by Jeff Wheeler
“I’m cold,” Drew said, chafing his arms.
“Here, walk between us,” Etayne said, drawing him up next to them. “That should help.”
Drew gave her a suspicious look, then turned his gaze back to Owen as he walked. “Where are we going?”
“There’s something I wanted to show you,” Owen said. “You won’t understand it now, but you will later.”
“I’m tired,” Drew complained.
“So am I,” Owen said, trying to curb his impatience. “But a knight must learn to fight even if he’s cold and tired.”
“That’s true,” the boy said thoughtfully.
They had to cut across a lawn as they approached the gatehouse leading to the docks. He made a subtle gesture to Etayne, and she summoned her magic to disguise him as a common soldier. Her magic seeped from her like a delicate breeze.
Two guards wearing the badge of the white boar stood watch at the doors. Owen could hear voices rising from the dock beyond. One of the guards held up his hand, warning them to slow their approach.
“Shhh,” the guard said, shaking his head. When they reached him, Owen caught sight of the scene beyond the latticework bars of the gate. His heart skipped fast. Two canoes had been set down on the path, and the soldiers who had hefted them were milling around.
Kathryn was kneeling beside the boat that contained the body of her husband. She wept over it with grief and misery. A white mist came from her mouth as she gasped and swallowed and sobbed. Owen’s heart panged him to see her in such a state. Severn. Severn had done this. Etayne’s eyes narrowed with simmering fury.
Drew wrapped his little hands on the bars and watched the woman who, unbeknownst to him, was his mother.
“Poor lady,” the boy whispered. “She’s my friend.”
“Give her time to mourn, lad,” the soldier said softly to the boy. The soldier looked at Owen, though he didn’t recognize him through the disguise. “He jumped down the tower stairs last night,” he whispered with a grimace. “Broke himself on the floor. Like Tunmore. Poor fool knew he was going in the river today. Poor, poor fool.”
Owen joined Drew at the gate, his heart wrenching with pain. He clasped the boy’s shoulder with his hand. The lad had a dark countenance, a look of sadness.
“Why did you want me to come?” Drew asked, looking up at Owen, and then started when he saw a stranger’s face looking back.
It was time to finally tell him the truth. That was why he’d brought him here. “It’s all right, lad. It’s still me,” he whispered.
Before he could continue, he heard the unmistakable shuffle-step coming from the path behind them. The halting limp he had known since he was Drew’s age.
Severn was coming.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Widow’s Spite
Owen’s heart jolted at the sound of the king’s shuffling footsteps, and Etayne’s eyes widened with fear. They could not see Severn amidst the shadows, and it was not likely he could see them yet, but he would be at the gate in moments.
There was little time to react, and Owen needed ideas. He was still under Etayne’s disguise, but with any luck the king would be too distracted by his task and the noise of the river to notice someone using the magic nearby. What could he do to conceal Etayne and the boy? His mind raced as he heard the king’s footfalls approach. The guards posted hadn’t noticed it yet, and Owen seized on the first idea that bloomed in his mind.
“The king sent us on ahead,” he said to the guards. “Open the gate for him. He wanted to see the bodies put into the river this morning.” He gestured quickly for them to open the doors.
The soldier looked startled and then listened as the sound approached.
“He is coming,” one of them grunted with surprise. “Come on, be quick about it!” The two men wrenched on the heavy barred door, and Owen nodded for Etayne to drag the boy into the gap between the door and the wall, letting the heavy bars conceal them both. Owen kept his back to the approaching king and directed with a gesture for the soldier to stand at attention after finishing the maneuver.
“Long live the king!” Owen said in a crisp salute. The soldiers milling around on the other side suddenly scrambled. Several bent down and hoisted up the canoe with Dunsdworth’s comatose body. The man did not so much as grunt.
“My lady,” one of the guards near Kathryn whispered in a pleading voice. “The king comes!”
Owen heard the boots coming up behind him and felt the skin on his neck prickle. He adopted the persona of a rough soldier, hoping it matched his disguise. “Be quick about it! Be quick about it! The king comes!”
“Shut up, you fool,” Severn snarled to Owen as he passed, not giving him a second look. Etayne and Drew could be seen beyond the gate, but the shadows were thick enough to conceal them. Owen’s heart raced with fear, but so far his strategy was working.
“Beg your pardon, my lord,” Owen mumbled apologetically and stood aside.
Several soldiers bent down to hoist the staves supporting Eyric’s boat, but Kathryn still knelt beside it, cradling her dead husband’s face with her hands.
“My lady!” one of them pleaded, glancing worriedly at the king as he crossed the threshold of the gate.
“A moment longer, I beg you!” Kathryn wailed, consumed by grief. Owen watched as the king slowed his approach, one hand gripping his dagger hilt.
“You heard her, leave it alone!” the king barked with anger. The soldiers hastily retreated from the bound corpse. The dawn was quickly driving away the shadows. Owen gestured for Etayne subtly, preparing to send her and Drew away. This was not how he planned to tell the boy about his true parentage.
Kathryn looked up at the king, her eyes wet with tears, her mouth twisted with grief, and the look she gave him was like spears. Any fear she’d had of the king lay broken. Her eyes were so full of hate they made Owen want to retreat.
“Of course you would come,” she said in a broken voice, “to witness your handiwork. You’ve long wanted my husband dead, my lord king. Now it is done. He is broken. He is no more.”
“He leaped from the tower, my dear,” Severn said coldly. “Because he was not man enough to face the river. He knew the Fountain wouldn’t save him.”
Kathryn straightened, her fingers stiffening like claws as she dug them into her black skirts. “How dare you speak of courage. He had more courage than you’ve ever known. At least he’ll rest from his torments now. The Deep Fathoms will bring him peace.”
“Then you should thank me,” the king said with a coughing chuckle. “He’ll soon be in a better place. At least you are rid of him now.”
Her face contorted with fury. “I never wanted to be rid of him! He was my husband! Can you not understand this? I was his wife.”
Severn took a dragging step forward. “But you were fit to be a queen. Not a pauper’s bride. You are worth more than he ever gave you.”
Owen felt the magic of the Fountain begin to churn all around them, tendrils of it wrapping around the king’s voice. Severn scooted closer to Kathryn, and Owen saw his hand tentatively start to nudge toward her. For a moment, all he could do was look on in mute horror.
He gave Etayne a sharp look and nodded for her to escape with Drew. Her eyes riveted to his, she nodded back. It would mean the loss of his disguise, but with any luck, the king wouldn’t pay any attention to the guard he’d so casually dismissed. The poisoner’s hands tightened on Drew’s shoulder and she started to draw him away, but Drew clung to the bars, straining against them, eager to witness what was happening. He would not leave without drawing attention to himself, which they could not allow.
“Do you think I would ever have you after what you’ve done?” Kathryn said with astonishment and outrage. “Send me back to Atabyrion. Send me back to my father. Why must I remain your prisoner a moment longer? You have tormented me long enough! If you were a man, you would leap into the river yourself. Your people fear you. You are a coward and a knave and deserve to drown more than
either of these poor mistreated wretches!”
Owen had never seen Kathryn so passionate before. She stood like a lioness, facing the king with the very power and indignation that had earned his respect.
The king’s voice was full of mocking. “You think the destroyer of these two should go into the river? Then take my hand, Kathryn, and we can go into the flood together. You were the cause of their fates. Why did I hate your husband? Because of you. Why was I pleased to hear he’d escaped? Because it would prove to you what a coward and traitor he truly was. Any torments he underwent in the tower, I put him through because I knew they could not compare to the torment I daily endured by having you at court without being able to have you. Love killed your husband. And you are the cause of it.”
The king continued to approach her, like one would approach a dangerous animal, one hand on his dagger, the other tentatively reaching toward her. He was very close and Owen wanted to warn her to get away from him. He’d warned her many times that the king’s magic was amplified by his touch. In her distress, she was not realizing the danger. What could he do without giving himself away?
“You blame me?” Kathryn said with open contempt. “You are always quick to blame everyone else for the failings of your character. I cannot love you, Severn.”
“The angel speaks my name at last!” the king crooned.
“Would my words were poison to kill you,” she replied in kind.
“But they are, they are!” he said pleadingly, his voice filling with emotion. “I’ve offered you a crown. I’ve offered you my love. I would give all that I possess to claim your heart. But you will not have me. You, who shine as bright as the sun even in widow’s weeds, could never care for such a misbegotten lump of deformity as myself. Even the sun refuses to shine on me these days. Dogs bark at me when I pass. I, who am hated above all, who would give everything for one . . . sweet . . . kiss from those lips.”
His fingers encircled her arm, and Owen felt the king release his magic in a flood against her.
“You have never been hated, Kathryn. Everyone who sees you must love you. How could I prevent myself? How could I stop my heart from feeling? Yes, your husband died because of me. But it was you who drove me to it.”
She spat in his face.
Owen stared at her in surprise and wonder.
But the magic of the Fountain did not ebb. It grew stronger. The soldiers shrank back, unable to stop gawking at the scene in front of them.
The king did not release her arm, and Owen watched as Kathryn began to tremble. When the king spoke next, his voice was low and full of emotion, a sound like triumph. “Even you spit at me?”
“Out of my sight,” Kathryn stammered, her resolve beginning to crumble. “You infect this place with your presence. This was hallowed ground moments ago.”
“Your presence hallowed it,” Severn whispered powerfully, his voice becoming stronger as his will crushed against hers.
“I pray the Fountain will curse you,” Kathryn said, but with less violence and passion.
“It already has, for your sake,” the king said. He slowly knelt in front of her, still clinging to her arm, and grunted in pain at the maneuver. “Do not weep, fair lady. Your eyes were made to love. Love me.”
His words caused a shudder of magic.
“I hate you. I cannot . . . I could never—”
“Your lips were not meant to scorn,” he said soothingly. “Teach them to rescue instead. Only you can rescue me, my lady. Only you can tame the boar. If you cannot forgive me, then destroy me.” He jerked free the knife from his belt and pulled her closer to him, so close her skirts rustled against his crouching knee. He planted the blade in her hand and closed her fingers around the hilt. “Take this blade and have your revenge.” With his free hand, he tugged loose his tunic strings and exposed his chest. “Sheath it here,” he said, tapping his heart. “End my suffering and your confinement. Rid the world of this savage beast. Nay! Do not hesitate! Look at me! You hold power over my life or death. It was loving you that drove me to my worst. Tame me or finish me. I would just as soon go over the falls this morning than spend another moment seeing such hate in your eyes.”
The king was using up all his magic. Owen sensed the vast dam giving way, the force of the flood insinuating Severn’s thoughts into Kathryn’s mind. Owen gritted his teeth. If he had been closer, his magic would have prevented the king’s from working against her.
Her will melted before such power, and the king’s dagger dropped from her hand and clattered onto the cobbles.
Severn’s voice was thick with triumph. “Take up my dagger. Or take me.”
Her shoulders slumped with despair. “I will not kill you. Though you deserve it.”
He shook his head. “Then do it with your words. Tell me to leap into the river, and I will.”
Owen wished she would look over at him. If he could have caught her gaze for a moment, he would have nodded violently. Yes! He did not believe the king would willingly destroy himself. This was a ruse, a deception, a way of conquering her heart. This was unlike any battlefield Severn had faced before.
“Did I not tell you earlier to jump into the river?” she asked tremulously.
“You were insulting me. Bid me the command now, and I will do it.”
The fiery look on the widow’s face was passing with the rising sun. Birds were chirping playfully from trees nearby. It was such a strange scene to witness.
She wiped tears on the back of her hand. Owen noticed that the king’s hand had slowly traced down her arm and was now nestled in hers. The magic was ebbing, but the spell was done.
“I wish I knew your heart,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his.
“I’ve already confessed it with my tongue. Will you forgive me, Kathryn? Will you be my queen?”
“That you will know later. Cannot a widow be permitted to grieve?”
“You’ve been a widow these many years,” he said ardently. “Put aside your grief. Accept what is yours by right. All that I have, I give to thee. This heart. My crown. Take this ring from me. Say you are mine.”
He quickly withdrew a ring from a pouch at his belt. It was all planned. Owen stared at the king, so shrewd and cunning. His heart ached for Kathryn, who had never truly been given a chance or a choice. He saw the tenderness in her eyes. The castle had been breached. She would relent at last.
Unless Owen could stop it before the wedding.
“I will take it,” she said, accepting the ring. Owen noticed the other guards gawking at the scene, some in disbelief and some with impressed amazement.
The king strained and started to rise, wincing with pain. Kathryn’s expression softened with sympathy and she took his arm to help him up. She did not loosen her grip on his arm once he had come to standing.
Severn bent his head, looking at the ring in her hand. “Put it on.”
Owen glanced back at the gate and saw that Etayne and the boy had vanished. When he looked back, Kathryn was admiring the ring on her finger, the gold band winking in the light.
She looked up timidly at the king’s face, and he saw her heart in her eyes. All the hate and anguish was gone. She rested her cheek against Severn’s chest, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“Let us pay our respects to the Fountain’s offering,” Severn said. He nodded to the soldiers to hoist up the boats, and started marching toward the end of the dock. Kathryn glanced back at her dead husband once more before the guards lifted the boat cradling his body. Her expression was no longer wounded. It was as if the grief had left her.
Owen watched Severn’s slow walk alongside Kathryn as they followed unhurriedly behind the guards. His heart simmered with fury at what the king had done and how he had wooed her. His lips twisted in resentment and defiance.
Severn may have won the lady. But he would not keep her long.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The White King
The palace corridor resounded with the
thunder of Owen’s boots as he walked firmly and purposefully to the throne room. Servants steered away from him, and his path was marked by the muted whispers that followed him. The Duke of Westmarch had returned to Kingfountain, summoned by the king because of all the treasons in the realm. There were rumors in the palace that the young man from Tatton Hall had had another dream. When Owen reached the main doors leading into the throne room, he saw it was packed to nearly overflowing.
Perfect.
The familiar bubbling of worry and doubt rose up inside Owen’s chest, threatening to suffocate him. As he passed the guards, he felt the subtle presence of Fountain magic and then spied Etayne in disguise near the doors. Per their arrangement, she had positioned herself there in advance, and though she looked like any of the elegant noble beauties in the room, he saw through her disguise. The subtle nod she gave him indicated he should proceed with the plan.
The crowd parted before him, clearing a path directly to the throne itself. Owen saw the numerous tables lined with food, and for a moment, he could almost see a younger version of himself there, nervous eyes gazing at the crouch-backed king, nervous legs trying to escape him. This time, Owen would be confronting him directly.
The king was already sitting on his throne, hand on his dagger hilt, his posture calculated to diminish his deformity. Lady Kathryn stood near the dais, and even at this distance, he could see the new ring glittering on her finger. As he approached, he caught sight of the three other dukes of the realm—Catsby, Paulen, and Lovel—clustered together in a corner, whispering urgently to one another. Catsby’s eyes were full of loathing as he watched Owen’s approach. Paulen whispered something behind his hand to Catsby. Lovel sipped from a wine goblet, not paying attention to the conversation but watching the king and his conquest. To one side of them stood Kevan, his keen eyes taking in the scene with interest.
