The Thief's Daughter (35 page)

Lady Kathryn’s mouth turned down. “If you say so, my lord husband.” Her voice was skeptical.

“What brings you to St. Penryn?” Eyric demanded almost gleefully as he took Etayne’s hands. “We weren’t expecting you here. It’s a welcome surprise, to be sure!”

Owen patted Kathryn’s hand and then met Tyrell’s gaze. The poisoner looked quite uncomfortable, almost writhing in his disquiet. Owen finally allowed himself to look into the open chest.

It was a Wizr set, but it was far from ordinary. Owen could feel the presence of the Fountain’s magic just from looking at it.

The board was small, roughly the span of both of Owen’s hands from end to end with his fingers spread apart. The board was made out of grayish-brown stone, and while the darker squares were marble, the lighter squares were some other polished stone. The figurines of the set were the typical pieces, except they were each hand-sculpted into small, squat depictions. The king, for example, sat on a throne—like in Owen’s set—only each piece was carved with a face and an expression. One of the kings was leaning forward, resting his chin on his fist. The pieces were each highly detailed and looked to be centuries old, showing some wear and cracks. The board was already assembled, but it seemed to be in the midst of a game. Many discarded pieces were settled in the little slots around the sides of the board.

Tyrell’s face twisted with anger as he watched Owen regarding the pieces. “My lord,” he said with alarm. “You’ll have time to visit with your
sister
. You must make your move. Play the game.”

Owen felt something twist inside his stomach.

Eyric was enraptured by Etayne, gazing at her with adoring eyes, completely unaware of the tension around him. He kissed her knuckles and laughed softly. “Will Chatriyon still support me, Sister?” he pleaded. “When I heard you had married, I began to wonder if he wanted the throne of Ceredigion for himself. Lord Owen said as much to me earlier.”

“The game, my lord,” Tyrell said with a cough.

Eyric waved him down. “I haven’t seen my sister in over a decade, Tyrell. A moment.”

Owen suppressed a smirk, watching with pride as Etayne masterfully mimicked Elyse. Even her voice was identical.

“My lord husband,” Kathryn said in a pleading tone, looking more and more concerned.

Her words broke the spell. Eyric turned to look at his wife, then nodded obediently. He returned to the table and gazed down at the set. Owen could not determine any order from the way the pieces were positioned on the board, but he could tell by looking at them that both sides were evenly matched and in defending postures. He quickly memorized the pieces on the board, trying to parse any patterns from the previous matches he had played.

“Your move,” Tyrell repeated with agitation.

“But I don’t know this game very well,” Eyric said with unease, staring down at the board. His hand hovered over the pieces.

“What is this game?” Owen asked, standing shoulder to shoulder with Eyric as he gazed down at the box.

“You’ll
see
,” said Tyrell with venom. “My lord, it doesn’t really matter what piece you choose. We just need to see if you
can
move the pieces.”

Owen felt a prickle from the Fountain in his mind.

He cannot
.
But his wife can. In her womb is the Dreadful Deadman. Protect the heir.

Owen blinked with surprise and noticed for the first time that Kathryn’s hand was gently pressing her belly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Loyalty

Etayne cast Owen a nervous look. He didn’t know if she had heard the Fountain’s voice or not. He was reeling from the revelation that the Dreadful Deadman was an unborn child, the son of Eyric Argentine. And he felt the imminent burden that would fall on his shoulders. He would need to protect this babe as Ankarette had protected him.

Reaching his hand toward the chest, Eyric tried to move one of the pieces of the Wizr set. But the piece resisted stubbornly, and Eyric’s face crinkled with concern as he applied more pressure.

“It’s not moving,” Eyric said worriedly.

The poisoner Tyrell frowned, seeing the failure as evidence of something. “It’s because you are not recognized as the king,” he said. “You have claimed your uncle’s throne, but you have not won it yet. Once you wear the hollow crown, you will be able to move the pieces, my lord. Not until then.” Tyrell swiftly took the lid and shut it over the Wizr set.

Lady Kathryn took her husband’s arm, giving him a worried look. “So it is true. You must earn the right to rule through conquest. My husband, I fear for you.”

He gave her a tender look and then smoothed a strand of hair from her brow. “The Fountain will aid me, Kate. Look at all the allies it has already brought.” He glanced back at Elyse and Owen, on whom his gaze rested. “Have you come to join me now?” he asked. “You spurned my offer before. I would welcome your support most ardently, my lord duke. Did my sister persuade you?”

Owen knew he had to control his expression. It was difficult when so much was happening around him. He tried to sound sullen. “The king changed when Lady Elyse forsook him. He’s a different man now. He violated the sanctuary of Our Lady, and the people nearly threw him into the river.” Owen risked a glance at Tyrell, trying to judge his reaction.

“I have persuaded Lord Owen,” Etayne said, her voice and tone mimicking Elyse’s perfectly, “to join our cause. I knew you would not trust his offer of assistance without assurance. Welcome home, my brother. The crown is rightfully yours.”

Eyric’s lip trembled with emotion. “I would take back what is ours, Sister. Uncle Severn besmirched our name, our family, and our inheritance. He sent the Espion to kill my brother and me, and Lord Bletchley ordered Tyrell, who is Fountain-blessed, to do the deed. But the Fountain forbade him from killing me. Instead, he smuggled me to Brugia. It is time to remove that monster from the throne before his madness infects the entire kingdom. He ought never to have worn the crown.”

Etayne stroked Owen’s arm. “Only Lord Owen has been able to quell his rages. I could not, in good conscience, continue to stand by him as he changed. Brother, I must return to my husband in Occitania.”

“Before you leave, my lady,” Tyrell said, his voice full of warning and disbelief. “I suggest, my prince, that you ask your sister a question. Something only you and she would know.”

“Tyrell, it
is
my sister,” Eyric said with a snort. “I recognize her as if we’d never parted.”

Owen knew Tyrell sensed Fountain magic, but he probably could not determine whom it was coming from.

“I know Princess Elyse as well,” Owen said. “I was raised at the court of Kingfountain. Believe me, Master Tyrell, I’d know if she was an imposter.”

“I’m sure you would,” Tyrell said acidly, his eyes churning with rage. Owen felt the Fountain boiling inside of him.

Lady Kathryn’s eyes wrinkled in concern, and Eyric patted her hand. “There is no need to fret, my love. The danger is real, but I believe the people will rally to me now that Severn has violated sanctuary. They will flock to me in droves, like sheep needing a patient shepherd. You are my queen.”

Owen wanted to get his hands on the chest. It was sitting on the table, teasing him with its vulnerability. It was a riddle and a mystery, and he wanted to solve it. But he had no doubt that Tyrell would never allow it.

Kathryn’s eyes were doubtful. “My husband, your uncle is a cunning and shrewd man. He sent Lord Owen to deceive us once. Why would he not do so again? I feel”—she paused, her hand tightening on her stomach—“we can trust him, but I worry what will happen if you are caught. I could not bear to lose you.” Her look was so tender and loving that it made Owen regret what he was about to do.

“If I am caught,” Eyric said, dropping his voice lower. “We already discussed what I would do. What I would say. Have courage, dear one. It is time to cast the die. Iago Llewellyn may rid us of this monster once and for all. We must march against him now, while the tide is in our favor. We won’t get another chance.”

It was true.

Eyric turned to Owen. “Where is my uncle’s army?”

“He’s in the North.”

Eyric nodded firmly. “That was always his greatest bastion of support. But I was once the Duke of Yuork. The people there will forsake him as everyone else has done. He was never meant to rule Ceredigion. It is time we rectified that mischance.”

“Hold me,” Kathryn murmured worriedly, coming into her husband’s embrace. The couple lingered that way, and Owen’s heart wrenched inside his chest. He had to look away, and his gaze found Tyrell’s. The man’s face was twisted in rage. It was easy to guess at the cause: His efforts to stir up contention had failed because Owen’s magic deflected the magic of others. He was impotent in Owen’s presence. And he knew it.

“Come, my lord,” Tyrell insisted, almost whining. “Let’s summon your soldiers. We have two hundred men so far and more will come every day. The sooner we march, the sooner the people will rally to the Sun and Rose.”

“I perfectly agree,” Owen said, stepping forward. “I have a pavilion a short distance. Why don’t you and Lady Kathryn join us for a meal?”

Eyric shook his head. “My lady will not leave sanctuary until I return to bring her to the coronation. The Fountain will look after you in my absence.” He tipped up her chin and gave her a lingering kiss. Lady Kathryn blinked back tears.

“I will return for you, my love. I swear it.” He turned to Owen and Etayne. “Let’s gather at your camp then. I’d like to speak to your men. I hope to help them see the rightful cause they undertake.”

“My lord, I don’t think that’s wise,” Tyrell said, shaking his head.

“Come, Tyrell. I’ve lurked in shadows for long enough. It is time to face the light.” He gave Kathryn one last look before shifting his attention to the deconeus. “Your Grace, I leave my most precious jewels in your hands. Guard them well.”

“I will, Your Majesty,” the deconeus said with a plump smile.

Lady Kathryn gave Owen an imploring look. He was about to turn away, unable to bear her gaze any longer, but she caught his sleeve.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She blinked quickly. “I know you risk a great deal, Lord Owen, and I will not forget your kindness. The daughter of the Earl of Huntley is grateful. My father will reward you handsomely.”

Owen’s mouth was dry. “Thank you, Lady Kathryn. But I do not do this for the reward.” He looked into her eyes, knowing the memory of the trust he saw there would haunt him the rest of his life. It did not matter; he had a duty to perform. The Fountain had told him to protect Eyric’s son. It had not told him to defend the father. But despite that, it was still an agonizing conflict.

Tyrell hefted the chest under his arm and they started to walk together out of the sanctuary. Owen sensed he had a dagger concealed behind the chest. But the man was not wearing armor, so he was quite vulnerable to blades himself. The night was cold and misty. Men came quickly with torches, and a rabble of Atabyrion warriors drew in around them as protection. Some cheered Eyric’s name and others hoisted banners with the Sun and Rose. Eyric raised a fist and smiled. He was a handsome man and he looked like a true prince.

The call of a night bird came in the distance.

As they reached the gates, Tyrell cast furtive glances into the gloom, looking weary and sick with nerves. “My lord, where are your other guards? Should we not fetch them?”

“It’s only a meal, Tyrell,” Eyric said with a grunt. “I’ll be staying with my lady at the sanctuary tonight. Once the soldiers hear my speech, the word will spread faster. Trust me, old friend.”

Tyrell was growing frantic. He knew crossing the gate was dangerous, but he seemed to sense the tide had turned against him. Owen stared at Eyric, willing him to leave.

“It’s cold,” Etayne said with a shiver, bringing up her cowl. He wondered if her disguise was in danger of slipping.

“Of course,” Eyric said, hooking arms with her. “Let’s get you back to a brazier. Come, Tyrell. Quit skulking. Let us go.”

“My lord,” Tyrell moaned. “I have an ill feeling . . .”

Eyric snorted again, shaking his head at the man’s foolishness, and then pulled Etayne with him as they left the gate. Tyrell lingered at the threshold, clutching the chest to his body. His eyes burned into Owen’s with wrath and heat, but Owen merely gave him a confused expression, shrugged slightly, and followed Eyric. Tyrell gritted his teeth and left the sanctuary.

Their boots crunched on the gravel path heading back into the mist toward Owen’s camp. His heart, though tortured, felt a quick surge of hope. It was going to work.
A little farther, just a little farther!

The beggar man sat at the side of the road with his cup, shaking it and making the coins inside rattle. “Alms, my lords! Alms!”

Eyric opened his purse and produced a crown. “Here you are, my good man. Your fortunes are changing.”

The coin thunked in the cup. “Thank you, my lord. So are yours.”

The Atabyrion warriors slowly lowered their torches and tugged free their tunics, revealing the badges of Owen’s house beneath—the bucks’ heads on a field of blue.

Owen turned to the deposed prince coldly. “I arrest you by the name of Eyric Argentine.”

The look of shock and horror on the prince’s face would also be seared into Owen’s mind forever.

“How . . . how!” Eyric gasped, his jaw quivering.

The chest thudded onto the ground. There was a flash of movement, and Owen saw Tyrell’s dagger plunging toward his heart.

Etayne caught the thrust and jammed the flat edge of her hand against Tyrell’s throat to crush his windpipe. She torqued the wrist, and Tyrell went face-first into the ground as some of the Espion rushed forward to restrain him. Seized by a hateful rage, he choked for air and thrashed against his captors.

Two of the Espion, one of them the beggar with the cup, grabbed Eyric.

Etayne pulled a vial from her sleeve, uncorked it, and quickly tipped the liquid into Tyrell’s mouth as he gasped for breath. Owen watched her do it. He had ordered her to do it. He would not risk taking another poisoner captive, especially not one as skilled and deadly as Tyrell.

“What are you doing! What have you
done
!” shrieked Eyric, struggling against his captors. Realizing he had been duped, he started to sob hysterically. There would be no civil war. The embers of hope, which had burned so bright just moments before, had been crushed underfoot.

The choking sounds coming from Tyrell grew more spasmodic as he realized what kind of poison was in his mouth. Etayne backed away from him, her disguise gone, but except for her haughty, cold expression, she still resembled Elyse.

In moments, Tyrell hung limply. There was a hiss and a sigh from the Fountain as he died.

Owen walked over to the chest Tyrell had dropped onto the sand and picked it up. He was surprised at how heavy it was, but it fit under the crook of his arm. Etayne looked at him, her eyes glinting in the torchlight.

“What . . . what are you . . . going to do with me?” Eyric stammered, his cheeks pale.

“I’m going to turn you over to your uncle,” Owen said dispassionately. “After we’ve dealt with Chatriyon. Trust me, sir, I’m not going to let you out of my sight.”

Eyric’s lips twisted with rage. “You, you are just like him!”

Owen shunted aside the truth in the words. He didn’t want to falter, not at the final moment. It was too late to change the course he had chosen. He could only hope he was doing the right thing. “You should have heeded my warning in Atabyrion. What you will get now is much less than what you
could
have had.”

“I am the rightful king of Ceredigion,” Eyric said quaveringly.

“No,” Owen replied flatly. “You were only a pawn.”