The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) (36 page)

Owen leaned against a pillar in the sanctuary. The people were celebrating in the streets, the noise rising above the sound of the waterfall crashing beneath them. He felt he had done the right thing, but his heart was full of knives as he watched Kevan speak with the Earl of Huntley. Then the Espion escorted the man over to him.

“Lord Huntley, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Owen said formally, bowing in greeting. “Welcome to Kingfountain.”

The man’s voice was heavily accented with the brogue of his country. “I’ve supped at Tatton Hall, my dear boy. When your older brothur was a wee one. I saw you when you visited Edonburick in disguise. Clever lad, as always.”

“What news from Edonburick?” Owen said, dropping his voice low. The earl did not look comfortable. In fact, despite the happy reunion with his daughter, he looked to be grieving.

“There is news. Aye, there is news,” Huntley said. “I came on embassy from the queen to fetch my daughter back in the commotion. But I arrived to find the situation much less bleak than we had feared. And my queen bid me to entrust this letter with you and no one else. Secrets have a way of being found, I’ve learned in my old age. Best if you be the first to know of it.”

He withdrew a sealed letter.

“Where is Iago?” Owen asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Read for yourself,” Huntley said, but Owen already knew from his puffy eyes and desolate expression that Iago was dead.

My dearest Owen,

I know this secret cannot be kept for long. I apologize for the tearstains on the page. My lord husband died crossing back to Atabyrion. His ship was wrecked in a storm. There were no survivors. I would have come to Kingfountain to witness the coronation, but now I am to be the queen dowager, and I cannot leave. My son is too young. Genevieve is as heartbroken as I was when I lost my father at her age. I need your friendship more than ever, Owen. I need your comfort. Can you please come to Edonburick? My heart is broken.

Evie

CHAPTER FORTY

Cruelty

Many sought refuge at the sanctuary of Our Lady when their hearts were torn in half. But Owen knew he wouldn’t find the comfort he needed there. Evie’s desperate plea for comfort had wrung him down to his deepest core. Yet equally demanding and ferocious was his resolve that to go to her would likely destroy his promise to Sinia. He knew Evie wasn’t trying to persuade him of anything rash. But their feelings for each other would make them vulnerable. The mere act of reading her letter had made him vulnerable.

He had chosen the poisoner’s tower as his sanctuary. It was a place where he could be alone with his thoughts, alone with his demons, but not truly alone—for there were ghosts there.

The room had been made over after Etayne’s tastes, and the lingering smell of the chamber reminded him so vividly of the thief’s daughter that he nearly fled back down to the stairs. He sat on a small chest with his back against the wall and looked up at the rafters, letting the weight of his dilemma rock on his shoulders a bit. He had not felt this terrible since the day of Evie’s wedding. Memories had painful edges that could still cut.

Over the years, Owen had secretly hoped the King of Atabyrion would somehow die, giving him another chance with Evie. Such had happened to Severn and his first love. But he had long ago given up that hope. Now the impossible had happened. If only he had known . . . if only he had known!

He’d gone down to Brythonica with a sneer on his mouth and spite in his heart, sent to woo a duchess with curses and disdain. Despite his ill treatment of her, Sinia had patiently endured his sarcasm and discourtesy. She had accepted him because she saw something in him that made her care for him.
Love
him.

Could he truly break his promise to her? Did he even want to?

He kept thinking about how heartbroken she had looked before leaving Ceredigion. It was clear to him now that she had known about the cruel choice he would be forced to make.
This
was why she’d been so on edge.

Owen rubbed his mouth and closed his eyes. Drew had already named him the lord protector of Ceredigion. He could not fulfill his duties to the king from so far away. The boy needed someone at hand, someone who would help him learn how to take the reins of state. Yet how could he not go to Evie when she most needed him? When he could feel her pain as if it were his own? How could he make a choice that was sure to devastate one of the people he cared about?

In time, he grew accustomed to the smells of the tower. The pain of Etayne’s death made his chest throb, but he had not only come here to connect with her. Feeling each ridge of the stones pressing into his back, he shrunk inside himself, willing the years to fade away, returning him to the terrified little boy he’d been. The boy who had been nurtured and protected by Ankarette Tryneowy. How he wished he could see her again. To whisper his fears and doubts to her. To receive her comfort and succor. He would have given all of his wealth to make it happen. Sadness and longing filled him, and tears warmed his eyes, building up on his lashes without quite falling.

“What would you advise me to do?” Owen whispered into the stillness. Up in the tower, he could hear a gentle night wind. The thin candles he’d brought up were the only source of light, and shadows smothered the room. Owen rose from the chest and pulled open the curtain, standing before his reflection on the glass. If anyone in the dark city below was looking up at the castle, they might see a pinprick of light coming from the tower and mistake it for a star.

He saw the frown on his mouth in his reflection. The dilemma was truly awful. This was the kind of fateful choice Severn had been forced to make after the death of his brother Eredur—a choice that had yielded years of fateful consequences. Owen was not wise enough to see the future. He had no mantic gifts.

But he did have Sinia’s warning. Someone like Owen had existed before. Someone like him had been faced with a terrible choice. And he had chosen to forsake his wife. How many times would the story be repeated until the cycle was broken? The heart was such a powerful force. Owen could see why his predecessors had chosen as they did.

Owen stared at the glass, unable to see the city beyond it in the darkness. The future was just as dark. He could not see it. No matter how much he wanted to. He had to make a decision without knowing the repercussions of it.

Well, he did know some things that would happen.

Owen knew himself well enough to know that if he
did
go to Edonburick to comfort Evie, he might never leave. He would not be able to see her pain without trying to comfort her. It would likely scandalize the people in that kingdom, which could have repercussions for young Iago’s leadership.

He’d made no promise to Evie. But he had promised his troth to Sinia Montfort, a pledge nearly as strong as the marriage oath. He wore a ring. There was something
wrong
about forsaking it, something that made him squirm inside. Before he could go to Evie, he would need to be released from his engagement. But the thought of ending his connection with Sinia made him tremble with dread. She was a powerful Wizr, yet she was so vulnerable, like the butterfly she was named after. He had no doubt that she would release him from his promise. She was kindhearted and forgiving. But she had silently and secretly helped him for years. She’d given his parents and siblings a home. She’d saved his life and his army with her powers. And she had saved Ceredigion from an eternal winter.

That was not all, though. Since getting to know her, he had grown fond of her. He had begun imagining his life with her at his side—a thought he quite liked. Sinia was not as talkative as Evie, but she was a better listener. She was Fountain-blessed, like Owen, so they could relate to each other on a special level. Together, they had saved the kingdom from destruction. With her help, he was confident they could restore the ancient court and the principles of Virtus that had once held sway in this land.

“Ankarette, what should I do?” Owen moaned softly, wrestling with his feelings.

He imagined her sitting by the bed, one arm gripping her stomach to stifle the pain. She’d been sick the entire time he’d known her. Some disease had made her suffer, yet she had always tried to appear cheerful and comforting.

Ankarette had always known his heart. Which of the two women was more like her? The answer came to him unbidden:
Sinia
.

Owen heard soft steps coming up the tower. His sense of hearing had always been keen. He listened to the sound and imagined, with a sudden spasm of hope, that it was Ankarette climbing the steps. He turned away from the window, blinking with growing surprise. Who was coming to see him in the dead of the night? Despite all logic and sense, he wanted so desperately for it to be Ankarette.

It was Kevan Amrein, newly appointed as the head of the Espion. Owen sighed with disappointment.

“I’m surprised I even found you,” Kevan said, eyeing the room warily. “We’ve been searching the entire palace for you.”

“Sorry to alarm you,” Owen said. “I needed some time to think.”

The man smiled sympathetically. “I was sorry to hear about Iago. When the earl told me . . .” As they both brooded on the implications of the news, the room fell quiet except for their breathing.

Owen realized it was time to leave the ghosts of the tower behind. These were decisions that could only be made by the living.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Ploemeur

It amazed Owen how quickly the frost melted away after the sun pierced the clouds. Patches of snow still clung to the shadows, but the roads were clear again, and the army of Ceredigion was on the move. The bulk of the riders were hard pressed to keep up with the Duke of Westmarch, who swept through his domain like a farmer’s scythe at harvest time. He flanked the Occitanian army, preventing it from retreating back across the border. Owen’s new captain had them penned in at Rougemont castle, which Chatriyon’s forces had taken during their advance. Owen kept them there and moved forward, charging hard to cross the border to relieve the siege at Averanche. He arrived just in time to surprise the besieging army before the city was forced to formally surrender.

It may have helped that the king’s banner flew beside his.

Soldiers had flocked to Eredur’s standard—the Sun and Rose—and joining with Owen’s bedraggled force, they had won a series of quick victories in just a few days, while war continued to rage.

Owen and Drew took over the pavilion that had been occupied by the lord marshal of Pree, who had been caught while napping. The man hadn’t even been wearing armor when his camp was overrun. The palisade was broken down, and Owen’s captains had secured the roads, preventing anyone from escaping to warn King Chatriyon, whose army was infesting Brythonica, according to the latest reports. Of course, Owen did not need to rely on the latest reports anymore. The Wizr set provided him with more information than the Espion ever could.

The pavilion, constructed of a cream-colored fabric embellished with hand-stitched frills, was furnished with beautiful rugs and ornate braziers. The marshal’s pallet was stuffed with feathers, and bottles of expensive wine were chilling in chests brought from distant castles. Owen and the young king sat on the camp stools overlooking the Wizr board that sat open on a round table in front of them.

Drew’s face was alight with eagerness and anticipation. He no longer wore the drab colors of a knight in training, but was bedecked in garments befitting his new rank. The coronation ring glistened on his finger and a coronet pressed against his flax-colored hair. Severn’s crown traveled with them. The sword Firebos was in a brand-new ornate scabbard, propped against Drew’s chair. He never let it out of his sight. Owen continued to wear the battered raven-marked scabbard for his own weapon.

“What make you of the pieces?” Owen asked thoughtfully, his shoulders slightly hunched as he stroked his bottom lip.

The boy’s grin was infectious. “I think we’re winning.”

“No doubt we’re winning,” Owen said with a laugh. “Show me the positions. Who is where?”

Drew put his finger on the white Wizr. “This is the Duchess of Brythonica, Sinia Montfort. The black king is Chatriyon. He’s right next to her. That’s a foolish move because a Wizr is more powerful than a king.”

“Indeed,” Owen said, admiring the boy’s sagacity. “Go on.”

“We are here,” he said, indicating the white king and the white knight. “This piece is the Duke of Glosstyr. He’s a tower now.”

“You’re right,” Owen said. “And where is his piece moving?”

“Against Legault. They outnumber him. Should we send reinforcements?”

Owen shook his head. “I don’t think you should worry about him being outnumbered, my lord. Even with a third of their number, he’ll still win.”

He saw the king’s face darken a bit. “Do you think he will serve me well, Lord Owen?”

Owen tightened his folded arms a bit and frowned. “I hope so. It would be best to keep an eye on him, though.”

Drew nodded. “Have Lord Amrein see to it.”

Owen had already done so. He’d also ordered Kevan to assign a man to hunt down Dragan. He would not let the thief off easily. “As you will, my lord. And who is this?”

“The Duke of Brugia. His piece is black.”

Owen nodded. “And this?”

“The Queen of Atabyrion. She’s white. I like this game, Lord Owen. The pieces are constantly shifting, but the consequences are real. It’s more exciting than just playing Wizr. Do pieces only come off the board, or can they come back on?”

Owen grinned, pleased by the boy’s quick mind. “I’ve seen both happen. Not only do the pieces affect the board, but the board is affected by our decisions. It helps very much, lad, that
you
can move the pieces. Why are we going
here
and not to Ploemeur?” he asked, indicating their destination.

Drew rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. “Because you ordered our navy sent to Ploemeur instead?”

The boy was bright. Owen was grateful he was trying so hard. Remembering how Ankarette used to praise him for following her teachings, he reached out and touched Drew’s shoulder. “I’m glad you remembered. And what will Chatriyon do once the fleet arrives in the harbor to defend Brythonica?”

Drew looked at the board studiously. He was quiet for a moment, pondering deeply. Then he cocked his head. “Flee?”

Owen smiled smugly and leaned back. “Yes. That’s what he always does. And when you capture the king, a new king will rise. As long as there is an heir, the game goes on.”

The first time Owen had ridden into Brythonica, it was to do the bidding of Severn Argentine and provoke the duchess into defying him. He could hardly believe how much things had changed in the short span of weeks since he’d left. He could still sense the magic hidden in the woods as he approached, the constant jostling in the saddle a normal, comforting feel. King Drew rode beside him, along with a retinue of knights from the king’s household. The boy stared into the woods, his eyes narrowing.

“What are you looking at, my lord?” Owen asked him.

Drew turned back, frowning. “There is something in the woods.”

“Can you feel it?”

The boy nodded slowly. “What is there?”

Owen wondered if the lad was beginning to show the first signs of being Fountain-blessed. In the legends, King Andrew had not possessed that ability, but he had surrounded himself by those who did. Curious.

As they rode into the lush lands of Brythonica, Owen’s heart skittered with anticipation. He’d had much time to think as he’d battled his way here from Kingfountain. He was fretting about seeing Sinia again, but despite his nervousness, he was at peace with his decision.

As they came down the road, he saw two riders approaching from ahead. He recognized both men as heralds. One was his own, Farnes, and the other was Anjers, herald to the King of Occitania. Anjers looked miserable, his hair was askew instead of combed forward in the Occitanian style, and his armor was dashed in mud and grime.

As Owen and Drew reined in, they met the two heralds.

“My lord king,” Farnes said with a beaming smile. “We have captured Chatriyon Vertus in the woods as he attempted to escape back to Pree. There were only twenty knights with him, and he was quickly apprehended. What is my lord’s pleasure to do with him?”

Drew smiled at being addressed so formally.

“My lord,” Anjers said with a desperate voice. “I am authorized to negotiate the ransom for my master. If you will release him immediately that he may return to his wife and child in Pree, he will grant you most generous terms. Please, my lord.” Anjer’s face twitched with emotion. “He is quite frightened. He fears being alone with this . . . butcher.” He stared at Owen with hatred.

Drew looked to Owen for guidance. “It’s your decision, my lord,” Owen said softly. “I’m here to pay my respects to a far more important person than the King of Occitania.”

Drew was silent for a moment, then he turned to Farnes. “Take him to Beestone castle under guard. I will deal with him when I return.”

Anjer’s expression crumpled and tears began to trickle down his cheeks as the humiliation of defeat closed in on him. Owen could feel the grating sensation of the Wizr board in his mind. The game would shift now. But it would not end.

The crash of the surf on the sandy beach was a pleasant noise. The air held a salty tang, and a few seabirds squawked overhead as Owen climbed down the stone steps leading to Glass Beach. He had expected he would find Sinia there. It hadn’t surprised him in the least when they’d arrived at the castle of Ploemeur only to find that she wasn’t there. Owen had left Drew in the care of his own parents and sister, who had greeted the boy king warmly and kindly. They’d offered to provide him with a tour of the castle that would—Owen had insisted—last for several hours. Owen had not assigned anyone to look after the king. He didn’t imagine it was even necessary.

The castle had graciously received the King of Ceredigion and thanked him effusively for the ships that had been sent to relieve the blockade. Drew had insisted on giving Owen credit for the strategy that had so effortlessly captured Chatriyon. In addition to soldiers, the ships had brought cattle and food to replenish what had been taken by the Occitanians during their invasion. Perhaps this was a first step toward a better understanding between Owen and the people of this duchy.

As Owen left the steps and his boots crunched into the sand, he spied a pair of sandals. Smiling to himself, he squatted to pick them up, arranging them in the crook of his finger. The breeze was warm and sunny and ruffled his hair pleasantly. There were two knights guarding the top of the steps, but no one else was on the beach. As he trudged through the sand, trying to see her, the sun shone off the water, blindingly bright.

As he came closer to the water’s edge, the sand changed to the small beads of smooth glass. He stopped to scoop up a handful and toyed with them with his thumb before dumping the pile back down. Then he looked up and saw her. Sinia was circling a hulking boulder, but she came to a sudden stop at the sight of him crouching there. Her hand went to her breast and she started to tremble.

Owen felt a throb of love inside his chest that was almost painful. He rose and sauntered toward her, dangling the sandals out before him.

“You left these behind,” he said with a light tone. A wave crashed nearby, creating a spume as it spread along the flat beach. It was about to reach her bare feet before it lost energy and began to recede.

Sinia approached, her eyes alight with hope, her mouth on the verge of a smile.

Owen tossed the sandals aside, walked up to her, and took her hands, holding them before him. “Sinia Montfort,” he said softly, breathing her name like a prayer. “Will you be mine still? Will you let me kiss you as a husband should? Will you walk with me along this beach and teach me how to please you, how to woo you? Will you be mine from this day forth? My friend and my confidante, my lover and my wife, my companion and my solace. I’m so weary of being alone.” He felt his confidence rattling, his heart nearly bursting. “Can you forgive my imperfections? My sharp words when we first met? Can you forgive me for being
tempted
to betray you? But I did not. Will you let me give you a soul so that you may be one with me, so that we may have children who are as beautiful as you are?” Owen sighed. “You are truly a blessing from the Fountain, and I feel
unworthy
to claim your affection. But may I claim it all the same? Will you consent to be my wife?”

Tears ran down her cheeks, and the smile she gave him was so radiant he thought he would break inside.