The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(53)

Owen stared at the paper, wincing over his choice of words, but there was no time to second-guess himself. He scrawled his first name, leaving off his titles and so forth, folded the note, and stuffed it in his tunic pocket. Then he withdrew another sheet and wrote a quick note to Evie.



I promised that I would keep your daughter safe. I’ve learned some news that forces me to act. I will safeguard her as I promised. You can trust me in that. But I need you and your husband to reclaim your rights and territories in the North. It is a matter of utmost urgency. The king must be stopped or else the entire kingdom is doomed. Learn what you can about Edonburick and how its people drowned. I seek to prevent a similar disaster here. I need your help. I will bring my army to join Iago’s in the North, and then he and I can discuss this together in person. If there were another way, I would take it. But the king has forsaken my trust and his duty. I cannot stand aside and risk so many lives. I will look for your husband at the inn where we once met in Blackpool in twelve days’ time. Have faith in me, my dear friend. Trust I’m doing this because I must.



Owen signed and dated the paper, then folded and stuffed it in his vest with his note to Sinia. He stood at the desk for a moment, staring down at the mound of papers. He wouldn’t miss being the head of the Espion, he realized. The thought of letting another man carry the burden wasn’t terrible to him. Something so much . . . more was happening. Tension hung in the air, and he had a sense that the pieces on the board were already moving. It was as if the earth were groaning beneath his feet.

He slipped out of the Star Chamber and was grateful for the cover of the coming night, which would help him flee the palace grounds without being noticed. If he did not hurry, he would be locked out of the sanctuary when they shut the gates after sunset. But no one paid him any mind as he slipped out of the palace and into the city, which meant he could push his way through the crowded streets as quickly as he pleased.

Owen entered the gates as the mass of visitors started to leave, which earned him some strange looks.

“My daughter is ill, and I must make a wish!” Owen babbled feverishly to the gate warden who barred his way.

“Make it quick, man. Make it quick! The sanctuary closes after sunset. You know that.”

“Thank you, sir!” Owen said with a convincing look of humility, and quickly strode up the steps to the sanctuary. The main chamber was empty and his boots clapped loudly on the stone floor. The waters of the fountain were at rest, and hundreds of rusting coins filled the basin.

Owen glanced around and slipped into the side alcove he’d emerged from earlier. He brought the chest to mind, picturing it in as much detail as he could recall, and there it was, waiting for him in the waters. After tugging on the handle, he drew it out and set it on the side railing. He heard the sound of footfalls coming across the hall after him, so he hastily opened the Wizr set. The white Wizr piece was back across the board on the Occitanian side, indicating that Sinia had returned to Brythonica. He smiled at the piece.

And then he noticed a tightly folded piece of paper waiting for him in the crook of the set. He hadn’t expected a note from her so soon. He quickly took the two letters he had written and exchanged them for the one he took. Gently, he closed the lid of the set and then broke the wax seal, embellished with a butterfly, on the note left for him. The handwriting was exquisitely done, each word and letter painstakingly and delicately flourished.



My dearest Owen,



By the time you read this note, it will be too late. Eyric is dead. It’s not your fault. It was his choice. I know this news grieves you, and I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. I will come for Genevieve in two days. Bring her to this fountain at noon. When you see the mist, have her step inside. I will keep her safe. Be you safe, my lord. Until we next meet.



Sinia





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Poisoner’s Grief



With a heavy heart, Owen went to the inn on the bridge where he had reserved a room for Etayne. He didn’t expect her to be there yet—she would arrive the next day at the earliest—but it was somewhere he could sit and think. Once in the room, he changed into a fresh set of clothes and washed his face in the water dish. And then he sat in a chair and stared once more at the note Sinia had left for him, his mood as dark as the night sky outside the window.

Eyric was already dead.

He had not heard that news from Kevan, so he assumed the Espion did not know. Had Severn ordered the executions upon learning of Owen’s return? He frowned. It was technically murder if the king had arranged for them to escape so that they could be tried for and found guilty of treason. He stared at the burning wick of the table candle, focusing on it so keenly he could see the different colors in the flame.

The door shut softly behind him, so quietly he nearly didn’t hear it.

Owen spun out of his chair and drew his sword halfway out of the raven-marked scabbard before he realized it was Etayne, a dagger in her own hand.

“How did you get here ahead of me?” Etayne whispered in shock. “When I saw the light under the door, I assumed someone was waiting to kill me.”

His heart was still thudding like a galloping stallion. “I wasn’t expecting you until the morrow.”

“I’ve not slept since I left you,” she said, and he could see the shadow smudges under her eyes that confirmed it. Her body was still rigid with wariness. “How did you get here so quickly?”