The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(75)

The sexton gave Owen a wary look of recognition as he passed, something he had been counting on. The man’s lip curled into a warning sneer, but he said nothing. Owen tipped his head at the man and gave him a mocking smile, knowing full well that his face was the twin of Dragan’s.

“Come along, lass,” he said gruffly to Genevieve. “Shan’t keep your papa waiting.”

Once inside the grounds, the supplicants gathered into the interior of the sanctuary where the cold of the early winter was dispelled by braziers lit with fresh coals. The trio stood by one of them, chafing their hands and trying to get warm again.

A man sauntered up to Owen, someone who, judging from his expression, clearly knew Dragan.

“What’s this about, eh?” the man said with a bit of defiance in his tone. “Who’s the chit?” he demanded, nodding to the little girl.

“Never you mind,” Owen said, mimicking Dragan’s tone of voice. He felt Etayne’s magic washing over the man, convincing him utterly. “What news?”

“That Espion bloke Amrein has been snooping around for ya. I’d knife him if I wuz you. Watch out for him. Any luck inside the palace?” He looked cautiously around. “Bothwell’s in a temper. He needs to get this done, and fast. It’s a lot of money, Dragan.” He was almost whining in anticipation.

“I’ve got it all figured, you see. You tell Bothwell I can get him in. Now go, the sexton’s looking this way. Go!”

The man nodded and then hurried off.

Owen traded glances with Etayne. “I think our visit served its purpose. If we wait here until noon, who knows who might show up to talk.”

“I think this is wonderful,” Genevieve said in a low voice. “I’ve never seen such magic. Even though I know who you really are, I still can’t tell for sure. I’m a little afraid. Where are we going?”

“We’re meeting the Duchess of Brythonica at one of the fountains in the back,” Owen said. “We agreed on noon, which is hours away. But maybe she’ll be able to sense us if we go near. Walk with me. We won’t stay there long if she doesn’t come right away.”

Etayne nodded and fell in step with Owen. He felt the magic moving along with him, giving his walk a little limp and swagger. The power came from the poisoner’s intricate memory of the man, and while he could resist the magic, he let it work on him to complete the illusion. There was power in wearing masks. He actually felt decades older, even though he knew it was just a mirage.

When they reached the little alcove, he stared into the fountain’s placid, coin-speckled waters and summoned the chest. There was no one else in the immediate area, but there were many passersby near them. Owen tugged on Genevieve’s hand and directed her to the other side of the fountain, where they were less likely to be seen. As they’d planned, Etayne lingered by the entryway, glancing at the crowd and keeping an eye out for her father.

“Look!” Genevieve said with excitement, pointing at the waters as they started to froth and bubble. A thick, roiling mist rose up from the churning surface, veiling the room. Owen could no longer see Etayne. Genevieve looked at the mist eagerly, without any apparent fear. “Is she coming?”

“She is,” Owen said, feeling his own heart begin to mimic the waters.

Then Sinia appeared in the mist, walking from the center of the pool toward them. She wore a different gown than the last one he’d seen her in—it was lavender in color with a lacy bodice and cuffs. Owen didn’t want to greet her as Dragan, so with a thought, he repelled Etayne’s magic and let the facade slough off.

“Genevieve Llewellyn, meet Sinia Montfort, the Duchess of Brythonica,” Owen said. He gave her a look of warmth and pleasure, trying to tell her without words that he knew all. That he was grateful for her and all she had done for him.

Sinia started when she saw the look on his face, but she regained her composure quickly, her anxiety turning to smiles and tenderness as she looked at Evie’s daughter. “Hello, Genevieve,” she said. “Your papa arrived with the tide this morning.”

“He did?” Genevieve asked, startled now. “Where is he?”

“At the sanctuary of Our Lady of Toussan,” Sinia replied. “Where I just came from. It’s the chief sanctuary in my realm, like Kingfountain is in Ceredigion. He’s as eager to see his little girl as you are to see him! Come with me. I told him I’d be back straightaway.”

Genevieve reached out to take the proffered hand, but then she looked up at Owen once more and threw her arms around him. “Thank you for saving me,” she mumbled. “I can never thank you enough. Here, I must kiss you. Kneel down.”

Owen felt chagrined, but he dropped down to one knee as requested. Sinia was staring at him with something like amazement, one hand covering her mouth. He’d never seen her look at him that way, but she looked—it wasn’t distraught—overwhelmed.

Owen felt the warm lips press against his cheek where Etayne had shaved him earlier. Relief flooded him. For just a moment, he had experienced the utter devastation that had haunted Severn for so long. Losing his brother’s children was a blow from which the king had never recovered. Owen did not understand how someone could recover. The insight made him feel an unbidden pang of sympathy for the man he’d served—the man he was now betraying.