The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(90)
A rider wearing the king’s colors rode hard toward them from farther up the road. Severn kept his beast subdued until the man arrived.
“What news?” Severn asked.
The man’s cheeks were flushed and he had snow in his beard. He shook his head. “The Queen of Atabyrion still holds Dundrennan, my lord. They know we’re coming and they didn’t flee. Your army is camped less than a league ahead. We’ve overtaken the lower city. Most of the populace fled into the castle to weather the winter and the siege.”
Severn scowled. “A winter siege. She’s going to make me earn it. Any word from her?”
The soldier nodded and snow sloughed from his beard. “She states her claim to the land as the rightful heir of Stiev Horwath. She demands that Lord Catsby return the treasures plundered. Once that is done, she promises to swear fealty for her lands to the King of Ceredigion.”
Severn’s face darkened with anger and Owen smiled at Evie’s pluck.
“She owes her allegiance to me now,” Severn snarled. “Well, if she wants to play at war, then she will have it. How many men do we have gathered here?”
The soldier wiped his beard. “Twenty thousand strong and loyal, my lord. The army from Westmarch under Captain Ashby will arrive in a few days. That will bring us to nearly thirty thousand. Even with men from Atabyrion, she can’t have more than fifteen, and if they’re all crammed inside that castle, they’ll be dying of their own fumes ere long.”
The king smirked. “Well done. Take my lady and retinue to the city. The journey is cold. I’m going to bring the rest of the men to Helvellyn to see to the king’s traitor.” He turned to Lady Kathryn and reached out, taking her hand. He kissed the glove. “I’ll join you tonight, my love.”
Lady Kathryn gave Owen a look of sad farewell. Then she turned back to the king and nodded deferentially.
Owen’s stomach soured as if he’d swallowed spoiled wine.
“You’re coming with us?” Kevan asked the king in surprise.
Severn nodded. “I don’t trust any man to see this done for me. Especially no Espion. In fact, you are the one who is not coming with us. I want you to ride into the city and see what news the Espion has of Iago’s troops and movements. Is there a secret way into the fortress? Prove your loyalty to me in this, Kevan, and you may lead the Espion yourself when this is all over.”
The Maid of Donremy had been taken by mule to the peak of Helvellyn, the second or third largest peak in all of Ceredigion. Owen had read the records of her trial, including her confession about hearing the whispers from the Fountain and the documentation of her many gifts as one who was Fountain-blessed. But all the records were clear about one thing: She had frozen to death in the snow-capped mountains, wearing only a shift. She had been chained to a rock while several soldiers huddled by a few coal-burning braziers and waited out her death. After the deed had been done, they’d dragged her body down for the king’s men to verify that the Maid was no more.
The horses carried Owen, Severn, and the dozens of trusted soldiers up the slope of the mountain. Owen’s ears and fingers were numb. His toes felt like pebbles. They’d already stripped away his cloak, and his shivers were uncontrollable. The cliffs of Helvellyn were especially steep facing the valley of Dundrennan. But along the far side, the slope was much more gradual, making it easier for the animals to bear their burdens.
Partway up the mountain, a stone effigy of the Maid had been carved into one of the boulders protruding from the snow. The image was worn and glazed in ice, and Owen felt heartsick looking at it. The air was more difficult to breathe, and Owen felt chunks of ice sticking to his whiskers and lashes. The blue sky from earlier had become veiled in white, as if the storm that was descending on Kingfountain had moved along with them.
At last, they reached the craggy peak. It was midafternoon, though the sun was hidden by thick clouds. The soldiers set up a little shelter on the leeward side of a boulder and added fuel to their sconces. Flames licked the chilled air, and the men huddled close to them, chafing their hands. Owen was kept away from the warmth, and it tortured him to see the tongues of fire without being able to savor them.
Severn remained on his pony, seemingly impervious to the cold. He wore the crown on his head, a reminder of his position to himself and all others who saw him. He watched the whole scene unfold dispassionately.
Two soldiers helped Owen dismount, and he nearly stumbled because of his leaden feet. How long had the Maid survived before perishing? Owen didn’t think he would last the night. He stared at the king without flinching.
“You may do with me as you please, my lord,” Owen said, his teeth chattering with cold. “But this fate that awaits me also awaits the people of your realm. This unnatural winter was brought on us because of you. I will not be the last who perishes from cold. You bring this doom upon all of your subjects unless you relinquish that crown.”
The king looked disdainful. “So you’ve warned and so I’ve heard. Even in death you persist in your lies. Maybe you’ve even convinced yourself. But know this. I won this crown by right and by might. I will not give it up willingly. Even if the doom you prophesy comes to pass.”
Owen frowned. “I can do no more then.”
“Indeed. You’ve done quite enough,” the king said with iron in his voice. He nodded to the soldiers. “Bring me his corpse in the morn. Be faithful, lads. You will see for yourselves that his bluster is no more than empty noise. I don’t want any of you to miss the action as we humble Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer Llewellyn. Queen of Ashes.”