The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

The king’s eyes narrowed as the sweat continued to trickle down his face. Owen realized they were sequestered at the end of the hall that was farthest from the doors. It was quite a vulnerable position.

“Well—” the king said tightly, his face betraying strong emotions, none of them positive, “—you speak very boldly to a king, Lady Mortimer.”

“Lady Elysabeth will do if you cannot pronounce my entire name,” she said pointedly. “You are, by rights, the king of this realm. But remember, my lord, that the Duke of North Cumbria holds domains far vaster than this puny island.”

He gritted his teeth at her audacity. “You are outspoken,” he said evenly. “So my cousin Severn bids a little girl of his realm to come and lecture me on history? I fear him not, Lady Mortimer. For I hold in my court the true king of Ceredigion.” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, gesturing for the young man Owen had previously identified to approach.

Owen’s stomach twisted with concern at how Evie was handling the situation. She, an earl’s daughter, was treating herself as equal to the King of Atabyrion. She was establishing her authority as emissary of a realm that dwarfed the size of Atabyrion and could afford to treat it with impunity. It was a highly offensive approach, and Owen hoped it would not destroy her standing.

The pretender approached. Tall and athletic, he looked to be a few years older than Owen and Evie. He had the Argentine chin, but he did not share Severn’s dark looks. No, his hair was gold, and he was every bit as handsome as Eredur was purported to have been. The girl in the white dress was on his arm, her expression serious and concerned, troubled. She seemed to understand the language of Ceredigion, or so her appearance indicated.

“I bid you greet Eyric Argentine, true king of Ceredigion, and his wife, Lady Kathryn, the Earl of Huntley’s daughter,” Iago said, his voice full of hostility. “They were wed this morning. It is their wedding celebration you are interrupting so rudely with your provocations.”

Eyric—or was it Urbick?—was not dressed like the others in the room, and his more formal attire, although almost indistinguishable from the uniform of underservants within Kingfountain palace, was probably the finest outfit in the entire island kingdom. Even the earl’s daughter’s dress—the white one—was inferior to Etayne’s and Justine’s and far less fashionable. The wealth in the kingdom had obviously not recovered from the loss of the original city and a long history of conflicts. They were not in a position, financially, to wage war on Ceredigion.

“We meet at last!” Evie said with a false cheerfulness, turning her iron gaze on the would-be prince. “Why, it was only a few weeks ago that I dispersed your ships and defeated the rabble you called an invasion army. Yes, my pretend lord. Those were my forces that ran you out. And you didn’t even have the courage to land yourself.” She turned back to Iago, her face flushing with anger. “No one in Ceredigion believes this young man is their true king. We have a true king, anointed and crowned. Even if this young person were Eyric Argentine, the line was judged to be illegitimate by law, as my lord’s lawyers can prove and attest. So can his ‘sister,’ Lady Elyse. You provoke my lord king to wrath by such impertinence, Prince Iago. You do so at your peril. I have come to negotiate a truce with you. Perhaps I have wasted my time.”

The young man, Eyric, strode forward a step, his face flushed with fury. He set aside his new wife’s hand from his arm and stood next to King Iago, towering over him. Owen was tempted to test the young man with his magic, but to do so would risk exposing his ability to anyone in the hall who shared it.

“You dare to speak of my uncle as the true king of Ceredigion,” Eyric said, his voice quavering with emotion. “Perhaps you have not heard the tale of how I survived his attempt to murder me.”

Evie looked at him coldly, unmoved. “I have read it, sir. But as I said, no one in Ceredigion believes it.” She turned back to Iago, not giving the young man any more of her attention. “My lord, we have evidence of this young man’s true parentage, confessions written and received. He is an imposter, and you provoke Severn’s sword of war by harboring him in your realm. It affronts us, in a most grievous fashion, that you have not only supported his false claim but endorsed it by arranging a marriage between him and the daughter of one of your nobles. Believe me, my king will come and fetch this young man in person if he must. And your hall will shake for it if he does.”

As Evie spoke, Owen scrutinized Lady Kathryn, and his heart pained for her. This was her wedding day, and she believed she had wed the future king of Ceredigion. It was clear from the hostility in the air that they all believed the boy’s tale to be true. But what Owen did not know was whether they also had been tricked by Tunmore’s magically persuasive words.

Iago folded his arms proudly. “I have no doubt, Lady Mortimer, that my cousin has arranged any number of people who are willing to swear Eyric was a pig keeper—”

“A fisherman’s son, but close enough,” Evie shot back.

Iago ground his teeth. “I know this man’s sad tale, and I am not the only ruler who believes it. Severn the Usurper will soon discover that he is the only ruler who doesn’t.” He took a step forward. “Do you think I fear your threats? If Severn attacks me, he will be invaded by four other kingdoms in his rear. You know he will. We all believe Eyric to be the true king. That bit about illegitimacy? The story the king has spun about Eredur’s previous secret marriage?” He snorted. “That is the deception. Severn has barred his niece from her true rights, even as he’s sought to woo her into his bed. Eyric has been in hiding because he was too young to fight his uncle. But he is a man grown now. When people see him, they will give their loyalty to their true king. And then the people of Ceredigion will hurl that crouch-back into the river to be dashed to pieces!”

“Let me handle this, Cousin,” Eyric said, gripping the king’s shoulder. He stood in front of Evie, his bearing tall and firm and regal. “I am who I claim to be. I am Eyric Argentine. My brother was murdered in the palace at Kingfountain. But I was taken by a remorseful servant to the sanctuary of Our Lady and smuggled to Brugia. The time has come for me to reclaim what is rightfully mine. And I promise you this, Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer. One day you will kneel before me as your king.”

He is Eyric Argentine. But he is not telling the truth.

Owen felt the whisper from the Fountain in his mind, and it made him sick with dread.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Lord Bothwell