The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

As the ship came into the bay, Owen stared out at the massive lakelike harbor. It was small compared to the one at Kingfountain, but there were ships from every kingdom there, including Ceredigion, so the Vassalage did not stand out. Craggy fingers of rock protruded from the bottom at certain places in the bay. A waterfall gushed down into the bay, and Owen could hear its roar even from a distance. The palace of Edonburick was built into the cliff near the falls, accessible by means of a series of wooden rails and stairs constructed along the side of the mountain. There were houses fitted vertically into the cliffs all around the bay, but they were rustic-looking, peak-shaped lodges, few larger than a single story.

Owen breathed in the salty air that reeked of fish. There were no structures made of stone, he suddenly realized. Not a single one. It did not even require his special ability for him to see the weakness.

Fire. A few ships with archers in the hold with pitch-tipped arrows could wreak havoc on such a place.

Their ship maneuvered around the tall columns of stone protruding from the lake, and Owen leaned against the railing, staring down at the waters. With the rushing noise of the waterfall in his ears and the sight of lapping waves all around him, Owen felt something stir inside him. It felt familiar, almost like a mother’s soothing whisper. He stared down at the water, trying to see beyond the foam. He was trying to see because he suddenly knew without a doubt there was something down there. The memory of the ephemeral treasure in the cistern at Kingfountain flickered through his mind.

The true Edonburick was drowned.

The insight came to him with such startling clarity that he gasped. Visions bloomed in his mind, unbidden. Their ships were gliding over the ruins of a lost kingdom. It was all still there, submerged beneath the waves. Castles made of stone, cottages and wells and hedge walls. The buildings were all still down there, blanketed in seaweed and muck.

“What is it, Owen?” Evie asked with concern. She touched his arm, and the contact snapped him out of the vision’s thrall.

Owen staggered back from the railing, breathing hard and fast. The inhabitants of the original settlement had all drowned. Only those who’d lived in the upper mountains had survived. Indeed, all that was left was the upper mountains. There were no stone buildings because the devastation had crushed Atabyrion into poverty. He did not know how long ago it had happened, but he could almost hear the screams of sorrow muffled by the water.

“Are you sick?” Evie asked again, looking at him worriedly.

Owen felt sick. He could not even comprehend the amount of water that must have come crushing down into the valley. This wasn’t a bay at all. It was a deathtrap.

“I don’t know,” Owen said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Sometimes the Fountain spoke to him. It was rare and had not happened in a while. When it did, it left his bones feeling weak. He didn’t want to frighten her, nor could he even find words to describe what he had seen. “I need to sit down.”

Turning, he managed to sit down with his back against the side of the railing. How many had died? How many had been drowned? It felt like the roar of the waterfall was the only thing blocking out the shrieks of the dead.

Justine crouched next to him and offered her bucket to him, giving him a sympathetic look. She patted his shoulder.

“Don’t hold it in,” she said. “It only makes it worse. I felt it as soon as I got on board.”

He wanted to laugh, but his throat was dry as sand. He wasn’t seasick. He was horrified—it was as if he’d encountered a mass grave after an enormous slaughter.

“We’re almost to Edonburick,” Evie said sweetly, rubbing his shoulder.

After a while, Owen’s shock began to subside. He thanked Justine for the bucket he hadn’t used and made it back to his feet. They were approaching the docks to the right of the falls. The cliffs were jagged and broken, and large boulders peeked out of the waters. The ships had to move carefully, maneuvering by poles and oars until they reached the safety of the harbor. The cliffs, up close, were a mesmerizing shade of green from the moss clinging to the rocks. An abundance of pine and cedar trees crowned the mountains, which was undoubtedly another reason why so much of the city was constructed of wood. Part of the stone cliffs had a peculiar natural pattern that fascinated Owen. They looked like a bunch of slim columns, or strands, bunched together in cords. The pattern resembled a tiled wall, and there were mounds of broken pieces of stone at the base of the cliffs.

As the gangway was hoisted to connect to the ship, Owen watched as a nobleman shuffled his way down the pier with an entourage of knights. Rather than armor, they wore toga-like cloaks and skirts and boiled-leather bracers and girdles. Each had high leather boots covering pants that seemed to be made out of woolly sheepskin. Their hair was long and braided, and each was bearded. They looked like wild men. The effect was only heightened by the fact that each cloak and skirt bore a different patchwork pattern.

The nobleman leading them was a mature man, his hair only partially tamed, with a cropped beard and mustache. He was a handsome fellow, quite tall, and he stood with one foot planted on the dock, the other on the gangway, his hand resting on a huge sword that was hanging from straps around his shoulders like a longbow.

“Milady of Ceredijun,” the nobleman said in a thick accent, giving her a bow and a flourish. He was looking up at Evie, who was standing by the captain. Owen and Clark stood just behind her. “Ye are most welcome to Edonburick. Word of your impending arrival came aforehand. Our most illustrious King Iago the Fourth bids you welcome and honor. Ye have come just in time to participate in the revels.”

Evie’s brow furrowed. “And what revels might those be, my lord?” she asked formally.

He gave another swooping bow, extending his arm in a broad sweep. “Why, the nuptials, my lady. The marriage of Ceredijun’s true king to the daughter of the Earl of Huntley of our fine realm. I hope ye have a stomach for mead, for there is plenty of drink at hand. Come pay homage to your new king, my lady. He is expecting ye as well.”

“Now this will be interesting,” Evie muttered under her breath to Owen. Then she straightened imperiously and started down the gangplank.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Iago Llewellyn