The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(17)

She took a step toward the door before stopping abruptly. “In the game of Wizr, sometimes there are no easy moves left,” she said. She gave him a knowing look. “Each one requires a sacrifice. Let me be blunt, Owen. You intend to topple the king.” Her voice was very low and serious. “We’ve discussed this for years. Severn hasn’t named an heir yet. You believe his heir should be Kathryn’s son. He’s the Dreadful Deadman. How can you make that happen without deposing Severn Argentine?”

Owen stared at the bed, longing to drop into the oblivion of sleep. “I’m still working on it,” he said vaguely. His ideas were still not fully formed. How he wished Ankarette were here to advise him. She would have had it all figured out by now.

Etayne shook her head. “Your loyalties are conflicted. I can see it on your face. You are compelled to obey a king that you no longer respect. Out of duty. But your mind tells you that he’s not the man you once served. And your support of him only strengthens his malice. The other leaders of the realm look to you to act first.”

“Hardly,” Owen countered. “They look to their own interests. Catsby is now the duke of the North and he will plunder everything Horwath built up. He’ll strip Dundrennan to its bones. Evie and Iago may eventually persuade the king to give it up, but what they’ll end up with will cost them more than it benefits them. I’ve seen the same thing happen to other lords of the realm. Even if I were to marry the duchess, do you think the king would allow me to keep so much power?” He snorted.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Etayne pressed with growing frustration in her voice. “The king to grow old and die? Owen, he’s barely fifty. He’s still as strong and hale as he was twenty years ago. Why do you wait?”

Owen stared at her. She had asked an honest question, and it deserved an honest answer. He sighed wearily. “Sit down on the couch, Etayne. This may take a while to explain.”

“I’m not tired,” she said, but she promptly obeyed.

He went to the table next to the couch and fetched his goblet. He took a sip of the currant wine and winced. It was a bit tart. He set it down and then perched on the edge of the couch, looking down at the poisoner.

“Have you heard the story of the Duke of Bollinger?” he asked.

Etayne frowned and shook her head. “No. Was he from our history?”

Owen nodded. “Bollinger is the name of the royal castle in East Stowe. That’s where he was born, so it became his common name. Until he became king. From then on, he was known as Henricus Argentine.”

Her eyes widened with understanding. “Yes, I do know that name.”

Owen continued. “Elysabeth told me this story years ago. She loves history more than I do. Henricus was the Duke of East Stowe. The king at the time, much like Severn, was a brash man who pitted his nobles against each other. His marriage was childless, so he had no heir. You can imagine the infighting that occurred as the many Argentine cousins sought to be named his heir. One of these was Bollinger.”

Etayne looked thoughtful. “He was banished from the realm, wasn’t he? I do recall something about that.”

Owen was impressed. “It was over an argument he had with another duke. The two of them were snarling like hounds for scraps, so the king banished them both. The duke of the North was banished for life. Bollinger was banished for a set time. While he was gone, the king plundered his lands to support a war against the island of Legault. The king was still embroiled in that fight when Bollinger returned, demanded his rights as duke, and proceeded to topple the king. The kingdom rallied behind him, and he was named Henricus. He spent the rest of his life trying to hold on to the power he had seized.”

Owen rose from the couch and began pacing. “Do you ever get the feeling, Etayne, that history plays itself over and over? Like some sort of farce where actors assemble and assume different roles? I feel like I’m Bollinger. That events are trying to force me to play a certain part.” He rubbed his jaw, feeling the untidy whiskers there. He hadn’t shaved in weeks. He didn’t care.

“You feel you should claim the throne?” she asked him softly, almost eagerly.

“No!” he shot back, dousing the flame before it struck the tinder of his ambitions. “But I can see why Bollinger was tempted to do it. It’s the same reason Severn took the seat. He worried about losing his wife and son after Eredur died. He was the duke of the North, a powerful man, and he feared it would be stripped away from him so that the queen dowager’s children could inherit. Of course he fought for it! And I feel the same destiny dragging me toward the same course. But I want to fight it, Etayne.” He looked at her, his eyes blazing with energy. “I don’t want to be told what to do. I don’t want to be swept away on a current that transforms me into another Severn.” His voice fell to a whisper. “I fear that most of all. Losing myself. I already talk like him,” he said dejectedly.

Etayne rose from the couch, her look serious and contemplative. She touched the side of his face. “You are not Severn Argentine.”

“Yet,” Owen said. “But I feel it inside me. I feel the anger. The frustration. The helplessness. The role of the conniving uncle will next be played by Owen Kiskaddon!” he said passionately. “Have you ever felt that you don’t have a choice? That the Fountain’s current is too strong? I’m trying to swim against it, Etayne. But I’m so tired already. I’m already weary and I’m still a young man. Will there come a day when I gather children around me for fear of poison?” He gave her a pleading look.