The Thief's Daughter (7 page)

“Where is he landing?” Owen demanded.

“Even if I told you, you would not get there quickly enough,” Tunmore snarled.

Blackpool.

Owen heard the whisper in his mind. Tunmore stiffened, indicating he had heard it as well. Blackpool was one of the coastal cities in the north of Westmarch, the largest trading city.

“This explains why the queen dowager hasn’t been eager to leave sanctuary,” Owen said rudely. “I had come with a commission from the king to pardon her. I can see now that she is also behind the plot.”

“The queen is deathly
ill
,” Tunmore said roughly. The tone of his voice hinted that the man did not believe the ailment was natural. In light of Owen’s discovery in the tower, he wondered if Mancini was behind it.

Owen nodded to Clark, who was still gripping Tunmore’s wrist. Returning the nod, Clark released the man and shoved him toward the edge of the fountain, causing him to totter and then splash into it. The man sputtered and choked, coming up dripping wet, small beads of water dripping from his short hair.

“It’s considered sacrilegious to bathe in the fountain,” Owen said before turning on his heel and storming out.

The history of Ceredigion and the myths of the Fountain go back for almost a thousand years. Some historians have written that the Fountain myths go back even further, to the very creation of the world. They tell of a land birthed amidst ash and fire from a tumultuous sea called the Deep Fathoms. Boundaries were invoked by the great Wizrs of old to hold the Deep Fathoms at bay. The myths say that the kings of old came from the sea to learn how to tame the land. But one of those kings defiled the boundaries, and then there came a flood.

—Polidoro Urbino, Court Historian of Kingfountain

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Earl’s Daughter

The king’s army rode north as if the hooves of their steeds were on fire. Messengers had been loosed ahead of them to warn Evie of the danger, but Owen had insisted on riding at once. After hearing what Owen had learned in his confrontation with Tunmore, Severn had not only permitted it—he’d chosen to join him. They rode like thunder and lightning, a storm that swept across the kingdom in a sea of black flags bearing the white boar.

Owen’s confrontation with Tunmore played itself over and over in his mind. Facing another Fountain-blessed had been intimidating, but the young duke believed the deconeus had come away even more shaken by the encounter. He remembered Ankarette saying that Tunmore had been her mentor. The man had tutored her in the arts of deception and court intrigue, just as the king had trained Owen after Ankarette’s death. But Tunmore was not the adversary he had once been; his well of magic was nearly dry, and he had been deprived of opportunities to replenish it fully.

Their company changed horses frequently to gain more ground. The king had brought five hundred men and mounted archers. It would probably not be enough to defend his kingdom, but it was more urgent to get to Blackpool quickly than it was to do so en masse. Owen’s captains would be coming to Blackpool from Occitania, but they would likely not arrive for several days. However, Owen knew that the kingdom’s main fortress in the North could withstand a long siege, and if they managed to trap their enemy against its walls, they could expect victory in the end.

His mind was constantly plotting and assessing the situation, thinking of ways they could defend themselves if the kingdom faced attacks on all three sides.

On midday of their third day riding north, a horseman came with news that a fleet, bearing a man who claimed to be Ceredigion’s rightful king, had drawn ashore north of Blackpool. The pretender called himself King Eyric Argentine, and he had pitched Eredur’s standard—the Sun and Rose—on the beach.

The look on King Severn’s face was dangerous when he heard the news. He wiped his forearm across the stubble on his chin, his eyes dark with rage. “My brother’s standard? Well, we will see if he deserves to
keep
it.”

The messenger said at least three hundred men had disembarked from the fleet with horses, pavilions, and poleaxes.

After receiving the news, Owen and King Severn rode the remainder of the night, without rest, to reach the town of Blackpool. Owen’s stomach seethed with worry. He had not suspected he would be riding into another battle so close on the heels of the previous one.

Dawn found them at the beaches of Blackpool amidst the carnage of a battle.

It had ended before they arrived.

Owen sat in his saddle, gazing down at the dead men, punctured by arrows and lying in the frothing surf. Battle standards with the Sun and Rose were splayed here and there, mostly soaked, torn, and broken. His mind was still reeling from the news.

Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer had ridden to Blackpool from Dundrennan, and she had defeated the pretender’s army.

Prisoners were being held in stockades at Blackpool, awaiting the king’s justice. The pretender, Eyric, had escaped with the remnants of the fleet, but his army had been bested by a seventeen-year-old girl.

“My lord!” someone shouted from afar. Owen turned in his saddle to watch as a messenger wearing the lion badge of Duke Horwath hastened to him. It was Evie’s chamberlain, a man named Rigby whom Owen knew well.

“Rigby!” Owen shouted in surprise, smiling at the man’s obvious enthusiasm.

“My lord,” Rigby said with a formal bow. “My lady awaits you and the king at the Arthington, one of the nicer inns in town. I thought it best I should tell
you
first. She’s anxious to see you, my lord. I’m to fetch the king next. Go.”

Owen didn’t need any persuading.

His heart beat more furiously as he rode into town. The streets were in commotion, and people everywhere were waving Duke Horwath’s banner of the pierced lion with jubilation. Owen quickly found the Arthington, a cheerful two-story dwelling. After entrusting his weary horse to a page, he hurried toward the common room of the inn, which had been emptied in anticipation of the king’s arrival. People in the streets began to shout about the imminent arrival of Severn, and the crowds suddenly swelled and moved toward the ruler, like a river of bodies flooding the town. Cheers and acclaims rang out.

Before Owen even reached the door to the inn, it flung open. There she was on the threshold, as if stepping out of a dream. She looked like she had not slept. Her dark hair was a bit windblown, but it was freshly braided. He saw a bit of goose down woven into the braid by her left ear. As part of an ongoing jest between them, she sometimes did that to mimic the white patch in his hair. Her eyes, the same green as her gown today, were eager to find his. There was a dagger fastened to her girdle, which was new, and she had on the sturdy leather boots and scarf she always wore when they climbed up into the waterfalls together.

“Owen,” she breathed, staring at him with relief, like she had been the one worrying about him all along.

She ran into his arms and hugged him so tightly it hurt, pressing her cheek against his chest and swaying slightly. After days in the saddle, nights under the stars, and rations only a soldier could eat, she felt too good to be real. She was soft and warm, and her hair smelled like home.

“Are you all right?” he demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders to look her in the face.

His eyes found the dimple at the corner of her mouth. He sometimes imagined what it would be like to kiss that dimple, but he didn’t dare do it.

“Come inside—there is so much to tell you!” Evie said, hugging him once more and squeezing him even harder this time. “I was not expecting you for another day. I’m hardly presentable.”

“You’re hardly presentable!” Owen said in dismay. “I smell like the stables!”

“Yes, you
do
,” she said, crinkling her nose. “You can bathe later. The king will want to hear this too, but I have to tell you! I don’t mind saying it twice. Come with me!”

She tugged at his hand, and Owen caught sight of Justine, Evie’s maid, standing just within the threshold of the inn. She was Evie’s constant companion and chaperone, always there to keep the two young people from being alone. Dark-haired and rather serious, she was the daughter of Lord Camber, whose father served Horwath. Justine was the guardian of Evie’s virtue, a constant and subtle reminder that, although Owen and Evie had been friends since they were children, there were certain prohibitions between the sexes.

Justine gave Owen a shy smile, as she usually did, and inclined her head in respect. He returned that smile with a nod as Evie flew past her friend and dragged Owen into the common room by the hand.

“Sit there while I tell you!” she said breathlessly, flinging him toward a large stuffed couch. Her hands were shaking a little, as if her excitement were too keen to be contained inside her body. Justine quietly took a seat in a nearby chair, folding her hands in her lap.

Owen was starving, but he was too interested in hearing Evie’s story to consider eating.

“What happened?” he demanded. “When I first saw the battlefield, it made me worry even more.”

She shook her head. “There’s no need. The dead are Legaultan mercenaries mostly. More eager to get back to the boats than they were to fight the stout men who serve my grandfather. Many of the poor souls drowned trying to escape. So let me tell you about this imposter. I loathe the man. What fools does he take us for? His ships were sighted off the coast, so I gave the order that any who came upon them were to welcome them as if the imposter did indeed have the right to the crown.”

“You did
what
?” Owen demanded, astonished.

She grinned mischievously. “How many times have we discussed history, Owen? How many princes were duped by the promises of others? This pretender is trying to dupe the world into believing he’s truly Eyric Argentine! Well, two can throw dice, as Mancini likes to say. As soon as they landed, I had one of my trusted men ride into the camp to demand to know who kept the standard of the Sun and Rose. They said it was for King Eyric Argentine, who was aboard the ships. My man claimed that if Eyric came to camp, he’d be welcomed by the citizenry as the new king.” She frowned. “But he was too wary. He refused to come ashore. I think he just didn’t trust we were sincere. There were at least three hundred of his men ashore by this time, and more coming every hour. I knew that if I waited until all their full force had disembarked, we’d be outnumbered.”

“But why aren’t you at your grandfather’s castle?” Owen asked. “Evie, truly! You put yourself in great danger by coming here. What if they’d caught you?”

“How sweet of you to worry about me!” she said, delighted, cupping his cheek with her warm palm. “I’ve been fretting, you ask Justine—she’ll tell you—about you facing that snob Chatriyon and his army. You didn’t let him force the Duchess of Brythonica to marry him, did you?”

“Of course not. We scattered his army in the middle of the night and sacked his camp. That’s when we learned about Eyric and the threat to the North.”

She nodded, sidling closer to him on the couch. “Brilliant! A night attack is very dangerous, but the rewards can be great. Ulbert IV tried that maneuver at the Battle of Cecily, remember?”

“Stop!” Owen said, laughing. “What happened? You get distracted. Tell me!” He took her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

“I forgot where I left off,” Evie said, smiling awkwardly.

“Why did you even come to Blackpool? Why not stay at the castle and prepare for a siege?”

Her brow furrowed. “Why would we let him get that far before resisting? The longer he stayed ashore, the more miscreants would rally to his banner. What would
you
have done if you’d been in the castle and heard someone was invading Westmarch?”

“Well, I would have led an army to stop him,” Owen said.

“Which is exactly what I did!” she said, exasperated. “Do you think for one
moment
that my grandfather’s soldiers would have let me come to harm? The fact that I’m a woman only made them more determined to come to blows with the interlopers’ men. Men are eager to please when you smile and praise them,” she said with a wry smile. “Except for
you
, who are a rogue and won’t abide flattery.” She tried to tickle his ribs, but he blocked her with his arms.

“Mistress, the king is here,” Justine urged in a small voice.

Owen wanted to take advantage of this last moment alone together by wrapping Evie in his arms and kissing her. The eager look in her eye and the way she sat so near him told him she wanted that too. But he was so travel-stained and sweaty, and the timing was not right. No, their first kiss should happen at the waterfalls near her grandfather’s castle. On the bridge, perhaps, when the snow on the peaks changed color near sunset. That was what she deserved.

He rose from the comfortable couch and extended his hand to her. She gazed up at him, smiling coyly at his show of gallantry, and then accepted his hand. Her eyes had been green when he’d first seen her, but now they looked a peaceful blue. Maybe she was a water sprite, as Mancini had often joked. All Owen knew was that she had some kind of magic that made him ache inside.

“I’m glad you are safe,” Evie whispered, looking at him with brooding, worried eyes.

He almost brought her fingers to his lips, but a soldier opened the front door of the inn just then, and Owen saw Severn striding toward it. The king’s boots were mud-spattered, but he looked elated at the victory at Blackpool.

Owen used those last moments before the king entered the room to squeeze Evie’s fingers gently and give her a tender smile. “You were brilliant,” he confessed, winking at her.

She flushed with pleasure at the compliment and turned to curtsy to King Severn. Owen bowed formally beside her.

“My lord,” Evie said. “You are the true sovereign of Ceredigion. Your people were faithful to you. I wish I could have delivered up the pretender in person, but he was too afraid to come ashore and face me in battle. ’Tis a pity, for I would have liked to beat him. In the language of Wizr, I believe the
threat
has been
blocked
.”