The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) (20 page)

Severn may have won the lady. But he would not keep her long.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The White King

The palace corridor resounded with the thunder of Owen’s boots as he walked firmly and purposefully to the throne room. Servants steered away from him, and his path was marked by the muted whispers that followed him. The Duke of Westmarch had returned to Kingfountain, summoned by the king because of all the treasons in the realm. There were rumors in the palace that the young man from Tatton Hall had had another dream. When Owen reached the main doors leading into the throne room, he saw it was packed to nearly overflowing.

Perfect.

The familiar bubbling of worry and doubt rose up inside Owen’s chest, threatening to suffocate him. As he passed the guards, he felt the subtle presence of Fountain magic and then spied Etayne in disguise near the doors. Per their arrangement, she had positioned herself there in advance, and though she looked like any of the elegant noble beauties in the room, he saw through her disguise. The subtle nod she gave him indicated he should proceed with the plan.

The crowd parted before him, clearing a path directly to the throne itself. Owen saw the numerous tables lined with food, and for a moment, he could almost see a younger version of himself there, nervous eyes gazing at the crouch-backed king, nervous legs trying to escape him. This time, Owen would be confronting him directly.

The king was already sitting on his throne, hand on his dagger hilt, his posture calculated to diminish his deformity. Lady Kathryn stood near the dais, and even at this distance, he could see the new ring glittering on her finger. As he approached, he caught sight of the three other dukes of the realm—Catsby, Paulen, and Lovel—clustered together in a corner, whispering urgently to one another. Catsby’s eyes were full of loathing as he watched Owen’s approach. Paulen whispered something behind his hand to Catsby. Lovel sipped from a wine goblet, not paying attention to the conversation but watching the king and his conquest. To one side of them stood Kevan, his keen eyes taking in the scene with interest.

It was tradition to kneel before the throne of kings before speaking. Severn had dismissed Owen from that obligation years ago because of his service to the crown. But Owen deliberately dropped to one knee and bowed his head before the king.

“I told you he’d come,” the king said snidely to the other dukes. “Did I not? But lad, you could have changed into some new clothes. You haven’t shaved in weeks by the look of you. Have a bath first next time.”

A few tittering chuckles came from the huge assembly. Owen ignored the jab and began to summon the Fountain’s power into himself. He knew Severn had used up most of his reserves in his confrontation with Kathryn, but Owen wanted to impress this memory on the king and all others who were present.

Before he spoke, he caught sight of Evie’s daughter standing alongside one of the trestle tables with Drew. The two were positioned quite close to each other, and Genevieve was whispering something in Drew’s ear as she watched the long-absent duke kneel in front of the king. Seeing the two of them together sparked something unexpected in his heart. It was no accident those two had been thrown together. The waterwheel was circling up again, ready to dip and plunge back into the river.

“My lord,” Owen said respectfully. “You summoned me home, but I come with urgent news.”

“Stand,” Severn said, gesturing for him to do so. “So the Espion tells me. But before you share this news, I wish to announce publicly my faith and confidence in—”

“My lord!” Owen interrupted, rising quickly to his feet. A sudden chill of silence swept the hall at Owen’s declaration. Rarely did people defy the king or gainsay him. Owen saw the king’s gray eyes narrow in consternation.

The young duke took several strides forward, drawing on the power of the Fountain to bolster his words.

“There is a prophecy,” Owen said, his voice rising. “It is native to Ceredigion and has been passed down in various forms for centuries. It is the prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman.”

As he said the words, it felt as if an invisible thunderclap had stricken everyone present. He felt the Fountain magic seething inside him, rushing from his mouth, from his fingertips. The air was suddenly charged with emotion. The king straightened in his throne, his expression turning grave.

Something whispered in the room, a voice that came not from any person but from the silence itself.

“That prophecy,” the king said sharply, “is nothing but an empty legend used to trick and fool the gullible. Even my brother Eredur claimed to be the Dreadful Deadman.” Severn tried to laugh, but it was a broken sound.

“The prophecy was written down by Geoffrey of Dundas,” Owen said, letting his voice ring out in the hall as he approached the king. “Master Polidoro has shown me copies of the original. We all know the saying, my lord.
When E is come and gone, then take heed to yourselves, for war shall never cease. After E is come and gone, then cometh Ceredigion to destruction by seven kings. The Fountain shall cease to flood the land and after that will come a Dreadful Deadman with a royal wife of the best blood in the world. And he shall have the hollow crown and shall set Ceredigion on the right way and put out all heretics.”

Owen paused, letting the words of the prophecy fade into silence. The prophecy was common knowledge to most of the realm, and it was common practice among the lesser born to name their children after the letter E.

Severn’s face had turned a shade paler, his lips twisting into an angry frown. Some whispering broke out, loud enough to reach Owen’s ears, about how the pretender had taken the name Eyric, beginning with the letter E.

“That doggerel,” the king said tightly, “has been common gossip for centuries. What mean you to come in here and—”

“My lord, forgive me,” Owen said, interrupting him again. “But while I was in Brythonica, I had a vision. The magic of the Fountain is strong in that land. Stronger than in any place I have ever been. My lord, the prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman says that a man shall rise from the dead. Not a grown man. A child. I saw in my dream a stillborn baby. A child wrapped in bloody rags.” He looked at Kathryn, piercing her with his gaze. She stared at Owen, trembling, and then her eyes went to young Drew, who wasn’t watching her at all.

“The child came alive. The child lives in the realm at this moment. He must be eight years old by now. I saw him walk into the sanctuary of Our Lady. All the people had gathered to watch. The boy then reached into the waters of the fountain and drew out a sword.”

There was an audible gasp at Owen’s words, and Severn’s face began to quiver with fury.

“A sword, my king,” Owen continued gravely. “It was the sword of the Maid. It was King Andrew’s sword. It was the sign from the Fountain that he was the Dreadful Deadman, the rightful ruler of Ceredigion. The White King.”

Owen turned and faced those assembled in the hall. He spied Etayne watching him, trying to conceal her smile of approval. “You all know my history. You all know that I was stillborn. But I am
not
the Dreadful Deadman. I could not see his face in my vision, but I know he is still a child. Like I was when I started having visions. He will save us from destruction.” Owen turned and looked at the king. “My lord, the Fountain whispered to me that it will not stop snowing until the boy is crowned king.” He dropped again to one knee. “That is my vision, Your Majesty. If it is true, then we will soon be invaded by seven kingdoms. What would you have me do to defend our lands?”

“Out,” the king said in a low, snarling voice. Then he rushed to his feet and waved his hand. “Get out! All of you! Only my privy council will stay. Out, I say! Get out!” He was nearly screaming in fury.

There was a rush of bodies toward the door and then suddenly a voice rang out from the hall. “It’s snowing! By the Fountain, it started to snow as he spoke!”

Owen felt a throb of giddiness at the news. The timing was perfect.

Pure chaos filled the hall as people began shoving against each other to be the first to leave. Someone knocked over a table, and food spilled onto the floor in heaps. Owen kept his eyes locked on Severn’s, not wanting to risk exposing himself by staring at anyone else. He’d rarely seen the king so agitated, so apoplectic. He did his best not to smile.

It took some time to clear away the crowds, but the guards drove them out and bolted the door, leaving the king and some of the dukes in the chamber. Lady Kathryn stared worriedly at Severn, her hands reaching for his arm before pulling back.

The door burst open, and Catsby entered. Owen hadn’t seen him leave. He waited on his knee, determined not to rise before he received the king’s command. His legs were throbbing.

“It
is
snowing, my lord,” Catsby said in a worried voice. “I saw it with my own eyes. The castle bailey is already dusted with white.”

Jack Paulen snorted with amazement. “By my troth,” he grunted.

The king pressed a knuckle against his smooth mouth, his eyes turning balefully on Owen. “You did this in front of the great hall,” he said angrily. “In front of a room full of witnesses! What on earth compelled you to make such a scene?”

Owen remained on bended knee. “I followed the Fountain’s bidding,” he replied meekly.

The king rose from his throne and began to pace. He glanced at Kathryn, his expression turning from pain to triumph. Kathryn looked away. “Wait for me in the anteroom,” he told her, his voice tender. She nodded and silently left through the side door from which the king usually entered.

Severn grimaced once she was gone. “I was going to make an announcement this morning,” he said angrily. He gave Owen a hard look. “Before you spoke, I was going to name you my heir and—”

“Your heir?” Owen said, interrupting him again. “I am not an Argentine, my lord. I
cannot
be your heir. I
will not
be your heir. You accused me of treason in the note you sent me.”

Some of the dukes looked at Owen in startled surprise.

Severn waved it off. “A test, lad. It was only a test. I knew you’d come. I knew you were faithful, despite some who would argue otherwise.” He looked over at Catsby before glancing down at Owen with exasperation. “Get up, man. I told you not to kneel before me.”

“What are we going to do, my lord?” Catsby said with worry. “If the prophecy is true, we cannot defeat all the kingdoms if they attacked us at once. Only King Andrew could hope to defend a kingdom against so many enemies.”

“Once word gets out,” Jack Paulen added. “They’ll all seize the opportunity regardless of the prophecy.”

“Not
all
of them,” Severn said defiantly. “Iago wouldn’t dare. This is absurd. I can’t believe you all trust in such superstitious nonsense. We are men of the world, not given to fancy. Winter has come early, that is all. It happened years ago and nothing came of it, remember?” He turned and shot Owen another angry glance. “You should have seen me privately, lad. You should have resisted the impulse to make such a show of the news.” He swore under his breath. “You were summoned home after Urbick and Dunsdworth escaped. Well, that problem has been solved. They were both found guilty of treason by the Assizes and ushered into the river this very morning. Urbick, mind you. Not Eyric.” He glanced at the door Kathryn had used to make her exit. “His name never started with an E. It was all a trick. A . . . coincidence. There is no sword in the fountain of Our Lady. There is nothing but the rusty coins that the sexton shovels and collects for the royal treasury. You all
know
this! Lad, I appreciate you coming to me with your vision. It may indeed presage that war is coming. But it does not mean the Dreadful Deadman has returned.”

“But the snow,” Lovel said earnestly.

“Who didn’t see the clouds coming yesterday?” Severn snapped. “Now heed my orders and serve me well, Dukes of Ceredigion. I command you to return to your duchies and make preparations.”

Catsby looked greensick. “What about the Espion?” he whined.

“Can you not see past your own greed for a quarter hour!” Severn roared at him. “I’m not changing aught until this storm blows past. And it will, mark my words.” He snapped his fingers. “I know what I’ll do. We’ll send out a royal decree to summon all the children of the kingdom to the palace.
All
of them.” He turned to Owen. “I want you to post Espion to guard the fountain night and day. Stop this sniveling and fidgeting. I am the master of this realm. No little brat is going to steal my crown.” He chuffed and began pacing.

Then he turned to Catsby. “Prepare the summons and then get your body to the North. Of all the duchies, it’s the most vulnerable. Because of your greediness. But thankfully, I thought ahead and prepared a way to keep Iago in line. He loves that little girl, you see.” His face turned menacing. “She’s his weakness, and he’d never allow anything to happen to her.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Mantic Gifts

The king dismissed all of the dukes except for Owen. Lovel, Paulen, and Catsby left—Catsby pausing to cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder at Owen before he walked out—and the door thudded shut with an ominous sound, leaving Owen and Severn alone together.

Torches hissed and fluttered in the throne room sconces. Owen stood still, but he felt the nervous impulse to reach for his sword hilt. The king was pacing again on his crooked leg, his brow knitting with consternation. He stopped and then fixed Owen with a wary stare.

“Why did you announce your dream in a hall full of witnesses?” he asked in a low, seething voice.

Owen held his ground and met the king’s gaze without flinching. “Why did you execute Dunsdworth and Eyric before I returned?”

Severn’s face darkened. “I did it to spare your sensibilities, lad.”

“How considerate of you,” Owen said. “I’m glad you’ve always kept my
feelings
in the forefront of your thoughts.”

The king gave him a measuring look, as if Owen’s words had caught him off guard. “Have you finally found your tongue after all of these years?” he said with a snort. “The boy who used to quaver in this very hall at breakfast each morning?” He swept his hand in a wide circle, indicating the food-laden tables that had been ransacked earlier.

Owen took a deliberate step closer. “I’m not a child anymore.”

The king’s anger was growing, but he looked uncomfortable as well, as if his conscience was suddenly bothering him. “You should have told me privately about your dream. Now the entire realm will hear of it within the hour. You owe allegiance to
me
, lad. I gave you everything you have. And I can take it from you just as easily.”

Owen couldn’t have cared less, and he hoped it showed on his face. “I returned, did I not? Even after your threat. Even after your test. Can you not stop such antics, my lord? Have I not proven my loyalty again and again over these many years?”

The king shook his head. “I do trust you, lad, but Catsby has been whispering that it’s a mistake. That you’ve had too much power for one so young. He said that some of the Espion are more loyal to
you
than to me.” He gave Owen a meaningful look. Did he mean Etayne? Kevan?

Owen held up his hands. “Then strip it from me, my lord, like you did to Ratcliffe. If Catsby wants the burden, he’s welcome to it. If he’s done ruining everything Stiev Horwath built in Dundrennan, why not turn him loose on your Espion next, as he wishes?”

The king looked at him again in surprise. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I do. I sound like you, don’t I?”

The king nodded. “You are young and you’ve carried a heavy burden. Perhaps it is time that I eased some of it off you. What news from Ploemeur? I’ve heard the duchess wasn’t opposed to the match after all?”

Owen wondered how he could keep his face disinterested, but he tried. “She’s no fool, nor was she Roux’s puppet.”

“Was? What do you mean?”

Owen bit his tongue, cursing himself for the slip. “I only meant that she’s not his puppet after all. She sees the value in the deeper alliance with Ceredigion. We are betrothed.”

The king looked surprised and a little envious. “So quickly?” he murmured. “You think this is a ruse? Or does she mean to go through with it? I hadn’t intended you to actually marry her, you know.”

“Then you shouldn’t have sent me to offer an engagement,” Owen rebuffed. “I was rude, cantankerous, and unkempt.”

“You still are,” the king said snidely.

“Is it any wonder?” Owen answered. “The assignment is complete. If you have no further plans for me, I’d like to return to Westmarch and prepare my army.”

The king shook his head. “No, Owen. I need you here. Send word to the duchess to be alert for signs that Chatriyon is stirring and seeking to reclaim his lost cities. I might send you to Pree to lay siege there.”

Owen wrinkled his brow, feeling the tangles forming in his plan. “You want me to attack him?”

Severn shook his head. “I believe you had a dream, Owen. Too many of your visions have come to pass for me to doubt them. But I don’t intend to forsake my crown, and I’d just as soon attack seven kingdoms at once than risk being defeated on my own ground. Make you ready. I want you near me as my advisor.”

Owen bowed. “I’ll send word to Ashby to begin the preparations.”

The king nodded. “Very well. See to it.”

Owen was about to turn, but the king signaled him to stay a moment longer. “You are not the only one who is recently betrothed,” he said, his expression softening. “Lady Kathryn has agreed to be my wife. She will be the queen my people have long desired.” He frowned, his brow turning more serious. “That’s another reason your news upset me. I’m fully intending to sire a son. An heir. I was going to name you protector should that happen.” His gaze narrowed. “Can I trust you, Owen? Can I trust you with that?”

Owen felt the squirming conflict inside of him. The duplicitous role the king had forced him to play sickened him, but he could not reveal himself now. He gave the king a stern look. “Loyalty binds me,” he said softly.

“Good lad,” Severn answered. “I want you to see Polidoro for me. I have no patience for his long-winded answers, but I want you to ask him about the Dreadful Deadman prophecy. From what I understand, he hasn’t been able to validate the myth of King Andrew at all. There are no records dating back to his court at Tintagel. Polidoro tells me the story is a myth. That the common story about the origins of this city, this very palace—Kingfountain—is simply a legend. There is no evidence that any sword was ever drawn from the water. I want you to talk with him, Owen. Then you can see for yourself why I have doubts about your prophecy.”

Owen bowed deeply. “I will, my lord. And congratulations on your betrothal. I know you have long desired it.” He did his best to keep the bitterness from his voice.

The king dismissed him with a nod.

Etayne walked alongside Owen as they headed to the record room where Polidoro Urbino had been working for so many years. The history he had written on the people of Ceredigion was lengthy and consisted of seven volumes. The man certainly was loquacious. He had traveled the land collecting documents, assembling the largest body of sources from castle records to sanctuary journals kept by the deconeuses.

“How did the king handle your news?” Etayne murmured to Owen.

“He was upset, of course. But then I threw it in his face that he’d had two men executed while I was gone. That kicked him off the holy pedestal he was attempting to mount.”

Etayne smirked at the joke. “I remember Mancini saying how much he hated debating with you.”

Owen chuckled. “He always lost. No, I’ve been around the king too long. If I opened my mouth, you’d find thorns on my tongue.” He sighed. “I’m going to have to learn to control my temper.”

“I like your temper,” Etayne said with a smile. “There is nothing about you I would change. Not even those whiskers.”

Her inviting tone made him a little uncomfortable, and he was grateful when they reached the heavy oak door leading to the record room. When they entered, they found Polidoro giving instructions to several young scribes whom the king was paying to work for him. They brought him books at his request, scanning passages for the references he sought.

“No, no, not volume six, I asked for volume seven!” Polidoro complained, shaking his head and shooing the young man at his elbow away. “Tanner, bring me another jar of ink, would you? Good lad. Lord Kiskaddon!” he said, brightening instantly as he noticed the new arrivals. “Come in, come in! It has been too long since you’ve visited this humble court historian.” He bowed with a flourish and rose, coming forward to give Owen’s hand a vigorous shake.

“It has been too long, Master Urbino,” Owen said. “I don’t come nearly as often as I should.”

“It’s understandable,” the historian said in a grave tone, looking serious and concerned. “You used to come quite often with a certain young water sprite long ago.” He clucked his tongue, his eyes growing misty. “I rather miss her, you know. She used to talk to me often before leaving for Edonburick. Those were fond memories. I see you mourn her as well. Well, best to wave aside the clouds, and face our fate with courage. What can I do for you, my young lord? Is there another battle you would like to reference? I do have several I’ve been saving for you.” He grinned knowingly at Owen and butted him with an elbow.

“Actually,” Owen said, hoping the man would stop speaking long enough for him to issue his message. “The king sent me here on an errand. He says you can dispel my notion about King Andrew being a historical figure.”

The lanky historian swiped his hand across his gray-haired scalp and pursed his leathery lips. “Did he now? Well, what I told him was that there is no
evidence
of it. I’m a historian, after all. I’ve been looking at records that go back hundreds of years, to the first Argentine family. But the story of King Andrew is older still. Did you know there is a tapestry in the royal palace of Pree that shows Ceredigion’s invasion by Jessup the Conqueror?” His eyes grew animated whenever he shared obscure historical facts, and he started to gesticulate with his hands. “History told in art! You can see the stories painted instead of printed. So it should not surprise you to learn that there are also pictures of a young boy drawing a sword from a fountain. But it’s impossible to tell
when
it happened. In some of the pictures, there is a woman in the water who hands Andrew the sword. The sanctuaries have been built to commemorate the event and, as you know, people still toss coins into the fountains and make wishes. It’s a deeply ingrained tradition, Lord Owen. But just because I can’t prove
when
Andrew lived, doesn’t mean I don’t believe he did. After living here for so many years, after studying the references over and over again, I’ve come to appreciate them like the sound of beautiful music.”

Owen started pacing and rubbing the growth on his chin, then caught himself when he noticed Etayne watching him with an amused smile. “The king asked specifically about the prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman.”

Polidoro nodded. “You know almost as much about it as I do, of course. You’ve often asked me about the mantic prophecies.”

That word, Sinia’s word, caught Owen’s attention. “The
mantic
prophecies?”

“Yes, that’s the word we used to describe them. They are prophecies of the past or the future. There have always been certain Fountain-blessed individuals who possess mantic gifts. The Wizr Myrddin, for example, had that gift. As do you, naturally. The Sirens shared that gift, but they weren’t mortal.”

Owen held up his hand. “The Sirens?”

Polidoro looked at him in surprise. “They are mythological creatures, Owen. Very nasty. I thought you knew of them. They are a type of water sprite—one of the more malevolent ones.”

Owen glanced at Etayne and then back at the historian. “I’ve not heard of them specifically. Tell me more?”

“It’s an ancient legend,” Polidoro said, sitting on the edge of his desk and rubbing his hands briskly together. “The legend comes from Genevar, I believe. There are many islands in that area, and they’ve always been a trading nation. According to their history, any sailors who traveled too close to the rocky islands of the Sirens risked destruction. Sirens were beautiful female creatures . . . not mortals, but from the Deep Fathoms. Their song would entice the sailors—so much so that they would crash their ships into the rocks. The songs were mantic, personal to each sailor. Only one man survived the Sirens. He was Fountain-blessed, so their song could not drive him mad. The Sirens are a myth, of course. Shipwrecks are caused by storms, not water sprites, but just because something isn’t real doesn’t mean people won’t believe in it.”

Owen’s heart hammered in his chest as Polidoro spoke. Water sprites. He remembered hearing about the water creatures who lived in the Deep Fathoms when he was a child. Mancini had even accused Evie once of being one. According to legend, some water sprites were left to parents who couldn’t bear children to raise them in the mortal world. Pieces began to tumble together in Owen’s mind. When he and Sinia had stood on the beach with the smooth glass, none of the waves had touched her. He had seen her step into the Fountain and the water had appeared to disperse from her. Was it because she was a Wizr? Or was it because she had other powers he could not understand? If she was a water sprite, was she the benevolent or malevolent kind?