by Jeff Wheeler
Owen nodded in understanding. “That is why Tunmore was so desperate for the set to be moved!” he said, beginning his habit of pacing. “This was years ago. He thought Severn was going to freeze the kingdom! He needed someone who was Fountain-blessed to move the chest to St. Penryn because he couldn’t. Why here?”
Sinia smiled with excitement. “Yes . . . why here? What does your intuition tell you?”
Owen snapped his fingers. “Because St. Penryn isn’t part of Ceredigion at all. It is by tradition, but it was once part of Leoneyis. Once the set left the borders, the curse stopped.”
She gave him a lovely smile and an encouraging nod. “You’re close, Owen. It did not stop the curse; it merely slowed it. If you return the Wizr set to Ceredigion, the curse will set in once more—and quickly. The game plays on. It must play on. Have you not noticed the winters in Ceredigion growing ever colder and bleaker these last seven years? We each have a role to play. I don’t want Ceredigion to be destroyed. I don’t want its people to be trapped in a blizzard and frozen to death, just as much as I don’t want my own people to drown.”
Owen stared at her, feeling the awful weight of pending doom. The memories of the drowned cove of Edonburick and the ruined buildings of Brythonica still made him tremble. “You’ve been helping me all along, haven’t you?” He looked her in the eye. “When your people aided mine during the battle of Averanche, I saw the white Wizr piece on the board. That was . . . you were there, Sinia?” He stopped his pacing and stared at her in shock.
She reached out and grasped his hands in excitement. “I was! I couldn’t tell you. Do you remember the storm?”
“You caused it? Through the water bowl! The grove! By the Fountain, that was you!”
Her smile was even brighter. “I was there. I have been helping you. The Fountain needed you to protect the true king of Ceredigion. You know the prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman. You know who it is, don’t you?”
Owen nodded. “I do. And he’s at Kingfountain palace right now if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re not,” she added knowingly.
Owen sighed and looked up at the support struts of the chamber. “And there’s a good chance I’ll be a dead man if I return.” Her hands were still holding his. He pulled away and wiped his mouth, his mind whirling with the flurry of revelations. He looked over and saw the deconeus standing beneath an arch, his eyes full of reverence and awe.
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Sinia said meaningfully. “Your man Farnes left a message that you’d been summoned back to the king.”
Should he trust her? If the duchess could see the future, then aligning himself with her might be his only chance for survival. Assuming, of course, that she wasn’t deliberately misleading him. It came back to the ability to read someone’s intentions. Ankarette had decided to trust Evie after meeting her in the kitchen of Kingfountain. Owen had to make the same fateful decision.
He glanced back at the deconeus.
“He cannot hear us,” Sinia said. “All he can hear is the lapping of the fountain waters. He sees me as a manifestation of the Fountain. He thinks you are having a vision.”
Owen chuckled. “So do I.”
“Do you trust me, Owen?” she asked hopefully. “I’ve tried to show you that you can. Neither of us wants our people to perish. But they will, Owen, if you don’t stop the king.”
“I believe you. Trust is difficult for me.”
Her look changed dramatically, into one that was full of pain. “I know it is,” she said emphatically. “You’ve made many decisions without knowing the consequences. The Fountain has guided you during those critical moments. Even knowing the future, I cannot tell you what will happen. If I tell you something out of order, it may influence your decisions. In the end, it’s our choices that affect what happens in the world. You must be the one to choose, Owen. I will guide you as best I can.”
“How can you trust me?” Owen said. “My lady, I killed Brendon Roux. I didn’t know who he was, but I left him for dead. I think you already know this.”
She let out a mournful sigh and nodded. “Let me put this simply. In order for you to change sides on the board, another piece needed to be removed. You are meant to be my protector now. If you choose to accept your fate, if you put on the ring he gave you, if you make a promise of fealty to me, then your piece on the board will change color. You will become a knight on the white side. I cannot make you do this.”
Owen wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Chatriyon’s side?” he chuffed.
She shook her head seriously. “No. King Andrew’s side.”
Her words cut him to the quick, melting his smirk away. “This is real, is it not?”
“All too real,” she answered. “This game of Wizr is perilous.” She stepped up to the board, admiring the remaining pieces. “The Wizrs of old made the rules. The game wasn’t called Wizr back then. It was called the Siege Perilous. The Wizrs survived when kingdoms fell. Then they would offer the game to another man ambitious enough to rule.” She looked at him pointedly, but could not say what she was thinking. He saw the secrets hidden in her blue eyes, the longing to tell him that which she could not share. “Do you have a plan, Owen? A way to defeat the king?”
“I’ve been working on one,” Owen said, shaking his head at the vastness of the task. “It was rather simple. I’m afraid you’ll laugh.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “Never fear that.”
He firmed his courage, deciding to make the leap. “Everyone knows the legend of King Andrew. How he pulled a sword from the waters of the fountain of Our Lady. No one else was able to touch it. He had that ability because he was Fountain-blessed. Something similar happened to the Maid of Donremy.”
Sinia’s smile encouraged him to continue.
“She too pulled a sword from a fountain before helping to crown the Prince of Occitania.”
“The story repeats itself over and over,” Sinia said. “Go on.”
“I think I know where her sword is,” Owen said. “If the legends bear true, it was also King Andrew’s sword.” Lord Horwath had made him swear he wouldn’t tell the Occitanians. But did that promise include the Duchess of Brythonica, who had been Ceredigion’s ally for so long? If he was going to accept her help, he needed to trust her. And he did believe what she had told him. The feelings from the Fountain had been compelling, and he had learned to trust them. “There are ice caves in North Cumbria. Duke Horwath told me of them before he died. I think the sword is there. I thought . . . well, I thought to fetch it and bring it to Our Lady of Kingfountain. I have the power to put ancient relics into the water and remove them. So I hoped to trick Severn. To trick everyone, actually. I was going to say I had a dream that the true king of Ceredigion would be able to draw a sword from the fountain of Our Lady. That it’s a sign the Dreadful Deadman has returned. And then I was going to arrange for it to happen. Basically, I was going to cheat!”
Sinia stared at him with a smile of pleasure. “And why would that be cheating, Owen? Did not the Wizr Myrddin do the same thing?”
Owen looked at her, startled. “He did?”
She nodded. “Andrew wasn’t Fountain-blessed, Owen, he simply surrounded himself with those who were. It was Myrddin who allowed him to draw the blade, and Andrew’s greatest knight was a man named Owain.”
His heart shuddered at the words. “I’ve never heard that,” he gasped. “I’ve never heard that name in all the legends I’ve read.”
“Of course not,” she answered simply. “Because the record was lost when Leoneyis drowned. That version of the story stopped being told. The version that talked about Owain. And how he married the Lady of the Fountain.”
A small pink flush rose on her cheeks, and she looked down, suddenly abashed.
“But you know the story,” he whispered, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. She looked so beautiful in that moment, so vulnerable. Like the butterfly she was named after.
She nodded, still unable to meet his eyes.
Then another question struck him, fast as an arrow bolt. “If you know their story, then you know how it ends. Don’t you, Sinia?”
She was uncomfortable now. He could see her anguish in the curl of her mouth, her clenched fists, and her trembling arms.
“Tell me,” he insisted.
There were tears in her eyes as she looked up at him. “I can’t say it,” she whispered.
But he already knew. Her look told all. “Owain betrayed her,” he said, feeling disgusted with himself even though he hadn’t done anything. The same story had been told over and over. Different men and women playing different roles. “Am I right?” he pressed.
She looked at him steadfastly. Then she nodded once.
Owen breathed in through his nose. “Are these stories preordained? Must they always happen the way they did in the past?”
She shook her head no. “There is always a choice. Always.”
He realized that so much in life depended on choices. He had chosen to forsake love after losing his chance with Evie. His choice had deprived him of opportunities. It had also prepared him for this one. Could he open his heart again? Could he risk the pain? But he already knew the answer—he had to. This was the decision that would help him serve the Dreadful Deadman. And he could not deny that the choice appealed to him for other reasons. That she appealed to him.
Stepping up to her, he grabbed her hand. “Then I’m making mine,” he said, almost roughly. “You’ve risked everything to try and help me. I don’t know why, truly. I’ve been nothing but rude and disingenuous to you. But I will not betray you, Sinia. What must I do? How can I join your side? You said I must swear fealty? I won’t let my people be destroyed, not if putting the lad on the throne will prevent it. The road ahead will be difficult, but I will not stray from it. I promise you.”
She dabbed tears on her sleeve and gave him an encouraging smile. “So will I. You must, formally, plight me your troth. And I to you. Then the knight piece will change color when you put on the ring.”
“I think we need witnesses, no?” Owen asked her.
“Yes, that is the proper way.”
Owen took her hand with one of his and waved impatiently for the deconeus to join them. He felt light-headed, filled with a strange sensation of both utter terror and happiness. Having someone like Sinia on his side, having a partner and ally to help him counter Severn made the impossible seem possible. He’d felt nothing but hopelessness while carrying the burden on his shoulders. Now she was willing to share it with him. To plot and maneuver with him.
The deconeus reached them, his eyes wide with wonderment. He hastily knelt before Lady Sinia. “My lady,” he breathed solemnly. “You do honor us. How may I serve you?” His words were fraught with reverence.
Sinia stared down at him, smiling sweetly. Then she turned to Owen and nodded for him to continue. While the proposal he’d made in Ploemeur was likely binding because of the witnesses, he wished to make their betrothal more official by actually pronouncing the oath.
“I, Owen Kiskaddon, do hereby plight my troth to you, Sinia Montfort, to be my lawful wife and to become your lawful husband. I swear to be true and faithful to this pledge, on my life and on my honor.”
The deconeus’s face trembled with joy. He clasped his hands together.
Sinia squeezed Owen’s hand. She looked radiant, but there was a smudge of wariness in her gaze. As if she wanted to believe his words but couldn’t quite trust them. “I, Sinia Montfort, do hereby plight my troth to you, Owen Kiskaddon, to be my lawful husband and to become your lawful wife. I swear to be true and faithful to this pledge, on my life and on my honor.”
The deconeus rose shakily from his knees. “May the Fountain bless it so and bind you to your oaths.”
The knowing, encouraging look the old man gave him was confusing until Owen realized, abashedly, that he was supposed to kiss her.
When he turned to face the duchess, she was blushing violently, looking rather embarrassed. Owen had not imagined his first real kiss would be in a sanctuary next to a gouty old man, a babbling fountain, and an ancient Wizr set.
He clung to Sinia’s hand and pulled her to him. He was so nervous his heart was racing and his knees were trembling, returning him to the bashful little boy he had once been, and he thought, in a moment of utter terror, that he might actually faint from fear. Trying to rally himself, he bent his head lower and caught her fearful look—which no doubt matched his—and then he shut his eyes and tried to kiss her.
He missed her mouth.
In their fumbling way, they managed to kiss the corner of each other’s mouths and then both of them pulled away. It was tantamount to a kiss on the cheek.
Owen felt humiliated. Sinia looked disappointed.
“Well,” the deconeus said, clasping his hands in front of him. “That was . . . sweet. You are now officially betrothed. You have sworn your troth in the presence of the Fountain and man. I wish you joy!”
Sinia looked away, rubbing her hands up and down her arms in a nervous gesture.
“Thank you,” Owen said, nodding for the deconeus to waddle away. This was not how he had hoped it would unfold. He gritted his teeth in frustration, wishing someone were there to flog him for his ineptitude.
“I must away,” Owen said. “I need to go back to Kingfountain to see what damage is done.”
“The ring?” she said, looking at him hopefully. He was so scatterbrained he’d forgotten. He opened the pouch at his belt and withdrew Lord Roux’s ring.
She gestured to take it from him and he gave it to her. She played with it, turning the gold band end over end. The ring was a mix of white and yellow gold. There were carved overlapping circles that went all around the ring and caught the light. Then she took his hand and slid the ring onto his finger, uttering a word in an archaic language as she did so. The ring fit perfectly.
She held on to his hand, gently stroking it. Her eyes had lost most of the embarrassment of the failed kiss. “You needn’t fear a return to Kingfountain,” she told him. “Why do you think the king sent you that note?”
He didn’t need to ask how she knew about it. Not that she could have answered him anyway. “The problem is I have betrayed him. In many ways. But now that I think on it, this could be another one of his tests of loyalty. To see if I will return.”
She smiled and patted his bearded cheek. “You have more power over him than you realize,” she said. “As with any game of Wizr, how you approach the end makes a difference. We’ve made this choice, you and I. Severn will make his own. We’ll defeat him together. It will continue to be my hope that we can do this without killing him. Please know that. The king doesn’t need to die to lose. He just needs to be defeated.” She then escorted him to the edge of the fountain. “What will you do with the chest?”
Owen glanced at it and noticed that the two adjacent pieces representing them were now the same color. “I think I should bring it with me. I could leave it in the waters of Our Lady. When I tell the king about the dream I had, I can say that it will start snowing as a sign. The chest will make sure it happens.”
She smiled at him. “You are a clever one, Owen Kiskaddon. I like that about you. How will you get the sword from the cave? You have an opportunity already brewing.”
“Indeed,” he said. “Catsby is making a fool of himself. I just need to spark a little rebellion in the North. We’ll need other allies as well. I have a feeling Iago will join us. Sending him a message will be difficult, though . . .”
“I can send him a message,” Sinia promised. “Just write the note and leave it in the chest in the waters of the fountain. We’ll be able to communicate with each other that way. Now, here is another trick about this Wizr set. Only certain people can move the pieces. The boy is the Dreadful Deadman. He can. So can Severn, but if he does, he can use the game to win. When you bring it to Kingfountain, have the boy move the pieces for you. What he chooses to do wil
l influence how events play out in this world. Teach him the rules of Wizr. Teach him to play. With this set, we’ll be able to defeat Severn and put the rightful Argentine on the throne.” She closed the lid and then handed the set to Owen.
“Now is the time for you to return. Come into the water with me. I will send you there.”
“I can be back in Kingfountain today?” he asked in surprise.
She gave him a meaningful look and reached out to take his arm.
Lord Kiskaddon,
I’m cautious writing this to you as I do not want to add to your overwhelming burdens. It is a difficult thing watching all that my grandfather built be ruined. Not a day has passed since leaving Dundrennan that we haven’t heard of some insult, depredation, or foulness coming from Lord Catsby. It was a time that deserved solemnity and mourning. Feelings are flaming brightly, and we continually receive petitions to take up arms and reclaim my birthright. Please, Owen, there must be something you can do to stop Catsby from plundering it all. Every story I hear grows more wicked. Kiss my daughter for me.
Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer Llewellyn
Queen of Atabyrion
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Misprision
Owen had always wondered what it would be like to plummet off a waterfall. This . . . it would be like this. Sinia had gripped his arm and they had stepped into the fountain of St. Penryn together, Owen with the Wizr set clutched to his chest. It felt as if the floor had vanished and they’d dropped into an abyss. It was nothing like jumping with Evie into the cistern at Kingfountain. If he could have screamed, he would have, but it felt as if they were caught inside a waterfall on its way down, all white turbulent foam and surging power and freefalling, falling, falling . . .
There was no bone-jarring crunch. Just stillness, a sense of floating, and then he had firm footing once more. The gentle ripple of water lapped against their ankles, although the wetness could not penetrate them. Owen’s knees shook violently from the surge of power, his stomach more than queasy. He would have stumbled, but Sinia was still clutching his arm. A strange mist rose up from the waters, like an impenetrable fog.