The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) (17 page)

He clung to Sinia’s hand and pulled her to him. He was so nervous his heart was racing and his knees were trembling, returning him to the bashful little boy he had once been, and he thought, in a moment of utter terror, that he might actually faint from fear. Trying to rally himself, he bent his head lower and caught her fearful look—which no doubt matched his—and then he shut his eyes and tried to kiss her.

He missed her mouth.

In their fumbling way, they managed to kiss the corner of each other’s mouths and then both of them pulled away. It was tantamount to a kiss on the cheek.

Owen felt humiliated. Sinia looked disappointed.

“Well,” the deconeus said, clasping his hands in front of him. “That was . . . sweet. You are now officially betrothed. You have sworn your troth in the presence of the Fountain and man. I wish you joy!”

Sinia looked away, rubbing her hands up and down her arms in a nervous gesture.

“Thank you,” Owen said, nodding for the deconeus to waddle away. This was not how he had hoped it would unfold. He gritted his teeth in frustration, wishing someone were there to flog him for his ineptitude.

“I must away,” Owen said. “I need to go back to Kingfountain to see what damage is done.”

“The ring?” she said, looking at him hopefully. He was so scatterbrained he’d forgotten. He opened the pouch at his belt and withdrew Lord Roux’s ring.

She gestured to take it from him and he gave it to her. She played with it, turning the gold band end over end. The ring was a mix of white and yellow gold. There were carved overlapping circles that went all around the ring and caught the light. Then she took his hand and slid the ring onto his finger, uttering a word in an archaic language as she did so. The ring fit perfectly.

She held on to his hand, gently stroking it. Her eyes had lost most of the embarrassment of the failed kiss. “You needn’t fear a return to Kingfountain,” she told him. “Why do you think the king sent you that note?”

He didn’t need to ask how she knew about it. Not that she could have answered him anyway. “The problem is I
have
betrayed him. In many ways. But now that I think on it, this could be another one of his tests of loyalty. To see if I
will
return.”

She smiled and patted his bearded cheek. “You have more power over him than you realize,” she said. “As with any game of Wizr, how you approach the end makes a difference. We’ve made this choice, you and I. Severn will make his own. We’ll defeat him together. It will continue to be my hope that we can do this
without
killing him. Please know that. The king doesn’t need to die to lose. He just needs to be defeated.” She then escorted him to the edge of the fountain. “What will you do with the chest?”

Owen glanced at it and noticed that the two adjacent pieces representing them were now the same color. “I think I should bring it with me. I could leave it in the waters of Our Lady. When I tell the king about the dream I had, I can say that it will start snowing as a sign. The chest will make sure it happens.”

She smiled at him. “You are a clever one, Owen Kiskaddon. I like that about you. How will you get the sword from the cave? You have an opportunity already brewing.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Catsby is making a fool of himself. I just need to spark a little rebellion in the North. We’ll need other allies as well. I have a feeling Iago will join us. Sending him a message will be difficult, though . . .”

“I can send him a message,” Sinia promised. “Just write the note and leave it in the chest in the waters of the fountain. We’ll be able to communicate with each other that way. Now, here is another trick about this Wizr set. Only certain people can move the pieces. The boy is the Dreadful Deadman. He can. So can Severn, but if
he
does, he can use the game to win. When you bring it to Kingfountain, have the boy move the pieces for you. What he chooses to do will influence how events play out in this world. Teach him the rules of Wizr. Teach him to play. With this set, we’ll be able to defeat Severn and put the rightful Argentine on the throne.” She closed the lid and then handed the set to Owen.

“Now is the time for you to return. Come into the water with me. I will send you there.”

“I can be back in Kingfountain today?” he asked in surprise.

She gave him a meaningful look and reached out to take his arm.

Lord Kiskaddon,

I’m cautious writing this to you as I do not want to add to your overwhelming burdens. It is a difficult thing watching all that my grandfather built be ruined. Not a day has passed since leaving Dundrennan that we haven’t heard of some insult, depredation, or foulness coming from Lord Catsby. It was a time that deserved solemnity and mourning. Feelings are flaming brightly, and we continually receive petitions to take up arms and reclaim my birthright. Please, Owen, there must be something you can do to stop Catsby from plundering it all. Every story I hear grows more wicked. Kiss my daughter for me.

Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer Llewellyn

Queen of Atabyrion

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Misprision

Owen had always wondered what it would be like to plummet off a waterfall. This . . . it would be like this. Sinia had gripped his arm and they had stepped into the fountain of St. Penryn together, Owen with the Wizr set clutched to his chest. It felt as if the floor had vanished and they’d dropped into an abyss. It was nothing like jumping with Evie into the cistern at Kingfountain. If he could have screamed, he would have, but it felt as if they were caught inside a waterfall on its way down, all white turbulent foam and surging power and freefalling, falling, falling . . .

There was no bone-jarring crunch. Just stillness, a sense of floating, and then he had firm footing once more. The gentle ripple of water lapped against their ankles, although the wetness could not penetrate them. Owen’s knees shook violently from the surge of power, his stomach more than queasy. He would have stumbled, but Sinia was still clutching his arm. A strange mist rose up from the waters, like an impenetrable fog.

“I must leave you here,” she said. “Severn may be able to sense my presence, though he will not understand why there has been a surge in the Fountain. I must away back to Brythonica. But I will leave you messages in the chest, and you can do the same for me. I will look forward to it.”

He turned and gazed at her, taking in her lovely smile and the look of tenderness and excitement in her eyes. His sensations struggled to reconcile the fact that they had crossed from one end of Ceredigion to the other in a mere moment.

“This is one of your powers?” he said, shaking his head in wonderment. “I never knew.”

“I trust you can keep it a secret,” she replied. “While the mist is up, no one can see or hear us. This particular fountain is not in the main hall of the sanctuary. Set the chest down inside the waters and then entrust it to the Fountain. It will disappear from view from all who aren’t Fountain-blessed. And not even everyone who is Fountain-blessed has the power to do so.”

“You mean the king could see it?” Owen pressed.

She nodded. “If he came here.”

“But you’ve seen the future and know that he will not?”

She gave him a warm look of approval and a single nod. “He will not come here.” She glided her hand along his arm, a possessive gesture. “Write to me soon, Owen. I want to help you.”

“And I’ll need your help,” he said with a chuckle. “Thank you, Sinia.” Before setting the chest into the waters, he opened it to examine the Wizr board. Sure enough, the white Wizr had moved across the board and was now adjacent to the dark king. There was a white knight next to it.

Sinia nodded to him, but said nothing. He shut the lid and then settled the chest back into the waters. Just as his hands were about to enter it, the waters were repelled back, clearing a dry space on the floor of the fountain. It amazed and astounded him still.

“May the Fountain guide you, my beloved,” she said, her voice full of longing.

Her words caught him off guard. He had pledged himself to marry her. They had thrown the dice together to unseat a king. But the thought of being loved by someone, of being cherished, filled him with conflicting emotions.

“And you,” he replied. She gave him an awkward look, then pressed up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, grazing his thick stubble. And she vanished in an instant. Before he could kiss her back.

He stared at where she had been standing and realized with a chuckle that she’d left her sandals back on the rail of the fountain of St. Penryn. He stepped away from the fountain, and the mist fell away, sloughing off like powder. His heart burned with purpose as he walked away from the fountain. There were few visitors in the sanctuary that day, so no one seemed to notice him. When Owen left the building, he saw a black smudge of cloud starting to fester in the northern sky.

Owen entered the palace grounds through the Espion gate he had once used as a child. He did not want word of his return spreading too quickly. By his estimation, Etayne would not arrive for another day or two. He had already left a note for her at the inn where they’d arranged to meet, explaining that he had returned ahead of her and to look for further messages from him inside her tower.

The sunlight was fading, filling the sky with the ink of darkness. Taking care to avoid people, he made his way to the Espion tunnels without being seen. Then he grabbed a lamp and maneuvered his way to the king’s council chamber. The sound of voices emanating from beyond the wall made him slow his approach. He found the latch to open the spy hole and extinguished the lamp before releasing it.

He pressed his eyes to the slits for a view inside the room. Severn was there, pacing back and forth, and so were several of the lords of the realm, including Catsby and Paulen. Kevan, Owen’s second in command of the Espion, was leaning against the far wall, shaking his head and frowning in frustration. The air was charged with enmity. The voice of the king’s chamberlain rang out, announcing dinner, and the mood changed as the meal was brought in. Owen sensed the subtle flow of the Fountain coming from the room, which made him wary.

Owen concentrated on the draw of the magic, trying to get a sense of the source. At first, he suspected the king, but it was coming from deeper in the room. He dared not use his own magic for fear of revealing himself to the king and whoever else was there. Listening in eagerly to the conversation when it resumed, he discovered quickly that the fate of two men’s lives were being discussed over seasoned beef.

“The Assizes have found them both guilty of treason, just as you wished,” Catsby said to the king after the servants had cleared out. “Eyric and Dunsdworth are doomed. They both know it. I don’t understand why we can’t sentence them now, my lord, and throw them both into the river this very evening?”

Owen’s stomach lurched with dread.

“My lord!” Kevan said imploringly.

“Shut it, man!” Catsby snarled. “You had your chance to bring evidence. It’s the king’s decision. Why do you hesitate, my lord?”

There was a miserable look on the king’s face. He was frowning, his face full of agitation. “Don’t press me, Catsby. I warn you.”

“Shall we not pend the sentence until Lord Owen returns?” Kevan demanded. “Let him see the evidence. Would it not be more just to add his voice to the council?”

Catsby had daggers in his eyes. “I told you to be quiet.”

“You are not the master of the Espion,” Kevan growled. “The evidence is murky at best. There were others involved who helped Eyric and Dunsdworth escape. It seemed as if . . .” He hesitated.

“Go on,” Severn said, much to Catsby’s chagrin.

“The circumstances of their escape and capture are
highly
suspicious,” Kevan said.

“Say more,” Severn pressed.

“I dare not,” Kevan replied, looking worriedly at the others in the room.

“You have an accusation to make, then make it!” Catsby growled. “You think I was behind their escape? Pfah! Why would I care a green fig about them! I came all the way from the North to help since Kiskaddon is
conveniently
absent. When did you summon him back, my lord? How many days ago? He could have taken a ship. Why would he delay so long?”

“You have no idea how far he must ride,” Severn said impatiently. “Even if he left right after receiving Kevan’s news of their escape, it would still take him another day to reach us. Give him time. He will come. I assure you, he will.”

“My lord,” Catsby said, a battle between impatience and forced courtesy playing out in his voice. “You have a guilty verdict. Do you think having Kiskaddon’s opinion will make your decision any easier? You
must
execute these two rivals. They are the last threat to your throne. Dunsdworth could not fulfill the role of king without sending all of us to the river. He’s much too damaged and dangerous.”

“And it’s my fault that he is, I suppose?” Severn asked huskily.

Owen tried to sense if the magic was coming from Catsby, but though it was the right direction, he couldn’t be sure.

Catsby put away his napkin and rose. “You’ve been far more lenient than other kings would have been. Your brother used a poisoner to put Dunsdworth’s father to death. Is that why you hesitate? And what of Eyric . . . or should I say Piers? He’s the son of a fishmonger’s wife. You should have killed him years ago.”

Severn’s gaze burned hot, and Owen was about to enter the room to startle them all, but some impulse held him back.

“What say you, Jack?” Severn said, his burning eyes fixed on Catsby.

Jack Paulen was busy devouring his meal, but he paused to wipe the grease from his mouth with a napkin, then said, “I sat on the Assizes, my lord. The evidence may be murky, but that doesn’t shroud the result. The two are a threat to your throne and your power. They must be put to death in the river.”

“Go,” Severn said curtly. “All of you. Leave me.”

Catsby gave the king a disdainful look and stomped out of the chamber. They all left, one by one, leaving Severn standing by himself in front of the hearth, his eyes lost in thought. It was the perfect opportunity to approach the king alone, but Owen still hesitated. Intuition plucked at him, warning him to wait, to see what the king would do all alone.

“Are you still here?” the king said in a low, angry tone.

Owen blinked with surprise. Had the king somehow detected his presence? Then he sensed the ebbing of the subtle power of the Fountain, which had filled the room throughout the meeting, and a man appeared in the farthest corner. He was a square-faced man with dark sideburn whiskers and thick unruly hair, dressed in a jacket and breeches. He pulled a long-stemmed wooden pipe from his belt and began chewing on the end. Owen recognized him instantly, although his look and manner had changed dramatically. He’d last seen this man crouching nervously in a cell. It was Etayne’s father.

And Owen realized immediately that he was the Fountain-blessed one he had sensed.

“Of course, my lord,” the man said gruffly, chewing on the stem.

“You’ve done your work well, Dragan,” Severn said wryly. “Of course, it wouldn’t have worked at all if Lord Kiskaddon had been here. He would have sensed you, just as I can.”

Owen’s heart seethed in uneasy anger. What was going on?

The man shrugged with unconcern. “Best to get it over with quickly, my lord. Break it off quick and sudden. That’s what I say. He’ll never know. You seemed contrite enough. I think you fooled them others.”

“It may surprise you, Dragan,” Severn said with a cunning look. “But I do care about the lad’s conscience. He won’t accept the throne willingly. But I need an heir, and he deserves it. He deserves it without all the complications I’ve had to endure.”

“It’s so kind of you, my lord,” the man said with a low chuckle.

“You’ll get a bonus, of course,” Severn said. “I said I’d pay you double what Maxwell was offering to rescue the lad.”

Dragan clenched the stem within his teeth. “Money is money, my lord. I’m not picky as to who’s paying it.”

“Of course not. I need a man like you around, Dragan. Do you have the Espion ring I gave you? Maybe I’ll let you keep it a while longer.”

Dragan smiled charmingly. “If you say so, my lord. If you say so. Might I have some of these fixings? It would be a shame not to eat it up.”

“I’m not hungry. I must go prepare to console a soon-to-be widow.”

Dragan smacked his lips and helped himself to the food trays while the king exited the council room and shut the door behind him. The thief took a bite from a piece of succulent beef and smacked his lips.

“Poor lass,” he said with a wicked grin. “He’ll get her in the end. She’s been wearing black for so long she
looks
like his queen now.”