She clung to a desperate hope that the Fountain would intervene, that one of her parents would arrive at the last instant, sent by the Fountain to speak the word of power that could revive Gannon. Trynne knew the word just as they did, but her mother had taught her never to use it against the Fountain’s will. It wouldn’t work, and the effort would likely kill her. In her grief, she had nearly risked it. She had waited to fulfill the funeral rite for two full days, hoping the Fountain would send her the message she so desperately wanted to receive. Hoping that someone or something would intervene.

She could still feel the Fountain magic. It offered a measure of solace in her darkest hours. But it did not grant her deepest desire.

Her eyes were sore from crying. She felt hollow. Her father’s eldest brother, Gannon’s namesake, had been strapped to a canoe and executed by waterfall following the Battle of Ambion Hill years before. It felt as if that horrible legacy had come full circle.

Trynne’s grandparents had also both died in the accident. Their bodies were being taken to Westmarch to be mourned after by the people who had once honored them as rulers.

The carriage had been demolished in the fall, but there was evidence that someone had tampered with the rear wheel. Trynne had not been the only horrified witness. Many people had watched the carriage plummet off the downward descent as it was making a turn. The momentum had carried it over the edge, and the weight had pulled the horses with it. Her mind instantly went to the thief Dragan. Had he sabotaged the wagon? Was he still intent on punishing her house in another act of grim revenge? Oh, if only she had caught him that day in Marq. She hoped she never saw him again. She was afraid if she did that she would violate one of the five oaths she had sworn.

The pallbearers grew restless, but none of them dared look her in the eye. The stillness of the grove was impressive. A few insects clicked, and a snatch of birdsong sounded through the trees. Trynne approached the canoe bier one last time. Her mind flashed to the thought of facing her mother someday. The idea filled her with misery. She reached out and laid her hand on the foot of the bundle. She could see where his nose pressed against the fabric. She would have gladly given her life to summon his back. In her mind, she pleaded with the Fountain, begging it to take her instead.

She waited, listening to the silence, tears gathering in her stricken eyes.

All will be well in the end. You are needed here.