The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “I haven’t seen you this distraught in a long time,” Etayne said worriedly. “Tell me what’s troubling you, Owen.”

  “This may come out all jumbled,” he said with a half chuckle. “Forgive me. I’ve been wrestling with my thoughts all day. As you know, we can’t go back to Averanche or Tatton Hall. So I thought we’d camp here tonight. This is my forest now.” He gazed up at the trees towering above them. “They’re all mine.”

  Etayne waited patiently, saying nothing.

  “When we sailed to Atabyrion, do you remember entering the cove of Edonburick?” She nodded. “When we were crossing the bay, the Fountain told me that the city had drowned. I could sense beneath the waves that the castles and houses and manors of Atabyrion had long been destroyed. I was horrified by the scale of the devastation. It’s happened before, you know. St. Penryn is all that’s left of the kingdom of Leoneyis. It too was drowned. After I fought Marshal Roux, as he lay dying, he said I was the duchess’s protector now. And he warned me that if I did not protect her well, another kingdom would drown.” He stared into the flames, lost in thought again.

  “But he didn’t say who would be destroyed?” Etayne asked.

  Owen shook his head. “I’m assuming Brythonica. Have you noticed that all the residences are on the hilltops in Ploemeur? The duchess’s castle is on the highest ground of all. I think she knows of the risk. I think she’s prepared her people to survive if the flood happens again. But it wouldn’t be the sort of flood caused by nature, Etayne.” He clenched his fist and quelled his desire to hammer something. “It’s part of the legend of the Deep Fathoms. When I poured the water on that stone, there was not a cloud in the sky! Not a single one. And yet it deluged on us, a violent hailstorm unlike any I’ve ever experienced. It nearly killed you.”

  She looked at him with amazement. “I remember you shielding me. I thought we were going to die, but I felt safe when you were there.”

  The warm look in her eyes made Owen squirm. “For some reason, the magic doesn’t affect me. I have this strange—what’s the right word—immunity? The duchess is Fountain-blessed. I learned that the first night we met her. She has a vast power that surpasses even Severn’s. Even my own! I’ve wondered how that power manifests itself, but now I think I know. I cannot be sure, but I think she has the gift that I’ve been pretending to have all along.” He looked at Etayne with a wild feeling of helplessness. “I think she knows the future. Like the Wizr Myrddin did. Think on it, Etayne. I’ve never been able to surprise her. When the king sent me and Lord Horwath to defend Brythonica, we attacked Chatriyon’s army in the middle of the night. And Marshal Roux was there. When we went to Atabyrion to confront Eyric, who came? Marshal Roux. When Chatriyon began sieging Averanche, who helped us? Marshal Roux. I’ve thought all along that he was Fountain-blessed. Yet when we fought this morning, I sensed nothing from him. Not even a little trickle of the magic.” He hung his head. “Tell me I’ve mistaken all of this. Tell me I’m a muddled fool. I’ve tried all day to sort this out, to make sense of it.”

  He took another stick and flung it into the trees.

  When he looked at Etayne, he saw her eyes staring into his. She didn’t look baffled. She looked impressed. “You’re not mad, Owen,” she said. “You’re bloody brilliant. The duchess wasn’t surprised when you came demanding she marry you. Everyone else was, even Roux. But she knew.”

  And that’s what troubled Owen the most. Why had she not prevented it?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  St. Penryn

  Owen and Etayne separated at dawn. Her injuries had sufficiently healed for her to ride. She returned the magical scabbard to him and started off for Kingfountain palace to try to determine the danger he would be facing upon his return. They agreed to meet at a popular tavern called the Coxcomb, on the bridge to the sanctuary of Our Lady of Kingfountain, in three days’ time. He would rent a room under the name Owen Satchel, which would alert her of his arrival.

  There was a stop Owen wanted to make on the return trip. He intended to go to St. Penryn and draw the chest with the ancient Wizr board out of the waters. He had studied it many times before submerging it in the fountain, but he could not discern how the pieces moved or who was supposed to move them. He had a suspicion that the duchess was one of the few who could tell him.

  Upon entering his domain, he removed his tunic and livery and rode toward the sanctuary alone. Etayne would have at least a day’s head start, but with her abilities, she would be able to slip in and out of the castle unnoticed. He felt an invisible current drawing him back to Kingfountain. Part of him wanted to go to Brythonica and face Sinia again. Was she part of the massive game of Wizr unfolding in the world? If so, was she an ally, or an opponent? His mood turned dark with the memory of how offensive he had been to her and her people. It had been deliberate on his part, but she had endured his provoking words with admirable patience. Was that patience an act? A way to lure him into lowering his defenses? Or was she truly a benevolent soul, a ruler whose people were utterly devoted to her? Her personality and temperament suited him well—too well. Though he had ridden into Brythonica with no intention of marrying the duchess, in their short encounters together, he had found himself impressed by her and unexpectedly drawn to her. He had Elysabeth’s permission to fall in love. But the wound in his heart was still a grievous one.

  As he rode through Westmarch, the sights and sounds becoming ever more familiar and comfortable, he thought with fondness of Tatton Hall. He had expanded his domains beyond what his father had accomplished. Yet, though his father’s dominion had shrunken considerably, he seemed at ease in his new role in Brythonica. If Owen and Sinia did marry, Owen’s domain would stretch across a vast seashore, bridging the lands that had long been separated by war. It would make him even more powerful in the kingdom, drawing resentment and bitterness from his rival dukes.

  He followed the coast, steering the horse wide of Averanche. The jagged coastline was hauntingly beautiful, but as he stared at the sea, he was struck with the knowledge that this very ocean had buried the kingdom of Leoneyis and drowned its inhabitants. The sea was a vast power, a relentless force that hammered away at the coastline, pulverizing rock into sand. It went by many names, but the most hallowed was the Deep Fathoms. A place where lost treasures lay hidden and buried. A place where the dead went to rest after they finished their worldly labors. A place that had existed before the world came to be.

  In the afternoon, Owen spied the sanctuary of St. Penryn in the distance. He had kept a punishing pace, and his horse was weary. He would need to change horses, but knew the deconeus would willingly let him borrow from his stables. The salty smell filled his nose and lungs, and the road became gritty with sand the closer he approached.

  He reached the sanctuary by late afternoon and found the grounds quiet except for the screeches of gulls. The clop of hooves on stone announced him, and the sexton came out to interview the new arrival. Owen slid out of the saddle. His disheveled appearance did not mark him as a duke, so the man didn’t recognize him until Owen gave him a knowing look.

  “My lord!” the man gasped with surprise. “We did not expect your arrival! There has been much commotion in the kingdom since you left. Have you heard the news? It reached us only earlier today.”

  “What news?” Owen asked, tugging off his gloves and stuffing them under his belt.

  “The two who escaped from the tower. Lord Eyric and Lord Dunsdworth. They’ve been captured.”

  Owen blinked with surprise. “I’d heard about their escape. That’s why I returned. They were recaptured?”

  The sexton nodded vigorously. “They did not make it far before the Espion surrounded them. There’s a trial underway. We’ve heard the king intends to put them both into the river.”

  It felt as if someone had punched Owen in the stomach. He was suddenly quite ill. “This is grim news. Is the deconeus here?”

  “He awaits within. I will have your horse tended. Will you stay lo
ng?”

  “I cannot. I came to borrow another horse. Can you arrange it?”

  “Of course, my lord! Right away.”

  As Owen strode into the sanctuary, memories assailed him. What would have happened if he had helped Eyric seize the throne all those years ago? He’d confronted him in this place. But if events had unfolded differently, he wouldn’t have been present for the Dreadful Deadman’s birth. Drew’s birth. He had cradled the bloody infant in his hands and breathed life back into him. All of it had felt like the Fountain’s will. Why had events unfolded this way? Why hadn’t the Fountain commanded him to bring down Severn then?

  He reached the rim of the fountain in the center of the sanctuary, planted his hands along the edge, and stared down into the calm water. He could hear the sigh and roll of the ocean beyond the stone walls as the waves crashed violently against the rocky shore below. His troubles felt as inexorable as those waves. Perhaps there would never be a moment’s peace in his life.

  Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself. So many events had unfolded in his absence, and he was too far away to influence them. Oh, he could imagine Severn wanting Eyric dead. Killing him in public would free Kathryn at last. Would Severn finally rid himself of the ghost of his nephew by destroying the man he believed was only pretending to be him? Of course, Owen knew the truth. Piers Urbick was Eyric Argentine. He always had been.

  Opening his eyes, he saw the chest submerged in the water. It had appeared suddenly, drawn to him through its mysterious powers. Owen hiked up his sleeve, reached into the cold water, and grasped the handle. He pulled it out and set it down on the edge of the fountain. After sitting down next to the chest, he withdrew the key he wore around his neck and slid it into the lock, twisting it carefully until he felt the click. The chest wasn’t even damp. Though he did not understand why, the waters protected enchanted treasures from the Deep Fathoms.

  He lifted the lid and stared at the Wizr board inside.

  The ancient set had faces carved into the individual pieces. What struck him immediately was that some of the pieces had moved since the last time he’d looked at it, years before. The white Wizr was back on its own side. He distinctly remembered seeing it in play during the battle of Averanche. One of the knights that had been on the board before was missing. He swallowed guiltily. It was the white knight. The image of Lord Roux’s face came to his mind, with blood streaming from his eyes like tears. How strange that he’d been wearing black armor.

  He stared at the board, feeling hopelessly lost. He examined the pieces more closely. Two kings were still present; the dark one was Severn, but who played the white? Chatriyon? A dark knight was missing. One that had been there previously. Only one knight remained on the board.

  Then the white Wizr began to move unbidden and untouched, sending a shiver of fear down Owen’s back. He watched it slide across the tiles, moving in an unobstructed path toward the dark knight’s position. His heart began pounding, and he felt an ominous sense of dread. The waters of the fountain began to churn, and the presence of magic hung heavy in the air.

  He quickly rose from the rim and backed away, his hand going to his sword. The waters churned, and a spray of mist came leaping from the once-placid waters.

  A form emerged from the mist, a person whom Owen immediately recognized.

  It was Lady Sinia.

  His bones felt weak and he experienced a sensation of utter vulnerability. The swell of the Fountain magic that flowed with her was vast. He had sensed it before, when her power was dormant, but now it was active, living, and he felt like cowering before its majesty. Then the sensation subsided, like the violence of a wave that retreats calmly back from the shore to build up its strength.

  Some of the pieces began to fit together in his mind. She was there, standing before him, holding a pair of sandals in her hand. She extended her other hand to him and moved toward the edge of the fountain.

  Owen wasn’t as afraid as he’d been moments before. He’d thought, for an instant, she’d come to destroy him.

  When he took her hand, she smiled and stepped over the edge of the fountain. He was expecting her gown to be soaked, but it was perfectly dry. Not even a drop of water came from her bare feet as she touched the stone tile on his side.

  “Thank you,” she said with a pleasant smile. She set her sandals down on the edge of the fountain. “I’m sure you have many questions. We didn’t have a chance to talk before you left.”

  Owen stared at the Wizr set and saw that the white Wizr and the dark knight were occupying adjacent squares. She noticed his attention to the board.

  “Have you discerned the board’s truth yet, Owen?” she asked.

  He looked at her warily, but with budding hope. “Are we enemies?”

  There was a delighted look in her eyes, and a slight flush came to her cheeks. “I’m not your enemy,” she said simply. “I want to be your ally. If you will let me help you.”

  Owen walked closer to her. Could he trust her? So much of his fate would depend on that. One wrong turn could destroy him. But he also felt it could destroy her. He wanted to test some of his knowledge. To make her prove she was trustworthy.

  “Can you see the future?” he asked her pointedly.

  “Yes,” she answered. “My gifts from the Fountain are mantic in nature.”

  “Romantic?” he asked in confusion.

  She smiled at the mistake. “No, Owen. They are mantic. I can see the future. And the past. My parents hid my gifts when I was little. I’ve learned to hide them also. To be very guarded of who knows of them. I’m trusting you, as you can see.”

  He nodded slowly. “And you are a Wizr. A true one. That brings me answers to some of the questions that have puzzled me. You knew I’d be looking for you that morning in Ploemeur, and you deliberately avoided me.”

  “I’ll admit, I was teasing you a bit. Do you understand now that our lifting contraption isn’t the only reason I don’t need to take a horse or a carriage up to the palace? I can travel along the anchor lines quickly and efficiently.”

  “Anchor lines?” Owen asked, perplexed.

  She nodded again with calm deliberation. “Another secret. It’s not often shared because Wizrs are killed in this world, Owen. We are too powerful and misunderstood. You see my true form on the set. Just as I see yours.” She looked over at the pieces. “You understand now that the rows are geographical? This side represents Ceredigion. This one, Occitania. There are anchor lines of magic that connect the boundaries between earth and sea and intersect with one another. There is a map I can show you that reveals where they are.”

  “We’ve been on opposing sides,” Owen pointed out.

  “I know. It’s my hope that will change when you learn the truth.” She gave him an imploring look.

  Owen bit his lip. “Are you asking me to betray my king?” he asked hoarsely. He wanted so much to tell her that he was willing to do it. That perhaps the Fountain was using them both to change events in the world.

  She shook her head. “I think it’s the Fountain’s will that you save your people.”

  He wrinkled his brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  She looked down at the arrangement of the remaining pieces in the Wizr set. It appeared as if the game were winding to a close. “This particular game has been drawn out for centuries,” she said, her finger lightly touching one of the pieces. “This side represents the Argentine family. This side, the Vertus family. The game plays out over several generations. Severn is the king now,” she said, touching the dark king next. “The problem, Owen, is that he was never meant to be king, and now he is defying the rules of the game. He violated the rights of sanctuary. He has threatened to harm innocent children again and again. The rules were set in ancient times by great Wizrs who had mantic gifts like my own. When they are disobeyed, the Deep Fathoms will reclaim the land.” She looked up from the board and into his eyes. “If you do not stop Severn, his choices will destroy your
people. Left unchecked, he will continue to violate every custom, every boundary set up by the Wizrs. He wears the hollow crown, which has its own magic. With its power, he can destroy his entire kingdom in winter. You know the legends of the sanctuary of Our Lady. How long will the privileges of sanctuary exist?”

  Owen stared at her, his heart yearning to know more. “Until the river stops flowing.”

  “Until the river becomes ice,” she corrected.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Alliance

  Because of the Wizr set, the king’s deeds and misdeeds wielded control over the weather. He did this unwittingly, but the more evil his actions had become, the more the snow had fallen on Ceredigion. Owen nearly gasped aloud from shock.

  “I think you’re beginning to understand,” Sinia said, giving him a prodding nod. “You must say it, Owen. I can’t tell you everything, but I can tell you if you’ve figured it out. Knowledge about the game isn’t forbidden. But I can’t share the mantic truths with you directly. You must learn them for yourself.”

  Owen stared down at the set, at the king representing Severn. There were so few dark pieces left on the board. “Are you saying that the words were changed over time? That the protection would last so long as the river flows, meaning until it’s frozen over?”

  “Precisely,” she said earnestly. “The one who wears the hollow crown can make the river stop flowing through his violation of the principles upon which the sanctuaries were founded. When a ruler stops being just. When they are unfaithful. These are examples.”