As soon as she finished speaking with Trynne’s grandparents, Sinia lowered herself down to Gannon’s level. She was smiling, trying to project confidence and motherly assurance, but Trynne saw the pain in her eyes. “Now you, little duke, must obey your grandparents and your sister while I’m away.”

Gannon threw his arms around her neck and kissed her cheek. “But if I’m a duke, then must not they obey me?” He said it in his teasing way.

Sinia smoothed the hair from his forehead before kissing him there. “You can only have the authority of your station when you’re older, after you’ve proven yourself. But remember, my son, that leading means serving. You serve the people of Westmarch. You serve Brythonica.” She tugged and straightened his tunic front. “I will take so many pleasant memories with me on my journey. You are a wonderful son, and I love you with all my heart.”

“I feel sorry for Trynne, then,” replied Gannon with a grin. “There’s none left for her!”

Trynne arched her brow at him, but his smiles were infectious.

“There is room in my heart for both of you,” Sinia said, tapping his nose. She hugged him fiercely then, squeezing her eyes shut with such a look of pain that Trynne’s throat caught.

Brushing away a tear, Sinia rose and came to Trynne. They hugged each other, saying nothing. Trynne felt the warmth of her mother’s breath against her hair. For so long she had worried she’d disappointed her mother by not becoming a Wizr, and the secrets the Fountain had bid her to keep had created a gulf between them.

The biggest of those secrets was the one that Fallon now knew—that Trynne was the Painted Knight. Rumors abounded about the knight, about Trynne, as the Gauntlet of Kingfountain loomed nearer. The legends were vastly different than the truth, each story growing grander as it was passed along. Someone had seen the Painted Knight in Atabyrion defeating twelve men at once. Some said the Painted Knight was a ghost from the drowned kingdom of Leoneyis. Others said his face was painted because a poisoner from Pisan was trying to kill him. Each tale was a fabrication, but that did not stop them from spreading like wildfire. Everyone expected the Painted Knight to come and compete against the best knights of the realm.

She wanted to tell her mother before she left, but the Fountain had told her it was not yet time.