The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(47)
“I’ve been working on one,” Owen said, shaking his head at the vastness of the task. “It was rather simple. I’m afraid you’ll laugh.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “Never fear that.”
He firmed his courage, deciding to make the leap. “Everyone knows the legend of King Andrew. How he pulled a sword from the waters of the fountain of Our Lady. No one else was able to touch it. He had that ability because he was Fountain-blessed. Something similar happened to the Maid of Donremy.”
Sinia’s smile encouraged him to continue.
“She too pulled a sword from a fountain before helping to crown the Prince of Occitania.”
“The story repeats itself over and over,” Sinia said. “Go on.”
“I think I know where her sword is,” Owen said. “If the legends bear true, it was also King Andrew’s sword.” Lord Horwath had made him swear he wouldn’t tell the Occitanians. But did that promise include the Duchess of Brythonica, who had been Ceredigion’s ally for so long? If he was going to accept her help, he needed to trust her. And he did believe what she had told him. The feelings from the Fountain had been compelling, and he had learned to trust them. “There are ice caves in North Cumbria. Duke Horwath told me of them before he died. I think the sword is there. I thought . . . well, I thought to fetch it and bring it to Our Lady of Kingfountain. I have the power to put ancient relics into the water and remove them. So I hoped to trick Severn. To trick everyone, actually. I was going to say I had a dream that the true king of Ceredigion would be able to draw a sword from the fountain of Our Lady. That it’s a sign the Dreadful Deadman has returned. And then I was going to arrange for it to happen. Basically, I was going to cheat!”
Sinia stared at him with a smile of pleasure. “And why would that be cheating, Owen? Did not the Wizr Myrddin do the same thing?”
Owen looked at her, startled. “He did?”
She nodded. “Andrew wasn’t Fountain-blessed, Owen, he simply surrounded himself with those who were. It was Myrddin who allowed him to draw the blade, and Andrew’s greatest knight was a man named Owain.”
His heart shuddered at the words. “I’ve never heard that,” he gasped. “I’ve never heard that name in all the legends I’ve read.”
“Of course not,” she answered simply. “Because the record was lost when Leoneyis drowned. That version of the story stopped being told. The version that talked about Owain. And how he married the Lady of the Fountain.”
A small pink flush rose on her cheeks, and she looked down, suddenly abashed.
“But you know the story,” he whispered, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. She looked so beautiful in that moment, so vulnerable. Like the butterfly she was named after.
She nodded, still unable to meet his eyes.
Then another question struck him, fast as an arrow bolt. “If you know their story, then you know how it ends. Don’t you, Sinia?”
She was uncomfortable now. He could see her anguish in the curl of her mouth, her clenched fists, and her trembling arms.
“Tell me,” he insisted.
There were tears in her eyes as she looked up at him. “I can’t say it,” she whispered.
But he already knew. Her look told all. “Owain betrayed her,” he said, feeling disgusted with himself even though he hadn’t done anything. The same story had been told over and over. Different men and women playing different roles. “Am I right?” he pressed.
She looked at him steadfastly. Then she nodded once.
Owen breathed in through his nose. “Are these stories preordained? Must they always happen the way they did in the past?”
She shook her head no. “There is always a choice. Always.”
He realized that so much in life depended on choices. He had chosen to forsake love after losing his chance with Evie. His choice had deprived him of opportunities. It had also prepared him for this one. Could he open his heart again? Could he risk the pain? But he already knew the answer—he had to. This was the decision that would help him serve the Dreadful Deadman. And he could not deny that the choice appealed to him for other reasons. That she appealed to him.
Stepping up to her, he grabbed her hand. “Then I’m making mine,” he said, almost roughly. “You’ve risked everything to try and help me. I don’t know why, truly. I’ve been nothing but rude and disingenuous to you. But I will not betray you, Sinia. What must I do? How can I join your side? You said I must swear fealty? I won’t let my people be destroyed, not if putting the lad on the throne will prevent it. The road ahead will be difficult, but I will not stray from it. I promise you.”
She dabbed tears on her sleeve and gave him an encouraging smile. “So will I. You must, formally, plight me your troth. And I to you. Then the knight piece will change color when you put on the ring.”
“I think we need witnesses, no?” Owen asked her.
“Yes, that is the proper way.”
Owen took her hand with one of his and waved impatiently for the deconeus to join them. He felt light-headed, filled with a strange sensation of both utter terror and happiness. Having someone like Sinia on his side, having a partner and ally to help him counter Severn made the impossible seem possible. He’d felt nothing but hopelessness while carrying the burden on his shoulders. Now she was willing to share it with him. To plot and maneuver with him.