, shaking with horror at the feelings roiling inside her. The feelings were unnatural. They were forbidden. After she lay back down, she reached out with her mind. With her magic, she could sense the presence of the unseen beings. She could sense the malevolence, the frustration that she and Fallon had become aware of them.
She had another thought, a memory of Fallon kissing her on the pinnacle of the tower in Dundrennan. The feelings intensified and she slammed her mind down, focusing on memories of her father. Of playing Wizr with him and trying to outsmart him. Of her favorite berry pies from Ploemeur.
A hissing, angry feeling came from the presence around her.
Be gone, she thought, snapping the command with her mind.
The hissing sound grew worse. She continued to focus her thoughts, bringing back memories of the training yard and Captain Staeli. This was a different kind of battle. But it was a fight nonetheless.
She fell asleep, still hearing the angry purrs from the unseen monsters as they slowly withdrew and abandoned the hillock.
Fallon’s hand touched her back and then her shoulder and jostled her awake.
“It’s your turn,” he whispered through chattering teeth.
The night was black and cold and too dark to see anything. She could not make out Fallon at all.
“Thank you for waking me,” she said, rising quickly. Her feet were frozen and the temptation to linger under the blanket was intense, but he deserved a chance to rest.
“I’ll be honest, I did fall asleep a little,” he said with a chuckle. “Those creatures have been prowling around us all night. They feed on feelings and influence thoughts. I’ve kept myself awake by debating with them. I tend to fall back on sarcasm, you know.”
“I hadn’t realized that,” Trynne said dryly. She rose and walked tentatively, moving higher up the hill.
“The ground is warmer where you were sleeping. Don’t mind if I borrow it, do you? Wake me at dawn. Pay attention to the direction the sun rises. According to the Wizr board, east is still our goal.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“I know you probably hadn’t, but it doesn’t hurt to be clear. Good night.”
“Sleep the best you can.”
Trynne walked around the oak at the top of the hillock a few times before settling down to wait out the night. There was so much to think about that she didn’t have trouble keeping herself awake until morning. The pale light of dawn revealed the thick fog layered over the moors. It was especially thick over the murky water, and it felt like they were on an island oasis amidst the deep gloom. When it was bright enough to see their surroundings, she decided to wake Fallon.
He was wrapped so tightly in the blanket and had burrowed so deeply in the dense debris of fallen leaves and twigs that she almost couldn’t find him. His mop of dark hair, tangled with fragments of undergrowth, was the only thing that stood out. She gripped his shoulder and rocked him slightly until his eyes fluttered open.
Trynne had always loved the gray-green color of his eyes, so similar to the foliage of trees. His brow wrinkled and he lifted his head. “You look as bad as I feel.”
“Thank you, gallant sir,” she said with a snort.
“But I feel astonishingly well.” He recovered quickly, grinning at her. They ate a quiet meal from their stores and then prepared for the journey, anxious to be away from the dreadful place. As they continued to march through the muck and rugged terrain, the sound of dogs howling grew more and more distant—and it had completely disappeared by midday. The insects were constantly nagging at them, which only gave Trynne and Fallon more determination to escape the confinement of the woods. They stopped several times during the day to check the Wizr board and make sure they were still headed in the right general direction.
The path ahead was soon interrupted by a huge expanse of filthy, muck-strewn water. The noise of bullfrogs became deafening as they approached it. Fallon tapped his nose and winked at her, motioning for her to join him where the chorus was the loudest. Some gray reeds drooped ahead, providing almost a screen. The bog stretched out as far as they could see, interrupted occasionally by small hills that rose above the waters and were crowded with stunted oaks.
Fallon stood at the edge of the pond and cocked his head. The sounds from the hunters and dogs were still miles off, though drawing closer. The afternoon light was beginning to wane. He nodded and then motioned for her to wait at the edge while he stepped into the brackish water.
She felt the magic rush around them as his foot pushed into the water, repelling it away from him as if the waters were shivering in terror. Instead of becoming mired in the mud and muck, his boots stepped easily onto the surface of the ground beneath the water—as if it had suddenly hardened. He looked down at his boots as he was standing there, the magic splaying the water away from him. Then he motioned for her and reached up to help her join him. She thought he’d take her by the hand, but he surprised her by fixing his grip on her elbow instead. She joined him in the small dry patch and together they started making their way through the pond, the path opening ahead as they walked, and the waters closing in behind them. She smiled at the thought of the hounds and men reaching the shore, only to be baffled by the abrupt end to the trail.
They walked swiftly, getting accustomed to the influence of the magic as it cleared the way for them to pass. She glanced up at Fallon’s face, feeling grateful to him . . . but also confused. They were alone together in another world, traveling companions. She was married to a man who didn’t remember her—one who’d shunned her shortly after their marriage. But she was here with Fallon, whom she had loved and cared for since childhood. It was a dangerous thought and she found herself wanting to look away from his face. Except she noticed the tightness around his eyes, and his slight pained frown. Something was wrong.
“Fallon?” she asked worriedly.
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
“The ring is . . . painful,” he said, his voice neutral, barely hinting at his discomfort. “It’s like a toothache, except on my finger. I can bear it.”
“Did it start when you invoked the magic?” she asked him.
He nodded firmly, saying little else. “I’ll be all right.”
Knowing that the ring was doing him harm, she hurried her pace, trying to force him to lengthen his stride. The pond was vast, and when they reached the other side, she was grateful to return to normal ground. Again, he was wincing, rubbing his hand surreptitiously.
“Let me see it,” she insisted.
“It’s all right, Trynne. I’ll be fine.”
“Please, Fallon.”
He showed her his hand and her eyes widened with surprise. His ring finger was gray, the nail fringed with black. She took his hand in hers, gazing at it with concern.
“It feels better already,” he said dismissively and tried to tug it away.
She held on tightly and began whispering the words of healing magic. She felt her stores diminish, but only by a little. He sighed and nodded.
“Much better. Thank you.”
She patted his hand and they continued their walk. Shortly afterward, they heard a frantic series of barks and shouts of surprise coming from the direction of the brackish pond behind them. Several dogs were howling and baying in confusion, and loud shouts of anger from men, the words indistinguishable, joined the mix.
“Well done, sir.” Trynne complimented him, and again he shrugged as if it were of no importance. She eyed him furtively, struck again by how much he had altered. He had once been dependent on praise and kind words. Now he shunned them.
When nightfall caught them, they chose to hunker down on a hill in the middle of another secluded pond. They made a little camp beneath an oak. Neither thought it wise to risk a fire, so they hurriedly ate from their provisions before the sun was completely gone.
There was a fluttering sound above their heads and Trynne saw little gray shapes streaking in and out of sight, just barely visible in the deepening gloom.
“Bats,” Fallon said, wagging his eyebrows at her. “I hope they gorge themselves on these malevolent insects. You have six lumps on your face. They probably itch. How many do I have? I think a dozen.”
She had to smile at that, but she hadn’t bothered to notice—or count—so she just shrugged and ate a portion of her bread in silence.
When their scanty meal was finished, they packed up their gear and brought out the sleeping blankets.
“I’ll keep first watch, if that’s okay,” Fallon whispered. “I’ll wake you at midnight. Or whenever I guess it to be midnight. I don’t know the stars in this place. Or the moon. Do you think they will look different from ours?”
“I imagine they must,” she said, drawing the blanket around her. She cleared away some of the debris and nestled down onto the earth. She was exhausted, but her mind was alive with thoughts and worries. Where was her father on such a night? She felt closer to him than she had since the night he’d disappeared, but still so very far away . . . She shivered beneath the blanket.
Fallon stepped away a pace or two and settled against the trunk of the oak tree, his sword in his lap. He was silent, but she heard his breathing and found herself listening intently to the little noises he made while trying to get comfortable. Her heart ached to talk to him. More bats continued to flutter overhead, and the drone of mosquitoes and water bugs was soon conquered by other night sounds—the distant hoot of an owl, the croaking of frogs, and the ticking noise of some unfamiliar insects. The waters of the pond lapped against the hillock. But Fallon was silent. She was grateful that he showed her respect. Not once had he taken a liberty with her.
“Can I ask you a question?” She said it in a whisper, hoping they were still close enough to speak in low voices.
“Aren’t you weary?”
“I am, but my head is too full to sleep. You don’t have to answer.”
“There’s more time now than we had last night. You can ask me anything. But if I fall asleep during your interrogation, revive me, since I’m supposed to be keeping watch.”
“But will you be honest with me, Fallon?”
“Yes, Trynne. What troubles you?”
She was still not quite warm enough beneath her blanket, so after a shiver and adjusting her blanket more tightly around her, she broached her question. “How do you feel . . . about Morwenna?”
He let out a long breath through his nose. “You’re not going to throw anything at me if I tell you the truth?”
“I promise I won’t.”
“Good. At least there are no magnolia trees nearby.” He chuckled to himself, but when he spoke again, his tone was serious. “Morwenna Argentine. She is . . . she is like fire. I think it is normal for a person to be attracted to something even though you know deep down it will burn you if you touch it. The essence of your question, I suppose, is whether I’m smitten by her. I suppose yes. To some degree. It plays to any man’s vanity to have a beautiful woman show interest in him. But I’ve never forgotten who she was. Or what she was.” He fell silent a moment, brooding. “I think it’s time you knew her story.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Unseen
“The thing you must first understand about Morwenna, Trynne,” Fallon said in a quiet, thoughtful way, “is she was just as fiercely loyal to her father as you are to yours. She sought his approval beyond all others. She pitied his fall, and I think the notion of avenging him was what drove her from the start.”
“She told you this?” Trynne interrupted. She was grateful she couldn’t see him in the dark. His words had already sliced through her.
He hesitated. “In a way. I’ve learned a great deal from the Espion. It is no secret to you that I admire that organization and have the ambition to lead it someday. Over the years, I have coaxed Morwenna into confiding in me. I didn’t share everything I learned with my sister. But I shared most of it. Morwenna has been secretly manipulating events to overthrow her brother. Not to kill him, but to depose and exile him, just as happened to her father. To do that, she needed to first banish your father. As much as she resented him for removing Severn from power, she thought she may need him if the Mandaryn ever united against her.”
He paused and they listened to the sounds of croaking for a while.
Trynne thought it a good opportunity to ask a question. “During the Battle of the Kings, she joined our side in fighting Rucrius. Without her, Rucrius may have destroyed our army with the storm he summoned. Was that planned? It didn’t feel so at the time. He murdered her father in front of her.”
“Ah, yes. That was not planned.” His voice grew more somber. “You know how one move in Wizr can trigger subsequent moves that shift the power of the game? Sometimes there are too many unknowns to account for every possible outcome. You were the unknown in this situation, Trynne. You kept interfering with their plans. Morwenna didn’t know about the Oath Maidens you were training in secret early on. She certainly didn’t know you were the Painted Knight. I kept your secret and never told her. During that battle, I think Rucrius and the Wizrs realized Morwenna wouldn’t be Gahalatine’s chosen bride. He was so clearly fascinated by you.
“Morwenna was the mastermind behind the plot, and they saw her weakened condition as an opportunity to throw off her control. She was completely spent after that battle. All her Fountain magic was drained away. They would have won, but you chased down Rucrius and killed him, toppling the board. You thwarted their plans. Again. You cannot understand how much she resents you. Because of you, her father is dead.”
“So it’s my fault her treason failed, is it?” Trynne asked cynically.
He shrugged—a small gesture barely seen in the dark. “You stole her husband. You ruined her plans. When a person has little or nothing left to lose, it alters their thinking. Risks they naturally would avoid become acceptable . . . no matter how far-fetched. As you no doubt guessed, Morwenna caused the lightning storm in the Forbidden Court. She impersonated Rucrius and set the city ablaze. She killed Gahalatine’s sister. Imagine, if you would, what would have happened after King Eredur’s death if Ankarette had run amok and began executing the nobility of Ceredigion rather than staying loyal to the queen. Morwenna has become . . . reckless. She wants revenge on you—and at any cost.”
Trynne shuddered. She had never told Fallon about the caves on the beach of Brythonica, the magical protections that held the waters at bay. She had only a fortnight to return and make sure that the proper words of power were said to maintain them. If Morwenna wandered onto that beach, she might be able to sense the magic. Please no, she thought in her mind. Worry radiated through her whole body.
“One of the ways Morwenna sought revenge,” Fallon continued, unaware of her silent struggles, “was with me.”
Trynne rolled over, turning her back to Fallon, clinging to the blanket in anticipation of the words that were coming.
“She used magic on me,” Fallon said softly. “The power of the medallion that I showed you, the kystrel. The feelings she tempted me with were very real. Very powerful. It was like finding myself in a strange waking dream. I fell madly in love with her. Even though I knew nothing had changed between us. Even though I knew I was being manipulated. But the feelings were so powerful, so real.” He sighed. “I also knew she had the ability to watch me from afar. I played the role of besotted lover in front of my sister and even Drew. Only after she gave the medallion to me and I refused to put it on did the magicked feelings truly begin to abate. But I’ll be honest, as I promised I would be. She has compromised me emotionally. When I drugged her with the nightshade and she revealed her full plans to me, part of me was deeply tempted to give her more of the poison . . . enough to kill her.” His voice was very low, very soft, and she could hear the turmoil in his words. “But I . . . I couldn’t. It would have been like stabbing myself in the heart. She has power over me. I had to escape, to run away. I cannot face her again, Trynne. I’m afraid of what I might do.” He fisted his hands on his lap. “I knew that she was intending to betray me. She revealed her plans, almost laughing at her mischief as she did so. She’s impersonating my sister. She was willing to murder my little niece to clear the way to the throne. She’s become the very monster we all feared she would be. The same kind of monster her father became. There is no longer any loyalty that binds her to anyone. Not even to me. I had hoped . . . whatever happened . . . that I could keep her from doing her worst, but she’s beyond help. Knowing all of this, I still could not hurt her.”
He sniffed and sighed again. There was hurt in the sound, the sound of a man betrayed by a friend. Trynne felt anguish for him and wished she could comfort him. She imagined herself holding him, stroking his hair, and whispering soothing words. Then she imagined him kissing her cheek in thanks, and her blood began to quicken with heat, hoping he would kiss her jaw, then her neck, then . . .
As heat radiated through her, she became aware that they were not alone on the hillock anymore. There had been no noise, not the cracking of twigs or the rustle of bushes, but she still sensed a presence—some force she could not see. There was almost a mewling sound, so high-pitched it was nearly lost in the sound of the wind. A feeling of dread and fear mounted inside her.
“Do you feel them?” Fallon whispered darkly.
Her skin crawled. It felt as if something catlike was nuzzling her back. She quickly sat up, and more thoughts crowded into her mind. She loved Fallon. She always had. Her husband didn’t love her. He would never know. She would never tell.
“What are they?” Trynne asked, her voice quavering.
“I don’t know,” he said. “They started coming soon after we began talking. Maybe they were drawn by the kystrel in my pocket.” She heard the scratching sound of his nails against the stubble on his throat. “They must feed on our emotions somehow. We should stop talking, or at least stop until daylight. Why don’t you go to sleep?”
“I’ll try,” Trynne whispered, shaking with horror at the feelings roiling inside her. The feelings were unnatural. They were forbidden. After she lay back down, she reached out with her mind. With her magic, she could sense the presence of the unseen beings. She could sense the malevolence, the frustration that she and Fallon had become aware of them.
She had another thought, a memory of Fallon kissing her on the pinnacle of the tower in Dundrennan. The feelings intensified and she slammed her mind down, focusing on memories of her father. Of playing Wizr with him and trying to outsmart him. Of her favorite berry pies from Ploemeur.
A hissing, angry feeling came from the presence around her.
Be gone, she thought, snapping the command with her mind.
The hissing sound grew worse. She continued to focus her thoughts, bringing back memories of the training yard and Captain Staeli. This was a different kind of battle. But it was a fight nonetheless.
She fell asleep, still hearing the angry purrs from the unseen monsters as they slowly withdrew and abandoned the hillock.
Fallon’s hand touched her back and then her shoulder and jostled her awake.
“It’s your turn,” he whispered through chattering teeth.
The night was black and cold and too dark to see anything. She could not make out Fallon at all.
“Thank you for waking me,” she said, rising quickly. Her feet were frozen and the temptation to linger under the blanket was intense, but he deserved a chance to rest.
“I’ll be honest, I did fall asleep a little,” he said with a chuckle. “Those creatures have been prowling around us all night. They feed on feelings and influence thoughts. I’ve kept myself awake by debating with them. I tend to fall back on sarcasm, you know.”
“I hadn’t realized that,” Trynne said dryly. She rose and walked tentatively, moving higher up the hill.
“The ground is warmer where you were sleeping. Don’t mind if I borrow it, do you? Wake me at dawn. Pay attention to the direction the sun rises. According to the Wizr board, east is still our goal.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“I know you probably hadn’t, but it doesn’t hurt to be clear. Good night.”
“Sleep the best you can.”
Trynne walked around the oak at the top of the hillock a few times before settling down to wait out the night. There was so much to think about that she didn’t have trouble keeping herself awake until morning. The pale light of dawn revealed the thick fog layered over the moors. It was especially thick over the murky water, and it felt like they were on an island oasis amidst the deep gloom. When it was bright enough to see their surroundings, she decided to wake Fallon.
He was wrapped so tightly in the blanket and had burrowed so deeply in the dense debris of fallen leaves and twigs that she almost couldn’t find him. His mop of dark hair, tangled with fragments of undergrowth, was the only thing that stood out. She gripped his shoulder and rocked him slightly until his eyes fluttered open.
Trynne had always loved the gray-green color of his eyes, so similar to the foliage of trees. His brow wrinkled and he lifted his head. “You look as bad as I feel.”
“Thank you, gallant sir,” she said with a snort.
“But I feel astonishingly well.” He recovered quickly, grinning at her. They ate a quiet meal from their stores and then prepared for the journey, anxious to be away from the dreadful place. As they continued to march through the muck and rugged terrain, the sound of dogs howling grew more and more distant—and it had completely disappeared by midday. The insects were constantly nagging at them, which only gave Trynne and Fallon more determination to escape the confinement of the woods. They stopped several times during the day to check the Wizr board and make sure they were still headed in the right general direction.
