The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

“Tell me,” Owen said, drawing closer to Clark and lowering his voice. He looked around, but there was no one anywhere close enough to overhear their conversation. The calm atmosphere belied the tension that had descended upon him. A few seabirds called from the sky overhead. The breeze caught the subtle tang of the ocean.

“My lord,” Clark said, his voice low and serious, “Chatriyon received a letter recently from a man in Legault. A nobleman by the name of Desmond claims he holds King Severn’s young nephew, the rightful ruler of Ceredigion. The king had two nephews, if you recall. The letter said that while the older nephew was indeed murdered in Kingfountain, the Fountain spared the younger one so that he could one day reclaim the throne. The letter was seeking Chatriyon’s assistance to attack Ceredigion. Occitania would attack from the west under the pretext of subduing Brythonica, Atabyrion would attack in the East. That would leave the North vulnerable to the pretender and Legault. It’s Ambion Hill all over again. We’ve known about the Occitanian treaty with Atabyrion for some time, but this one with Legault is a complete surprise. As I mentioned, the letter was recent. I believe our kingdom is on the brink of invasion. We disrupted this attack, but word of Chatriyon’s defeat might not travel quickly enough to prevent the two other forces from acting.”

Owen’s heart skipped, realizing that Evie was defending the North alone.

“You’re right, Clark. The king needs to hear of this straightaway. Another pretender has emerged.”

Clark shook his head. “It gets worse, my lord.” He squirmed with discomfort. “The king’s sister, the dowager queen of Brugia, is supporting this plot. Four kingdoms have formed an alliance against us. Four.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What I don’t understand is why the king’s own sister would believe the claims of an imposter? Which leads to the next logical question.” Clark’s voice fell to a whisper, his gaze earnest. “I was not part of the Espion at that time. I joined after. Well, what if it’s true? What if one of Eredur’s sons survived the murder attempt? He was just a boy then. Now he’s a man. At least twenty or twenty-one by my reckoning. This is . . . this is a true blow to the king!”

Owen clapped Clark on the shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “Tell no man of this. Prepare our horses. We will ride back to Kingfountain at once.”





King Severn Argentine has not remarried following the death of his first wife, Lady Nanette, daughter of the Duke of Warrewik. They had one child, who died of fever not long into Severn’s reign. Then, shortly thereafter, his wife died. Some say she was poisoned, but that is always the first conclusion. The day of his wife’s death there was an eclipse. Some say it was a sign from the Fountain that Severn should not have taken the throne. But others who know him well say it was a mark of his deep grief at his lady’s passing. Some have nefariously insinuated the king secretly wishes to marry his niece, the lady Elyse. But those who have seen them together at court know their love is not romantic. They share a common bond of affection—a deep love of Eredur Argentine. Even after so many years, that ghost still casts a shadow.



—Polidoro Urbino, Court Historian of Kingfountain





CHAPTER FOUR


Severn




Since becoming the Duke of Westmarch, Owen had become accustomed to sending messengers to deliver news and give instructions. But this was news that needed to be delivered in person, particularly since an invasion might be imminent.

Owen’s feelings about King Severn were muddled and varying. The king was a hard man to serve, in part because of his razor-sharp tongue and characteristic moodiness, temper, and impatience. King Severn was Fountain-blessed too, and his power from the Fountain was the ability to persuade others with his words. He fueled that ability through diminishing others with his sarcasm and biting remarks. It was a strange combination of powers. Owen secretly wondered what would happen if the king switched to praise instead of ridicule. Would his gift be amplified? Or was giving a compliment even possible for such a hardened man?

Still, Severn valued loyalty above all else—his personal motto while serving his brother had been Loyalty Binds Me—and Owen admired the way he had surmounted the natural difficulties that arose from some defects of his birth. His shoulders were crooked, one of his arms a little bent. He often walked with a limp, though he tried to mask it.

The king had snatched the crown of Ceredigion after learning that Eredur had previously contracted a marriage, thus making his large posterity illegitimate. The boys had gone missing not long after, and there was a widespread belief that Severn had murdered his nephews in a grab for power. The knowledge of this public misperception tormented the king. Although he had not ordered the boys’ murders, it had happened under his reign, and he held himself responsible for their deaths. There had been no official proclamation of the event either.

That was a mistake.

Some conjectured the boys were alive and had been sent to the North to live in one of the king’s castles. Having been to all the king’s castles in the North, Owen knew the lads weren’t in any of them. It was a secret grief. Even after over a decade, it was a wound that still festered. Owen could scarcely imagine what emotions Severn would experience when he heard about the pretender’s claim, and the fact that four kingdoms were rallying to aid the imposter.

Owen and Clark rode hard from Westmarch, changing horses at several waypoints along the way and sleeping only for snatches to preserve their strength. Duke Horwath would remain in Averanche to make sure Westmarch was secure before joining Owen at Kingfountain. Of course Owen had shared the news with him, and Horwath had agreed the king needed to be told immediately. They were both anxious about Evie and the possibility of an invasion deep in the North.

It had been several years since Owen had last been to Kingfountain, and his heart churned with strange, conflicted feelings as he made his approach. He remembered being a little boy and riding to the castle in Duke Horwath’s saddle. Now his own men were riding with him, bearing his standard and badge for all to see. He was greeted with enthusiasm by the people, many of whom doffed their hats and waved them at him. Some of the women threw flowers as well, hoping to catch his eye. Word of his victory in Occitania had barely preceded him.

As he rode through the city and crossed the bridge to the sanctuary of Our Lady, he stared up at the spires and turrets, thinking about the time he had snuck away from the palace to try to claim sanctuary there. That was when he had first met Dominic Mancini, only a lowly Espion then, and the queen dowager, who still resided there. The thought sparked another—an idea he would mull upon until he saw the king.