Drew came over and tousled the boy’s hair. “I’ll miss you, Owen. Everyone talks about you, you know, even outside the palace. The people know that you’re Fountain-blessed. It will count for something.” His look was tender and sympathetic, which made Owen worry even more about what would happen at Tatton Hall. After giving a little pat to Owen’s shoulder, Drew left the kitchen. It was late, and Liona had already concealed the tray with Ankarette’s dinner, but she stayed in the kitchen to do some final tidying.
Suddenly the noise of footsteps rushing down the hall stairs broke the quiet of the room. Evie came running in, her dark hair wild, tearstains on her pink cheeks. Her nose was dripping and she wiped it on her sleeve. It was already past time for her to be abed and he hadn’t seen her in hours. She looked frantic and worried, and the sight of her upset made Owen tremble with concern.
In moments, she was kneeling at his side and pulling him into a frantic hug, half sobbing on his shoulder.
“What happened?” Owen said, pulling back a bit to look at her face.
Her green-gray-blue eyes were filled with tears. “Grandpapa says I can’t . . . can’t come to the Assizes!” she wailed. “He’s sending me back North! Owen! This isn’t fair! I want to be there when you see your parents. I want to help give you courage when you face the king! Owen!” Her face crumpled with misery and she grabbed his hands, squeezing them so hard it hurt.
He hadn’t imagined that she wouldn’t be going with him. Dread flooded him from head to foot. This would make it all so much worse.
“Grandpapa said,” she sniffled, “that you’ll be riding with him, as you did when you came here. He doesn’t want me to see . . . not after Papa . . . Owen! What are they going to do with you?”
Owen felt tears in his own eyes. He’d never seen her so vulnerable.
“Not after Papa. I can’t lose you, not you too!” Her fingers tightened, their knuckles locking together. “We’re to be married. I thought that’s why Grandpapa brought me here. But he said . . . he said no. That the king might send your entire family over the falls.” She hung her head, sobbing uncontrollably. “It’s not fair! You didn’t betray the king at Ambion Hill. It wasn’t your fault! Owen, I couldn’t bear it! Losing Papa was hard enough. I’ve tried so hard to be brave, but I can’t lose you too! And I won’t even be there to see what happens to you! This isn’t fair!” she shrieked.
Liona had rushed over to them, and began clucking and cooing softly as she wrapped her arms around Evie’s shoulders. “There, there, my little girl. There, there. Shhhh! You must be brave. We must all be brave. Ankarette will help. You’ll see. You’re upsetting Owen, lass.”
Owen felt his own tears streaming down his cheeks. His longing for his parents had been like an underground stream in his time at the palace—an undercurrent to all his other emotions, even though he resented them for letting him go, even though he had formed attachments to other people. But seeing Evie’s grief made him feel selfish and stupid. He’d never even talked to her about her own troubles for more than a moment. And what she was saying . . . well, it was as if he and his family were suspended over the edge of a waterfall. They could go under in an instant.
The sound of boots came again, sturdier and heavier, and Owen recognized the set as her grandfather’s and Ratcliffe’s. Both men entered the kitchen together, one looking somber and grave, the other looking betrayed and aggrieved when he caught sight of Mancini.
“No!” the girl shrieked when she saw her grandfather. She looked betrayed and miserable, yet she still had her spark of defiance and iron will. “I’m going too!”
Ratcliffe sighed at the spectacle of emotion. He snorted to himself and folded his arms over his big chest, giving Horwath a pitying look. “You deal with the water sprite. That’s your concern.”
Horwath’s brow furrowed. “She’s my granddaughter. Mind that.” Horwath approached slowly, as if she were a skittish horse ready to bolt.
“It’s not fair, Grandpapa!” she wailed. She tugged on Owen’s arm, as if he were the anchor that would prevent her from being swept away.
“Come, Lady Mortimer,” Liona said. “Don’t shame your grandfather. Obey him.”
She rounded on Liona as if she were an enemy. “My mother is Lady Mortimer,” she said passionately, with a hint of malice. “I am Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer!”
“Come,” Duke Horwath said tenderly, kneeling down by the bench. He held out his hand to her, palm up, entreatingly.
“Is Owen going to die?” she squeaked, her voice full of sorrow. She looked up at her grandfather, tears spilling from her eyes.
The duke had a brave face, stern and calm, but his eyes were full of pain. He glanced at Owen and then back at his granddaughter. “I know not,” he whispered.
That made it even worse. A black hole seemed to have opened up below Owen, threatening to swallow him. He remembered when he had first come to Kingfountain, riding behind the duke on his horse. The sense of abandonment, the loneliness, the fear of speaking to anyone.