Fallon arrived next, cradling Morwenna, whose head lolled. Her eyelids fluttered and she stared at the courtyard. “Father,” she groaned.

Trynne saw Rucrius cross the bridge, holding his black staff and scowling in naked fury. He had the look of a man betrayed. His strange, catlike eyes glittered white from the torchlight. Then he extended his ringed hand toward Severn, who froze midstroke. He stood rigidly, a grotesque statue of a knight at arms.

He couldn’t move.

Trynne stared in horror as Rucrius advanced on the helpless man. Severn stood frozen in place, his face twisted with fear and hatred. He spoke, lashing out with his words.

“Go on, slay me, you black-hearted villain! You coward! I fear you not. I fear no man. I’d rather die with my sword in my hand than cower like a pup as you do!” His Fountain magic dribbled from him, hardly grazing the Wizr, who gazed at him disdainfully.

“So be it,” Rucrius snarled and whipped his staff around, cracking Severn’s cheekbone with it. Trynne groaned in agony, wanting to save him but knowing that her duty was to protect and safeguard the king.

Gazing at Morwenna with hate in his eyes, Rucrius drew the sword belted at his waist and ran Severn through with it.

For a moment, Severn hung like a man fixed on a spike. Then his sword fell from his hooked fingers and clattered on the stone. Morwenna began to shriek and wail as Fallon bustled her into the fortress.

There was a look of open anguish on the king’s face as he watched the awful scene. As soon as Morwenna disappeared from view, the magic ended and Severn collapsed in a heap.

Trynne felt her heart thump with agony. She knew the kind of pain that Morwenna was feeling. Knew the devastation of losing a beloved father. Grabbing the king by the shoulder, she pushed him through the gap into the doorway. Captain Staeli and the Oath Maidens were thronging the entryway, ready to fight. The last of the knights had made it through.

Destroy the Wizr, the Fountain whispered to her. He is delivered into your hands.

She felt a prick of fear, but it was quenched by a rush of confidence. Trynne looked Staeli in the eye. “Shut the doors,” she said in a low, angry voice.

And then she turned and stepped back out into the courtyard, dropping the mirage from the magic ring on her finger.

The Painted Knight emerged into the gloom of the bailey.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Vengeance

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Vengeance