The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

They separated to change clothes, and Owen picked one of his more princely costumes. When hiking in the mountains, he opted for comfort and warmth rather than fashion. He changed into a stylish dark-blue velvet doublet with ribbed sleeves. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he tugged on the collar of his shirt and gave himself a self-assured grin. Then, satisfied that he looked the part, he walked to the solar.

The lawyer was a handsome younger man, probably in his early thirties. If his relaxed demeanor was any indication, he was apparently used to traveling long distances. He was wandering around the room and sampling from a platter of various roasted nuts. The knight, on the other hand, was stiff and straight and nearly seven feet tall. He was older than the lawyer, and his hair was arranged in the Occitanian fashion of being combed forward. He had a stiff, high collar and an overly long belted tunic, which again paid homage to his country of origin. Owen gave the knight a disdainful smirk, feeling a preternatural sense of enmity for that kingdom and its fashions.

“Greetings, my lord,” said the lawyer. “My name is Julliard. I serve the mayor of Averanche, who bids you great kindness. I am here on a delicate matter, if you will. The lord mayor was attainted of treason for surrendering Averanche to you. King Chatriyon has summoned the lord mayor to the palace to stand trial for his crime.”

Owen wrinkled his brow. “That is presumption,” he answered with a hint of sarcasm. “The entire land of Averanche and its surroundings was once part of Ceredigion. So was Brythonica, if I recall my history lessons.” Owen glanced at the knight to see if he would react to the poke.

The knight said nothing and did not lose his mask of composure.

“Yes, indeed!” said Julliard. “That is why my lord sent me—to be sure you intend to . . . ahem . . . maintain your claim on Averanche. The King of Occitania sent an ambassador to negotiate a pardon with the lord mayor if he will return to the fold. So to speak.”

Evie entered the solar, followed by Justine. She glanced at the two visitors curiously.

Owen nodded her over. “Gentlemen, this is Lady Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer, the duke’s granddaughter.” Then he gave her a conspiratorial look. “Chatriyon has charged the mayor of Averanche with treason, and now he’s trying to bribe him with a pardon to win him back.”

She nodded and slowly paced around the room while Justine found her favorite seat and began embroidering again.

“And why are you here, sir knight?” Owen asked, clasping his hands behind his back and looking up at the hulking figure. As he stared at the man, he silently sent out a little trickle of magic to probe him for weaknesses. The thought of fighting someone so huge terrified him.

Owen’s magic was like water, for it could find the tiniest chinks and cracks. He saw immediately that the huge knight was blind in his right eye. He noticed the puckered scar hidden by a shaggy eyebrow. He was completely vulnerable to attacks on that side. Add a helmet, and he would be even more hampered. Owen smirked to himself and released the magic. He felt the loss of the power, but there was still much in his reserves, which he had filled earlier by organizing his tiles.

“I am here on orders of Marshal Roux,” the knight said in a thick Occitanian accent. “My name is Loudiac.”

“Welcome to North Cumbria, Sir Loudiac,” Owen said, nodding.

The knight bowed formally. “My master bids me to tell you there are lands in dispute between Averanche and Brythonica.”

“I was just getting to that,” the lawyer broke in, but Loudiac gave him a scowl sour enough to silence him.

“I think it’s important that I understand these disputes,” Owen said, nodding to Loudiac to proceed.

“The duchess has several royal forests that she has reserved for hunting. Because of a history of poachers, there are sharp penalties for intruders.”

“And by sharp, do you mean arrows or spears?” Owen asked with a grin.

Sir Loudiac bristled at the informality of Owen’s banter. “The duchess has seven such forests in her realm. One is also claimed by Averanche. There have been incidents in the past. The King of Occitania likes to hunt. Do you, my lord?”

Owen gave the lawyer a curious look.

“My lord,” Julliard said. “Occitania has always sought to enlarge its hegemony.”

“As most princes do,” Owen said knowingly.

“Yes, so what Sir Loudiac says is true. There have been disputes about the royal forests when the King of Occitania would illegally hunt in the duchess’s forests, thus causing strife. It challenges her authority in her own dominions and threatens the borders of Brythonica. There have inevitably been accidents.”

Owen pursed his lips. “What sort of accidents?”

“The duchess will defend her territory,” Sir Loudiac said sternly. “I was sent to warn you not to follow in King Chatriyon’s footsteps. It would only cause needless contention.”

“I see,” Owen said. “And your master, Marshal Roux, sent you to warn me? Or was it the duchess?”

“They speak with one voice, my lord,” said Loudiac grimly. “He was her father’s most trusted lord, and he protects Brythonica on her behalf.”

“Well, then,” Owen said, turning toward Julliard. “Tell the lord mayor that I am quite ready to defend my new territory. He has proven his loyalty by revealing the offer of a pardon, so please thank him on my behalf. You may go.”

The lawyer looked startled, surprised. “I . . . I thank you, my lord, for being decisive. By your leave. When shall I tell the lord mayor you intend to next visit Averanche?”

“I have no idea,” Owen said with a short laugh. Then he nodded curtly for the man to leave, which he did.

He turned his gaze to the massive knight. “I do not seek a quarrel with my new neighbor,” Owen said in a low voice.

“Not yet,” the knight said in a tone that could almost be called a sneer.

Owen chuffed a bit at that. “I don’t care for the sport of hunting. I’m stronger at playing Wizr. Does your master like to play?”

The knight nodded slowly, warily.

“Excellent,” Owen said. “I would like to challenge him to a match upon our next meeting.”

The knight’s mouth betrayed a smirk. “I will issue your challenge to him.”

“Farewell, then. I’m sorry you had to travel all this way to deliver your message. Or should I say . . . your warning.”

Sir Loudiac smiled warily. “The trip was not wasted.”

“Sir Loudiac,” Evie said, eyes narrowed curiously. “There was a duchess of Brythonica many generations ago. Her name was Constance.”

“Aye, my lady. You know our history well.”

“She married the first Argentine king’s third son. They had a child, a son, whom she used to try and claim the right to rule Ceredigion. Does Her Highness still press this claim?”

Sir Loudiac’s smile faded. “That was many hundreds of years ago, my lady. We Brythonicans have since learned that the men of Ceredigion are not known for keeping their promises.”

“You are bold to say it,” Owen muttered under his breath.

Sir Loudiac bowed to them both and then stomped his way to the door.