The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

It was a sensitive and thoughtful gesture, and Owen begrudgingly admired him for it. Evie stared at Iago warily, looking conflicted about accepting his offer, but then she nodded brusquely and rose. After smoothing some of the wrinkles from her gown, she accepted Iago’s arm and glanced at Owen, giving him a nod to follow, which he had already intended to do.

Owen looked at Etayne, who nodded in a silent agreement that she would stay behind with the sick ones, and he followed the two as they began their walk around the grounds. Iago pointed out different aspects of the building’s architecture, explaining that the braided design of gold was called a Kiltec weave. Owen paid little attention to their talk, choosing to walk at a discreet distance and observe the scenery for himself. The sour smell of pipe smoke lingered in the air, mixed with the fresh fragrance of evergreen sap. There was much commotion on the grounds, woodsmen cutting firewood, blacksmiths grinding with whetstones, and a constant parade of children, ribbons, and barking dogs. There was nothing about Iago’s clothes that set him apart from his people, nothing that proclaimed him the king of the land.

“You really do?” Evie asked the king in surprise, drawing Owen’s attention back to the conversation, although he had missed much of it.

“Of course!” Iago answered, then lowered his voice. “I roam the mountain valleys often. How else am I to learn the troubles and needs of my people? Most of the folk outside of Edonburick have no idea what I look like anyway, and travelers are common. I’ve slept in many a hayloft and supped with plenty of pottagers and their wives.”

“What is a pottager?” Evie asked curiously.

“One who tends a garden. What are they called in Ceredigion?”

“Farmers, I suppose,” Evie responded. “I’d not heard that word before.”

“The land is so rugged here,” Iago said. “Everything grows at a slant. There isn’t room for oxen and plow horses. Pottagers fix up the land as they may, growing leeks or squash or whatever will survive here. Leek soup is one of my favorites!”

Evie smiled at that. “And do you hear things about yourself that offend you while you’re staying with a pottager?”

“Constantly,” he replied with a jovial laugh. “But I never let on who I am. Iago is a common name in Atabyrion. The equivalent in your country is James. Hardly a cause for suspicion. Ah, here we are.” They were approaching a roofed porch with a bench, a table, and a Wizr board. It was open air and set near a small flower garden surrounded by a stone hedge.

“You brought me all the way out here to play Wizr?” Evie asked with uncertainty.

“You don’t fancy the game? Shall I teach you?”

Evie smoothed some hair over her ear. “I’m not very good,” she feigned. “I lose all the time when I play.”

“I will try not to take advantage of you then,” he said gallantly and ushered her over to the bench. She sat down, placing her elbows on the table, and risked a quick look at Owen as Iago circled the table to seat himself.

Owen wanted to sigh dramatically, but he was afraid it would make her start giggling. So he feigned interest in the flower garden while staying within earshot.

“The pieces are carved out of wood, not stone,” Evie said.

“I imagine the set is not as fancy as the ones to which you’re accustomed. But the rules are still the same. You’ve chosen the light? I’ll play the dark side.”

Owen had to cover his mouth to hide a smile when she beat him in four moves.

“Well,” Iago said, half-chuckling, half-incensed. “Shall we play again?”

“If you’d like,” she replied meekly.

Then she beat him in six moves, using a technique Owen had taught her.

Owen risked a look at Iago, whose face was darkening. “You were being modest, I see.”

“No, I really do lose most of the time I play,” she answered.

Then he seemed to understand. “Ah, I see. I’d forgotten. You grew up with Lord Kiskaddon, the boy who’s Fountain-blessed. Let me try this again. Please don’t toy with me. If I’m going to beat you, I want to earn it.” He reassembled the pieces.

She defeated him in eight moves.

“Humph!” he grunted, sitting back and staring at the board. “If you play this well, I’d fancy seeing a game between you and Kiskaddon.”

It was all Owen could do not to cough on his sleeve. He turned his back to the pair of them so that neither would see his face.

“I’ll be honest,” Evie said. “He taught me to play Wizr. He’s fairly skilled at this game.”

“I would imagine,” Iago said. Then his voice took a more serious tone. “What you told me yesterday, before the commotion. You said you were here to negotiate a truce between our kingdoms. That Severn was offering you as one of the terms.” He paused a moment, choosing his words carefully. Owen’s stomach plummeted. “It was my understanding, well . . . I suppose it’s no more than gossip really, that you and Lord Kiskaddon were betrothed. Are you doing this to please your king? Or is it what you would wish?”

What Owen wished was that he could pick up a dirt clod and throw it at Iago’s head. What could Evie say, knowing that Owen was standing so near? It was probably torturing her. At least, he hoped it was torturing her half as much as it was giving him pain. He bit his lip to keep from swearing under his breath, but he remained stock-still and utterly silent.

“That is kind of you to inquire,” Evie said evasively, her voice sounding more and more uncomfortable. “But I would rather not discuss such personal matters over a game of Wizr.”

“You could hardly call this a game of Wizr,” Iago spat. “You have completely obliterated my self-confidence and my pride. I’ll admit, I’m not all that fond of the game anyway. I would rather swing a sword at someone than move a few bits of carved wood around a board. They say that Wizr shows you how someone’s mind works, though, and you’ve shown me that you are far smarter than I will ever be.” He sniffed and sighed. “Well, Lady Mortimer, if you aren’t comfortable telling me about your feelings, can you at least tell me something about Lord Kiskaddon? All I have heard are the inflated legends that grant him mystical qualities.”

“They’re probably all true,” Evie said with the hint of a smile in her voice.

“Will you disabuse none of my illusions then?” Iago implored, exasperated. His voice sounded calmer when he continued. “I can see why he would be jealous of parting with you. You’ve only been here a short while, and I’m already taken with your vivacity, your wit, and your courage. Those are traits that I admire and never thought I would find in a . . . a . . . lass from the frozen North.”

“We may be used to the cold, but our blood burns hot,” Evie said.