The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

“Have you seen the like before?” Owen asked the captain.

He shook his head. “Not in my twenty years at sea,” he said. “I’ve never seen Kingfountain so white this early.”

A memory stirred in Owen’s mind. He felt the supple churn of the Fountain along with it.

It was something Severn had said during breakfast to Dickon Ratcliffe one long-ago morning. Owen had been close enough to hear the conversation. The memory had always nagged at him.

“Remember the eclipse, Dickon? The eclipse that happened the day my wife died? I was blamed for that too.” Then his voice had shrunk to almost a whisper. “That, however, may have been my doing. My soul was black that day. And I am Fountain-blessed.”

It is true, whispered the Fountain.

The first flakes of snow began to fall silently on the deck.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


Perfidious




A servant took the snow-dusted cloak from Owen and shook it over the threshold. The interior of the palace of Kingfountain was lit with braziers, filling the air with a smoky haze that gave the scene a surreal look, the stuff of dreams. It was a relief to be back in Ceredigion, but with such dramatic changes happening all at once, it felt almost as peculiar as Atabyrion. As Owen marched toward the throne room, he encountered Mancini along the way. The very sight of the man twisted his mouth into a sour frown.

“Your return could not be more expedient,” the spymaster said. He looked stressed and sleep-deprived. “That you returned at all counters our worst fears that mischief befell you in Edonburick.”

“Mischief did befall us,” Owen said angrily, breathing in deep mouthfuls of the warm air to soothe the coldness from the journey. “Justine and Clark were poisoned. I would have been a victim too, but I did not partake of the food on that particular outing. We caught and then lost the poisoner. You should know that it was Lord Bothwell. He went by the name of Foulcart at the poisoner school.”

“Bothwell?” Mancini said. “He betrayed us? After all I’ve paid to win his loyalty?”

Owen was impressed by how surprised Mancini sounded. He would keep his suspicions about the spymaster to himself until he had a moment to confide them to the king.

“How is the king? I sent Clark ahead of us to warn him of the Occitanians’ plot to poison him and deceive Lady Elyse. Clark was waylaid and knocked out. We’ve had our share of troubles, Dominic.”

“They sent a poisoner?” he said with surprise. “We’ve seen none of that, and I have the Espion investigate those who request work at the palace. The king is quite hale, but he is not well. You know about his niece? How did word reach you so quickly that she fled?”

Owen gave him a wry look. “I am Fountain-blessed.” He was relieved to hear that Severn was still alive.

“Then make it stop snowing, please,” Mancini quipped. “The common folk fear the river will freeze over. You can imagine the consternation that is causing at the sanctuary.”

“Whatever for?” Owen asked.

“You know the legend of Our Lady. That the rights of sanctuary will last until the water stops. Because that waterfall has never stopped flowing, not in a thousand years at least, it’s believed the rights will last into perpetuity. The sanctuary men are thinking they will lose their protection. Superstitious fools.”

Owen shook his head with scorn. “How long ago did Elyse flee? And how did she get away? Was she abducted?”

“No, I don’t believe she was abducted, although I cannot be totally certain. She vanished the day after her mother’s funeral.”

“The queen dowager is dead?” Owen exclaimed. “I learned in Atabyrion that she was being slowly poisoned.”

Mancini shrugged helplessly as they approached the doors leading into the throne room. The doors were closed, and the guards posted on either side of them bore spears. The spymaster gestured, and they saluted and then opened the doors.

“She died not long after you departed. She’d been sick for many months. Her death was a terrible blow to Lady Elyse. It’s my belief that Deconeus Tunmore used her death and the girl’s subsequent grief to persuade her to accept Chatriyon’s proposal of marriage. She was smuggled from the sanctuary in disguise and then boarded an Occitanian merchant ship set to sail that morning. You can only imagine the king’s fury at such a betrayal. I told him to keep her on a shorter leash. Any leash! But he trusted her, swore she would never abandon him. Well, she has, and I can’t blame her, considering her reduced prospects and his unwillingness to take her for a wife. He is angry, lad. Angrier than I have ever seen him. It’s a boon you are here, for he listens to none of us.”

Owen swallowed as he crossed the threshold, his insides churning with worry. Mancini took a position near the fireplace, close enough to be within earshot. He saw Severn slumped over in his throne, a man who looked exhausted and full of turmoil. His hair was grayer, or so it seemed from his unhappy demeanor. He sat in brooding silence, teasing his bottom lip with a black-gloved hand. Light from the torches exposed his unshaven chin and untidy hair. He was wearing the crown, which was unusual, for he seldom wore it outside of ceremonial occasions. The metal band around his head seemed to be made of dull iron instead of gold.

Owen approached the dais and then sank to one knee. As he looked up into the king’s eyes, he saw the caged inferno hiding behind the steel. That he was sitting so still belied the explosions roaring inside him. His eyes shifted to Owen, and for a moment, it seemed he did not recognize him.

“Owen?” the king asked hoarsely.

“I’ve returned, my lord,” he replied. “But I fear not soon enough to prevent such mischief.” He wished Mancini would leave so that he could vent his suspicions, but this wasn’t the right time.

“So you’ve heard?” the king said flatly, his voice tight with control.

“My lord, I heard about the plot in Atabyrion,” he answered. “I tried to send word, but I have failed you.”

The king’s expression changed. He rose from the throne like a puppet on strings. “You? I have been plagued with doubts and torments. I feared that even you were in on the plot. Or that you would be destroyed yourself. And yet here you are, kneeling. Rise, my friend. You needn’t kneel to me ever again.”

Owen slowly stood, staring at the king, feeling the depth of the man’s emotions. “What happened?” he pressed, keeping his voice low. There were no servants in the great hall. It felt like a sepulchre.