The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

“My name is Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer,” she reminded him. “Lady Mortimer is my mother.”

“And do you have your mother’s eyes? I can’t quite make out their color,” the king asked slyly, his mouth turning to a charming smile. While he was shorter than Owen, he was about her own height and he could look her in the eye. Owen had always liked being taller than her. Hearing the familiarity in the king’s voice made Owen want to punch him.

Lady Mortimer’s eyes are green, Owen wanted to say smugly, for he had met her on occasion. She rarely ventured out of her own estate. The death of her husband had turned her into a recluse, and Evie’s exuberance seemed only to drain her. She had none of her daughter’s lively spirits. She was occasionally well enough to visit Duke Horwath in Dundrennan, but usually only for celebrations.

“It is your misfortune if you can’t tell on your own,” Evie said. Then she folded her arms and stared in awe at the rushing waters. “The falls are beautiful,” she said.

One of the Atabyrion servants tossed a saddlebag down to King Iago, who caught it deftly. “Your meal, my lord!” shouted the servant.

Iago sat cross-legged on the rock and greedily opened the saddlebag, withdrawing a trove of food—crispy capon, grapes, bread and cheese, a jug of mead—which he proceeded to assemble on the rock before Evie like a Wizr board.

Owen heard a noise and turned back to see Justine standing on the cliff, white-faced and staring at Evie in mortal dread. She looked like she wanted to come down, but was too terrified to consider it. He was about to rise and help her, but Clark jumped up and ambled up the cliff to assist. She took his sturdy hand gratefully, her face quivering with fear as she painstakingly came down the edge of the cliff, rock to rock.

“Thank you,” the girl whispered to Clark, her eyes grateful but still round with fear. She sat by Owen, trembling, her back pressed against the rock behind her, keeping as far from the edge as she could. A little flush came to Clark’s cheeks and he nodded to her before returning to the edge, letting one of his legs dangle over it.

Justine glanced at Clark one more time, then looked away shyly.

Owen noticed.

Another servant threw down a second saddlebag of food. Owen caught it and began to distribute the meal while listening in to the conversation happening just below them.

“Now, I must ask you this, my lady. How the devil can you serve such a man as Severn?” Iago pressed. “Does it not sicken you what he did to claim the throne? I was young when I inherited, and the nobles hated my father, but they would have never allowed my uncle to rule instead.”

“You mustn’t understand our history very well,” Evie said. “It’s been naught but bloodshed and war. You say you crave those things, but it’s a sad legacy. To answer your question, you seem to have completely misunderstood my master. I’ve studied the history of our kings, and he is no worse than many, and better than most. Let me cite some examples.”

Clark bit into a crunchy apple, snapping away Owen’s attention. His insides squirmed as he watched someone else pay devoted attention to Evie, so he was not hungry himself. There was an emotion called jealousy with which Owen was becoming intimately familiar. It felt as if a man were stabbing his insides with dull blades. Seeing Iago sitting so close to the edge gave him all sorts of fanciful hopes that he would see the man slip and fall.

He offered some bread to Justine and she accepted it, though she nibbled on the crust with little enthusiasm due to their precarious perch.

Evie was explicit. “First, the king’s treasury is overflowing. He has made wise trading decisions, taxes the wealthy and the poor fairly, and spends less than he earns. There is very little debt in the kingdom, and when he incurs it, he pays it off before the interest is due. He has chartered several colleges and has increased the education of the people.”

“He’s bribing them to like him,” Iago quipped.

“Not true. The people don’t like him,” Evie said emphatically. “He knows this. But he acts in their best interest regardless. He is just in his decisions, using the Assizes and the lord justices to ensure fair trials. He has pardoned many convicted of treason.”

Owen had often been chosen as lord justice. His cheeks burned at the hidden compliment Evie had slid his way.

Iago lifted a finger. “But I have heard that his temper is nigh uncontrollable. That he flies into rages of passion, even in front of his servants. They say his wit is as cutting as a dagger. Do you deny it?”

“It’s quite true,” Evie said. “He does have a temper. It is his weakness, to be sure. But when you consider the lies that are said about him, the ceaseless interference with his kingdom’s affairs, and the disloyalty shown to him, yes—he does get upset by this. He’s a man, just like any other.”

“He’s a monster,” Iago said with a snort.

Evie shook her head. “No, he isn’t. He’s misunderstood. He did not murder his nephews. One of his lords was behind that, in an effort to discredit Severn and put another man on the throne instead. Surely you must respect that he proved his right to rule in battle?”

“I do respect him for that,” Iago said. “But while he may have won his crown by the sword, he can lose it by the sword just as well. I stand much to gain if Eyric becomes King of Ceredigion.” He gave her a challenging look.

Evie returned the look with one of her own. “You stand to lose even more if Eyric fails. Wouldn’t you rather have the friendship and support of a king in power? Think what it would do for your people. Think of the benefits that would come through an alliance with Ceredigion now, not later.”

“I am thinking of it,” Iago said with a hint of displeasure. “Eyric would be beholden to me, not me to Severn.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand me. You stand something to gain if Eyric wins. But you risk even more if he loses.”

Iago chuffed. “I risk nothing. The gain is all to my benefit.”

“Not at all. You risk losing your life. Your crown. You have no wife. You have no child. If Severn comes to fight you, and he will if you continue to support this upstart, he will make Atabyrion his next conquest. He won’t accept you as a vassal. You’ll be destroyed, and someone else will be put in your place.”

“You’re threatening me?” he chuckled, almost amused.

“No, I’m warning you. You simply do not understand my king. He and my grandfather defeated Atabyrion before. They will do it again.”

“That was my father,” Iago drawled angrily. “Not me.”

“And you are wiser and more experienced than your father was? Can you afford to wage war on Ceredigion? I’ll say it again. Think what you are risking.”