The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(106)

“I’ll admit I’m overwhelmed,” Owen said, pacing to dissipate his nervous energy. “I’ve seen the storm clouds approaching. They are following the crown. Without a king, we will face annihilation. I wanted to forestall the ceremony until the Atabyrions—your people—arrived. But I fear we cannot delay any longer. I think it’s time. Do you agree?”

He looked into Kathryn’s hazel eyes—the look there told him she too was experiencing the burdens that would shortly fall on her shoulders. Drew was just a child. While he would grow to become a king, he was too young to lead soldiers into battle. Too inexperienced to pass laws or choose his councilors. Drew would look to his mother in all things. Owen had known that, so over the past years, he had done what he could to ensure she was prepared to assume her place, even though it would not be as the queen of the realm. That role would fall to another. Genevieve, perhaps, if the Fountain had told him true.

“I agree, Owen,” Kathryn said, squeezing Drew’s shoulders. Then she turned the boy and knelt down in front of him, her black gown shimmering with small pearls and gems. She stroked his hair tenderly. “Are you ready, my son? Everything will change once you become the king.”

The boy looked greensick. “I don’t really want this,” he said, frowning with concern. “Will you . . . stay by me? Will you always be near?” He looked both at his mother and at Owen.

Kathryn’s face saddened a little at the words. “If you wish it, my son,” she said, cupping his hands in hers. “I will be near you as long as you wish me to be.”

He nodded energetically. Then he turned to face Owen. “Will I still learn how to be a knight? I . . . was rather looking forward to it.”

Owen grinned and approached. “The King of Ceredigion doesn’t sit on thrones all day long,” he answered and then mussed the boy’s hair. “Your grandfather rode from one end of the realm to the other regularly. You can’t defend land you don’t know. Every river, every grove, every waterfall will be yours.”

Drew smiled at the thought. “I can go anywhere?”

“It is your right, lad. And I will serve you through the best of my days as Duke Horwath served the Argentines. Loyalty binds me to you. If you will have me.”

Drew smiled again. “I should like you to serve me, my lord.”

Owen shook his head. “It is I who will be calling you by that title shortly.” He stared down at Kathryn and offered a hopeful smile. “We will go to Our Lady.”




The proclamation went out from the palace that every boy near the age of eight should be brought to the sanctuary of Our Lady by their parents to be presented to the deconeus. The prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman would be fulfilled, it was said. The new king of Ceredigion would draw a blade from the fountain, just like King Andrew had done, according to myth.

Owen, of course, had told Kevan to secure the sanctuary with his most trusted Espion. He walked the entire grounds himself, using his magic to seek for threats such as Dragan. He had summoned the blade to the fountain once, to test it. It had appeared, shimmering in the waters. Then he had let it vanish. As he walked around, overhearing parents whisper and boast that their child was the special descendant who would pull the sword from the waters, he suppressed a smile. Perhaps this smug feeling was how the Wizr Myrddin had felt in the days of old.

Guards wearing Owen’s badge were positioned strategically at every doorway and throughout the crowd. No one wearing the White Boar had come, which did not surprise Owen. Severn was confined to the castle, watched day and night by the Espion. He had chosen to brood in his private chambers, which he would relinquish after the new king was named. Severn actually seemed relieved to have given up command. Owen had requested his input on some matters, only to be snappily reminded that the responsibilities were now his.

A mass of children had gathered outside the gates, and Owen gave the sexton the signal to begin. The lower classes had been allowed to come first, and each child was brought forward to stand before the water, state his name, toss in a coin, and look for the sword. The sexton had a private smile as he watched the fountain being filled with coins.

From the corner of his eye, Owen saw a man approach Kevan and whisper in his ear. A fretful feeling bloomed in Owen’s stomach as he watched Kevan walk briskly to his side, and then waited for him to share the tidings.

“Trouble?” Owen whispered as Kevan sidled up to him.

“A ship from Atabyrion was spotted approaching the harbor.”

Owen felt a burst of relief. “Slow the line down. We’re nearly to the noble families. I want to save the surprise for the end, after they’ve all had a chance. That should give Iago and Elysabeth some time to get here.”

“I’ll see to it,” Kevan replied. He slipped off to do Owen’s bidding.

The endless procession of children wore down Owen’s patience, and he began to pace by the edge of the fountain, his heart pounding in his chest.

Hours passed as the children of the realm continued to visit the shrine, each leaving the fountain without experiencing a glimpse of the blade. No one else in the vicinity used Fountain magic. As the day wore on, Owen felt his tension begin to fall away.

One by one, the noble children came and went. One impetuous lad actually tried to slip a dagger into the fountain, undoubtedly at his parents’ behest. Owen sent the boy on his way, sparing a scolding look for his parents.