The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

Etayne nodded. “There was no way I could have saved him,” she said. “It happened so fast. I think Mancini came to the sanctuary looking for something. But when he arrived, the deconeus denounced him with hostility and rage. I imagine it was Tyrell’s doing, now that I think on it. It matches with what Eyric told us.” She took a step closer to him. “I don’t regret that Mancini is gone. It seems he was part of this plot as well, in some unfathomable way.” Her eyes were full of meaning, and Owen suspected that something dark had existed between her and the Espion master. “Do you think, my lord, that the king will choose you?” There was hope in her eyes, a questioning hope.

“I have no idea,” Owen said with a depressed sigh. “That may all depend on whether we survive the next fortnight.” He looked at her seriously. “I will serve my king however he wishes. I am not like Mancini,” he said reassuringly.

She nodded. “Indeed, you are not. He was very . . . selfish.” And she left it at that before turning away. Her back was to him when she spoke again. “I don’t think the king intends to let you marry Lady Elysabeth,” she said over her shoulder. “I know Mancini was persuading him against it. The king will use you to expand his realm. Even if it breaks your heart.”

Owen had the sensation of being a castle gate struck by a huge battering ram. He jolted at her words, not wanting them to be true, but fearing that she was right. It rattled him to his core. But he felt helpless, unable to prevent the separation between him and Evie without destroying the king.

“How do you know this?” Owen whispered hoarsely.

She glanced back again, almost shyly. Her hand smoothed her gown in a nervous gesture. “I overheard them discussing it.”

“And they did not know you were there,” Owen said, trying but failing to conceal a sad smile.

Etayne shrugged. “When Eredur ruled Ceredigion, he had his brother do many unpleasant things. Things that were required under the circumstances. Things that tested Severn’s loyalty.” She turned and looked him in the eye. “He will do that to you, my lord. He will test your loyalty to the breaking point.”

Owen gritted his teeth, feeling his cheeks flush with heat.

Etayne’s eyes narrowed coldly. Her voice was just a whisper. “But remember this, Owen. I am loyal to you.”





We anxiously await news. The king’s army has faced Iago Llewellyn at the village of Taunton. They fought during a blizzard. We have no word yet who won the battle. Some have said the king was betrayed and fell. Not since Ambion Hill has such uncertainty hung over this realm. If the Duke of Westmarch had been at Taunton, what would have happened? But the duke has joined forces with the army of Occitania. The betrayal of Owen Kiskaddon to his king will live in infamy.



—Polidoro Urbino, Court Historian of Kingfountain





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


The Queen of Ceredigion




Staring at the map, Owen felt his pulse quicken and his stomach twist with dread. Although he was physically tired from the hard journey back to his army, the news awaiting him was ominous. He stared at the map again, wishing the situation were only a dream. Like one of those nightmares that forced him to blink awake, heart hammering in his chest.

“How many does Chatriyon have?” Owen asked again, swallowing thickly.

“At least twenty thousand,” Captain Stoker said. “We have four . . . almost five thousand. They continue to hammer away at the defenses of Averanche, but the Occitanian army is poised for battle. Their camp is disciplined, and they have guards day and night.”

Owen stared at the map. Surely Chatriyon was not leaving things to chance. He was bringing the brunt of his army into action following his defeat. This wasn’t a border skirmish. This was a full-out war.

Owen tapped the map, which was covered in metal markers to indicate the size and composition of the various forces at play. “And the Brythonican troops, you say they have blockaded the harbor as well and have troops encamped here . . . and here?”

“Aye, my lord. Marshal Roux leads them.”

“And his soldiers are right there, betwixt us and Chatriyon’s? He could be on either side,” Owen added darkly. “Have we had any messages from him?”

“Only one. The lord marshal sent his herald with the missive that Brythonica stands with you. My lord, if you attack the Occitanian line, it would give Roux the perfect opportunity to flank us.”

“I see that plainly,” Owen grunted. “How many men does he have?”

“Two thousand. Possibly three. And he may have more soldiers in the ships in the harbor.”

Owen gritted his teeth. “And there’s no way to tell?”

The Espion in charge, a man by the name of Kevan, shook his head. “We can’t get close enough. Roux’s fleet is preventing us from providing any relief to Averanche, and if there are additional soldiers on board, they are rotating them with the crew so that we do not know. My lord, this is clearly a trap. Ashby’s men are cut off in Averanche. I advise we draw back to Westmarch and choose the ground we defend. Better to lose five hundred than risk losing them all.”

Owen looked at Kevan and scowled. “I won’t abandon Captain Ashby.”

Captain Stoker looked angry. “Nor do I recommend it, my lord. If the king’s army were coming up the road behind us, perhaps we would stand a chance, but he isn’t.”

“The king is facing Iago Llewellyn amidst a storm,” Owen said, rubbing his lip. The tent flap moved and grim-faced Farnes entered, looking as if he had been blown in on an ill wind.

“What is it, Farnes?” Owen asked his herald.

“The Occitanian herald just arrived. You remember him. Anjers.”

The last time they had faced each other, Anjers had tried to bribe Owen into relinquishing his campaign. The soldiers in his tent scowled. He wished Etayne were with him, but she was guarding Eyric in another tent, making sure he was not privy to their plans.

“Send him in,” Owen snapped.

In a moment, Anjers arrived, ducking low enough that he did not smack his head on the tent flap as he’d done before. He wore his garish Occitanian finery and had a sneering look on his face as he approached.

“Back so soon?” Owen quipped.

Anjers flushed with anger. “Still so smug, Lord Kiskaddon?” he replied in a saucy tone. “Then surely you have not yet received notice of your king’s death at the Battle of Taunton.” He rubbed his hands together, giving Owen an imperious look. “Her Majesty Queen Elyse is now the lawful ruler of Ceredigion. She bids me command you, on pain of death, to join your forces with ours as she marches on Kingfountain to seize the city.”

Owen could see the troubled looks on his captains’ faces. He kept his own expression carefully neutral. “I find it incongruous, my lord, that you would hear of this before I did. Whence came this sorry news?”

“It came,” Anjers said disdainfully, “from our poisoner. You know the man, I am sure, for he duped you in Atabyrion. Birds travel faster than horses, my lord,” he added condescendingly. “We will march with you or through you. If you wish to preserve your rank and your lands, then you will submit to Queen Elyse’s authority at once. To do otherwise would be an act of treason.”