The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(73)

Using the oar, Owen shoved off and began rowing them down the vast corridor. As they traversed the waterway beneath the palace, the torchlight exposed the thick stone columns that held up the colossal structure. The light reflected off the surface of the water, and Owen could see the secret treasure of the Deep Fathoms glistening at the bottom. He looked up and almost did a double take when he saw Etayne gazing over the side of the boat with wide eyes.

“You can see it?” he asked her.

“See what?” Genevieve interrupted.

“Do you see anything in the water?” Etayne asked the girl, putting her hand on her shoulder.

Genevieve looked over the edge for a moment and then shook her head. “No.”

Etayne met Owen’s gaze and then subtly nodded.

They glided to the end of the cistern, where the gate controlled the flood of the water. This was where Owen and Evie had nearly drowned or been swept away. Owen could see the control winches and levers in the dim torchlight. He also saw the breath wafting from his mouth and felt the numbness in his fingers. Winter was coming on fast—yet another sign they needed to move quickly.

He brought the boat up to the edge, maneuvering it until it was sideways along the grille. “The cistern drains into the river from here,” he told them, including Genevieve to help reassure her. “It’s nearly full. When you pull the lever, the winch begins to open, and when you let go, it takes a few seconds to close again. You can lock it open if you want to drain the entire cistern, but we won’t be doing that.” He looked at both of them with an adventurous smile. “Ready?”

Genevieve was almost aglow with excitement. Etayne waved the torch in the direction of the water, asking him silently if she should douse it. Owen gripped the lever handle and then nodded. The torch hissed as it hit the frigid water, leaving them in pitch blackness.

The darkness was so acute that sounds took on new significance. Owen could actually hear Genevieve’s teeth chattering. He pulled the lever, and the current dragged them out of the cistern in moments, sending them onto a pitched slope that would jettison them into the river. Releasing the handle, he grabbed the other oar.

Genevieve let out a little squeak of fright as the boat rushed down the short ramp and then splashed violently into the river. The roar of the falls instantly surrounded them, and Owen felt a pang of fear as he began to steer toward the island ahead of them. Sanctuary. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t help but grin a little at the audacity of what he was doing. The little girl gripped each side of the boat, facing forward, and smiled brightly, as if she didn’t comprehend the danger of the powerful falls.

Owen had made the journey twice before, so he knew what to expect, but it still sent a little thrill through him. The moon shone brightly overhead, revealing both his path and his companions. While Genevieve looked as excited as her mother might have, Etayne was clutching the side of the boat. The river was such a vibrant force of nature—a creator of both destiny and death. The island of the sanctuary of Our Lady loomed up before them, and Owen carefully steered toward the inlet on the opposite side. There were little docks nestled there and a few small boats. It took several very strong men to row against such a powerful current. This journey would be one-way.

Owen maneuvered the boat to the dock, using the flat of the oar to slow them down so they wouldn’t collide with it. The boat began to pitch and tug back toward the river current, but he paddled hard to correct it. When they reached the edge of the dock, he grabbed the mooring post.

“You first,” he told Etayne, trying to keep the boat from rocking. The water from the river churned beneath them, colliding with the rocks before veering toward the roaring sound farther ahead. The falls. Etayne bent low and then scuttled up to the dock. It was dark and cold, and Owen was full of nervous energy. Anxious to get ashore as quickly as possible, he grabbed the chain and began anchoring it to the mooring post.

“I can get out myself,” Genevieve said, standing up. Her sudden movement made the boat wobble alarmingly.

“Take my hand,” Etayne said, reaching down from the dock to grab the girl.

“I can do it!” Genevieve said, looking up at her with the type of confidence reserved for the young and inexperienced. Owen felt a surge of unease, and then watched in horror as she missed her footing. At exactly the wrong moment, the boat lurched and the edge dipped below the river. Water rushed into the tiny boat and jerked it hard against the chain. Everything went into chaos in the blink of an eye.

There was a splash as the little girl went into the river.





Dear Owen,



Thank you so much for your letter and your warning. What is happening in Ceredigion feels unnatural. Iago and I have felt helpless to do anything. But thanks to you and your offer to rescue our daughter, Atabyrion will faithfully join your cause. We must tread carefully, my dear friend. History is full of examples of both successful usurpations and the consequences of failure. But I am equally certain that you are more canny and cunning than your king. If you feel this is the only way, then I will trust it. I’m sending this note by my husband’s hand. Thank the duchess for her willing help and assistance. I will be so relieved when I’m holding Genevieve in my arms once again. Every day without her has been a torment.



Yours with loyalty,

Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer Llewellyn Queen of Atabyrion