The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(31)

“Who else did you ask?” she inquired.

“Most recently the court of the White Boar. He wouldn’t even hear the plea in person, my lady. The lord chancellor was too busy and the lord mayor of Kingfountain said it wasn’t his king’s concern. He said to blame the ill luck on the Fountain.”

Owen bridled at the response, feeling a frown tug on his mouth.

The duchess looked sorrowful. “It is a pity indeed. Was anyone injured by the storm?”

“Aye, a few lads drowned, and a roof collapsed on a family and crushed them. But it is the food that will be sorely needed, my lady. Is there nothing you can do for us?”

Sinia turned to Owen. “Master Torcellini, this is my betrothed lord, Duke Kiskaddon of Ceredigion. If he were at Kingfountain, I’m certain you would have met with a different response.” She sidled closer to him, despite his soggy apparel, and clung to his arm. “What say you, my lord?” she asked Owen. “I was thinking we should send two ships straightaway to alleviate the people’s suffering and prevent famine. Do you agree?”

He felt himself being maneuvered again, but he had been at the receiving end of her generosity before. She had sent ships to relieve the siege of Averanche seven years before.

“Let’s send three,” Owen answered, feeling water drip from his chin and the tips of his hair. She gave him an approving smile.

The messenger beamed with a new burst of hope. “I thank you! You both are magnanimous. I hadn’t heard of this happy news. My congratulations!”

“It’s quite sudden,” the duchess said with a wry smile, giving Owen’s arm a gentle squeeze. “The Fountain gives and it takes. We were blessed with an abundant harvest ourselves and have food to spare. Be at ease, Master Torcellini. You have not traveled in vain. Thierry, see to it, please.”

“As you wish, my lady,” the steward said with a bow. Then he escorted the grinning messenger away.

Sinia released Owen’s arm and turned, giving him another approving smile, as if he had passed some sort of test.

“You were expecting me to be cruel, I suppose?” he asked with a snort, handing her the sandals.

She took them and shook her head slowly. “No, I didn’t think that at all.” She swung the sandals before her. “I’m always losing my shoes, sandals, and boots. I much prefer walking barefoot, even in the palace, shocking as that may sound. My servants are constantly picking them up from odd places. I don’t even realize I’m doing it most of the time. Thank you for rescuing them from the sea.” Then she turned her gaze back to the sea and the darkening sky. The sun was behind them, casting long shadows across the cove. Waves hissed and sighed along the shore.

“Do you always help those in distress?” he asked her pointedly.

She smoothed some hair back over her shoulder. “Why shouldn’t I? We’ve been blessed by the Fountain to live in such a temperate climate. It only snows rarely, and there is a plentitude of rain. It’s ideal land for growing things.” She gave him a hesitant look. “We aren’t a warlike people, Owen. But we fight if we must. Marshal Roux has wearied himself protecting us from those who want our fields for themselves.”

Owen scratched his arm, feeling uncomfortable in the sodden clothing. “I heard he left the castle. Is he sulking?”

She narrowed her eyes a bit. “Walk with me and I’ll tell you,” she offered. He nodded and followed as she started across the cove. “You must understand that Brendon Roux is very protective by nature. He was given the trust to guard and defend Brythonica when my father died. I was only a child. In your kingdom, someone in his position might have usurped the throne. Many rulers believe that he is the true ruler of Brythonica. But the people will only have a Montfort rule them. What you saw just now,” she said, gesturing to Thierry and the messenger as they climbed the rocky shelf leading out of the cove, “was not a tradition I started, but one I maintain with honor. We help kingdoms in need. We may be a small duchy compared to yours, but we feel our duty strongly.”

Owen nodded, stifling a shiver as the wind knifed through him. “My king has a saying. ‘Loyalty Binds Me.’ It is my oath.”

“I know,” she said. “I’ve heard it before. I’m sure it chafes you at times.”

He wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”

She cast him a furtive glance, and he could tell she was debating whether to trust him. “Our duties and obligations can feel confining,” she said after a lengthy pause. Her answer showed he had not yet earned her trust.

To his surprise, she stopped walking in the middle of the beach and then sank to her knees. She pushed her fingers into the sand and began scooping up little mounds of it. He was soaked and knew the sand would stick to him if he joined her. She didn’t seem to mind as she absently played with the sand, letting it glide between her fingers. They were a distance from the sea glass near the shore, but he saw occasional beads of it appear, as if they were beguiled by her.

Owen hunkered down near her, studying her face. “Do you play Wizr?” he asked.

There was a flash of a secret smile and then it was gone. “I do.”

“I would like to play you sometime,” he said. “I think you might be one of the few people who could actually beat me.”

That earned an amused look. “I’ve played since I was a child. My father taught me.”