Drew was openly shocked. He was like an uncle to Trynne, and her heart went out to him as she witnessed him take the blow, as sharp and painful as a staff slammed into his gut. Tall and strong, he had the Argentine good looks, though he favored his grandfather, Eredur, more than he did his dark and severe uncle Severn. He was often serious, but had a habit of defeating tension with humor.

There was no humor in him now.

He stared at Sinia with confounded disbelief. “Surely,” he said in a half-strangled voice, “the Fountain would not summon you when our need be so great. Myrddin assured me that the situation elsewhere he was summoned to was worse than our situation. Although I cannot see how.”

Trynne ached at the tone of his words, for she felt the same way.

“My lord,” Sinia said, “it is not my desire to abandon you. My visions have never explained why things happen. Only that they will.”

“When I called for you,” Drew stammered, “I had not expected such news. Forgive me; I need a moment.” He walked over to Genevieve, who was sitting at a little bench near his mother. He put his hand on her shoulder, as if she were the rope that would save him from drowning. Genny looked up at him worriedly, gently rocking the babe, who was starting to squirm and mewl with hunger pangs.

Kathryn offered to hold Kate, giving Genevieve a sweet, comforting smile, and the queen handed the babe over. The queen dowager spent half of each year living in Glosstyr with her husband. Now that her grandchild had been born, Trynne imagined she’d be more likely to stay at court. Morwenna gave the infant a brief dispassionate look before returning her gaze to Sinia.

The silence in the room was uncomfortable and growing worse.

“I apologize for adding to your worries,” Sinia said.

Genevieve took her husband’s hand and squeezed it. “You have ever been our loyal friend and wise counselor, Lady Sinia. It would not hurt to remember that without your aid, this kingdom would have been buried in snow and ice over a decade ago. You have proven yourself a loyal ally of Kingfountain many times. May it always be so.”

Trynne appreciated Genny’s calming words. She was always so levelheaded. As Trynne mulled over their predicament, she glanced again at Morwenna. The girl was struggling for composure—her lips were pressed into a flat line, and her eyes were glowering with some dark emotion.

Morwenna looked down, her cheeks a little flushed, before lifting her gaze to Trynne. Realizing her discomfort had been observed, she shook off whatever mood had gripped her—blinking rapidly and squaring her shoulders—and offered Trynne an apologetic smile.