The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) (29 page)

Owen stared at him in growing horror. “Your heart is already ice.”

The king met his eyes without flinching. “One grows numb to cold after a time. As you are to experience yourself.” He looked at Kevan. “We leave before dawn. Make sure the roads are shoveled ere we leave the city. I’ve already sent my army North with Catsby.” He turned to leave.

“Are you taking Dragan with you?” Owen said in challenge.

The king stopped, a look of annoyance on his face. Without speaking, he motioned for the guard to open the door. Kevan gave Owen a forlorn and helpless look over the chest he still clutched. Severn nodded to the two Espion protectors to leave as well. The door shut behind them, leaving Owen alone in the room, in chains, with Dragan.

The thief appeared before him. He drew a long-stemmed pipe and sauntered over to the brazier. With a pair of tongs, he lit the bowl, and the mash inside began to sizzle and spread noxious fumes in the room.

Dragan stuck the pipe between his teeth and breathed in deep, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

“I asked the king for a special promise ere you left on the morrow,” he said smugly.

“I’m sure you did,” Owen said, feeling nothing but hatred and disgust for the man.

“A small favor. He wasn’t against the notion, I tell you. I thoughts to myself, I did, I thoughts, ‘Dragan, that lad turned your own flesh and blood against you.’ Aye, he did. A most unnatural thing he did. A child’s first loyalty should be to his parents. You’ve always been an unnatural child, I sez. Betrayin’ your own kin and serving Lord Severn. Unnatural. Well, you had my daughter kilt protectin’ you.” His eyes smoldered with anger. “Bothwell promised he’d spare her because I asked it. But she died because of you.”

“Because of me? You let him into the castle!” Owen said, affronted and furious.

Dragan shook his head. “I’m a simple man. I seez what you did to her. How you turned her away from her own father. Well, I wants compensation for that. I took her jewels and such from her room. Hardly worth ten crowns, if you ask me. Some fancy vials, little knick-knacks.” He began cracking his knuckles. “But it don’t pardon ye in my eyes. And besides, Chatriyon said he’d pay fifty thousand for your left hand. The left hand, mind ye. I don’t know what such a lord needs for your claw. But it’s fifty thousand all the same. And I’ll be checking out that cistern too. Might be more baubles down there, eh?” He drew a knife from his belt. “Now be a good lad and hold still while I cut it off. The king promised me my due. And you won’t be needing it no longer anyway, I reckon, when you’ve frozen.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Helvellyn

As Owen listened to Dragan’s little speech, he gently, surreptitiously summoned his own magic to prepare his defense. He had small reserves and knew he would not be able to sustain the onslaught long, but he wanted to test the thief’s defenses, to learn of his vulnerabilities. As his magic seeped away from him, Owen learned some immediate facts about Etayne’s father. First, he was a coward at heart and would flee in an instant should a situation turn against him. Second, the somewhat stocky man had an unhealthy heart. He enjoyed his feasts and mugs of ale, and had spent most of his life without doing an honest day’s work.

The insights gave Owen courage he otherwise might have lacked, considering his own circumstances. He didn’t need his magic to reveal to him that he was unfit for mortal combat at the moment. His wounds were still healing, and sudden motions could easily rip the sinews binding his skin closed.

But just like in the game of Wizr, sometimes it was better to go on the offensive when facing a threat.

“Well, if you’re determined to have it,” Owen said, “best to get it over with quickly.” He planted his iron-encircled wrist on the small wooden table in the corner, pulling the cuff higher to expose his wrist. He stared into Dragan’s eyes and locked wills with him.

“That’s mighty generous of you, lad,” he said distrustfully. The thief seemed to sense something in the room had changed, and his whiskers twitched as he sniffed at the air.

“Be quick about your work,” Owen chided, nodding to his exposed wrist.

“It’s usually better to be quick in moments like this,” Dragan offered with a shrug. Then suddenly the dagger plunged down, the tip heading straight for the tendons in Owen’s arm. Not to slice off the hand, but to impale his arm to the desk.

Thankfully, Owen had suspected the move, and jerked his hand away just in time to watch the dagger sink into the wood rather than into his flesh. He leaned forward, putting his weight on his arms atop the table, and swung his leg forward to kick Dragan hard in the groin. The thief’s eyes bulged with pain, and he crumpled over double, eyes widening with panic.

Owen yanked the dagger out of the table as the thief lord scurried backward and used his magic to vanish. But Owen had been expecting that as well, so he took a large step forward and kicked again, catching the man on the shoulder or the side of his head, hearing the body flop to the ground and roll. He could hear Dragan’s breathing, his tortured gasps and stifled groans, and used the sounds to locate him. Owen knelt down and hammered the dagger’s pommel into the blank space before a boot kicked him in the stomach, knocking him back.

The blow was a solid one, and Owen found himself crashing into the table. There were scrabbling sounds as Dragan struggled to reach the door.

Owen’s blood was up, and he sought vengeance against the father who had done so much to hurt and frighten Etayne. He grabbed the edge of the wooden table and flung it hard toward the door. As he twisted, he felt some of the stitches rip in his side, making him double over in pain. The table smashed into the door with an echoing crash, sending fragments of wood everywhere.

Owen tried to control his rage, his thundering heart, as he reached out with his magic.

“The debt owed to you is a life,” Owen said in a voice shaking with emotion. “And I intend to pay it in full. Your daughter lost hers saving mine. And I will end yours to pay her back. You betrayed her. You betrayed us all. Come here, thief, so I can
kill
you!” Owen felt dizziness wash over him, but his magic spread out across the room, doing his bidding.

There he was—skulking against the wall, cowering in fear.

Owen raised the dagger to throw it, but at that exact moment, the door of the tower cell burst open and Kevan entered with two Espion guards.

Dragan used the commotion to slip unseen out of the room. Owen nearly threw the dagger anyway, but he realized he might hit his lieutenant in the process.

“What’s going on here!” Kevan said in surprise. “How did he get a dagger?”

Owen flipped the blade and then caught it by the tip and handed it over to one of the men coming to subdue him.

“You should search people more carefully next time,” he grunted, gasping in pain. Looking down, he saw the bloodstain blooming on his shirt.

Before dawn, Owen had been hoisted up onto a horse and had ridden from the bailey surrounded by the king’s men. Leading the way was the king himself, his black cloak spotted with chunky flakes of the snow that continued to fall on the city. The hooves crunched through ice and clinked loudly against the stone cobbles of the road. There were already chunks of ice in the river. Owen’s side throbbed with pain, and the cold stung his nose as he breathed.

Winter had come to Ceredigion.

They left while the city of Kingfountain was still abed, but as they passed the empty streets, Owen saw men and women peering from behind curtains to watch the king’s procession.

Owen saw that the chest with the Wizr set was strapped to the back of the king’s saddle. Alongside him rode Lady Kathryn, also swathed in black, a silken veil covering her hair. Her mantle was lined with silver fur. Her face was pallid, and puffs of steam came from her mouth as she breathed. As Owen examined the others accompanying them, he spotted Kevan. A much smaller pony rode next to the Espion, and he recognized it was the boy Drew, bundled in jackets and hats to protect him. Owen’s heart pained him as he realized they had all come to watch him die. But he grieved even more for the boy Severn was preparing to murder. Of course the king had brought Drew along. He assumed it would add to Owen’s misery. To him, the boy was yet another pretender to his throne—he didn’t seem to realize the lad’s significance beyond his resemblance to the Argentines.

Normally, the king slept out of doors while traveling, even in the winter, but because he was accompanied by his lady and a child, he had chosen to stop at certain hamlets and villages on the road heading north. News reached them at various points of the day. Owen wasn’t included in the messages, but he heard his captors discussing it amongst themselves and gleaned what he could from it.

The Duke of Brugia had sacked the port city of Callait and hoisted his banners from the tower. Word of his imminent invasion was spreading throughout the kingdom. It was said that boats were assembling off the coastal towns to prepare for the invasion. Rumor also had it that Chatriyon had stirred and was marching an army against Brythonica to prevent anyone from Ceredigion from marrying the duchess. It was said that the duchess’s banners were flying and her army had assembled to resist Occitania, but without Ceredigion to protect her domain, the duchess was likely to fall.

The different reports coming in at various times along the journey made Owen grow sicker with worry. He was never given even a moment alone. His fare was simple and foul-tasting, and he was deprived of all the luxuries his rank had once afforded him. He was a dead man, he realized. His plan had failed, and all who had supported him would be punished.

As they rode the snow-packed roads leading to Dundrennan, Owen began to lose hope of finding an opportunity to escape. His magic still returned to him in small trickles, but his usually vast reservoirs were shallow. He thought about Evie and what would happen to her. She would be wise to abandon the North and seek refuge in Atabyrion before the king arrived. They would stand a better chance holding against Severn Argentine in their own lands rather than trying to cling to North Cumbria in open rebellion. Perhaps even a peace treaty could be arranged? But Owen’s thoughts had turned as black as the sky was white. Severn would never forgive Evie or Iago, not now. He would punish them in ways that would stab their hearts. They had a little boy, an heir to the throne. Owen agonized at the thought of the child being sacrificed to sate the king’s hunger for revenge.

He worried also about Sinia, though with any luck her powers would help protect her. Brythonica was so small compared to Occitania. Her duchy had always staved off invasion through alliances and treaties, but Severn wouldn’t defend her now. Chatriyon was already married, so he couldn’t press his claim. Still, he could force her to marry one of his loyal dukes and punish her peaceful realm for the years of disobedience. Owen’s shoulders drooped as he thought about how much suffering would blast the people as a result of his own failure.

After days in the saddle, the clouds finally parted, revealing a vast blue expanse over the North. The mountains were fleeced with snow. The pines were laden with it, weighed down and drooping under the heavy load.

“There it is,” the king announced, reining in and pointing. “See her yonder. The peak Helvellyn. That is where the Maid perished.” He turned and gave Owen a look colder than the frost. “That’s where you perish, lad.”

A rider wearing the king’s colors rode hard toward them from farther up the road. Severn kept his beast subdued until the man arrived.

“What news?” Severn asked.

The man’s cheeks were flushed and he had snow in his beard. He shook his head. “The Queen of Atabyrion still holds Dundrennan, my lord. They know we’re coming and they didn’t flee. Your army is camped less than a league ahead. We’ve overtaken the lower city. Most of the populace fled into the castle to weather the winter
and
the siege.”

Severn scowled. “A winter siege. She’s going to make me earn it. Any word from her?”

The soldier nodded and snow sloughed from his beard. “She states her claim to the land as the rightful heir of Stiev Horwath. She demands that Lord Catsby return the treasures plundered. Once that is done, she promises to swear fealty for her lands to the King of Ceredigion.”

Severn’s face darkened with anger and Owen smiled at Evie’s pluck.

“She owes her allegiance to me
now
,” Severn snarled. “Well, if she wants to play at war, then she will have it. How many men do we have gathered here?”

The soldier wiped his beard. “Twenty thousand strong and loyal, my lord. The army from Westmarch under Captain Ashby will arrive in a few days. That will bring us to nearly thirty thousand. Even with men from Atabyrion, she can’t have more than fifteen, and if they’re all crammed inside that castle, they’ll be dying of their own fumes ere long.”

The king smirked. “Well done. Take my lady and retinue to the city. The journey is cold. I’m going to bring the rest of the men to Helvellyn to see to the king’s traitor.” He turned to Lady Kathryn and reached out, taking her hand. He kissed the glove. “I’ll join you tonight, my love.”

Lady Kathryn gave Owen a look of sad farewell. Then she turned back to the king and nodded deferentially.

Owen’s stomach soured as if he’d swallowed spoiled wine.

“You’re coming with us?” Kevan asked the king in surprise.

Severn nodded. “I don’t trust any man to see this done for me. Especially no Espion. In fact,
you
are the one who is not coming with us. I want you to ride into the city and see what news the Espion has of Iago’s troops and movements. Is there a secret way into the fortress? Prove your loyalty to me in this, Kevan, and you may lead the Espion yourself when this is all over.”