The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) (12 page)

My lord Kiskaddon,

The king commands you return at once to Kingfountain. There is no mincing words on this news. Eyric and Dunsdworth have escaped the tower. Their guards were undoubtedly bribed or murdered, for there was no watch on them this morn. We have hounds and men tracking them, for it seems they have gone upriver. You can only imagine the state of agitation at present. Would there was a way we could contact you more directly. Hopefully they will have been recaptured by the time you receive this news. I’ve never seen the king so wroth. Return at once, my lord.

Kevan Amrein

Kingfountain Palace

CHAPTER TWELVE

Traitor

Before meeting his parents, Owen arranged for a change of clothing since his were damp from the dunking he’d taken at the beach. He was very nervous about the encounter, not just because it was so unexpected but also because he didn’t know how his parents and other siblings would react to him after so many years apart.

He needn’t have worried.

The dome of his father’s head was completely bald, but he still had a fringe of graying hair around the sides and back, shorn close to his scalp. His skin was marked in places with liver splotches and craggy wrinkles, but he was fit and strong. Mother had crow’s-feet around her eyes, but she also had aged well, and the instant Owen entered the room, she engulfed him in a fierce, motherly hug. She kissed him repeatedly on the cheek, by his ear, and on the patch of white in his hair. Then, gripping the front of his fashionable tunic, she pulled him so close their noses almost touched.

“I have
never
stopped thinking about you,” she whispered to him, looking into his eyes with such intensity. Her voice was thick with emotion. “Not one day. I rejoice at every scrap of news I hear about you. But a mother’s love holds true. Even though you’re taller than me now, you are still my little miracle.”

Jessica was beaming, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes as she waited for her turn to greet him once more. Then the entire family crowded around him, pulling him into the center of a vast embrace. And while they felt a little like strangers, he could
feel
memories of his childhood at Tatton Hall begin to emerge from the haze of the past.

“Welcome to Ploemeur,” Papan said. “I cannot wait to hear about your adventures.”

“You
must
tell us all of them,” Jessica implored, tugging his tunic sleeve.

Owen was uncomfortable with so much attention, but it was from
them
, and that made a difference. Through the crowd, he spied the Duchess of Brythonica, watching the reunion and keeping to herself. She had staged the moment deliberately.

He was still unsure of her motives, but he was grateful nonetheless and tipped a nod to her from across the room.

“Are you
really
Fountain-blessed as they say?” said his other sister Ann. She had long blond hair that went down to her waist. He had vague memories of her constantly brushing it at the window seat while staring outside.

“Tell them about the battle of Averanche!” Jessica suggested.

“I don’t care about battles and war,” Maman said in a scolding tone. “Did you truly come here to marry the duchess? I would blame your mother for your manners if I dared.”

“Where to start?” Owen said at last.

The moon was gleaming silver in the sky as Owen and Sinia left the House of Pillars, walking side by side. They were followed by her entourage, all of whom were a little bleary-eyed due to the lateness of the hour. The air was brisk and calm, the weather very mild. Owen admired the glittering stars in the sky.

“Is it always this bright out at night?” he asked.

“The fog will come in soon,” Sinia said. “It usually does.”

“I’m not looking forward to the ride back up to the castle,” he confessed. “Do you take a carriage, or ride?”

“Neither, usually,” she answered with a playful smile. The hint of mischief in her eyes made him return her smile.

“This way,” she said, capturing his arm with a little flash of possessiveness and pulling him to the rear of the House of Pillars. At the rear, there were workers hoisting huge crates off wagons. As Sinia approached, they doffed their hats respectfully. Sinia flashed them a smile and led him over to a small crowd of people, horses, and wagons.

“Do you see it?” Sinia asked, pointing ahead. Workers were securing thick ropes to the crates. The ropes were connected to some sort of crane, like the kind used in the ship docks, only Owen couldn’t see the top of it. He craned his neck and realized that they were at the foot of the cliffs, the palace high above them.

“You’re not serious?” Owen said, looking back at the crates.

“It’s the opposite of falling,” she said, pulling him with her. The crew seemed to be expecting her. A few members of the entourage shook their heads and said they’d take a horse up instead, and she dismissed them good-naturedly.

“Up you go,” said one of the workers, hoisting Sinia onto one of the crates by her waist. There were four ropes coming up at the corners, meeting at a metal hook and ring. Owen studied the contraption for a moment and, not to be outdone by his host, swung up onto the crate.

“You have to sit over there,” she said, pointing to the other end, then clasping the ropes with both hands. “Or it will not be balanced.”

Owen felt a stab of fear in his middle, a sensation that became more acute when one of the foremen gave a signal. There was a grinding, clicking noise, followed by a sudden lurch from the ropes. Owen’s insides fluttered with panic the moment his boots left the ground. Sinia laughed sweetly. He turned and saw the breeze ruffle her long, lovely hair.

“Don’t be frightened,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “Nothing will happen. Do you see the docks? Over there!”

She pointed again, and this time his stomach lurched with fear for her. He wanted to warn her to hang on, though she seemed at ease here as she had been at the edge of the beach. They were rising at a rapid pace, the roofs shrinking beneath their feet. There were the docks with boats secured for the night, having brought their cargo during the day. The ropes groaned under the crate’s weight and the contents swayed a little, making Owen tighten his grip. It was an interesting feeling—like a bird soaring.

“Thank you for arranging the dinner tonight,” Owen told her, watching in wonder as a bank of fog rolled in off the coast. He could see the lights of the sanctuary on the distant island.

“You’re welcome, Owen. I thought you’d wish it.”

She was thoughtful. But there was still so much he didn’t know about her. It was as if he were looking at her through the haze of that fog.

“Do you see Averanche?” she asked. “It’s that speck of light just on the horizon.”

“I think so,” Owen said. “Do you do this often then?”

“I did it more when I was little girl,” she answered, giving him a sidelong look. Almost a knowing look. “I liked to explore.”

“We have that in common then,” Owen replied.

“Perhaps you’d care to join me on a journey across the duchy?” The noise of the machinery above grew louder as they approached the landing where the crates would arrive.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to refuse. But he needed to get back to Kingfountain. Etayne was probably chafing, and it was his duty to protect Drew.

“I’ll think about it,” he answered. She seemed a little disappointed by his answer.

It was late in the evening when Owen returned to his chamber in the castle overlooking Ploemeur. He felt like collapsing on the bed with his boots on, but there was a pile of correspondence awaiting him on the desk.

“You saw your family this evening,” Etayne said, slipping out from the curtained balcony. “I thought you were planning to leave earlier?”

Owen rubbed his eyes, his heart still raw from the emotional reunion. “I felt obligated to spend the day,” he said flatly, planting his knuckles on the desk by the mound of letters. “When did these all arrive? Or did the ones from yesterday breed? Look at this stack. It will take half the night to read and answer them all, and that will delay us even more.” He grimaced at how petulant he sounded.

“I can stay and help you read through them,” Etayne offered. “The ones from Kevan I put over there. Farnes brought new ones earlier this evening. He said that one came in a hurry.”

Owen scrubbed his fingers through his hair, frowning. “If it’s more bad news, I’m going to have him flogged,” he muttered. Etayne seemed eager to speak with him, but she seemed to sense his poor mood. “I will accept your offer,” he said, shoving part of the pile toward her. “I don’t have time to woo a duchess
and
run a duchy
and
the Espion.” He shook his head. “The weight of all of this is crushing me tonight.”

She gave him a sympathetic look and then sat down beside him. She looked at the vast pile of correspondence and picked out one, breaking the seal. “Your parents are well?”

Owen snatched a letter and opened it. “More than well, it seems. They aren’t hostages, that much is clear. Everything my sister told us is true. They go by Occitanian surnames to help hide their true identities. They have a comfortable manor on a hill to the west, and my father oversees the taxation of trade. My mother wasn’t sure what to make of me,” he added with a chuckle. “It’s been sixteen years after all, and she remembered a little lad who used to clutch at her skirts.” He sniffed, scanning the letter quickly and then tossing it aside. “I don’t know why the duchess has rewarded them with so many favors. It’s certainly not something Severn would have done.”

Etayne murmured in agreement as she read another letter. “And how goes the wooing?”

Owen smiled wearily at the veiled attempt to draw him out. “I suppose that depends,” he said, careful of his answer, careful of her feelings. “The king deeply believed that this suggested alliance would provoke Brythonica. In that regard, his plan is utterly failing. It seems Sinia anticipated his move and resigned herself to marrying me before I even arrived. Poor girl.” He wanted to laugh at the absurdity. “Marshal Roux has thrown a fit and skulked off to his own manor to brood.”

“No he hasn’t,” Etayne said softly.

That caught Owen’s interest. “What do you mean?”

“His men were guarding the forest we passed on our way to the castle. I came in disguise to see the place, but for all my tricks, I could not get past the sentries. They were vigilant. What are they keeping from us? I wonder.”

Owen looked at her, his brow furrowing. “You’re sure it was the marshal?”

Etayne nodded. “I didn’t see him, but one of the sentries let it slip that he was there in person.”

“He knew you were coming,” Owen said angrily. “He always seems to know!” He slammed his fist onto the table, his frustration spilling over. “The offense he feigned was a ruse, a trick. I should have seen this. He must have left for the woods the very night we arrived.” Another memory struck Owen like an arrow shaft. “Hold on a moment.”

“What?” she pressed, her eyes full of eagerness, the pile of correspondence momentarily forgotten.

“This was years ago, after the mayor of Averanche surrendered the city to me. Some visitors came to find me in the North. One of Roux’s knights—he was a giant of a man. And also a lawyer from Averanche.” Owen started pacing, his mind working furiously to recall the moment. He snapped his fingers quickly. “There was something about disputes. Border disputes about the hunting forests. The knight sought reassurance that I didn’t intend to encroach on Brythonica’s boundaries. Especially the forests. I thought nothing of it at the time. I’m not all that fond of hunting and hawking, nor do I have the time!” He turned and looked at her. “Roux doesn’t want us to see whatever’s in those woods. I’m not sure Sinia knows what it is.” He shook his head. “Or maybe that’s an errant presumption. She is far more clever than her demeanor suggests.”