The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(10)
Sent with all haste, Kevan Amrein
Kingfountain Palace
CHAPTER FOUR
Prisoners in the Tower
While Owen was still weary from the ride south to Kingfountain, he had little time to rest. He had received a note from an Espion courier about a Brugian plot to free Eyric and Dunsdworth, so he immediately met with his second in command—the Espion he always put in charge during his absences from the palace. Kevan Amrein was a capable man, adept at reading both court subtleties and the people around him, and he had proven his loyalty to Owen again and again despite being twenty years his senior.
Owen and Kevan walked through the Espion tunnels honeycombing the palace, heading toward the entrance to Holistern Tower. They moved with haste, for Owen knew the king expected him to leave for Brythonica as soon as possible.
“That’s a sizable sum,” he told Kevan, watching the bob of the lantern illuminate the tunnels they passed. They had a dank smell that made Owen wrinkle his nose. “No wonder they were tempted. What’s the name of the man you captured?”
“His name is Dragan,” Kevan said. “It’s not an uncommon name in Ceredigion, but there are records of a man with that name in Mancini’s books. A sanctuary man before the king cleared them all out. He skulks in the city now, trying to stay out of the way of the sheriff.”
“And his motive was purely greed?” Owen asked.
“Seems to be the case. I don’t think he has any loyalty to any man. He’s loyal to gold. The sum offered was hefty enough to entice him to risk his neck.”
“And no doubt it will entice others as well,” Owen reported. “Well, if Duke Maxwell wants to stir up trouble in our domain, we can easily accommodate him. While I’m gone, I want you to have someone consider how we can pay Maxwell back in kind. I’m sure there is a nobleman or two in his country who would love to see him fall.”
Kevan smiled cynically. “I imagine there are, my lord.” His gaze narrowed. “You have read the reports about Duke Maxwell, though. He seems a bit strange. An odd fellow obsessed with the legends of the Fountain-blessed. He claims to be Fountain-blessed himself.”
Owen chuckled. “Oh yes. Their equivalent of the Espion is called the Secret Instruction. The head of it is a poisoner named Disant. According to our friends in Brugia, Disant calls Maxwell by a different name—Time. They say his special gift with the Fountain is the ability to travel through time itself.” Owen chuckled with disgust. “The man is daft and overly ambitious. I didn’t think he would be fool enough to poke at Severn, but if he wants another war, he’s welcome to one. We still control Callait and can bring in an army quite easily.”
Kevan’s smile stretched wider. “I do enjoy working for you, my lord. And I’m not trying to wipe my snot on your boots either. You’re unpretentious.”
“I’m a bone-weary soldier,” Owen said, brushing off the compliment. “And I grow wearier by the day. Ah, here we are.”
They arrived at the locked door of the tower. There were three men guarding it at all times. They recognized Kevan and Owen immediately and snapped to attention. One of them fumbled with a key ring and hastily unlocked the door.
“Anything to report?” Kevan demanded, folding his arms and projecting an impatient air.
“Nothing new, my lord,” one of the guards said, tipping his cap to Owen as well. “We changed their schedule as you instructed.”
“Good man,” Kevan said, nodding to him.
The door opened and Owen began to ascend the tower steps. As the sound of their boots echoed up and down the shaft, he thought about the misery of these two prisoners’ existence. It was the king’s will that Eyric and Dunsdworth be thrown together as companions of misfortune. Owen still remembered the day when Severn had humiliated Eyric in front of his wife, Lady Kathryn. It was a dark memory that made Owen squirm with antipathy.
Kathryn had been persuaded to leave the sanctuary of St. Penryn with the promise that she would be able to see her husband again, but their reunion had been a form of torture for both of them. Owen recalled how Kathryn had sobbed at the sight of Eyric in chains, his princely garb exchanged for that of a commoner. The king had provided her with an assortment of widow’s attire, a cruel jest on his part, and she had worn nothing but black since that fateful day. Seven years had passed since they had been together as man and wife. Seven years since the birth of their son. They only knew that Owen had taken the child somewhere to be raised as a knight. Neither parent knew where Drew was or who was raising him.
Such dark thoughts reminded Owen of his own parents, whom he had not seen in sixteen years. They had been exiled from Ceredigion for their role in an attempted coup at Ambion Hill. Rumor had it they had taken refuge in Occitania, where they lived in a small manor on a meager stipend. He had tried to make arrangements for them, to contact them, but his messages had always been returned unopened, the couriers unsuccessful in tracking their location. Perhaps they had changed the spelling and pronunciation of their last name so they could disappear into obscurity. He thought about them on occasion, yearning to know what they were doing, how they had fared. His sisters would be married by now in all likelihood. Were his parents still living? He imagined so. They were getting older, but there was no reason to think they weren’t alive somewhere. Did they still think about him? The son they had sent away to live as the king’s ward?