The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(38)
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “If Severn is going to die, it will be on a battlefield, not in a bedchamber. There is a deep tradition, Etayne. I even think the people would rally to me if I did rise up.”
“They would.” She nodded fervently. “Do it, Owen. For the Fountain’s sake, do it! Claim the throne for yourself and then give it to the boy. You can become the protector. The people would accept you. They love you!” She stopped short, but he could sense the words she hadn’t said. The air sizzled with them.
“I have to go back and face him,” Owen said.
She looked at him, aghast. “No! That would be foolish. When you next ride into Kingfountain, it should be to siege the castle.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m going to return and face him.”
She came up and gripped his arms, her fingers digging into him. “He knows how to kill someone who is Fountain-blessed! I won’t let you do this.”
“Let me do this?” he said, grabbing her arms and pushing her back slightly. “Etayne, I’m counting on you to get me out of it! I’m going to face him. He’s not going to throw me into the river. There will be a trial, there will be the Assizes. Maybe the truth finally needs to be let out into the open. The truth about Eyric and the boy. The truth about Kathryn—that she’s still another man’s wife! If the king won’t see reason, if I must compel him through force, then I will need you to rescue me. I don’t think . . .” he paused, shaking his head. “I know he’s cruel, but I don’t think he’ll just kill me. Especially if I come and submit to him. He’s expecting a rebellion. He’s undoubtedly preparing for it. He will not expect this.” He breathed out a sigh. “I have to trust my instincts. I have to trust my gift from the Fountain. This is the right course.”
Her look was beginning to soften. She pressed her fingers against her lips and started to pace. “I’ll go ahead of you. In disguise, of course. I’ll find out what’s happening. What the Espion knows.” She looked at him with a burning gaze. “If he’s already preparing your death, then I won’t let you surrender to him.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. Did you tell Farnes we were leaving?”
She nodded briskly. “I have horses and disguises waiting for us. We’ll change after we ride out.”
“I have neither the intention nor the ability to sleep right now,” he said with a laugh. “You must keep me alive, Etayne. I need you.”
She looked mollified, some of the danger ebbing from her eyes. “You still want to examine the woods on the way out?”
“I do,” Owen said darkly. “They are hiding a secret. And I grow weary of secrets.”
The vales of Brythonica were quiet in the night. A haze of fog had rolled in from the sea, giving the air a mysterious aspect while also concealing them from the gaze of others. There were no stars to be seen and the roads looked different in the fog, but Owen had help. He could sense the Fountain drawing him to the woods. It was like the tower bells of a sanctuary pealing, pointing his mind in the right direction. The dew from the mist clung to his eyelashes and he could feel the wetness when he blinked.
The earth was loamy and rich, the smells drifting on the cool breeze. He wore his chain hauberk, but it was topped with a tunic bearing the black raven of Brythonica rather than the standard of his own duchy. Etayne kept pace with him, and he could sense her brooding. She was probably plotting a dozen different ways of saving Owen from his sense of duty. He was grateful that Stiev Horwath was dead. He could not have borne the look of disappointment in the old man’s eyes. He had no doubt, however, that Iago would gladly join in a rebellion against Severn if it meant reinstating Evie’s rights to her grandfather’s land.
They rode in stillness, the mists getting thinner as they left the coast and moved deeper inland. They rode until the first flushes of dawn began to smudge the sky. He didn’t know how many leagues they had crossed, but he felt they should be reaching the woods soon. He felt them drawing closer.
“There,” Etayne said, pointing.
The horizon showed the hills and woods, which were blacker than the brightening sky. As they came closer, he spied movement on the road and discerned the white tunics of knights blocking the way.
Owen lifted the chain cowl to cover his hair. His sword was strapped and ready, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to fight his way through. As they came closer, he felt the magic start to flow from Etayne as she concocted their disguises. He didn’t look at her, but he used his thoughts to feed her magic with the small details from his memories that would make the illusion more believable.
They reined in before some startled troops who were holding lanterns and hailing them as they approached.
“M-my lady!” the knight gasped in recognition, seeing the Duchess of Brythonica ride up in the dark. “What are you . . . what are you doing here in the midst of the night?” He looked absolutely startled.
Etayne looked down at him imperiously. “I do the Fountain’s will,” she said, her voice perfectly matching Sinia’s.
“Blessed be the Fountain,” the knight said, bowing reverently. They pulled aside, asking no more questions. Owen concealed a smirk as they rode past. He wanted to compliment her, but didn’t know who might be listening. None of the soldiers guarding the road followed them, though he could hear them talking in low voices amongst themselves, gossiping as soldiers always did.