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

by Jeff Wheeler

  When they reached the throne room, Owen noticed that it was full of soldiers wearing the badge of the white boar. There were easily twenty or thirty men, and they stared at Owen with open hostility. His pulse began to race as he limped into the room. The servants were all gone. Catsby stood by the king, arms folded, and his smug, self-satisfied look confirmed that something was very wrong.

  Then Owen saw it. The Wizr chest was sitting at the base of the throne. The Wizr chest.

  Severn was seated on the throne itself, holding an unfolded piece of paper with a broken wax seal on the edge. The other letters Sinia had written were spread across the king’s lap. The look he gave Owen was full of daggers and condemnation.

  Owen saw Dragan off to the side, sipping from a cup of wine. He nodded it in a mock salute, a cunning smile wrinkling his face.

  “I believe this letter,” the king said coldly, “is for you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The King’s Traitor

  The sensation of panic and guilt struck Owen in the pit of his stomach like a physical blow. His mouth went dry, his entire body began to tremble, and the blood drained from his cheeks. The Wizr board was open, and he could see the black king’s scowl. It would hardly have surprised him if the stone eyes had turned him into a statue as in the legends of old.

  “At a loss for words, my lord duke? For excuses?” the king said in a low voice, but the rage behind it was growing as Owen’s feeling of helplessness intensified. Severn rose from his throne, gripping the dagger hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white. The look on his face was full of condemnation.

  Owen hadn’t expected to get caught, not in a hall full of witnesses, but it was almost a relief not to carry the burden of secrecy any longer.

  “My guilt?” Owen said in a short, clipped tone. “I have not read that letter, my lord king. How can I respond to your accusation without knowing what it says?”

  “By all means,” replied the king. He stood atop the dais and extended his arm, his eyes glittering with wrath. “Read it to your doom. I have seen Lady Llewellyn’s script often enough to recognize her hand. This is no forgery. And she implicates you in the deepest of treasons.”

  It felt as if he were falling off a cliff and the world were rushing past him. As he crossed the distance to where the king extended the letter, the sound of his boots echoed in the hall as loud as thunder crackling in the sky. He reached the dais and took the letter from the king. Should he try drawing on what little magic had trickled back into his banks? The king and Dragan would sense it, though, and it would give them a sense of his current weakness. He decided against it and quickly scanned the letter Evie had written to him, which—by any possible interpretation—condemned him of treason. As he read her words, he wondered why Sinia had sent the letter along to him if she’d known what would happen. But as he’d come to learn, the timing of her visions was not always exact. Or perhaps she did know what would happen, and there was some reason it needed to unfold this way.

  The king stroked his bottom lip. “You were always more loyal to her than to me,” he said accusingly. “Thick as thieves, the two of you. Is this your revenge, Owen? You would dare take the throne yourself!” The last words had built into a roar.

  It was over. The ruse was completely destroyed. Owen had rolled the dice, and he had lost.

  “I would never seek to usurp your throne for myself,” Owen said tightly.

  “Oh, how magnanimous of you! How saintly! But do you think anything you say to me right now could justify your treason? After all you have seen, after all you’ve witnessed, you too have chosen the kiss of betrayal. There is no man nor woman left in Ceredigion who knows true loyalty. So be it.”

  Owen stepped forward. “I speak truly, my lord, whether or not you believe me. It is treason to oppose the king. But you are not the rightful king of Ceredigion. And you’ve always known it. You stole the throne from your brother’s children. You were their uncle, and should have protected them.”

  “I will not be spoken to in such a way by a traitor!” the king screamed. He gestured. “Take him to the dungeon and prepare him for execution. Catsby, charge him!”

  A greedy smile stretched across Lord Catsby’s face as he made his approach. Guards appeared at Owen’s side in an instant, seizing his arms so violently he winced and nearly lost all his strength from the surge of pain it brought to his wounds. The look on Catsby’s face made Owen want to spit at him.

  “I charge thee of high treason, Owen Kiskaddon, Duke of Westmarch,” he said with wicked delight. He hooked fingers around the chain of office around Owen’s neck and then snapped it off and tossed it to the ground at their feet. “Prepare to face your death, boy. It will not be long in coming.”

  Owen looked past the triumphant lord to meet the king’s eyes. “If you do not abdicate your throne, you will destroy us all!” he said accusingly. “You’ve brought a curse on the land that will only stop when the Dreadful Deadman wears the crown.”

  “Silence!” the king shouted, flecks of spit spraying with his words. He quivered with rage.

  Owen tried to shake loose the grip on his arms, but he was too weak. “The winter will destroy us all, my lord. Every man, woman, and child! Even you. I beg of you, my lord. Relinquish what you have unrightfully claimed!”

  “Take him away!” Severn snarled.

  The guards started to drag Owen to the doors, but he persisted in pleading with the king. “Look at the board, my lord. I’m sure you’ve realized it has special significance. The pieces are all arrayed against you. If you fall, we all perish with you. The Dreadful Deadman is here! Do what you will with me. Throw me into the river, I don’t care! But this storm will not end so long as you are king. It will bury us all in frost.”

  “You think you’re going into the river?” Severn snarled. “I know how to deal with the likes of you. I’ll leave nothing to chance. We’re riding North to reclaim Dundrennan from your wicked little friend and her faithless husband. And you’ll be bound in iron atop a mountain to freeze to death! You will be the first to perish by the cold you foreshadow!”

  Owen was confined to Holistern Tower directly. There was frost on the window and chinks in the stone that made it drafty and miserable. Two Espion handlers had been assigned to him with orders to sleep in his bed at night, watch him when he used the privy, and keep an eye on him night and day until the king decided it was time to leave. Memories of Eyric and Dunsdworth haunted Owen—this had been their fate, one which he had always pitied them—but at least he would not spend years this way. No, his remaining life span would be limited to days.

  The heavy chains secured around his wrists tired him. They’d stripped away his sword and scabbard, removing the source of the magic healing that had helped him recover so swiftly in the past. There was nothing in the room to substitute for his tiles—no ready way to fill his supply of magic. He only had his mind, and so he spent his days pacing and trying to figure an escape from his dilemma. Atabyrion’s invasion of the North had been prompted by his assurances that Westmarch would rise in rebellion against the king. Now Severn could join Owen’s army with his own and bring the North to heel himself. What would happen to Evie when she found out? Dundrennan was an impressive castle. It had never been breached in the past. But how long could it hold out against the determination of a man like Severn, whose own position in the North had been unquestioned?

  He shook his head as he continued to pace back and forth, shivering against the cold. A brazier had been lit, and the two Espion huddled near it, chafing their hands.

  The feeling of misery and hopelessness spread across Owen’s shoulders like a mantle. So he was to meet his fate as the Maid of Donremy had met hers. He had hoped to provoke Severn into throwing him into the river. The ring on his hand would have protected him from the falls and helped him escape. If he could somehow escape and make it to the river, he felt he’d stand a chance. If only Etayne were still alive. Grief at her death struck him so hard he clenc
hed his fist and pressed his knuckles against his mouth to subdue the hot rush of feelings. Etayne would have helped him escape. What about Sinia? Did she even know what had happened to him? Even if she did, was there anything she could do to help? The thought of not seeing her again made his heart wrench with anguish and dread.

  Almost as if in answer to that thought, he sensed Fountain magic emanating from the stairwell. It had an oily feeling to it, though, and instead of offering hope, it made him uneasy. He stopped and stared at the door.

  “What is it?” one of his protectors asked. He didn’t know either of the underlings who’d been chosen for the assignment.

  The other man snorted, shrugged, and spat, continuing to chafe his hands before the flames. Then he stiffened. “I ’ear boots coming up the steps.” He straightened and put a hand on his dagger.

  The sensation of the Fountain grew more pronounced, and Owen found himself breathing hard, the cold seeping into his bones.

  There was a jangle at the lock and then the door opened. Much to Owen’s surprise, the king was the first to enter. Kevan stood next to him, his face troubled but studiedly neutral. In his arms, he carried the chest with the Wizr board. Several guards wearing the king’s colors filed in behind them, and Owen felt the presence of an unseen man enter at last. Dragan was there, but he was using his power of invisibility.

  “I wasn’t expecting a personal visit, my lord,” Owen said, feeling confused and anxious. He tried to pinpoint Dragan’s location, but only got a subtle impression that the thief was against the far wall by the window.

  “Well, we are heading out on the morrow to crush an invasion,” the king said with a strange calmness. “I want some answers from you before you die, Owen. To satisfy my curiosity, I suppose. I didn’t want to discuss this in the hall in front of so many.”

  Owen swallowed and shrugged.

  “Where did you get the Wizr board?” Severn asked. “It’s been missing since Eredur died. I used to watch him play it. It holds many memories for me.”

  Owen was surprised. “You knew of it?”

  Severn nodded. “Of course I did. It’s been handed down in my family for generations. It’s been stolen so many times, it’s almost laughable. My brother believed he couldn’t lose a battle so long as he held it. He was superstitious, of course. I’m certain he would have won his battles without it. But I know Chatriyon’s father and grandfather feared the Wizr board. He tried to have it stolen several times.” He smiled shrewdly. “But as I said, it disappeared while my brother was king. Where did you find it? Did the duchess give it to you? Was it in Brythonica all this time?”

  Owen shook his head. “No, it was in the cistern beneath the palace. I first saw it there when I was your hostage.”

  The king pursed his lips. “Remarkable. I never thought to search there. My brother had many treasures that weren’t found in the royal vaults after he died. I assumed his wife had taken it with the rest and brought them to sanctuary.” The king started pacing. “It’s all a bunch of rubbish anyway. I don’t have a magic Wizr set helping me, and I’ve never been defeated either.” He snorted derisively.

  Owen narrowed his eyes. “It’s not superstition,” he said in a low voice. “The Wizr set is causing this storm.”

  “When my wife died, there was an eclipse,” Severn scoffed. “Fools are always quick to attribute ill omens to the stars or the weather.”

  “Fools convince themselves their enemies are their true friends,” Owen countered. “There are rules in the game of Wizr. Even though you’re a king, you cannot change the rules of the game. The storm has come because you broke the rules of sanctuary years ago.”

  “Then why did the storm stop, I ask you?”

  Owen clenched his fists. “Because it was taken outside your domains! It was inside the sanctuary of St. Penryn until I brought it back.”

  The king pointed his finger at Owen. “You brought it back.”

  Owen swallowed, trying to rein in his emotions. “I believe in the omens, Severn. I’ve seen evidence of the Fountain’s judgments all my life. You are Fountain-blessed yourself, how can you deny what gives you your own power?”

  Severn looked at him with disdain. “I believe in the magic. I used to believe in the source,” he answered in a quiet way. “I used to trust. But no more. If I lived in the days of King Andrew, I would have been one of his knights. I would have believed in the principles of Virtus. But that’s not the world we live in, Owen! This is a world of princes, poison, and power. Andrew was a myth. A legend. There is no Dreadful Deadman. You invoked a legend to usurp my crown for yourself, do not deny it. Oh, you would have used some child to make your claim legitimate. Especially one who bears resemblance to my dead nephews. I’ve uncovered your trickery, Owen. How convenient the Espion couldn’t locate the boy’s birth parents. I know how your mind works. And that prophecy you made! It’s all the people are talking about now. Some boy is going to draw a sword from the waters of Our Lady. Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do once I’ve drowned Iago and Elysabeth for treason. I’m going to summon every lad of eight summers to Kingfountain.” He stepped closer. “And then I’m going to push them all into the river to see who survives! Even your little puppet.” He snorted maliciously and lifted his hands. “Every prince and every king who has lifted a heel or raised a finger against me will ensure that the children in their kingdom meet the same fate.”

  Owen stared at him in growing horror. “Your heart is already ice.”

  The king met his eyes without flinching. “One grows numb to cold after a time. As you are to experience yourself.” He looked at Kevan. “We leave before dawn. Make sure the roads are shoveled ere we leave the city. I’ve already sent my army North with Catsby.” He turned to leave.

  “Are you taking Dragan with you?” Owen said in challenge.

  The king stopped, a look of annoyance on his face. Without speaking, he motioned for the guard to open the door. Kevan gave Owen a forlorn and helpless look over the chest he still clutched. Severn nodded to the two Espion protectors to leave as well. The door shut behind them, leaving Owen alone in the room, in chains, with Dragan.

  The thief appeared before him. He drew a long-stemmed pipe and sauntered over to the brazier. With a pair of tongs, he lit the bowl, and the mash inside began to sizzle and spread noxious fumes in the room.

  Dragan stuck the pipe between his teeth and breathed in deep, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

  “I asked the king for a special promise ere you left on the morrow,” he said smugly.

  “I’m sure you did,” Owen said, feeling nothing but hatred and disgust for the man.

  “A small favor. He wasn’t against the notion, I tell you. I thoughts to myself, I did, I thoughts, ‘Dragan, that lad turned your own flesh and blood against you.’ Aye, he did. A most unnatural thing he did. A child’s first loyalty should be to his parents. You’ve always been an unnatural child, I sez. Betrayin’ your own kin and serving Lord Severn. Unnatural. Well, you had my daughter kilt protectin’ you.” His eyes smoldered with anger. “Bothwell promised he’d spare her because I asked it. But she died because of you.”

  “Because of me? You let him into the castle!” Owen said, affronted and furious.

  Dragan shook his head. “I’m a simple man. I seez what you did to her. How you turned her away from her own father. Well, I wants compensation for that. I took her jewels and such from her room. Hardly worth ten crowns, if you ask me. Some fancy vials, little knick-knacks.” He began cracking his knuckles. “But it don’t pardon ye in my eyes. And besides, Chatriyon said he’d pay fifty thousand for your left hand. The left hand, mind ye. I don’t know what such a lord needs for your claw. But it’s fifty thousand all the same. And I’ll be checking out that cistern too. Might be more baubles down there, eh?” He drew a knife from his belt. “Now be a good lad and hold still while I cut it off. The king promised me my due. And you won’t be needing it no longer anyway, I reckon, when you’ve frozen.”
/>   CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Helvellyn

  As Owen listened to Dragan’s little speech, he gently, surreptitiously summoned his own magic to prepare his defense. He had small reserves and knew he would not be able to sustain the onslaught long, but he wanted to test the thief’s defenses, to learn of his vulnerabilities. As his magic seeped away from him, Owen learned some immediate facts about Etayne’s father. First, he was a coward at heart and would flee in an instant should a situation turn against him. Second, the somewhat stocky man had an unhealthy heart. He enjoyed his feasts and mugs of ale, and had spent most of his life without doing an honest day’s work.

  The insights gave Owen courage he otherwise might have lacked, considering his own circumstances. He didn’t need his magic to reveal to him that he was unfit for mortal combat at the moment. His wounds were still healing, and sudden motions could easily rip the sinews binding his skin closed.

  But just like in the game of Wizr, sometimes it was better to go on the offensive when facing a threat.

  “Well, if you’re determined to have it,” Owen said, “best to get it over with quickly.” He planted his iron-encircled wrist on the small wooden table in the corner, pulling the cuff higher to expose his wrist. He stared into Dragan’s eyes and locked wills with him.

  “That’s mighty generous of you, lad,” he said distrustfully. The thief seemed to sense something in the room had changed, and his whiskers twitched as he sniffed at the air.

  “Be quick about your work,” Owen chided, nodding to his exposed wrist.

  “It’s usually better to be quick in moments like this,” Dragan offered with a shrug. Then suddenly the dagger plunged down, the tip heading straight for the tendons in Owen’s arm. Not to slice off the hand, but to impale his arm to the desk.

  Thankfully, Owen had suspected the move, and jerked his hand away just in time to watch the dagger sink into the wood rather than into his flesh. He leaned forward, putting his weight on his arms atop the table, and swung his leg forward to kick Dragan hard in the groin. The thief’s eyes bulged with pain, and he crumpled over double, eyes widening with panic.