by Jeff Wheeler
“Look!” Genevieve said with excitement, pointing at the waters as they started to froth and bubble. A thick, roiling mist rose up from the churning surface, veiling the room. Owen could no longer see Etayne. Genevieve looked at the mist eagerly, without any apparent fear. “Is she coming?”
“She is,” Owen said, feeling his own heart begin to mimic the waters.
Then Sinia appeared in the mist, walking from the center of the pool toward them. She wore a different gown than the last one he’d seen her in—it was lavender in color with a lacy bodice and cuffs. Owen didn’t want to greet her as Dragan, so with a thought, he repelled Etayne’s magic and let the facade slough off.
“Genevieve Llewellyn, meet Sinia Montfort, the Duchess of Brythonica,” Owen said. He gave her a look of warmth and pleasure, trying to tell her without words that he knew all. That he was grateful for her and all she had done for him.
Sinia started when she saw the look on his face, but she regained her composure quickly, her anxiety turning to smiles and tenderness as she looked at Evie’s daughter. “Hello, Genevieve,” she said. “Your papa arrived with the tide this morning.”
“He did?” Genevieve asked, startled now. “Where is he?”
“At the sanctuary of Our Lady of Toussan,” Sinia replied. “Where I just came from. It’s the chief sanctuary in my realm, like Kingfountain is in Ceredigion. He’s as eager to see his little girl as you are to see him! Come with me. I told him I’d be back straightaway.”
Genevieve reached out to take the proffered hand, but then she looked up at Owen once more and threw her arms around him. “Thank you for saving me,” she mumbled. “I can never thank you enough. Here, I must kiss you. Kneel down.”
Owen felt chagrined, but he dropped down to one knee as requested. Sinia was staring at him with something like amazement, one hand covering her mouth. He’d never seen her look at him that way, but she looked—it wasn’t distraught—overwhelmed.
Owen felt the warm lips press against his cheek where Etayne had shaved him earlier. Relief flooded him. For just a moment, he had experienced the utter devastation that had haunted Severn for so long. Losing his brother’s children was a blow from which the king had never recovered. Owen did not understand how someone could recover. The insight made him feel an unbidden pang of sympathy for the man he’d served—the man he was now betraying.
“You’re welcome,” Owen said, patting the little girl’s cheek in return. “I promised your mother I’d keep you safe.”
Genevieve gave him another radiant smile and then took Sinia’s hand and stepped over the wall of the fountain. Owen stood and met his betrothed’s eyes, surprised when he saw they were wet with tears.
“You didn’t know what would happen?” he asked.
She blinked quickly, trying to regain her composure. “Years ago,” she whispered, “I had a vision of you saving a little girl’s life. In the vision you had whiskers and such, so I thought it was more deeply in the future.” She swallowed again, her emotions filled to the brim. “I saw the ring save you. So I knew, back then, that you needed to have that ring for such a moment.” She shook her head. “But I had no idea it would happen this soon. You had shaved it into a different shape, after all,” she said shyly, reaching out and grazing the edge of her finger against his chin. The touch made him shiver.
She glanced down at his hand. “It’s healing quickly,” she said, nodding with satisfaction. “The ring is powerful. If you hold on to the magic too long, it will kill you. But with the scabbard, you will not be scarred.”
Owen liked seeing her so discomfited on his behalf. He smiled at her and watched her cheeks flush with pink. “Well, I had to shave to look the part,” he said offhandedly. “But I don’t intend to keep the whiskers long. Unless you like them?”
She looked agitated and flustered, which made him long to reach out and touch her. She shook her head no, but wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“That’s good, because I plan to shave the rest off this morning,” he said. He gave in to temptation and reached out and took her hand. “Thank you, Sinia. Thank you for making sure I was wearing that ring.” He kept his voice low. “I wouldn’t have survived otherwise.”
She looked up, seeing his face again. A timid smile crept onto her mouth. “I know,” she answered. Then she blinked. “I almost forgot. Iago wanted me to give this to you. It’s from her mother.” Owen was impressed that she’d mentioned Elysabeth without flinching. She withdrew the sealed note from her girdle and placed it in Owen’s hand. He stuffed it quickly into his pocket to read later, but did not let go of her hand.
“It has begun,” he told Sinia.
“It has,” she agreed.
It was the breath before the plunge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The King’s Wrath
The hearth in the throne room had been stoked with enormous logs and was blazing, but the cavernous space had an unshakable chill. It was the second morning since Genevieve’s disappearance, and the king’s wrath was terrible to behold. He’d cast out the guests in a fury so he could receive an update from Kevan.
“I said, begone!” Severn shouted at a serving girl who was hastily trying to clean up a spilled platter. The girl went white and fled the room.
Owen had positioned himself near the doors, and was watching as Kevan brooked the king’s temper with as much courage as he could muster. The Espion were in disgrace again. Owen struggled to conceal a smirk—his ruse was working exactly as he’d planned, although he hated to see Kevan endure the brunt of the king’s anger. He saw Drew approach the door, trying to slip away with the rest. The lad had a worried look on his face, but Owen caught his eye and winked at him as he neared the door.
Drew’s face brightened in an instant. Owen nodded to him and then whispered the word library as he passed.
Lady Kathryn was still standing by the dais, and she too bore a worried look. Genevieve’s disappearance had caused her deep anxiety, but Owen hadn’t dared tell her the truth. He would try to later if he could manage it discreetly.
Owen nodded to the guardsmen to shut the door and then approached the king, who continued to rail on Kevan.
“What is it, I ask you, about the Espion being unable to keep track of little children!” Severn said contemptuously. “I want answers, Kevan, and they best be good ones!”
“My lord,” the Espion said, discouraged. “I’ve had everyone I can spare—”
“You can spare!” the king thundered, interrupting him. “I told you to put every spy in the city on alert!”
“Let him speak, my lord,” Owen said, closing the distance. “Curb your temper a moment, if you can.”
The king shot Owen an angry look, his lips trembling with rage.
Kevan gave Owen a grateful nod and shrugged helplessly. “We don’t know how she got out of the castle. She simply disappeared. When her chambermaid arrived in the morning to light the fire, her bed was empty. It would appear she’s been kidnapped.”
“But how? How could she have been removed from the city without anyone knowing?” the king asked in exasperation.
“We’ve secured the roads, the port, searched every ship in the harbor, Atabyrion or not,” Kevan explained. “The only lead we had has led to nothing.”
“What lead?” Severn demanded. “I should toss out the lot of you. Why do I pay for a spy service that botches everything!”
“Tell him, Kevan,” Owen said.
“Tell me what?”
Kevan swallowed, as if to banish his rising impatience. “I heard a rumor that the sexton of the sanctuary may have seen her yesterday morning. I went and spoke to him myself. He described a man and a woman who were at the gates when the sanctuary opened. They had a little girl with them who matched Genevieve’s description. The sexton swore by it. The man he described to me may have been Dragan. Do you remember him, my lord? The thief we captured who tried to release Eyric?”
Owen watched as the expression on the king’s face
shifted from anger to recognition, then to betrayal. Kevan may not have noticed the subtle changes, but Owen had been studying him closely.
“Yes . . . yes, I do,” the king stammered.
Kevan scratched his ear. “The sexton swears he saw them enter but not leave. I asked the deconeus if the girl had claimed sanctuary, but he looked as surprised as I’ve ever seen a man. No one had claimed sanctuary that day, and it was the first he’d even heard about the girl. I had men search the entire premises yesterday, from basement to loft. Every crate, every bushel, every closet. I thought I’d have good news for you today, my lord, but there was no sign of her there or at the port.”
Owen stepped forward. “My lord, after hearing Kevan’s report, it’s my belief that this Dragan fellow was involved in Genevieve’s disappearance. I also believe, my lord, that he has some sort of special access to the palace. I don’t have any proof, but I believe he may be Fountain-blessed. If so, that makes him a dangerous threat. Imagine what will happen if Iago finds out. You would be blamed for it.”
The king’s eyes narrowed at the deliberate reference to his nephews who’d disappeared.
“I had no hand in this,” the king said, but his voice had lost confidence and bluster.
“Of course not, my lord,” Owen said sympathetically. “But that won’t stop Iago and Elysabeth from assuming the worst. I fear my vision will come to pass and we will be invaded by all the other kingdoms. I know you sent Catsby to the North, but I have a suspicion that they will turn on him like wolves if Stiev’s granddaughter shows up with war banners. If we lose our grip on the North, we lose a significant number of once-loyal soldiers, the core of your supporters!”
The king rubbed his mouth and started pacing with a pronounced limp.
Owen glanced at Lady Kathryn, who seemed keenly interested in the conversation. Was she piecing the clues together on her own in a way that Severn couldn’t?
“What do you suggest then?” the king asked Owen.
“I’ve ordered the Espion to hunt down this Dragan fellow. I think there are some questions he must answer.”
The king looked firm and resolved. “I want you to bring him to me when you catch him.”
Owen bowed respectfully. “Kevan will see to it right away.”
Severn looked confused. “If he’s Fountain-blessed, shouldn’t you oversee it?”
Owen shook his head. “My lord, I think it would be wise if you sent me to the North. Catsby has managed to offend every lesser noble and the entire staff of Dundrennan. I know those people, having spent much of my childhood there. Let me see if I can rally them. I’ve already ordered Captain Ashby to muster my army and start marching to Beestone castle. Then, depending on where we’re invaded, I can split the army if needed. I’ve sent word to the Duchess of Brythonica to watch her borders for movement by Chatriyon. Do you agree?”
The king stared absently at the flames. Owen suspected he was cursing himself for trusting Dragan. He had hoped the king would admit to his double-dealing, but he wasn’t surprised that he had not, especially in front of his lady.
Severn brooded awhile over the flames. Then he turned and shook his head. “I won’t send you North, not yet.” His eyes shone with burning anger. “I want you to lead the search for Dragan yourself. I think you may be right about his gift, and if so, you’ll have a better chance of finding him than anyone Kevan sends. Bring him to me. I know how to kill someone like him. You may get your chance to go North after you’ve caught him. There is a snow-covered peak there where the Maid of Donremy froze to death. Bring me this thief lord. I’ll show him no mercy if he’s harmed the girl.”
Owen had manipulated the king by asking to go North right away. The pieces were falling just as he’d hoped and planned.
“Very well, my lord,” he said stiffly. He bowed curtly and then turned to leave.
“Lord Owen?”
It was Kathryn’s voice. She’d followed him into the corridor leading off the throne room. It was empty, but the palace was riddled with spy holes and he couldn’t know if it was safe to speak frankly with her.
“Yes, my lady?” he asked.
She wrung her hands as she approached. Her eyes were worried and puffy, and he could tell she hadn’t slept much.
“I know you are doing everything possible to find her,” Kathryn said softly. When she reached him, she cast a look back at the double doors leading to the throne room. The guards stood at attention, but they were too far away to hear their conversation.
“I am, my lady,” he answered simply, keeping his expression neutral.
Her voice dropped lower. “No need to disguise yourself with me, Owen,” she whispered. “I’m not fretting because of Genevieve. I’m worried about the king. I’m worried about what he may be planning.”
Owen wrinkled his brow and said nothing.
Her voice was very quiet and confidential. “I asked him about whether he believed in your prophecy,” she said. “He won’t let himself accept it as truth. At least not yet. The snow is an early winter, he says. He’s convinced himself the Fountain’s portents are childish superstitions.” She bent her head closer to his, giving him a pleading look. “I . . . I asked him what he would do if it were true. What if a boy does draw a sword out of the fountain?” She blinked rapidly, and he saw her eyes fill with tears.
“What did he say?” Owen asked.
“He said it would never come to that,” she whispered. “If we get invaded, he plans to round up all the young men in the kingdom and summon them to Kingfountain. He said he’d prove the Fountain’s power wasn’t real.”
Owen stared at her. “How?”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t say. But the look in his eye made me afraid. My lord, you promised me my son would be safe. That you’d protect him. I almost feel that if I told the king the truth, he’d see reason and relinquish the throne voluntarily. Maybe we can avert all these troubles? But do I dare risk it? When he is such a man?”
Owen looked at her with growing concern. He shook his head slowly. “Don’t tell him.”
Kathryn squeezed her eyes shut, and a single tear raced down her cheek. “I won’t.”
“I need to go speak to your son,” Owen whispered. “Come with me. He’s in the library. I think it is time he knew the truth.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Thief’s Ransom
Drew was nestled on a cushion by the window, poring over a book, when they entered the library. The light shining on his hair gave him an otherworldly cast. His eyes were so earnest and absorbed that he reminded Owen of himself, how he had always found sanctuary in this place. He wondered how many times the boy and Genevieve had found their way into the library together. Kathryn paused at the threshold, staring at the boy with such tenderness and longing that it pained Owen to see it.
He gave her an encouraging nod and gestured for her to approach the lad first, which she did. She nestled at the edge of the cushioned window seat, her eyes caressing his face.
“What are you reading?” she asked softly, reaching out to brush away a piece of his hair.
Drew didn’t look away from the book. “A book about the Lady of the Fountain,” he said, chewing on his little finger. “She was an Ondine.”
“A what?” Kathryn asked.
“An Ondine,” Drew replied. “A water sprite.”
As the words came out of the child’s mouth, Owen felt a ripple inside his heart that made him shudder. He walked closer, stepping so softly his boots didn’t scuff on the carpets.
“I’ve not heard of them,” Kathryn said with a curious tone. “The Lady of the Fountain was one, you say?”
“Mmm-hmmm,” the boy said, gazing down at the words with an almost dreamlike expression. “Ondines are gifts from the Deep Fathoms. They look like us, but they aren’t truly mortal. People find them on the shore after storms. The Lady of the Fountain who helped King Andrew was an Ondine. They are very powerful and good.”
Owen swallowed, his heart
wrenching with emotion. He could feel the magic of the Fountain pulsing around and inside him. He needed to ask Polidoro for more information about Ondines. Perhaps that was Sinia’s origin instead? A feeling of certainty rang through him like a bell.
“I’ve always liked this library,” Owen said, announcing himself as he approached the corner of the window seat.
Drew lifted his head at Owen’s words. “I didn’t hear you.” He closed the book and set it down, his body suddenly tense. His eyes were penetrating for one so young. “Is she safe?”
He knew instantly whom the boy meant. “Yes.”
Drew looked relieved. “I wish I could have told her good-bye,” he said with a hint of melancholy.
Owen suppressed a smile. “She felt the same way. She’s with her father again, on her way back to Atabyrion.” He kept his voice pitched low deliberately, but they were alone in the room. The spy holes were all along one wall, and the window seat was far away from them. Kathryn glanced up at Owen and then looked down at the boy, her lip trembling.
It had to be done. The secret was wriggling furiously now, trying to escape. Owen felt it tearing him apart inside. He didn’t know what was going to happen. But he felt he could not contain it a moment longer.
“When I told you to meet me here, I wanted to let you know that she was safe,” Owen said. “But there is also another reason.”
Drew dangled his legs over the edge of the cushion. He patted the book and a sad look crossed his face. “I’m leaving again. Aren’t I?”
An exquisite pain wrung Owen’s heart. He wanted to tell him all of it, but he couldn’t. It was too much to unload on such a young boy. One secret at a time.
“Do you want to go?” Owen asked.
