The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(110)
He saw the king’s face darken a bit. “Do you think he will serve me well, Lord Owen?”
Owen tightened his folded arms a bit and frowned. “I hope so. It would be best to keep an eye on him, though.”
Drew nodded. “Have Lord Amrein see to it.”
Owen had already done so. He’d also ordered Kevan to assign a man to hunt down Dragan. He would not let the thief off easily. “As you will, my lord. And who is this?”
“The Duke of Brugia. His piece is black.”
Owen nodded. “And this?”
“The Queen of Atabyrion. She’s white. I like this game, Lord Owen. The pieces are constantly shifting, but the consequences are real. It’s more exciting than just playing Wizr. Do pieces only come off the board, or can they come back on?”
Owen grinned, pleased by the boy’s quick mind. “I’ve seen both happen. Not only do the pieces affect the board, but the board is affected by our decisions. It helps very much, lad, that you can move the pieces. Why are we going here and not to Ploemeur?” he asked, indicating their destination.
Drew rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. “Because you ordered our navy sent to Ploemeur instead?”
The boy was bright. Owen was grateful he was trying so hard. Remembering how Ankarette used to praise him for following her teachings, he reached out and touched Drew’s shoulder. “I’m glad you remembered. And what will Chatriyon do once the fleet arrives in the harbor to defend Brythonica?”
Drew looked at the board studiously. He was quiet for a moment, pondering deeply. Then he cocked his head. “Flee?”
Owen smiled smugly and leaned back. “Yes. That’s what he always does. And when you capture the king, a new king will rise. As long as there is an heir, the game goes on.”
The first time Owen had ridden into Brythonica, it was to do the bidding of Severn Argentine and provoke the duchess into defying him. He could hardly believe how much things had changed in the short span of weeks since he’d left. He could still sense the magic hidden in the woods as he approached, the constant jostling in the saddle a normal, comforting feel. King Drew rode beside him, along with a retinue of knights from the king’s household. The boy stared into the woods, his eyes narrowing.
“What are you looking at, my lord?” Owen asked him.
Drew turned back, frowning. “There is something in the woods.”
“Can you feel it?”
The boy nodded slowly. “What is there?”
Owen wondered if the lad was beginning to show the first signs of being Fountain-blessed. In the legends, King Andrew had not possessed that ability, but he had surrounded himself by those who did. Curious.
As they rode into the lush lands of Brythonica, Owen’s heart skittered with anticipation. He’d had much time to think as he’d battled his way here from Kingfountain. He was fretting about seeing Sinia again, but despite his nervousness, he was at peace with his decision.
As they came down the road, he saw two riders approaching from ahead. He recognized both men as heralds. One was his own, Farnes, and the other was Anjers, herald to the King of Occitania. Anjers looked miserable, his hair was askew instead of combed forward in the Occitanian style, and his armor was dashed in mud and grime.
As Owen and Drew reined in, they met the two heralds.
“My lord king,” Farnes said with a beaming smile. “We have captured Chatriyon Vertus in the woods as he attempted to escape back to Pree. There were only twenty knights with him, and he was quickly apprehended. What is my lord’s pleasure to do with him?”
Drew smiled at being addressed so formally.
“My lord,” Anjers said with a desperate voice. “I am authorized to negotiate the ransom for my master. If you will release him immediately that he may return to his wife and child in Pree, he will grant you most generous terms. Please, my lord.” Anjer’s face twitched with emotion. “He is quite frightened. He fears being alone with this . . . butcher.” He stared at Owen with hatred.
Drew looked to Owen for guidance. “It’s your decision, my lord,” Owen said softly. “I’m here to pay my respects to a far more important person than the King of Occitania.”
Drew was silent for a moment, then he turned to Farnes. “Take him to Beestone castle under guard. I will deal with him when I return.”
Anjer’s expression crumpled and tears began to trickle down his cheeks as the humiliation of defeat closed in on him. Owen could feel the grating sensation of the Wizr board in his mind. The game would shift now. But it would not end.
The crash of the surf on the sandy beach was a pleasant noise. The air held a salty tang, and a few seabirds squawked overhead as Owen climbed down the stone steps leading to Glass Beach. He had expected he would find Sinia there. It hadn’t surprised him in the least when they’d arrived at the castle of Ploemeur only to find that she wasn’t there. Owen had left Drew in the care of his own parents and sister, who had greeted the boy king warmly and kindly. They’d offered to provide him with a tour of the castle that would—Owen had insisted—last for several hours. Owen had not assigned anyone to look after the king. He didn’t imagine it was even necessary.
The castle had graciously received the King of Ceredigion and thanked him effusively for the ships that had been sent to relieve the blockade. Drew had insisted on giving Owen credit for the strategy that had so effortlessly captured Chatriyon. In addition to soldiers, the ships had brought cattle and food to replenish what had been taken by the Occitanians during their invasion. Perhaps this was a first step toward a better understanding between Owen and the people of this duchy.