The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

Eyric collapsed to his knees, his voice throbbing with anguish. “I beg you to have mercy!” he pleaded. “Dread sovereign! I implore you. I was coerced by ambitious men. I did not want to deceive everyone, but I was carried forth by the unfolding of events. I beg for mercy!”

Severn eyed the prostrate young man with disgust. “Take him out of my sight,” he ordered Owen. “If your marriage to that young woman was performed under such a lie, then the marriage is not valid.” He snorted scornfully. “She married you because she thought she had married a prince. Well, I thank you for taking the trouble to bring the Earl of Huntley’s daughter to Ceredigion. Her father has been frantic to hear word of her. I shall tell him that his son-in-law was nothing more than a sniveling coward and an imposter. Well, if she wanted to become Queen of Ceredigion, there is another way.”

Eyric’s eyes widened with shock. “You are a monster,” he breathed out. Owen felt the heaviness of the Fountain still, and it prevented him from speaking out on Eyric’s behalf. He saw the king’s mind shifting, tottering, shutting.

Severn smirked. “If that is what everyone expects, then I shan’t disappoint them any longer. I have no family left. No niece. No nephew. No sister.” His eyes were glaring with wrath. “I won’t kill you, lad. But you will come to wish I had. You are my prisoner.” The king turned to Owen. “My lord duke, I give you charge of the Espion. Have young Urbick assigned to Dunsdworth. Have them both guarded day and night. I forbid him to share a bed with the woman he seduced and deceived. Have Lady Kathryn brought to the palace. I should like to meet the beauty of Atabyrion who came to be queen. And I should like to hear him confess his duplicity to her face.”

“My lord, I beg you, no!” Eyric started, and Severn held up a hand to silence him.

“Take him away.”

Owen was sick at heart. He stared at the king, feeling animosity roil in his heart. Was this how Stiev Horwath felt? Was this why he was so often silent?

Owen grabbed beneath Eyric’s arm and pulled him up. Eyric’s face was white with despair, his hands trembling. When Owen reached the door, he gave Etayne orders to see to the man. Then he paused, and turned as the doors were shut once again.

Severn stood by the fireplace, shaking his head. A strange expression was on his face. An almost giddy look.

“My lord, may I speak to you?” Owen asked.

The king glanced over his shoulder, looking surprised Owen had not yet left. “You’ve seen the girl, haven’t you? Lady Kathryn? Lord Bothwell tells me she is a beauty. Soft-spoken, demure. He could not say what color her hair was because the fashion in her country is to wear headdresses.” Severn looked almost distracted in his thoughts. “When you bring her, I don’t want her wearing Atabyrion fashions. Have a gown made up for her. Let Etayne do it. She should wear black, as if she’s in mourning. Black, but I want the cut to be the finest of any princess. Yes, I want her to wear black. It’s appropriate, after all.”

Owen’s horror grew as the king spoke. He was not himself. Something had altered him. Was it the threat of being thrown in the river? Was it the stress of facing another Ambion Hill? Or had it been his niece’s betrayal? Perhaps he was finally feeling the stress of all his miserable years of loyalty to his brother.

The thought shocked Owen and made him sick inside.

“What did you want?” the king asked peevishly.

“I just wanted you to know,” Owen said, feeling a strange sensation in his stomach. He would not tell Severn that Kathryn was with child. He felt the heavy weight of it pressing on him, but he knew it was a secret he had to keep, just as he had kept so many other secrets from the king.

“To know what? Speak, man! You have errands aplenty to attend to. Aren’t you grateful for the new office? The new trust I have put in you?”

Not in the least, he refrained from saying.

“My lord, I just wanted you to know. To hear it from my own mouth. I loved her. I truly, deeply loved her.”

Severn wrinkled his brow. “The Mortimer girl. Yes, I know.”

Owen felt the stirrings of hatred begin in his heart. “You knew?”

The king nodded and folded his arms. “Mancini saw it first and then I noticed it myself. Yes, you were fond of the girl. But you are barely a man, Owen. There is much you have yet to learn.”

Owen was struggling to control his temper. “You knew . . . and yet you allowed Iago to have her? Your enemy?”

The king shook his head. Then his face became cruel. “You don’t think I know what you’re feeling? Finally someone else understands what I had to endure. What I had to go through! My Nanette, the daughter of the Duke of Warrewik. She and I were much like you and the Mortimer girl. I loved her deeply, as Warrewik ensured that I would! And then he sold her off to form an alliance with the Prince of Occitania. She was to become their queen.” He gave Owen a look of fierce loathing and rage. “She was wed to our enemy. And when they returned to Ceredigion with an army, hoping to break my brother’s crown, I destroyed her father and her husband. That’s when I realized I was Fountain-blessed. When I was able to persuade her to love me in spite of that.” He came forward, and Owen felt the magic of the Fountain rush to life inside the king. He gripped Owen’s shoulder, and the pain in his elbow howled with the pressure. The magic of the Fountain flooded him, but it could not penetrate him. He stood steady against it, immovable.

“You will understand what I had to endure to be loyal, young Owen,” the king snarled. “You will understand what it feels like to be hated. To be despised. You will learn the cost of loyalty as I did. Then we’ll see if you can smugly talk of love as if that were the single most important thing in the world, the only consideration regarding the destiny of kings and fate! The people love you now. But they will hate you. And then we will see if you do not become the very man that I am!” His eyes were losing focus and appeared to be gazing at something far away. “Yes, they wanted a monster, and now they will get one. And I will make the world howl for it!”





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO


Winter




Flakes of snow floated down like leaves, blurring the view from the window of the solar. Owen stood by the glass, wishing that his heart were made of ice. The door creaked and Duke Horwath entered the chamber. His movements were slower. Maybe it had always been like that, but the man looked so much older to Owen’s eyes. Old and weary.

Owen guessed that his expression was sufficiently desolate, for Horwath’s face frowned in sympathy. He came forward and stood by the window, his arm coming around Owen’s shoulder.

“We’ll both miss her, lad,” the duke said gruffly. There was pain throbbing in his voice. “I would like it if you came by Dundrennan now and then. You never need an invitation. Maybe an old soldier can help.”

Owen felt a pulse of gratitude, but it was quickly snuffed out by his misery. “The ceremony is over. The ships have embarked. Will she return, my lord?”