The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(98)
“She gave her life so that I might survive. And for no reason other than that she cared about the life of a little boy.” Owen saw Drew from the corner of his eye, but he dared not look at him directly. He hoped the lad felt the meaning behind his words. “I tell you this now so that you might know the truth. You’ve not beaten me, my lord. It was never about me. If the game continues on thusly, everyone will die. Including you. The game must go on with the true king. With Andrew’s true heir.” Owen felt a swell of relief in his heart. The secret had finally wriggled loose. It was no longer a burden to him.
Severn started pacing. “And you’ve duped me all this while,” he said with growing passion. “You’ve tricked and manipulated me.”
Owen leaned forward. “Ankarette had a great gift of discernment, and she helped me see the truth about you. She knew you were not the one who murdered your nephews, for she heard your confession to the queen dowager. She was there, my lord, though you did not know it. I’ve served you because you weren’t like the tales everyone told. But you’ve changed, my lord. You’ve become the very thing people always feared you were. How can I be loyal to that? How can I stand by while you plan to butcher the children of the realm?” This was another warning to Kathryn and Drew. If Owen could not escape, perhaps they could flee. “Can’t you see you’ve broken every rule? The king is now a law unto himself. That is the danger of the crown. It convinced you that you were above it all.”
Severn shook his head as he paced with a limp. Owen risked a quick glance at Kathryn and saw the paleness in her cheeks, her look of ardent fear. “You cannot understand what it is like,” he ground out. “You cannot know, you with your fair face and long stride. You are young and still not totally corrupted by the world. You do not know what it’s like to be hissed at. To have your own servants mock you behind your back. You don’t know what it’s like to be hated, Owen. No one loves me. You want me to spare the kingdom? I don’t believe all this fluff you’ve said is true. But even if it were, what has this kingdom ever done for me? If I cannot rule it, then no one shall. I’d rather leave it a graveyard.”
Owen’s heart was bleak. “You will go to the Deep Fathoms with this on your conscience?” he demanded.
The king chuckled. “I’d welcome it,” he said snidely. Then he turned back to the board. “I know for myself that magic is real. I saw what you did with this blade,” he said, patting the hilt of Firebos, which was now in his scabbard. “It has shown my mind what it is capable of doing. With this sword and this game, I cannot be defeated. Let’s prove your words.” He stood and gazed down at the board. “The white Wizr is still several squares away. Let me crush the tower, and then I’ll face that scheming duchess from behind its walls with her betrothed as my hostage.” He smiled deviously. “A hostage once again. I think you’re right. This situation is very familiar, is it not? Captain!”
The tent flap opened and Severn’s tall, grizzled captain entered. “My lord?”
“I want Kiskaddon bound and guards set about this tent. No one comes in.” He spared a look at Kathryn and Drew. A pitiless look. “No one leaves until I return. When the castle falls, bring him over to watch it.”
“Aye, my lord,” the captain said gruffly. He produced some irons and quickly shackled Owen’s wrists together. But Owen had meant what he’d said—he did not care about his personal well-being, only about the fate of Ceredigion. His eyes were fixed on the board as Severn hovered over it and then reached down and moved the black king against the white tower.
Owen felt something shift in his mind, the strange magical sensation that accompanied the movement of one of the pieces on the Wizr board. He wanted to rush against the king and stop it from happening, but he could only stare helplessly as the king lowered the lid on the board and locked it in its case.
Stuffing the key into his pocket, he turned to Kathryn. “Wait for me here, Kathryn.” Then he turned to Owen once more. “I’ll give your regards to the Mortimer brat,” Severn said viciously as he left the tent.
Owen hung his head, seething and twisting his wrists against the iron cuffs. The tent was surrounded by soldiers wearing the symbol of the white boar. He could see them through the flaps as the king left.
What could he do but wait for Evie’s army to be destroyed? He felt impotent, furious, and filled with despair. His eyes found Kathryn, still sitting on the edge of the chest, stroking the boy’s flaxen hair with a feverish, protective air, her other arm wrapped around him. “You must set me free,” he whispered.
“To what purpose?” she answered pathetically. “You’re in the midst of Severn’s army, and you’re a known traitor. It is over, Owen. It is all undone.” Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at her son’s face.
She was right, he knew. And it was a torture worse than death to have to listen to Severn’s army attack the walls of the castle of his childhood, knowing all along that he was fated to win. But it frightened him even more to think of what would happen to the children of the realm after he achieved his victory.
And it was in that moment of utter despair that he heard the sound of lapping waters from the distance. His heart began to quicken with hope. It was a familiar sound, a comforting one. Sinia.
The tent flap rustled and a woman cloaked in mist entered. The mist dissolved away, revealing Sinia, a determined look on her face. Not a single snowflake stuck to her.