The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(87)
Almost as if in answer to that thought, he sensed Fountain magic emanating from the stairwell. It had an oily feeling to it, though, and instead of offering hope, it made him uneasy. He stopped and stared at the door.
“What is it?” one of his protectors asked. He didn’t know either of the underlings who’d been chosen for the assignment.
The other man snorted, shrugged, and spat, continuing to chafe his hands before the flames. Then he stiffened. “I ’ear boots coming up the steps.” He straightened and put a hand on his dagger.
The sensation of the Fountain grew more pronounced, and Owen found himself breathing hard, the cold seeping into his bones.
There was a jangle at the lock and then the door opened. Much to Owen’s surprise, the king was the first to enter. Kevan stood next to him, his face troubled but studiedly neutral. In his arms, he carried the chest with the Wizr board. Several guards wearing the king’s colors filed in behind them, and Owen felt the presence of an unseen man enter at last. Dragan was there, but he was using his power of invisibility.
“I wasn’t expecting a personal visit, my lord,” Owen said, feeling confused and anxious. He tried to pinpoint Dragan’s location, but only got a subtle impression that the thief was against the far wall by the window.
“Well, we are heading out on the morrow to crush an invasion,” the king said with a strange calmness. “I want some answers from you before you die, Owen. To satisfy my curiosity, I suppose. I didn’t want to discuss this in the hall in front of so many.”
Owen swallowed and shrugged.
“Where did you get the Wizr board?” Severn asked. “It’s been missing since Eredur died. I used to watch him play it. It holds many memories for me.”
Owen was surprised. “You knew of it?”
Severn nodded. “Of course I did. It’s been handed down in my family for generations. It’s been stolen so many times, it’s almost laughable. My brother believed he couldn’t lose a battle so long as he held it. He was superstitious, of course. I’m certain he would have won his battles without it. But I know Chatriyon’s father and grandfather feared the Wizr board. He tried to have it stolen several times.” He smiled shrewdly. “But as I said, it disappeared while my brother was king. Where did you find it? Did the duchess give it to you? Was it in Brythonica all this time?”
Owen shook his head. “No, it was in the cistern beneath the palace. I first saw it there when I was your hostage.”
The king pursed his lips. “Remarkable. I never thought to search there. My brother had many treasures that weren’t found in the royal vaults after he died. I assumed his wife had taken it with the rest and brought them to sanctuary.” The king started pacing. “It’s all a bunch of rubbish anyway. I don’t have a magic Wizr set helping me, and I’ve never been defeated either.” He snorted derisively.
Owen narrowed his eyes. “It’s not superstition,” he said in a low voice. “The Wizr set is causing this storm.”
“When my wife died, there was an eclipse,” Severn scoffed. “Fools are always quick to attribute ill omens to the stars or the weather.”
“Fools convince themselves their enemies are their true friends,” Owen countered. “There are rules in the game of Wizr. Even though you’re a king, you cannot change the rules of the game. The storm has come because you broke the rules of sanctuary years ago.”
“Then why did the storm stop, I ask you?”
Owen clenched his fists. “Because it was taken outside your domains! It was inside the sanctuary of St. Penryn until I brought it back.”
The king pointed his finger at Owen. “You brought it back.”
Owen swallowed, trying to rein in his emotions. “I believe in the omens, Severn. I’ve seen evidence of the Fountain’s judgments all my life. You are Fountain-blessed yourself, how can you deny what gives you your own power?”
Severn looked at him with disdain. “I believe in the magic. I used to believe in the source,” he answered in a quiet way. “I used to trust. But no more. If I lived in the days of King Andrew, I would have been one of his knights. I would have believed in the principles of Virtus. But that’s not the world we live in, Owen! This is a world of princes, poison, and power. Andrew was a myth. A legend. There is no Dreadful Deadman. You invoked a legend to usurp my crown for yourself, do not deny it. Oh, you would have used some child to make your claim legitimate. Especially one who bears resemblance to my dead nephews. I’ve uncovered your trickery, Owen. How convenient the Espion couldn’t locate the boy’s birth parents. I know how your mind works. And that prophecy you made! It’s all the people are talking about now. Some boy is going to draw a sword from the waters of Our Lady. Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do once I’ve drowned Iago and Elysabeth for treason. I’m going to summon every lad of eight summers to Kingfountain.” He stepped closer. “And then I’m going to push them all into the river to see who survives! Even your little puppet.” He snorted maliciously and lifted his hands. “Every prince and every king who has lifted a heel or raised a finger against me will ensure that the children in their kingdom meet the same fate.”
Owen stared at him in growing horror. “Your heart is already ice.”
The king met his eyes without flinching. “One grows numb to cold after a time. As you are to experience yourself.” He looked at Kevan. “We leave before dawn. Make sure the roads are shoveled ere we leave the city. I’ve already sent my army North with Catsby.” He turned to leave.