The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

“I can’t abide crowds,” Owen muttered. “Everyone wants to see you for some reason. There’s never a moment’s peace. What do you make of this development?”

Horwath frowned and gazed down at the map. “There is a long history of war between our kingdoms, lad. This could be a stronghold that benefits us later. Years ago we took Callait from Brugia, and it’s still a strategic port city for us on that continent. I’m sure the lord mayor doesn’t have enough men to defend his town, and what few he had fled with the king’s army last night. It’s like Wizr. You just made a strong move that your opponent wasn’t expecting. They’re vulnerable now, and we both know it.”

Farnes returned with the mayor of Averanche, a short, squat man with a gray beard and only a few strands of hair atop his waxy, sweating head. After a short, formal introduction, Owen learned that Averanche was a short distance away, with a castle along the coast, right on the border of the duchy of Brythonica. It was in the territory that Ceredigion had controlled centuries before, and the mayor was only too willing to discuss terms.




By midafternoon the same day, Owen found himself walking the ramparts of the castle with Averanche’s mayor, watching as the flag with three golden bucks on a field of blue flapped in the breeze. It was a surreal experience, to be sure, but Owen did not trust the hospitality of the local townspeople, and he had strictly forbidden his men to drink or carouse. He had soldiers patrolling the streets, learning the defenses in case they were attacked, and they were prepared to ride off at a moment’s notice if Occitania’s king should attempt to return with his hosts. Reports throughout the day showed that to be highly unlikely—the king was licking his wounded pride at being bested by a much younger man.

As Owen walked the battlement walls, he stared down at the lush valleys and farms below. In the distance, he could make out the coast, the flat gray waters too far for him to hear the rumble of the waves. There was an island off the coast, and he could see a fortress atop the crest.

“What is that place?” Owen asked the lord mayor as they walked, pointing out across the waters.

“Pardon? Oh, that is the sanctuary of Our Lady of Toussan. It is an ancient structure, the main sanctuary of Brythonica. The tide goes out once per day, allowing visitors in. Otherwise it is surrounded by water. It is the last defense of the duchess, our neighbor. The view is even better from the tower. Would you like to see it?”

“No,” Owen said, pausing to gaze. The sanctuary clearly surpassed the size of Our Lady of Kingfountain, which was also built on an island, albeit a much smaller one, amidst a river. This island jutted out from the sea. It was hard to tell where the sanctuary ended and the island began. The walls came all the way down to the sea, and there were ships moored there. Owen’s mind began working on how a person would go about conquering a place like that.

“What can you tell me of the Duchess of Brythonica?” Owen asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“She is descended from an ancient house, my lord,” the mayor said. “The house of Montfort has long ruled Brythonica. Her lord father died six years ago, when she was eleven. Her people will only have a Montfort rule them, even a girl. They are . . . independent spirits, my lord. Very stubborn.”

“Very well, but that tells me of her people. What about her?”

The mayor frowned. “Well, I have only seen her rarely, my lord. I do not know her personality. She was twelve when I last beheld her, so I am really not to judge. She is fair, by all accounts. Is my lord . . . interested in getting to know her better?”

“By the Fountain, no!” Owen said, chuckling out loud. He had surrendered his heart to a water sprite in the North, and there was room for none other.

“That is wise,” the mayor said, sighing with relief. “I hoped you did not carry any such notion. Even though you are her age, I can assure you that the Duchess of Brythonica will only marry a king. She has been very unlucky in her suitors, you know. Her first betrothal, as an infant, was to King Eredur’s oldest son. That . . . did not end well. I hope I am being discreet enough in saying so. Her second betrothal was to a prince of Brugia. That did not end well either. The King of Occitania wants her lands for himself. Now that you have defeated his army, there will likely be a drawn-out negotiation for their marriage. Tell me, my lord. Is it true that your king is still unmarried after so many years?”

“It’s no secret,” Owen said in a neutral tone, but he was not about to reward the man’s curiosity with court gossip.

“Does your king have intentions to woo Lady Sinia for himself?”

The king was very old compared to the girl, and the mere thought of such a match made Owen’s stomach sour. There was no need to respond, however, for the mayor changed the subject. “It seems you have a visitor,” he said with a gentle cough. “Excuse me.”

When Owen turned away from the view, he saw Clark standing at a respectful distance. His posture was stiff and tense, full of foreboding. He looked like a hound at the gates before a race.

Owen dismissed the mayor and beckoned Clark to approach. The man hadn’t shaved in a day, and the stubble on his cheeks matched the stubble atop his head.

“My lord, I apologize for interrupting you, but this could not wait.”

“What is it, Clark?” Owen asked, concern blooming in his stomach. The Espion’s demeanor meant there was dreadful news, and he wanted it out in the open.

“During our raid last night, I had a man go through Chatriyon’s tent. This was just before Marshal Roux arrived. I’ve had several men reading his abandoned correspondence to see what information we could glean from it. There is a bit of news that must be reported to King Severn at once.”

“You seem anxious because of it, Clark,” Owen said, trying to curb his impatience.

“I’m anxious because of how the king may react,” Clark said. “He’s not a patient man. As you know.”