The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

He stroked her hair, feeling the softness, savoring it. “Say the word, and I will take you from this place. Say the word, my love, and I will take you far, far away. I cannot bear this, Evie! It hurts. It hurts so much.”

“I know,” she replied with a shiver in her voice. “I would be lying if I said otherwise.” She pulled back slightly, pushing some hair behind her ear and dabbing her dripping nose on her sleeve. “But this must be, Owen. This must be. We must both learn to accept that life isn’t fair. That not all our dreams will come true. That sometimes we must be parted from those we cannot live without.” Her face crumpled into a look of misery. She struggled to keep her composure as tears streamed down her face. She took a steadying breath. “I choose this, Owen. This is not happening against my will. I care for . . . I care for Iago. He sincerely loves me, I know that. I think he can make me happy.” She glanced down for just a moment. “I think I can make him a better man . . . a better king. But I cannot be happy to see you grieve like this. It will be a torment to me, Owen. I am willing to endure it. But you must . . . please . . . you must try! You must try to care for someone else.”

Owen hung his head, ashamed that she was handling her emotions better than he was. He tried to wrestle his heart into submission. “How can I pretend?” he whispered thickly. “How can I pretend this will never stop hurting?”

She shook her head and stroked his arm, his good arm. “It won’t stop hurting,” she said softly. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss my papa. But it lessens in time. And so will this. We are still young, Owen. I’m not doing this because I’ll become a queen. I would rather have been a . . . a duchess.” She squeezed his arm. “I’m doing this because it is my duty. It is our duty. Loyalty binds us. Isn’t that what we’ve been taught for so long? When I heard the rumors that you had forsaken him, I could not believe them. I knew it was a trick, a deception. I knew you would not do that to him.” She gave him a look of adoration. “Not my Owen. Never my Owen.” She shook her head. “But you are mine, no longer. I will be Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer Llewellyn. We can do this, Owen. We must. He needs you. Go to your king. Submit to his will, as I have done.”

Owen reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were so soft and warm. It was holding her hand that had given him the courage to jump into the cistern waters. She had taught him everything he knew about bravery and fidelity. And love.

“As you command, my lady,” Owen whispered huskily. He pressed her knuckles to his lips. If she could endure this, then so could he. As he turned, he spied Justine standing in the doorway, sobbing.

He walked past her, pausing only to pat her shoulder and push her to join Evie in the cistern yard. Owen did not want her to be there when he went to see Severn.




Etayne was waiting with Eyric outside the throne room doors, which were closed. The man looked positively greensick. The poisoner saw Owen’s crestfallen look, and her expression filled with shared pain.

“He is waiting for you both,” she murmured in his ear. “Everyone else has been ordered out.”

Owen nodded and took Eyric by the elbow. The guards gripped the massive handles of the doors and pulled them open. Something told Owen that Severn would be pacing inside, and indeed, that was the first thing he noticed. The king was chafing with obvious impatience and agitation.

Eyric, for a moment, couldn’t move, until Owen tugged on his arm. Severn turned immediately, his expression a mixture of excitement, worry, and triumph. His black garb was a contrast to Eyric’s more princely raiment. The king wore his battle sword as well as a dagger in his belt. Eyric was unarmed, a defeated rebel.

“My lord king,” Owen announced in a firm, controlled voice. “The rebel Eyric Argentine was captured, and I bring him to you for justice.”

Severn folded his arms, giving Eyric a dispassionate look. The king’s demeanor softened, his brooding looks settling into place.

“Welcome back to Kingfountain, nephew,” the king said flatly.

Eyric summoned his courage. He was trembling with the weight of the moment. “I am not your nephew,” he said in a quavering voice. “My lord, I will confess the truth to you. My name is Piers Urbick. I am from Brugia.”

Owen felt a heavy wall of blackness settle on him. As if an unbearable weight had been heaped on his shoulders.

Say nothing, the Fountain whispered to him.

Severn’s expression changed to one of confusion, and the first glints of anger shone through. “Piers Urbick?” he said in challenge.

“It is true, my lord,” the young man offered meekly. “I am an imposter, trained at the court of your sister to deceive you and the rest of the kingdoms. Long have I sought to escape this disguise. I was chosen because I bear a resemblance to the Argentine family. Perhaps my mother had a dalliance with your elder brother during his exile in Brugia. I was taught what to say. I was promised a kingdom. Your kingdom.” He bowed, his knees trembling.

Owen knew Eyric wasn’t telling the truth. Every word out of his mouth was a lie.

Say nothing.

Severn looked outraged, his anger blasting white hot in his eyes. “You mean to tell me, lad, that you’ve been duping us all along? That my sister persuaded you to seek my throne unlawfully, illegitimately, and through lies and deception, you managed to convince a king to marry you to one of the noblest daughters of his realm!” His voice continued to rise until he was shouting. “That this is all a sham? You may be my nephew, my bastard nephew, if that! And you come to Kingfountain to seek pardon for these heinous falsehoods!” The king whirled around, his eyes sparking with inner fire. “I ought to throw you into the river myself,” he growled with such wrath that Owen thought he might do just that.

Eyric shrank from the words, wincing away from the king. Owen felt the trickling of the Fountain, felt the waters of it seeping inside the king as he lashed out at his nephew.

Why would Eyric lie? Owen could not fathom the logic or fear that had driven him to such a blatant falsehood, but then he remembered Lady Kathryn’s eyes, the way her hand had touched her abdomen.

It is your duty to protect the heir, the Fountain told him. The Dreadful Deadman will return. If you tell the king, the babe will perish. You must hide him. You must protect him.