The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(37)

What could the king be referring to? Had he finally learned about Ankarette’s role in saving Owen when he came to Kingfountain as a young child? That was a secret Mancini had carried to his watery grave. He and Etayne and Elysabeth were the only ones who knew the truth. He wrinkled his brow. No, it was unlikely that the king knew. Did that mean he had discovered the truth about Andrew, the boy Owen had rescued and hidden? The king had asked him to investigate how the boy had come to the North. Owen had gone through the motions, ensuring all the while that the search would be in vain. But maybe something had happened at court—perhaps Kathryn had indeed recognized through her mother’s intuition that the child was hers. His stomach twisted more violently still. That was entirely likely. Kathryn had been so distraught before they left; perhaps she had discovered the truth and revealed herself in some way. Then the king could have used his magic to persuade her to reveal the whole truth.

Yes, that was the most likely possibility. He stiffened when another implication struck him. Eyric’s escape from the tower. Was that related as well? Had Kathryn helped her husband escape? Was the tiny family trying to flee together? He knuckled his forehead and began counting off curses under his breath.

I know you’ve betrayed me.

What to do about it? How to respond? In one letter, he’d been summoned back to Kingfountain to help deal with the missing captives. In another, he’d been accused of treason. Had both letters arrived simultaneously? There was no date affixed to the king’s note. Squeezing his hand into a fist, he slammed it onto the floor, full of frustration.

What were his options? Well, he could refuse to obey the king’s summons, but that was tantamount to confessing his guilt. He doubted he’d find any welcome in Chatriyon’s court. He knew the Occitanian king both hated and feared him, which Jessica had confirmed. The thought of fleeing made him sick with shame. That was a coward’s answer. He thought of the tawny-haired lad whom the Fountain had entrusted him to protect. He could not step down from that duty.

One option would be to throw himself at the mercy of the king. To admit to the lies and deceptions. To attempt to persuade Severn that he needed to step down and give the child his crown. No king of Ceredigion had done that before. In all the tales that he had heard Evie tell about the history of their country, kings had always been forced to yield their thrones. And it was usually a rebellious duke who made it happen. Another role, played over and over again—a waterwheel spinning in a river.

He sat there for a long time, plucking at the strands of hair from his unkempt beard, staring into the void of his festering conscience. The question that had tormented him for years reared its head again. Could Owen rise in rebellion against the king? None of the other dukes had the power. Catsby was new and untested, and besides, he had been plundering Lord Horwath’s dominions. He’d find no one willing to die for him. Jack Paulen of East Stowe? Laughable. Lovel had been loyal to Severn since their early friendship, and while he was well-meaning, he was totally incapable of rallying men.

Owen knew Severn well enough to guess the king would not have sent such a note without making precautions against a possible rebellion. In fact, Owen imagined there would be soldiers waiting for him at Tatton Hall. Was the king trying to force him into rebellion? So many possibilities. He continued to stack up the various possibilities and weigh them against one another. It was his primary gift from the Fountain.

“Owen?”

He had not heard the door open, but he recognized Etayne’s voice. He had lost track of time in the privy and was only faintly aware of his surroundings. He tried to stand on trembling legs. He must have made some noise because Etayne came rushing in after him, and when she saw the look on his face, her eyes widened with fear.

“Are you sick?” she demanded, rushing to his side. She touched his face and examined his eyes, his mouth. Obviously she feared he’d been poisoned.

“I’m not sick,” he said, warding off her efforts. “Well, not in that way.”

“I noticed you hadn’t bolted the door, so I waited outside,” she said with agitation. “Then when I came in, I didn’t see you. I thought you’d gone.” Her voice was sounding more desperate by the moment. “What’s wrong?”

He did make it to his feet finally, and she looked so concerned it made him wonder about his own appearance. Not wanting to say the words aloud, he thrust Severn’s note into her hands.

She blanched when she read it.

After walking past her out of the privy, he noticed the small fire had burned low. The only light came from a single candle Etayne had brought. It was probably after midnight. He stretched his arms, weary from the exhausting day, but his mind was too thick with the dilemma to rest.

A foot scuff came up behind him. “I won’t let him hurt you,” she whispered in a low, threatening voice.

He turned and saw the fierce eyes, the serious expression that told him she’d murder the king if he tried. It gave him some small measure of comfort that someone cared that much about him.

“I won’t ask you to—”

“You don’t need to ask me!” she said passionately. “We both know that he is not worthy of the loyalty you’ve shown him. It’s been in your power all along to rid the kingdom of that tyrant. I will ride ahead. They won’t even know it was me. Why am I even asking you? I should just leave now and do the deed.”