The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

She shook her head. “That was the first time. I’m surprised how tired I got so quickly. Like I was plunged into a river. I struggled to swim in it. But if I practice, I think I can get used to it.”

Owen nodded in agreement. “It can weary you if done for too long. But you are right, Etayne. If you practice, it will get easier and easier.” He could imagine many ways such a gift could be used, especially by a member of the Espion.

“I think we should keep this a secret for now,” he said earnestly. “At least until we get back to Mancini.”

She smiled wryly. “I have no problem keeping this from him altogether. I can only imagine how he’d want to exploit it.”

“True,” Owen agreed. “It will be our secret then. For now. Can you try it again? Are you strong enough?”

She nodded vigorously and set the mug down on the floor. “I was startled, that’s all. Help me feel the magic first. Can you summon it again?”

Owen did, allowing a gentle ripple of Fountain magic to swell inside him. She closed her eyes, immersing herself in it. He watched her eyes squeeze harder, as if she were struggling with some internal discomfort. Then a shimmer danced over her face and her features changed. This was someone different—a handsome older woman with dark hair and wrinkles at her eyes and cheekbones.

“Who are you now?” Owen asked curiously, feeling his excitement growing moment by moment. Yes, another Fountain-blessed would know she was using magic, but they would have no way of knowing how the magic was being used. This power she possessed was truly impressive. It was an obvious manifestation of her determined efforts to disguise herself. He had never read about such a power, not in all his studies.

The image shimmered and then vanished. Etayne’s eyes were solemn. “That was my mother.”




By the next morning, Clark had roused from his fever. He was weak and pale, but the violence of the seizures had passed. By midmorning he was slowly taking in broth and managing to sit up on his own. Walking was impossible, but his strength was slowly returning.

The poison had devastated Justine, who had not stirred at all. The look of dread and misery on Evie’s face was torture to Owen, as was the sight of his friend’s suffering. Justine’s black glossy hair was dull and fraying. Her skin, normally pale, had a greenish cast to it. Her cheekbones were sunken, and the bruises under her eyes gave her a frightening cast. Etayne had done everything she could, even forcing broth down her throat to bring her vital sustenance. But poor Justine was withering before their eyes.

Their Espion contact in Atabyrion, Lord Bothwell, arrived midmorning to examine the invalids. “I am greatly disturbed by this outrage,” he said with unctuous concern. “I thought you would wish to know the results of my investigation.”

Clark glanced at Owen from the sickbed, his brow furrowing with distrust and anger.

“What have you learned?” Owen asked, as patiently as he could. He had been up all night and was bone weary and sick at heart. His eyes darted to Evie, who was still sitting by Justine’s bed, clasping her limp hand.

Lord Bothwell frowned. “You don’t suspect that I was behind this?”

“At the risk of sounding impertinent,” Owen said sharply, “it would help matters if you’d get to your point quickly and leave the suspicions to us. My lady’s maid is very ill and our tempers are short.”

“I see,” Lord Bothwell stammered, looking rather waxy with sweat. “I assure you that I am doing everything I can to resolve this matter. It is fortunate you brought someone trained as a . . . midwife with you. Her skills have certainly been of great use. As I was saying, I have investigated the matter on behalf of Iago. He is most anxious to understand if one of his servants is to blame. There were two men under suspicion, and one of them has failed to arrive at the palace since the outing yesterday. His whereabouts remain unknown, but I feel confident he’s our man. We are searching for him now, and if need be, we will torture him to get a confession.”

Evie looked sickened by the notion. “Under torture, a man might confess anything. Find out what you can about him, but please, let’s understand his motive before you become barbaric.”

Bothwell was chagrined. “I thought it was the custom in Ceredigion. I beg your pardon, my lady.”

Evie shook her head. “No doubt you have heard many rumors about our realm that simply aren’t true.”

There was a knock at the door and a servant opened it. “His Grace would like to visit the injured,” the serving girl said, dipping into a clumsy curtsy.

Looking startled, Lord Bothwell bowed deeply. “As I was saying,” he continued in a very different tack, “I see you are indisposed this morning and that further outings would not be appealing to you.”

“You’re here, Bothwell?” Iago said, entering the sick chamber with a jaunty walk and clapping Bothwell on the back. “I thought I told you to find out who poisoned our friends and bring them to justice?”

“I . . . I . . . I was merely taking the courtesy of telling Lady Elysabeth . . . M-Mortimer, that you had indeed entrusted me with that very duty—”

Iago looked perturbed. “Then get on with it and quit annoying her. Go.”

The interaction made Owen appraise Lord Bothwell in a new light. His opinion of himself and his influence with the king was probably exaggerated. Perhaps it was possible that Iago was not as vapid as the spy assumed.

Iago came and stood by Justine’s bedside, his face darkening with emotion. “Ah, I was hoping to see some improvement this morning. ’Tis not so.” He glanced at Clark, who was struggling to sit up. Etayne hurried over to his side and helped him. “At least your knight appears to be recovering. How fare you, sir?”

“Much improved since yesterday,” Clark replied with a hoarse voice.

Iago nodded with respect. “You do your kingdom honor. I wish you a hastened recovery.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Iago turned back toward Evie, pursing his lips. “You look terrible.”

Evie had not changed her gown or brushed her hair since their harried arrival from the outing the day before. “As you can see, my lord, my maid is quite indisposed,” she said sharply.

Iago waved his hand. “I jest, that is all. I was told you waited up all night with your servant. Your friend, more likely than not. It is commendable. Would you walk with me? I think some fresh air would suit you.”

Evie frowned. “I’m afraid I must decline. Justine is looking worse and I want to be here in case . . .”

“I was just going to take you for a walk around the grounds,” he said. “We will not be far, I assure you, and we can be fetched immediately if her situation worsens. Come, my lady. Walk with me.” He offered his elbow.