by Jeff Wheeler
If Owen was successful in convincing Eyric, then Kathryn would be given the opportunity to come with them.
It was a bold plan. It was deceitful. And there were several dozen things that could go wrong. The closer they came to the Ardanays, the more he worried about them.
“Do you remember what Lady Kathryn looks like?” Owen whispered over his shoulder to the passenger.
“Vaguely,” Etayne said. “I’ll need to study her in order to get a grasp on her face and mannerisms. How long do you think you can keep Eyric occupied?”
“Long enough, I hope,” Owen quipped.
The whip rider turned back. “There is the manor!” he shouted, pointing ahead with the whip handle.
The evergreen trees peeled away, opening to a lush green enclave surrounded by majestic trees and lawns. Instead of fences, there were large rough stones marking the path at intervals. As the carriage cleared the trees, Owen saw an imposing stone manor house set amidst the verdant splendor. The dirt road turned to the crunch of gravel as the carriage entered the drive, heading toward a large circular roundabout in front of the main door.
The manor was made of rectangular stone bricks, in differing shades of gray, giving it a patchwork look. The roofs were all sloped, and dozens of chimneys could be seen protruding from the roofline in various locations. The structure was only two stories high but very long, with an L-shaped wing jutting toward them on the western end. There were all sorts of vegetation clinging to the walls, including an untamed patch of ivy and wisteria vines. A turret with a weathervane rose prominently over the front path, which was bordered by large stone planter vases thick with gorse plants. The structure at the far western end of the manor was almost completely overgrown with ivy. Even the chimney was sheathed in green, but the windows had been cut around to provide a view. It was a charming, secluded place with lazy plumes of smoke coming up from some but not all of the chimneys.
As the carriage wheeled around the circle, coming to a stop on the side facing the front door, Owen gingerly jumped off the rider box seat and went around to open the carriage. He felt the trickle and churn of Etayne’s magic as she assumed her full disguise.
The front door of the manor opened, and a thin, graying steward strode forward. His hair was still flecked with black, as were his eyebrows, and he had a thin, sour nose above a worried frown. His eyes were dark in color, and very serious.
Owen reached up and took Etayne’s hand as she dismounted the carriage.
The steward reached them immediately. “We were not expecting you, Lady Mortimer, until tomorrow,” he said in an agitated tone. He gave Owen a quick glance, but then shifted his gaze to Etayne.
“Tomorrow?” Etayne said blithely. “There must have been a misunderstanding. We have traveled quite far to arrive here today. Am I not welcome?”
The steward blanched. “Of course you are, Lady Mortimer!” he said. “I was just noting my surprise at seeing you so soon. My name is Lawson and I will attend you.”
“My name is Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer,” Etayne said sweetly. “Lady Mortimer is my mother.”
“Ah, my apologies. Welcome to the Ardanays!” He smiled, but the furrowed brow and intense look did not alter. He was extremely nervous, and Owen suspected it was not just because he was unprepared to receive visitors.
“If you will follow me,” Lawson said with a stiff bow, and proceeded to walk briskly back to the doors. Etayne glanced at Owen, a small frown of distrust on her mouth.
Owen felt the shifting of the gravel under his boots. He turned to the hired men, who had also dismounted. “Make the carriage ready,” he ordered softly. “Then rove the grounds in case you’re needed.”
The men nodded, and they began guiding the carriage around so it was ready to depart the way it had come.
Owen followed Etayne and Lawson.
The manor was furnished more decadently than Iago Llewellyn’s palace. It was obvious the Earl of Huntley had far more extraneous wealth than his sovereign. There were servants rushing to and fro, looking nervous about the commotion, but Owen saw half a dozen, no more. The manor was much smaller than Tatton Hall and Owen imagined the staff was smaller as well.
“How was the journey from Edonburick?” Lawson asked over his shoulder.
“Pleasant,” Etayne said simply, keeping her answer short and to the point.
The steward steered them to the right, and they were quickly guided to a waxed wood door. He rapped on it firmly and then twisted the handles.
It was a beautiful sitting room, with luxurious furniture and a huge bay window partially blocked by overhanging wisteria. The window curtains were open, filling the room with light. Eyric and Kathryn were already there, waiting for them.
Eyric wore a simple hunting tunic, the collar loose. He was not armed, for which Owen was grateful. He paced nervously, his hair unkempt. When they entered, his attention was fixated on Etayne, but there was nothing in his eyes to indicate he could see through the illusion.
“Lady Elysabeth,” Eyric said with a bow. “May I introduce you to my wife, Lady Kathryn?”
Etayne did a formal curtsy, which was reciprocated by Lady Kathryn, who also bowed her head as if deferring to one of superior rank, even though they were both the daughters of earls.
Kathryn was no longer wearing a headdress. She had a beautiful green gown, modestly cut, and was not wearing any jewelry save for a wedding band on her finger and a simple set of earrings. Her hair, Owen discovered, was chestnut red. Her lack of a headdress was another clue that their arrival had surprised the couple. Her hair was braided into rings on the back of her head, but stray wisps fell across her brow.
Kathryn was a beauty, as the reports had said, but there was no trace of haughtiness in her expression. Her eyes were hazel and innocent, and he knew without extending his power that she had had a very sheltered childhood and life. Her lips were full and almost hinted at sadness. As she looked at her guests, her brows wrinkled just slightly, showing concern.
“The pleasure is mine, Lady Elysabeth,” Kathryn said in a soft, quiet way. “You honor us with your visit.”
“I am sorry for the misunderstanding,” Etayne said airily. “I do not know how it happened, but such things do, I’m afraid.”
“May I bring refreshments?” Lawson asked, looking at Lady Kathryn for direction. Owen noticed the subtle deference.
Kathryn nodded simply, and the steward left, shutting the doors behind him.
“While we are surprised by your sudden arrival,” Kathryn said, “it is not unwelcome. This manor was a wedding gift. From my father. It is our new home.” She smiled shyly at Eyric, who looked at her with adoring eyes. He walked up and took her hand, then brought it up to kiss her knuckles.
“I imagine you came here to threaten me,” Eyric said to Etayne, his face darkening. “If that is your purpose, you wasted your trip.”
Etayne smiled coyly. “Not at all. We have much to discuss, actually. But I’m afraid I must beg a moment alone with Lady Kathryn.” Her voice pitched a little lower. “Along the journey, a most womanly matter suddenly presented itself and caught me by surprise. I must beg your help, Lady Kathryn.”
Owen nearly smirked, but managed to keep his gaze neutral.
Lady Kathryn looked sympathetic. “My poor dear, of course. Come with me.”
Eyric looked at his wife for a moment, but then smiled in understanding. “Clearly certain matters are of greater importance. I’ll await you here, my love.”
Kathryn and Etayne linked arms, their skirts swishing as they went to the door. Kathryn looked back at Eyric, gave him an endearing, tender look, and then escorted Etayne away. As the door shut, Owen could not believe how well his plan was working. Would all the pieces fall where he’d arranged them?
Eyric stared after her for a moment longer, looking absolutely besotted. He sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. He glanced at Owen, though he only saw him as a knight, an escort. No one of importance. Certainly no one wort
h conversing with.
“My congratulations on your marriage, my lord,” Owen said innocuously.
Eyric started to pace again, the look of love beginning to fade into one of worry. He had a careworn look, the face of one who was hunted and weary of the chase. He was strong, young, and very good-looking. There was no doubt in Owen’s mind that Kathryn was already as much in love with her husband as he was in love with her.
Eyric glanced at him again. “Thank you,” he said absently, his brow furrowing.
Owen slowly sauntered over to the window, looking out at the grounds below. It was a beautiful scene, and the puffy clouds made it even more idyllic. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze. He could smell the wisteria through chinks in the panes. Then he saw one of the men he’d hired walking around the manor, surveying the grounds. The man looked at Owen as he passed, and nodded to him discreetly. Owen smiled and nodded back.
“Do you know what Lady Elysabeth wants?” Eyric asked. “Not that you’ll tell me, being her loyal servant.”
“I’m not her servant,” Owen said, gazing at the beauty of the trees. There were only a few years separating him from Eyric, but Owen felt the other man was much older. Though both had suffered, Eyric’s life experiences had been even more painful.
Eyric’s head snapped up. A wary look crinkled his eyes. “Who are you then? Are you . . . are you a poisoner?” His voice nearly throbbed with fear as he suddenly realized he was alone—and defenseless—with an armed man.
Owen gently reached out with his magic, letting the flow of the Fountain rise out of him. He studied Eyric, looking for weaknesses, and he saw him exposed like the words in a book. The deposed prince was a kindhearted man. He was clumsy with a sword, having never been properly trained. But his whole soul was riddled with fear, and it reminded Owen, darkly, of himself. Eyric was constantly aware of the threat of being caught. He was afraid of Owen, afraid a simple knight would be able to defeat him. He was afraid he would not be able to protect his wife.
“I am not your enemy,” Owen said, shaking his head. He remembered something Ankarette had taught him. It was risky, but he decided to try it. If Eyric was terrified, he would not think calmly or rationally. Owen needed to try to dispel his fear and build trust with the young man. The fastest way to build trust was to be vulnerable.
“Who are you?” Eyric said, a little throb of panic in his voice. He glanced at the door, the expression on his face indicating he was deciding whether to escape.
Owen brought down the chain hood, freeing his mass of unruly hair. “You’ve been away from court too long to recognize me. I am Owen Kiskaddon.”
Eyric gasped, whistling in his breath as if he’d been struck. “You’re . . . you’re Fountain-blessed!” He was starting to pant.
“I am,” Owen said. “And you are not. I can sense that about you.”
“Does Iago know? I don’t think he does. He would have told me!”
“If Iago knew who I was, I’d probably be his prisoner,” Owen replied candidly. “I’m trusting you with my secret. In return, I’d like for you to trust me. Tell me who you are. Do not lie to me. I will know it if you are,” he added meaningfully. He was confident that Eyric was who he claimed to be, but the truth was so important he wanted confirmation from the man himself.
The young man stared at Owen, his face betraying his surprise. “You came all this way. You risked your very life to come here.”
Owen nodded. “Your uncle needed to be sure. He couldn’t trust the rumors or the reports. It is only too easy to deceive.”
“My uncle?” Eyric said with a twinge of wrath. “Of course my uncle wants me. He wants me dead.”
Owen shook his head. “He does not. I assure you. Tell me who you are.”
“I am Eyric Argentine, son of Eredur. I swear it by the Fountain.”
It is true.
“I believe you,” Owen said. “The Espion reported that you were possibly a fisherman’s son, Piers Urbick.”
Eyric nodded. “The Urbicks protected me. They raised me. They were paid well to confess that I was their natural child.”
“Why the deception?” Owen pressed, stepping away from the window. “Why pay them to lie about you?”
Eyric’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have to tell you.”
Owen shook his head. “Why not? What is going on?”
“More than you know” was the evasive answer. “More than Severn knows. He cannot be allowed to remain as king. He cannot wear the hollow crown. I must take it from him.”
“I don’t think that you can,” Owen said simply. “The lord marshal of Brythonica was just at Edonburick, warning Iago that he will not support your uprising. And the people, Eyric, won’t rally to you. Chatriyon is only using you to defy your uncle. He means to force a marriage to your sister and claim the throne for himself.”
Eyric’s look darkened. “I don’t believe you.”
“You are being used by both sides,” Owen insisted. “Think, man! Chatriyon only wants power for himself, and Iago is using you to topple Severn for his own purposes. You are their puppet. Let me help you cut the strings.”
“How?” Eyric said angrily. He frowned and started pacing, looking as if he wanted to grab one of the vases and hurl it down onto the floor. “If Severn gets his hands on me, he will finish what he failed to do all those years ago. I was a child!”
Owen stepped forward. “I understand that. Believe me, I do. I spent months living at Kingfountain, shuddering with fear, thinking the king was going to murder me or throw me off the waterfall. My father betrayed him at Ambion Hill.”
“But you have value to him,” Eyric snapped. “You are Fountain-blessed. Of course he would want to save your life. I am his rival. He sent you here to kill me. If I don’t come with you, you are supposed to murder me. Can you deny it?”
Owen breathed in slowly, trying to calm his own emotions. “Only if you were an imposter,” he said calmly. “Only if you were really Piers Urbick. But you are not. You are Eyric Argentine. When we first arrived, when I first saw you at Iago’s court, you said who you were, and the Fountain told me it was true.”
Eyric’s eyes widened. “Then you know my claim is just. You know I am your rightful king!” A look of hope sparked in his eyes. “If you help me regain my throne, your place in my court will be unparalleled. Name your terms, and I will grant them, even up to half of my kingdom. With you on my side, Lord Owen, I can do this!” His eyes were lit from within. “I will reward you with anything you desire.”
A roaring sound filled Owen’s ears. The roar of ambition, which he’d heard once before, while Iago and Evie were playing Wizr. He saw the possibilities, the chance to have Evie for his own. Severn was reluctant to unite the two duchies, but Eyric would be happy to grant him such a boon. Owen had never felt so tempted in his life. He saw the road in front of him. But it would mean betraying Severn. It would mean betraying the man who had guided him and given him his current rank. The man who had sent him to Atabyrion to help Evie win the heart of another man. Owen’s heart ached with pain. This is why men rebelled. This is how they fell.
“I am no kingmaker,” Owen said, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve read enough history to know what happens to such people. If you want to be a king, you must do it on your own merits. I will oppose you. Vigorously.”
Eyric breathed in through his nose. “Your integrity does you credit, my lord.”
“Loyalty binds me,” Owen said simply. “Reconsider your own claims. Your own ambition. When you were a prince, you were the Duke of Yuork.”
“A title my uncle stripped from me!” Eyric spat.
Owen stepped forward. “But what if he restored it? You are his brother’s child. I know, for myself, that he deeply regrets what happened to you and your brother. It was none of his doing.”
“None of his doing? He usurped the throne from us!”
Owen shook his head. “Because of your mother. She tried wresting the protectorship from him—the prote
ctorship your father granted to your uncle. I know the history, Eyric. We cannot undo what was done. But if you came to court, I am certain the king would not only spare your life, but he would also make you one of the nobles of the realm. You lack experience and training. You’ve been running for most of your entire life. Come with me to Kingfountain. I will speak on your behalf, and I give you my word, Severn is not the monster you fear him to be. Reconcile with him and you will gain more than what you have now. This is a beautiful manor. You have a beautiful wife. Lay aside your claim to the crown. Come back with me. I implore you.”
Eyric was breathing hard and he had a wild look in his eye. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples. “If only you knew,” he muttered.
“Knew what?” Owen demanded hotly.
Eyric looked up at Owen. “It is a secret I cannot tell.”
The door to the solar burst open, and the steward could be seen directing guards into the room. “Take him! Take him at once!”
For a moment, Owen didn’t know who they were going to seize. But then he saw the look of triumph in Eyric’s eyes.
“You had your chance to join me,” Eyric said. “Without you, Severn will fall. And when he does, you will lose everything.”
In my research of the history of Ceredigion, I have been reading the interesting accounts of the Maid of Donremy. Truly, she is perhaps the most notable Fountain-blessed these lands have witnessed in several hundred years. She was a peasant girl who came from a town on the border between Brythonica and Occitania. She turned the tide in the conflict between the protector of Ceredigion and the Prince of Occitania. One of the more fascinating aspects is that her rise to power occurred after she met the prince. The Prince of Occitania demanded proof that she was Fountain-blessed. She demonstrated her talent by visiting the sanctuary of Our Lady of Firebos. She reached her hand into the waters of the fountain and withdrew a sword. It was cankered with rust, but the rust quickly fell away with a little scrubbing. There were five stars on the blade. That is all we know about her sword. When she was eventually captured, she no longer had the sword. No one knows where it is. The Occitanians believe that if their kingdom is ever invaded again, another Maid will rise up with the sword and expel the invaders. I did find one rumor in my search. One reference claimed the sword was found not at Firebos, but at the island sanctuary in Brythonica.
