by Jeff Wheeler
“I’ve always loved you, Owen Kiskaddon,” she confessed. “I saw this moment so many times in my visions. You loving me, truly loving me. When you first came to Ploemeur, I’ll admit it was a disappointment.” She smiled wryly at him. “But it was worth waiting for.”
Owen smiled. He had rarely felt so languid and relaxed, and he utterly enjoyed being cradled against her. He lifted himself slowly and then pressed his ear to her bosom, listening against the sound of the surf for her heartbeat. There it was. She looked shyly at him, smiling, and then nodded.
“I am mortal now,” she said. “Not every Ondine gets her wish. Few do, actually. But I’m one of the fortunate.” She smoothed his hair over his ear.
Owen sat up higher and kissed her again, taking it slowly, enjoying it much more than their rushed, awkward kiss at the betrothal. He started to pull away, and he felt flush with pleasure when he realized she didn’t want him to. “I’m embarrassed by my memory of our first kiss at St. Penryn. My apologies for not being more practiced.”
She smiled knowingly. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”
Owen grinned. “I can imagine it was different for you as well,” he added with a chuckle. “This was our true first kiss—the one you saw in your visions. That must have been very confusing for you, to know what would happen but not always how. Or when.”
She nodded in agreement. “I fell in love with the possibility of you, Owen. How many men would jump into a river to save a child about to be pulled over the falls? How many men would forsake their first love?” Her eyes were suddenly wise and tender. She touched the side of his face. “It was painful to watch you go through it, Owen. Please know that.”
He nodded and took her fingers and kissed her knuckles. “You’ve been quite aware of my pain, Sinia. In a way, you’ve borne it alongside me.” He rubbed his thumb across her fingers. “I’m heartbroken still. Not because I chose you, but because I’m sorry for Evie.” He sighed. “This will be so painful for her. She’s still my friend, and I want her to be happy, but it didn’t feel right. I knew it was my choice to make.” He looked in her eyes. “I chose you.”
Sinia threw her arms around his neck, hugging him to her. They held each other for a long while, and it was soothing to Owen’s heart and his wounds to be close to her. There were tears on her lashes when she released him. An encroaching wave came near but not near enough to soak them.
“You’re not immune to the water anymore, should we move farther up?” he suggested.
She shook her head. “No, I love the feel of it. I want to take a long, warm bath. I want to swim in a river. Now that you’ve made me complete, I can enjoy the things that have been denied me for too long.” She smoothed some hair behind her ear. “I have something else to confess, my love. If you’ll let me.”
“Of course,” Owen said, looking into her eyes.
“We learn much through suffering,” she said. “But I think what we learn most is who we really are. I’ve known the true you for some time, Owen. But you were like a chick struggling to escape its shell. Now you’re free to grow and become what the Fountain intended you to become. You may have thought what the Fountain forced you to endure was unpleasant, even cruel. But now you know yourself. Now you know what you would have chosen without any foreknowledge of the consequences. That’s why I couldn’t tell you, Owen. I knew what would happen when you intervened in the Wizr game. I knew it would trigger the events leading to Iago’s shipwreck.” She looked almost apologetic. “But I had to let it happen so that you would know yourself. And the other outcomes would have been much worse. But the story isn’t over.” She looked down at her lap, and Owen felt a little uneasiness creep over him.
“What?” he pressed.
She looked up at him. “I saw the shipwreck in my vision. All the crew were killed. Only Iago survived. In the vision, he was wearing a brooch on his cloak. A brooch with the raven symbol. It was a sign to me that I needed to give it to him. And so I did, ere he departed. He did not drown, Owen. The brooch is a talisman against it. He was washed up on shore days later and discovered by a fisherman and his wife. They’re tending his injuries, for he was buffeted against the rocks. He can’t remember his name right now, but he will. And then he will return to Edonburick, and he will find his wife and children waiting for him.”
Owen stared at her, his eyes widening. His first reaction was shock, followed by an all-encompassing sense of relief. “Thank the Fountain!” He could not fathom how he would have felt if he’d gone to Evie right away. He clenched his fist and pressed it against his mouth, feeling as if he had narrowly escaped a horrible fate. For both of them.
Sinia stroked his hair. “You can’t tell her,” she whispered. “She will find out in due course.”
“And you’ve always known?” he gasped out.
She nodded, and the heaviness of the gesture revealed the burden of the secret.
“I’m so grateful I chose as I did,” Owen said.
“Not more grateful than I am,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Owen, I’ve seen her reunion with Iago. I’ve seen her joy when she learns the news. I wouldn’t rob her of that moment for all the world.” She paused, and a small smile tipped up her lips. “I’ve seen friendship between our families too. Between our children and theirs. But I cannot reveal all that I’ve seen. There are troubles ahead as well as behind.”
“I hate to think of how she’s suffering. She lost her father when she was Genevieve’s age.” He looked at her. “As you did yourself. I will trust in your judgment, in your gifts. If you feel it is better that she learns the truth in its due time.”
Sinia sighed. “I do. Her influence will be strongly felt in Ceredigion for generations. The past has a way of coming back, you know.” She smiled at him lovingly and smoothed his hair. Then she ran her finger along his smooth cheek. “Thank you for shaving before you came to me.”
Owen shrugged. “That’s another thing about you I figured out on my own without you telling me,” he said. “I can be quick to observe when I put my mind to it.”
She nodded and kissed the edge of his jaw. “I like it much better this way.”
“If my lady wishes it,” he replied gallantly. “But I do have a question for you, Sinia. One that I cannot figure out on my own. I think I’m right. I am right every now and then.”
“Indeed,” she replied, putting her hands in her lap. “What would you ask me?”
He leaned back on his elbows, feeling them sink a little into the glass beads, and crossed his boots. “It has to do with the Wizr Myrddin.”
“Very well, what would you ask me?”
“According to the legends, he fell in love with a Lady of the Fountain. She did not requite his love. He taught her all his tricks, the words of power, and then she imprisoned him in a cave of stone. It was after that that King Andrew was defeated and the Wizr set went missing.”
“What is your question?” she asked, tilting her head and giving him an encouraging smile.
“Well, my question is whether Myrddin is still alive. I think he’s trapped in the grove in the forest, with the silver dish that makes it rain. Now that King Andrew has returned, does it not coincide that Myrddin must return as well?”
Sinia seemed to have anticipated his question. She did not look surprised by it at all. “He is trapped beneath the stones. Some of my father’s ancestors tried to move the stones, but no team of horses was strong enough. The boulders are too massive. Even the Fountain’s magic is not strong enough to lift them.”
Owen looked at her with a smirk of self-confidence.
“What are you thinking?” she asked him.
“You mean you cannot read my mind?” he teased.
She shook her head. “I’ve never had that talent.”
“I think I know a way it can be opened,” he replied. “It’s one of the reasons I brought the king with me to Ploemeur. Have you had any visions that say we shouldn’t release Myrddin?”
She looked curious and interested. “None at all.”
Owen sat up. “Do you think he’ll be angry for being imprisoned so long? If he’s even alive?”
“Oh, I know he’s alive,” Sinia said. “He’s trapped between the mortal world and the Deep Fathoms. He does not age where he lives. If we succeed in saving him, he could bring back knowledge that was lost long ago.”
Owen had been considering it. “I’m hoping he would be grateful to those who freed him.”
“Wizrs have been known to be generous,” Sinia said.
He took her hand in his and helped her to her feet. They stood at the edge of the beach, staring at the crashing waves, hand in hand.
“Shall we?” he asked eagerly, nodding toward the rush of waves.
Sinia’s smile was all the coaxing he needed.
EPILOGUE
The day was cool and mild, the air thick with the fragrance of trees. A few ravens croaked overhead from the branches as Owen, Sinia, and Drew carefully made their way through the maze toward the sound of trickling water.
After passing the gorse, they reached the stone plinth to which the silver bowl was fixed with a chain. Memories clashed inside Owen’s mind—a battle had raged in this place where he had defeated Marshal Roux and become the protector of these woods. This time he felt safe and confident as he walked into the hallowed grove. He was welcome here—the forest recognized him as its new master.
“What is this place?” Drew asked, staring at the massive boulders lodged together against the backdrop of a stony hill. The oak tree’s haggard branches were twisted at crooked angles. The leaves had grown back, and were draped with clumps of mistletoe that caught Owen’s eye. He sensed magic in the tree. Just as before, water was coming from its roots, trickling down the lichen-speckled boulders.
“A place of ancient magic,” Sinia answered, her voice hushed to match the solemnity of the place. “The Montforts have been its guardians for centuries.”
Drew gazed up at the tree in awe, his expression wise beyond his years. “It feels familiar. Have I been here before?”
“There are many memories in this place,” Sinia answered, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Owen hefted the large shield and slung his arm through the strap. The shield was emblazoned with the sigil he had seen throughout the palace. It was of two faces, opposing each other. It was a mark of the Wizr board, Sinia had explained to him—a sign that Brythonica was one of the places set on the board to hold in balance the barrier between water and land.
“When I pour the water on the table,” Owen said, taking a few steps forward before looking back. “There will be a loud peal of thunder. Be ready for it. Then a storm will rage around us. It cannot hurt you while we are near. Don’t be afraid.”
Drew’s eyes were deep and serious, and a little afraid, but he nodded with the encouragement. Owen glanced at Sinia, meeting her gaze to see if there was any look of warning. She said nothing to encourage or discourage him.
Owen hiked up to the edge of the table and then picked up the bowl. He felt the power of the Fountain flow through him. It was like trudging through a river, feeling the force of its current push him from behind. He was not trying to walk crosswise against the current, but with it. The magic swelled and strained inside him.
Reaching down, Owen carried the bowl to the small waterfall streaming down the face of the boulder beneath the tree. He placed it under the flow and watched it fill and then brought it carefully back down onto the plinth, the chain rattling as it scraped along the rocks. Excitement churned inside of Owen. His plan would work. He was certain of it.
Standing over the plinth, he turned the bowl over and splashed the water onto it. Then he set the bowl down and retrieved the shield just as the sky cracked open with thunder, sending a percussive boom that made Drew flinch and cover his ears. Just as Owen reached his betrothed and his king, the rain began to pound down on them, coming in fat, heavy drops that immediately turned into a torrent. Owen held up the shield and Sinia and Drew sheltered beneath it. The boy’s eyes were wide with fear as the storm slammed into them, the rain turning into sleet and then rock-sized hail.
Sinia lifted her arm and helped Owen support the weight of the shield, her eyes widening with excitement at the ferocity of the storm. The shield took a battering and Owen’s arm throbbed under the weight of it, but the magic of the storm was parting around him. After a few terrible moments passed, Drew’s frown of fear turned into a grin of ease.
The storm stopped as quickly as it had come.
Owen remembered what happened next, and it followed that same order. The leaves of the oak tree, which had been torn unceremoniously from the branches in the storm, swirled eddies down the hill and away from the plinth. Then birds appeared in the branches and began to sing, and their song was so full, so rich, so heartbreakingly lovely that Owen lowered the shield, and the three of them listened to the music. The final notes were a cry of loveliness that made Owen swallow the rising thickness in his throat. Tears danced on Sinia’s lashes. It was a familiar song to her, yet it moved her still.
Owen turned to Drew.
“Now it is your turn,” he told the boy. “Take out the crown.”
The boy quickly unfastened the buckles and opened the flap of the leather satchel he wore around his neck. Wedged inside was the hollow crown, the symbol of office for the King of Ceredigion.
“Do you remember what I told you?” Owen asked the boy.
Drew nodded and removed the crown from the satchel. Owen’s heart was beating faster now, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Bring the winter,” Owen said softly, gazing at the tree and then at the stone.
The boy held the crown before him and then lifted it onto his head. There was magic in it, and the crown adjusted its size to fit the boy’s head. The tines along the fringe were battered and ancient. Owen felt the magic throb and swell as the boy settled it onto his head.
Drew stared at the boulders, his eyes suddenly fierce with determination.
A cold wind swept through the grove, rattling the branches. Puffs of steam came from their mouths. Sinia started to shiver, and Owen pulled her close, his arm around her shoulder. His other hand rested on Drew’s. Little crackling, tinkling sounds started as the water in the grove began to freeze. Frost appeared on the boulders, glistening in the sunlight. The cold pervaded the grove so deeply it turned the limbs of the trees rigid. The birds flapped away, seeking shelter.
Staring at the boulders, Owen watched the designs of frost zigzag across the faces. His ears and nose began to tingle with the chill. The boy’s gaze was transfixed on the boulders in front of him. He did not tremble or close his eyes. He was mesmerized by the magic flowing through him. Creaks and groans began to rumble.
Owen held his breath. He felt Sinia reach up and rest her hand atop his.
“Colder,” Owen breathed softly. The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened.
The boy stared at the rocks, his mouth turning down into a little frown as he concentrated. The air was so cold it was like breathing knives.
Then there was a cracking sound.
The main boulder behind the tree split in half and tumbled to the side. A jagged series of seams and splits showed where the water had been carving inside it for ages. Owen jolted when the boulder broke away, moving backward involuntarily in case it tumbled toward them.
Beyond the rock, a black cave lay open. There was a sigh as the breeze found it and began to explore the edges.
Drew stepped forward, drawn to the gap in the stone. His eyes were narrowing, his expression grave and intense.
“Do you hear it?” the boy asked in a hushed tone.
Owen did not. He looked at Sinia in confusion. She shook her head no.
“What do you hear?” Owen asked.
“Whispers,” the boy replied. He stepped cautiously toward the riven boulder.
“You can hear them, boy?” said a gruff voice with a strange accent from within the c
ave. “Bless me if you can. Bless me indeed. It’s still daylight out?” There was a grunt and a stifled groan, and then the shape of an older man with a crooked staff was silhouetted against the darkness. “And who are these pethets you brought with you, eh?”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I still remember sitting on my bed, talking with my oldest daughter about the plot of the Kingfountain series. I told her that Owen and Evie weren’t going to get together in the end and I explained why and told her about Sinia. I told her some of my readers were going to hate me for doing it. I suspected she might be one of them, though as her father, I knew she’d eventually forgive me. “Go for it,” she advised. “If that’s the story you need to tell. Go for it. But please give Evie a happy ending.”
This is the story I’ve been wanting to tell for many years. It was inspired by a dream I had long ago. The dream was about a man in his early twenties who was sarcastic and ill-tempered and really good at insulting people. He was sent by his father, the king, to a neighboring realm to demand the princess there marry him or it would spell war between their kingdoms. In my dream, the princess sacrificed herself to save her country and willingly married the nobleman. Because of her goodness, she had the power to change him and make him something better. As a result, this young man fought against his father the king.
That’s the inspiration for The King’s Traitor. I also want to give credit for the shipwreck idea to one of my early readers Robin, who predicted after The Thief’s Daughter that Iago and Evie would be shipwrecked and he would die, leaving Owen and Evie the chance to get together. This isn’t exactly what she had in mind, but I really liked how it played into the story.
I love reading biographies. I read one once about the first American president, George Washington, and learned that he had a first love whom he did not end up marrying. So did Abraham Lincoln. If you look through the nooks and crannies of history, you’ll find plenty of instances of this. While I prefer stories where the main characters do get together in the end, sometimes things just don’t work out that way. So if you are one of those readers who were disappointed by Owen’s choice of partner, I beg your pardon. This was the story that has been metamorphosing inside me for years.
