The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(59)
Perfect.
The familiar bubbling of worry and doubt rose up inside Owen’s chest, threatening to suffocate him. As he passed the guards, he felt the subtle presence of Fountain magic and then spied Etayne in disguise near the doors. Per their arrangement, she had positioned herself there in advance, and though she looked like any of the elegant noble beauties in the room, he saw through her disguise. The subtle nod she gave him indicated he should proceed with the plan.
The crowd parted before him, clearing a path directly to the throne itself. Owen saw the numerous tables lined with food, and for a moment, he could almost see a younger version of himself there, nervous eyes gazing at the crouch-backed king, nervous legs trying to escape him. This time, Owen would be confronting him directly.
The king was already sitting on his throne, hand on his dagger hilt, his posture calculated to diminish his deformity. Lady Kathryn stood near the dais, and even at this distance, he could see the new ring glittering on her finger. As he approached, he caught sight of the three other dukes of the realm—Catsby, Paulen, and Lovel—clustered together in a corner, whispering urgently to one another. Catsby’s eyes were full of loathing as he watched Owen’s approach. Paulen whispered something behind his hand to Catsby. Lovel sipped from a wine goblet, not paying attention to the conversation but watching the king and his conquest. To one side of them stood Kevan, his keen eyes taking in the scene with interest.
It was tradition to kneel before the throne of kings before speaking. Severn had dismissed Owen from that obligation years ago because of his service to the crown. But Owen deliberately dropped to one knee and bowed his head before the king.
“I told you he’d come,” the king said snidely to the other dukes. “Did I not? But lad, you could have changed into some new clothes. You haven’t shaved in weeks by the look of you. Have a bath first next time.”
A few tittering chuckles came from the huge assembly. Owen ignored the jab and began to summon the Fountain’s power into himself. He knew Severn had used up most of his reserves in his confrontation with Kathryn, but Owen wanted to impress this memory on the king and all others who were present.
Before he spoke, he caught sight of Evie’s daughter standing alongside one of the trestle tables with Drew. The two were positioned quite close to each other, and Genevieve was whispering something in Drew’s ear as she watched the long-absent duke kneel in front of the king. Seeing the two of them together sparked something unexpected in his heart. It was no accident those two had been thrown together. The waterwheel was circling up again, ready to dip and plunge back into the river.
“My lord,” Owen said respectfully. “You summoned me home, but I come with urgent news.”
“Stand,” Severn said, gesturing for him to do so. “So the Espion tells me. But before you share this news, I wish to announce publicly my faith and confidence in—”
“My lord!” Owen interrupted, rising quickly to his feet. A sudden chill of silence swept the hall at Owen’s declaration. Rarely did people defy the king or gainsay him. Owen saw the king’s gray eyes narrow in consternation.
The young duke took several strides forward, drawing on the power of the Fountain to bolster his words.
“There is a prophecy,” Owen said, his voice rising. “It is native to Ceredigion and has been passed down in various forms for centuries. It is the prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman.”
As he said the words, it felt as if an invisible thunderclap had stricken everyone present. He felt the Fountain magic seething inside him, rushing from his mouth, from his fingertips. The air was suddenly charged with emotion. The king straightened in his throne, his expression turning grave.
Something whispered in the room, a voice that came not from any person but from the silence itself.
“That prophecy,” the king said sharply, “is nothing but an empty legend used to trick and fool the gullible. Even my brother Eredur claimed to be the Dreadful Deadman.” Severn tried to laugh, but it was a broken sound.
“The prophecy was written down by Geoffrey of Dundas,” Owen said, letting his voice ring out in the hall as he approached the king. “Master Polidoro has shown me copies of the original. We all know the saying, my lord. When E is come and gone, then take heed to yourselves, for war shall never cease. After E is come and gone, then cometh Ceredigion to destruction by seven kings. The Fountain shall cease to flood the land and after that will come a Dreadful Deadman with a royal wife of the best blood in the world. And he shall have the hollow crown and shall set Ceredigion on the right way and put out all heretics.”
Owen paused, letting the words of the prophecy fade into silence. The prophecy was common knowledge to most of the realm, and it was common practice among the lesser born to name their children after the letter E.
Severn’s face had turned a shade paler, his lips twisting into an angry frown. Some whispering broke out, loud enough to reach Owen’s ears, about how the pretender had taken the name Eyric, beginning with the letter E.
“That doggerel,” the king said tightly, “has been common gossip for centuries. What mean you to come in here and—”
“My lord, forgive me,” Owen said, interrupting him again. “But while I was in Brythonica, I had a vision. The magic of the Fountain is strong in that land. Stronger than in any place I have ever been. My lord, the prophecy of the Dreadful Deadman says that a man shall rise from the dead. Not a grown man. A child. I saw in my dream a stillborn baby. A child wrapped in bloody rags.” He looked at Kathryn, piercing her with his gaze. She stared at Owen, trembling, and then her eyes went to young Drew, who wasn’t watching her at all.