The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

Owen didn’t care for the promises of vengeance. But Iago’s reaction was exactly what he would expect from someone who was innocent. Justine and Clark were convulsing violently now. Their skin looked ashen, their lips blue. He stared at Etayne in wild despair and knelt down beside her.

Her eyes were focused and serious as she met his gaze. “I need my supplies,” she whispered to Owen. “We’ve got to get them back to Edonburick.”

“Then we ride at once!” Evie commanded, her voice shaking.




Owen’s frown felt as if it would be fixed on his face always. He stared down at Justine in her sickbed. Her cheeks were so waxy and pale she looked like a corpse, an effect that was only increased by the purple bruises under her eyes. Her lips were white, slightly parted, and her breaths were so far apart that she appeared for all purposes to be dead. Clark was in the next bed, his body still trembling as it fought off the poison trying to kill him.

Etayne was slumped in a chair between the two patients, looking weary and stern. Evie sat at Justine’s side, stroking her hand.

“Do you think she will live?” Evie whispered to Etayne. “Tell me the truth.”

Etayne stretched her arms and sighed. “I don’t know, my lady. I’ve done all I can. I gave them both the antidote, but the poison was in their system for a long while. Her constitution isn’t as hardy at Clark’s. I think he’ll make it.” She reached over and took a cool cloth from the array of supplies on the small dresser. “Even asleep, he’s still fighting,” she said as she wiped his forehead.

Owen put his hand on Evie’s shoulder to comfort her, and she turned into his abdomen and started weeping. He smoothed her hair, his throat tight. Justine had been their companion for years. She was like a sister to him, not a servant. It was not fair that she should suffer.

It was nearly midnight. The physicians and midwives of Iago had done their best to help, but it was Etayne’s quick thinking and knowledge of poisons that had helped her identify which one had been used. There was no one else in the room with them. Iago had come several times to express his anger and sympathy, but Evie had no wish to talk to him or to accept his condolences yet.

Evie’s tears started to ease as Owen rubbed her back, and after a while, she stifled a yawn.

“There is little else you can do, my lady,” Etayne said to Evie. “Maybe if you were to lie down next to her and hold her? Help keep her warm?”

Evie nodded enthusiastically and quickly slipped onto the bed behind Justine, wrapping her arms around the pale, sick girl. Etayne rose from her chair and walked over to the open window, where she rested her elbows on the sill and stared into the night sky. The rushing sound of the falls in the distance reminded Owen of home.

Evie’s eyelids started to grow heavy as she stroked Justine’s hair, and before too long, she gave into the exhaustion of the day and fell asleep. Owen walked slowly over to Clark, who was still shivering and jolting beneath his mound of blankets. Though he was not inclined to climb into bed and snuggle with his friend, he was pleased to see the Espion’s cheeks looked ruddier.

He then went back and bent over Evie, soaking in the sight of her chest rising and falling regularly, feeling tenderness and gratitude that she hadn’t been harmed. He bent low enough to kiss the hair at her temple, grazing it lightly with his mouth, and then pulled away and walked over to the window. Etayne was still staring into the night sky.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

She glanced at him, flushing a little at the compliment. “I might not have saved either of them,” she said. “Save your thanks until morning.”

He shook his head. “You did your best, Etayne. You knew what to do. That’s why I’m thanking you. If you hadn’t been there, I would have watched both of them strangle and die by the falls. At least now they have a chance.”

She shrugged a little, turning back to face the open window. The moon was a thin sliver of light, just over a nest of trees. Then she turned to him. “It’s going to be a long night, Lord Owen. Would you teach me a little about the magic? Can you show me how to use it?”

He was tired and weary, but he did not want to leave her awake all alone. Perhaps it was no coincidence that it was so late at night. After all, Ankarette had given him his first lessons in Fountain magic in the dark.

“I will try,” he said wearily. “I’m not a very good teacher. The place we should begin is figuring out how you can fill your cup. Without that, you can’t use the magic at all.”

“Filling a cup,” she said with a nod, listening to his every word with great interest.

“For me, it started when I was a little boy. I saw my brother stacking tiles in a row and then knocking them down. It utterly fascinated me and I began to mimic what he did. I could stack tiles for hours, every day. It was never a burden or a chore. I loved it.” He chuckled. “I still do. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found some of the same satisfaction from playing Wizr or reading. It’s about strategy, I suppose. Plotting what will happen in advance. That is what gives me power with the Fountain. To know your power, Etayne, you must know your passion. Is there something you have always been fond of? Some work that isn’t a chore or a trouble?”

“I have been giving this some thought since our talk on the ship, and I think I may have figured it out.” But she looked abashed, as if she did not wish to speak the words out loud.

“What?” he asked carefully.

“I think you’ll laugh,” she said.

“Why? Is it strange?”

“I hate when people laugh at me,” she said seriously.

“Then I won’t. Tell me.” He said it coaxingly, trying to put her fears at rest.

“I’ve always loved trying on clothes,” she said hesitantly.

He wrinkled his brow and waited for her to say more, curious.

“You didn’t laugh,” she said, pleased. “I know it sounds ridiculous. When I was little, I used to pretend to be other people. I loved to put on different dresses. I’d imagine I was a baker’s wife. Or a chandler’s girl. An alderman’s daughter. As I got older, I began to wish for more. My favorite was to pretend I was an earl’s daughter.” She looked down, flushing. “I’ve always taken a secret delight in studying people. How they walk. How they move. How they speak. I would practice playing a role in front of my little sister and my friends, and force them to treat me like I was something more than what I truly was—a thief’s daughter.”

Her mask fell away as she said those words, revealing her true self. Without the disguise, he could see years of bitterness and resentment, years of abuse and worry. Years of yearning to be someone important, to hide the shame of her past. Her confidence was gone, replaced by a look of self-loathing and contempt.