by Jeff Wheeler
After darkness fell, they stole into Genevieve’s room through the secret passages and found her wide awake, unable to sleep due to her excitement for the coming dawn.
“We’re leaving tonight instead?” she repeated eagerly after Owen explained the situation. “And we’re taking the secret tunnels in the palace? This is just like the stories Mama used to tell me!”
“Exactly so,” Owen said. “You will have stories of your own to tell her when you get back to Edonburick.”
Her eyes gleamed. “What about Drew?”
Owen shook his head no and saw the disappointment fall over her face. “He’ll be worried if I don’t at least say good-bye. I don’t want him to worry.”
Owen felt his patience begin to slip, but then he remembered how Ankarette had always treated him. He dropped down on one knee and put his hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “I will tell him good-bye for you, Genevieve.” He glanced at Etayne before looking back at the girl. “We learned tonight that a poisoner is coming to the castle.”
Genevieve’s expression was a mixture of fear and wonder. “Truly?”
Owen nodded. “I promised your mama I’d keep you safe. We’re getting into a boat and going into the river. Drew must stay behind, but do not worry. I will look after him for you.” He felt a tug in his heart. “I feel certain you’ll see him again.”
She beamed at that and then nodded eagerly.
Owen rose and led the way back into the tunnels. He used his magic to reach out around them, feeling for hidden dangers or threats. Stacking the tiles earlier had filled him to the brim with Fountain magic, and he thought it wise to anticipate trouble instead of reacting to it. He also kept his senses alert for signs of other magic, in case Dragan was lurking in the dark tunnels.
When they reached the cistern, the moon was hanging high overhead, casting their shadows on the ground. The moon was ringed with frost-light and their boots crunched in the snow as they crossed the courtyard. The walls of the castle were outlined in white, and drifts had already begun to gather in heaps. The cold air stung his nose. Owen paused at the dark opening that allowed the water to drain into the cistern. Genevieve had linked hands with him as they walked in the tunnels, as children were wont to do. It was strangely comforting feeling her hand in his own, and it made him think about what it would be like to be a father himself someday. She tightened her grip and bent over the hole, gazing down.
“You two jumped down here?” she asked him, staring into the gloomy cistern hole. Owen knew from experience that it was a long drop to the waters of the vast cistern that ran the length of the palace.
“We did,” he answered with a wry smile. “But the water will be too cold right now. There’s another way down. Over there.” He pointed.
They walked over, and before Owen tripped the latch, he used his magic to once again feel for any threats awaiting them. Etayne, who was bundled up in a cloak, walked behind them, and she continually looked for any sign of pursuit. Only stillness met them, and Owen felt satisfied no one was lying in wait for them.
He tripped the latch of the door and led Genevieve down the dark steps without a torch. Etayne shut the door behind them.
“Careful,” Owen said, his voice suddenly echoing. “It drops off into the water on that side. There’s no railing.” Now that they were belowground, he drew a torch from his bag and handed it to Etayne so he could smash two flint stones to light it. The rippling flames from the torch radiated warmth and light, revealing how pink Genevieve’s nose had become in the cold. She looked fearful in the vast underground chasm, but if all went well, she would soon be safe. The boat was right where Owen had left it. Still, he examined both the craft and the oars carefully before hauling it into the water.
Etayne held the light, but she turned around and cocked her head, listening to some distant sound. Owen froze.
After a moment, she shook her head.
Owen got into the boat first and felt it bob with his weight. Using an oar to hook the edge of the platform, he reached for Genevieve’s hand and helped her inside. She sat on a small wooden ledge and gazed up at the cavernous ceiling as the waters lapped fitfully against the hull. Etayne entered next and the boat swayed more, but it steadied as soon as she sat down.
Using the oar, Owen shoved off and began rowing them down the vast corridor. As they traversed the waterway beneath the palace, the torchlight exposed the thick stone columns that held up the colossal structure. The light reflected off the surface of the water, and Owen could see the secret treasure of the Deep Fathoms glistening at the bottom. He looked up and almost did a double take when he saw Etayne gazing over the side of the boat with wide eyes.
“You can see it?” he asked her.
“See what?” Genevieve interrupted.
“Do you see anything in the water?” Etayne asked the girl, putting her hand on her shoulder.
Genevieve looked over the edge for a moment and then shook her head. “No.”
Etayne met Owen’s gaze and then subtly nodded.
They glided to the end of the cistern, where the gate controlled the flood of the water. This was where Owen and Evie had nearly drowned or been swept away. Owen could see the control winches and levers in the dim torchlight. He also saw the breath wafting from his mouth and felt the numbness in his fingers. Winter was coming on fast—yet another sign they needed to move quickly.
He brought the boat up to the edge, maneuvering it until it was sideways along the grille. “The cistern drains into the river from here,” he told them, including Genevieve to help reassure her. “It’s nearly full. When you pull the lever, the winch begins to open, and when you let go, it takes a few seconds to close again. You can lock it open if you want to drain the entire cistern, but we won’t be doing that.” He looked at both of them with an adventurous smile. “Ready?”
Genevieve was almost aglow with excitement. Etayne waved the torch in the direction of the water, asking him silently if she should douse it. Owen gripped the lever handle and then nodded. The torch hissed as it hit the frigid water, leaving them in pitch blackness.
The darkness was so acute that sounds took on new significance. Owen could actually hear Genevieve’s teeth chattering. He pulled the lever, and the current dragged them out of the cistern in moments, sending them onto a pitched slope that would jettison them into the river. Releasing the handle, he grabbed the other oar.
Genevieve let out a little squeak of fright as the boat rushed down the short ramp and then splashed violently into the river. The roar of the falls instantly surrounded them, and Owen felt a pang of fear as he began to steer toward the island ahead of them. Sanctuary. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t help but grin a little at the audacity of what he was doing. The little girl gripped each side of the boat, facing forward, and smiled brightly, as if she didn’t comprehend the danger of the powerful falls.
Owen had made the journey twice before, so he knew what to expect, but it still sent a little thrill through him. The moon shone brightly overhead, revealing both his path and his companions. While Genevieve looked as excited as her mother might have, Etayne was clutching the side of the boat. The river was such a vibrant force of nature—a creator of both destiny and death. The island of the sanctuary of Our Lady loomed up before them, and Owen carefully steered toward the inlet on the opposite side. There were little docks nestled there and a few small boats. It took several very strong men to row against such a powerful current. This journey would be one-way.
Owen maneuvered the boat to the dock, using the flat of the oar to slow them down so they wouldn’t collide with it. The boat began to pitch and tug back toward the river current, but he paddled hard to correct it. When they reached the edge of the dock, he grabbed the mooring post.
“You first,” he told Etayne, trying to keep the boat from rocking. The water from the river churned beneath them, colliding with the rocks before veering toward the roaring sound farther ahead. The falls. Etayne bent low and t
hen scuttled up to the dock. It was dark and cold, and Owen was full of nervous energy. Anxious to get ashore as quickly as possible, he grabbed the chain and began anchoring it to the mooring post.
“I can get out myself,” Genevieve said, standing up. Her sudden movement made the boat wobble alarmingly.
“Take my hand,” Etayne said, reaching down from the dock to grab the girl.
“I can do it!” Genevieve said, looking up at her with the type of confidence reserved for the young and inexperienced. Owen felt a surge of unease, and then watched in horror as she missed her footing. At exactly the wrong moment, the boat lurched and the edge dipped below the river. Water rushed into the tiny boat and jerked it hard against the chain. Everything went into chaos in the blink of an eye.
There was a splash as the little girl went into the river.
Dear Owen,
Thank you so much for your letter and your warning. What is happening in Ceredigion feels unnatural. Iago and I have felt helpless to do anything. But thanks to you and your offer to rescue our daughter, Atabyrion will faithfully join your cause. We must tread carefully, my dear friend. History is full of examples of both successful usurpations and the consequences of failure. But I am equally certain that you are more canny and cunning than your king. If you feel this is the only way, then I will trust it. I’m sending this note by my husband’s hand. Thank the duchess for her willing help and assistance. I will be so relieved when I’m holding Genevieve in my arms once again. Every day without her has been a torment.
Yours with loyalty,
Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer Llewellyn
Queen of Atabyrion
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Fountain’s Ring
There were no words to describe Owen’s feelings when he heard the sound of Genevieve plunging into the river. There wasn’t even time for him to think about what he should do; he leaped into the water after her without pausing to rationalize or debate. There was no way he was going to face the child’s mother without her. He’d rather die himself.
As the shock of the frigid river water smashed into him, the cold so fast and sudden he feared even his memories would freeze, he groped to catch some piece of her cloak, her hair, anything. He had a vague sense that he might survive the waterfall because he was Fountain-blessed, and he could only hope that having her with him might make a difference.
And then light and pain exploded from his hand.
The river still had him in its grip, but suddenly his hand was burning with pain. His knees bit into harsh stone and he found himself in some sort of roaring pit. The light was everywhere, and it took a long moment for his eyes to adjust to it. The roar of the river and the falls thundered in his ears, and to his shock, he felt himself gasping and breathing air and not water. He heard someone screaming for help, the tiny voice nearly lost amidst the cacophony.
Owen’s clothes were no longer soggy and weighing on him, and even his hair had dried. He lifted his head and hand, trying to ward off the rays of light, only then realizing that the light was emanating from the ring on his finger, the ring he’d pulled from Marshal Roux’s dead hand. The betrothal ring that Sinia had placed on him herself.
There was Genevieve.
She was huddled on some dry stones just ahead of him, reaching out to him and crying. Just past her, the water of the river had converged again, a violent mass of waves that threatened to suck her back into the river.
Owen clambered forward, grabbed her outstretched arm with his right hand, and pulled her to him. She grabbed his tunic and buried her face against his shirt, sobbing with combined terror and relief. Lifting his head, Owen saw that the river had been shunted away from the rocky wall of the island through the power of the ring. The dock posts were exposed, as were the slick, smooth stones that normally lay beneath the waves. The relentless power of the river had broken away the boat he had attempted to tether there, and it was now hurtling downstream to meet its fate at the falls. He saw Etayne kneeling at the dock, reaching out to them, her face full of panic and awe as she beheld the river parting away from Owen and the child.
The ring burned on his finger so fiercely, he feared he’d lose his entire hand as a result of its magic. His mind could not grasp a power that was strong enough to turn a river out of its course, especially a river as mighty as the one serving Kingfountain. Trying not to look at the blinding light of the ring, he carried Genevieve clumsily up the rocky cliff.
He stumbled a bit and then hoisted the child up into Etayne’s arms. As he moved closer to the dock, the river began to fill in behind him, showing that the protection he had experienced was limited and temporary. How long would the magic last? He had no desire to test it. The dock posts were black and slick, and he stumbled against the uneven boulders strewn at their base. Genevieve was safe again, thank the Fountain, so he reached up and caught Etayne’s hand himself, letting her help him up next.
As soon as his boots cleared, the light in the ring vanished and he felt the river hammer once again at the dock, the power of the water rocking and shaking it. He knelt there, breathing down his terror in fearful gasps, and saw Genevieve staring at him with huge eyes.
“Mother was right. You . . . you truly are Fountain-blessed!” she said reverently. Then, with all the effusion of a child, she flung her arms around his neck and started to weep again, this time with gratitude. She thanked him over and over, mumbling her apology for being so clumsy.
Owen rocked back on his boots a bit, feeling so grateful for the ring he wore on his hand. He patted her back with one arm and then examined his hand, afraid of what he’d find. The finger that held the ring was dark and bruised beyond recognition. It hurt terribly, but he felt a surge of warmth envelop his body, sending healing waves. He noticed the scabbard was glowing again, although the incandescence was only visible to his eyes.
Etayne was kneeling beside him, looking at him with so much relief, her hands folded prayer-like in front of her. Even though she’d disguised herself as her mother, he could see the true woman beneath the concealment.
Genevieve pulled away and looked down at Owen’s hand. Just like him, Genevieve was dry, as were her clothes and hair. He smoothed down her dark tresses, astonished at this demonstration of the Fountain’s power. Had Sinia known he would need the ring’s protection? He suspected so, and felt a throb of warmth for her.
Etayne took his hand, and he watched her press her lips to the ring like a benediction. His breath was finally starting to calm.
“Let’s get away from the river,” he managed to say.
Etayne looked like she wanted to start weeping. She smiled through her tears and nodded vigorously at the suggestion.
At dawn, the sexton of the sanctuary of Our Lady unlocked the gates and pulled them open with a groan. There were many who had gathered outside in anticipation, waiting with their coins in hand to make an offering to one of the many fountains. One young couple whispered of their hope to be blessed with a babe. A grieving father had spoken of his boy slipping on an icy street and cracking his skull the night before. When the gate finally opened, Owen led Genevieve through the aperture, Etayne’s magic rippling gently around them.
The sexton gave Owen a wary look of recognition as he passed, something he had been counting on. The man’s lip curled into a warning sneer, but he said nothing. Owen tipped his head at the man and gave him a mocking smile, knowing full well that his face was the twin of Dragan’s.
“Come along, lass,” he said gruffly to Genevieve. “Shan’t keep your papa waiting.”
Once inside the grounds, the supplicants gathered into the interior of the sanctuary where the cold of the early winter was dispelled by braziers lit with fresh coals. The trio stood by one of them, chafing their hands and trying to get warm again.
A man sauntered up to Owen, someone who, judging from his expression, clearly knew Dragan.
“What’s this about, eh?” the man said with a bit of defiance in his tone. “Who’s the chit?�
�� he demanded, nodding to the little girl.
“Never you mind,” Owen said, mimicking Dragan’s tone of voice. He felt Etayne’s magic washing over the man, convincing him utterly. “What news?”
“That Espion bloke Amrein has been snooping around for ya. I’d knife him if I wuz you. Watch out for him. Any luck inside the palace?” He looked cautiously around. “Bothwell’s in a temper. He needs to get this done, and fast. It’s a lot of money, Dragan.” He was almost whining in anticipation.
“I’ve got it all figured, you see. You tell Bothwell I can get him in. Now go, the sexton’s looking this way. Go!”
The man nodded and then hurried off.
Owen traded glances with Etayne. “I think our visit served its purpose. If we wait here until noon, who knows who might show up to talk.”
“I think this is wonderful,” Genevieve said in a low voice. “I’ve never seen such magic. Even though I know who you really are, I still can’t tell for sure. I’m a little afraid. Where are we going?”
“We’re meeting the Duchess of Brythonica at one of the fountains in the back,” Owen said. “We agreed on noon, which is hours away. But maybe she’ll be able to sense us if we go near. Walk with me. We won’t stay there long if she doesn’t come right away.”
Etayne nodded and fell in step with Owen. He felt the magic moving along with him, giving his walk a little limp and swagger. The power came from the poisoner’s intricate memory of the man, and while he could resist the magic, he let it work on him to complete the illusion. There was power in wearing masks. He actually felt decades older, even though he knew it was just a mirage.
When they reached the little alcove, he stared into the fountain’s placid, coin-speckled waters and summoned the chest. There was no one else in the immediate area, but there were many passersby near them. Owen tugged on Genevieve’s hand and directed her to the other side of the fountain, where they were less likely to be seen. As they’d planned, Etayne lingered by the entryway, glancing at the crowd and keeping an eye out for her father.
