The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(74)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


The Fountain’s Ring



There were no words to describe Owen’s feelings when he heard the sound of Genevieve plunging into the river. There wasn’t even time for him to think about what he should do; he leaped into the water after her without pausing to rationalize or debate. There was no way he was going to face the child’s mother without her. He’d rather die himself.

As the shock of the frigid river water smashed into him, the cold so fast and sudden he feared even his memories would freeze, he groped to catch some piece of her cloak, her hair, anything. He had a vague sense that he might survive the waterfall because he was Fountain-blessed, and he could only hope that having her with him might make a difference.

And then light and pain exploded from his hand.

The river still had him in its grip, but suddenly his hand was burning with pain. His knees bit into harsh stone and he found himself in some sort of roaring pit. The light was everywhere, and it took a long moment for his eyes to adjust to it. The roar of the river and the falls thundered in his ears, and to his shock, he felt himself gasping and breathing air and not water. He heard someone screaming for help, the tiny voice nearly lost amidst the cacophony.

Owen’s clothes were no longer soggy and weighing on him, and even his hair had dried. He lifted his head and hand, trying to ward off the rays of light, only then realizing that the light was emanating from the ring on his finger, the ring he’d pulled from Marshal Roux’s dead hand. The betrothal ring that Sinia had placed on him herself.

There was Genevieve.

She was huddled on some dry stones just ahead of him, reaching out to him and crying. Just past her, the water of the river had converged again, a violent mass of waves that threatened to suck her back into the river.

Owen clambered forward, grabbed her outstretched arm with his right hand, and pulled her to him. She grabbed his tunic and buried her face against his shirt, sobbing with combined terror and relief. Lifting his head, Owen saw that the river had been shunted away from the rocky wall of the island through the power of the ring. The dock posts were exposed, as were the slick, smooth stones that normally lay beneath the waves. The relentless power of the river had broken away the boat he had attempted to tether there, and it was now hurtling downstream to meet its fate at the falls. He saw Etayne kneeling at the dock, reaching out to them, her face full of panic and awe as she beheld the river parting away from Owen and the child.

The ring burned on his finger so fiercely, he feared he’d lose his entire hand as a result of its magic. His mind could not grasp a power that was strong enough to turn a river out of its course, especially a river as mighty as the one serving Kingfountain. Trying not to look at the blinding light of the ring, he carried Genevieve clumsily up the rocky cliff.

He stumbled a bit and then hoisted the child up into Etayne’s arms. As he moved closer to the dock, the river began to fill in behind him, showing that the protection he had experienced was limited and temporary. How long would the magic last? He had no desire to test it. The dock posts were black and slick, and he stumbled against the uneven boulders strewn at their base. Genevieve was safe again, thank the Fountain, so he reached up and caught Etayne’s hand himself, letting her help him up next.

As soon as his boots cleared, the light in the ring vanished and he felt the river hammer once again at the dock, the power of the water rocking and shaking it. He knelt there, breathing down his terror in fearful gasps, and saw Genevieve staring at him with huge eyes.

“Mother was right. You . . . you truly are Fountain-blessed!” she said reverently. Then, with all the effusion of a child, she flung her arms around his neck and started to weep again, this time with gratitude. She thanked him over and over, mumbling her apology for being so clumsy.

Owen rocked back on his boots a bit, feeling so grateful for the ring he wore on his hand. He patted her back with one arm and then examined his hand, afraid of what he’d find. The finger that held the ring was dark and bruised beyond recognition. It hurt terribly, but he felt a surge of warmth envelop his body, sending healing waves. He noticed the scabbard was glowing again, although the incandescence was only visible to his eyes.

Etayne was kneeling beside him, looking at him with so much relief, her hands folded prayer-like in front of her. Even though she’d disguised herself as her mother, he could see the true woman beneath the concealment.

Genevieve pulled away and looked down at Owen’s hand. Just like him, Genevieve was dry, as were her clothes and hair. He smoothed down her dark tresses, astonished at this demonstration of the Fountain’s power. Had Sinia known he would need the ring’s protection? He suspected so, and felt a throb of warmth for her.

Etayne took his hand, and he watched her press her lips to the ring like a benediction. His breath was finally starting to calm.

“Let’s get away from the river,” he managed to say.

Etayne looked like she wanted to start weeping. She smiled through her tears and nodded vigorously at the suggestion.



At dawn, the sexton of the sanctuary of Our Lady unlocked the gates and pulled them open with a groan. There were many who had gathered outside in anticipation, waiting with their coins in hand to make an offering to one of the many fountains. One young couple whispered of their hope to be blessed with a babe. A grieving father had spoken of his boy slipping on an icy street and cracking his skull the night before. When the gate finally opened, Owen led Genevieve through the aperture, Etayne’s magic rippling gently around them.