The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

“This is the proof of it.” He glanced at Jack who was quailing with fear. “Why are you still standing there, man?” he barked, and the duke hurried to the doors.

Owen turned to Clark. “Summon every Espion in the palace and arm them. We fight with the king or so help me, every last one of the spies will drown with us. No one leaves the docks. Not a single ship is to set sail. Lock down the harbor, Clark. Now!”

“It will be done,” Clark said darkly and rushed from the room.

Moments later, a few of the more levelheaded servants arrived, bearing armor for the king and Owen. Severn was impatient with his squires, but they managed to help him shrug on the hauberk and plates despite his constant epithets. Owen donned a hauberk and hood himself, wearing his own badge this time. While the king was finishing his preparations, Owen went to the open doorway, his eyes drawn to smudges on the lintels. There was a stain on the wood that had not been there before; it looked like some bloody mixture had been dabbed over it. It was out of place and ominous, and he called over a servant to fetch some soap and water to clean it.

He spied Evie approaching him from down the hall, her face flushed. Justine trailed behind her.

“The city is in an uproar,” she said passionately. She paused at the threshold by Owen, then stared at the king. “He’s going to fight them?”

“And what would you have me do, my lady?” Severn snapped, his every motion accompanied by a clang of the metal armor. “Surrender to mob justice? If I’m going over the falls, at least I’ll drown if I’m not shattered to pieces.”

Evie stared at him. “The people are afraid, my lord. They are superstitious because of the snow. They think you caused it by taking Tunmore out of sanctuary!”

“They may think many things that are unreasonable and foolish,” Severn shot back. “The only thing they’ll understand is force.”

He looked at Owen. “The time has come.”

Evie caught Owen’s arm, but her gaze was pinned on the king. “Don’t just kill them, my lord. They are panicked, frightened of the early winter storms. Try to appease them first.”

Severn’s face twisted with anger. “They think I’m a butcher,” he said with a voice full of loathing. “Well, even the sheep flee from wolves.”

“You are not a wolf,” Evie insisted. “You are a man. A misunderstood man. Do not support their fears through actions that seem to confirm them. Let Owen speak on your behalf if you are too angry! He was in the tower when Tunmore jumped! He was a witness.”

“They’ll not believe us,” the king said, shaking his head. “Men believe what they will. I do not fear them. I don’t fear death.” He snorted, his eyes flashing with fire. “I would welcome it.” But then he paused, giving consideration to her words. “If they won’t listen, I will compel their obedience.”

“Do that, my lord,” Evie said, releasing Owen’s arm. Her cheeks were flushed. “We only detest that which we do not truly understand. You can be very persuasive, my lord. Try that first. Try your gift of words first.”

The king sighed. “My gift only works one to one. I’d never be able to persuade so many.”

“At least you can try,” Evie pleaded.

The king gave her a pitying look, as if he thought she was quite naive. He glanced at Owen to solicit his thoughts.

“I trust her judgment,” Owen said. “The worst that can happen is the people drag you from your horse and throw you into the river. Any less than that is a victory. But if you are going into the river, so am I. We may even survive it.”

The king smirked at the words. Then his face hardened. “Well said, lad.” And he marched out of the throne room, sword in hand.




The courtyard teemed with soldiers wearing the badge of the white boar. There were a few who had Owen’s badge and even fewer who bore the badge of East Stowe. When the soldiers had learned the king intended to suppress the uprising personally, they had taken courage and rallied behind their master. Muddy snow had built up on the flagstones, and stable boys were using muck rakes to drag it clear. Fresh snow fell in gentle waves, sticking to the black tunics and giving them a silvery cast.

Owen’s mount shifted nervously and snorted with the cold. Noise from the mob could be heard beyond the portcullis, louder than the distant roar of the waterfall. Severn sat on his warhorse, his face firm and resolute. He wore a helmet that had been fashioned to hold the crown—the same battered helm he had worn at Ambion Hill. But while Owen’s father had made a different decision on that fateful day, Owen rode at the king’s side.

Evie was also there, much to Owen’s annoyance, with a group of men wearing her grandfather’s badge. She would not be kept away from the action, and she’d insisted that the presence of a lady might help prevent violence.

“Open the doors!” the king shouted over the ruckus. “But do not raise the portcullis. Not until I command you.” He looked to his right and then to his left. “When I give the order, we charge. Your swords are sharp. Your courage is tested. These are our countrymen, but they will yield or they will perish. The choice is theirs.”

“Aye, my lord!” shouted the gate captain. Four men on either side helped haul the doors open, revealing a tangled mass of men. As soon as they saw King Severn astride his horse, their roars turned into screams. Rocks came tumbling into the courtyard. Clubs and staves rattled the iron bars of the portcullis.

The king shouted at the mass of angry faces, trying to be heard, but the mob only grew louder, more truculent. Some of the men were heaving at the portcullis, trying to winch it open with their brute strength.

“They won’t even listen,” the king said with a snarl of contempt. Owen saw his hand start to lift, ready to give the signal to open the gates and attack. His stomach roiled with despair at the imminent slaughter. The mob was ferocious, true, but how many had survived a battlefield before? How many were used to the pain and disfigurement that armed warriors could inflict?

Then Evie’s horse charged forward toward the gate, and Owen watched in horror as she positioned herself in front of the king. Her action completely startled everyone, including the rioters; those in the front ranks quieted somewhat when they saw her.

“Foolish girl!” Severn muttered, nudging his stallion forward as Owen did the same.

“Stop this!” Evie said in a clear, strong voice. “Stop this at once! Go back to your homes before there is violence. Think of your families! Think of your children and your sisters! Retreat from the palace immediately, and none of you will be harmed!”