The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) (8 page)

The duchess had well-dressed grooms waiting to take their horses and offer refreshment to the men.

Lord Roux dismounted and immediately made his way over to Owen, tugging off his gloves and stuffing them into his belt. “Your men need time to wash and dress. I would advise a breakfast meeting with the duchess. The view of the bay is exquisite in the morning, and I’m certain—”

“The news I bring is urgent, my lord,” Owen interrupted, clapping his dusty gloves together and letting a cloud plume before him. “It cannot wait.”

Roux’s eyes hardened even more. “You are filthy,” he said angrily.

“I’m a soldier,” Owen replied with a shrug. Then he gave Roux a stern look. “I didn’t come all this way to be trifled with.”

Roux bristled at the choice of words. “Why are you here, Kiskaddon?” he said in a low voice.

“As I told you, my business is with the duchess. Shall we?” He gestured mockingly toward the castle.

Lord Roux tried and failed to conceal his displeasure. He started marching across the bailey at a quick pace. There were decorative urns arranged before the entryway, and Owen stopped when he saw the symbol carved on them. He had never seen it before, but it evoked the feeling of the Fountain.

How best to describe it? The symbol was like three interlocking horseshoes, the ends facing east, west, and south. In the east/west crescents, two faces in profile had been carved into the stone. One face looked pleasant, well-proportioned. The other face looked sharp, frowning, and angry. A third face pointed down with a neutral expression.

“This way,” Roux scolded, noticing Owen had stopped to gawk at the urns.

As he entered the palace, Owen noticed the symbol everywhere. The floor was decorated in black and white tiles, but unlike the sanctuary of Our Lady of Kingfountain, the tiles weren’t arranged like a Wizr board. Instead they formed a repeating hook design like waves, all the white ones symmetrical to the black ones. He felt the presence of the Fountain strongly in the palace, but as he’d noticed elsewhere in Brythonica, it was
everywhere
, not anchored to a specific person.

The palace servants were all dressed in fine clothes. Not opulent, but pleasant and colorful. A few servants gave him curious looks and wrinkled their noses slightly in response to his dirty tunic and boots. The interior corridor was quite long, but they eventually reached a pair of open doors guarded by six men. Lord Roux nodded to the guards as he passed, and the men responded with dutiful nods. Owen felt his chest flutter with unease as he prepared to face the ruler of Brythonica. He dreaded fulfilling the duty Severn had given him, suddenly self-conscious of how condescending and provoking the ultimatum would be.

The duchess immediately captured his attention when he entered the room. There was no wondering who she was, no misunderstanding. The mayor of Averanche had said she was beautiful, and he clearly was not blind.

Her name was Sinia Montfort, and she was the scion of one of the ancient noble houses of Occitania. She had wavy gold hair that went all the way down her back, but part was braided and coiffed behind her head. The crown she wore could hardly be called a crown. It was a circlet of gold with ornamented leaves dangling from the band, one just touching her forehead. She had on a pale blue gown studded with small pearls on the front and a surcoat of even paler fabric. Her eyes were blue, even more so than the gown, and they welled with worry. She wasn’t seated on the throne, but pacing near it, her fingers fidgeting with a ring on her right hand. There was a light flush on her cheeks, as if she felt extremely unsettled.

She reminded him a little of Princess Elyse when he had first met her as a little boy. Although she was an undeniable beauty, there did not appear to be any haughtiness to her. When she noticed them enter, the fidgeting with her ring ended and she stood in a regal pose, gazing at him with an expression that was difficult to describe. Not anger, but almost as if she were nervous to see him in an excited way. As if she had been
wanting
to see him.

Oh dear
, he thought with dread.
This is going to be awful for her.

The lord marshal approached halfway into the audience hall and then dropped to both knees, bowing his head reverentially. All of the servants mimicked him and dropped down to both knees. That was an unusual custom.

Owen, on the other hand, did not kneel. He was a duke, his station equal to hers. He did incline his head to her.

“You are most welcome to Ploemeur, Lord Kiskaddon,” the duchess said. She inclined her head to him. “Our allies are always welcome. Let me be the first to thank you for rendering aid when we were being invaded.”

Owen felt the irony of her comment like a stab to the gut. At the time, he had helped her avoid a forced marriage with Chatriyon, the King of Occitania. Now the King of Ceredigion had sent him here to press his own proposal.

“No thanks are needed, my lady,” he answered with a shrug of no concern. “You may want to keep your thanks for a better time. I have come on the king’s errand, and he is not known to be a patient man.”

Lady Sinia gestured to Lord Roux and the others to rise, which they did in a uniform manner.

“Lord Kiskaddon would not reveal the nature of his urgent summons to our lands,” Roux said, giving the duchess a sharp look. “It may be best to dismiss the servants ere he—”

“That won’t be necessary at all,” Owen countermanded, deliberately goading the lord marshal. “I don’t intend to stay very long.” Owen began to saunter in the throne room, eyeing the tall columns and decorative vases. He walked up to one and picked it up as if it were his own, noticing the triple crescent symbol was there as well. He set it back down and glanced at Lord Roux, who was turning red with anger and resentment. Etayne had positioned herself among the servants, close enough that she could watch the proceedings and intervene in case things became hostile.

“Why have you come?” Lady Sinia asked politely.

Owen could only imagine how he looked in her eyes. She looked so beautiful, polished, and regal. And here he stood in his dirty boots and sweat-stained tunic. With a scraggly half beard and smudged eyes, his odor clashing with the vase of fresh flowers.

“Well, my lady, it’s really a simple matter,” Owen said offhandedly. “King Severn wishes to enhance the relationship between Ceredigion and Brythonica.” He paused again to admire a curtain, deliberately adding to the suspense. He nodded approvingly, then turned and faced her. He hated himself. He hated what Severn was making him do. What he was trying to make him become.

Get this over with
, he chided himself.

Owen let out a breath and then marched up to the duchess. Roux’s hand went for his sword pommel, as if he feared Owen might attack her. The servants gaped at his rudeness and effrontery. Etayne reached for a dagger.

He dropped to one knee in front of Lady Sinia and took her dainty hand in his dirty one, causing a gasp of shock from some of the observers.

“I have come to Plumerie,” he said, deliberately butchering the name of her capital, “to offer you my hand in marriage. My king commands me to wed you, and I must obey. Loyalty binds me, just as it will bind our duchies under the throne of Severn Argentine. What say you, my lady? I must bring my king your answer.”

He stared into her eyes, gritting his teeth, loathing himself for what he was doing.

He couldn’t see Lord Roux’s face, but he could imagine his expression from the tone of his voice. “How
dare
you,” he growled with barely suppressed outrage. “You, sir, have exceeded all propriety. How dare you speak to her thus!”

Owen tried to look abashed, to give Sinia a helpless shrug to communicate that none of this was his own choice. But he was surprised by the pleased look on her face. The delight in her eyes. This was not the reaction he had expected.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Yes, I think I will have you.”

My lord Kiskaddon,

The king has arrived back at Kingfountain from the North. There is much ill will between the new duke and the population of the duchy. Catsby has occupied Dundrennan for not even a fortnight and he has already shipped many of the treasures of the palace to his manors in East Stowe and Southport. I thought you’d want to know. While he tries to do this secretly, the servants are appalled and outraged at his blatant plundering. He has also dismissed many of the loyal families who have served the Horwath line for years, and brought in his own men. He may not listen to reason, but I implore you to speak to him as you are highly regarded in this corner of the realm. His actions are stirring the bitterest enmity. One final note—the king has requested companionship for the daughter of King Iago and Queen Elysabeth. There is a foundling at Dundrennan that was requested, a lad about her own age by the name of Andrew. He’ll be sent to Kingfountain shortly. When do you expect to return from your visit to Brythonica?

Kevan Amrein

Kingfountain Palace

CHAPTER EIGHT

Secrets

A pit opened up in Owen’s stomach. He had the queer sensation that he had finally been outmaneuvered, though he had no idea how. Her response had so surprised him that he found himself momentarily rendered speechless, his mouth partway open. He shut it, still at a loss for words, and slowly rose, staring at Sinia incredulously.

It did not take long before Marshal Roux rushed up to his side. “It takes some gall, my lord,” he said, his voice raw with anger and accusation, “to come hither with such tidings. My lady, I
implore
you to reconsider such a blatant attempt at extortion! We have not defended Brythonica these many years to surrender it to another king without a fight!”

Owen watched the duchess’s reaction closely, looking for a sign that his hunch was correct, that Lord Roux was the true power behind Brythonica. Perhaps the duchess saw marriage to Owen as her only escape from the man. She still had not released her grip on Owen’s fingers.

But her gaze contained no fear when she turned it to Roux. It was pragmatic, patient. “Lord Marshal, I thank you for your advice and many years of loyal service. I do not make this decision lightly; you may be sure. Long has my duchy been vulnerable to attack. We have enjoyed a long season of peace due to our alliance with Ceredigion.” She returned her gaze to Owen. “I see wisdom in cementing the alliance. I know you wish to return promptly to your king, Owen, but may I beg you to remain for a few days? I would care to show you my domain and discuss terms of the betrothal that would mutually serve our interests. Would that be agreeable to you?”

Again, Owen was dumbfounded, and the throbbing vein in Marshal Roux’s forehead told him he was not alone in that sensation. “My lady, I implore you to heed my warning!” Roux said. “If you allow this alliance to proceed, then everything we have fought for, everything your
father
fought for, will be ruined!”

Owen felt rankled by the objection, although he had expected it all along. He pulled his hand away and turned to meet the eyes of the lord marshal. “I don’t think it’s your place to reverse the word of a duchess, my lord,” Owen said icily. “Is she beholden to you in some way?”

Roux’s eyes blazed with white-hot fire.

Lady Sinia reached out and touched Roux’s arm. “My lord, truly. I do not make this decision rashly or lightly. I hold your counsel in the highest respect and regard, as I always have.”

“It would seem not,” he sniffed, barely controlling his temper. Then he turned on his heel and stormed out of the chamber.

Owen watched him leave. When he glanced back at Sinia, he saw a disappointed frown tug the corner of her mouth, but it was gone in an instant. “How long can I persuade you to linger in Ploemeur?” she asked.

Owen risked a look back at the door, where all the servants were gathered, giving him hateful looks. He had come there to alienate and offend. He had succeeded with everyone except the duchess herself. Or perhaps she was just better at disguising her true emotions. He warily reached out to her with his magic, letting the ripples of the Fountain, which he had felt constantly since entering Brythonica, gently flow from him.

The reaction he truly hoped to see was from Lady Sinia herself. The magic glided from his fingertips, traveling through the duchess like a vapor. He sensed her stiffen, her eyes crinkling slightly, as if a breeze had given her a chill. Then he felt himself brushing against a huge dam of power. She was Fountain-blessed herself; he could sense her power like a vast lake. Her blue eyes met his, her mouth showing neither resentment nor intrigue. She was letting him
observe
her without doing anything to push away his intrusion. It felt insulting, so he drew his magic back.

But not without learning her weakness. If she stopped breathing, her power would be completely severed. She was as vulnerable as a sparrow. The thought of breaking her neck filled him with utter revulsion.

Her nostrils flared just a little. “Good night, my lord,” she said dismissively, and turned and walked away.

Sinia’s steward, a man named Thierry, escorted Owen to one of the royal apartments in the castle. It was beautifully furnished and possessed a small fountain within it, a tiny one that chirped like a little bird as it bubbled. The floor was polished marble, the curtains expensive and thin and gauzy, and the colors light and festive. Several surfaces were decorated with beautiful vases filled with fresh flowers.

He walked like a man in a trance, only partially aware of his surroundings. He was now betrothed to the Duchess of Brythonica. Even though he had come to Ploemeur with that express purpose, he had never imagined it happening, let alone so quickly. Part of him wanted to laugh. Part of him wondered if he should break it off immediately. But while his feelings were anything but simple, he could not deny he was acutely curious about the Montfort heiress and her impressive power. He had always suspected Roux to be the strong one in her realm. He was keen to learn more about her, about this place.

Owen’s men were bunked in the armory, and he had given orders to Captain Ashby to spend their stay inspecting the castle’s defenses and planning siege strategies. While the castle could protect the court and the chief nobles, it was far too small to accommodate the population of Ploemeur. That left the majority of the people incredibly vulnerable. It would be easy to land an army in Brythonica and siege it, but the siege would be long and tedious.

Owen only half listened as Thierry explained the duchess’s daily schedule; he was preoccupied with watching Etayne examine the doors, windows, and all other possible entrances and exits.

“My lord?” Thierry sounded aggrieved.

“Yes, what was that again?” Owen asked.

Thierry’s face wrinkled with stern anger. He was an older man with steel-gray hair combed forward in the Occitanian style, and a colorful doublet, but his face was lined with crags and wrinkles. “I said, would my lord wish to join Lady Sinia at the supplicant hearing, or during the time when the artists are painting?”

Owen looked at the man in feigned confusion. “Why would I care about either of those things?”

Thierry grit his teeth. “She is very busy, my lord, and wishes to afford you the
courtesy
of her time tomorrow. It was my thinking that you would benefit from hearing about the troubles presented to her for resolution. Or you may be interested in the art of this kingdom, which is one of our great treasures.” He rocked on his heels, obviously exasperated that Owen hadn’t been listening. “There is also an archery tournament tomorrow,” he added. “Perhaps some of your men might wish to impress us all with their talents?”

Owen sighed, wanting the conversation to be done. The ruse to be over. Thierry was assuming Owen actually intended to marry the girl, which was far from certain. He clapped Thierry on the shoulder. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

The steward scowled. “The . . . the morning?”

“Of course!” Owen said cheerfully. “I’m exhausted from the ride and may sleep quite late tomorrow. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to see the duchess.”

It was calculated to make Thierry apoplectic and it worked. The steward had a difficult time remaining civil in the face of such an outrage. “I beg your leave then, my lord.”

“No need to beg,” he answered offhandedly. “You couldn’t leave here quickly enough.”

Thierry scowled, bowed stiffly, and then stormed out of the room. He clearly wanted to slam the door, but he remembered himself in time and shut it gently.

“You almost sounded like the king when you said that last part,” Etayne offered slyly.

Owen folded his arms and stared at the door. “Sarcasm doesn’t require much effort when you have ample practice.” The sun was beginning to set, painting the fleecy clouds a rich orange. He crossed the room to the iron-and-glass door to the balcony and stepped outside. The platform jutted off the cliff, giving him an impressive view of the bay and the flickering lights far below. The air was salty from the sea.

Etayne joined him. “One would have to be mad or quite skilled to climb up here from below,” she said. “The doors have sturdy bolts. The locking mechanisms are unsophisticated. The vases of flowers could be intended to hide the scent of poison, so we might want to dump them out.”

Owen chuckled and turned, pressing his back against the rim of the balcony as he looked at her. “You think someone will try and kill me now?”

She smirked. “I think everyone here in Ploemeur is going to want to kill you after what you just did.”

“She was expecting it,” Owen said, shaking his head. “I didn’t surprise her at all.”

“Lord Roux was surprised, that much was obvious.”

Owen nodded. “He was. He reacted just as I expected he would. Which surprises me, because
he’s
usually one step ahead of me. But Sinia wasn’t surprised. I don’t think she’s the helpless damsel I thought she was.”

Etayne came closer so that he could hear her whispered words. “Yes, you thought Lord Roux was keeping her on a leash.”

“I did,” he said. “But not anymore. I wouldn’t go so far as to say
he’s
the one on the leash. But they are close. She respects him, not fears him.”

“I noticed that as well,” Etayne said. “I felt you use the magic when you were standing with her. What did you learn, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He raised his eyebrows and chuffed. “She’s one of us,” he said knowingly. “And her access to the magic is both vast and well controlled. She could sense me probing her. She let me do it, but it offended her, I think.”

She smiled playfully. “I remember when you did it to me onboard the ship all those years ago. It does make a girl feel rather vulnerable. Did you learn her weakness? Does she even have one?” The last remark sounded a little jealous.

Owen was not ready to share that information, especially not with a poisoner—friend or not. “I pulled back as soon as I realized what she was,” he answered evasively. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her usual sign of disbelief.

“Have you seen the symbol on the vases?” he asked, both because he wanted to change the subject and because he wanted to know. “It’s on the gate, it’s—”

“Everywhere,” she interrupted. “Yes. But I don’t know what it means. You should ask her when you see her tomorrow. If they’ll even
let
you after how vulgar you’ve been.” She gave him another sly look. “Should we even bother disguising who I am? That you brought a poisoner with you should add to the offense you are deliberately inflicting.”

Owen chuckled, folding his arms. He stared at Etayne, but he was thinking about Sinia. The duchess had always intrigued him, in part because he’d encountered Roux so often without learning anything about her. Based on the mayor of Averanche’s assessment, he’d expected her to be a beauty, and she was, but his other expectations had been trumped. She was not the puppet he’d expected.

The duchess had lost her father at a young age, and her mother not too long after. As a child thrust to the helm of command, she had been guided and couched by people like Roux until she reached adulthood. That was how they did things in Occitania and its independent duchies. The people respected the authority of the family. Uncles didn’t snatch thrones from children. There was a sense of honor in that. Ceredigion’s rulers were known to be more ruthless, which was part of why Owen had suspected the worst of Roux.

“When we met Marshal Roux in the woods, there was something there,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his lip. “I’m sure you felt it too. I want to see it. Maybe I’ll ask Sinia to take me there. Or maybe I’ll go there without asking.”

“Or I could go on ahead,” Etayne offered with a nod. “Why don’t I do that tonight?”

Owen shook his head. “They’re expecting something like that from us. I don’t want to give them an excuse to hunt you. You’re supposed to be protecting me.”

“I could protect you better if I stayed
with
you,” she hinted.

“No, I have other plans for you tonight. I’d like you to disguise yourself as a servant and get to know the castle. I’m uncomfortable because I don’t know this place. Are there dungeons? Where is the duchess’s bedchamber?” She gave him an arch look. “I’m not suggesting anything! But this is a new place, and we don’t have our bearings. See what you can learn inside the castle before venturing out.”