The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(72)
“I don’t want you to give up your rooms,” she said, her tone thick with disappointment. “There are places I could go as well.”
He shook his head no. “But if anyone comes here to kill me, you’ll be able to capture and question them.”
She smiled slyly at him. “Very well, my lord. What next?”
He rubbed his hands together. “Have you ever steered a boat in a river headed toward the falls before?”
The palace of Kingfountain never truly slept. There were guards who roamed the corridors at night, carrying torches to brighten the way. But the Espion tunnels behind the walls made for a faster mode of travel. Etayne had arranged disguises for all of them. She’d used her powders and pencils to line her face and the corners of her eyes, transforming herself into a matronly looking woman. Owen had seen her impersonate her mother before and realized what she was doing. She had used a blade and lathering soap to give Owen a shave, keeping the whiskers on the side and a mustache, but removing the rest. In the morning, she said she’d shave him smooth the rest of the way to make it less conspicuous.
After darkness fell, they stole into Genevieve’s room through the secret passages and found her wide awake, unable to sleep due to her excitement for the coming dawn.
“We’re leaving tonight instead?” she repeated eagerly after Owen explained the situation. “And we’re taking the secret tunnels in the palace? This is just like the stories Mama used to tell me!”
“Exactly so,” Owen said. “You will have stories of your own to tell her when you get back to Edonburick.”
Her eyes gleamed. “What about Drew?”
Owen shook his head no and saw the disappointment fall over her face. “He’ll be worried if I don’t at least say good-bye. I don’t want him to worry.”
Owen felt his patience begin to slip, but then he remembered how Ankarette had always treated him. He dropped down on one knee and put his hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “I will tell him good-bye for you, Genevieve.” He glanced at Etayne before looking back at the girl. “We learned tonight that a poisoner is coming to the castle.”
Genevieve’s expression was a mixture of fear and wonder. “Truly?”
Owen nodded. “I promised your mama I’d keep you safe. We’re getting into a boat and going into the river. Drew must stay behind, but do not worry. I will look after him for you.” He felt a tug in his heart. “I feel certain you’ll see him again.”
She beamed at that and then nodded eagerly.
Owen rose and led the way back into the tunnels. He used his magic to reach out around them, feeling for hidden dangers or threats. Stacking the tiles earlier had filled him to the brim with Fountain magic, and he thought it wise to anticipate trouble instead of reacting to it. He also kept his senses alert for signs of other magic, in case Dragan was lurking in the dark tunnels.
When they reached the cistern, the moon was hanging high overhead, casting their shadows on the ground. The moon was ringed with frost-light and their boots crunched in the snow as they crossed the courtyard. The walls of the castle were outlined in white, and drifts had already begun to gather in heaps. The cold air stung his nose. Owen paused at the dark opening that allowed the water to drain into the cistern. Genevieve had linked hands with him as they walked in the tunnels, as children were wont to do. It was strangely comforting feeling her hand in his own, and it made him think about what it would be like to be a father himself someday. She tightened her grip and bent over the hole, gazing down.
“You two jumped down here?” she asked him, staring into the gloomy cistern hole. Owen knew from experience that it was a long drop to the waters of the vast cistern that ran the length of the palace.
“We did,” he answered with a wry smile. “But the water will be too cold right now. There’s another way down. Over there.” He pointed.
They walked over, and before Owen tripped the latch, he used his magic to once again feel for any threats awaiting them. Etayne, who was bundled up in a cloak, walked behind them, and she continually looked for any sign of pursuit. Only stillness met them, and Owen felt satisfied no one was lying in wait for them.
He tripped the latch of the door and led Genevieve down the dark steps without a torch. Etayne shut the door behind them.
“Careful,” Owen said, his voice suddenly echoing. “It drops off into the water on that side. There’s no railing.” Now that they were belowground, he drew a torch from his bag and handed it to Etayne so he could smash two flint stones to light it. The rippling flames from the torch radiated warmth and light, revealing how pink Genevieve’s nose had become in the cold. She looked fearful in the vast underground chasm, but if all went well, she would soon be safe. The boat was right where Owen had left it. Still, he examined both the craft and the oars carefully before hauling it into the water.
Etayne held the light, but she turned around and cocked her head, listening to some distant sound. Owen froze.
After a moment, she shook her head.
Owen got into the boat first and felt it bob with his weight. Using an oar to hook the edge of the platform, he reached for Genevieve’s hand and helped her inside. She sat on a small wooden ledge and gazed up at the cavernous ceiling as the waters lapped fitfully against the hull. Etayne entered next and the boat swayed more, but it steadied as soon as she sat down.