The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) (27 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Raven’s Feast

Owen walked with a pronounced limp down the torch-lit corridor, but the sight of his shadow on the wall made him stop and stare. His bandaged arm was clenched to his side, and his posture looked strikingly similar to that of a young Severn Argentine. Dread knifed through him as he stood silently in the walkway, still staring at the shadow.

Thanks to the scabbard, his injuries were healing quickly and the court doctors were amazed that he was already out of his bed after losing so much blood. Owen chafed with impatience, hating the coddling and disgusting drafts the doctors had made him drink. He had been abed for nearly a full day before insisting he be released.

The drama had shocked the entire court. A poisoner from Occitania had somehow managed to infiltrate the castle and attempt to murder the head of the Espion and his chief lieutenant. Both had survived, but the king’s own poisoner had been murdered. Only Owen knew the full truth, and he was keeping the facts to himself. He had warned the king that Dragan was behind the plot. The manhunt for the thief had become pressing in its intensity, but no one had seen him. Nor could they.

Owen started walking again, gritting his teeth against the pain roiling throughout his body. Etayne’s body was going to be set loose in the river that morning, and Owen was determined to be there to pay his last respects to the woman who had given her life for his. It was painful to think about her, and he knew it was a wound that would never fully heal. She had spent most of their years together nursing an unrequited love for him, and it saddened him that she had only found happiness in her final act of self-sacrifice. Tears threatened him, and he could not help but wonder if he was cursed to spend his life alone. Perhaps Sinia too would be ripped away from him.

He reached the door leading to the outer yard and found two soldiers waiting there in black tunics with the white boar insignia. They stiffened and exchanged a knowing look as he limped toward them. Owen said nothing to them as they hauled open the door to let him out.

Pathways had been cleared through the yard, the drifts shoveled up against the walls, but elsewhere the land was thick with snow. The miserable cold reminded Owen of the Wizr board hidden in the secluded fountain of Our Lady. The board’s magic was causing the weather. And it would continue to get worse until Severn was defeated or until the entire kingdom lay under a cataclysm of ice. He walked with a burden of pain and duty inside his heart, listening to the crunch of the ice crystals beneath his boots.

After crossing the frozen grounds littered with leafless trees, he arrived at the gate where he’d watched the king seduce Lady Kathryn. Etayne’s identity was a state secret, so there would be no crowd to send her on her way back to the Deep Fathoms.

The king was already there, swathed in a heavy black cape lined with silver fur. Next to him was Kevan Amrein, leaning on a crutch. The Espion’s face was gaunt and feverish, and Owen was surprised to see him out of bed.

The sound of his boots announced him, and the men turned. Owen wondered if Dragan was also present, hidden by his magic. Owen’s connection with the Fountain magic had been temporarily severed because he had no reserves left. The necessity for him to plot and plan had begun to bring it back, but he didn’t want to waste what limited power he had. The well needed to be filled, drip by drip. He had not been so drained for years.

“You look hale for a man who was nearly dead,” the king said to him with a wary smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so poorly.”

“I can’t remember when I ever
felt
this poorly,” Owen countered. He glanced at Kevan, who gave him a somber-faced nod.

The king sniffed in the cold air, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. “It’s a sad day, to be sure. It’s like the game of Wizr when two pieces of the same value get exchanged. It would have been much worse if Chatriyon had claimed your life as well.” His lips curled into a snarl. “I am ready to crush that upstart’s skull. He’s provoked me for the last time. When you are fit for the saddle again, you will launch a war into Occitania that will water their gardens in blood. I want to spit on the corpse at Queen Elyse’s feet.” His voice throbbed with hatred, and Owen felt a blackness settle in his heart.

“This was not a game of Wizr,” Owen growled. “Etayne was a person, not a pawn.” Fresh pain bloomed in his chest as his eyes shot to the boat where her body lay. It had been covered in a shroud, which, in turn, was decorated with freshly fallen snow.

Severn snorted. “She was a pawn, if a powerful one. Do you know how much she cost me? How much Mancini spent on her training?” He shook his head at the loss of capital, while Owen ached at the loss of his dear friend.

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he said nothing. He caught a sympathetic look from Kevan, who wisely joined him in his silence.

“Well,” the king said after a long moment. “At least she’s going into the river in winter. The ravens have all flown south.”

Owen turned and looked at the king with morbid curiosity. “What?”

The king didn’t look at him, but Owen saw a flash of disgust on his face. “Haven’t you ever wondered, lad, what happens to the bodies we release into the river? And why there are so many carrion birds in this kingdom? The bodies don’t disappear. They are fought over.” His face tightened. “When I was a lad, no older than you were when you first came to the palace, I walked with my brother down to the base of the falls. I saw something black, something I couldn’t identify.” His voice took on a haunted sound. “Eredur threw a stone at it, and suddenly the heap of black moved and lifted. They were ravens, feasting on a corpse.” The king shuddered at the memory. “I can’t abide them. I hate this duty most of all, for it reminds me of that time. I was just a child, but it terrified me.”

Owen had never given it a thought. The pageantry and splendor of the rite had always appealed to him. Even as a child he’d wondered what it would be like to be sent into the river as he’d seen happen to others.

“What happens during the winter months then?” Owen asked.

The king stared off into the distance. “Wolves,” he said simply. Then he shook his head as if to ward off the evil portent. “Let’s be done with this!” he barked to the soldiers.

The sound of approaching boots filled the air, and the three men turned in unison to see Lord Catsby rushing toward them from the palace. His boot slipped on a patch of ice, and the man went down with a yip of pain that sent him onto his backside.

Owen chuckled at the sight, unable to help himself, and the three of them started toward the injured lord.

“What are you doing here, Catsby?” the king demanded. “I sent you to the North.”

“I never . . . even . . . made it there,” Catsby grunted. His effort to stand ended in another slip that sent muddy snow spattering across his rich mantle and tunic. He made it to his feet on his second try and dusted off the slush from his knees, scowling darkly.

“What prevented you?” Severn asked with concern.

“The Mortimer girl!” Catsby snarled. “Iago’s chit. She’s occupying the fortress of Dundrennan while her husband is off sacking all of my men!”

Owen was angry at his choice of words, but he bit his tongue. Severn’s eyes widened. “So soon? When did they land? Why haven’t we gotten word of this ere now? Surely you could have sent a horse on ahead?”

Catsby shook his head. “I came myself, my lord. I need men, an army! You gave me those lands, my lord! It was my right to do with them as I chose! Now I need force to set this right.”

Severn looked exasperated and furious. “Yes, I did bestow them to you, and in your
greed
, you pillaged the coffers and insulted everyone living there. Didn’t I warn you to go easy? Now look what you’ve done! If we lose the North without even a skirmish, it will cost treasure
and
blood to win it back. How could you be so shortsighted!”

Owen suppressed a smile as he looked for Catsby’s reaction. The petulant chancellor defended himself with indignation. “I have done naught but serve you, my liege! You must help me get it back. You cannot let Iago hold lands within Ceredigion. He’ll be after your crown next!”

“No thanks to you!” the king shot back. He blistered the air with some choice curses. “You are useless, Catsby! Useless!” He turned to Owen. “How close is your army, lad?”

Owen was careful not to look too eager. “A few days’ march from here, my lord. Would you like me to bring them North and repulse the invasion? I think if you offered some . . . concessions to Elysabeth and Iago, they might relent.”

“It’s mine!” Catsby blustered.

Severn scowled and shook his head. “I can’t show weakness, not now. When word of this gets out, every duke and prince within the seven kingdoms will arrive with a fork and carving knife.” He gave Owen a stern look. “I want you to
crush
her, Owen. She has not lived up to her grandfather’s memory. She has betrayed me.”

Owen held out his hands. “You drove her to it, my lord,” he said, shaking his head. “You rewarded
her
loyalty by making
him
rich. This is the consequence of your own decision.”

The king’s face twisted with wrath. “How dare you speak to me thus!”

“I must dare it,” Owen said, shaking his head. He took a pleading step forward.

“My lord,” Catsby said, obviously worried about his spoils. “Don’t listen to him. He’s long tried to poison you against me. I’ve feared my life would be forfeit if I spoke more plainly to you, my lord. You cannot trust him, particularly not with the Espion. It’s as I’ve told you time and again; they are more loyal to him than to you!”

Owen felt his own anger surge. “I’ve told the king more than once, Catsby, that he can take what he likes from me. I’ve proven my loyalty to him over the years. What have you done?”

Catsby’s face twisted with fury. “If you weren’t so obviously wounded, my lord—”

“Stop!” the king barked, his eyes glowering, his cheek muscles twitching. “We have enemies enough without snapping at each other! I am your king, and you will obey my orders. Owen, I want you to go North and bring her to heel. I’ve heard you, but I cannot tolerate disobedience. Iago must have been behind the disappearance of his brat for his attack to be timed thusly. You go North and persuade her to relinquish Dundrennan back to Catsby. Don’t argue! Just do it. Catsby, you come with me. You’re still my chancellor, and I want my own army summoned. If Chatriyon invades Westmarch, I will chase him all the way to Pree and break down the stones one by one. Let them all come and snap at me. They will feel the might of the boar!”

The king turned back to Kevan. “See the girl’s body into the river. I’ve had enough of this macabre scene. We are at war, and I will prove to all of them that this snowstorm has nothing to do with the Fountain!”

He took Catsby by the arm as if he were a child, and the two of them marched back to the castle, leaving Owen and Kevan behind with the shivering soldiers waiting to fulfill their duty.

“Is that a smile, my lord?” Kevan asked him curiously, and only then did Owen realize his composure had slipped.

“Sometimes if you don’t laugh at the world, your only other option is weeping,” Owen said with a tone of bitterness. He clapped the Espion on the shoulder and turned around. “We haven’t spoken since our last meeting in the Star Chamber. What happened to you? I’m grateful you’re still alive.”

Kevan flushed and leaned his weight on the cane. “I owe her my life,” he said, shaking his head. “As do you, by the look of it, though you got the worst of it.”

Owen shook his head. “No, she did.”

“’Tis true,” Kevan agreed. “We were walking together to gather men for the meeting with Bothwell. She was stymied by something that kept her quiet along the way. I felt my insides start, and we hadn’t even made it to the outer wall when I collapsed in pain. She asked me what I’d eaten, and I mentioned the berries from Brythonica. She deduced the rest. If I hadn’t eaten a few of those berries, the poisoner’s plan would have worked.”

Owen chuffed in surprise. “I didn’t even consider them a risk. I was only being generous.”

Kevan smiled. “I know that. She recognized the poison because he’d used it before, back in Atabyrion. She had been carrying the remedy with her in preparation to face him. She knelt by me and gave me a swallow of it—bitter stuff—and then raced back to the Star Chamber, expecting to find you sick as well. Looks like she arrived just in time to stop Bothwell from murdering you, only she died instead. How did it happen?” he asked.

Owen’s heart wrenched. “Poison,” he said simply, and sighed. He stared at the shroud and then hobbled up to it. Wincing, he knelt down and lifted the cloth from her face. It was like looking at a mask, not the woman he’d grown to care for and admire. A knife of grief stabbed him sharply in the heart. The feeling of loneliness came down on him like the falling snow.

“She was a . . . a capable lass,” Kevan said, standing just over Owen’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have wished to face her in a fight.”

Owen stared down at the waxy face, the clay that no longer had the spark of life. She had given that spark to him. He gently set the cloth down and tried to stand, though his legs protested. Kevan nodded to the soldiers and gripped Owen’s arm, helping him up.