The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

Dunsdworth had been the castle bully, but he had also been the most constant recipient of Severn’s sarcasm and cutting wit. The treatment had probably deranged the young man’s mind. Owen had rarely interacted with him since being declared Duke of Westmarch and Horwath’s ward in North Cumbria.

Standing before him now, Dunsdworth still towered over him. He was a full-grown man, but beefy like a cow. His cheeks and neck were thick, and his left eye drooped. He had the unkempt beard of someone who was too lazy to go to a barber for a shave, and his thick brown hair was cropped just above the neck after the fashion of Ceredigion. He smelled of sour wine.

Owen gazed at him in surprise and growing disgust. It had been years since he’d seen him this close. It was clear Dunsdworth no longer had the discipline of a warrior. His bulk was caused by overeating and a lack of exercise. There was a vague memory that as a boy Dunsdworth had spent his free time at the training yard. Owen hadn’t seen him there once in the days he’d been back.

Silence hung in the air between them for a moment as Owen sucked in these truths and found the taste bitter.

“I’m from the North,” Owen said stiffly, warily, adding the touch of an accent. Dunsdworth’s companion looked bored and unhappy. He had given Owen hardly a second glance.

“You’re good with a blade,” Dunsdworth said. “I could swear I knew you from somewhere.” His mouth turned into a frown as his brain tried to reconcile the situation. But he was foggy, unused to thinking, and it was clear he couldn’t place Owen’s identity.

“I must go,” Owen said, not wanting to be trapped in such a conversation any longer. He started to move away from the water bucket, but Dunsdworth shot out his hand and shoved Owen back. He wasn’t ready to let him leave.

“I’m a prince of the blood,” Dunsdworth drawled. “You’ll leave when I dismiss you.”

Dunsdworth’s companion rolled his eyes at the comment, but he said nothing. Owen could see the contempt in the man’s face. He was a minder, not an accomplice.

Owen scrunched up his eyebrows and tapped his lip. “Aren’t you Lord Dunderhead?”

“What did you call me?” Dunsdworth spat angrily, his face contorting.

“Dungheap?” Owen tried again. “No, Dungworth. That’s it. I thought I recognized you. Apologies, my lord, for not remembering you sooner.”

Dunsdworth’s companion started to guffaw, looking at Owen as if he were truly insane.

“Shut it, Corden,” Dunsdworth growled, butting his elbow into his companion’s ribs to try to silence him. His face was bright red with fury and humiliation.

Owen noticed Clark approaching them briskly from across the training yard.

“I’d love to stay and chat, but I must go,” Owen said, walking away.

Corden could still be heard laughing behind him, muttering, “Dungworth, by the Fountain!”

“Mancini sent word to find you,” Clark said as Owen fell into stride with him. “He wants you to inspect the Vassalage with him while she’s being loaded. The sea storms have prevented our departure long enough. I’m anxious to leave.”

Owen nodded, but his mind was still elsewhere. “I can’t stand him,” he said, nodding back toward Dunsdworth. “He used to torment me as a boy. He almost recognized me, but I think he’s too addled to remember.”

Clark looked distastefully at the two men arguing with each other in the training yard. “I pity the man assigned to him,” Clark said. “That is a duty no Espion relishes.”

“Corden is an Espion?” Owen asked with a chuckle. “I pity him too then. What a horrible companion.”

Clark was always serious, but his face became even graver. “I had that duty myself a few years ago.”

Owen stared at him in shock. “Was it a punishment?”

Clark frowned. “No. A duty. And it was miserable.”

“I can only imagine. Did you train with him? Is that why you were chosen?”

“Dunsdworth lost his interest in swords years ago. He has one interest now, and it is something the king denies him. Most young men his age are already experienced . . . in the ways of the flesh, to put it delicately. The king denies him any companionship. Dunsdworth used to terrorize the serving girls, which is why he now has an Espion assigned to him at all times. He has to keep his hands off any lass, for the risk that one of them will bear his child.” Clark looked disgusted.

“He’ll never be allowed to marry, will he?” Owen asked, his voice softening. He glanced back at Dunsdworth with a flicker of pity. Owen could not imagine being permanently deprived of the company of women. It would be an easier fate to be thrown into the river.

“No. The lad is utterly miserable. He’s a prince of the blood, but he’s treated like a prisoner. When I suffered under that assignment, I had to sleep in bed with him at night to ensure he had no bedmates. It’s loathsome work, my lord. He drowns his frustration in wine and hardly spends a day sober now.”

“You had to sleep in his bed?” Owen asked with utter revulsion. “How did you bear the smell?”

“Someone has to clean the privies, my lord,” Clark said darkly. “I much prefer your company, to be honest.”

Owen glanced back at Dunsdworth one last time, and this time the man was staring after him with hatred in his eyes. He felt guilty about taunting him. According to the rights of succession, Dunsdworth was Severn’s legal heir to the throne. But he was in no way being groomed to take on that role. He was not invited to take part in the king’s councils, and had always been treated with nothing but contempt and disdain. His father had played the traitor twice, ultimately signing his own death warrant. Officially, he was put to death for convicting Ankarette Tryneowy on his own authority—even though she had survived the plunge down the falls. If anything happened to Severn . . . it made Owen shudder to think of Dunsdworth becoming King of Ceredigion. The thought of one of Severn’s young relations inevitably turned his mind to another.

“Clark, I’ve not seen the lady Elyse since the day I arrived. I’d like to see her before I go.” In his disguise as a household knight, he couldn’t visit her rooms and ask to see her. Not without causing all sorts of gossip. A horrifying thought occurred to him. “Is she being treated like Dunsdworth? Is someone escorting her constantly? Is she a prisoner?”

“Oh no!” Clark said, shaking his head vehemently. “No, she is treated far better. The king trusts her implicitly. She’s allowed to go wherever she wants, even to the sanctuary and back to see her ailing mother.”

“So she has not improved?” Owen asked.