The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

Owen stifled a smirk. Etayne’s eyes were wide with surprise, but she said nothing.

“I am Fountain-blessed,” Owen said in an easy tone. He fetched a cup, but then stared down at it suspiciously, wondering if he were in danger of being poisoned. His thoughts went to the king, who had lived for years under the dark shadows of that fear. He set the cup down and walked over to the chest. Eyric’s eyes widened with alarm as Owen unlatched it and raised the lid.

As he stared down at the Wizr set, Owen felt the power emanating from it. Just looking at the ancient relic made him feel wary and vulnerable. The positions hadn’t changed since they’d left the sanctuary, he noticed. The carved faces on the pieces were full of emotion.

“What is this?” Owen asked, trying to discern any patterns in the arrangement. The one he discerned the most quickly was a series of pawns blocking each other, as if two master Wizr players had been scrupulously defending each piece, not wanting to surrender. The Wizr piece from the dark side was missing, which usually meant the game would come to a quick end. But the darker side had managed a defensive strategy to prevent the light side’s Wizr from moving easily across the board. As he studied the pieces, he felt the rushing sensation of the Fountain.

A touch on his arm startled him, and he blinked and looked away from the game. Etayne was staring at him worriedly.

Owen shuddered, feeling vulnerable to a power much greater than his own. He closed the lid of the box.

Etayne stared at him fixedly. “Are you the Dreadful Deadman?” she asked.

Owen blinked with surprise. “Why would you say that?”

“The way you were looking at the Wizr set. It was like it was speaking to you.” He shook his head, but she still continued, “It was uncanny. And everyone has heard your story. How you were brought back to life as a babe. How you were the youngest person to be discovered as Fountain-blessed in all of Ceredigion. Are you the king everyone is waiting for?”

Owen was amused by the reasoning. “I am not,” he answered truthfully. The Fountain had told him Eyric’s son was the one. That knowledge twisted inside him, as did the directive he had been given to keep the heir safe. He gestured back to the chest. “What is this?”

Eyric’s countenance fell. “I cannot say.”

“You cannot say, or you will not say?”

A wry smile quirked on Eyric’s mouth. “If you let me return to the sanctuary, if you let me return to my wife, I will tell you. Do not keep us apart.”

Owen shook his head. “Impossible.”

Eyric shrugged meaningfully. “Then I will not help you. There is power in that game. If only you truly understood it.”

Owen realized he was being goaded. He changed tactics. “What do you know of your sister? Did she go to Chatriyon willingly, or was she abducted?”

The other man threw up his hands. “I cannot say. Lord Marshal Roux warned Iago that the alliance between Occitania and Atabyrion would come to naught. That man is cunning and wise. If we had hearkened to him, none of this would have happened.”

“If you had listened to me,” Owen said angrily, “a better outcome would have befallen you!”

Eyric frowned. “I have not spoken to my sister. I do not know why she did what she did. But I believe she did it willingly. It was her only chance to escape the prison my uncle crafted for her. It was a prison, my lord. No matter how gilded the bars. If my sister had not been so loyal to our mother, she might have left long ago. She did not want to abandon her, as so many had done.” His voice throbbed with emotion. “You cannot imagine how my family has suffered.”

“It seems to me to be suffering resulting from bad choices,” Owen replied. “Your mother tried to prevent Severn from fulfilling his duty. Surely she realized that Severn was loyal to your father. That his loyalty defined him in his own mind.”

Eyric gave a solemn frown. “I don’t think she realized the depths of it, no. Or what he might do in order to secure his own interests. He’s not blameless, Owen. And neither are you for supporting him. You’re his little lapdog. His little Fountain-blessed pup. Wait until he starts kicking you like a dog too.”

Etayne stepped forward quickly, as if she were about to slap Eyric across the face.

“Etayne,” Owen said, forestalling her. “I think our guest is tired. Fetch him a drink.”

Eyric’s eyes widened with terror.




The disheveled prisoner was soon snoring on a pallet covered in fur blankets. Owen sat on a camp chair and pressed the bridge of his nose, trying to decode the mysteries he could not solve. Etayne had changed out of Elyse’s gown and was wearing one of her own, a much simpler design. She came up behind Owen and put her hand on his shoulder, using her thumb to dig circles into his tense muscles.

“What do you make of him?” Owen asked her, giving her a glance over his shoulder.

She didn’t bother concealing a sneer. “He’s a puppet, Owen. He may be of noble blood, but someone else was controlling him.”

“Who, though?” Owen said. “Tunmore claimed that he saved him and had him shuttled away first to Brugia and then to Legault. Yet who was Tunmore serving? Everyone believes Eyric is Eredur’s son. Yet, it’s as if they want him to rule Ceredigion because he’s an idiot.”

Etayne laughed softly. “Not everyone is as smart as you, my lord. Including our king.”

There was an implication in her tone. Owen shifted his gaze to her face and saw the look she was giving him. It was a look of total and complete surrender. A look that said, You could be the King of Ceredigion. I could help you.

It was a temptation, and he felt its cracklings awaken inside him like sparks on kindling. But he knew he would never be able to look Evie in the eyes again if he succumbed to it. Her look, her offer, her fingers soothing him—all of it made him wholly uncomfortable, so he rose from the stool and started pacing. Her hand lingered in the air for a moment before she lowered it. His thoughts became muddled with traitorous impulses, but he shook his head, trying to master himself.

“Who do you think the king will choose to replace Mancini?” Etayne asked softly.

Owen had almost forgotten about that. “Poor Dominic,” he said. “When I first heard he had been thrown into the river, I wondered if it was a lie. But you saw him go in?”