The Thief's Daughter (34 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Duplicity

Owen rubbed his bleary eyes, listening to Farnes as he hastily explained the news from Averanche. The reports were bad and getting worse and Owen’s army was restless with inaction. They wanted to fight, to attack, to do anything but camp in the frostbitten wastes of St. Penryn.

Farnes’s hair was unkempt and he stroked his fingers through vigorously. “Averanche can withhold a siege for a few days, a fortnight maybe, but if there is no hope of being relieved, they will turn back and seek terms with Chatriyon!”

“We will lift the siege,” Owen said forcefully, staring at his herald with determination. “But they must hold as long as they can. How much food do they have?”

Farnes shook his head. “The provisions will hold for a fortnight easily. Captain Ashby isn’t worried about that and he is rationing the stores. He’s more worried about the locals betraying us. The lord mayor, for example.”

Owen stroked his lip. “I trust Ashby. He’ll follow orders. Have supplies run by sea to support the castle.”

“Yes, but it’s only a matter of time before the Occitanian ships blockade the city,” Farnes insisted. “When shall I tell him you are coming to relieve them?”

“I can’t say when, Farnes. The situation here is risky. I know Chatriyon is trying to lure me to Averanche, and I’m not going to snap at the bait like a codfish! He’s distracting me from this place. This is where Eyric is going to land. I know it. I’m determined to wait like the patient hunter.”

“But when, my lord?” Farnes pleaded. “If those under siege lose hope of rescue, they will falter. The Occitanians have brought in a mighty host. They will retake the city, and once they’ve done so, they’ll challenge Westmarch. Would it not be more prudent to pull out our men by ship and bring them here? We could face Chatriyon from our own lands.”

Etayne’s voice interrupted. “Lord Owen will not abandon those who put their faith in him,” she said scathingly. “Chatriyon would show no mercy to the lord mayor and those who surrender the city.”

Owen was surprised at her remarks and he glanced at her, seeing through the disguise she wore. But even her tone and accent were convincing.

Farnes flushed. “I meant no disrespect, my lady,” he said, flustered. “It’s just that we risk running out of time. Your troops here are restless. The action is to the west, not here. The longer you wait, the more you risk.”

“I’ll not abandon Averanche,” Owen said. “You send word to Ashby. Tell him to hold the city to the last man. I won’t fail him.”

Farnes pursed his lips. “Very well, my lord.” He nodded, bowed, and exited the tent.

Owen was pacing, feeling the tension roiling in the pavilion. The fate of Ceredigion was hanging in the balance. From the reports he’d received from the king’s army, Severn was letting Iago venture deep inland, letting him think there was little opposition, in the anticipation that he would extend himself too far. And then Horwath would cut off his retreat and Severn’s army would come thundering out to trap Iago between them. Owen had no doubt that Severn would win.

He walked to his table and stared at the map there, running his finger along the coastline between Westmarch and Occitania. There was a V-shaped wedge of water at the crux between the two kingdoms. That water had once been the kingdom of Leoneyis. Owen looked at the outline of Brythonica and shook his head. Where was Marshal Roux? What was he doing? It felt like he was waiting in the shadows, waiting for Owen to move first. The thought made him grit his teeth with frustration.

“You look worried,” Etayne said softly, coming up next to him. Even her perfume reminded him of her.

“I can’t stay here much longer,” Owen sighed, stabbing the map with his finger. “If Eyric doesn’t arrive soon, I’ll have to go to Averanche and lift the siege. You were right . . . I’m not going to abandon it. But I can’t help but think that I’m being
forced
to step forward. Something isn’t right. And it has to do with Brythonica and the duchess’s true allegiance.”

Etayne smiled at him. “You also don’t want to be wrong. I don’t know any man who readily admits he’s made the wrong choice.”

Owen smirked. “That too. But I know I’m right. There is something important about St. Penryn. Something I don’t know, but I can smell it in the air.” He gave her disguise another appraising look. “You’re not even using your magic and you look like her.”

Etayne dimpled at the compliment and nodded gracefully.

Owen fetched a flask and took a drink of stale wine. Wincing at the taste, he set it back down in a hurry. “Tell me more about this poisoner. The one who fled Kingfountain during the riot.”

“Tyrell,” Etayne said. “He crossed from Brugia in a ship, disguised as a sanctuary sexton, and visited Our Lady. One of the sailors remarked on the gap between his teeth, so I knew it was him. He stayed in an inn on the bridge between Our Lady and the palace. By the time I found his dwelling, he had already infiltrated the castle. He was the one who started the riot and spread the rumor about the king throwing Tunmore off the tower. I know he’s Fountain-blessed. I felt him use his power.”

Owen nodded, frowning. “And what would you say his power is?”

She wrinkled her nose. “His power is causing hatred. There is a potion he uses. I have a report that he carries a box of some lotion, which he spreads on doorways. Those who pass the doorway begin to feel a keen hatred for the man in his sights. He assassinates by poisoning the minds of others, causing
them
to murder his target. It’s clear his target was Severn, as we suspected. It wasn’t just the storm that was making the people riot. He spread some of his ointment on the gates of the sanctuary as well.”

Owen stared at her. “Poor Jack was being affected by it. I thought he wanted to kill the king, though it made no sense.”

Etayne looked at him shrewdly. “Thankfully Fountain magic doesn’t work on you, Owen, or
you
might have been tempted to kill the king.”

Owen chuckled softly. “So you almost had him in Kingfountain when the riot started. He may have removed the chest from the sanctuary and taken it here to St. Penryn.”

“Or so you believe,” Etayne prompted. “What about Marshal Roux?”

“It can’t be both of them, can it? My suspicion is that Tyrell did it and he’s trying to get the chest to Eyric. It will make a difference somehow. It’s important in some way I don’t understand.”

“Why don’t you just go into the sanctuary and take it back now?” Etayne asked.

Owen shook his head. “Because I’m going to figure this out, Etayne. I’m tired of being in the dark about our enemies and their plans. If I pretend to be on their side, they may expose the entire plot to me.”

The sound of boots came rushing up to the tent and Farnes burst in, flushed. “My lord!”

“What is it?” Owen snapped.

“Eyric’s ship just docked at the sanctuary! Four fishing vessels. He’s at the sanctuary right now! You were right!”

Owen felt a throb of hope in his breast. “Get word to Ashby,” Owen said. “Tell him I’m coming straightaway.”

Owen carried a torch to light their way as they walked down the main road to the sanctuary of St. Penryn. There were Espion hidden all along the way, as well as in the area surrounding the sanctuary, and they were the ones who had alerted Farnes of Eyric’s landing. Owen missed Clark, but he had been assigned to protect Evie and get her and Justine safely back to the North. Owen did not think he minded the assignment, for it would bring him close to the woman he cared about.

An Espion by the name of Victor waited in the gloom, wearing beggar rags and shaking a cup. Owen paused and rifled through a coin pouch for some money to toss in.

“How many?” Owen whispered. Etayne wore a thick silver mantle covering her dress and hair. She faced the sanctuary so he could only see her profile. She looked like an apparition in the mist.

“One hundred men, if that,” the Espion wheezed, jiggling the cup as the coins clinked into it. “They raised a battle standard from the spire of the sanctuary. The Sun and Rose. Men are coming in from all quarters, drawn to it. He has a boat ready to flee, though, and soldiers are guarding it with drawn swords. Oh, and his lady wife is with him.”

“Kathryn?” Owen asked in surprise. “What about the Earl of Huntley?”

The shabby Espion shrugged. “No sign of the earl.”

“Thank you,” Owen said, then tugged at Etayne’s elbow and started toward the sanctuary. He felt the magic of the Fountain begin to trickle in around her.

“Not yet,” he cautioned. “And stay close. If Tyrell’s there, I want him to think I’m the one who’s causing it. They all know I’m Fountain-blessed.”

The pathway wound its way up to some steps, which they mounted as they rose toward the grounds. A stone fence surrounded the sanctuary, while a wrought-iron gate speckled with flakes of rust commanded the entrance. They entered the gate and Owen began to summon his magic as the sound of their footfalls echoed on the pavement.

There were others carrying torches on the grounds, and the wind and sea fog blew in sharp gusts, threatening to tear away Etayne’s hood. She gripped Owen’s arm with one hand and used her other to keep the cowl in place.

The sexton awaited them at the main doors.

“Lord Kiskaddon, Lady Elyse,” he greeted warmly, but there was a nervous edge to his voice. “They are expecting you both. Follow me to the fountain.”

As they cleared the threshold, Etayne brought down her hood. Owen could feel the magic flowing from her, as innocuous as the breeze. She looked exactly like Lady Elyse. She was wearing one of her gowns, and her hair was in the fashion favored by the king’s niece. Owen made himself appear agitated and nervous, and he continued to glance back the way they had come, as if suspecting treachery. Etayne’s disguise was perfect.

There was a circle of light near the fountain’s edge, and the lapping of the water helped prevent noise from carrying. Owen recognized Eyric immediately, only now he wore gilded armor and a sword belted to his waist. The pommel gleamed and the polished armor fit him well. Standing next to him was Lady Kathryn, holding on to his arm. She looked beautiful, but also very wary and nervous, and her eyes scrutinized them as they made their approach.

There were several men standing with them, including the deconeus and warriors from Atabyrion with their braided locks and rugged looks. They stared at Owen with open dislike as he approached. Standing just behind the deconeus was another man, wearing the robes of a sexton. He had a noticeable gap in his front teeth. He was tall, with reddish brown hair and freckled skin. The robes could not hide his muscled gait. He looked like he was from Legault, and Owen could sense the power of the Fountain flowing from him. The man stared at Owen and Etayne shrewdly, a small frown quirking his mouth down as they approached.

A decorative table had been brought to the edge of the fountain, and Owen saw the chest on the table, the lid open and cast aside. His heart pounded with curiosity. They were all gathered around the box, but they’d turned as Owen and Etayne made their approach.

“Sister!” Eyric breathed with pure delight. Kathryn released his arm, and Eyric rushed forward, embracing Etayne with all the fervor of a man who had not seen his sister in a long, long while. Etayne fell effortlessly into the role of rejoicing sibling, and even shed some convincing tears as she hugged her long-lost “brother.” Owen almost felt guilty for the deception, but he knew it would not work with the poisoner Tyrell.

Owen came forward and took Lady Kathryn’s hand. He bowed graciously. “I beg your pardon, Lady Kathryn, for shattering the window in your manor before I left. I hope you can forgive me.”

She gave him an intense look, not showing any emotion other than nervousness. “I do not consider it inappropriate given the circumstances. You had deceived us, Lord Kiskaddon. I trust you have not come to deceive us again.”

Her words stung Owen’s heart, especially considering how vulnerable she appeared at that moment.

Eyric swept up Etayne and twirled her around. “My dear,
dear
sister!” he crooned, shaking his head. “I would recognize you even if fifty years had passed. This is she, my love,” he said, looking back at Kathryn. “I would have known her anywhere.”