The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(56)

“Here, walk between us,” Etayne said, drawing him up next to them. “That should help.”

Drew gave her a suspicious look, then turned his gaze back to Owen as he walked. “Where are we going?”

“There’s something I wanted to show you,” Owen said. “You won’t understand it now, but you will later.”

“I’m tired,” Drew complained.

“So am I,” Owen said, trying to curb his impatience. “But a knight must learn to fight even if he’s cold and tired.”

“That’s true,” the boy said thoughtfully.

They had to cut across a lawn as they approached the gatehouse leading to the docks. He made a subtle gesture to Etayne, and she summoned her magic to disguise him as a common soldier. Her magic seeped from her like a delicate breeze.

Two guards wearing the badge of the white boar stood watch at the doors. Owen could hear voices rising from the dock beyond. One of the guards held up his hand, warning them to slow their approach.

“Shhh,” the guard said, shaking his head. When they reached him, Owen caught sight of the scene beyond the latticework bars of the gate. His heart skipped fast. Two canoes had been set down on the path, and the soldiers who had hefted them were milling around.

Kathryn was kneeling beside the boat that contained the body of her husband. She wept over it with grief and misery. A white mist came from her mouth as she gasped and swallowed and sobbed. Owen’s heart panged him to see her in such a state. Severn. Severn had done this. Etayne’s eyes narrowed with simmering fury.

Drew wrapped his little hands on the bars and watched the woman who, unbeknownst to him, was his mother.

“Poor lady,” the boy whispered. “She’s my friend.”

“Give her time to mourn, lad,” the soldier said softly to the boy. The soldier looked at Owen, though he didn’t recognize him through the disguise. “He jumped down the tower stairs last night,” he whispered with a grimace. “Broke himself on the floor. Like Tunmore. Poor fool knew he was going in the river today. Poor, poor fool.”

Owen joined Drew at the gate, his heart wrenching with pain. He clasped the boy’s shoulder with his hand. The lad had a dark countenance, a look of sadness.

“Why did you want me to come?” Drew asked, looking up at Owen, and then started when he saw a stranger’s face looking back.

It was time to finally tell him the truth. That was why he’d brought him here. “It’s all right, lad. It’s still me,” he whispered.

Before he could continue, he heard the unmistakable shuffle-step coming from the path behind them. The halting limp he had known since he was Drew’s age.

Severn was coming.





CHAPTER TWENTY


The Widow’s Spite



Owen’s heart jolted at the sound of the king’s shuffling footsteps, and Etayne’s eyes widened with fear. They could not see Severn amidst the shadows, and it was not likely he could see them yet, but he would be at the gate in moments.

There was little time to react, and Owen needed ideas. He was still under Etayne’s disguise, but with any luck the king would be too distracted by his task and the noise of the river to notice someone using the magic nearby. What could he do to conceal Etayne and the boy? His mind raced as he heard the king’s footfalls approach. The guards posted hadn’t noticed it yet, and Owen seized on the first idea that bloomed in his mind.

“The king sent us on ahead,” he said to the guards. “Open the gate for him. He wanted to see the bodies put into the river this morning.” He gestured quickly for them to open the doors.

The soldier looked startled and then listened as the sound approached.

“He is coming,” one of them grunted with surprise. “Come on, be quick about it!” The two men wrenched on the heavy barred door, and Owen nodded for Etayne to drag the boy into the gap between the door and the wall, letting the heavy bars conceal them both. Owen kept his back to the approaching king and directed with a gesture for the soldier to stand at attention after finishing the maneuver.

“Long live the king!” Owen said in a crisp salute. The soldiers milling around on the other side suddenly scrambled. Several bent down and hoisted up the canoe with Dunsdworth’s comatose body. The man did not so much as grunt.

“My lady,” one of the guards near Kathryn whispered in a pleading voice. “The king comes!”

Owen heard the boots coming up behind him and felt the skin on his neck prickle. He adopted the persona of a rough soldier, hoping it matched his disguise. “Be quick about it! Be quick about it! The king comes!”

“Shut up, you fool,” Severn snarled to Owen as he passed, not giving him a second look. Etayne and Drew could be seen beyond the gate, but the shadows were thick enough to conceal them. Owen’s heart raced with fear, but so far his strategy was working.

“Beg your pardon, my lord,” Owen mumbled apologetically and stood aside.

Several soldiers bent down to hoist the staves supporting Eyric’s boat, but Kathryn still knelt beside it, cradling her dead husband’s face with her hands.

“My lady!” one of them pleaded, glancing worriedly at the king as he crossed the threshold of the gate.

“A moment longer, I beg you!” Kathryn wailed, consumed by grief. Owen watched as the king slowed his approach, one hand gripping his dagger hilt.