The Forsaken Throne, page 16
part #6 of Kingfountain Series
“To eavesdrop, lad, of course,” Martin said with a snort. “You’ve given me precious little to go on so far. But I make do.”
Trynne turned around, leaning back against the railing, and folded her arms.
“So now we have mention of a father,” Martin said, his eyes twinkling as he looked at her. “And certain names I’ve heard naught of. Bryth-won-wick. Didn’t quite catch it, but I know of no city by that name. And naught in Pry-Ree, for I know every hamlet there. Is it the place where the mastons have all gone, I wonder?”
He was pressing for information, trying to get them to reveal more about themselves. They needed to turn the tables.
“The queen said she was from Pry-Ree,” Trynne offered.
“Aye,” Martin said with a shrug. “The blessed shores. My homeland as well, by Cheshu.”
“She seemed particularly upset about that note you brought her,” Trynne continued. “That note you forged.”
A crooked smile flickered on the captain’s mouth, but not without a flash of ire. “You could say that there is no love lost between the Aldermaston of Dochte and myself.”
She wanted to ask what an Aldermaston was, but doing so would certainly be a mark of her ignorance of the world.
“Why did the queen feel loyalty to the Aldermaston?” she asked instead. “Why was his betrayal especially bitter?”
Martin rubbed his thumb into his other palm, as if trying to soothe the memory of an old pain. “I want to help ye. But I cannot if I don’t know who I’m trying to help or why,” he said in a low, sincere voice. “We are going to Dahomey, as you asked. But once we get there, what next? Whom do ye seek?”
“Give us a reason to trust you,” Fallon said in a quiet, deliberate tone. “There is something binding you to this queen. You say you once served a noble prince. She is not very noble.”
His mood turned black in an instant. “I know, lad. There is very little to trust anymore in this world. The most worthy of it are done and gone. Disappeared. I could have gone with them. But I chose to stay behind because of her. Because of the queen.” His dark eyebrows cinched together. “She is my granddaughter.”
The pieces fit together in Trynne’s mind snugly.
“So it’s blood loyalty that drives you,” she said, nodding.
“Aye,” Martin replied. His shoulders bunched up and he folded his arms, as if he were suddenly very cold. “My master . . . the prince that I served . . . had a certain Gift from the Medium. He could see the future ere it happened.”
Trynne’s interest was piqued at his choice of words, and she and Fallon exchanged a look.
“I see my words struck a chord with you,” Martin said with a laugh. “Though, in all blazes, I know not why. He was the Prince of Pry-Ree. His wife was with child, his wife being the cousin of the King of Comoros, mind you. She was murdered by a hetaera—a midwife skilled in treachery—but the babe survived. A wee lass.” His voice thickened with emotion. “The Medium’s will was for the child to be raised at Muirwood Abbey in secret. The King of Comoros knew that the prince’s child might inherit his powers. A decoy was needed.” He stopped, gritting his teeth. “My own daughter . . .” He locked his lips, struggling with his emotions. “My own daughter was dying too. She also had a wee girl . . .” His voice choked off.
Fallon leaned forward. “You had the infants swapped. Everyone thinks the queen is Ellowyn Demont, the prince’s daughter, but she is not.”
Martin nodded in agreement. He sighed out through his nose. “She was brought to Dochte Abbey. Against my will, I may add. But fighting the Medium is like trying to shove a river backward with your hands, or so I’ve learned. I tried to rescue her from Dochte before it was too late. You see, Dochte is where the hetaera make their foul oaths. There is a special Leering there, one with a serpent on it. It is the symbol of those who swear allegiance to Ereshkigal, the Queen of Storms. The ruler of the Unborn. There are many marks of a hetaera—her eyes glow with the magic, and sigils form on her chest and throat—but you can always know a hetaera from the serpent mark on her shoulder.”
Martin stepped closer to them, gritting his teeth. “I’ve told you what I’ve not shared for many years. I have my own reason for bringing my granddaughter to Dochte Abbey. I seek to destroy that Leering. To stop more of the hetaera from being made and to unmake my granddaughter’s curse. But I cannot go inside the lair. Only a woman can.”
His eyes, reddened with emotion and wet with unshed tears, seared into Trynne’s face. “So you see, lass, before I assist you further, I will be needing your help to save my granddaughter,” he said in a dark, determined voice. “Then I’ll help you save your father or whoever ye seek in the cursed shores.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Aldermaston’s Fate
What struck Trynne vividly when the ship rounded the jagged coast of Dahomey and she first saw Dochte Abbey was its remarkable similarity to the sanctuary of Our Lady of Toussan in Brythonica. Both had been constructed atop islands along the coast of their respective lands. The sight sent pangs of homesickness through her, filling her with the feverish desire to finish this mission so she could return to her own world, where things made much more sense and where her own enemy was plotting her duchy’s demise.
Fallon approached her from behind. For a moment, she thought he was about to put his hand on her shoulder, but he ended up bracing himself against the rail of the ship instead.
“Martin explained to me that the island is landlocked when the tide goes out,” he said, gazing out across the waters. “Doesn’t it look like Our Lady of Toussan?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Trynne mused. “It feels so ancient. Was this place the model for ours or the other way around?”
“Only Myrddin knows,” Fallon said with a curt laugh.
“How long do you think they will hold out?” she asked, nodding at the formidable island surrounded by thick defensive walls.
Fallon smirked. “Martin just now told me that Dieyre withdrew all his forces from the towns on the coast. There are no soldiers defending the island.”
Trynne’s brow wrinkled. “None?”
“They’ve all been summoned to the interior of Dahomey. It’s as if he . . . wants us here. Are you sure you’re willing to enter the lair of the hetaera, Trynne? I have a bad feeling about it.”
“I should try,” she answered. “Martin promises to keep helping us if I do this. Besides, if there’s something I can do to destroy the magic of that Leering, won’t it also break its grip on Morwenna?”
He gazed at the sea, his mouth tugged down with concern. He brooded a while before answering. “I would hope so. But I’d rather not risk you to save her.”
His words touched a chord in her heart.
Before the sun set that evening, the queen’s fleet had captured the island sanctuary and manned the walls with knights from Comoros. The rest of the fleet began unloading troops and supplies with rowboats to form a beachhead. The ships would linger in the bay when the tide went out to avoid being trapped in the sand.
Fallon and Trynne were part of the guard that brought the queen onto the island after it had been taken. The queen’s narrowed eyes gazed up at the torchlit fortress, her lips curling into a strange grimace. It was clear to Trynne that her memories of the place were not benevolent.
Martin arranged for the rest of the queen’s escort to bring her up to the pinnacle of the hill. He told her that he’d go on ahead to make sure his men had secured the castle. Instead of taking the main road to the abbey, Martin brought Trynne and Fallon on a series of byways, which he demonstrated previous knowledge of, and led them through a secret gate into the gardens cloistered within the abbey grounds.
The smells of the garden struck Trynne instantly. The fragrant aroma of star jasmine and other night flowers filled the air, but her heart was full of foreboding at the secret errand that lay ahead. There were trellises and comfortable benches, and the gardens were sheltered by enormous trees. As they passed under a magnolia, Fallon bent down and picked up a seed pod.
“Don’t,” she said, giving him a warning look, remembering how they had flung such seed pods at each other at the gardens of Kingfountain.
The impish smile on his mouth promised nothing, but he did stuff the seed pod into his pocket instead of hurling it at her.
“It’s over yonder,” Martin said, encouraging them to follow. “We don’t have much time before the queen reaches the abbey.” They trod across the greenery and Martin brought them to a small secluded area, heavily overgrown.
“This is the entrance,” he said, stopping and pulling his pack off his shoulders and setting it down. He hastily undid the straps and pulled it open. He withdrew several torches and handed them to Fallon with a flint and iron. Then he pulled out a piece of wrapped canvas and quickly untied the bindings.
Fallon had a practiced hand, and it took him but a moment to light two of the torches. Martin took one from him and brought it to the bundle he had brought out. His demeanor was grave and determined, his mouth twisted into a frown. “Every Leering is carved out of stone by an Aldermaston. Time can weather the face away year by year, but the power remains so long as even a part of it is left.”
He flipped open the canvas, revealing a series of heavy mallets and chisels. “Your work, lass,” he said, shooting her a fierce look. “The lair is beneath that stone cover. Go down there and smash the serpent off the stone Leering. Unmake it.” He grabbed one of the mallets, hefting it in his palm. “You do this for me, lass, and I’ll do everything I can to help you find the one you seek. The boy can stand guard. If the queen comes before you finish, I will delay her as long as I can and warn you before she comes. She may try to return to this very place.”
Trynne took a deep breath. “I will try my best, Martin.”
When he nodded his acceptance, she wrapped up the bundle again. After securing it inside her pack, she put the pack back on. She felt unsure of herself, but she’d trained long enough that she trusted her arm muscles to be up to the work.
“I’ll hold the light, lad. You drag away the stone,” Martin said to Fallon, gesturing with the flaming torch.
Fallon handed his torch to Martin before kneeling by the stone. Trynne watched him strain against the heavy lid. It took a few moments, but it finally moved under his effort. Only a little at first and then it slid off with a grinding noise. Fallon rocked back on his heels and stepped away.
The depths of the hole were blacker than the night.
Trynne crouched by the entrance, looking down into the darkness. She did not sense any magic coming from it, but a bleak feeling emanated from within. Suddenly, she felt the nuzzling, agitated presence of unseen beings all around them—just like she had on her first night in this desolate world. It put her on her guard, and she swallowed thickly.
“Be careful,” Fallon said seriously, looking her in the eye.
“Help me down,” she said.
He gripped both of her hands as she stood poised over the hole. She leaned backward, pulling against Fallon’s arms as she scrabbled against the edge of the wall with her boots, finding toeholds. Fallon looked stern and worried as he helped lower her down. She felt grateful his reach was so long. By the time her feet reached the ground at the bottom, the darkness had engulfed her like smoke.
“Take a torch, lass,” Martin said. “There be snakes down there.”
“You waited to tell me until now?” she asked with a tremor in her voice. She stood aside and Martin dropped one of the torches down to her. It landed with a hiss on the sandy ground, thankfully still lit. Reaching down, she picked it up and peered into the gloom while she drew one of her swords.
There were snakes.
Dead ones.
Her skin crawled with revulsion as she gingerly stepped forward. The withered serpents were everywhere, black scales turned a musty gray. She felt her courage failing but edged forward anyway.
There was a hissing noise. A serpent slid from underneath the husks of its comrades, drawn to the light, to the heat. Trynne slashed down quickly and severed the creature in half. It convulsed in agony and quickly died. Her heart hammered as she saw more heads poking out through holes in the walls.
“I don’t like this place, Martin!” she called over her shoulder.
As she walked, she struck down the hissing reptiles one by one. They were lethargic and weak. Her boot crunched against the desiccated spine of one, and she groaned at the sensation before shoving it away with the edge of her foot.
The tunnel was not very tall. Someone like Fallon would have needed to stoop in such a place, but she was unburdened by the need to crouch. Something darted out at her face from a hidden warren in the walls—a hissing tongue, fangs, a gaping maw—but instinct served her well. She instantly reached up and sliced the snake in two. The air had a sick smell to it, the musty odor overridden by the stench of decay. Her anxiety grew as she walked cautiously down the corridor, holding up the torch to see.
There was a small chamber at the end of the tunnel. Six pillars held up the stone ceiling. Each had a face carved into it, but the faces had all been broken off. Something had been wedged into the stone floor at the center of the room. A drain of some kind, or a brick removed. She’d wondered why she had not sensed any Leerings as she made her way down the hall.
They’d already been destroyed.
On the far side of the room, a stone door stood between two of the pillars, slightly ajar.
The door was so heavy, Trynne had to sheathe her sword to heave on it. It slowly ground open, and cool air gushed out of the interior. Many snakes lay dead in the chamber beyond.
With the torch held firmly aloft, she gazed into the room. All was empty and quiet. Void. And she realized before her eyes adjusted to the dark that the hetaera Leering was already gone.
The Aldermaston of Dochte Abbey was in chains, cowering in a cell, trying to shield his face from the glare of their torches. He looked terrified, his clothes incongruously wealthy and mostly unspoiled for such a fetid location, save for a few blotches on his elbows and tunic front. The iron cuffs binding his wrists together made him look almost like a supplicant as he tried to see against the painful light. He was middle-aged with streaks of gray in his pale brown hair.
Martin stood in the entryway with Trynne and Fallon next to him. The captain looked like he was about to explode from built-up fury and resentment.
“Well, how the mighty have fallen!” Martin said with a scoffing tone.
“I know that voice,” the Aldermaston whimpered. “The Pry-rian accent. You have been here before.”
“Aye, and you were a miserable host. I’ve come for my vengeance and the queen has come for hers.”
“She will not hurt me,” the Aldermaston said, his eyes flashing with enmity. “I made her.”
“But the question is, can you unmake her?” Martin challenged. He stooped by the cowering man. “We’ve been to the garden. The Leerings on the pillars were all broken. But the serpent Leering, the one that brands the hetaera, it is no more. I don’t know how you managed to move such a stone, but it was done. Where is it?”
“I don’t know,” the Aldermaston said, and Martin struck him hard across the face. Trynne jolted from the sudden violence. Her stomach twisted into knots.
“It wasn’t moved without your knowledge or assistance, Aldermaston,” Martin said with feigned patience. “That Leering outside won’t summon fire for me, but there is a brazier full of coals, and I will pour them into your hands if you don’t answer me.”
The Aldermaston’s eyes blazed with sudden fear. “I didn’t say they took it without my knowledge. I said I don’t know where it is. It was too vulnerable here. The mastons may return someday—”
“Aye, and they will!” Martin growled.
“Naturally they would seek to destroy it! It’s been moved to another abbey. I was not told which one. It is to be lost from memory.” He licked his lips. “I was to pretend it was still here. The works were done at night, in secret. You saw it yourself! The Leering is gone.”
“If you are lying to me . . .” Martin said, shaking his head in wrath.
“To what purpose!” the Aldermaston wailed. His shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the wall, a broken man. “Everything is taken from me now.”
“Why?” Martin demanded. “You served the hetaera. You condoned the Dochte Mandar despite all the mastons they’ve murdered. Why would they forsake you now?”
The Aldermaston’s lip twitched. “Because I failed to keep . . . because of who I let escape.”
Trynne’s insides began to burn with heat. She gazed at the cell, gazed at the chains the Aldermaston wore. Then she stepped forward and knelt before the Aldermaston.
“There was a prisoner here,” she said, her voice trembling.
The Aldermaston looked at her face. He nodded. “I never knew who it was. It may have been the Earl of Forshee, the man Hillel has been looking for so persistently. If I still had him here, she surely would have spared my life.”
This was the cell where her father had been kept. She’d never been more certain of anything. She rose, swaying slightly, and pressed the back of her wrist to her mouth. It was horrible to imagine her father in this dank confinement.
Martin nudged the man with his boot. “You know what Forshee looks like. How did you not know whether it was him?”
“He wore a mask,” the Aldermaston said with a sigh. “We kept him drunk on cider at first. But after a few months, he suddenly became more lucid. He played with the bits of stone over there. He’d stack them up and then knock them down.” Trynne and Fallon exchanged a look of recognition. Stacking tiles was one of the ways her father replenished his Fountain magic.
“He even carved a Leering into the wall, we discovered,” the Aldermaston continued. “It’s still there. It would have taken months of persistence. We had orders to kill him immediately if someone tried to rescue him. I thought it might be Forshee. A hostage to sway the queen. I wasn’t sure . . . I didn’t know what was the truth. Dieyre was born to speak falsely. But the man in the mask escaped. He got off the island. None of us could find him. Dieyre and the queen were so angry. So angry.” He shook his head.
