The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(43)
“But he didn’t say who would be destroyed?” Etayne asked.
Owen shook his head. “I’m assuming Brythonica. Have you noticed that all the residences are on the hilltops in Ploemeur? The duchess’s castle is on the highest ground of all. I think she knows of the risk. I think she’s prepared her people to survive if the flood happens again. But it wouldn’t be the sort of flood caused by nature, Etayne.” He clenched his fist and quelled his desire to hammer something. “It’s part of the legend of the Deep Fathoms. When I poured the water on that stone, there was not a cloud in the sky! Not a single one. And yet it deluged on us, a violent hailstorm unlike any I’ve ever experienced. It nearly killed you.”
She looked at him with amazement. “I remember you shielding me. I thought we were going to die, but I felt safe when you were there.”
The warm look in her eyes made Owen squirm. “For some reason, the magic doesn’t affect me. I have this strange—what’s the right word—immunity? The duchess is Fountain-blessed. I learned that the first night we met her. She has a vast power that surpasses even Severn’s. Even my own! I’ve wondered how that power manifests itself, but now I think I know. I cannot be sure, but I think she has the gift that I’ve been pretending to have all along.” He looked at Etayne with a wild feeling of helplessness. “I think she knows the future. Like the Wizr Myrddin did. Think on it, Etayne. I’ve never been able to surprise her. When the king sent me and Lord Horwath to defend Brythonica, we attacked Chatriyon’s army in the middle of the night. And Marshal Roux was there. When we went to Atabyrion to confront Eyric, who came? Marshal Roux. When Chatriyon began sieging Averanche, who helped us? Marshal Roux. I’ve thought all along that he was Fountain-blessed. Yet when we fought this morning, I sensed nothing from him. Not even a little trickle of the magic.” He hung his head. “Tell me I’ve mistaken all of this. Tell me I’m a muddled fool. I’ve tried all day to sort this out, to make sense of it.”
He took another stick and flung it into the trees.
When he looked at Etayne, he saw her eyes staring into his. She didn’t look baffled. She looked impressed. “You’re not mad, Owen,” she said. “You’re bloody brilliant. The duchess wasn’t surprised when you came demanding she marry you. Everyone else was, even Roux. But she knew.”
And that’s what troubled Owen the most. Why had she not prevented it?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
St. Penryn
Owen and Etayne separated at dawn. Her injuries had sufficiently healed for her to ride. She returned the magical scabbard to him and started off for Kingfountain palace to try to determine the danger he would be facing upon his return. They agreed to meet at a popular tavern called the Coxcomb, on the bridge to the sanctuary of Our Lady of Kingfountain, in three days’ time. He would rent a room under the name Owen Satchel, which would alert her of his arrival.
There was a stop Owen wanted to make on the return trip. He intended to go to St. Penryn and draw the chest with the ancient Wizr board out of the waters. He had studied it many times before submerging it in the fountain, but he could not discern how the pieces moved or who was supposed to move them. He had a suspicion that the duchess was one of the few who could tell him.
Upon entering his domain, he removed his tunic and livery and rode toward the sanctuary alone. Etayne would have at least a day’s head start, but with her abilities, she would be able to slip in and out of the castle unnoticed. He felt an invisible current drawing him back to Kingfountain. Part of him wanted to go to Brythonica and face Sinia again. Was she part of the massive game of Wizr unfolding in the world? If so, was she an ally, or an opponent? His mood turned dark with the memory of how offensive he had been to her and her people. It had been deliberate on his part, but she had endured his provoking words with admirable patience. Was that patience an act? A way to lure him into lowering his defenses? Or was she truly a benevolent soul, a ruler whose people were utterly devoted to her? Her personality and temperament suited him well—too well. Though he had ridden into Brythonica with no intention of marrying the duchess, in their short encounters together, he had found himself impressed by her and unexpectedly drawn to her. He had Elysabeth’s permission to fall in love. But the wound in his heart was still a grievous one.
As he rode through Westmarch, the sights and sounds becoming ever more familiar and comfortable, he thought with fondness of Tatton Hall. He had expanded his domains beyond what his father had accomplished. Yet, though his father’s dominion had shrunken considerably, he seemed at ease in his new role in Brythonica. If Owen and Sinia did marry, Owen’s domain would stretch across a vast seashore, bridging the lands that had long been separated by war. It would make him even more powerful in the kingdom, drawing resentment and bitterness from his rival dukes.
He followed the coast, steering the horse wide of Averanche. The jagged coastline was hauntingly beautiful, but as he stared at the sea, he was struck with the knowledge that this very ocean had buried the kingdom of Leoneyis and drowned its inhabitants. The sea was a vast power, a relentless force that hammered away at the coastline, pulverizing rock into sand. It went by many names, but the most hallowed was the Deep Fathoms. A place where lost treasures lay hidden and buried. A place where the dead went to rest after they finished their worldly labors. A place that had existed before the world came to be.