The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

A sliver of light bloomed from her doorway, and he noted it immediately, his nerves taut and on edge. Swinging his head around quickly, he saw Etayne framed in the glow. She gestured for him to approach, and he hurried over to her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Etayne shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong,” she whispered. “I gave Justine a sleeping potion for her seasickness. A strong one. She won’t awaken until morning.” Her eyes were full of mischief. “Shall we trade places?”





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


Edonburick




Owen stared at Etayne, the conflict within him growing fiercer. The thought of being alone with Evie, truly alone with her, kindled a feeling inside him akin to the roar of a waterfall. But at the same time, he felt distrustful of the Espion’s intentions.

“What do you mean?” Owen asked, wrinkling his brow.

“I’ll guard the door. You can be in here.”

One of the strategies in Wizr was to move a piece for an easy kill. To an opponent, it would look like an error, but it was a deliberate move intended to provoke an action that would later be regretted. As Owen stood there in the dark corridor, he felt he would be making a crucial mistake if he accepted Etayne’s offer. Perhaps she was testing him.

He shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I have a duty to perform. And so do you.”

Etayne looked a little startled. She stared at him for a long moment and then gave him a nod of respect. “Not one young man in twenty would have said no. You are unique.” She came out into the hall, shutting the door quietly behind her. With the absence of light, shadows engulfed them.

“I would never want to do anything to dishonor her,” Owen said in the darkness. He didn’t like that he couldn’t see her face very well, as he would have to judge her by her words alone.

“Thank the Fountain you are not like Dunsdworth then,” she replied with an edge in her tone. “If that man ever became king . . . well, I’d probably poison him first.”

“I’m nothing like him. He used to torture me as a boy.”

“He tortures anyone he can,” she replied with a grunt, and Owen was suddenly suspicious that she had experienced a run-in with him before. “You have my respect. Sadly, it’s been my experience that most young men are more like him than not. When I caught you sneaking into her room the other night, I had my suspicions about the two of you.”

Owen leaned back against the wall. “When I went in to see her, Justine was there and fully awake. It wouldn’t be . . . proper to see her without a chaperone. Not at night, anyway.”

“You believe in the old code of chivalry? How quaint. You care about her honor and not just about gratifying your needs,” Etayne said with a smirk.

“She’s also my friend,” Owen said simply. “Of course I do.”

He was a little put off by the King’s Poisoner. Or perhaps he was just comparing her to Ankarette. Maybe she too had been worldly and cynical when she was younger. Owen wondered again if he could trust her. He realized now that he wanted to.

“In addition to poison, what are your other skills?” Owen asked.

“I was fully trained,” she replied evasively. She was not one to reveal anything about herself. “Tell me about Ankarette. I’ve only known her through Mancini’s eyes. She was the standard, the mark I had to aspire to better. You were only a child, but what do you remember?”

Owen’s vision was adjusting to the darkness and he saw her better and better—she was studying him just as he was studying her.

“I don’t like talking about her,” Owen said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “It was so long ago.”

“Very well. When you are ready then. I would be grateful if you told me. It is difficult competing against a ghost.”

“I imagine so,” Owen said. He wondered about this girl, her defenses and weaknesses. What would his magic reveal about her? He opened himself up to the power of the Fountain, his source of power and insight. Letting the magic ripple through him, he extended it out to Etayne, probing for her weakness. Everyone had a characteristic weakness—except for Clark. Probing Clark was like testing the walls of a dam. He wondered whether Etayne had any chinks.

He learned, immediately, that she was left-handed and always disguised that fact out of embarrassment. She had trained herself to be almost equal with her right hand, but she definitely had a dominant hand, and it made her difficult to predict. She shivered suddenly as the magic probed her more deeply, looking for more.

“What are you doing?” she demanded in a quavering voice. Owen stopped the flow of magic, startled that she had noticed it.

“What?” Owen asked, feeling a little guilty that he had been caught at it.

She backed away from him, just slightly. “Did you . . . did you just use your Fountain magic on me?”

Owen stared at her, conflicted. There was no denying it. “Yes. You felt it?”

“I’d never felt it before.” Her voice was just a whisper, a mix of awe and fear.

“Are you Fountain-blessed?” Owen whispered.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I felt something. It was coming from you . . . like . . . like a river. How did you do that? What were you doing to me?” she asked, distrust seeping into her voice.

“I guess you could say I was testing you, in my own way.”

She shuddered again. “It felt strange, yet pleasant. I almost didn’t notice it with the ship rocking. How old were you when you learned you were Fountain-blessed?”

Owen hid his smile. “Very young. It usually begins with a habit, a task—something that you focus on and lose yourself in. Something that you love and are passionate about. It’s different for everyone. That task fills you with the Fountain’s power. Once you’ve stored it, you can use it in certain ways. I can sense it when someone else uses it. If you can, then maybe you are just discovering your power.”

Etayne stepped forward suddenly, and he could see the scant light reflecting off her eyes. “Will you teach me?” she asked, so fervent he could only stare at her, speechless.




The Vassalage reached Edonburick and everyone came on deck to watch as the ship navigated slowly through the mouth of the bay. The cliffs on each side were massive and crowned with timber battlement walls. What struck Owen immediately was that the defenses were primarily made of wood. The wood was nearly black, and the posts were all sharpened like stakes. Torches burned in iron sconces, belching black plumes into the air.