The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(8)
The knights marched to the edge of the river, the sound of their boots lost amidst the noise of the crowd. Then they stamped to a halt and angled the staves so that the canoe slid forward and landed in the river with a splash.
Everyone in the crowd stopped breathing as the canoe was snatched up in the current and hurtled forward. Owen was fixated by the dark shape as it knifed through the ripples in the river and rushed toward the bridge at breakneck speed. It was a matter of heartbeats before the canoe approached their gathering. All was silent except for the clamor of the falls, so there was nothing to mask the collective gasp as the little boat came up. Owen could see the gray cheeks of the duke, his closed eyes, and his sword fastened to his hands by straps. A deep sadness pierced Owen’s heart as he gazed at the face of Stiev Horwath one last time.
And then the canoe tipped over the edge, plummeting into the snowstorm mist of water vapor below. A shared gasp and sigh came from those assembled as he disappeared.
To the Deep Fathoms. Wherever that was.
The king clapped Owen’s shoulder, his face full of respect for the fallen soldier who had given his entire life for the Argentine family. He had left behind a legacy of faithfulness and honor that was about to be pillaged and sullied by the new duke of the North. It grated on Owen to see the undeserving rewarded, while Elysabeth, who had sacrificed her own wishes to do her duty to the king, was forced to give up the lands and rights that were her due. It was cruel and it was wrong. Yes, it was pragmatic. Yes, it was clever. But punishing Elysabeth for her husband’s previous treachery was disrespectful to the loyalty that she had shown.
“I’ve given this some thought. I share your distrust of Lord Marshal Roux,” King Severn said in his ear as everyone turned and moved to the other side of the bridge. There was always a feeling of hopefulness after a boat was sent down the falls, people lingering around to see if it would survive the fall and continue on downstream. The river wound all the way to Kingfountain and, ultimately, the sea.
“He won’t be pleased with me, you can be sure,” Owen said, chuckling darkly. “A demand for marriage won’t be met with good feelings, not when we protected her from the Occitanian king’s demands seven years ago.”
“Which is why we’re doing it.” Severn chuckled maliciously. “It’s just a pretext, Owen. An excuse to invade. But when you go, bring Etayne with you.” His eyes narrowed coldly. “Just in case.”
Owen wrestled with the conflict in his heart. He wanted Etayne to stay in Kingfountain and help shield Kathryn from Severn while he was gone. “My lord,” he started to hedge, but the look in Severn’s eyes was enough to silence him.
“I insist,” the king said. “If Roux gets in the way, then get him out of the way.”
As they stood by the bridge overlooking the massive falls, Owen had the unbidden urge to shove the king over the rail.
“Yes, my lord,” Owen said with a weary sigh.
He wanted to be gone, far away from the ill feelings that had descended on Dundrennan like an evil shroud. Lord Catsby was only too eager to assume his new title. He did not have the grace or wisdom to recognize the offense his new position would cause to Elysabeth and her relations. Her mother, Lady Mortimer, was told in the rudest of terms that she would need to either return to her own estates or follow her daughter back to Atabyrion. Catsby did not care which she chose. She was no longer welcome in the castle that had belonged to her father, a venerated and loyal servant to the king.
Outspoken as always, Elysabeth rebuked the new duke for his insensitivity, but he condescendingly informed her that while she might be the queen of a backwater kingdom, she had no authority in his estate. Iago looked ready to draw a blade, so Owen tried to calm the hostilities by pulling Lord Catsby aside and reminding him that he was being a jack.
Catsby might not care about giving offense to Iago and Elysabeth, but he dared not rile the Duke of Westmarch, who was the king’s general and the leader of the Espion. Catsby was cowed, for a while, but ill will made Owen eager to depart. The place that had always been his sanctuary was no longer welcoming.
The next day, he was inspecting the girth straps of his horse in the bailey, preparing to leave, when Elysabeth called to him from the castle doors. He left the horse with a groom and strode back to see what she wanted.
Her lip was quivering, her eyes full of tears.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, concerned.
She swallowed, clearly trying to master her emotions. “Owen,” she gasped, shaking her head. “I’m . . . I’m so frightened! I don’t know how I can do this!” Her eyes skittered wildly, and her hands grasped at his tunic.
He looked at her with increasing alarm. “What’s happened?”
They were alone in the doorway, no one within earshot.
“The king has asked . . . well, more like ordered, that we leave one of our children behind. He . . . he said he misses the days of old when you and I used to run around the palace together. But we both know—Iago and I—we know he’s doing this to ensure we don’t do anything rash now that Catsby commands the North. My husband is furious, as you may well imagine. He wants to force the king to accept my rights to Dundrennan, but I think that would be foolish. Not now, not when he’s so powerful. I must pick one of my children.” Tears coursed down her cheeks. She let out a breath. “I’m sorry, Owen . . . but my heart feels ripped asunder. I think of your own mother. How did she endure it? It feels unbearable . . .” She started to sob, and Owen yearned to comfort her.