The Thief's Daughter

by Jeff Wheeler

  Owen’s mount shifted nervously and snorted with the cold. Noise from the mob could be heard beyond the portcullis, louder than the distant roar of the waterfall. Severn sat on his warhorse, his face firm and resolute. He wore a helmet that had been fashioned to hold the crown—the same battered helm he had worn at Ambion Hill. But while Owen’s father had made a different decision on that fateful day, Owen rode at the king’s side.

  Evie was also there, much to Owen’s annoyance, with a group of men wearing her grandfather’s badge. She would not be kept away from the action, and she’d insisted that the presence of a lady might help prevent violence.

  “Open the doors!” the king shouted over the ruckus. “But do not raise the portcullis. Not until I command you.” He looked to his right and then to his left. “When I give the order, we charge. Your swords are sharp. Your courage is tested. These are our countrymen, but they will yield or they will perish. The choice is theirs.”

  “Aye, my lord!” shouted the gate captain. Four men on either side helped haul the doors open, revealing a tangled mass of men. As soon as they saw King Severn astride his horse, their roars turned into screams. Rocks came tumbling into the courtyard. Clubs and staves rattled the iron bars of the portcullis.

  The king shouted at the mass of angry faces, trying to be heard, but the mob only grew louder, more truculent. Some of the men were heaving at the portcullis, trying to winch it open with their brute strength.

  “They won’t even listen,” the king said with a snarl of contempt. Owen saw his hand start to lift, ready to give the signal to open the gates and attack. His stomach roiled with despair at the imminent slaughter. The mob was ferocious, true, but how many had survived a battlefield before? How many were used to the pain and disfigurement that armed warriors could inflict?

  Then Evie’s horse charged forward toward the gate, and Owen watched in horror as she positioned herself in front of the king. Her action completely startled everyone, including the rioters; those in the front ranks quieted somewhat when they saw her.

  “Foolish girl!” Severn muttered, nudging his stallion forward as Owen did the same.

  “Stop this!” Evie said in a clear, strong voice. “Stop this at once! Go back to your homes before there is violence. Think of your families! Think of your children and your sisters! Retreat from the palace immediately, and none of you will be harmed!”

  “The king has broken sanctuary!” someone screamed and instantly the flashfire of shouting went up again. Yells and jeers came from the crowd, the noise so loud it drowned out any further chance for Evie to be heard. Owen felt a throb of pride and a twinge of panic. She was totally fearless . . . and totally exposed.

  Someone threw a club through the gate and it struck her stallion’s foreleg. The beast reared in surprise, and Owen watched as Evie tried to cling to the saddle horn. Then the horse’s hooves slipped on the ice and both beast and girl went down. Owen gasped in shock, unable to move quickly enough. He swung out of his saddle and rushed to her side.

  She was so still on the stones, her face so pale, and his heart spasmed in pain and panic as he knelt beside her, lifting her head and cradling it in his arms.

  The winches of the portcullis were groaning, and Owen saw the iron teeth lifting from the holes. Suddenly the mob was turning in fear, pressing against each other to escape the wrath that would hail down on them. The sound of archers loosing strings came from the battlement walls, and then a swarm of arrows began to descend on the mob. Owen cradled Evie’s head, his heart breaking with despair.

  Bellowing with rage, the king was the first through the portcullis, followed by rows of battle-tested war horses. The white boar pennant fluttered in the snowy breeze. Owen caressed Evie’s hair, his chest heaving with emotion. Was she dead? He pressed his ear to her mouth, trying to hear or feel even a puff of air amidst the chaos around him.

  He would use every bit of his magic to save her life. He began summoning Fountain magic, drawing it inside him. Was her skull broken? Was her neck? There was no blood he could see, but he felt the knot of a bump on the back of her head.

  Owen felt her lips kiss his ear. “I’m fine, silly boy. I’ve fallen off horses before.”

  He lifted his head and looked down at her, her eyes gray in the low light. She blinked quickly, and a smile stretched across her mouth as she awoke in his arms.

  He could not believe she was even speaking, not with her cheeks so pale. Evie sat up, holding Owen’s shoulders and drawing her legs in toward her chest to keep from getting trampled by all the horses charging through the gates. The thrum of bowstrings continued to sound and a cheer went up from the soldiers who were now chasing the mob away.

  She put her hand on Owen’s cheek. “Go to the king. Go right away.”

  Owen shook his head. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t even look to see who it was. “I won’t leave you,” he said with determination.

  She blinked and gave him a look that said he was being foolish. She let her hand linger on his cheek. “I fell off my horse, Owen. This is not the first time. I’ll be all right. But you need to go to the king. To rein him in before he massacres all of them.” Her eyes burned into his. “He’s in a rage now. Stop him before he goes too far.” She smoothed her thumb along his bottom lip. “Etayne will help me. I’ll be all right.”

  Owen glanced back and saw it was Etayne’s hand that was on his shoulder. As he watched, she stepped forward and applied a compress to Evie’s wound to stanch the bleeding.

  “I’ll take her back to the palace,” Etayne promised.

  A conflict raged inside of Owen, but he knew Evie was right. She was always right. And in hindsight, her intercession had disrupted the riot. Although it was an accident, it had caused the rabble to start to flee, struck by the shame of their conduct.

  He stared down at Evie, his heart nearly breaking. “I love you,” he whispered.

  Evie closed her eyes, smiling as if savoring something delicious. Then she opened them again and patted his cheek. “Finally,” she said with a contented sigh.

  I had not expected to be at court when such momentous times unraveled. The more superstitious denizens of the city, riled up I believe by the sanctuary men, who are natural criminals, tried to overthrow the monarchy by literally throwing Severn into the river. Their attempt met with a disastrous failure as the rebellion was snuffed out by the heavy snows and the steel courage of Severn’s knights. Order has been restored to the city, and people are keeping to their homes. The grounds of Our Lady have been deserted by all but the deconeus and the sexton. The lawless men who have lived under the auspices of the grounds’ protection have fled, and skulk in taverns and dark holes. The king, at this very moment, is with Duke Kiskaddon at the sanctuary. News of this event will spread quickly. One cannot know the consequences.

  —Polidoro Urbino, Court Historian of Kingfountain

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Our Lady

  The violence was over, the rioting quelled. The streets were deserted and the trampled snow had crimson stains that sickened Owen. He did not know how many had died, but the memory of the freezing corpses would haunt his dreams.

  He had never seen the interior of the sanctuary of Our Lady so empty. The black and white tiles in the main foyer that had always reminded him of a giant Wizr board were now littered with debris from the hundreds of inmates who had fled the sanctuary, carrying their belongings and dropping many in their haste to exit. Owen nudged a book with a broken spine with his boot. The sight only added to Owen’s worry and despair.

  “My lord sovereign,” the deconeus said in a tremulous voice to the king. “What is your intention regarding worshipping at the sanctuary of Our Lady? The grounds are despoiled. Men were . . . were tromping in the fountain waters to seize as many coins as they could before fleeing.” His voice was heavy with grief.

  Owen slid the broken book out of his way and joined the king. The deconeus and the sexton were aged men, and they looked crushed
and defeated in their cassocks and robes.

  “Spare me the gloom, gentlemen,” Severn said with a sardonic edge in his tone. “And do not pretend to think I don’t know what really happens here.” He gestured to the wide, empty space. “The sanctuary has always been an illusion. A dream.”

  The deconeus’s suffering expression turned grim. “You meddle with something you do not comprehend, my lord.”

  “Do I?” Severn said with a tone of exasperation. “You curry the people’s fear to hold dominion over them. I did not raze the sanctuary, deconeus. The villains you harbor here fled of their own accord because they did not believe the Fountain would protect them from me.”

  “They did not believe it because you had your Espion kidnap the Deconeus of Ely!” the sexton said in a tone that was almost a shout.

  Severn skewered the man with his gaze, and Owen took a step closer. He did not believe the king would shed blood in the sanctuary. But he was not completely convinced. The sexton was a fool for speaking so boldly.

  “The deconeus was a proven traitor to Ceredigion,” the king said venomously. “And you’ve been harboring him these many years while he continued to plot with our enemies in Occitania. How long have you known about his efforts to lure my niece away? You cannot suppose I would hold you guiltless for such treachery.”

  The deconeus’s eyes blazed with naked fear. “I knew nothing of that!” he gasped.

  “I find that terribly difficult to believe,” Severn said with a cluck. “For all I know, you’re an integral part of this conspiracy. You’ve been waiting for me to fail, to fall. Oh, don’t bother denying it, either of you!” he scolded when he saw they were about to object. “I’ve stayed my hand in punishing treason long enough. I have been too gentle.”

  The sexton looked as if he were about to swoon.

  “What’s to become of us?” the deconeus asked hoarsely.

  Severn sneered. “You’ll have to wait for the Assizes, now won’t you? Unfortunately, your meddling has thrust me into the middle of a war. Atabyrion will invade, and I have no doubt that Chatriyon will use that as a pretext to take back the land Lord Kiskaddon wrested from him. If my enemies think I’m unable to fight two battles at once, they completely underestimate me. I had Mancini fetch Tunmore, but I did not throw him from the tower. You think I’m that great a fool? The gibbering coward leaped to his death. Lord Kiskaddon is my witness, for he was there and saw him do it. Mancini is dead, thanks to you, at a time when he is sorely needed. I will not forget this, gentlemen. Trust in that.” He looked up to the vaulted ceiling, examining the silver light streaming in from the stained-glass windows. “I will post soldiers at the gates of the sanctuary. This is a place of worship and you’ve made it the lair of thieves and murderers. I will let the people worship here, for now. Let them salve their consciences by tossing coins for their crimes in the fountains. But each night, you will dismiss the visitors. Each night, it will remain empty at the peril of your lives. My men will lock the gates.” He gave them both a stern, angry look. “Is that clear, gentlemen?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” choked the sexton, bowing meekly.

  “Indeed,” said the deconeus.

  “Leave us,” Severn snapped, and watched as the two old men shuffled away, their shoes clapping on the tiles.

  Severn walked to the edge of the main fountain and gazed into the waters. As Owen joined him at the edge, he could see the mud and debris from the boots of the men who had trampled inside the fountain to steal the treasures. His heart wrenched with pain. He looked for the chest he had seen there earlier. He remembered exactly where it had been. There were two scraped gashes in the mud showing where it had been dragged to the edge of the fountain.

  It is already gone. Another Fountain-blessed must have taken it.

  Owen gritted his teeth with frustration. He placed his hands on the rail, staring into the dirty water and feeling naught but disgust.

  “Was I too harsh, lad?” Severn asked, putting his hand on Owen’s shoulder. “I was so angry, so very angry. I could have thrown them all off the bridge. But I didn’t because you were here. You have a calming effect on me. So many of them were men who have long defied my laws and flaunted the protection of the sanctuary.” He stared up at the statue of wisdom at the head of the fountain. “I do not think that was the intention when this place was hallowed.”

  “What are you going to do with the deconeus?” Owen asked. He didn’t bother mentioning the sexton.

  The king had a faraway look in his eyes. Then his lips began to quiver with wrath. “I suppose that depends, lad. It depends on whether I survive this conflict. Iago and Eyric are goading me to go after them, but it is Chatriyon who is pulling the strings. Occitania is our ancient enemy. He’s stolen my niece, and I will never forgive him that. Never. She deserves to be a queen.” Owen watched the emotions battle across Severn’s face. That he missed Elyse was obvious. But he was pained by her betrayal, and the wound was festering.

  “She didn’t betray you, my lord,” Owen whispered. “I’m certain of it.”

  His eyes flashed with anger as they met Owen’s gaze.

  “It was Tunmore’s fault,” Owen said. “You know about his gift. He was Fountain-blessed with writing. Your niece is an exceptional person. I know both of us admired her. Elyse was the first person who offered me friendship when I came to the palace. But you were in an impossible situation with her. You could not marry her yourself for fear of impropriety, but she deserved more than to simply be remembered as your brother’s bastard. Her situation was becoming more and more hopeless. And then her mother died, probably by poison. All these events crowded together and made her vulnerable to being twisted and manipulated by someone with power. Someone who was desperate.”

  Owen saw the tears in Severn’s lashes, but the force of the king’s will was too strong for them to fall. “She should have come to me,” he said thickly. “She should have come! I trusted her more than any person alive. Even more than you,” he added blackly, his jaw quivering. “If she could betray me, then I can no longer trust anyone. My brother Eredur knew I would never falter. He knew that loyalty bound me.” His frown was so heartbroken that Owen grieved for him. “I have no one like that. Not anymore. Well, I wish Elyse well with her new husband. A husband she will not keep for long, for I intend to crush Occitania and bring it as a vassalage to Ceredigion. I will do the same with Atabyrion. If they think I’m a monster now, they will not like what they have made me become.”

  Owen’s heart cringed at the words. “You are not a monster!” he insisted, but he could see what was happening to the king. The constant pressure to be someone he was not was winning out. How uncanny Ankarette’s discernment of Severn’s character had been. The king was altering, irrevocably. It was like a tile that had been tipped from back to front. But this tile would not be easily set aright.

  “Hear me now,” Severn said, turning to face Owen with ruthless determination in his eyes. “I will go to Beestone to prepare to defend my realm. I take your counsel and value you as the masterful strategist that you are. I’ll let Iago strike me, but after I give him a fleeting taste of victory, I will crush his raiding party and make him beholden to me. Unless I feel like killing him. I command you to go to Westmarch and hold the territory you’ve won from Occitania. I want you to take Etayne with you.”

  “But what about the poisoner coming after you!” Owen stammered in surprise.

  The king’s gaze was stony. Maybe he secretly hoped he would die. “I’ve lived under that threat for years. We foiled the plot here. All the Espion reports suggest he fled the city during the chaos. He’s probably skulking back to Occitania. It’s you that I’m worried about now. If Chatriyon comes himself, you will order her to poison him. You must defend Westmarch alone, Owen. I will not be able to spare the men to come to your aid. You do this, lad, and you will prove you are worthy of my trust. May the Fountain weep for you if you fail me.”

  Owen felt the push of the king’s will ag
ainst his mind as the king’s fingers dug into his shoulder. He knew the king was in earnest. And for the first time since he was a boy, he felt his life was at risk from this man.

  Swallowing, Owen rested his hand on his sword hilt and steeled his courage. “I will not fail you, my lord,” he said solemnly.

  “Then go at once. Do not waste a moment. Get you to Westmarch.”

  Owen felt conflicted. He wanted to see if Evie was recovered, but the look in the king’s eyes showed that he was testing Owen. Duke Horwath had lost his own son, Evie’s father, in the Battle of Ambion Hill. Yet instead of going north to comfort his daughter and granddaughter, he had gone to Tatton Hall to fetch Owen. He knew this is what the king was expecting of him, although he would not say it.

  “Send word for Etayne to join me, my lord,” Owen said with determination, swallowing his rising discomfort. “I leave at once.”

  The king gave him a proud smirk. “Bless you, lad. May the Fountain bless you.”

  With the king’s hand on his shoulder, they walked across the black and white tiles to the door of the sanctuary. As they crossed the threshold, Owen noticed that all the clouds had fled and a deep blue sky filled the horizon end to end. The snow and icicles were already starting to drip and slough.

  “The storm has passed,” the king said with a touch of irony in his voice. “That’s all it was. Just a storm.”

  But Owen had the distinct impression that it was something else that had caused the snow to abate. Something involving the chest that had miraculously disappeared from the fountain of Our Lady. And he also had a suspicion of where he might find it next, as well as the person who had taken it there. He would be going west, but not to Tatton Hall or to see the mayor of Averanche in the new territory he had won.

  No, Owen would be going straight to the sanctuary at St. Penryn.