The Thief's Daughter

by Jeff Wheeler

  Owen’s magic was like water, for it could find the tiniest chinks and cracks. He saw immediately that the huge knight was blind in his right eye. He noticed the puckered scar hidden by a shaggy eyebrow. He was completely vulnerable to attacks on that side. Add a helmet, and he would be even more hampered. Owen smirked to himself and released the magic. He felt the loss of the power, but there was still much in his reserves, which he had filled earlier by organizing his tiles.

  “I am here on orders of Marshal Roux,” the knight said in a thick Occitanian accent. “My name is Loudiac.”

  “Welcome to North Cumbria, Sir Loudiac,” Owen said, nodding.

  The knight bowed formally. “My master bids me to tell you there are lands in dispute between Averanche and Brythonica.”

  “I was just getting to that,” the lawyer broke in, but Loudiac gave him a scowl sour enough to silence him.

  “I think it’s important that I understand these disputes,” Owen said, nodding to Loudiac to proceed.

  “The duchess has several royal forests that she has reserved for hunting. Because of a history of poachers, there are sharp penalties for intruders.”

  “And by sharp, do you mean arrows or spears?” Owen asked with a grin.

  Sir Loudiac bristled at the informality of Owen’s banter. “The duchess has seven such forests in her realm. One is also claimed by Averanche. There have been incidents in the past. The King of Occitania likes to hunt. Do you, my lord?”

  Owen gave the lawyer a curious look.

  “My lord,” Julliard said. “Occitania has always sought to enlarge its hegemony.”

  “As most princes do,” Owen said knowingly.

  “Yes, so what Sir Loudiac says is true. There have been disputes about the royal forests when the King of Occitania would illegally hunt in the duchess’s forests, thus causing strife. It challenges her authority in her own dominions and threatens the borders of Brythonica. There have inevitably been accidents.”

  Owen pursed his lips. “What sort of accidents?”

  “The duchess will defend her territory,” Sir Loudiac said sternly. “I was sent to warn you not to follow in King Chatriyon’s footsteps. It would only cause needless contention.”

  “I see,” Owen said. “And your master, Marshal Roux, sent you to warn me? Or was it the duchess?”

  “They speak with one voice, my lord,” said Loudiac grimly. “He was her father’s most trusted lord, and he protects Brythonica on her behalf.”

  “Well, then,” Owen said, turning toward Julliard. “Tell the lord mayor that I am quite ready to defend my new territory. He has proven his loyalty by revealing the offer of a pardon, so please thank him on my behalf. You may go.”

  The lawyer looked startled, surprised. “I . . . I thank you, my lord, for being decisive. By your leave. When shall I tell the lord mayor you intend to next visit Averanche?”

  “I have no idea,” Owen said with a short laugh. Then he nodded curtly for the man to leave, which he did.

  He turned his gaze to the massive knight. “I do not seek a quarrel with my new neighbor,” Owen said in a low voice.

  “Not yet,” the knight said in a tone that could almost be called a sneer.

  Owen chuffed a bit at that. “I don’t care for the sport of hunting. I’m stronger at playing Wizr. Does your master like to play?”

  The knight nodded slowly, warily.

  “Excellent,” Owen said. “I would like to challenge him to a match upon our next meeting.”

  The knight’s mouth betrayed a smirk. “I will issue your challenge to him.”

  “Farewell, then. I’m sorry you had to travel all this way to deliver your message. Or should I say . . . your warning.”

  Sir Loudiac smiled warily. “The trip was not wasted.”

  “Sir Loudiac,” Evie said, eyes narrowed curiously. “There was a duchess of Brythonica many generations ago. Her name was Constance.”

  “Aye, my lady. You know our history well.”

  “She married the first Argentine king’s third son. They had a child, a son, whom she used to try and claim the right to rule Ceredigion. Does Her Highness still press this claim?”

  Sir Loudiac’s smile faded. “That was many hundreds of years ago, my lady. We Brythonicans have since learned that the men of Ceredigion are not known for keeping their promises.”

  “You are bold to say it,” Owen muttered under his breath.

  Sir Loudiac bowed to them both and then stomped his way to the door.

  After he was gone, Owen gave Evie a curious look. “You have a knack for remembering stories. I had not thought of Constance and Goff. That was back at the beginning of the Argentine dynasty, you say?”

  Evie nodded. She looked very somber. “The very beginning. Ours is a kingdom where the stories keep repeating themselves over and over. It’s odd, Owen. It’s almost as if history were a waterwheel that keeps coming back to the same point in the river.”

  “Why do you say that?” Owen pressed. Justine looked up as he approached Evie near the table.

  “Constance and Goff had a son they named Andrew, who should have been king. But his uncle claimed the throne for himself. And he put the young man to death.”

  Owen felt his skin crawl. “How . . . how old was Andrew?”

  She blinked up at him, her eyes a mix of green and gray. “Our age.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  King of Atabyion

  The king had given Owen a fortnight to remain in North Cumbria. But not even a fortnight was permitted, as events in the world began to unravel.

  Owen was fighting in the training yard with Clark from the Espion. He liked practicing with Clark because the man had no chronic weaknesses, meaning Owen did not have his usual easy advantage. In his late twenties, he was strong and fit and had been training his entire life, which gave him the grace and skill to help Owen improve. In addition, he taught Owen how to fight with daggers, how to block with elbows and forearms, how to trip a man and wrestle him to the ground. He was bigger than Owen, so he usually won.

  The two men were taking a rest, dripping with sweat, when a messenger arrived in the training yard. As he approached, he made a subtle hand gesture identifying himself as part of the Espion. Though he was not old by any means, he had dark brown hair with streaks of premature silver.

  “What is it, Kevan?” Clark asked. The Espion saw Owen and nodded to him as well.

  “I have news from Mancini,” Kevan said as he approached them.

  “For both of us?” Clark demanded, his frown deepening.

  “Aye. You are both wanted back at court immediately. The king wants Lady Mortimer to come too.”

  Owen looked between Clark and Kevan in surprise. “Evie?”

  “The very one,” the man said with a chuckle. “Mancini requested her specifically.”

  “What for? Do you know?”

  “Well, something is afoot,” Kevan said. He looked around cautiously, making sure no one else was close enough to overhear. “Duke Horwath isn’t to know everything, but I was told to share the full truth with you. The king is sending her on a mission to Atabyrion.”

  Owen’s stomach dropped suddenly. “Whatever for?”

  “It’s a mission requiring some modicum of diplomacy,” Kevan said. “She’s an earl’s daughter, and she’s of an age. The king is taken with her sharp wit, her bravery, and her studies, so he’s sending her to negotiate a truce with Atabyrion’s king, Iago Llewellyn. King Severn has already spent too many resources defending against an attack that didn’t come from the east as we were expecting. That’s what I’m to tell the duke. But the true story is this. Mancini found evidence that the pretender may in fact be the son of a fisherman in Brugia. A cub by the name of Piers Urbick.” Kevan looked around again and then dropped his voice even lower. “My lord duke, the king wants you to go to Atabyrion too. In disguise. We have reason to believe this Urbick fellow is hiding in Atabyrion. Lady Mortimer discusses an alliance. You fetch the lad. We’ll tell D
uke Horwath that you will go in disguise as added protection for his granddaughter. The king trusts you, my lord, to figure out what needs to be done in a place that he can’t go himself. That’s your mission, and my mission was to tell you. You will get more information at the palace. For now, you are both Horwath knights escorting her ladyship and her maid to Kingfountain,” he said, shaking his finger at Clark and Owen.

  It was strange for Owen to wear the tunic of the Duke of Horwath. He hadn’t realized how much of his own sense of self derived from his dukedom’s badge until now. He wore it still, hidden beneath his chain hauberk and tunic. It was exciting to be in disguise, though, and as a knight wearing a chain hood, he was nameless, faceless, and practically invisible.

  Of course, Evie was wild with eagerness to embark on her secret mission to Atabyrion. She had never left Ceredigion before. Justine was cautious and worried, as she tended to be, but it did little to douse her companion’s spirits. Evie gave instructions for what books she wanted packed, which gowns and jewels she would wear to the court of Iago Llewellyn. But those items would be sent by cart. She was determined to ride to Kingfountain on horseback rather than be trundled along with the baggage.

  There were no secrets between Evie and Owen, so he had shared the part of the message that he was supposed to keep to himself. The journey from Dundrennan to Kingfountain took five days, and though Evie attempted to convince the others to spend one of the nights camping, they stayed at comfortable inns along the way to ease the burden of the journey.

  They reached Kingfountain and found everything as chaotic as Owen had expected. His heart was churning with emotions and excitement. He had always wanted to take an adventure, and the idea of traveling with her, of being truly alone and away from court and their lives in Ceredigion, was sweeter than treacle. As they crossed the bridge leading to the palace, he saw the ships docked at the lower portion of the falls and wondered which vessel would be taking them across the sea.

  They arrived with pomp and fanfare and were ushered into the throne room to see the king, who was pacing, limping slightly, and brooding. Owen saw the king’s niece, Elyse, sitting on a nearby bench, her eyes puffy and swollen from crying. His heart panged to see her this upset, particularly since he had not seen her in many months, but she did not give him a second look as he entered. His disguise saw to that.

  “My lord,” Evie said with a gracious and formal curtsy. “I am here at your command to do your bidding.”

  Justine curtsied as well, not daring to look the king in the eye.

  Mancini was leaning against the fireplace. His pose was all easy relaxation, but Owen noticed he did not sip from the goblet in his hand.

  “Leave us,” the king ordered his servants, dismissing the cupbearers and butlers and hangers-on. Lady Elyse started to rise as well, but the king curtly shook his head, gesturing for her to stay.

  In a few moments, the hall had been cleared for the king, except for the new arrivals, Mancini, and Elyse. The king sighed deeply, then turned to Owen.

  “Take off the hood, lad,” he said with a chuckle. “Even I hardly recognize you with it. If I, who know you so well, am deceived . . .” He stopped, his lips quivering. He glanced at Elyse, his eyebrows knitting with worry, but a warm, welcoming smile had spread across her face at the sight of Owen’s face.

  “I will be honest with you all,” the king continued. “Things are difficult right now. The attack at Blackpool has the people talking. And thinking.” He continued to pace, looking down at the ground, tapping his lips with his black glove. “I haven’t been this vulnerable since before Ambion Hill.” He wiped his mouth. “Every day, Mancini and his Espion are finding new traitors. I haven’t acted on them yet. He bids me to refrain.”

  “If you act too soon, my liege,” Mancini said deftly, “the others will go underground. I’m pulling in the nets slowly, lest I lose more fish before the rope cinches.”

  “Who?” Owen said, feeling his blood boil.

  “My own chamberlain,” the king said bitterly. “When I found out, I nearly threw him into the river myself. I’ve rewarded that man. I’ve trusted him. And he’s betrayed me.” The king’s eyes turned to molten silver. “But I heed you, Mancini. Your advice has been sound. Know who the traitors are before acting. That is one reason I cannot go to Atabyrion myself. That is why I must trust you.” His gaze fell on Evie and a proud smile stretched across his mouth. “You’ve proven you have courage, my dear. You are sensible. Polidoro tells me you know the history of our kingdom better than anyone, including himself. You know the history of our troubles with Iago Llewellyn’s father. Your grandfather and I defeated him last time.”

  “I know,” Evie said, clearly chafing with excitement. “I am ready to perform any service I can, my lord. You wish me to negotiate a truce? To cease hostilities between Iago and yourself? To convince him to break the alliance he made with Occitania?”

  “Indeed,” the king said. “But there is more.”

  Her eyebrows lifted curiously.

  “This is a game of Wizr I intend to win,” the king said. “A strong alliance with Atabyrion would change things in my favor. Iago has asked me, repeatedly, to provide him with a marriage partner befitting his rank. Who he has asked for . . . well, it’s not possible . . .” He could only mean Elyse. It made sense that he would not support such a union. Any offspring they had could be used to make a claim for the throne of Ceredigion.

  “The lad is ambitious and reckless,” the king continued. “He needs someone to tame him. If I’m to have a partner to watch my flank, I need to be able to rely on that partner. Can I count on your loyalty, Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer?”

  Her lip trembled. “Count . . . count on me for what, my lord?”

  “I have ulterior motives for sending you to negotiate this truce with Iago.”

  Owen’s stomach was turning over and over as he realized the direction the current was headed. He deduced what the king was going to say next. He saw what was happening, but felt as powerless against it as he had been to speak his truth to the king before Severn left the North. He wanted to cry out a warning, but he knew he could not.

  “What would you have me do?” Evie asked in confusion.

  Owen glared fiercely at Mancini, who was watching him unflinchingly. Ah, so he knew. He knew and he hadn’t warned Owen.

  “It is my will,” the king said, “that you marry King Iago of Atabyrion.”

  Above all, King Severn of Ceredigion values loyalty. He is known to test the loyalty of those who serve him in ways that truly pierce the heart.

  —Polidoro Urbino, Court Historian of Kingfountain

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Etayne

  As Severn said those words, Owen could only listen in shock and pain. Evie flinched as if she’d been struck. There were many things Owen wanted to say at that moment. None would have been prudent.

  Evie’s face was pale, and knowing her as he did, Owen was certain she was battling a fierce storm of emotions. Still, she rallied and bowed before the king.

  “I am grateful to Your Majesty,” she said in a quiet voice, “for the trust you have in me. I will go to Atabyrion as you have commanded.” Though she looked crestfallen, stricken, she put on a submissive air.

  “I knew that I could depend on you,” the king said. “I would have you depart within a fortnight. But first, you must speak with my chancellor, who will explain the state of affairs between our two kingdoms. If you are to go there, you must be prepared to threaten Iago. At all times, you are to project strength rather than weakness. My chancellor will also provide you with the funds required to act as my emissary. I have contacts at the court of Iago, which Master Mancini will explain to you. You will go with a full diplomatic escort, including several of my court lawyers to serve as your advisors. But I would have it made clear that you represent me and are empowered to negotiate on my behalf. You must make him see that his interests are best served with me as a friend and Occitania as his enemy.”


  “It is . . . a great honor,” she stammered.

  “You have proven worthy of it.” The king gestured her dismissal. “I would speak to Owen next. As you know, he will be going with you as one of your protectors. You may go.”

  Owen’s heart was dark and brooding and sizzling with enmity. He cursed himself silently for not speaking to the king about his feelings back at Dundrennan. To expose them now would risk offending Severn to a catastrophic degree. There was only one hope: He was going with Evie to Atabyrion, so perhaps he could prevent the disaster simply by being there.

  Evie bowed again, still pale with dread, and left the throne room. She glanced at him once before leaving, her eyes beseeching his. Though Owen ached to follow her, he could only stare at her with pain.

  “You as well, Niece,” the king said, though he spoke with compassion. Elyse looked at the king, a small frown on her mouth, but she rose and left as she had been bidden. Was she suffering because she knew what was happening to Owen and Evie? Or was it this business of the pretender that had her so twisted up inside?

  As the door shut behind her, Owen turned to face Severn and Mancini. The spymaster gave a nod to tell Clark to stay put.

  The king rose from his throne, wincing with discomfort, and began to pace the throne room. He glanced at Mancini. “Fetch her,” he said curtly.

  Mancini nodded and walked over to the doorway the king usually used to enter the throne room. The king’s expression was guarded.

  “Do you really seek a marriage alliance with Atabyrion?” Owen asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, but he felt his voice nearly breaking.

  The king smirked. “An alliance, if possible. If Iago is smart, he will bite at the bait. But your assignment in Atabyrion will be quite different from that of the earl’s daughter. As you have no doubt noticed, the rumors about young Piers Urbick have rattled my court and stabbed at the heart of my niece.” His face wilted with pain. “You can imagine it has affected me in an equally painful manner. I have long been under the impression that both of my nephews were murdered. Bletchley left no clues as to the whereabouts of their bodies or even how they were murdered. But my spies in the courts of Brugia and Legault have begun to piece together clues that make this situation very compromising for me. If the lad is who Tunmore claims him to be, then he does have a motive to instigate a challenge to the throne. However, the deconeus is a notorious liar, and he’s using his gifts to propagate the boy’s story. I might control the treasury and the reins of state, but there are clearly many who would prefer a change in government. And benefit from one. I wish to know for certain whether the boy is an imposter. Ah, there she is.”