The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(104)
Owen frowned, but he understood the need. “What else?”
Kevan cleared his throat. “Brugia has taken Callait. They’re preparing a fleet to strike at Kingfountain. Duke Maxwell wants the throne. An army from Legault is ransacking Blackpool. In other words, it’s a bloody mess. The people are fleeing to the palace in terror. The good news is we’ll have plenty of people to celebrate the coronation,” he added dryly.
Owen smiled at the comment. “Thank you, Kevan. As you can see, if we do not band together, we won’t be fighting each other for our lands. They’ll be stripped away from us by force. And this storm won’t end until the new king is crowned. That must happen first of all. I suggest that we all make our way to Kingfountain.”
“Even Severn?” Iago pressed.
“Of course me, you dolt,” Severn snarled.
“I want to go to Edonburick first,” Iago said. “I have ships near the coast, and can probably get to Kingfountain before all of you, if you ride there.”
Owen nodded. “Then we will meet you there. You’ve all been told the truth of our situation. You know my intentions. I am not the Dreadful Deadman, nor did I ever want to be. And I meant what I said; I will gladly yield my duchy if the new king wishes it.” He glanced back at Sinia, who was giving him a proud smile. “But I will not be losing what is most important to me,” he added, giving her a wink.
He turned back to those assembled. “We meet again at the sanctuary in Kingfountain.”
Owen caught up with Iago as the regent mounted an enormous horse—only the behemoth steeds of the North could make it through the snow-clogged roads to the port. The flurries were growing thicker and thicker, another reminder that the boy needed to be crowned as soon as possible. Iago was covered in thick jackets, two cloaks, and fur-lined boots that went up past his knees. Hardly any of his face was visible past the hood.
“You’re a good man, Kiskaddon,” the Atabyrion said with a snort. “Although technically, I should be the one to see you off from Dundrennan. I think my wife will be disappointed if we don’t get to keep the place.” He smiled wryly, looking down at Owen.
“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” Owen said, putting his hand out to the king. They clasped each other’s hands and exchanged respectful nods. “I think your children would enjoy being a part of both worlds. I hope I’m welcome to visit Edonburick someday.”
Iago laughed openly. “You’re a rascal, lad. We like those in Atabyrion. I might spare some time to go hunting with you. We have moose as big as a farmer’s hut. Not the same as hunting boar, though.” He winked at Owen.
“I think I could manage that,” Owen said with a smile. “My best to your wife and your children. Tell Genevieve I miss her.”
“Aye, I’ll do that.” He adjusted his grip on the reins and then gave Owen a penetrating look. “Well, you’re welcome to come as oft as you like. But I do insist on one thing. I’d like to watch you play a round of Wizr with the queen. She beats me every time. Someone ought to humble her now and then.”
There was a private chapel in the castle that contained a fountain people visited for moments of solitude or prayer. Owen entered it hand in hand with Sinia, and the only sounds were the licking flames from the torches and the echo of their footfalls on the stone. She was looking down at her feet as they walked, brooding silently, her expression guarded.
“Are you fretting about your people?” he asked her, squeezing her hand.
She nodded without answering and then squeezed his hand in return before releasing it. The chapel was small and honeycomb-shaped with small inlets on three of the sides. She walked to the edge of the fountain and then slowly sat down, folding her hands in her lap.
“It’s not just your people,” Owen said cautiously, trying to meet her eyes. “Something else is bothering you.”
She remained still, staring down at the stone tiles. She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“What’s wrong?” he pressed.
“I can’t tell you,” she answered softly. She reached her hand into the water, and he watched as the surface rippled and flinched from her, repelled by her touch. He did not see any evidence of a ring or some other relic invoking the magic.
Owen folded his arms and leaned back against the stone pillar at the doorway of the chapel. He knew she needed to leave, but a nagging feeling inside him wanted to forestall their separation. How long would it be before he saw her again?
“If I ask you a question, will you answer me truthfully?” He gave her a pointed look as he asked.
Her eyes lifted to meet his face, and suddenly she was full of suffering, as if something deep inside her bones were causing her pain. “If I can,” she whispered.
“Why can’t you share all of your visions?” he asked her. “If you knew something terrible was going to happen, wouldn’t you try to prevent it? Shouldn’t you?”
“It’s not that simple, Owen,” she answered, but he could tell the limitations wounded her. “What if preventing an immediate evil only caused a worse one in the future? If we always knew what would happen to us, would we ever have the courage to act?”
“Can you change the future?” he asked her guardedly.
“Should I even try?” she asked. “Sometimes meddling only makes things worse. I do what I can, Owen. You must believe that.” She gave him a pleading look, as if begging him not to ask any more. The distress in her eyes, on her mouth, made his stomach tighten with dread.