The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

Eyric’s head snapped up. A wary look crinkled his eyes. “Who are you then? Are you . . . are you a poisoner?” His voice nearly throbbed with fear as he suddenly realized he was alone—and defenseless—with an armed man.

Owen gently reached out with his magic, letting the flow of the Fountain rise out of him. He studied Eyric, looking for weaknesses, and he saw him exposed like the words in a book. The deposed prince was a kindhearted man. He was clumsy with a sword, having never been properly trained. But his whole soul was riddled with fear, and it reminded Owen, darkly, of himself. Eyric was constantly aware of the threat of being caught. He was afraid of Owen, afraid a simple knight would be able to defeat him. He was afraid he would not be able to protect his wife.

“I am not your enemy,” Owen said, shaking his head. He remembered something Ankarette had taught him. It was risky, but he decided to try it. If Eyric was terrified, he would not think calmly or rationally. Owen needed to try to dispel his fear and build trust with the young man. The fastest way to build trust was to be vulnerable.

“Who are you?” Eyric said, a little throb of panic in his voice. He glanced at the door, the expression on his face indicating he was deciding whether to escape.

Owen brought down the chain hood, freeing his mass of unruly hair. “You’ve been away from court too long to recognize me. I am Owen Kiskaddon.”

Eyric gasped, whistling in his breath as if he’d been struck. “You’re . . . you’re Fountain-blessed!” He was starting to pant.

“I am,” Owen said. “And you are not. I can sense that about you.”

“Does Iago know? I don’t think he does. He would have told me!”

“If Iago knew who I was, I’d probably be his prisoner,” Owen replied candidly. “I’m trusting you with my secret. In return, I’d like for you to trust me. Tell me who you are. Do not lie to me. I will know it if you are,” he added meaningfully. He was confident that Eyric was who he claimed to be, but the truth was so important he wanted confirmation from the man himself.

The young man stared at Owen, his face betraying his surprise. “You came all this way. You risked your very life to come here.”

Owen nodded. “Your uncle needed to be sure. He couldn’t trust the rumors or the reports. It is only too easy to deceive.”

“My uncle?” Eyric said with a twinge of wrath. “Of course my uncle wants me. He wants me dead.”

Owen shook his head. “He does not. I assure you. Tell me who you are.”

“I am Eyric Argentine, son of Eredur. I swear it by the Fountain.”

It is true.

“I believe you,” Owen said. “The Espion reported that you were possibly a fisherman’s son, Piers Urbick.”

Eyric nodded. “The Urbicks protected me. They raised me. They were paid well to confess that I was their natural child.”

“Why the deception?” Owen pressed, stepping away from the window. “Why pay them to lie about you?”

Eyric’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have to tell you.”

Owen shook his head. “Why not? What is going on?”

“More than you know” was the evasive answer. “More than Severn knows. He cannot be allowed to remain as king. He cannot wear the hollow crown. I must take it from him.”

“I don’t think that you can,” Owen said simply. “The lord marshal of Brythonica was just at Edonburick, warning Iago that he will not support your uprising. And the people, Eyric, won’t rally to you. Chatriyon is only using you to defy your uncle. He means to force a marriage to your sister and claim the throne for himself.”

Eyric’s look darkened. “I don’t believe you.”

“You are being used by both sides,” Owen insisted. “Think, man! Chatriyon only wants power for himself, and Iago is using you to topple Severn for his own purposes. You are their puppet. Let me help you cut the strings.”

“How?” Eyric said angrily. He frowned and started pacing, looking as if he wanted to grab one of the vases and hurl it down onto the floor. “If Severn gets his hands on me, he will finish what he failed to do all those years ago. I was a child!”

Owen stepped forward. “I understand that. Believe me, I do. I spent months living at Kingfountain, shuddering with fear, thinking the king was going to murder me or throw me off the waterfall. My father betrayed him at Ambion Hill.”

“But you have value to him,” Eyric snapped. “You are Fountain-blessed. Of course he would want to save your life. I am his rival. He sent you here to kill me. If I don’t come with you, you are supposed to murder me. Can you deny it?”

Owen breathed in slowly, trying to calm his own emotions. “Only if you were an imposter,” he said calmly. “Only if you were really Piers Urbick. But you are not. You are Eyric Argentine. When we first arrived, when I first saw you at Iago’s court, you said who you were, and the Fountain told me it was true.”

Eyric’s eyes widened. “Then you know my claim is just. You know I am your rightful king!” A look of hope sparked in his eyes. “If you help me regain my throne, your place in my court will be unparalleled. Name your terms, and I will grant them, even up to half of my kingdom. With you on my side, Lord Owen, I can do this!” His eyes were lit from within. “I will reward you with anything you desire.”

A roaring sound filled Owen’s ears. The roar of ambition, which he’d heard once before, while Iago and Evie were playing Wizr. He saw the possibilities, the chance to have Evie for his own. Severn was reluctant to unite the two duchies, but Eyric would be happy to grant him such a boon. Owen had never felt so tempted in his life. He saw the road in front of him. But it would mean betraying Severn. It would mean betraying the man who had guided him and given him his current rank. The man who had sent him to Atabyrion to help Evie win the heart of another man. Owen’s heart ached with pain. This is why men rebelled. This is how they fell.

“I am no kingmaker,” Owen said, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve read enough history to know what happens to such people. If you want to be a king, you must do it on your own merits. I will oppose you. Vigorously.”

Eyric breathed in through his nose. “Your integrity does you credit, my lord.”

“Loyalty binds me,” Owen said simply. “Reconsider your own claims. Your own ambition. When you were a prince, you were the Duke of Yuork.”

“A title my uncle stripped from me!” Eyric spat.

Owen stepped forward. “But what if he restored it? You are his brother’s child. I know, for myself, that he deeply regrets what happened to you and your brother. It was none of his doing.”