The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3)

by Jeff Wheeler

  Owen yanked the dagger out of the table as the thief lord scurried backward and used his magic to vanish. But Owen had been expecting that as well, so he took a large step forward and kicked again, catching the man on the shoulder or the side of his head, hearing the body flop to the ground and roll. He could hear Dragan’s breathing, his tortured gasps and stifled groans, and used the sounds to locate him. Owen knelt down and hammered the dagger’s pommel into the blank space before a boot kicked him in the stomach, knocking him back.

  The blow was a solid one, and Owen found himself crashing into the table. There were scrabbling sounds as Dragan struggled to reach the door.

  Owen’s blood was up, and he sought vengeance against the father who had done so much to hurt and frighten Etayne. He grabbed the edge of the wooden table and flung it hard toward the door. As he twisted, he felt some of the stitches rip in his side, making him double over in pain. The table smashed into the door with an echoing crash, sending fragments of wood everywhere.

  Owen tried to control his rage, his thundering heart, as he reached out with his magic.

  “The debt owed to you is a life,” Owen said in a voice shaking with emotion. “And I intend to pay it in full. Your daughter lost hers saving mine. And I will end yours to pay her back. You betrayed her. You betrayed us all. Come here, thief, so I can kill you!” Owen felt dizziness wash over him, but his magic spread out across the room, doing his bidding.

  There he was—skulking against the wall, cowering in fear.

  Owen raised the dagger to throw it, but at that exact moment, the door of the tower cell burst open and Kevan entered with two Espion guards.

  Dragan used the commotion to slip unseen out of the room. Owen nearly threw the dagger anyway, but he realized he might hit his lieutenant in the process.

  “What’s going on here!” Kevan said in surprise. “How did he get a dagger?”

  Owen flipped the blade and then caught it by the tip and handed it over to one of the men coming to subdue him.

  “You should search people more carefully next time,” he grunted, gasping in pain. Looking down, he saw the bloodstain blooming on his shirt.

  Before dawn, Owen had been hoisted up onto a horse and had ridden from the bailey surrounded by the king’s men. Leading the way was the king himself, his black cloak spotted with chunky flakes of the snow that continued to fall on the city. The hooves crunched through ice and clinked loudly against the stone cobbles of the road. There were already chunks of ice in the river. Owen’s side throbbed with pain, and the cold stung his nose as he breathed.

  Winter had come to Ceredigion.

  They left while the city of Kingfountain was still abed, but as they passed the empty streets, Owen saw men and women peering from behind curtains to watch the king’s procession.

  Owen saw that the chest with the Wizr set was strapped to the back of the king’s saddle. Alongside him rode Lady Kathryn, also swathed in black, a silken veil covering her hair. Her mantle was lined with silver fur. Her face was pallid, and puffs of steam came from her mouth as she breathed. As Owen examined the others accompanying them, he spotted Kevan. A much smaller pony rode next to the Espion, and he recognized it was the boy Drew, bundled in jackets and hats to protect him. Owen’s heart pained him as he realized they had all come to watch him die. But he grieved even more for the boy Severn was preparing to murder. Of course the king had brought Drew along. He assumed it would add to Owen’s misery. To him, the boy was yet another pretender to his throne—he didn’t seem to realize the lad’s significance beyond his resemblance to the Argentines.

  Normally, the king slept out of doors while traveling, even in the winter, but because he was accompanied by his lady and a child, he had chosen to stop at certain hamlets and villages on the road heading north. News reached them at various points of the day. Owen wasn’t included in the messages, but he heard his captors discussing it amongst themselves and gleaned what he could from it.

  The Duke of Brugia had sacked the port city of Callait and hoisted his banners from the tower. Word of his imminent invasion was spreading throughout the kingdom. It was said that boats were assembling off the coastal towns to prepare for the invasion. Rumor also had it that Chatriyon had stirred and was marching an army against Brythonica to prevent anyone from Ceredigion from marrying the duchess. It was said that the duchess’s banners were flying and her army had assembled to resist Occitania, but without Ceredigion to protect her domain, the duchess was likely to fall.

  The different reports coming in at various times along the journey made Owen grow sicker with worry. He was never given even a moment alone. His fare was simple and foul-tasting, and he was deprived of all the luxuries his rank had once afforded him. He was a dead man, he realized. His plan had failed, and all who had supported him would be punished.

  As they rode the snow-packed roads leading to Dundrennan, Owen began to lose hope of finding an opportunity to escape. His magic still returned to him in small trickles, but his usually vast reservoirs were shallow. He thought about Evie and what would happen to her. She would be wise to abandon the North and seek refuge in Atabyrion before the king arrived. They would stand a better chance holding against Severn Argentine in their own lands rather than trying to cling to North Cumbria in open rebellion. Perhaps even a peace treaty could be arranged? But Owen’s thoughts had turned as black as the sky was white. Severn would never forgive Evie or Iago, not now. He would punish them in ways that would stab their hearts. They had a little boy, an heir to the throne. Owen agonized at the thought of the child being sacrificed to sate the king’s hunger for revenge.

  He worried also about Sinia, though with any luck her powers would help protect her. Brythonica was so small compared to Occitania. Her duchy had always staved off invasion through alliances and treaties, but Severn wouldn’t defend her now. Chatriyon was already married, so he couldn’t press his claim. Still, he could force her to marry one of his loyal dukes and punish her peaceful realm for the years of disobedience. Owen’s shoulders drooped as he thought about how much suffering would blast the people as a result of his own failure.

  After days in the saddle, the clouds finally parted, revealing a vast blue expanse over the North. The mountains were fleeced with snow. The pines were laden with it, weighed down and drooping under the heavy load.

  “There it is,” the king announced, reining in and pointing. “See her yonder. The peak Helvellyn. That is where the Maid perished.” He turned and gave Owen a look colder than the frost. “That’s where you perish, lad.”

  A rider wearing the king’s colors rode hard toward them from farther up the road. Severn kept his beast subdued until the man arrived.

  “What news?” Severn asked.

  The man’s cheeks were flushed and he had snow in his beard. He shook his head. “The Queen of Atabyrion still holds Dundrennan, my lord. They know we’re coming and they didn’t flee. Your army is camped less than a league ahead. We’ve overtaken the lower city. Most of the populace fled into the castle to weather the winter and the siege.”

  Severn scowled. “A winter siege. She’s going to make me earn it. Any word from her?”

  The soldier nodded and snow sloughed from his beard. “She states her claim to the land as the rightful heir of Stiev Horwath. She demands that Lord Catsby return the treasures plundered. Once that is done, she promises to swear fealty for her lands to the King of Ceredigion.”

  Severn’s face darkened with anger and Owen smiled at Evie’s pluck.

  “She owes her allegiance to me now,” Severn snarled. “Well, if she wants to play at war, then she will have it. How many men do we have gathered here?”

  The soldier wiped his beard. “Twenty thousand strong and loyal, my lord. The army from Westmarch under Captain Ashby will arrive in a few days. That will bring us to nearly thirty thousand. Even with men from Atabyrion, she can’t have more than fifteen, and if they’re all crammed inside that castle, they’ll be dying of their own fumes ere
long.”

  The king smirked. “Well done. Take my lady and retinue to the city. The journey is cold. I’m going to bring the rest of the men to Helvellyn to see to the king’s traitor.” He turned to Lady Kathryn and reached out, taking her hand. He kissed the glove. “I’ll join you tonight, my love.”

  Lady Kathryn gave Owen a look of sad farewell. Then she turned back to the king and nodded deferentially.

  Owen’s stomach soured as if he’d swallowed spoiled wine.

  “You’re coming with us?” Kevan asked the king in surprise.

  Severn nodded. “I don’t trust any man to see this done for me. Especially no Espion. In fact, you are the one who is not coming with us. I want you to ride into the city and see what news the Espion has of Iago’s troops and movements. Is there a secret way into the fortress? Prove your loyalty to me in this, Kevan, and you may lead the Espion yourself when this is all over.”

  The Maid of Donremy had been taken by mule to the peak of Helvellyn, the second or third largest peak in all of Ceredigion. Owen had read the records of her trial, including her confession about hearing the whispers from the Fountain and the documentation of her many gifts as one who was Fountain-blessed. But all the records were clear about one thing: She had frozen to death in the snow-capped mountains, wearing only a shift. She had been chained to a rock while several soldiers huddled by a few coal-burning braziers and waited out her death. After the deed had been done, they’d dragged her body down for the king’s men to verify that the Maid was no more.

  The horses carried Owen, Severn, and the dozens of trusted soldiers up the slope of the mountain. Owen’s ears and fingers were numb. His toes felt like pebbles. They’d already stripped away his cloak, and his shivers were uncontrollable. The cliffs of Helvellyn were especially steep facing the valley of Dundrennan. But along the far side, the slope was much more gradual, making it easier for the animals to bear their burdens.

  Partway up the mountain, a stone effigy of the Maid had been carved into one of the boulders protruding from the snow. The image was worn and glazed in ice, and Owen felt heartsick looking at it. The air was more difficult to breathe, and Owen felt chunks of ice sticking to his whiskers and lashes. The blue sky from earlier had become veiled in white, as if the storm that was descending on Kingfountain had moved along with them.

  At last, they reached the craggy peak. It was midafternoon, though the sun was hidden by thick clouds. The soldiers set up a little shelter on the leeward side of a boulder and added fuel to their sconces. Flames licked the chilled air, and the men huddled close to them, chafing their hands. Owen was kept away from the warmth, and it tortured him to see the tongues of fire without being able to savor them.

  Severn remained on his pony, seemingly impervious to the cold. He wore the crown on his head, a reminder of his position to himself and all others who saw him. He watched the whole scene unfold dispassionately.

  Two soldiers helped Owen dismount, and he nearly stumbled because of his leaden feet. How long had the Maid survived before perishing? Owen didn’t think he would last the night. He stared at the king without flinching.

  “You may do with me as you please, my lord,” Owen said, his teeth chattering with cold. “But this fate that awaits me also awaits the people of your realm. This unnatural winter was brought on us because of you. I will not be the last who perishes from cold. You bring this doom upon all of your subjects unless you relinquish that crown.”

  The king looked disdainful. “So you’ve warned and so I’ve heard. Even in death you persist in your lies. Maybe you’ve even convinced yourself. But know this. I won this crown by right and by might. I will not give it up willingly. Even if the doom you prophesy comes to pass.”

  Owen frowned. “I can do no more then.”

  “Indeed. You’ve done quite enough,” the king said with iron in his voice. He nodded to the soldiers. “Bring me his corpse in the morn. Be faithful, lads. You will see for yourselves that his bluster is no more than empty noise. I don’t want any of you to miss the action as we humble Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer Llewellyn. Queen of Ashes.”

  The king departed with a dozen men, leaving six behind to watch Owen die.

  He was taken to the very boulder where they’d chained the Maid of Donremy, and his cuffs were attached to the iron rings fastened there. His legs trembled as he stared at the torture of the flames. The wind keened through his thin shirt.

  “Good luck, Evie,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

  He decided to stare at the flames awhile, to imagine what it would be like to cup his hands over them. In his mind, he thought back to his time in Dundrennan as a child, sitting before the raging hearth, his knees touching Evie’s as they talked and played together. From this vantage point, he could see the valley so far below, see the smoke billowing from many chimneys to feed the clouds in the sky. Perhaps it would be the last thing he ever saw.

  Then, from behind the gathered soldiers, part of the snowbank seemed to . . . lift. The soldiers hidden there beneath snow-covered canopies stole from their hiding places and fell on Severn’s guards with brutal efficiency, killing all six before a single one could cry out in warning or pain.

  Two men wrapped in thick furs trudged through the snow toward Owen. As they unwound the scarves covering their faces, Owen’s heart began to hammer again. Sparks of renewed hope began to fly.

  The first man he recognized was the Espion Clark, whose life he had saved at Wizr Falls in Atabyrion. Clark was normally very stoic, but he betrayed himself with a crooked little smile.

  The second man under the hood and wrappings was Evie’s husband, the King of Atabyrion.

  “You look a little chilly, my lord,” Iago said triumphantly in his native brogue. “I think we can spare you a jacket and boots, eh?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Carrick

  Snow sloughed off Owen’s cloak as he dismounted in the castle bailey of Dundrennan. The boots covering his frozen feet had helped ease his discomfort, but he still felt leaden and stiff. Even so, his heart was full of fire and emotion for his rescuers. A few dogs barked in greeting as the doors of the keep opened and Elysabeth rushed out into the slushy ice, a wool blanket draped around her shoulders. She embraced her husband, giving him a passionate kiss on the mouth, and then rushed over to fling her arms around Owen’s neck.

  “You’re safe,” she breathed in his ear before pulling back and staring at him with a jubilant grin. Her eyes were very green at that moment, and he found himself beaming back at her.

  “Thanks to you,” he replied sincerely, still bedazzled by his unexpected reprieve.

  Evie shook her head, and only then did Owen notice the other man approaching them. It was a sheepish-looking Kevan Amrein. He held out the scabbard with the raven insignia on it, offering it to Owen.

  Owen felt another flush of warmth in his heart, and his throat suddenly felt thick as he stared at his old friend. “It was your doing?” he said.

  Kevan looked abashed. “I’ve known you were plotting something for quite some time, my lord,” he said. “I thought it strange you kept bringing Eyric books. I had them snatched while he slept and learned to read the love notes he shared with Lady Kathryn. I’ve tried in many delicate ways to show you I was on your side. When the king finds out I too have rebelled against him, I will need another job. If you’ll have me.”

  Owen started to laugh. The sound just came bubbling out of him. He took the scabbard with one hand and then pulled Kevan into a hug and clapped him hard on the back. “Have you?” he chuckled. “I have a feeling that stopping my execution is only part of your plan.”

  Owen noticed Clark and Iago had drawn close to them. He glanced from face to face, each full of courage and determination. A feeling of profound relief flooded him. He was not alone in trying to bring down Severn. He never had been.

  “Must we have this council in the middle of the freezing bailey?” Iago drawled. “Best to move it to the solar?”

 
Elysabeth nodded with encouragement. “The cold normally doesn’t bother me, but tonight it’s excessively cold.”

  Together they tromped their way back into the castle, where the flames from the hearth and torches forced back the chilly winter air. The castle was crowded with soldiers wearing the badge of the Pierced Lion and there were servants everywhere, bringing food and drink to satisfy those who had hunkered down inside the walls. The commotion abated when they reached the solar, but Owen didn’t mind the stares. His hope had been restored to him. He belted the scabbard around his waist and instantly felt the magic begin to work through him, warming his frozen extremities and mending the festering wounds from his ordeal with Bothwell.

  Owen stood by the hearth, staring down at the huge cedar logs nested amidst the coals, and savoring the warmth. The others entered, and he watched as Iago slouched into the duke’s old chair, quite comfortably, and accepted a flagon of wine from his wife. When Evie stroked Iago’s shoulder tenderly, and he smiled up at her, the evidence of their mutual affection made Owen’s heart clench, but this time the feeling was a little different, a little less covetous. He found himself wishing Sinia were here to enjoy the reprieve with him.

  Turning his back to the fire, he faced his allies. Kevan and Clark were speaking in low tones with each other, but they both fell silent when they saw Owen looking at them.

  “First, I must thank you all,” Owen said, shaking his head. “I was not looking forward to spending the night chained to Helvellyn. I’m not talented at these kinds of speeches, but my heart compels me to speak the gratitude I feel. Thank you all, again.” He folded his arms and began to pace, dropping into the familiar habit. Ripples of Fountain magic added to his warmth as he began to sort through their situation as he would the first blocks of one of his tile structures. “Kevan—how did you arrange this?”