The Thief's Daughter

by Jeff Wheeler

  Owen scratched the back of his head, chafing under the chain hood. “We have a bigger problem,” he said. He looked straight at Evie. “I think Urbick may be telling the truth. He may very well be Eyric Argentine.”

  Stunned silence met his proclamation.

  “How can you be so sure?” Evie asked after a moment, her voice quavering.

  “I’m not,” Owen said. He frowned. “But I felt something as he spoke. The Fountain spoke to me, but the message was not clear. He was lying about something, but I don’t think he was lying about who he was.”

  “Oh dear,” Evie said worriedly. “I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”

  Justine looked nervous and apprehensive. “Done what?”

  Etayne had remained thoughtfully silent throughout the encounter with Bothwell. Her role was still supposed to be concealed from Evie, even though Owen had already told her.

  “I did it to Dunsdworth once before. Deliberately offended him. Now I’ve done the same thing with the prince.” She sighed. “But you don’t think . . . Owen, you don’t think Severn will step down for this rival, do you? This is going to lead to war, isn’t it?”

  Owen sighed deeply. “I think our goal now should be to prevent one.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Wizr Falls

  They had given Owen a brown stallion from the king’s stables for their hawking expedition into the woods surrounding Edonburick. The land was a wild and savage place, pristine save for the trail cut along the river. Majestic snow-headed eagles perched in the tall trees. There were not a lot of game animals, but the noise of the horses had probably frightened them off.

  Evie rode at the front of the column with Iago, who was spouting off incessantly about the wonders of Atabyrion—the majestic rivers, the fords, the lumber trade, how the speed of his hawks exceeded the falcons of Ceredigion. Owen rode comfortably in the saddle, next to Evie but slightly behind her, so he could hear the majority of what was said. In some ways, Iago’s vigor for life, and love of conversation, reminded Owen of Evie herself. It was a bit annoying, actually.

  Their horses were used to the rugged terrain, so they easily climbed higher into the mountains. The Ceredigic portion of the hunting party consisted of Evie, Justine, Owen, Clark, Etayne, and a lawyer named Sadger, and the Atabyrion contingent included King Iago, two of his knights, his birdmaster, a hunter, two lawyers, and several servants on mules hauling the food they would eat.

  Owen listened with growing agitation as the dialogue continued, unable to participate in it at all since he was pretending to be a knight. He watched the woods for signs of trouble or ambush, the reins held loose in his gloved hands. He had been expending his energy looking for threats, and he was beginning to feel his power recede a little each time he used it. He still had plenty in reserve, but just being in a foreign land, with all its unique dangers and risks, was beginning to tire him. If he were not careful, he realized, he could drain his magic completely—something he’d never let happen before.

  They spent the morning hawking, using the powerful birds to strike down smaller animals. Iago yelled with satisfaction each time one of the birds swooped down and caught something in its talons. His demeanor, while hunting, was all affability and good grace, as if nothing Evie had said the day before had troubled him in the slightest.

  As it approached midday, they reached Wizr Falls.

  Owen heard the falls before he saw them, and he had to admit, they did remind him hauntingly of the North. This waterfall started its descent in a series of steps, the water churning so violently it was nothing but froth and foam. The river twisted and turned at sharp angles along the way, cutting across the mountain path they had been following. The area was made of jagged, volcanic debris of various kinds. It was interesting to look at, especially the rocks that had naturally formed into thin columns and were crumbling in places like fallen tiles. The cliffs were fairly sheer and steep. Ferns and vegetation overhung the trail, forcing the horses to go single file through the narrow gaps leading up to the falls.

  Wizr Falls was impressive, but then, the sight of so much water coming so quickly had never failed to strike Owen with awe. As they stopped to eat, he groomed Evie’s horse himself, patting its withers and brushing it down, just as a knight in service would do.

  “I must show you this part!” Iago said eagerly, grabbing Evie by the arm and pointing toward the edge of the narrow road leading to the falls.

  Owen didn’t want her out of his sight and noticed Clark’s frown as well. They tied off the horses and hurried to follow the pair. Iago half dragged her through the brush.

  “I’ve come here a hundred times if not a thousand,” he said. “See the rocks hanging from the side of the cliffs? They look like Wizr pieces, do they not?”

  “I can tell,” Evie said, a little breathlessly. “They are like sentinels. They’ve not been carved?”

  “Only by the river,” Iago said. “They have always been here. Remnants of the Wizrs of old! I wish they existed today. Duke Maxwell claims to have a Wizr. It’s all a bunch of rumors, of course.”

  Owen’s ears perked up at the comment.

  “We live in such drab and dreary days. It’s all about laws and treaties now. In the past, during the age of King Andrew, when kingdoms had conflicts, they went to war! Sword against sword, that’s how you managed things. I would have gloried in it. The past was truly the best of times. Our modern days are filled with blather.”

  “But war rarely solves problems,” Evie countered. “It drains the coffers, grieves the mothers and widows.”

  “True, but plague and disease have much the same effect. There is always a new reason to weep. War is decisive. It is the ultimate test of manhood. It is a force, much like those churning waters. Ah, I love feeling the mist on my face!”

  The wind had shifted, bringing some of the mist from the falls over to them. When Owen reached them, he saw them standing at the edge of the cliff, the river continuing far below them amidst a sea of rubble.

  “Let’s go farther down,” Iago suggested, grabbing her arm.

  Owen’s heart leaped with fear. A little farther down from the crest was a series of boulders hanging over the river, each one wide enough for one or two persons. A slip would mean plummeting into a deadly chasm. The waterfall was to the right, almost bearing down on them with its never-ending flood.

  Evie stared down at the boulders. “You’ve done this before?” she asked.

  “Every time I’ve come here. The best view is from that one,” Iago said, pointing to the farthest one, which was practically hanging off the cliffside. Owen’s stomach shriveled at the sight. “Are you courageous, Lady Mortimer?” he taunted.

  Owen wanted to rush down and shove the king off the cliff himself. He froze in indecision, wanting to speak up in warning, but he could already see the look in her eyes, the eagerness and daring that reached down to her very soul.

  Iago let go of her arm and then ambled down the cliff like a goat, his footing confident and experienced. He went down to a lower stone and stood there, posing for her. “The rocks are a little wet, but you have sturdy boots. Come, I’ll help you.”

  No, Owen willed her in his mind. Clark touched his shoulder and gave him a worried look that doubled as a question: Should we intervene?

  But before Owen could say anything, she was scrabbling down the mountain after Iago. There was a grin on her face, an undeniable pleasure at braving something so risky. Sure-footed and fearless, she followed him all the way down to the shelf of rock overhanging the river. Iago held her hand as she descended the final part, and Owen realized he had stopped breathing.

  “She’s mad,” Clark whispered.

  “You’re not far off the mark,” Owen said, staring in bewilderment.

  Iago looked up at Owen and Clark. “If you’re too timid to join us, would you mind throwing a bag of food down?”

  Owen needed no more goading. He ambled down the cliff himself, his heart in his throat, following the
stair-like boulders and trying to ignore the screaming thoughts of what would happen if he fell. Well, he was Fountain-blessed. He didn’t truly believe he’d die by waterfall.

  When he reached one of the lower shelves of rock, near the one where Evie and Iago were sitting, he noticed the king was looking at him with admiration. Clark followed in his wake, his eyes wide with terror at the unnecessary risk they had taken.

  “You have brave knights, Lady Mortimer,” the king said to her, then nodded to Owen and Clark.

  “The men of Ceredigion are fearless. The waterfalls of Dundrennan are even more impressive,” Evie said mildly, acting as though the adventure were nothing out of the ordinary.

  “So I have heard, so I have heard!” the king crooned.

  “My name is Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer,” she reminded him. “Lady Mortimer is my mother.”

  “And do you have your mother’s eyes? I can’t quite make out their color,” the king asked slyly, his mouth turning to a charming smile. While he was shorter than Owen, he was about her own height and he could look her in the eye. Owen had always liked being taller than her. Hearing the familiarity in the king’s voice made Owen want to punch him.

  Lady Mortimer’s eyes are green, Owen wanted to say smugly, for he had met her on occasion. She rarely ventured out of her own estate. The death of her husband had turned her into a recluse, and Evie’s exuberance seemed only to drain her. She had none of her daughter’s lively spirits. She was occasionally well enough to visit Duke Horwath in Dundrennan, but usually only for celebrations.

  “It is your misfortune if you can’t tell on your own,” Evie said. Then she folded her arms and stared in awe at the rushing waters. “The falls are beautiful,” she said.

  One of the Atabyrion servants tossed a saddlebag down to King Iago, who caught it deftly. “Your meal, my lord!” shouted the servant.

  Iago sat cross-legged on the rock and greedily opened the saddlebag, withdrawing a trove of food—crispy capon, grapes, bread and cheese, a jug of mead—which he proceeded to assemble on the rock before Evie like a Wizr board.

  Owen heard a noise and turned back to see Justine standing on the cliff, white-faced and staring at Evie in mortal dread. She looked like she wanted to come down, but was too terrified to consider it. He was about to rise and help her, but Clark jumped up and ambled up the cliff to assist. She took his sturdy hand gratefully, her face quivering with fear as she painstakingly came down the edge of the cliff, rock to rock.

  “Thank you,” the girl whispered to Clark, her eyes grateful but still round with fear. She sat by Owen, trembling, her back pressed against the rock behind her, keeping as far from the edge as she could. A little flush came to Clark’s cheeks and he nodded to her before returning to the edge, letting one of his legs dangle over it.

  Justine glanced at Clark one more time, then looked away shyly.

  Owen noticed.

  Another servant threw down a second saddlebag of food. Owen caught it and began to distribute the meal while listening in to the conversation happening just below them.

  “Now, I must ask you this, my lady. How the devil can you serve such a man as Severn?” Iago pressed. “Does it not sicken you what he did to claim the throne? I was young when I inherited, and the nobles hated my father, but they would have never allowed my uncle to rule instead.”

  “You mustn’t understand our history very well,” Evie said. “It’s been naught but bloodshed and war. You say you crave those things, but it’s a sad legacy. To answer your question, you seem to have completely misunderstood my master. I’ve studied the history of our kings, and he is no worse than many, and better than most. Let me cite some examples.”

  Clark bit into a crunchy apple, snapping away Owen’s attention. His insides squirmed as he watched someone else pay devoted attention to Evie, so he was not hungry himself. There was an emotion called jealousy with which Owen was becoming intimately familiar. It felt as if a man were stabbing his insides with dull blades. Seeing Iago sitting so close to the edge gave him all sorts of fanciful hopes that he would see the man slip and fall.

  He offered some bread to Justine and she accepted it, though she nibbled on the crust with little enthusiasm due to their precarious perch.

  Evie was explicit. “First, the king’s treasury is overflowing. He has made wise trading decisions, taxes the wealthy and the poor fairly, and spends less than he earns. There is very little debt in the kingdom, and when he incurs it, he pays it off before the interest is due. He has chartered several colleges and has increased the education of the people.”

  “He’s bribing them to like him,” Iago quipped.

  “Not true. The people don’t like him,” Evie said emphatically. “He knows this. But he acts in their best interest regardless. He is just in his decisions, using the Assizes and the lord justices to ensure fair trials. He has pardoned many convicted of treason.”

  Owen had often been chosen as lord justice. His cheeks burned at the hidden compliment Evie had slid his way.

  Iago lifted a finger. “But I have heard that his temper is nigh uncontrollable. That he flies into rages of passion, even in front of his servants. They say his wit is as cutting as a dagger. Do you deny it?”

  “It’s quite true,” Evie said. “He does have a temper. It is his weakness, to be sure. But when you consider the lies that are said about him, the ceaseless interference with his kingdom’s affairs, and the disloyalty shown to him, yes—he does get upset by this. He’s a man, just like any other.”

  “He’s a monster,” Iago said with a snort.

  Evie shook her head. “No, he isn’t. He’s misunderstood. He did not murder his nephews. One of his lords was behind that, in an effort to discredit Severn and put another man on the throne instead. Surely you must respect that he proved his right to rule in battle?”

  “I do respect him for that,” Iago said. “But while he may have won his crown by the sword, he can lose it by the sword just as well. I stand much to gain if Eyric becomes King of Ceredigion.” He gave her a challenging look.

  Evie returned the look with one of her own. “You stand to lose even more if Eyric fails. Wouldn’t you rather have the friendship and support of a king in power? Think what it would do for your people. Think of the benefits that would come through an alliance with Ceredigion now, not later.”

  “I am thinking of it,” Iago said with a hint of displeasure. “Eyric would be beholden to me, not me to Severn.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand me. You stand something to gain if Eyric wins. But you risk even more if he loses.”

  Iago chuffed. “I risk nothing. The gain is all to my benefit.”

  “Not at all. You risk losing your life. Your crown. You have no wife. You have no child. If Severn comes to fight you, and he will if you continue to support this upstart, he will make Atabyrion his next conquest. He won’t accept you as a vassal. You’ll be destroyed, and someone else will be put in your place.”

  “You’re threatening me?” he chuckled, almost amused.

  “No, I’m warning you. You simply do not understand my king. He and my grandfather defeated Atabyrion before. They will do it again.”

  “That was my father,” Iago drawled angrily. “Not me.”

  “And you are wiser and more experienced than your father was? Can you afford to wage war on Ceredigion? I’ll say it again. Think what you are risking.”

  Iago shook his head. “I never do that. If I lived my life that way, I’d never step foot out of doors. We’re sitting here on this stone because I’m not afraid of falling into the river. I think about what I might gain, not what I stand to lose. I’ve asked for an alliance with Ceredigion before, and Severn spited me. So I will treat with someone more amenable.”

  “What did you ask for?” Evie pressed.

  “A marriage alliance. That is how you bind fates together. I wished to wed Princess Elyse. You can see I gave Eyric the girl he wanted. He had to have Kathryn the moment he lai
d eyes on her. I don’t blame him!” he added with a dark chuckle. “And Eyric will give me Elyse. Even you must see the advantage in that! You’re a clever girl, after all. And you know Severn will never grant me what I want.”

  Evie screwed up her nose a bit. Owen could see from the look in her eye that she was thinking very hard.

  Don’t say it, he thought. Don’t say it!

  Evie sat up straighter. “King Severn understands your situation. And he is prepared to enter into an alliance with you. A marriage alliance.”

  Iago leaned forward, eager. Their hands were almost touching, a sight that made Owen clench his teeth with fury.

  “Not the princess? Oh, I see. I understand now. That’s why he sent you.” He leaned back, the realization flooding him with new ideas. New opportunities. Severn had baited the hook and dangled it now.

  “I don’t feel well,” Clark muttered, his voice sounding queasy.

  Owen glanced over and saw sweat streaking down Clark’s face. He looked to be on the verge of vomiting.

  “Maybe we should go back to the horses,” Justine suggested. “I don’t feel well either.”

  “What did you eat?” Owen asked the Espion, awareness striking him as sharp as an arrow shaft.

  Clark’s stomach clenched and he quickly rose, knowing now he was in peril. Owen saw the dizziness in his eyes, the unsteady shuffle of his boots.

  And then Clark started to totter backward off the rock as Justine screamed.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Thief’s Daughter

  Owen shot out his hand and snatched at Clark’s tunic before he could fall into the river. The Espion windmilled his arms, his face turning white with terror. Owen felt his own balance shifting and tried to dig the edges of his boots into the rock to steady himself. Then Justine grabbed Owen’s shoulders, saving them both.