The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(50)

He pressed his eyes to the slits for a view inside the room. Severn was there, pacing back and forth, and so were several of the lords of the realm, including Catsby and Paulen. Kevan, Owen’s second in command of the Espion, was leaning against the far wall, shaking his head and frowning in frustration. The air was charged with enmity. The voice of the king’s chamberlain rang out, announcing dinner, and the mood changed as the meal was brought in. Owen sensed the subtle flow of the Fountain coming from the room, which made him wary.

Owen concentrated on the draw of the magic, trying to get a sense of the source. At first, he suspected the king, but it was coming from deeper in the room. He dared not use his own magic for fear of revealing himself to the king and whoever else was there. Listening in eagerly to the conversation when it resumed, he discovered quickly that the fate of two men’s lives were being discussed over seasoned beef.

“The Assizes have found them both guilty of treason, just as you wished,” Catsby said to the king after the servants had cleared out. “Eyric and Dunsdworth are doomed. They both know it. I don’t understand why we can’t sentence them now, my lord, and throw them both into the river this very evening?”

Owen’s stomach lurched with dread.

“My lord!” Kevan said imploringly.

“Shut it, man!” Catsby snarled. “You had your chance to bring evidence. It’s the king’s decision. Why do you hesitate, my lord?”

There was a miserable look on the king’s face. He was frowning, his face full of agitation. “Don’t press me, Catsby. I warn you.”

“Shall we not pend the sentence until Lord Owen returns?” Kevan demanded. “Let him see the evidence. Would it not be more just to add his voice to the council?”

Catsby had daggers in his eyes. “I told you to be quiet.”

“You are not the master of the Espion,” Kevan growled. “The evidence is murky at best. There were others involved who helped Eyric and Dunsdworth escape. It seemed as if . . .” He hesitated.

“Go on,” Severn said, much to Catsby’s chagrin.

“The circumstances of their escape and capture are highly suspicious,” Kevan said.

“Say more,” Severn pressed.

“I dare not,” Kevan replied, looking worriedly at the others in the room.

“You have an accusation to make, then make it!” Catsby growled. “You think I was behind their escape? Pfah! Why would I care a green fig about them! I came all the way from the North to help since Kiskaddon is conveniently absent. When did you summon him back, my lord? How many days ago? He could have taken a ship. Why would he delay so long?”

“You have no idea how far he must ride,” Severn said impatiently. “Even if he left right after receiving Kevan’s news of their escape, it would still take him another day to reach us. Give him time. He will come. I assure you, he will.”

“My lord,” Catsby said, a battle between impatience and forced courtesy playing out in his voice. “You have a guilty verdict. Do you think having Kiskaddon’s opinion will make your decision any easier? You must execute these two rivals. They are the last threat to your throne. Dunsdworth could not fulfill the role of king without sending all of us to the river. He’s much too damaged and dangerous.”

“And it’s my fault that he is, I suppose?” Severn asked huskily.

Owen tried to sense if the magic was coming from Catsby, but though it was the right direction, he couldn’t be sure.

Catsby put away his napkin and rose. “You’ve been far more lenient than other kings would have been. Your brother used a poisoner to put Dunsdworth’s father to death. Is that why you hesitate? And what of Eyric . . . or should I say Piers? He’s the son of a fishmonger’s wife. You should have killed him years ago.”

Severn’s gaze burned hot, and Owen was about to enter the room to startle them all, but some impulse held him back.

“What say you, Jack?” Severn said, his burning eyes fixed on Catsby.

Jack Paulen was busy devouring his meal, but he paused to wipe the grease from his mouth with a napkin, then said, “I sat on the Assizes, my lord. The evidence may be murky, but that doesn’t shroud the result. The two are a threat to your throne and your power. They must be put to death in the river.”

“Go,” Severn said curtly. “All of you. Leave me.”

Catsby gave the king a disdainful look and stomped out of the chamber. They all left, one by one, leaving Severn standing by himself in front of the hearth, his eyes lost in thought. It was the perfect opportunity to approach the king alone, but Owen still hesitated. Intuition plucked at him, warning him to wait, to see what the king would do all alone.

“Are you still here?” the king said in a low, angry tone.

Owen blinked with surprise. Had the king somehow detected his presence? Then he sensed the ebbing of the subtle power of the Fountain, which had filled the room throughout the meeting, and a man appeared in the farthest corner. He was a square-faced man with dark sideburn whiskers and thick unruly hair, dressed in a jacket and breeches. He pulled a long-stemmed wooden pipe from his belt and began chewing on the end. Owen recognized him instantly, although his look and manner had changed dramatically. He’d last seen this man crouching nervously in a cell. It was Etayne’s father.

And Owen realized immediately that he was the Fountain-blessed one he had sensed.