The Thief's Daughter (15 page)

“That’s comforting,” she said dryly. “At least it’s not because you don’t want to. Why haven’t you then?”

“Why are we talking about this?” he asked her.

“Because I’m a girl, and girls like to talk about kissing,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me for
years
and you never have. I’ve almost kissed you first a thousand times, but I always wanted you to be the one to start it. Justine is vomiting in a bucket in my room. The crew is watching the sunset over there. And
your
thought was to startle me by pretending to push me overboard.” She sighed with exasperation. “Sometimes I can’t figure out how your mind even works.”

Owen could hardly make sense of his churning emotions. They were a mix of delight, mortification, embarrassment, eagerness, wariness, and giddiness.

He hung his head and chuckled. She had the ability to talk about the most ridiculous things with candor. She was so open, so assured of herself. He envied her that. He was constantly riddled with worries and doubts.

“Sometimes I can’t figure it out myself,” he said honestly. “It was a perfect moment and I ruined it.”

“Yes . . . you did.” She reached over and touched his arm. When he looked up at her face, he saw tenderness there. A feeling of protectiveness came over him.

She clucked her tongue in regret. “Well, here comes the captain. Tomorrow we’ll be in Atabyrion, in front of strangers who abide by savage customs. People there eat with their hands and throw cups of wine and scream at each other during meals.” She wrinkled her nose. “They also start fights rather rashly. As one of my knights, I’m depending on you to defend my honor.” She gave him an arch look.

Owen rose and bowed to her formally. “I will defend it with my life, my lady.”

She pursed her lips at his gallant comment and then gave him a dismissing nod as the captain approached.

Later, after midnight, Owen was pacing the corridor outside her room, rebuking himself for having missed the perfect opportunity to kiss her. His conflicting emotions stymied him. He wanted to show her how he felt, to pledge his heart to her in a meaningful way. But to do so would feel disloyal to the king. This was a test, he tried to reassure himself. It was only a test. Part of him believed it, but a nagging voice in his head insisted the intended alliance with Atabyrion was real. If so, kissing her now would make things worse for them in the future. It could even damage their friendship.

He had promised Clark he would awaken him after midnight, but Owen did not know if he would even be able to sleep.

A sliver of light bloomed from her doorway, and he noted it immediately, his nerves taut and on edge. Swinging his head around quickly, he saw Etayne framed in the glow. She gestured for him to approach, and he hurried over to her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Etayne shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong,” she whispered. “I gave Justine a sleeping potion for her seasickness. A strong one. She won’t awaken until morning.” Her eyes were full of mischief. “Shall we trade places?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Edonburick

Owen stared at Etayne, the conflict within him growing fiercer. The thought of being alone with Evie, truly alone with her, kindled a feeling inside him akin to the roar of a waterfall. But at the same time, he felt distrustful of the Espion’s intentions.

“What do you mean?” Owen asked, wrinkling his brow.

“I’ll guard the door. You can be in here.”

One of the strategies in Wizr was to move a piece for an easy kill. To an opponent, it would look like an error, but it was a deliberate move intended to provoke an action that would later be regretted. As Owen stood there in the dark corridor, he felt he would be making a crucial mistake if he accepted Etayne’s offer. Perhaps
she
was testing
him
.

He shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I have a duty to perform. And so do you.”

Etayne looked a little startled. She stared at him for a long moment and then gave him a nod of respect. “Not one young man in twenty would have said no. You
are
unique.” She came out into the hall, shutting the door quietly behind her. With the absence of light, shadows engulfed them.

“I would never want to do anything to dishonor her,” Owen said in the darkness. He didn’t like that he couldn’t see her face very well, as he would have to judge her by her words alone.

“Thank the Fountain you are not like Dunsdworth then,” she replied with an edge in her tone. “If that man ever became king . . . well, I’d probably poison him first.”

“I’m
nothing
like him. He used to torture me as a boy.”

“He tortures anyone he can,” she replied with a grunt, and Owen was suddenly suspicious that she had experienced a run-in with him before. “You have my respect. Sadly, it’s been my experience that most young men
are
more like him than not. When I caught you sneaking into her room the other night, I had my suspicions about the two of you.”

Owen leaned back against the wall. “When I went in to see her, Justine was there and fully awake. It wouldn’t be . . .
proper
to see her without a chaperone. Not at night, anyway.”

“You believe in the old code of chivalry? How quaint. You care about her honor and not just about gratifying your needs,” Etayne said with a smirk.

“She’s also my friend,” Owen said simply. “Of course I do.”

He was a little put off by the King’s Poisoner. Or perhaps he was just comparing her to Ankarette. Maybe she too had been worldly and cynical when she was younger. Owen wondered again if he could trust her. He realized now that he wanted to.

“In addition to poison, what are your other skills?” Owen asked.

“I was fully trained,” she replied evasively. She was not one to reveal anything about herself. “Tell me about Ankarette. I’ve only known her through Mancini’s eyes. She was the standard, the mark I had to aspire to better. You were only a child, but what do you remember?”

Owen’s vision was adjusting to the darkness and he saw her better and better—she was studying him just as he was studying her.

“I don’t like talking about her,” Owen said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “It was so long ago.”

“Very well. When you are ready then. I would be grateful if you told me. It is difficult competing against a ghost.”

“I imagine so,” Owen said. He wondered about this girl, her defenses and weaknesses. What would his magic reveal about her? He opened himself up to the power of the Fountain, his source of power and insight. Letting the magic ripple through him, he extended it out to Etayne, probing for her weakness. Everyone had a characteristic weakness—except for Clark. Probing Clark was like testing the walls of a dam. He wondered whether Etayne had any chinks.

He learned, immediately, that she was left-handed and always disguised that fact out of embarrassment. She had trained herself to be almost equal with her right hand, but she definitely had a dominant hand, and it made her difficult to predict. She shivered suddenly as the magic probed her more deeply, looking for more.

“What are you doing?” she demanded in a quavering voice. Owen stopped the flow of magic, startled that she had noticed it.

“What?” Owen asked, feeling a little guilty that he had been caught at it.

She backed away from him, just slightly. “Did you . . . did you just use your Fountain magic on me?”

Owen stared at her, conflicted. There was no denying it. “Yes. You felt it?”

“I’d never felt it before.” Her voice was just a whisper, a mix of awe and fear.

“Are you Fountain-blessed?” Owen whispered.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I felt something. It was coming from you . . . like . . . like a river. How did you do that? What were you
doing
to me?” she asked, distrust seeping into her voice.

“I guess you could say I was testing you, in my own way.”

She shuddered again. “It felt strange, yet pleasant. I almost didn’t notice it with the ship rocking. How old were you when you learned you were Fountain-blessed?”

Owen hid his smile. “Very young. It usually begins with a habit, a task—something that you focus on and lose yourself in. Something that you love and are passionate about. It’s different for everyone. That task fills you with the Fountain’s power. Once you’ve stored it, you can use it in certain ways. I can sense it when someone else uses it. If you can, then maybe you are just discovering your power.”

Etayne stepped forward suddenly, and he could see the scant light reflecting off her eyes. “Will you teach me?” she asked, so fervent he could only stare at her, speechless.

The
Vassalage
reached Edonburick and everyone came on deck to watch as the ship navigated slowly through the mouth of the bay. The cliffs on each side were massive and crowned with timber battlement walls. What struck Owen immediately was that the defenses were primarily made of wood. The wood was nearly black, and the posts were all sharpened like stakes. Torches burned in iron sconces, belching black plumes into the air.

As the ship came into the bay, Owen stared out at the massive lakelike harbor. It was small compared to the one at Kingfountain, but there were ships from every kingdom there, including Ceredigion, so the
Vassalage
did not stand out. Craggy fingers of rock protruded from the bottom at certain places in the bay. A waterfall gushed down into the bay, and Owen could hear its roar even from a distance. The palace of Edonburick was built into the cliff near the falls, accessible by means of a series of wooden rails and stairs constructed along the side of the mountain. There were houses fitted vertically into the cliffs all around the bay, but they were rustic-looking, peak-shaped lodges, few larger than a single story.

Owen breathed in the salty air that reeked of fish. There were no structures made of stone, he suddenly realized. Not a single one. It did not even require his special ability for him to see the weakness.

Fire. A few ships with archers in the hold with pitch-tipped arrows could wreak havoc on such a place.

Their ship maneuvered around the tall columns of stone protruding from the lake, and Owen leaned against the railing, staring down at the waters. With the rushing noise of the waterfall in his ears and the sight of lapping waves all around him, Owen felt something
stir
inside him. It felt familiar, almost like a mother’s soothing whisper. He stared down at the water, trying to see beyond the foam. He was trying to see because he suddenly knew without a doubt there was something down there. The memory of the ephemeral treasure in the cistern at Kingfountain flickered through his mind.

The true Edonburick was drowned.

The insight came to him with such startling clarity that he gasped. Visions bloomed in his mind, unbidden. Their ships were gliding over the ruins of a lost kingdom. It was all still there, submerged beneath the waves. Castles made of stone, cottages and wells and hedge walls. The buildings were all still down there, blanketed in seaweed and muck.

“What is it, Owen?” Evie asked with concern. She touched his arm, and the contact snapped him out of the vision’s thrall.

Owen staggered back from the railing, breathing hard and fast. The inhabitants of the original settlement had all drowned. Only those who’d lived in the upper mountains had survived. Indeed, all that was left was the upper mountains. There were no stone buildings because the devastation had crushed Atabyrion into poverty. He did not know how long ago it had happened, but he could almost hear the screams of sorrow muffled by the water.

“Are you sick?” Evie asked again, looking at him worriedly.

Owen
felt
sick. He could not even comprehend the amount of water that must have come crushing down into the valley. This wasn’t a bay at all. It was a deathtrap.

“I don’t know,” Owen said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Sometimes the Fountain spoke to him. It was rare and had not happened in a while. When it did, it left his bones feeling weak. He didn’t want to frighten her, nor could he even find words to describe what he had seen. “I need to sit down.”

Turning, he managed to sit down with his back against the side of the railing. How many had died? How many had been drowned? It felt like the roar of the waterfall was the only thing blocking out the shrieks of the dead.

Justine crouched next to him and offered her bucket to him, giving him a sympathetic look. She patted his shoulder.

“Don’t hold it in,” she said. “It only makes it worse. I felt it as soon as I got on board.”

He wanted to laugh, but his throat was dry as sand. He wasn’t seasick. He was horrified—it was as if he’d encountered a mass grave after an enormous slaughter.

“We’re almost to Edonburick,” Evie said sweetly, rubbing his shoulder.

After a while, Owen’s shock began to subside. He thanked Justine for the bucket he hadn’t used and made it back to his feet. They were approaching the docks to the right of the falls. The cliffs were jagged and broken, and large boulders peeked out of the waters. The ships had to move carefully, maneuvering by poles and oars until they reached the safety of the harbor. The cliffs, up close, were a mesmerizing shade of green from the moss clinging to the rocks. An abundance of pine and cedar trees crowned the mountains, which was undoubtedly another reason why so much of the city was constructed of wood. Part of the stone cliffs had a peculiar natural pattern that fascinated Owen. They looked like a bunch of slim columns, or strands, bunched together in cords. The pattern resembled a tiled wall, and there were mounds of broken pieces of stone at the base of the cliffs.

As the gangway was hoisted to connect to the ship, Owen watched as a nobleman shuffled his way down the pier with an entourage of knights. Rather than armor, they wore toga-like cloaks and skirts and boiled-leather bracers and girdles. Each had high leather boots covering pants that seemed to be made out of woolly sheepskin. Their hair was long and braided, and each was bearded. They looked like wild men. The effect was only heightened by the fact that each cloak and skirt bore a different patchwork pattern.

The nobleman leading them was a mature man, his hair only partially tamed, with a cropped beard and mustache. He was a handsome fellow, quite tall, and he stood with one foot planted on the dock, the other on the gangway, his hand resting on a huge sword that was hanging from straps around his shoulders like a longbow.

“Milady of Ceredijun,” the nobleman said in a thick accent, giving her a bow and a flourish. He was looking up at Evie, who was standing by the captain. Owen and Clark stood just behind her. “Ye are most welcome to Edonburick. Word of your impending arrival came aforehand. Our most illustrious King Iago the Fourth bids you welcome and honor. Ye have come just in time to participate in the revels.”

Evie’s brow furrowed. “And what revels might those be, my lord?” she asked formally.

He gave another swooping bow, extending his arm in a broad sweep. “Why, the nuptials, my lady. The
marriage
of Ceredijun’s true king to the daughter of the Earl of Huntley of our fine realm. I hope ye have a stomach for mead, for there is plenty of drink at hand. Come pay homage to your new king, my lady. He is expecting ye as well.”