The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(107)
The tension in the room grew more and more acute as each successive child came away swordless. Would the prophecy go unfulfilled after all? Was someone missing? Lady Kathryn stood off to the side with some of the other nobles. Drew was behind her, watching the crowd warily and rocking from foot to foot. There were only a few supplicants left when Kevan walked swiftly through one of the doors with an older gentleman, dressed in the ceremonial trappings of Atabyrion. He was a grandfatherly man with long white hair that was balding halfway across the dome of his head. He was followed by several warriors. The steward at the old man’s elbow looked familiar, and after a moment, Owen placed him as the man Owen had met at Eyric and Kathryn’s manor in Atabyrion.
The old man was Lady Kathryn’s father, Earl of Huntley, who had not seen his daughter in years.
Owen heard Kathryn gasp, and then she rushed to her father, tears spilling from her eyes as she embraced him. Their reunion tugged at his heart, but where was Iago? Where was Evie? Kevan rushed over to him, hopefully to give him answers.
“The Earl of Huntley came alone,” Kevan whispered in his ear. “There was only his ship.”
That did not make sense to Owen. Why would Elysabeth and Iago have missed this opportunity to witness the young king’s coronation and to claim the right to North Cumbria? The anxiety in his stomach grew keener.
The last child of the nobles sulked away from the edge of the Fountain. Owen was filled with unease, but the time had come to act.
The deconeus lifted his voice to be heard above the murmuring. “Is there another child who would like to approach? A foundling perhaps? Someone who has not been given a chance? The Fountain will choose a king for this people. Please, come forth!”
Owen licked his lips and scanned the crowd. A few ragamuffin lads who were clearly thieves stepped forward at the invitation, some shoving at the others. They each walked away empty-handed. A solemn quiet descended on the room and then people began to chitter and talk anxiously. They began to doubt.
Owen glanced and saw Kathryn standing next to her father, one of her hands on his chest, her other on his back. She was looking at Owen for the signal. He nodded once.
With a subtle gesture, she motioned for Drew to approach the fountain.
The boy hesitated, all nerves and jumbling emotion, and then stepped away from the adults who had been shielding him. The entire room fell quiet as he made his way forward, wringing his hands. His golden hair shone in the torchlight as he moved down the row of white and black squares leading to the fountain. Suddenly Owen was overcome with the memory of when he had sought sanctuary in this place as a boy, only to be tricked into leaving by the king’s power. He swallowed the memory, feeling his heart nearly burst from the rush of emotion it summoned.
Drew stood by the edge of the fountain, staring into the water. He had been given a coin for the occasion, and he dug into his pocket for it. Cupping it in his hand, he closed his eyes, and Owen saw his lips move in a silent prayer. Then, opening his eyes, he flung the coin into the fountain.
Owen summoned the blade Firebos into the water. It was there in an instant, gleaming and majestic in the waters. A hushed groan came from the deconeus as he watched the blade appear.
Drew looked in fascination at the water, then hiked up his sleeve to his elbow. Bending close, he reached into the water. Owen felt a shudder of magic as the boy’s hand touched the hilt of the sword—the Wizr board was moving, transforming. Ancient stone grating on ancient stone. The hush in the sanctuary was absolute.
There was a whisper from the Fountain, a sound that penetrated every heart and sent shudders through all of them, Owen included.
The White King has come, it said.
Drew pulled the dripping blade from the fountain. It seemed to rise in the air of its own power, until everyone saw the young boy quivering by the edge of the fountain, holding the sun-white blade aloft.
It was too solemn of a moment to cheer. Owen watched as people fell to their knees, and he joined them. Water dripped down the boy’s skinny arm. The look he gave Owen was one that said, Now what do I do?
A warm breeze began to blow outside.
And the snow began to melt.
Owen leaned against a pillar in the sanctuary. The people were celebrating in the streets, the noise rising above the sound of the waterfall crashing beneath them. He felt he had done the right thing, but his heart was full of knives as he watched Kevan speak with the Earl of Huntley. Then the Espion escorted the man over to him.
“Lord Huntley, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Owen said formally, bowing in greeting. “Welcome to Kingfountain.”
The man’s voice was heavily accented with the brogue of his country. “I’ve supped at Tatton Hall, my dear boy. When your older brothur was a wee one. I saw you when you visited Edonburick in disguise. Clever lad, as always.”
“What news from Edonburick?” Owen said, dropping his voice low. The earl did not look comfortable. In fact, despite the happy reunion with his daughter, he looked to be grieving.
“There is news. Aye, there is news,” Huntley said. “I came on embassy from the queen to fetch my daughter back in the commotion. But I arrived to find the situation much less bleak than we had feared. And my queen bid me to entrust this letter with you and no one else. Secrets have a way of being found, I’ve learned in my old age. Best if you be the first to know of it.”
He withdrew a sealed letter.