“You’ve been to the Forbidden Court already,” Trynne said.

Morwenna nodded. “Yes, but only through the ley lines. I haven’t known where it was. This is a major clue to locating it.”

“Have you heard of Chandleer Oasis?” Trynne asked. The two young women went to the map. Trynne glanced back at her mother, but Sinia was still staring fixedly at the sea.

“It’s right here,” Morwenna said, pointing to a spot on the map amidst the huge desert. “It’s part of the spice trade.”

When Trynne looked down at the map with all its hubs and spokes, she saw that it wasn’t her mother’s map at all, which relieved her for some inexplicable reason. She knew she shouldn’t be jealous of Morwenna—after all, her father had trusted the girl—but she still had misgivings. There were markings on it in a different language, a foreign tongue that Trynne recognized but couldn’t decipher.

“Trynne?”

It was her mother’s voice. Trynne abandoned the map in an instant, hurrying over to Sinia. She squeezed her mother hard, wishing the pain would leave her.

“I have matters to attend to,” Morwenna said discreetly, and then left the study, giving them some privacy.

Trynne joined her mother at the window seat, clutching her cold hands. Her mother looked queer, her face too pale, her eyes red rimmed. It was awful to see her suffering so nakedly.

“Mother,” Trynne sighed, shaking her head, not knowing what to say.

Sinia’s chest heaved. She was going to cry again. It bubbled up a bit before subsiding into trembling. “The Fountain . . . it believes I can handle . . . this. I don’t want to falter. But I’m shaking under the weight.” She took a steadying breath, tears glistening on her lashes but not falling.

Trynne bit her lip, feeling her own pain rising like a swell of the sea.

Sinia untangled their hands and then put hers on Trynne’s shoulders. “There is something I must tell you. Before I tell it to the king.”

Trynne stared at her mother in surprise. “Have you had another vision?” she asked with growing dread.

Sinia nodded firmly, her mouth pursed in a frown. She looked away from Trynne, shifting her gaze back to the sea. Her next words were cut off by a choked sob. She struggled to regain composure—dabbing her tears on her wrist—but her eyes were fixed on the scene outside.

“The Fountain bids me . . . that I must return. I must return to my origins. I must go back to the Deep Fathoms. The sea is calling me home.”

CHAPTER SIX Deep Fathoms Beckons

CHAPTER SIX

Deep Fathoms Beckons