The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(15)
“The solution is simple and always has been,” Etayne said, keeping stride with him. “I could do it so secretly no one would ever know. Especially now that we’re both leaving for Brythonica. Some powder in his gloves. A bit on his pillow. Owen, stop making this harder than it needs to be. He has become a tyrant.”
Owen knew she was right, but he could not bring himself to commit murder. All of Owen’s power had derived from King Severn. How could he convince the people that a young boy from North Cumbria was meant to be the next king? He had the beginnings of a plan. The original King Andrew had been raised in the household of another nobleman, unaware that he was the son of a king. A Fountain-blessed Wizr had put a sword in a fountain after professing that whoever drew the blade from the water was to be the new king. He had then used his powers to arrange for young King Andrew to draw the blade.
According to Duke Horwath, that very sword, which had gone on to transform a young Fountain-blessed girl into the legendary Maid of Donremy, was concealed in the ice caves. If he managed to retrieve the blade and secretly bring it to the fountain of Our Lady, he could say he’d had a dream that the new king would draw the blade. Of course, Severn was Fountain-blessed himself, so he could ruin the plan by taking the sword himself. Owen would have to approach the situation carefully.
“You’re ignoring me?” Etayne said with a hint of injury to her tone.
“What you’re offering you’ve offered before,” he said under his breath. “But I can’t do that.”
“Then I’ll do it,” Etayne said darkly. “It will solve all of your problems in one stroke. Why should you be so squeamish about it?” She sniffed. “If I need to kill Marshal Roux, what is the difference?”
“The difference,” Owen replied, “is that you’re the King’s Poisoner. He’s ordering it done. And believe me, I don’t feel right about it either. I’m going to try and find a way to threaten the duchess without killing her chief protector. Besides, Roux will not be as easily toppled as Severn assumes.”
Etayne let out her breath slowly. “You are obstinate.”
“This is like a game of Wizr,” Owen said. “You can’t always predict what will happen. How many other pieces are waiting to invade our side of the board? The lad is only seven years old. He’s not ready to become a king.”
“He may not get another chance,” Etayne said knowingly, giving voice to Owen’s own thoughts. “You are the one calling the moves. Your dreams tell the future, do they not? Haven’t you deceived the king for years into believing that? But sometimes trickery isn’t enough. Sometimes there just isn’t a good move to make on the board. You have to sacrifice pieces.”
Owen laughed at that. “In Wizr, one doesn’t sacrifice the king. That’s what ends the game.”
Her lips pursed; her eyes narrowed slyly. She looked quite pretty, and it distracted him. “But then doesn’t a new game start?”
Owen was only too grateful to leave Kingfountain behind, though he worried what might happen in his absence. Kathryn was a strong and courageous woman. But he could see the cracks in her, the weakness of the constant stress on her soul. King Severn was nearly twice her age, but she was young enough to bear children. And the king was ever patient.
Owen and Etayne reached Tatton Hall two days later. He had sent word ahead to his herald Farnes to assemble an escort to ride with them to Averanche and from there to Brythonica. Owen had never entered the duchess’s lands before. He had heard reports that some of the most fertile valleys and farmlands existed in Brythonica. The mildness of the weather was famous, and the sea air purportedly made the crops more plentiful. The duchy was renowned for growing berries of all sorts, and some had jokingly dubbed past rulers the Duke of Berries. There were ships coming and going constantly from her ports to carry the delicate fruit to the far reaches of other kingdoms.
Despite the circumstances, he looked forward to finally meeting the duchess, Lady Sinia. Although they had been neighbors for many years, she never left her domains for fear of abduction. Owen wondered secretly if the lord marshal also played a part in her reticence. Was he truly the power in Brythonica, as Severn supposed? Was she living in an opulent prison much like Kathryn? If that was the case, then perhaps disrupting it would be a strategic move.
After dismounting in front of the manor doors, Owen handed his reins to a groom. Etayne was windblown, but they had oft traveled together, and he was accustomed to seeing her this way. His servants knew her true identity and treated her with wary respect.
Farnes waited at the head of the column of servants standing to greet the duke upon his return.
“I told you I don’t like the formalities,” Owen said in a grumbling tone, looking at everyone standing idle and attentive.
“I know, my lord,” Farnes said with a wheezing rasp in his voice. He’d had trouble with his throat in previous years, but he was determined to continue serving. His eldest son, Benjamin, was being groomed to take his father’s place. Unfortunately, the son was only twelve. “But we have guests, and I thought it proper to greet you more formally this time.”
“Guests?” Owen asked with concern. He had not received any messages about these guests, and as the head of the Espion, he hated surprises. He had the sudden impression that Marshal Roux was there. The man had a nasty habit of anticipating Owen’s actions. “Who?”