The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(67)

Genevieve was the tile that knocked over the rest. He saw that clearly in his mind. Once she was gone, his plan would take on momentum, and there would be no turning back. As the head of the Espion, Owen would be in charge of the investigation regarding her disappearance. He could confuse the situation by sending Espion to investigate possible treachery from Brugia, keeping all eyes away from the sanctuary and the little girl from Atabyrion.

A child could be unpredictable, as he well knew, but he would need to tell Genevieve at least part of his plan. Could he trust her? He was discomfited by the idea of putting his life in the hands of a little girl. One false word on her part could jeopardize everything. The thought instantly reminded him of when he, as a child himself, had pled with Ankarette to trust Evie with their secrets. What a risk the poisoner had taken. He would have to take the same risk, all the while knowing what the punishment would be if he were caught.

If Severn captured him, he wouldn’t be sent over the falls. No, the Fountain-blessed could not be killed by the very waters that gave them their magic. Like the Maid of Donremy, Owen would be taken to a frigid mountain, chained there, and left to freeze to death. He closed his eyes as his heart thrummed with terror. For a moment, the panic was so paralyzing that he could only sit there in the stuffed chair, staring at the tongues of fire that taunted him from the hearth. He breathed out slowly, trying to regain composure. Was this all a horrible mistake? After all, his entire life had been devoted to Severn, to the belief that loyalty should be binding. And Duke Horwath, who had become a second father to him, had expected him to take on that oath.

The answer came to him quick. His promise of loyalty had been delivered to a different man, a different king. Severn was no longer the misunderstood regent he had once been. He had allowed himself to become corrupted, and now he was on the verge of destroying his own kingdom. Owen felt the press of duty like iron bands around his heart. He had a duty to the kingdom that superseded his duty to the king. He had heard the Fountain’s voice and message: Kathryn’s son was the rightful Argentine to inherit the throne. It was his duty to see to it that it happened.

Owen leaned forward in the chair and swept his arm across the desk, spilling the mound of correspondence to the ground. He rose, walked purposefully to the door, and unlocked it. He marched down the hall, not stopping until he encountered Kevan Amrein bent in conversation with another Espion. As soon as he saw Owen, Kevan dismissed the other man.

“Grave news?” he asked.

Owen shook his head. “Trouble with Brugia, I think. I’m worried about our defenses at Callait. Can you send some men across the channel immediately? I’ve had some news that worries me. Can the castellan there be trusted?”

Kevan’s face twisted with surprise. “Lord Ramey? He’s a fine fellow, one of the staunchest allies in the realm. I wouldn’t have a concern at all. Why? Do you suspect him?”

Owen shook his head. “No, he is a good fellow. But I have a suspicion, and it would ease my mind if you send some Espion there to poke around the defenses.”

“Immediately, my lord,” Kevan said. “Anything else?”

“I have a note for Genevieve from her mother that came through Clark.” Clark had been assigned to Edonburick after Lord Bothwell’s treason so he could be with his wife, Evie’s maid, Justine. He missed his old friend. “Do you know where she is?”

Kevan thought a moment. “This time of day, she’s normally in the king’s library with Lady Kathryn. It’s too frostbitten to play outside, or she’d be running around the grounds like a terror.” The words were said with a small smile that revealed a fondness for the child.

Owen nodded and quickly slipped into the Espion tunnels to avoid being seen. When he reached the corridor adjacent to the library, he slipped open the wooden slat so he could survey the room before entering. He found Genevieve as expected, kneeling on the floor over a Wizr board. Drew was lying on the ground on the other side, and she was teaching him different moves. Her hair was a lighter brown than her mother’s, but she shared many of the same expressions and features, and it heartbreakingly reminded Owen of his first love. They too had played Wizr together.

But as he watched the children, the pang of agony quickly dulled. The wound wasn’t as tender as it had once been. Owen blinked in surprise. The sadness, which had long ago become a part of him, was finally starting to dissipate. The memory of a little butterfly came to him in that moment, bringing with it a curious warmth. It was a form of magic, a powerful kind, and even he was not immune to it.

Looking past the children, he saw Kathryn standing by the window. The whiteness from the sky beyond made her glow like some mystical being. Her gaze was far away as she twisted the ring on her finger—the one Severn had given her—and there was an interplay of conflicted emotions on her face. Her mouth was twisted with sadness, but there was hope in her expression as well. Her back was to the children, perhaps in an attempt to hide her struggle.

Owen softly released the latch and opened the hidden door so he could slip into the room unobserved. The air had that musty quality that prevailed wherever old books were kept, and he found himself reminiscing about all the time he’d spent in this library himself, poring over stories of other Fountain-blessed individuals.

Now that he was inside the room, he could hear the chattering voices more clearly.

Genevieve was doing most of the talking. That wasn’t a surprise.