The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

Just as Iago’s royal palace was on a much smaller scale than Kingfountain, so too were the accommodations. Many of the lords and ladies of Atabyrion had gathered for the royal wedding, and every inn, tavern, and barn was full. Evie and her escorts had been granted a single room in the royal apartments. A single, canopied bed filled a good portion of the chamber, along with a small dresser topped with a pitcher of water, a washing bowl, and a small mirror. The wainscoting on the walls was decorative, the trim carved and crafted into the weave pattern Owen had noticed in the great hall. The floor had thick rush matting, and there were broken boughs of pine at the threshold that crackled as they entered, releasing a whiff of sweet-smelling sap.

It was clear from the sparse abode that most of them would be sleeping on small mats on the floor. The bed would be reserved for Evie and Justine.

As soon as the large wooden door was shut, Owen began inspecting the room for loose panels and means of eavesdropping.

Evie started to pace, her face flushed with anger. “If I had not been here to see it firsthand, I would not have believed the Atabyrions could be so stupid.”

“My lady,” Justine warned in a wary voice. There was a changing screen in the corner, but there was no room behind it for Evie’s gowns, so Justine began bustling around to find an appropriate alternative.

“I feel absolutely terrible for the Earl of Huntley’s daughter,” Evie went on, oblivious to the warning. “I’m disgusted by the machinations at work here. That poor girl! Her father has ruined her with this match. How could he be so shortsighted?”

Owen continued his inspection, listening to her rant as he worked. Etayne was doing the same thing across the room, and Clark had moved a chest over to the dormer window, high up on the wall, and tugged the latch loose so he could inspect outside. The sound of the falls rushed in with the fresh air.

“The girl’s father believes he’s making her Queen of Ceredigion,” Justine said by way of explanation.

“Yes, but having them marry so soon?” Evie said incredulously. “He must have only arrived within the fortnight, mind you. Not long ago he sailed from Legault to attack us, and now he’s already married to an Atabyrion. He’s hopping around like a toad.”

Owen chuckled at the comment and she stomped her foot. “It’s not funny! That poor girl. She’s beautiful, there’s no denying it, and I can see why he’d be eager for a match to a wealthy lady, but what will happen to her once his claims are proved false? I wanted to box his ears!”

Owen knew that there was some merit to the man’s claims, but before he could say as much, there was a subtle knock at the door.

Clark was still standing on the chest, so Owen stepped around the luggage to answer it. A middle-aged man stood there with a furtive look, but Owen recognized him as the man they had seen earlier, the one who had given the Espion sign.

“I am Lord Bothwell,” the man said, bowing slightly. “The king has sent me to speak with the lady of North Cumbria. Is she disposed to have visitors presently?” His court speech was proper, and although his voice had an accent, Owen could tell he had trained in languages.

“Come in,” Evie said, shooing away Justine, who was fidgeting with clasps to remove her jewelry.

Owen’s first impression of Bothwell was that he was an oily man. He had lost the majority of his black hair, and he’d oiled what he had left and combed it down the back of his head. His eyes darted here and there, and although he was dressed in the court fashion of Atabyrion, his boots were clearly from Ceredigion. He wore a sword and dagger, but they were jeweled and seemed more ceremonial than battle worthy.

After the door shut behind him, he glanced quickly at each person in the room, as if doing arithmetic in his head.

“Ah,” he said. “You will not find any traps or such here, my friends. This is the most secure room in Iago’s palace. I chose it for you personally. My men are patrolling the corridor outside to keep out unwelcome entities.” He smiled graciously. “It is an honor to meet my esteemed peers from Ceredigion. My lady, you were superb,” he added with a flourish to Evie, bowing again. “You made a strong impression on Iago, not an easy feat to accomplish.”

Evie folded her arms, frowning. “The impression I was trying to make on him was that he’s being an utter fool.”

“Oh, he is that,” Bothwell said with a chuckle. “He’s foolish, quick-tempered, too generous, and so far . . . an intemperate king. But he’s young still. I must give him liberties based on that fact. Your presence in Edonburick has caused a storm amongst the nobles. You will see. You treated him not as a sovereign lord, but as a peer. Even your ship—the Vassalage—is a veiled implication.” He chortled. “Well done. Well thought out.” He tapped his fingers together with delight. “I get ahead of myself. First of all, introductions.”

He bowed deeply. “I am Severn’s spy in Iago’s court. I am also Iago’s closest friend and confidant. He really is that stupid. A few flattering words and he eats from your hand like a squirrel. As his advisor, I can come and see you as I please to deliver news and let you know how your negotiations are faring.” He scratched his cheek. “If you require anything while here in the palace, let me know immediately and it will be taken care of. Iago has put me in charge of your comforts and ordered me to spare no expense, while in truth, the boy is nearly out of money! The royal coffers are practically empty, and without the nobles’ support, he would not be able to pull off the attack he plans to make before year’s end. You should know he’s plotting an invasion of Ceredigion, though, quite frankly, he cannot afford to sustain it longer than a fortnight, if that. It will be a raiding party, no more. Nothing serious.”

Evie glanced at Owen before returning her gaze to the oily man. “You’re Iago’s advisor? His trusted confidant? And you are telling us this? This is treason.”

Bothwell looked a little startled. “Of course it is, my lady. I could be hung from a gibbet if Iago knew. Believe me, he’s not that smart. Master Mancini more than compensates me for the risks I take and has offered me a position in Ceredigion should I become compromised. Truly, I am your ally in every sense of the word. Now, who is part of your entourage, hmmm?”

Clark stepped down off the chest. “The less you know, the better,” he said. “My name is Clark.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard of you,” Bothwell said, bowing again. A growing feeling became more identifiable; Owen did not like this court intriguer. There was something about him—actually, there were many things about him—that disgusted Owen.