The Forsaken Throne, page 24
part #6 of Kingfountain Series
“I have the kystrel’s taint,” Morwenna purred. “Don’t you wish to see it?”
Trynne felt Myrddin’s shield waver. He closed his eyes, gripping his crooked staff with both hands, pressing it into the sand deeply, as if he were driving it into the heart of the earth. His face was dripping with sweat, but his cheeks were calm. His shoulders drooped.
“Leave him alone,” Trynne said, standing in front of Myrddin.
“Everyone will suffer,” the poisoner snarled. “You have always been so faithful. Look what it has gotten you. Look what it has done for your people. The Fountain is not alive. It is not benevolent. It is cruel and murderous and violent! It would drown a million people to spite a handful. We are right to fear it.”
Trynne continued walking forward, closing the gap between her and the poisoner. “You speak lies, Morwenna. You may have grown to believe them, but they are still lies.”
“Are they?” Morwenna challenged. “Why would the Fountain have let me destroy the Forbidden Court? I was the one who summoned the storm. I destroyed half the city. And the Fountain let me! It did not intercede. The East Kingdoms will never be grand again. Even if you could kill me, and I don’t think you have the heart to do it, they will all die anyway. I kissed Gahalatine, Trynne. Pretending to be you, I kissed him. My kiss is deadly.”
The words stabbed into Trynne, especially since she sensed they were true.
“There is no cure for its poison,” Morwenna continued. “And when he dies, the East Kingdoms die with him. The Fountain let me do this! It obeys whoever forces it to obey. It is a matter of will. And my will is stronger than yours. Than both of yours combined!”
Trynne saw the sea beginning to collect again, preparing for another onslaught. Myrddin’s shield was buckling. She reached out with her magic as she approached the poisoner. Morwenna’s weakness was the same as any Wizr’s. She was strong and hardened by training. She was more than a match for Trynne. But her weakness was her neck. If she could not breathe, her powers would fail her. Could Trynne cut off her head as she had done to Rucrius? She wanted to kill her out of vengeance. But she had sworn an oath never to do that. She listened for permission from the Fountain.
All was silent in her mind.
She was supposed to capture Morwenna, then. Bring her to justice at Kingfountain.
Trynne dropped her twin swords. The two blades embedded in the sand. She kept walking down the slope of packed sand, weaponless. The swords would only kill Morwenna. There had to be another way.
Morwenna’s lip curled into a sneer. She drew one of her daggers. Wet poison glistened on the blade.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Drowning
Morwenna’s eyes flashed and a pulse of magic seared at Trynne. It had no effect. Then sand exploded from the shore, sending up a blinding haze of stinging pebbles and grit that whirled around in a vortex. Trynne walked through it, shielding her eyes. She could no longer see Morwenna, but she could still sense her. The poisoner was retreating deeper into the ruins of Leoneyis.
Trynne trudged forward, sensing the barnacle-encrusted pillars that rose around her, the bones of the ancient kingdom. The wind died down, giving her relief from the pelting sand. She couldn’t see Morwenna anymore, but there was no mistaking where she was concealing herself—she’d hidden behind some of the broken fragments of rock. Trynne saw the tide still stretching out, building up for another colossal charge. She had to hurry, had to defeat Morwenna quickly enough to stop the surge. Glancing back, she saw Myrddin on his knees, still gripping the gnarled staff in his hands, head bent low. But she also saw others flocking to the beach, the citizens of Ploemeur coming out to see what was going on. She wanted to scream at them to flee, to get to higher ground. They were arriving in droves.
“I’ve waited for this,” Morwenna taunted, her voice ghosting behind the rocks. “For the chance to face the Painted Knight myself.” Despite all the seaweed and encrustations, Trynne could see the carved face on the rock—as ancient and decayed as the ruins itself.
“I do not seek revenge against you, Morwenna,” Trynne said. “I arrest you by command of the king. Your brother, whom you betrayed.”
“My brother,” the poisoner laughed. “The son of a coward. The heir of a withered dynasty. He doesn’t deserve to wear the tunic of the Sun and Rose. He didn’t earn it, as my father did. You should know all about betrayal. Your father betrayed mine.”
“My father served the Fountain. And your father served the true king. He gave his life to defend Kingfountain.” Morwenna continued to retreat deeper into the hulking stones. Beautifully colored starfish clung to many of the ruined buildings, and vagrant strands of kelp draped across the stones. It was getting colder, darker, as she followed Morwenna deeper into the ruins.
“Your father tricked mine through the help of a poisoner. Isn’t it fitting that you’ve been duped by one as well? Ankarette was afraid of my father, you know. She was afraid to face him.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Trynne said.
“We’re both going to die in this place. I will not come with you to stand before my brother. To be dragged to an icy mountain. Chandigarl will perish by flood. And so will Brythonica. No one will remember your name or who you were named after. Is it any wonder that those who love you forget you? You’ve always been forgettable. Do you finally see how insignificant you are? It’s a pity your mother isn’t here to see your next failure.”
Morwenna was trying to goad her, to make her give in to her anger. Her desire for revenge. Trynne kept her emotions bottled up, sensing for weakness, waiting to be attacked so that she could use her powers to their best advantage.
“It’s a pity Fallon isn’t here to witness your failure,” Trynne said with a hard edge. “How it must gall you that he chose me, disfigured and short, over you. It tortured you so much that you had to steal his clothes just so you could pretend he was yours.”
Morwenna stepped out from around a boulder, emerging behind Trynne. She whirled to face the poisoner, who was gripping her dagger so hard her knuckles were bone white. The curl of her lip was almost that of an animal about to attack.
“He only pitied you,” Morwenna said darkly.
“He loved me,” Trynne shot back, her heart racing in her chest. “He sacrificed himself so that my father could return to Kingfountain. He outsmarted you. He saw through all your tricks.”
“And you’ve condemned him to die in that forsaken land with all its forsaken thrones,” Morwenna spat. “That alone would give me reason enough to hate you. At least we die together. Like sisters. Invocamorayim!”
Trynne had never heard that word of power before. But she sensed its potency. It felt as if Morwenna had unleashed the entire ocean instead of just a few waves. The binding was loosened and an avalanche of water was let go. It was a command to flood the earth, to break loose all boundaries.
Dagger in hand, Morwenna rushed Trynne, slashing down with the poisoned blade. Trynne caught the poisoner’s forearm with her own, punching her other fist into Morwenna’s sternum. She couldn’t think, only act, as Morwenna’s boot came spinning up at her brow, forcing her to duck. They traded blows, each one connecting, each one causing the other pain.
A searing rip of pain tore Trynne’s arm. She saw her own blood on Morwenna’s dagger, saw the delight of victory on the poisoner’s face. Morwenna’s boot connected with Trynne’s stomach, knocking her down, but she rolled backward and landed on her feet again. Pain bloomed down her arm, as if a torch had been pressed to the wound. Her bone felt as if it were on fire.
Morwenna kicked at her again, but Trynne dodged the blow and the boot hit a stone instead. Wincing, Morwenna grabbed Trynne’s arm with her hand. The dagger followed, coming right for her throat.
She caught the blow, gripping Morwenna’s wrist, and then flipped her down on the sand. She followed through, hoping to slam her nose, but the poisoner spun in the wet sand and kicked Trynne back against the rocks. The waves were rushing toward them now, moving like white storm clouds.
Trynne had to break the spell, had to smother Morwenna’s power. With her arm throbbing from the poison’s fire, she invoked her power of speed and rushed up to Morwenna. It felt as if time had slowed down to a crawl. She saw the glitter of sunlight off the white crests of water. Saw the waves engulfing the rocks slowly, crashing into them at a turtle’s pace. Trynne kneed Morwenna in the stomach, bending her double, and then wrapped her good arm around her neck in a vice and clasped her hand around her wrist to secure the lock. The chokehold would rob Morwenna of air in seconds.
She felt a pinprick of pain on her forearm and sensed the ring on Morwenna’s hand, its secret needle exposed. The poison was fast acting and Trynne’s arm went numb. Still, she gripped Morwenna’s neck, arching her backward. The dagger stabbed Trynne’s leg once, twice. She endured it, feeling the ribbons of blood running down her leg. Then her leg was on fire with pain as well.
Her grip on Morwenna’s neck tightened. She’d cut off her air completely. Morwenna thrashed, unable to breathe, her consciousness fluttering. A hand, the nails gritty with sand, clawed at Trynne’s face. She felt another stab of the needle ring on her slack cheek.
Then the waters hit them. Trynne and Morwenna crashed against the rocks, both upended by the force of the raging surf. It ripped the poisoner out of Trynne’s arms and sent her tumbling end over end. Her mouth was full of the horrid taste of saltwater and she choked. There was no up, no down. Her head struck against stone and all went black.
Her last thought as she struggled to breathe was the realization she was drowning.
The first noise Trynne discerned was the sound of a seagull. Her clothes were drenched and she felt the sucking of the sand as a gentle wave lapped across her, lifting her slightly and then settling her back down. The water was so cool against the fire burning on her leg. She couldn’t move, although she tried. Her entire body was paralyzed. The webbed feet of the seagull pattered up to her and she thought drowsily that it might start pecking her hair.
“I found her!”
The voice was garbled through the seawater still in her ears. She heard the slapping noise of boots against the wet sand and then suddenly two sets of arms were pulling her away from the clutch of the sea. Her head drooped low, her hair thick with sand. She felt the particles everywhere, but she couldn’t budge. The poison was doing what the water could not. Killing her. She felt every heartbeat, for each one was shuddering in her chest as her heart gave out. Was she even breathing? Could she breathe?
“It’s Lady Trynne! We found her!”
She wanted to speak, but could not so much as grunt. She’d never felt so exhausted, so drained. Her Fountain magic was empty, completely empty.
“Bring her here. Come now, over here.” It was Myrddin’s voice.
“She’s not breathing,” someone said.
“Look at all the blood. Is she even alive?”
“Of course she’s alive,” Myrddin crooned. “Have you ever heard of a Fountain-blessed drowning, eh? Don’t be a pethet, of course she’s alive. Bring her here.”
Her heart was beating painfully. The pain in her arm and her leg was so intense she wanted to cry out.
“There, there, little sister. All will be well. All is well. Lay her down.”
She saw the sun in the sky. She tried to blink but could not. The worried faces of several of her people passed before her gaze.
“She’s dead,” one of them whimpered.
“She’s not dead,” Myrddin said. “She’s only asleep.” Then he bent over her and she saw his face, saw the gentleness in his look, the admiration. He gazed down at her tenderly. The sun was just beyond his thick dark hair.
Her heart stopped. She felt herself moving toward the light beyond Myrddin, but a single word stopped her flight.
“Nesh-ama.”
All the pain, all the weariness vanished. She felt tingling all over her body. The burning fire from her wounds vanished, replaced by tender skin. She took in a breath of air and it tasted delicious. The smells of eucalyptus, of seafoam, of oysters filled her senses. Trynne stared up at Myrddin, saw him leaning back from her with a smile on his face.
“There, lass,” he whispered. “You’ll be mending now.”
She saw him stuff some shriveled green moss into a pouch at his waist.
The voices whispered with reverence around her. “She’s alive!” “She’s alive!” “Tell Thierry. Quickly!”
Somehow they had been saved. Her people had not been drowned after all.
Myrddin grasped his crooked staff and winced as he tried to rise. He was clearly weak, the battle must have drained him considerably, but he still managed to make it to his feet. Gripping his staff, he reached down and caught her hand and helped pull her to her feet.
She was on the beach of sea glass. It had been restored to its previous state—the bones of Leoneyis hidden again beneath the waters—and the very familiarity made her gasp with relief.
“I thought . . . I thought the flood,” she managed. It still felt new and difficult to breathe again.
Myrddin cocked his head and looked at her curiously. “You thought what, little sister?” She could almost feel him reading her mind, plucking out her thoughts like one would harvest ripe berries. “That the Fountain would abandon the people who were always faithful to it? Look around you, lass. The beach is crowded. Yet the people follow the covenant, only removing one chest a year. They honor the Fountain not just with their hands, but with their hearts.” He tapped his chest with a cluster of fingers. “And so the Fountain honors them. It honors you.”
“But the Leerings,” Trynne said, confused. “They were all destroyed.”
He gave her a knowing smile. “And who do you think, lass, who do you think put those Leerings there in the first place? Who put them there before he was trapped in a stone cave and banished to another world?” He wagged his bushy eyebrows at her. “This beach is sacred because it is a reminder of what happens when a people forsakes the Fountain. It will now be a reminder that the Fountain can be a great protector as well. Look,” he said, chuffing, shaking his head. “So meek. I don’t see that in every world. They want to see you, little sister. They know that you saved them.”
“But I didn’t,” Trynne said, shaking her head. She was so weary, but grateful. Tears pricked her eyes. “It was you.”
“No, lass,” he said. “Your need summoned me here. And now I must return to see things finished. To write the rest of the story. I can’t leave that pethet in my cave for too long, you know. He’s a bit too curious, that one.”
Trynne’s heart lurched. “Was there no way . . . no way to bring him with you? Cannot my father go fetch him? I . . . I thought the rule was that only two could cross at a time?”
Myrddin shook his head, his eyes full of sadness. “It doesn’t work that way, little sister. I didn’t create the covenants that separate the worlds. Even I must abide by them. Someone must willingly trade places. And so I must go back and fulfill what the Fountain sent me to do.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head.
“Myrddin?” she said, her voice breaking.
He arched his eyebrows at her.
“Would you tell him . . . would you tell Fallon that I love him? That I wish . . . with all my heart, I wish things could have been different between us. He’s truly the best of men.” Tears thickened on her lashes. She would start weeping uncontrollably if she said any more.
Myrddin pursed his lips. He touched her shoulder comfortingly. “I will. Farewell, Oath Maiden. Until we meet again on another shore. May the Fountain always bless you.”
She sniffled and wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. She felt his hand stroke her sandy hair. Then she pulled away and smiled at him with her crooked smile.
“Good-bye, little sister,” he said tenderly.
When she turned, she saw a larger crowd had gathered around them. The people of Ploemeur had all joined them on the beach. She started to walk through them, and they parted to make a path for her. The looks of awe and reverence on their faces humbled her. To them, she was a manifestation of the Fountain. The one who had saved their kingdom from drowning in the sea.
She saw Thierry marching toward her from the palace, his face full of wonder. When he reached her, he gripped her shoulders and then kissed her on both cheeks.
“My lady,” he said, whispering the words like a benediction. He pitched his voice lower. “We found her. Severn’s daughter. She too washed up on the beach. She’s alive, if barely.”
Of course she would have survived too. She was Fountain-blessed.
Trynne sighed. “I must take her back to Kingfountain.”
Thierry nodded sagely. “Yes. But she is not as hale as you. She’s nearly dead. And from the looks of it, she was attacked in the waters. Her hand is missing. And we found this.”
He held up a single serrated tooth the size of a hunting dagger.
Dearest Trynne,
I must write this note now in case there is not time to explain before we are separated. You know how I’ve hated the secrets between us, from the time you learned about your father’s fate and wouldn’t share it with me to my intrigues with the Espion and the search for your father that I concealed from you.
If you knew that one of us would need to remain behind, you would have sacrificed yourself. I know you too well, Trynne Kiskaddon. So here is the last secret that I learned from Morwenna when I poisoned her. The guardian of the grove who bears the ring can pass between worlds. They can bring one other person with them. But they cannot take someone away without exchanging with someone who is willing. There must be a balance exacted, or the magic will fail. Morwenna learned this from The Hidden Vulgate she found in Pisan, which contained a story about the grove, the silver bowl. It talked about a man named Owain who became the master of the ring and crossed worlds. It was a secret Owain only shared with King Andrew. The king was taken to that other world to be healed after his mortal injury by his bastard son. A son sired because of his sister’s deceit.
