The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) (4 page)

Elysabeth smiled, a genuine warm one. “Do that,” she said emphatically. “I’m sorry to keep you, Owen. The king thought you were already gone, which is why he announced it when he did. Safe travels.” She stood awkwardly for a moment and then impulsively wrapped her arm around his neck and hugged him. Before she pulled away, she brushed a small kiss on his cheek. Her eyes were very green.

“I want you to find love, Owen,” she blurted earnestly. “I don’t care if she’s a duchess or a waif. I want you to be
happy
. Promise me you will try.”

He stared at her, caught off guard by the hug and tender kiss, very aware of the surging emotions that raged in his dilapidated heart. He had resisted the allurements of other women for seven years, clinging to the dwindling and perverse hope that Evie’s husband would somehow manage to die. It had happened to Severn with his wife. But each year had diminished the hope and convinced Owen that waiting for her would be foolish. Sourly, he wondered if he’d waited too long. Perhaps Severn would force him to act. If not with the Duchess of Brythonica, another woman.

As Owen mused on these dark thoughts, he decided he was glad he’d come back to the North after all. He was grateful that he and Evie had reconciled at long last. They would be friends again, if only friends apart. He was a better man for having her in his life. The sun warmed all that it touched.

He gave her a courtly bow. “I must do as my king commands me,” he said with a mocking tone. “I must order a powerful woman to marry me. What could possibly go wrong?”

With a wry smile, he turned away and walked back to his horse and slung up into the saddle. He looked back at the castle, Dundrennan, and wondered when he would next return. It would have to be soon. There was a sword in an ice cave that he needed to find.

Suddenly, the first stirrings of a plan began to shape in his mind. The plan required a boy and a sword.

My lord Kiskaddon,

We have apprehended a plot to smuggle the pretender Piers Urbick and the wretch Dunsdworth out of Holistern Tower, where they are presently confined. We intercepted a communication from Duke Maxwell of Brugia offering a sizable sum for the capture of these two men. There have been two attempts in the last fortnight to bribe the guards for access. The second attempt was intercepted by the Espion, and we’re now holding the man who instigated the plot in the city. Guard over Holistern has been increased. We await word from our spies in Brugia as to the motives behind Maxwell’s interference.

Sent with all haste,

Kevan Amrein

Kingfountain Palace

CHAPTER FOUR

Prisoners in the Tower

While Owen was still weary from the ride south to Kingfountain, he had little time to rest. He had received a note from an Espion courier about a Brugian plot to free Eyric and Dunsdworth, so he immediately met with his second in command—the Espion he always put in charge during his absences from the palace. Kevan Amrein was a capable man, adept at reading both court subtleties and the people around him, and he had proven his loyalty to Owen again and again despite being twenty years his senior.

Owen and Kevan walked through the Espion tunnels honeycombing the palace, heading toward the entrance to Holistern Tower. They moved with haste, for Owen knew the king expected him to leave for Brythonica as soon as possible.

“That’s a sizable sum,” he told Kevan, watching the bob of the lantern illuminate the tunnels they passed. They had a dank smell that made Owen wrinkle his nose. “No wonder they were tempted. What’s the name of the man you captured?”

“His name is Dragan,” Kevan said. “It’s not an uncommon name in Ceredigion, but there are records of a man with that name in Mancini’s books. A sanctuary man before the king cleared them all out. He skulks in the city now, trying to stay out of the way of the sheriff.”

“And his motive was purely greed?” Owen asked.

“Seems to be the case. I don’t think he has any loyalty to any man. He’s loyal to gold. The sum offered was hefty enough to entice him to risk his neck.”

“And no doubt it will entice others as well,” Owen reported. “Well, if Duke Maxwell wants to stir up trouble in our domain, we can easily accommodate him. While I’m gone, I want you to have someone consider how we can pay Maxwell back in kind. I’m sure there is a nobleman or two in his country who would love to see him fall.”

Kevan smiled cynically. “I imagine there are, my lord.” His gaze narrowed. “You have read the reports about Duke Maxwell, though. He seems a bit strange. An odd fellow obsessed with the legends of the Fountain-blessed. He claims to be Fountain-blessed himself.”

Owen chuckled. “Oh yes. Their equivalent of the Espion is called the Secret Instruction. The head of it is a poisoner named Disant. According to our friends in Brugia, Disant calls Maxwell by a different name—Time. They say his special gift with the Fountain is the ability to travel through time itself.” Owen chuckled with disgust. “The man is daft and overly ambitious. I didn’t think he would be fool enough to poke at Severn, but if he wants another war, he’s welcome to one. We still control Callait and can bring in an army quite easily.”

Kevan’s smile stretched wider. “I do enjoy working for you, my lord. And I’m not trying to wipe my snot on your boots either. You’re unpretentious.”

“I’m a bone-weary soldier,” Owen said, brushing off the compliment. “And I grow wearier by the day. Ah, here we are.”

They arrived at the locked door of the tower. There were three men guarding it at all times. They recognized Kevan and Owen immediately and snapped to attention. One of them fumbled with a key ring and hastily unlocked the door.

“Anything to report?” Kevan demanded, folding his arms and projecting an impatient air.

“Nothing new, my lord,” one of the guards said, tipping his cap to Owen as well. “We changed their schedule as you instructed.”

“Good man,” Kevan said, nodding to him.

The door opened and Owen began to ascend the tower steps. As the sound of their boots echoed up and down the shaft, he thought about the misery of these two prisoners’ existence. It was the king’s will that Eyric and Dunsdworth be thrown together as companions of misfortune. Owen still remembered the day when Severn had humiliated Eyric in front of his wife, Lady Kathryn. It was a dark memory that made Owen squirm with antipathy.

Kathryn had been persuaded to leave the sanctuary of St. Penryn with the promise that she would be able to see her husband again, but their reunion had been a form of torture for both of them. Owen recalled how Kathryn had sobbed at the sight of Eyric in chains, his princely garb exchanged for that of a commoner. The king had provided her with an assortment of widow’s attire, a cruel jest on his part, and she had worn nothing but black since that fateful day. Seven years had passed since they had been together as man and wife. Seven years since the birth of their son. They only knew that Owen had taken the child somewhere to be raised as a knight. Neither parent knew where Drew was or who was raising him.

Such dark thoughts reminded Owen of his own parents, whom he had not seen in sixteen years. They had been exiled from Ceredigion for their role in an attempted coup at Ambion Hill. Rumor had it they had taken refuge in Occitania, where they lived in a small manor on a meager stipend. He had tried to make arrangements for them, to contact them, but his messages had always been returned unopened, the couriers unsuccessful in tracking their location. Perhaps they had changed the spelling and pronunciation of their last name so they could disappear into obscurity. He thought about them on occasion, yearning to know what they were doing, how they had fared. His sisters would be married by now in all likelihood. Were his parents still living? He imagined so. They were getting older, but there was no reason to think they weren’t alive somewhere. Did they still think about him? The son they had sent away to live as the king’s ward?

He was out of breath by the time they reached the top of the tower. Two more guards stood at attention in front of the door, both of whom Owen recognized, though not by name. They greeted him formally and then unlocked the door.

Owen turned to Kevan, holding up his hand. “Fetch Etayne. I need to speak with her. Wait for me outside Dragan’s cell. I’ll only be a moment with these two.”

Kevan looked a little taken aback, especially since Owen had waited until they were at the top of the spiral staircase to convey his message. But he sighed and nodded and started back down the steps.

Owen nodded to the soldiers and they pulled open the door.

The stench inside was almost unbearable.

Owen gritted his teeth and stepped into the stink. He saw Dunsdworth lounging on a chair, his eyes bloodshot and full of enmity. There were a few books in the room—some on a shelf, some on the small table. The pallet was just wide enough for two, but Owen saw a blanket in a heap on the floor, and he imagined that Eyric had chosen to sleep elsewhere.

Eyric was sitting at the desk, a book in his hands, and his eyes lit with a desperate hunger when he saw Owen. His jaw started to tremble. His eyes were haunted with despair.

“Hello
Kisky
,” Dunsdworth drawled, using the old pet name like a bludgeon.

Owen barely gave the man a look, for what he saw made him depressed. This was a man who had grown so complacent and lazy, they had to cut his rations. He had a beard, pocks on his cheeks, and soulless blue eyes full of hate.

Eyric leaped out of his chair. “What’s happened, Lord Owen?” he demanded, his voice a little feverish. “We’re only allowed to walk the grounds once a week now. No exercise. Is the king trying to kill us with boredom?” His cheeks grew flushed as he spoke.

“My father was permitted to drink himself to death,” Dunsdworth said irreverently. He rocked the heels of his boot back and forth. “I would gladly accept that fate. Can our dungeon be moved to the wine cellars, please?”

Eyric gave Dunsdworth a look of pure annoyance, but he had learned long ago not to spar with him. He turned back to Owen imploringly. “My lord, what have we done to deserve such punishment?”

“Nothing,” Owen said flatly. “It’s not your fault at all. Someone tried bribing the guard to rescue you.”

Dunsdworth let out a spluttering laugh followed by some unspecific grunted syllables.

Eyric’s eyes widened with hope. “Truly?”

“I would not get my hopes up,” Owen said, shaking his head. “It will come to naught.”

“Then why are you here?” Eyric asked. He started to pace anxiously.

“I wanted to see you with my own eyes,” Owen said with a smirk. “To be sure no one had tricked me. And I brought you another book.” He pulled out the small book wedged into his belt. “I see you’ve been through this collection. This is a book of legends of King Andrew and Myrddin. I read it as a boy.”

Dunsdworth hawked and spat on the floor, the glob landing dangerously close to Owen’s boot. “You didn’t bring me a bottle of wine, did you?”

Owen seethed internally, but he remained calm. He tossed the book onto the table. “What were you reading?”

Eyric glanced surreptitiously. “That one.”

Owen shrugged and sauntered to the table. The room reeked of filth. He picked up the book and thumbed through some pages. “I haven’t read this one in a while. Did you like it?”

“I enjoyed it very much,” Eyric said meaningfully. “Thank you.”

Owen nodded his indifference and folded the book under his arm. “I’m leaving the kingdom for a fortnight or so. If the risk of escape shrinks, I’ll authorize more time in the training yard.”

“Thank you,” Eyric said with relief.

Dunsdworth looked at Owen with utter loathing, his lazy eye twitching. “You never bring me any gifts,” he grumbled.

“He does,” Eyric answered flatly. “You just don’t take advantage of reading them.”

Dunsdworth rolled his head and then gazed up at the timbers propping up the tower. “This was the cell that Tunmore jumped from to his death. I can see why he did it. Take away those bars and I would try flapping my wings as well.”

“Farewell,” Owen said, nodding brusquely.

Eyric stepped forward earnestly. “How much longer, my lord?” he said with agitation bordering on hopelessness.

He gazed hard at Eyric. “We all make choices. And we live with the consequences.” Then he turned and rapped on the door with the book spine. As the soldiers opened it, he heard Dunsdworth spit again. Then he felt the wad strike his back. The soldiers’ faces turned red with rage, and they looked ready to barge in to pummel Dunsdworth for his insolence and disrespect.

Owen held up his hand in warning. He left the tower and motioned for them to lock the door.

“How dare he!” one of the soldiers snarled.

Owen shook his head. “He wanted a beating,” he said softly. “He was trying to earn one. He can’t feel anymore. Even pain is something he misses. Have pity on them, but do not hurt them. They endure enough torture.”

Owen hurried down the tower to meet Kevan and Etayne by the cells where more common prisoners were detained. Etayne gave him a curious look as he came into view. It was unusual for him to summon her to the dungeon for a meeting. The dankness was slightly offset by the prettiness of her stylish and formfitting gown. The corridors smelled of rot and filth, and the air shivered with groans and wet coughs.

Kevan brought them to a cell and inserted a key into the lock. “My lord, meet our latest guest,” he introduced.

Owen ducked through the opening and took the lantern from Kevan, who waited outside. The man in the dank cell shielded his face from the light and flinched, backing away from the glare. He was an oily man with a hawk nose and a handsome, squarish, pocked face with long sideburns that matched the color of his dark hair. His clothes looked like they had been worn by a nobleman and then discarded after too much use. There were splits at the seams and some of the stitching threads were loose.

A surge of Fountain magic filled the cell, startling Owen because it was so unexpected. He dropped the book cradled in his arm and reached for his dagger. He felt Etayne’s hand touch his shoulder, and when he jerked his neck around to face her, he saw she was in a disguise. Her face had been distorted to look like Evie’s maid, and her blond hair had gone long and dark.

“Who is that?” Dragan grunted and growled. He was still shielding his face. Owen had never seen him before, but his expression did look somewhat familiar.

“It’s not him,” Etayne said in Justine’s voice, shaking her head vigorously. She turned and left.

Owen stared after her and then turned back to face Dragan. He slowly crouched and picked up the fallen book.

“What do she mean I’m not him?” Dragan said with a croaking voice. “Who was that lass? Do I know her?”

It came together in Owen’s mind like a puzzle. He gave Dragan a sharp look. “Who hired you to abduct the prisoners?”

“I’m not saying nuffin,” the man said firmly. “What’s a man to do, I ask ye, now that the king thrust us out of sanctuary. I tell you. I ask you!” He huffed. “I don’ mean nuffin, my lord. Just want a few coins in my sack, eh? Can you blame a man for tryin’? Eh, my lord? Can you blame me? I can’t blame myself. You would have done the same in my place. Sure as milk, you would have.”

The man’s shabby clothes were proof enough of his ill-kempt condition. “You knew what you were doing when you went against the king,” he scolded. “You’re the kind of man who’d steal coins from the fountains at the sanctuary.”

The man grinned sheepishly. One of his teeth was missing. “You can’t blame me, eh?”

Owen shook his head and left. He felt the churning of the Fountain magic dwindle in the cell. Kevan shut and locked the door.

“Do you want him tortured, whipped, drowned, or set loose, my lord?” Kevan asked with a chuckle.