The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

“I thought so. In that case, I think I have something for you that may come in handy. I asked Iago for this during breakfast and he had his glazier assemble it. It’s one of the reasons I sent for you. Come look.”

She brought him over to the dresser, where he noticed a wooden box. His heart began to pound as she opened the quiet hinges and revealed row after row of gleaming rectangular glass tiles.

“I thought,” Evie said with delight, seeing his smile, “that this might help.”

Owen almost started to tremble at the sight of the tiles. He felt like a man dying of thirst who had been given a huge drink to quench it. Or the parched ground the moment rainclouds appear. It was a visceral, greedy feeling, one of childlike wonder and excitement.

Evie lifted the box off the table, and in silent agreement the two knelt down, clearing away the floor rushes to provide a flat surface on which to stack the tiles. The glazier had provided an assortment of colors and a variety of shapes. As Owen knelt on the floor, he began fingering the pieces, and in a moment, he was eight years old again, kneeling on the kitchen floor. He could almost smell the baking loaves in Liona’s kitchen and hear the sounds of servants bustling to and fro. The instant he started to arrange the pieces, he felt the trickle of the Fountain responding, the first drops of power drawing into him.

Evie helped by handing him pieces, a victorious smile on her mouth.

“Thank you,” Owen breathed softly. They were bent so close together he could smell her hair. The scent seemed to draw in the Fountain waters faster, and for the first time, he realized that Evie was tied to his magic in some way. He could not dwell on the thought, though, for his mind was racing this way and that as his fingers deftly stacked the pieces.

After the box was empty, Owen let Evie knock the first set down. The glass made a different sound as it tumbled down, a tinkling sound that reverberated inside him, filling his heart with curiosity and delight. For a moment, he was a child again; everything was simple, he and Evie knew they were meant for each other, and they spent their days holding hands and jumping into cisterns, eating honeyed wafers, and relishing the sun.

There was a knock at the door, interrupting the moment of pure joy. Owen rushed to his feet. He did not want the servants to see him playing with the tiles. Everyone knew that Owen Kiskaddon had a penchant for tiles and playing Wizr. If he were discovered . . .

The rapping on the door grew firmer and a muffled voice said, “It’s Justine!”

Etayne unlocked the door and let the girl in, then shut it fast behind her.

Justine looked flushed and worried. She had been gone for perhaps an hour, though it felt as if only moments had passed. The blue gown was draped over her arm, but her face was animated with worry.

“I wanted to tell you quickly,” Justine said, panting. “A ship from Brythonica just arrived in port. I was barely able to get back up the steps ahead of them. I think the duchess has come! They’re on their way to the great hall.”

Owen and Evie exchanged glances. Brythonica?




In short order, Owen was back in his hooded hauberk and the tunic of Horwath. Evie had changed into the blue damask gown, the color of which mixed with her eyes in a lovely and elusive fashion. While Justine brushed out her mistress’s hair, Etayne quickly returned the tiles to the box.

Owen could feel Fountain magic again. His cup was far from full; it was akin to the palace cistern when the water lapped at the lowest mark on the stone column measuring its depths. But at least he was no longer empty.

While Evie fidgeted with her dress, she launched question after question at Justine about the visitors, but Justine did not know for certain who had come. She could only repeat the speculation of those around her. Someone thought the duchess had come, but Justine had not seen any noble ladies disembark from the ship.

As soon as they were ready, they left Evie’s room and headed to the great hall. Upon their arrival at Atabyrion, the hall had been crowded with guests for the wedding. Those guests had long since departed, and now the hall was mostly full of servants, guards, and a pacing and nervous Iago Llewellyn. When he saw Evie, he blinked with surprise and delight and came rushing up to her.

“I’ve only just heard the news myself,” he said with an animated tone. “But an embassy from Brythonica has just arrived. This is a rare honor.”

“That is what my lady told me,” Evie said, nodding to Justine. “Do you know who it is?”

Iago shook his head. “I have no idea. The visit is completely unexpected.” He looked agitated. “I can’t find Lord Bothwell at all. No one has seen him today.”

They kept their expressions guarded. It was a comforting relief for Owen to have his magic back. With it, he was so much more attuned to the expressions and demeanors of those around him. He hadn’t realized how rich and layered his ability with the Fountain was until it was taken away from him. He also wondered if the Duchess of Brythonica had come, for he’d never met her and was curious to know more.

They had not been in the great hall long when the embassy arrived. A horn was sounded to announce the visitors.

“Lord Marshal Brendon Roux of the duchy of Brythonica!” the portly man shouted.

That was not the person Owen had been expecting. In fact, he was surprised to find a man of his rank and prominence on such a mission unless the intent of that mission was to declare war. He was the protector of the duchy, the guardian of the duchess.

Owen recognized him instantly. His short gray hair was combed in the Occitanian fashion, and he looked as stern and brooding as he had when Owen met him in Chatriyon’s abandoned camp. He strode into the hall, a man with a cause and a mission, and frowned when he saw Iago and Evie standing together near the dais. And Owen realized with growing horror that the lord marshal might see through his disguise as a knight. It would probably be wise to remain out of the man’s sight.

As if hearing Owen’s private thoughts, the lord marshal turned to look his way. His eyebrows lifted, just slightly, and a look of recognition came into his eyes.

Hello, Lord Marshal, Owen said through his Fountain magic, gritting his teeth for not having acted sooner.

And he had the sinking suspicion that Roux had once again outmaneuvered him.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


Lord Marshal




Owen’s stomach tightened into knots as he wondered whether the lord marshal would betray him to Iago. The king would be embarrassed and likely furious if he found out that Owen Kiskaddon was masquerading as one of Evie’s protectors. Even more concerning was the marshal’s presence in Atabyrion. What fate had brought Owen and Roux together again?

“Welcome to Edonburick, my lord,” Iago Llewellyn said with a smug look. “I pray there were no sudden storms?”

“The only storm,” Marshal Roux said with a firm, aggravated tone, “is the one you are about to call down upon yourself.” He bowed stiffly as he reached the dais. With a casual nod, he bowed again to Evie.