The Thief's Daughter

by Jeff Wheeler

  “You’re agitated,” Evie said with a sigh. Justine started to help her remove her jewelry.

  “It’s not every day you get to see another man kiss the woman you love,” Owen said with bitterness.

  Evie sighed. “That was . . . unfortunate. Please don’t think I enjoyed it.”

  “There has been precious little in this journey that I’ve enjoyed,” Owen said. He wanted to kick himself for being dramatic at such a time. “Forgive me for being sullen.”

  “I can’t blame you,” Evie said, the wrinkle of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve had to endure Iago talking about you in your very presence! You’ve watched him flatter and dote on me day after day. That was an unfair burden to place on you.”

  “Let’s not pretend that your discomfort was not as great as mine,” Owen said, deflecting her sympathy. “This has not been an easy mission for either of us. I’m sorry if I’ve not been as attentive as the King of Atabyrion.”

  Evie looked at him and shook her head. “You will always be my closest and dearest friend, Owen. Your pain is mine. And I don’t want another moment to pass between us without you knowing how deeply I care about you and your feelings.” She sighed, her look growing more troubled. “Do you think . . . do you think Severn will force me to marry him? If he invades Ceredigion, I cannot imagine that Severn would still want an alliance.”

  Owen chuckled. “Then here’s to hoping he does!”

  “Be serious,” she chided. “You know he cannot win. He’s too brash and self-confident to realize it. He doesn’t know the man he is provoking. But do you think Severn will still make me marry Iago? I’m too close to the situation to see it objectively.”

  “And you think I am not?” Owen said, suddenly very serious. “Losing you is my greatest fear. I’m sorry, but I don’t think Iago Llewellyn deserves you. He needs you, and not just for your connections and your inheritance. He needs your wisdom and prudence. The advantage is all on his side. You would bring him the stability that he most desperately needs. I have no doubt his efforts to woo you were sincere, if not selfishly motivated.”

  Evie flushed at the compliments. “You are kind to say those things.”

  “They’re true,” Owen said with a grunt. The pain in his heart was swelling, making it almost difficult to breathe. He tried some levity. “I have a difficult time picturing you wearing one of those fancy Atabyrion headdresses, though. You would look quite silly.”

  She started to laugh and it was music to his ears.

  They stared at each other a moment, feeling the healing balm of shared pain. She wanted him to hold her. He could see the need in her eyes, but he also saw her unwillingness to act on it. Owen needed no more coaxing than that. He crossed the small room to her, startling Justine, and Evie rushed into Owen’s embrace. He hugged her tightly, pressing her against him, feeling her body trembling in his arms. Her hair smelled sweet, and he could feel its softness crushed under his forearms. Her cheek pressed against his chest and throat.

  “What will happen to us?” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

  “I don’t know,” Owen said, feeling as if his heart were wrenching into two halves. He held her for a long time, just enjoying the moment—the sway of the ship, the feeling of comfort that came whenever his love was near. He wanted to kiss her—to tilt her head up and kiss her—but not while he was consumed with the memory of Iago’s lips having claimed hers first. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing the kiss would be tainted for Iago when he learned that Lord Kiskaddon had been in his realm.

  “It’s getting late,” Justine said, looking forlornly at them both.

  Evie backed away, a little shy look on her face. She smoothed the wrinkled front of her gown. Her eyes were more blue at that moment.

  “What did you make of Eyric and Kathryn?” Evie asked curiously. “When you met them at the Huntley manor?”

  Owen thought for a moment, bringing the memories bubbling back up in his mind. “I have no doubt they are very much in love,” he said. “There was something special about seeing them together. It may have been a political match, on the surface, but I have no doubt the two care deeply about each other. And I believe that Kathryn has confidence in Eyric and his story. Their love was touching.”

  Evie seemed pleased by the words, but then a worried look replaced it. “What will happen if he does become king?” she whispered.

  “What always happens when a king is thrown down,” Owen answered ominously. “It’s rare for the king’s favorites to stay in power. Your grandfather would lose his title. And so would I. We have much more to lose if Severn falls.”

  “And you don’t think that Eyric would be willing to accept something less than the crown?”

  Owen shook his head. “I offered that to him and he rebuffed me. He cannot trust Severn. Not after all he has been taught about his uncle. He fears the man. He probably even hates him. No, I don’t think Eyric will be swayed with the promise of being the Duke of Yuork again. He wants the crown or nothing.”

  Evie’s face went dark with anger. “Then he will likely lose everything.”

  “Or we will,” Owen said flatly.

  Her lips pressed into a firm line. He’d seen that look on her face before. The look of determination that was a warning not to defy her.

  The next day, the sky was veiled in thick, gray clouds. Owen craned his neck, feeling an icy bite to the wind. He needed to go to his room for a cloak soon. Every sailor chafed his hands and blew on them, looking hard pressed to tug on ropes and tie knots in such cold.

  Owen went to look for Evie, and he found her and Justine talking to the captain above deck.

  “How far off is Kingfountain?” Owen asked, staring at the churning sea as the Vassalage sliced through it.

  “It’s yonder,” the captain said, a strange look in his eye. The captain had a small scar on his left eye, slicing down his cheek. It was faint, and Owen hadn’t noticed it before.

  Owen raised his hand to his brow to get a better look at the land ahead. He started with surprise.

  “This is unusual,” Evie said, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen Kingfountain swathed in snow this early in the season. Winter is still two months away.”

  The palace of Kingfountain and the trees on the grounds were shrouded in a thin blanket of freshly fallen snow. Owen had been there in winter before, but he had mostly spent his winters in Westmarch, where it didn’t get as cold. This was an unusually early winter storm.

  “Have you seen the like before?” Owen asked the captain.

  He shook his head. “Not in my twenty years at sea,” he said. “I’ve never seen Kingfountain so white this early.”

  A memory stirred in Owen’s mind. He felt the supple churn of the Fountain along with it.

  It was something Severn had said during breakfast to Dickon Ratcliffe one long-ago morning. Owen had been close enough to hear the conversation. The memory had always nagged at him.

  “Remember the eclipse, Dickon? The eclipse that happened the day my wife died? I was blamed for that too.” Then his voice had shrunk to almost a whisper. “That, however, may have been my doing. My soul was black that day. And I am Fountain-blessed.”

  It is true, whispered the Fountain.

  The first flakes of snow began to fall silently on the deck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Perfidious

  A servant took the snow-dusted cloak from Owen and shook it over the threshold. The interior of the palace of Kingfountain was lit with braziers, filling the air with a smoky haze that gave the scene a surreal look, the stuff of dreams. It was a relief to be back in Ceredigion, but with such dramatic changes happening all at once, it felt almost as peculiar as Atabyrion. As Owen marched toward the throne room, he encountered Mancini along the way. The very sight of the man twisted his mouth into a sour frown.

  “Your return could not be more expedient,” the spymaster said. He looked stressed and sleep-deprived. “That you re
turned at all counters our worst fears that mischief befell you in Edonburick.”

  “Mischief did befall us,” Owen said angrily, breathing in deep mouthfuls of the warm air to soothe the coldness from the journey. “Justine and Clark were poisoned. I would have been a victim too, but I did not partake of the food on that particular outing. We caught and then lost the poisoner. You should know that it was Lord Bothwell. He went by the name of Foulcart at the poisoner school.”

  “Bothwell?” Mancini said. “He betrayed us? After all I’ve paid to win his loyalty?”

  Owen was impressed by how surprised Mancini sounded. He would keep his suspicions about the spymaster to himself until he had a moment to confide them to the king.

  “How is the king? I sent Clark ahead of us to warn him of the Occitanians’ plot to poison him and deceive Lady Elyse. Clark was waylaid and knocked out. We’ve had our share of troubles, Dominic.”

  “They sent a poisoner?” he said with surprise. “We’ve seen none of that, and I have the Espion investigate those who request work at the palace. The king is quite hale, but he is not well. You know about his niece? How did word reach you so quickly that she fled?”

  Owen gave him a wry look. “I am Fountain-blessed.” He was relieved to hear that Severn was still alive.

  “Then make it stop snowing, please,” Mancini quipped. “The common folk fear the river will freeze over. You can imagine the consternation that is causing at the sanctuary.”

  “Whatever for?” Owen asked.

  “You know the legend of Our Lady. That the rights of sanctuary will last until the water stops. Because that waterfall has never stopped flowing, not in a thousand years at least, it’s believed the rights will last into perpetuity. The sanctuary men are thinking they will lose their protection. Superstitious fools.”

  Owen shook his head with scorn. “How long ago did Elyse flee? And how did she get away? Was she abducted?”

  “No, I don’t believe she was abducted, although I cannot be totally certain. She vanished the day after her mother’s funeral.”

  “The queen dowager is dead?” Owen exclaimed. “I learned in Atabyrion that she was being slowly poisoned.”

  Mancini shrugged helplessly as they approached the doors leading into the throne room. The doors were closed, and the guards posted on either side of them bore spears. The spymaster gestured, and they saluted and then opened the doors.

  “She died not long after you departed. She’d been sick for many months. Her death was a terrible blow to Lady Elyse. It’s my belief that Deconeus Tunmore used her death and the girl’s subsequent grief to persuade her to accept Chatriyon’s proposal of marriage. She was smuggled from the sanctuary in disguise and then boarded an Occitanian merchant ship set to sail that morning. You can only imagine the king’s fury at such a betrayal. I told him to keep her on a shorter leash. Any leash! But he trusted her, swore she would never abandon him. Well, she has, and I can’t blame her, considering her reduced prospects and his unwillingness to take her for a wife. He is angry, lad. Angrier than I have ever seen him. It’s a boon you are here, for he listens to none of us.”

  Owen swallowed as he crossed the threshold, his insides churning with worry. Mancini took a position near the fireplace, close enough to be within earshot. He saw Severn slumped over in his throne, a man who looked exhausted and full of turmoil. His hair was grayer, or so it seemed from his unhappy demeanor. He sat in brooding silence, teasing his bottom lip with a black-gloved hand. Light from the torches exposed his unshaven chin and untidy hair. He was wearing the crown, which was unusual, for he seldom wore it outside of ceremonial occasions. The metal band around his head seemed to be made of dull iron instead of gold.

  Owen approached the dais and then sank to one knee. As he looked up into the king’s eyes, he saw the caged inferno hiding behind the steel. That he was sitting so still belied the explosions roaring inside him. His eyes shifted to Owen, and for a moment, it seemed he did not recognize him.

  “Owen?” the king asked hoarsely.

  “I’ve returned, my lord,” he replied. “But I fear not soon enough to prevent such mischief.” He wished Mancini would leave so that he could vent his suspicions, but this wasn’t the right time.

  “So you’ve heard?” the king said flatly, his voice tight with control.

  “My lord, I heard about the plot in Atabyrion,” he answered. “I tried to send word, but I have failed you.”

  The king’s expression changed. He rose from the throne like a puppet on strings. “You? I have been plagued with doubts and torments. I feared that even you were in on the plot. Or that you would be destroyed yourself. And yet here you are, kneeling. Rise, my friend. You needn’t kneel to me ever again.”

  Owen slowly stood, staring at the king, feeling the depth of the man’s emotions. “What happened?” he pressed, keeping his voice low. There were no servants in the great hall. It felt like a sepulchre.

  The king came off the dais and put his arm around Owen’s shoulder, leading him to the furnace-like hearth. Owen was quickly drenched in sweat, but the king seemed immune to the heat. Severn stared into the flames, his mind tormented.

  “With her mother’s failing health,” the king started, “she came less frequently to the palace. It did not alarm me. It was only natural she would seek to comfort her mother in those final hours. She came to me once. It was late at night and she looked so tired, so sad. There was little I could do to offer comfort, for I hated her mother and she hated me. But I said no harsh words and offered only sympathy for her grieving. Elyse”—her name seemed to burn his tongue, and he flinched—“asked if I would ever force her to marry. I’d long ago promised I would never do that, so I repeated my pledge. She was quiet, and then she asked if I would ever let her marry at all. She said that she understood any child born from her womb would be perceived by some as an heir to the throne.” He stared deeply into the flames, butting a clenched fist against his mouth.

  “What did you tell her?” Owen asked, wiping a trail of sweat from his cheek.

  The king’s eyes were haunted. “I told her the truth. That I couldn’t let her marry. Not yet. And then I told her that she was my heir. That she would inherit the throne if anything happened to me.” His lips curled into a grimace. “The next morning, she was gone.”

  He whirled away from the heat, his face livid with passion. “She abandoned me for that whelp Chatriyon, who promised to make her his queen. That sniveling upstart who wears hose and garters and has never killed a man with his own hands, his own knife! He thinks to lay claim to Ceredigion through her. He thinks that I will just lie down and let their boots dash me to pieces.” The look in his eyes, the tone of his voice was terrifying. “I will not be easy meat for their feast. This boar has tusks, and I will gore them all.”

  “My lord,” Mancini said guardedly. “We haven’t heard Lord Owen’s news. What of the pretender, Piers Urbick? Is the king’s enemy dead?”

  Owen looked from the spymaster to the king. “I’m convinced he is being truthful. My lord, hear me out. I know Mancini’s spies have found people claiming to be his parents. I think that is a purposeful deception. I’ve met with him, my lord. More than once. He is not Fountain-blessed. Neither is anyone around him, at least not from what I could perceive. When we arrived, we were in time to join the wedding celebrations.”

  “Wedding?” Mancini gasped.

  “Yes. Iago Llewellyn matched him with the Earl of Huntley’s daughter, Lady Kathryn. They’ve been married less than a fortnight now. All the nobles of Atabyrion believe Eyric is who he claims to be, an Argentine. Your nephew. I believe he is as well.”

  Severn stared at Owen in surprise. “How did he survive? Why has he not tried to come back before now? You must recognize his very claim is highly questionable!”

  “If you were to meet him yourself,” Owen said, reaching out and gripping the king’s shoulder, “I think you would come to the same conclusion. He’s terrified of you, my lord. He believ
es what they say about you. I tried to persuade him to return with me. In fact, I was planning to kidnap him, but Kathryn’s steward must have overheard our conversation, for he sent men to capture me. I fled with Etayne, and we returned promptly. I don’t think Iago will be pleased when he learns about my duplicity.”

  “I don’t give a care about how he feels,” Severn snapped. “You were wise to flee instead of being captured. I would have paid any ransom to secure you, Owen. Now I can save my gold and conquer Atabyrion and Occitania with it instead.”

  Owen shook his head. “You don’t need to attack Edonburick. Iago is going to come here. He’s desperate to prove himself a man, and he’s reckless. I think he was tempted by your offer. He is . . . fond of Elysabeth. But I think he hopes he can still have her once Eyric is wearing the crown. They are coming to invade.”

  Severn frowned. “Let them come. Let them all come. I can defend my kingdom. And if these little ewes want to wet their swords in blood, I will give them all the blood they can stomach. They can watch their men perish and their manors burn. They can hear their mothers weep.”

  “There is more,” Owen said fervently. He could feel the rage seething inside the king. Best to deliver all the bad news at once.

  Severn cocked his eyebrow in disbelief.

  “They have no wish to face you in battle,” Owen said. “It turns out that our Espion at Iago’s court, Lord Bothwell, was a poisoner trained in Pisan under the assumed name Foulcart. His mission was to kill us all and foment a war between Ceredigion and Atabyrion. From him, we learned about another plot to murder you. A poisoner hired by Chatriyon is here in the palace. According to Bothwell, the King of Occitania doesn’t want Eyric to rule. I think he’s right. He’s just using Eyric and King Iago as a distraction to keep you looking north. Lord Roux of Brythonica confirmed as much. He came to Edonburick to warn Iago not to oppose you.”