The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(114)

Sinia lifted her arm and helped Owen support the weight of the shield, her eyes widening with excitement at the ferocity of the storm. The shield took a battering and Owen’s arm throbbed under the weight of it, but the magic of the storm was parting around him. After a few terrible moments passed, Drew’s frown of fear turned into a grin of ease.

The storm stopped as quickly as it had come.

Owen remembered what happened next, and it followed that same order. The leaves of the oak tree, which had been torn unceremoniously from the branches in the storm, swirled eddies down the hill and away from the plinth. Then birds appeared in the branches and began to sing, and their song was so full, so rich, so heartbreakingly lovely that Owen lowered the shield, and the three of them listened to the music. The final notes were a cry of loveliness that made Owen swallow the rising thickness in his throat. Tears danced on Sinia’s lashes. It was a familiar song to her, yet it moved her still.

Owen turned to Drew.

“Now it is your turn,” he told the boy. “Take out the crown.”

The boy quickly unfastened the buckles and opened the flap of the leather satchel he wore around his neck. Wedged inside was the hollow crown, the symbol of office for the King of Ceredigion.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Owen asked the boy.

Drew nodded and removed the crown from the satchel. Owen’s heart was beating faster now, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Bring the winter,” Owen said softly, gazing at the tree and then at the stone.

The boy held the crown before him and then lifted it onto his head. There was magic in it, and the crown adjusted its size to fit the boy’s head. The tines along the fringe were battered and ancient. Owen felt the magic throb and swell as the boy settled it onto his head.

Drew stared at the boulders, his eyes suddenly fierce with determination.

A cold wind swept through the grove, rattling the branches. Puffs of steam came from their mouths. Sinia started to shiver, and Owen pulled her close, his arm around her shoulder. His other hand rested on Drew’s. Little crackling, tinkling sounds started as the water in the grove began to freeze. Frost appeared on the boulders, glistening in the sunlight. The cold pervaded the grove so deeply it turned the limbs of the trees rigid. The birds flapped away, seeking shelter.

Staring at the boulders, Owen watched the designs of frost zigzag across the faces. His ears and nose began to tingle with the chill. The boy’s gaze was transfixed on the boulders in front of him. He did not tremble or close his eyes. He was mesmerized by the magic flowing through him. Creaks and groans began to rumble.

Owen held his breath. He felt Sinia reach up and rest her hand atop his.

“Colder,” Owen breathed softly. The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened.

The boy stared at the rocks, his mouth turning down into a little frown as he concentrated. The air was so cold it was like breathing knives.

Then there was a cracking sound.

The main boulder behind the tree split in half and tumbled to the side. A jagged series of seams and splits showed where the water had been carving inside it for ages. Owen jolted when the boulder broke away, moving backward involuntarily in case it tumbled toward them.

Beyond the rock, a black cave lay open. There was a sigh as the breeze found it and began to explore the edges.

Drew stepped forward, drawn to the gap in the stone. His eyes were narrowing, his expression grave and intense.

“Do you hear it?” the boy asked in a hushed tone.

Owen did not. He looked at Sinia in confusion. She shook her head no.

“What do you hear?” Owen asked.

“Whispers,” the boy replied. He stepped cautiously toward the riven boulder.

“You can hear them, boy?” said a gruff voice with a strange accent from within the cave. “Bless me if you can. Bless me indeed. It’s still daylight out?” There was a grunt and a stifled groan, and then the shape of an older man with a crooked staff was silhouetted against the darkness. “And who are these pethets you brought with you, eh?”





AUTHOR’S NOTE

I still remember sitting on my bed, talking with my oldest daughter about the plot of the Kingfountain series. I told her that Owen and Evie weren’t going to get together in the end and I explained why and told her about Sinia. I told her some of my readers were going to hate me for doing it. I suspected she might be one of them, though as her father, I knew she’d eventually forgive me. “Go for it,” she advised. “If that’s the story you need to tell. Go for it. But please give Evie a happy ending.”

This is the story I’ve been wanting to tell for many years. It was inspired by a dream I had long ago. The dream was about a man in his early twenties who was sarcastic and ill-tempered and really good at insulting people. He was sent by his father, the king, to a neighboring realm to demand the princess there marry him or it would spell war between their kingdoms. In my dream, the princess sacrificed herself to save her country and willingly married the nobleman. Because of her goodness, she had the power to change him and make him something better. As a result, this young man fought against his father the king.

That’s the inspiration for The King’s Traitor. I also want to give credit for the shipwreck idea to one of my early readers Robin, who predicted after The Thief’s Daughter that Iago and Evie would be shipwrecked and he would die, leaving Owen and Evie the chance to get together. This isn’t exactly what she had in mind, but I really liked how it played into the story.