The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) (30 page)

The Maid of Donremy had been taken by mule to the peak of Helvellyn, the second or third largest peak in all of Ceredigion. Owen had read the records of her trial, including her confession about hearing the whispers from the Fountain and the documentation of her many gifts as one who was Fountain-blessed. But all the records were clear about one thing: She had frozen to death in the snow-capped mountains, wearing only a shift. She had been chained to a rock while several soldiers huddled by a few coal-burning braziers and waited out her death. After the deed had been done, they’d dragged her body down for the king’s men to verify that the Maid was no more.

The horses carried Owen, Severn, and the dozens of trusted soldiers up the slope of the mountain. Owen’s ears and fingers were numb. His toes felt like pebbles. They’d already stripped away his cloak, and his shivers were uncontrollable. The cliffs of Helvellyn were especially steep facing the valley of Dundrennan. But along the far side, the slope was much more gradual, making it easier for the animals to bear their burdens.

Partway up the mountain, a stone effigy of the Maid had been carved into one of the boulders protruding from the snow. The image was worn and glazed in ice, and Owen felt heartsick looking at it. The air was more difficult to breathe, and Owen felt chunks of ice sticking to his whiskers and lashes. The blue sky from earlier had become veiled in white, as if the storm that was descending on Kingfountain had moved along with them.

At last, they reached the craggy peak. It was midafternoon, though the sun was hidden by thick clouds. The soldiers set up a little shelter on the leeward side of a boulder and added fuel to their sconces. Flames licked the chilled air, and the men huddled close to them, chafing their hands. Owen was kept away from the warmth, and it tortured him to see the tongues of fire without being able to savor them.

Severn remained on his pony, seemingly impervious to the cold. He wore the crown on his head, a reminder of his position to himself and all others who saw him. He watched the whole scene unfold dispassionately.

Two soldiers helped Owen dismount, and he nearly stumbled because of his leaden feet. How long had the Maid survived before perishing? Owen didn’t think he would last the night. He stared at the king without flinching.

“You may do with me as you please, my lord,” Owen said, his teeth chattering with cold. “But this fate that awaits me also awaits the people of your realm. This
unnatural
winter was brought on us because of you. I will not be the last who perishes from cold. You bring this doom upon all of your subjects unless you relinquish that crown.”

The king looked disdainful. “So you’ve warned and so I’ve heard. Even in death you persist in your lies. Maybe you’ve even convinced yourself. But know this. I won this crown by right and by might. I will not give it up willingly. Even if the doom you prophesy comes to pass.”

Owen frowned. “I can do no more then.”

“Indeed. You’ve done quite enough,” the king said with iron in his voice. He nodded to the soldiers. “Bring me his corpse in the morn. Be faithful, lads. You will see for yourselves that his bluster is no more than empty noise. I don’t want any of you to miss the action as we humble Elysabeth
Victoria
Mortimer Llewellyn. Queen of Ashes.”

The king departed with a dozen men, leaving six behind to watch Owen die.

He was taken to the very boulder where they’d chained the Maid of Donremy, and his cuffs were attached to the iron rings fastened there. His legs trembled as he stared at the torture of the flames. The wind keened through his thin shirt.

“Good luck, Evie,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

He decided to stare at the flames awhile, to imagine what it would be like to cup his hands over them. In his mind, he thought back to his time in Dundrennan as a child, sitting before the raging hearth, his knees touching Evie’s as they talked and played together. From this vantage point, he could see the valley so far below, see the smoke billowing from many chimneys to feed the clouds in the sky. Perhaps it would be the last thing he ever saw.

Then, from behind the gathered soldiers, part of the snowbank seemed to . . . lift. The soldiers hidden there beneath snow-covered canopies stole from their hiding places and fell on Severn’s guards with brutal efficiency, killing all six before a single one could cry out in warning or pain.

Two men wrapped in thick furs trudged through the snow toward Owen. As they unwound the scarves covering their faces, Owen’s heart began to hammer again. Sparks of renewed hope began to fly.

The first man he recognized was the Espion Clark, whose life he had saved at Wizr Falls in Atabyrion. Clark was normally very stoic, but he betrayed himself with a crooked little smile.

The second man under the hood and wrappings was Evie’s husband, the King of Atabyrion.

“You look a little chilly, my lord,” Iago said triumphantly in his native brogue. “I think we can spare you a jacket and boots, eh?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Carrick

Snow sloughed off Owen’s cloak as he dismounted in the castle bailey of Dundrennan. The boots covering his frozen feet had helped ease his discomfort, but he still felt leaden and stiff. Even so, his heart was full of fire and emotion for his rescuers. A few dogs barked in greeting as the doors of the keep opened and Elysabeth rushed out into the slushy ice, a wool blanket draped around her shoulders. She embraced her husband, giving him a passionate kiss on the mouth, and then rushed over to fling her arms around Owen’s neck.

“You’re safe,” she breathed in his ear before pulling back and staring at him with a jubilant grin. Her eyes were very green at that moment, and he found himself beaming back at her.

“Thanks to you,” he replied sincerely, still bedazzled by his unexpected reprieve.

Evie shook her head, and only then did Owen notice the other man approaching them. It was a sheepish-looking Kevan Amrein. He held out the scabbard with the raven insignia on it, offering it to Owen.

Owen felt another flush of warmth in his heart, and his throat suddenly felt thick as he stared at his old friend. “It was your doing?” he said.

Kevan looked abashed. “I’ve known you were plotting something for quite some time, my lord,” he said. “I thought it strange you kept bringing Eyric books. I had them snatched while he slept and learned to read the love notes he shared with Lady Kathryn. I’ve tried in many delicate ways to show you I was on your side. When the king finds out I too have rebelled against him, I will need another job. If you’ll have me.”

Owen started to laugh. The sound just came bubbling out of him. He took the scabbard with one hand and then pulled Kevan into a hug and clapped him hard on the back. “Have you?” he chuckled. “I have a feeling that stopping my execution is only part of your plan.”

Owen noticed Clark and Iago had drawn close to them. He glanced from face to face, each full of courage and determination. A feeling of profound relief flooded him. He was not alone in trying to bring down Severn. He never had been.

“Must we have this council in the middle of the freezing bailey?” Iago drawled. “Best to move it to the solar?”

Elysabeth nodded with encouragement. “The cold normally doesn’t bother me, but tonight it’s excessively cold.”

Together they tromped their way back into the castle, where the flames from the hearth and torches forced back the chilly winter air. The castle was crowded with soldiers wearing the badge of the Pierced Lion and there were servants everywhere, bringing food and drink to satisfy those who had hunkered down inside the walls. The commotion abated when they reached the solar, but Owen didn’t mind the stares. His hope had been restored to him. He belted the scabbard around his waist and instantly felt the magic begin to work through him, warming his frozen extremities and mending the festering wounds from his ordeal with Bothwell.

Owen stood by the hearth, staring down at the huge cedar logs nested amidst the coals, and savoring the warmth. The others entered, and he watched as Iago slouched into the duke’s old chair, quite comfortably, and accepted a flagon of wine from his wife. When Evie stroked Iago’s shoulder tenderly, and he smiled up at her, the evidence of their mutual affection made Owen’s heart clench, but this time the feeling was a little different, a little less covetous. He found himself wishing Sinia were here to enjoy the reprieve with him.

Turning his back to the fire, he faced his allies. Kevan and Clark were speaking in low tones with each other, but they both fell silent when they saw Owen looking at them.

“First, I must thank you all,” Owen said, shaking his head. “I was not looking forward to spending the night chained to Helvellyn. I’m not talented at these kinds of speeches, but my heart compels me to speak the gratitude I feel. Thank you all, again.” He folded his arms and began to pace, dropping into the familiar habit. Ripples of Fountain magic added to his warmth as he began to sort through their situation as he would the first blocks of one of his tile structures. “Kevan—how did you arrange this?”

A wry smile twisted the face of the Espion lieutenant. “It did not require much imagination to figure out where the king was planning to execute you. I had someone stationed at the river in case he planned on throwing you in, but I thought he’d keep with tradition. It’s part of the historical record that the Maid of Donremy was taken to Helvellyn for her execution. I sent word to Clark, knowing that he was already at Dundrennan.”

Owen smiled at the man and nodded. “And it was your idea to hide under blankets in the snow?”

Clark was not the type to appreciate such attention. He nodded curtly.

Iago laughed. “He’s too modest. It was bloody brilliant. He’s an excellent hunter and spy. I tell you, I was tempted to try and kill Severn myself when he came up the mountain so unprotected. If we could have hidden fifty men, it would have been the perfect trap. But I didn’t truly believe he’d leave his army, and we couldn’t risk that he would kill you before we got to him. All went well enough, though, so I shouldn’t complain.”

Evie squeezed his shoulder and he quieted down.

“Let my lady speak,” Iago said with a flamboyant gesture. “This was her strategy after all.”

Owen cocked his head to get a better look at her.

“When we found out you were compromised,” Evie said, “we needed to adjust our plans quickly, knowing we’d face the brunt of the king’s army. I think it’s better this way. He’ll be surrounded and cut off from his supplies. He’s coming to lay siege to the North, but he’ll be trapped here.”

“How so?” Owen asked. “Why can’t he retreat back to Kingfountain?”

She smiled mischievously. “Because
your
army is blocking the retreat.”

“Captain Ashby?” Owen asked with growing delight.

“Is on your side,” Kevan answered with a nod. “As are your men. And the Duchess of Brythonica’s forces will be arriving in two days. We’ll more than outnumber the king’s.”

Owen smiled. “She’s coming?”

Evie gave him a knowing look, a small smile on her face. “She’s kept us informed of her actions. There is more. Kevan? Tell him about the enemies of Ceredigion.”

Kevan nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. “The Duke of Brugia has breached the defenses of Callait. I see by your look you already knew this. He’s preparing ships to attack Kingfountain. Chatriyon is also marching with his army. They’ve swept into Westmarch behind the duchess’s forces. They’ve been joined by the Legaultans, who seek revenge on Severn for sacking their cities years ago. Westmarch is being fought for like scattered table scraps by hounds.”

Owen stared at him, his stomach clenching with worry. “That makes seven,” he whispered.

“What?” Evie asked him.

Owen stopped pacing. “The prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman says that seven kings will unite against Ceredigion, but I don’t think it literally means kings. Back in the days of King Andrew, each duchy was led by a king. It was a title, a rank, similar to that of a duke today.” He snapped his fingers. “Occitania, Brythonica, Leoneyis—that’s Westmarch—Atabyrion, Legault. In the past, North Cumbria was its own kingdom. And Brugia. That makes seven. Seven kings, or seven
rulers
, each invading Ceredigion. Severn brought his forces to the North because that is where his most loyal supporters have traditionally come from. This is the fulfillment of the prophecy. Only a new king can unify us again. A young man, hardly a boy, who is the rightful ruler of Ceredigion and who will restore the ancient rights of the sanctuaries.”

“And where is this rightful king?” Evie asked. “Is he still back at the palace? Should we send someone to fetch him?”

They were all looking at him. Only Lady Kathryn, Sinia, and the Deconeus of St. Penryn knew the secret now that Eyric and Etayne had gone on to the Deep Fathoms. “He’s down in the king’s camp with a Wizr board that can destroy all of us.”

Owen rubbed his forehead. It was time to tell them all the truth. He looked at the doors to make sure they were closed. “I must tell you about what I’ve been planning. It’s time you all knew. But before I do, I have a question to ask of you.” He turned to Evie. “Do you know of a boy in the castle named Carrick?”

Evie nodded. “He’s the son of my grandfather’s huntsman, Fergus. They’ve been out hunting meat to feed the soldiers. The boy is the best hunter in these parts. He has a gift.”

Owen smiled. “He’s Fountain-blessed.”

Owen’s legs ached from the long climb into the mountains behind the fortress of Dundrennan. He was wrapped in bearskin leggings, thick gloves, and several shirts and tunics, yet it was barely enough to suppress the chill of the descending night. Clark hiked alongside him, longbow at the ready, as did Evie, dressed in her sturdy leather boots. They followed Carrick, a sinewy lad with gray eyes and shorn hair, and his father. Fergus had a salt-and-pepper beard and an animated manner, but Carrick was quiet and sober-minded. He seemed older than his seventeen summers. They had warned the others that they were hunting in bear country and the beasts were especially hungry due to the early winter. They should be hibernating, but there was still the risk that some would be out looking for meat to sustain them.

Iago had remained behind with Kevan to oversee the castle’s defenses. He’d given Owen a wary look before they left, conveying the message that he had better protect Evie . . . or else. It was clear that while he trusted his wife on the jaunt, he was not happy about the risk they were taking by leaving the safety of Dundrennan.

They followed the river at the head of the waterfall high into the mountains, where water melted from a natural glacier older than any of the kingdoms. It was this glacier that was the source of the river of Kingfountain.

“There’s the cave,” Carrick said, pointing. There was nothing but ice and shattered rock this high in the mountains. The river was narrow enough to span with their legs at this point, but the ice cave extended deep into the throat of the glacier.

Fergus whistled with respect. “My boy found it,” he said boastfully, turning to Evie. “I’ve been by this way a dozen times without ever thinking it more than a crag of ice and rock, but he felt something calling to him from inside it. He can hear things we can’t.”

Now that he was close, Owen could sense something too. The Fountain’s magic welled in this place, as much as it did in Brythonica. He could sense power emanating from the mountains. The closer they’d come to the source of the river, the more he’d felt his magic reserves fill up.

They paused before the ice caves, and Carrick and Fergus brought out torches and lit them with flint and iron. The ripples of the flames would help them see as night shrouded the sky. Stars had begun to appear in the liquid expanse overhead, higher than the clouds that hung oppressively over Dundrennan.

Carrying the torches, the hunters led the way into the caves. The river was frozen just inside the cave, a sheet of continuous ice that led the way in, but the travelers’ boots were equipped with leather straps covered in nail spikes. The torchlight glimmered off the strange walls that were clear and warped like glass. The light from the torches made dazzling colors that illuminated the way ahead.

“I told you I couldn’t miss this,” Evie whispered to Owen as they walked, her breath coming out in great puffs of white. “We always wanted to visit the caves.”

With a gloved hand, Owen touched the rippled ice of the walls as Carrick led them deeper into the cave. The only sounds were the scratching noise of their boot spikes and the puffs of frosty air they exhaled.

Around the first bend, there was a cleft of solid stone that had been split down the middle. Owen stared at it in surprise. The rock looked like it had been cleaved down the middle by an enormous axe, though the boulder was too big for any mortal weapon. Fragments of rock lay askew around it. As Owen passed the area, he rubbed his hand along the sheer surface of the rock, his mind alive with the Fountain.

It is the power of the sword
, it whispered to him.
The power of ice. It is the White King’s blade.