The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(34)

“Up you go,” said one of the workers, hoisting Sinia onto one of the crates by her waist. There were four ropes coming up at the corners, meeting at a metal hook and ring. Owen studied the contraption for a moment and, not to be outdone by his host, swung up onto the crate.

“You have to sit over there,” she said, pointing to the other end, then clasping the ropes with both hands. “Or it will not be balanced.”

Owen felt a stab of fear in his middle, a sensation that became more acute when one of the foremen gave a signal. There was a grinding, clicking noise, followed by a sudden lurch from the ropes. Owen’s insides fluttered with panic the moment his boots left the ground. Sinia laughed sweetly. He turned and saw the breeze ruffle her long, lovely hair.

“Don’t be frightened,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “Nothing will happen. Do you see the docks? Over there!”

She pointed again, and this time his stomach lurched with fear for her. He wanted to warn her to hang on, though she seemed at ease here as she had been at the edge of the beach. They were rising at a rapid pace, the roofs shrinking beneath their feet. There were the docks with boats secured for the night, having brought their cargo during the day. The ropes groaned under the crate’s weight and the contents swayed a little, making Owen tighten his grip. It was an interesting feeling—like a bird soaring.

“Thank you for arranging the dinner tonight,” Owen told her, watching in wonder as a bank of fog rolled in off the coast. He could see the lights of the sanctuary on the distant island.

“You’re welcome, Owen. I thought you’d wish it.”

She was thoughtful. But there was still so much he didn’t know about her. It was as if he were looking at her through the haze of that fog.

“Do you see Averanche?” she asked. “It’s that speck of light just on the horizon.”

“I think so,” Owen said. “Do you do this often then?”

“I did it more when I was little girl,” she answered, giving him a sidelong look. Almost a knowing look. “I liked to explore.”

“We have that in common then,” Owen replied.

“Perhaps you’d care to join me on a journey across the duchy?” The noise of the machinery above grew louder as they approached the landing where the crates would arrive.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to refuse. But he needed to get back to Kingfountain. Etayne was probably chafing, and it was his duty to protect Drew.

“I’ll think about it,” he answered. She seemed a little disappointed by his answer.



It was late in the evening when Owen returned to his chamber in the castle overlooking Ploemeur. He felt like collapsing on the bed with his boots on, but there was a pile of correspondence awaiting him on the desk.

“You saw your family this evening,” Etayne said, slipping out from the curtained balcony. “I thought you were planning to leave earlier?”

Owen rubbed his eyes, his heart still raw from the emotional reunion. “I felt obligated to spend the day,” he said flatly, planting his knuckles on the desk by the mound of letters. “When did these all arrive? Or did the ones from yesterday breed? Look at this stack. It will take half the night to read and answer them all, and that will delay us even more.” He grimaced at how petulant he sounded.

“I can stay and help you read through them,” Etayne offered. “The ones from Kevan I put over there. Farnes brought new ones earlier this evening. He said that one came in a hurry.”

Owen scrubbed his fingers through his hair, frowning. “If it’s more bad news, I’m going to have him flogged,” he muttered. Etayne seemed eager to speak with him, but she seemed to sense his poor mood. “I will accept your offer,” he said, shoving part of the pile toward her. “I don’t have time to woo a duchess and run a duchy and the Espion.” He shook his head. “The weight of all of this is crushing me tonight.”

She gave him a sympathetic look and then sat down beside him. She looked at the vast pile of correspondence and picked out one, breaking the seal. “Your parents are well?”

Owen snatched a letter and opened it. “More than well, it seems. They aren’t hostages, that much is clear. Everything my sister told us is true. They go by Occitanian surnames to help hide their true identities. They have a comfortable manor on a hill to the west, and my father oversees the taxation of trade. My mother wasn’t sure what to make of me,” he added with a chuckle. “It’s been sixteen years after all, and she remembered a little lad who used to clutch at her skirts.” He sniffed, scanning the letter quickly and then tossing it aside. “I don’t know why the duchess has rewarded them with so many favors. It’s certainly not something Severn would have done.”

Etayne murmured in agreement as she read another letter. “And how goes the wooing?”

Owen smiled wearily at the veiled attempt to draw him out. “I suppose that depends,” he said, careful of his answer, careful of her feelings. “The king deeply believed that this suggested alliance would provoke Brythonica. In that regard, his plan is utterly failing. It seems Sinia anticipated his move and resigned herself to marrying me before I even arrived. Poor girl.” He wanted to laugh at the absurdity. “Marshal Roux has thrown a fit and skulked off to his own manor to brood.”

“No he hasn’t,” Etayne said softly.