The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(105)
“Did I do wrong to save Severn’s life?” Owen asked her.
Sinia sighed and smoothed her dress over her knees. “Many of your choices over the last few days will have . . . consequences. I’ve seen what some of them are.”
Owen rubbed the bristles on his chin thoughtfully. “You didn’t warn me against them.”
She blinked. “I tried to, Owen. As best as I could. I don’t think you were wrong to make the choices you did. But some of them will cause you pain later. That’s why I’m upset, you see. I foresaw this moment long ago.” She rose to her feet. “I must go.”
“Wait,” he said. “When will I see you again? Can you tell me that?”
She looked heartbroken. “It’s up to you, Owen. It always has been. I will hide the sword in the waters of the sanctuary of Our Lady of Kingfountain, as we agreed. It will exist in a state between our mortal world and the Deep Fathoms. When you are ready for Andrew to claim it, just summon it as you would for yourself, and he’ll draw it from the waters.”
Owen frowned. “Will someone else who is Fountain-blessed be able to draw it out? I don’t want Dragan to steal it like he stole the Wizr board.”
She pursed her lips. “No one will know it is there, Owen. It will be waiting for you.”
“Will you be there to see the boy draw the sword?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve been away from Brythonica for too long. I must defend my people.”
Owen walked up to her and took her hands. “I will come for you, Sinia. I gave you my word.”
Her forlorn look softened a bit. “I know. I hope you will keep it.”
He started to bend down to kiss her, but she pulled away. “Not now,” she whispered. “Not like this.”
It was painful to see her so vulnerable, so dejected, when he did not know the reason. He sighed in frustration and then caressed her cheek with the edge of his finger. “In the legends, the Lady of the Fountain was a water sprite. An Ondine. I’ve intended to ask you about that.”
She flinched when he said the word, her cheeks blushing furiously.
“You are not the natural child of the Montforts, are you?” he asked.
She wrung her hands together, twisting her fingers and entwining them. “I was a gift,” she whispered. Then she gave him a pleading look. “A gift from the Fountain to save the kingdoms. A gift to grieving parents whose children were all stillborn. We must all make sacrifices, Owen. I willingly made mine.”
Owen sensed the layered meaning in her words. He started to unbuckle the belted scabbard, but she covered his hands with hers. “Just the sword,” she prompted.
Grasping it by the hilt, he withdrew it and handed the blade to her. As soon as he set it on her palms, it started to glow. She started to glow as well as she backed away from him and stepped over the lip of the fountain into the low pool of water. The ripples moved away from her, leaving even the hem of her gown and her shoes perfectly dry.
As she stood in the Fountain, clutching the sword, a sheen of mist began to form around her. His heart nearly burst at the sadness in her eyes, the unspoken plea there: Don’t betray me.
The mist enclosed her, and the surge of the Fountain’s magic came and left like a tide embracing the shore.
She was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Misfortune
Owen had anticipated that Elysabeth might already be in the beleaguered capital by the time he reached it, for a boat journey from Atabyrion took only a day or two, depending on the weather. But when he reached the palace, he learned that no one from Iago’s kingdom had yet arrived. The storm clouds in the North had likely caused the delays. The city was pristine in a veil of white, except for the roads they had trampled to get there.
Owen found himself at the center of everything. He was the protector, though no law or decree had given him that right. The other dukes had gathered together to fret over the events unfolding throughout Ceredigion. The Duke of Brugia had landed troops in East Stowe. Towns throughout Westmarch had evacuated under the onslaught of Occitania’s army, which was marching unmolested through that land, seizing territory. It was as if every lord and commoner looked to Owen as their new king.
That first sleepless night back in Kingfountain was spent dispatching orders to his own troops and requesting assistance from any who would help. Owen was decisive by nature, and he felt the magic of the Fountain coming to his aid with suggestions and ideas to stave off the impending disaster. The Genevese traders offered loans to hire mercenaries at exorbitant interest, but Owen would not defend the kingdom with hirelings. If the people did not rally under the new king, all would be lost anyway.
The throne room was full of chaos the next day as people clamored for direction. Owen felt the weight of the duties on his shoulders. He had guards posted at the docks to alert him the moment Evie’s ship arrived. His trust in her was complete, and he would welcome her counsel.
Around noon, with still no word from Atabyrion, he called Lady Kathryn to meet with him in the solar. She arrived, Drew in tow, and bowed to him.
“There is no need for that,” Owen chuckled with a dismissive wave. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“There are so many troubles facing the kingdom,” Kathryn said, her hands resting on the boy’s shoulders. Owen had done his best to keep her informed, knowing that the new king would look to his mother for counsel and advice. She would be a powerful woman in the realm, but he thought she’d fill the role well. He’d always been impressed by her strength and sense of duty and faithfulness.