The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(89)
Owen tried to control his rage, his thundering heart, as he reached out with his magic.
“The debt owed to you is a life,” Owen said in a voice shaking with emotion. “And I intend to pay it in full. Your daughter lost hers saving mine. And I will end yours to pay her back. You betrayed her. You betrayed us all. Come here, thief, so I can kill you!” Owen felt dizziness wash over him, but his magic spread out across the room, doing his bidding.
There he was—skulking against the wall, cowering in fear.
Owen raised the dagger to throw it, but at that exact moment, the door of the tower cell burst open and Kevan entered with two Espion guards.
Dragan used the commotion to slip unseen out of the room. Owen nearly threw the dagger anyway, but he realized he might hit his lieutenant in the process.
“What’s going on here!” Kevan said in surprise. “How did he get a dagger?”
Owen flipped the blade and then caught it by the tip and handed it over to one of the men coming to subdue him.
“You should search people more carefully next time,” he grunted, gasping in pain. Looking down, he saw the bloodstain blooming on his shirt.
Before dawn, Owen had been hoisted up onto a horse and had ridden from the bailey surrounded by the king’s men. Leading the way was the king himself, his black cloak spotted with chunky flakes of the snow that continued to fall on the city. The hooves crunched through ice and clinked loudly against the stone cobbles of the road. There were already chunks of ice in the river. Owen’s side throbbed with pain, and the cold stung his nose as he breathed.
Winter had come to Ceredigion.
They left while the city of Kingfountain was still abed, but as they passed the empty streets, Owen saw men and women peering from behind curtains to watch the king’s procession.
Owen saw that the chest with the Wizr set was strapped to the back of the king’s saddle. Alongside him rode Lady Kathryn, also swathed in black, a silken veil covering her hair. Her mantle was lined with silver fur. Her face was pallid, and puffs of steam came from her mouth as she breathed. As Owen examined the others accompanying them, he spotted Kevan. A much smaller pony rode next to the Espion, and he recognized it was the boy Drew, bundled in jackets and hats to protect him. Owen’s heart pained him as he realized they had all come to watch him die. But he grieved even more for the boy Severn was preparing to murder. Of course the king had brought Drew along. He assumed it would add to Owen’s misery. To him, the boy was yet another pretender to his throne—he didn’t seem to realize the lad’s significance beyond his resemblance to the Argentines.
Normally, the king slept out of doors while traveling, even in the winter, but because he was accompanied by his lady and a child, he had chosen to stop at certain hamlets and villages on the road heading north. News reached them at various points of the day. Owen wasn’t included in the messages, but he heard his captors discussing it amongst themselves and gleaned what he could from it.
The Duke of Brugia had sacked the port city of Callait and hoisted his banners from the tower. Word of his imminent invasion was spreading throughout the kingdom. It was said that boats were assembling off the coastal towns to prepare for the invasion. Rumor also had it that Chatriyon had stirred and was marching an army against Brythonica to prevent anyone from Ceredigion from marrying the duchess. It was said that the duchess’s banners were flying and her army had assembled to resist Occitania, but without Ceredigion to protect her domain, the duchess was likely to fall.
The different reports coming in at various times along the journey made Owen grow sicker with worry. He was never given even a moment alone. His fare was simple and foul-tasting, and he was deprived of all the luxuries his rank had once afforded him. He was a dead man, he realized. His plan had failed, and all who had supported him would be punished.
As they rode the snow-packed roads leading to Dundrennan, Owen began to lose hope of finding an opportunity to escape. His magic still returned to him in small trickles, but his usually vast reservoirs were shallow. He thought about Evie and what would happen to her. She would be wise to abandon the North and seek refuge in Atabyrion before the king arrived. They would stand a better chance holding against Severn Argentine in their own lands rather than trying to cling to North Cumbria in open rebellion. Perhaps even a peace treaty could be arranged? But Owen’s thoughts had turned as black as the sky was white. Severn would never forgive Evie or Iago, not now. He would punish them in ways that would stab their hearts. They had a little boy, an heir to the throne. Owen agonized at the thought of the child being sacrificed to sate the king’s hunger for revenge.
He worried also about Sinia, though with any luck her powers would help protect her. Brythonica was so small compared to Occitania. Her duchy had always staved off invasion through alliances and treaties, but Severn wouldn’t defend her now. Chatriyon was already married, so he couldn’t press his claim. Still, he could force her to marry one of his loyal dukes and punish her peaceful realm for the years of disobedience. Owen’s shoulders drooped as he thought about how much suffering would blast the people as a result of his own failure.
After days in the saddle, the clouds finally parted, revealing a vast blue expanse over the North. The mountains were fleeced with snow. The pines were laden with it, weighed down and drooping under the heavy load.
“There it is,” the king announced, reining in and pointing. “See her yonder. The peak Helvellyn. That is where the Maid perished.” He turned and gave Owen a look colder than the frost. “That’s where you perish, lad.”