The Thief's Daughter (27 page)

“I went down into the hold to check on Bothwell,” Etayne said softly in his ear. “He was gone. I found Clark in the cell instead. Bound, gagged, and unconscious.”

Owen’s eyes widened. “He’s down below? He never made it back to Kingfountain?”

Etayne shook her head. “I assume not. Which means Severn may already be dead.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Seasons

On board the ship
Vassalage
,
sails billowing with the wind, Owen paced as he watched Justine tending to Clark’s injury, a particularly nasty gash on the back of his head that had left him unconscious and with a hazy memory. Etayne’s look was dark with worry and dread about the escaped prisoner. Poisoners were renowned for their sense of revenge, so she had much to fear from the man who had escaped.

Clark sat on a barrel in the hold, wincing with pain. The lantern swayed with the rocking motion of the ship. Evie watched in worried fascination as Justine treated the Espion.

“You can remember nothing else?” Owen pressed, trying to subdue his agitation. He felt as if they were being thwarted at every turn, and he did not like the thought of being outmaneuvered in any game, let alone the realities of life, especially not when his king’s life was at risk.

Clark tolerated the pain of Justine’s ministrations with perfect patience, although his fingers were digging into the barrel lid and the tendons were standing out on his hands. “I didn’t see who hit me. Someone was crumpled on the floor in the yonder cage.” He motioned with one of his hands. “I called out to rouse him, and then I was struck from behind. The next thing I knew, I awoke bound and gagged, with thunder in my head. I know I missed my transport back to Ceredigion. The captain surely left without me when I didn’t show up.” He frowned with melancholy. “After this, I’ll be assigned duty to watch over Dunsdworth again,” he complained bitterly. “And I deserve it.”

“Nonsense,” Owen said, rubbing his chin.

“The important thing,” Evie said consolingly, “is they didn’t kill you.”

Justine’s head jerked up, her eyes blinking wildly. She flushed a bit and then started back to work.

“Thank you, lass,” Clark mumbled to her.

“It’s quite all right,” Justine replied, looking embarrassed.

“Someone has been playing us for fools,” Owen said after a lengthy pause. “The problem is, there are too many people who wish us harm. The king has too many enemies.”

“Including his nephew,” Etayne said darkly.

Evie looked at the poisoner. “Tell me more about what happened when you went to see Eyric.”

Feeling restless energy rush through him, Owen thumped his fist against one of the deck struts. He glanced at Etayne, whose eyes were downcast. She believed she had failed in her mission. He could tell she was also worried about what Mancini would do to her. Owen was more concerned with finding out the true allegiance of the leader of the Espion.

“I believe Eyric is who he says he is,” Owen declared. “And I know that Severn would not have wanted him to be murdered in Atabyrion.” He shook his head firmly. “That Eyric survived is nothing short of a miracle from the Fountain. I’ve known the king half my life, and he is still troubled by the murders of the princes. And Lady Elyse will be thrilled to learn that her brother is alive. No, we did the right thing in sparing his life.”

Etayne’s eyes, and the expression on her mouth, spoke that she felt otherwise. “Yet he’s going to invade Ceredigion to claim the throne. You can have no illusions about that.”

“I don’t,” Owen said, agreeing with her. “Just as I believe Iago Llewellyn will join him in the invasion. We’ve wounded his pride, and he
is
a proud man.” The last comment he fired at Evie.

“Also a desperate one,” Evie said, taking the blow without retaliating. “His kingdom is nearly bankrupt; his nobles are all scheming. But Iago doesn’t understand the might of his enemy. He’s like a man who gambles on a throw of the dice. He risks much to gain much, but he doesn’t realize that the outcome isn’t up to chance. It’s a matter of mettle. And I don’t think Iago’s matches King Severn’s. But I understand why he’s facing the hazard. In his mind, the opportunity for reward is too great. The chance to get out from beneath the thumbs of his nobles.”

Owen didn’t like the man personally, but he agreed with her assessment. “Well, as Mancini likes to say: Two can throw the dice in a game of chance.”

“You can’t throw dice if you are dead,” Etayne said broodingly, reminding them all that the risk Severn faced wasn’t just on the battlefield.

The comment made them all sulk in despair for a moment.

“I’ve done all that I can,” Justine said after a moment, wiping her hands on the towel she had used.

“Thank you, my lady,” Clark offered in a humble tone.

She smiled at the praise and then followed her mistress back toward their private room. Evie motioned for Owen to join them and he did. The steps leading out of the hold were steep and narrow, and it was dark when they reached above deck. The stars were shining through the windows like a swarm of tiny fireflies. They conferred with the first mate, who informed them that the journey back would take less time because the wind was at their backs. He hoped to reach Kingfountain before dinner the following day.

Evie’s chamber seemed much too small to Owen. Everything about the ship was cramped, like the cage in the hold, but the physical size wasn’t the real issue. Owen was restless. He felt his life was becoming more confined and restrictive, and he longed to burst the bands of duty and obligation, to be free. But he would not risk losing everything he had acquired in a rash act of rebellion.
Loyalty binds me.

“You’re agitated,” Evie said with a sigh. Justine started to help her remove her jewelry.

“It’s not every day you get to see another man kiss the woman you love,” Owen said with bitterness.

Evie sighed. “That was . . . unfortunate. Please don’t think I enjoyed it.”

“There has been precious little in this journey that I’ve enjoyed,” Owen said. He wanted to kick himself for being dramatic at such a time. “Forgive me for being sullen.”

“I can’t blame you,” Evie said, the wrinkle of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve had to endure Iago talking about you in your very presence! You’ve watched him flatter and dote on me day after day. That was an unfair burden to place on you.”

“Let’s not pretend that
your
discomfort was not as great as mine,” Owen said, deflecting her sympathy. “This has not been an easy mission for either of us. I’m sorry if I’ve not been as attentive as the King of Atabyrion.”

Evie looked at him and shook her head. “You will always be my closest and dearest friend, Owen. Your pain is mine. And I don’t want another moment to pass between us without you knowing how deeply I care about you and your feelings.” She sighed, her look growing more troubled. “Do you think . . . do you think Severn will force me to marry him? If he invades Ceredigion, I cannot imagine that Severn would still want an alliance.”

Owen chuckled. “Then here’s to hoping he does!”

“Be serious,” she chided. “You know he cannot win. He’s too brash and self-confident to realize it. He doesn’t know the man he is provoking. But do you think Severn will still make me marry Iago? I’m too close to the situation to see it objectively.”

“And you think I am not?” Owen said, suddenly very serious. “Losing you is my greatest fear. I’m sorry, but I don’t think Iago Llewellyn deserves you. He
needs
you, and not just for your connections and your inheritance. He needs your wisdom and prudence. The advantage is all on his side. You would bring him the stability that he most desperately needs. I have no doubt his efforts to woo you were sincere, if not selfishly motivated.”

Evie flushed at the compliments. “You are kind to say those things.”

“They’re true,” Owen said with a grunt. The pain in his heart was swelling, making it almost difficult to breathe. He tried some levity. “I have a difficult time picturing you wearing one of those fancy Atabyrion headdresses, though. You would look quite silly.”

She started to laugh and it was music to his ears.

They stared at each other a moment, feeling the healing balm of shared pain. She wanted him to hold her. He could see the need in her eyes, but he also saw her unwillingness to act on it. Owen needed no more coaxing than that. He crossed the small room to her, startling Justine, and Evie rushed into Owen’s embrace. He hugged her tightly, pressing her against him, feeling her body trembling in his arms. Her hair smelled sweet, and he could feel its softness crushed under his forearms. Her cheek pressed against his chest and throat.

“What will happen to us?” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

“I don’t know,” Owen said, feeling as if his heart were wrenching into two halves. He held her for a long time, just enjoying the moment—the sway of the ship, the feeling of comfort that came whenever his love was near. He wanted to kiss her—to tilt her head up and kiss her—but not while he was consumed with the memory of Iago’s lips having claimed hers first. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing the kiss would be tainted for Iago when he learned that Lord Kiskaddon had been in his realm.

“It’s getting late,” Justine said, looking forlornly at them both.

Evie backed away, a little shy look on her face. She smoothed the wrinkled front of her gown. Her eyes were more blue at that moment.

“What did you make of Eyric and Kathryn?” Evie asked curiously. “When you met them at the Huntley manor?”

Owen thought for a moment, bringing the memories bubbling back up in his mind. “I have no doubt they are very much in love,” he said. “There was something special about seeing them together. It may have been a political match, on the surface, but I have no doubt the two care deeply about each other. And I believe that Kathryn has confidence in Eyric and his story. Their love was touching.”

Evie seemed pleased by the words, but then a worried look replaced it. “What will happen if he does become king?” she whispered.

“What always happens when a king is thrown down,” Owen answered ominously. “It’s rare for the king’s favorites to stay in power. Your grandfather would lose his title. And so would I. We have much more to lose if Severn falls.”

“And you don’t think that Eyric would be willing to accept something less than the crown?”

Owen shook his head. “I offered that to him and he rebuffed me. He cannot trust Severn. Not after all he has been taught about his uncle. He fears the man. He probably even hates him. No, I don’t think Eyric will be swayed with the promise of being the Duke of Yuork again. He wants the crown or nothing.”

Evie’s face went dark with anger. “Then he will likely lose everything.”

“Or we will,” Owen said flatly.

Her lips pressed into a firm line. He’d seen that look on her face before. The look of determination that was a warning not to defy her.

The next day, the sky was veiled in thick, gray clouds. Owen craned his neck, feeling an icy bite to the wind. He needed to go to his room for a cloak soon. Every sailor chafed his hands and blew on them, looking hard pressed to tug on ropes and tie knots in such cold.

Owen went to look for Evie, and he found her and Justine talking to the captain above deck.

“How far off is Kingfountain?” Owen asked, staring at the churning sea as the
Vassalage
sliced through it.

“It’s yonder,” the captain said, a strange look in his eye. The captain had a small scar on his left eye, slicing down his cheek. It was faint, and Owen hadn’t noticed it before.

Owen raised his hand to his brow to get a better look at the land ahead. He started with surprise.

“This is unusual,” Evie said, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen Kingfountain swathed in snow this early in the season. Winter is still two months away.”

The palace of Kingfountain and the trees on the grounds were shrouded in a thin blanket of freshly fallen snow. Owen had been there in winter before, but he had mostly spent his winters in Westmarch, where it didn’t get as cold. This was an unusually early winter storm.

“Have you seen the like before?” Owen asked the captain.

He shook his head. “Not in my twenty years at sea,” he said. “I’ve never seen Kingfountain so white this early.”

A memory stirred in Owen’s mind. He felt the supple churn of the Fountain along with it.

It was something Severn had said during breakfast to Dickon Ratcliffe one long-ago morning. Owen had been close enough to hear the conversation. The memory had always nagged at him.