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

by Jeff Wheeler

  Finally, he gave her a wry smile. “How could anyone who knows your mother ever stop loving her?” Her smile became radiant. “Now that was a very delicate question, Genevieve Llewellyn. Let me add to my answer that while I still care for your mother, I would never do anything that would compromise or insult her in any way. We are friends. At one time, we hoped to be more, but life does not always pay us in the coin we expect.”

  Genevieve sat back a little and smiled knowingly. “I knew it. I’ve heard many stories about your mischiefs together. Like when you pulled her into the fountain in the outer lawns!”

  “She pulled me in,” Owen said.

  Genevieve began to giggle infectiously. “I love hearing those stories. Thank you for telling me the truth, Lord Owen.”

  “There is one more truth I need to tell you,” Owen said, trying not to be completely charmed by the little girl. Drew sat there mutely, listening to every word.

  “I promised your mother at Dundrennan,” Owen continued, “that I would help you escape.”

  Genevieve’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “You did?”

  He nodded once.

  “When?” she whispered eagerly.

  “Tomorrow,” he answered. Drew’s face transformed from excitement to dread as he realized his playmate was about to be liberated and he, once again, would be left behind. Owen had to swallow a bulge in his throat.

  He looked at the young man in a kindly way. “Don’t worry, lad. I have plans for you as well.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A Game of Tiles

  There were so many threats, stratagems, worries, and heart-flutters colliding inside of Owen that he locked himself inside his state room at the palace with a box of tiles he’d stashed in an ancient wardrobe. He set it down in the middle of the floor and carefully removed the lid, staring down at the oblong pieces with a wistful smile. As he had grown older, his ability to replenish his Fountain magic had changed subtly. It wasn’t the tiles themselves that did it, but the quiet solitude that helped him think and reason through difficult situations. A ride on horseback from one part of the realm to another could provide the same benefit. But with all his troubles of late, he relished the idea of immersing himself in the old craft he’d taught himself as a child.

  Piece by piece, he began arranging the tiles into an elaborate structure. This was to be a tower he would knock over, a tower made of precarious tiles that would collapse in a rush when struck at its most vulnerable point.

  As Owen worked, his mind turned to Sinia. He was anxious to check the box in the fountain for a note from her. He craved to see her delicate handwriting again. What would she write to him? How would he interpret it? There was a sort of deliciousness about the feeling that was new and exciting.

  A memory struck him so keenly he felt as if he could physically see her. It was from that night on the beach with the glass beads. The wind had tousled her hair, and her hand had reached up to smooth it back. Her sandals had dangled off the crook of her finger. He blinked in surprise at the sudden rush of emotion that swelled his heart. After staring down at the tile in his hand for a moment, he continued to build his structure with a new objective. He would solve the riddle that was Sinia Montfort.

  His mind combed through all their interactions as he stacked tile after tile, and a little flush of embarrassment came to his skin at the remembrance of how he’d treated her upon their first introduction. He’d been shamefully rude, but it hadn’t angered her. There had been another look on her face instead—one of disappointment. How curious. How could someone be disappointed in a stranger?

  It may have been the first time they had met, he realized, but it was not their first interaction. She had caused the storm at the battle of Averanche. She had told him as much. So why hadn’t she revealed herself to him then?

  He felt the Fountain magic flow inside him, sharpening his instincts and insights, as he continued to stack the tiles. Pieces started to slide together in his mind, disparate joints forming a unique whole. He started to look at the events of the past from her point of view, and suddenly it all began to make sense.

  There was a child in Ceredigion reported to be Fountain-blessed. A hostage of King Severn who could see the future, like Myrddin of old. How would such news have been received by a young girl, his own age at the time, who actually did possess that power? Wouldn’t it have excited her? Did she know the truth about Owen, or did the stories ignite her imagination?

  But if she had visited him through the Fountain, she would have realized how close he was to another little girl, the granddaughter of the Duke of North Cumbria. Had their obvious affection for each other disappointed Sinia? Is that why she had remained aloof?

  Owen placed the pieces on the tower faster now as it grew in size, each new row shorter than the one below it.

  A memory stirred to life in his mind—the first day he had seen the treasure of the Fountain in the waters of the cistern. Evie had not been able to see it, and it had angered him that she didn’t believe him. And then Ratcliffe had tried to kill them by opening the cistern to drain it into the river. Owen had struggled to save his own life and Evie’s. In that panicky moment, he had felt the Fountain magic bidding him to . . . to breathe.

  Nesh-ama.

  A prickle of gooseflesh shot down his arms. Had the voice truly been the Fountain? Or had it been Sinia’s?

  His hand wobbled, and he almost ruined the tower he was building. He dropped his hand into his lap, his eyes widening with wonder. Had Sinia been communicating with him all this while? Was she the voice of the Fountain? Had she, a little girl herself, seen visions of the Kiskaddon boy through her mantic gifts? Had she used her magic to save him from drowning?

  What if she had continued to watch him from afar? Perhaps she had known for years they were fated to meet for the first time in Brythonica, when he came to propose marriage to her. Is that why she hadn’t extended herself to him before?

  He sat still, his mind whirling. Then another memory came. She had reached out. Not to him directly, but through Severn. The King of Occitania had been determined to force Sinia to marry him. To escape his advances, she had reached out to Ceredigion for help. Had she known Owen would be sent to help? Of course she had! Just as she’d known he would surprise Chatriyon’s army in the middle of the night. That was why Marshal Roux had been waiting for them that night. Owen and Sinia had worked side by side to keep the Occitanian king at bay. Because she hadn’t wanted to marry Chatriyon.

  She had wanted to marry Owen.

  The insight crystalized inside his mind, shaped into certainty by a surge of Fountain magic. Sinia had known he was in love with Evie, and she had known what was going to happen to his heart when his first love was denied to him. He realized with astonishment that she had suffered the same pangs herself because she, as a little girl, had fallen in love with a boy she’d never met. One she had seen only in her visions.

  Sinia had been in love with him all along, suffering silently while watching him consume himself in grief and despair. She’d probably hoped to comfort him, since it was her nature to want to alleviate the suffering of others. He had never considered it a possibility. Her quick acceptance of his proposal wasn’t an indication that she had outsmarted him. It was her greatest hope. And he had handled the whole thing in the most shameful and offensive way possible. He’d alienated her entire court, ridiculing their governor and ruler, whom they respected and admired. That was why she had acted disappointed.

  He got on his feet and began pacing. “You fool, you fool, you fool,” he muttered to himself. He wanted to pore over her notes again, but he had taken to storing the notes in the Wizr box.

  “I am the world’s biggest idiot,” he said again, shaking his head. He looked down at the mostly completed tower, a monument representing years of folly.

  He and Sinia were suited for each other. She was calm and peaceful. They shared gifts from the Fountain, gifts that would be a huge help to any monarch they serv
ed, but especially to a young boy who would be on the verge of manhood in a few years.

  Elysabeth, a voice whispered in his mind.

  Genevieve had asked him directly if he still loved her. Of course he did. They had shared so many memories. She’d been his truest friend and faithful companion. There was nothing in their relationship that he regretted now, no liberties taken that could sully their connection. In his heart, Owen knew that the marriage had made Iago Llewellyn a better man and king, and in his estimation, Atabyrion’s queen had improved her new country’s standing in the world through her wisdom, guidance, and strengths. Elysabeth loved her husband and her children. Owen had secretly hoped it would be otherwise, that she would pine for him as he had pined for her.

  That had to stop. Immediately. He was betrothed to a person who loved him, one he knew he could love. The raging inferno inside his chest was evidence that he could feel again. The time had come.

  He hungered for a way to demonstrate to her that his heart was changing. When would he be able to see her again? She had written in her note that he should send Genevieve into the mist when it appeared. Would he have the opportunity to see her? He wanted to apologize for his early behavior, to learn more about her true nature and whether she was in truth a water sprite. But more than that, he wanted to prove to her that she hadn’t waited for him in vain. Wasn’t it her greatest concern that he, like the Owain of legend, would be unfaithful to her?

  Why had she fallen in love with him in the first place, knowing how things would start between them?

  The idea struck him like a thunderbolt.

  Perhaps she had foreseen who he would become.

  “I am right, I know I am,” he whispered to himself. The magic inside him confirmed the truth.

  He heard a noise, and as he turned, he saw the secret door swing open, and Etayne rushed inside, shutting it forcefully behind her. The look of fear and dread in her eyes made Owen’s stomach sink.

  “What is it?” Owen asked, fear snaking through his legs.

  “My father found me,” she whispered in terror.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Poisoner’s Revenge

  “Tell me what happened,” Owen said in a steady voice. It required all of his self-discipline not to panic. He would try to turn whatever news she brought to an advantage.

  “Somehow he discovered my tower,” Etayne said, pacing back and forth in the short space between them. “His power concealed him from me, but I sensed the Fountain magic in the room with me.”

  It was the king who had turned the skilled thief loose in the palace. He’d even given him an Espion ring. Owen was flooded with a new rush of anger; yes, Severn had fallen far.

  “I drew my dagger, and that’s when he appeared,” Etayne said, shuddering. “He’d been rifling through my things. My poisons were in disarray. I still don’t know if he took any. He’d gone through my clothes, stolen jewelry.” Her lips were tight with fury. “That has been my sanctuary, my refuge! He’s spoiled it! I can’t stay there anymore, not now that he knows where I live. I should have killed him when I had the chance.” She shook her head furiously. “I should have!”

  “What did he want?”

  Her scowl turned into a grimace. “He wanted me to help him get access to you.”

  Owen started. “What?”

  She nodded. “It was all I could do not to slit his gullet. I hate him, Owen. You can’t know how much I hate him! I’m sorry I’m so emotional right now. Give me a moment to calm down.”

  “You have every right to be upset!”

  “I’m better than that. He caught me by surprise, that’s all. I didn’t think he’d find his way into my tower, but I should have realized he would eventually. I was right. He recognized me that day the two of us went to see him in the dungeon. He’s been asking around about the King’s Poisoner.” She shook her head in frustration. “He’s happy to betray anyone for the right price. First the Duke of Brugia to set Eyric loose. Then Severn to capture him. He admitted to it all, Owen. He’s only after the money. The only thing that binds him is greed!”

  Owen felt his resentment grow hotter. “I can’t have him running about like this.”

  Etayne threw up her hands. “He can turn invisible! He told me he let himself get caught by the Espion. Owen, Chatriyon is furious about your betrothal to the duchess. Word has spread like a spilled chalice of wine, and everyone is talking about it in foreign courts. At least that’s what my father said. Chatriyon has ordered his poisoner to remove you. We’ve met him before.”

  “Bothwell?” Owen said, aghast.

  Etayne nodded. “Foulcart. That’s his poisoner name. Remember how he duped us on our visit to Atabyrion? He wants revenge for personal reasons too, I assure you. No poisoner likes to be bested, and he hasn’t forgotten how we unmasked him in Iago’s court. My father said he’s in the city already, and has offered him a sizable sum to get him access to you.” Her eyes were livid. “That’s why I didn’t kill him. If he knows how to find Bothwell, then perhaps we can turn the tables on him.”

  Owen let out his breath. “What did you tell Dragan?”

  She was tormented by her feelings and it showed. “I . . . I hesitated. Probably too much. He’s very suspicious. I said I take my orders from the king. That he pays me more to keep you alive than Bothwell was offering.” She twisted her hands together. “My father said that blood is worth more than gold. That I should help him out of duty.” She put one hand on the table to steady herself. “You don’t understand how much I hate him. He doesn’t know . . . he thinks I’m only a poisoner because of the coin. He said that Chatriyon would pay me far more than Severn if I betrayed you to him.” She gave him a look full of anguish. “But he doesn’t know that I could never hurt you. What do we do? You’re the clever one. I can’t think clearly right now.”

  Anger crashed inside Owen like waves at the sight of his old friend so vulnerable. So King Chatriyon of Occitania wanted retribution for past humiliations? Bothwell’s disadvantages were considerable. Owen and Etayne both knew what he looked like. He also wasn’t Fountain-blessed, which gave them additional advantages over him. They needed to strip Dragan of his power. An idea struck him and he straightened, snapping his fingers.

  Etayne gave him a hopeful look.

  “Thank you for coming straightaway,” he told her, and he meant it. He hadn’t taken her loyalty for granted before, and he certainly wasn’t going to do so now. “I can’t imagine how difficult that encounter must have been for you. We can’t allow someone like Dragan to poke around the palace any longer. There is too much at risk. We need to get Genevieve out of here tonight, under the cover of darkness. I don’t want to wait until morning. You’ll come with us. I want you to use your magic to disguise me as your father.”

  She looked horrified by the idea of Owen impersonating her father.

  He smiled at her expression. “Just long enough for people to see us, Etayne. When she goes missing, I want witnesses to implicate him in her disappearance. If Severn thinks he’s betrayed him, your father’s life will become infinitely more difficult, and he’ll be too busy trying to save his own neck to help Bothwell. When he next comes to you, arrange for a meeting. Tell him you want fifty thousand crowns. A hundred thousand. The higher the better. Then arrange a place to meet, and I’ll have Kevan swarm it with Espion. See? We’ll use this news to our advantage. I don’t fear your father as you do.”

  Etayne looked somewhat mollified, but he could tell she was still reeling from the encounter. “You should, Owen. I’ve never known a man so relentless and cruel. He will get what he feels he’s due. And he probably knows he’d survive a boat over the falls.”

  Owen looked at her seriously. “Oh, but we wouldn’t send him over the falls. He’d be taken to the North and dragged atop an icy mountain.” He took a step toward her. “I won’t let him hurt you, Etayne.”

  The room filled with tension, and he could tell part of her misery was due to her feelings for him. She
shook her head. “No . . . I won’t let him hurt you.”

  He sighed. “I want you to take your things and move them here. This will be your room for now.” Her tower was compromised. She couldn’t return now that Dragan knew how to find her.

  A look of surprise and hope brightened her eyes.

  “I will find lodgings elsewhere,” he said quickly. “In fact, it might be best for me to bed down somewhere different every night. Having a routine will make it too easy to find me. If I were Bothwell, I’d be at an inn on the bridge with a view of the palace gates. He’s probably planning to wait for me to ride back to Tatton Hall so he can ambush me on the road.”

  “I don’t want you to give up your rooms,” she said, her tone thick with disappointment. “There are places I could go as well.”

  He shook his head no. “But if anyone comes here to kill me, you’ll be able to capture and question them.”

  She smiled slyly at him. “Very well, my lord. What next?”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Have you ever steered a boat in a river headed toward the falls before?”

  The palace of Kingfountain never truly slept. There were guards who roamed the corridors at night, carrying torches to brighten the way. But the Espion tunnels behind the walls made for a faster mode of travel. Etayne had arranged disguises for all of them. She’d used her powders and pencils to line her face and the corners of her eyes, transforming herself into a matronly looking woman. Owen had seen her impersonate her mother before and realized what she was doing. She had used a blade and lathering soap to give Owen a shave, keeping the whiskers on the side and a mustache, but removing the rest. In the morning, she said she’d shave him smooth the rest of the way to make it less conspicuous.