CHAPTER TEN

Sea Glass

Even Owen could no longer stand the stench of his shirt and tunic, so he accepted the trunk Farnes had brought with him, and cleaned himself up. He deliberately did not shave, but he used the water pitcher, bowl, and towel to wipe away the grime from his travels and felt freshened by the change. While he was tugging on his boots, he was interrupted by the arrival of Captain Ashby and Etayne.

Owen squinted against the light pouring in from the silk curtains and grimaced while he pulled on the boot and fastened the straps alongside. “What news, Ashby?” he asked in a rushed manner. He wanted to leave the castle as quickly as possible and be on his way.

Captain Ashby saluted and started to pace. “We’ve scoured the castle grounds and taken note of the number of knights protecting it. The cliffs are especially rugged and steep. It would be difficult to lay siege to this place.”

“I saw that myself on the ride up here yesterday,” Owen said wryly. “What else?”

“I took some of the men down to Ploemeur last night. It can’t really be called a city. There are manors on the hilltops all around, but very little down in the valleys. Mostly smaller shops that line the thoroughfares connecting the hills. They carry a variety of things to trade. What surprised me was how many of the merchants are from other kingdoms. There are many from Genevar, Legault, and Atabyrion. Truly a hodgepodge. I don’t think I’ve seen a place like this before. Every few blocks the culture and language changes. This is a major trading hub, my lord. I even bought a few trinkets for my wife and children, little necklaces made of glass beads.”

Owen set his leg down and then began tugging on his other boot. “I wasn’t aware of that. How far is the harbor from here?”

Ashby shook his head. “Not far at all. The tide comes and goes regularly, bringing with it ships from every port. I heard many languages last night.”

Owen continued tightening the buckles. “How were your men treated?”

Ashby shrugged. “There were so many from so many different countries, I don’t think we stood out. When we got back, the palace staff looked like they wanted to spit on us, but the people down below knew nothing of our arrival. Nary a word about it.”

“Thank you, Ashby,” Owen said, finishing his work. He stood and buckled his scabbard around his waist. “So what you’re saying is the kingdom is vulnerable. Especially by sea. It seems they’d probably try to use the woods to block us from getting this far.”

“Aye,” the captain responded. “If you don’t mind, my lord, I’ll get some sleep now myself. We were out a bit late last night, but I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

Owen nodded, dismissing him. He turned to Etayne, who was dressed and coiffed in the Brythonican fashion.

“So they really hate us now?” he asked her with the quirk of a smile.

She gave him a knowing look. “I think the sentiment is more directed at you right now. The people here are very generous and they care about their duchess. There is an almost reverential feeling when they speak of her. By insulting her, you’ve offended them deeply. There is much gossiping and backbiting about you throughout the castle. They’re suggesting you won’t be the Duke of Brythonica. Only the duchess’s consort.”

Owen started to laugh. “Oh really? I’m not worthy to be a duke outside of Ceredigion? As if Westmarch isn’t three times the size of Brythonica.”

“I thought you didn’t want to become the duke here?” she reminded him.

“I don’t,” he said, frowning. “But I also don’t like being told what I can or can’t have. They’re insulted, though, so that makes good sense. It also gives me a good way to goad the duchess. When I talk to her, I’ll ask about the history of consorts and dukes. Her father was a duke, and she holds rank in her own right. I will definitely insist that the marriage terms include the title. Hopefully, she’ll balk and withdraw her acceptance.” He fidgeted with his belt and smoothed his tunic front. “I received some news from Kevan. Drew is being sent to the palace as a playmate for Genevieve.” He tried to keep from frowning but failed. “I need to get there before events unravel.”

Etayne smiled knowingly and bowed. “Then you should be on your way. She metes out judgment at a place a bit lower than the palace called the House of Pillars. That’s where I would look for her.”

“I will. Thank you, Etayne. Are you going to get some sleep now?”

“I’ve rested enough,” she said. “I’m going to learn more about that patch of woods we passed if I can. The one where we felt the Fountain so strongly.”

He gave her a wary look. “See what you can learn, but we should go there together on our way out. Be careful.”

“I always am,” she answered and turned away.

Owen did not find Lady Sinia at the House of Pillars. The building was comprised of a center main tower with a dome and spire basilica and two lower-level wings jutting from angles on either side of the tower. As Owen approached the beautiful structure, full of windows and arches, it occurred to him that the tower in the middle resembled a piece from a Wizr board. The first floor of the tower and the wings were made of brick. The second and third levels were made of plaster and wood. The roofs were slanted and steep, and there was symmetry in the windows and arches throughout, each one lining up perfectly with the ones above and below. The basilica was made of iron or bronze, a darker color than the rest of the structure. He was intrigued by the design and felt the stirrings of the Fountain emanate from the structure itself.

The duchess had already heard cases and moved to the docks, so he ventured there next, only to find that he had just missed her. Owen was feeling impatient and thwarted after spending several hours trying to catch up to her. Her servants answered him obediently, but he could see the scolding looks in their eyes. After another delay, he was led away from the docks. He had an escort of ten with him, and he could sense their eagerness to explore the trading stalls Ashby had described. He dismissed half of his guard after arranging for them to switch out with the others in an hour. His soldiers gratefully accepted the short furlough.

The uniformed servants of the duchess escorted Owen to a private cove along the bay where the surf came crashing against the rocks and sand. They had to hike down a little sandy trail to reach the basin, where he found the duchess walking side by side with her steward. Owen’s boots crunched in the sand as they reached the bottom of the steps. Having noticed his arrival, Sinia gestured for the steward to leave. There were a dozen or so soldiers in Raven tunics standing back along the edge of the cove, leaving room for the duchess to wander alone. As Owen passed the steward coming toward him, he noticed the tight frown on the man’s face.

“Glad you finally caught up,” the steward said with a biting tone.

“Glad you waited for me, Thierry,” Owen answered mockingly.

The steward sniffed and shook his head, heading toward the soldiers by the path. As Owen approached Sinia, he saw she was walking barefoot, two sandals dangling from her fingers. His boots left large prints on the sandy shore. The wind blew some of her golden hair into her face, and she reached up and smoothed it back before turning to face him.

He was expecting resentment in her countenance—how could she feel otherwise after having a day to stew on their unsatisfactory conversation? But her look was resigned instead, as if Owen were a trial to be patiently endured. The wind carried the salty smell of the sea and the crashing of the waves.

“I found you at last,” Owen said with an almost reproachful tone.

“Walk with me,” she said, and then she turned toward the waves and started off. She clasped her hands behind her back, the sandals still dangling in the crook of her fingers. The sun was beginning its descent and glittered off her leaflike tiara. Today’s gown matched the color of the ocean, except for the girdle and the white ruffs at her sleeves.

As Owen followed her toward the pounding surf and the hulking boulders and formations jutting up along the shore, he felt a change in the texture of the sand beneath his feet. The sand became firmer and more saturated, and his boots left crumbs in the wake of their passing. The rocks were speckled with sea life and he saw half-buried shells poking out all around them. The sun was warm, but the breeze was cool. As they approached the first crag of rock, the sand began to change again, and instead of tiny brown flecks, the shore was filled with small rocky beads of various colors. Sinia walked through it, the sticky sand clinging to her bare feet. The crunch from his boots took on a different sound. Were they pebbles? How strange that the beach would turn from sand to pebbles as they approached the waves.

A particularly large wave crested and then hissed with foam as it approached them. Sinia walked in defiance of the wave, and it receded away from her before she reached it. She set the sandals down as she crouched and scooped up a handful of the tiny beads to show him.

They were of various shapes and hues—pink, blue, orange, red, and green. She poked at the beads with her finger, pushing them aside to show him the full variety.

“This is called sea glass,” she said, and offered to drop the pile in his hand. He held out his palm and she tilted her wrist, sending the little pebbles clacking down onto his hand. The edge of her wrist grazed his and her touch sent an unanticipated jolt up his arm.

“I’ve never seen the like before,” he said, admiring the small intricate stones, trying to shake off the feelings that were stirring within him. Amidst the ebb and rush of the ocean, he heard the steady trickle of water. As he looked for the source, he discovered water running down the craggy boulder cleft that formed one of the cove’s boundaries. Little rivulets had made the stone mossy, but the water was clear. An indentation had formed at the bottom of the rock and little streams ran down the shore into the sea.

“These aren’t pebbles,” she said, picking up one from his hand. It was a misshapen red one. “Each one is truly made of glass. The sea has broken them into smaller and smaller pieces and then dragged them along the beaches here for centuries. This is the residue. Artisans come and fashion jewelry out of it. Just like gemstones, they take thousands of years to form. But the glass was made by men.” She stared out into the bay wistfully, smoothing more strands of hair from her face.

As Owen stood there, cupping the sea glass in his palm, he followed her gaze. An enormous feeling of recognition swept into him, as if he had stood in this exact spot before. Emotions swirled inside him, hammering against him like the waves buffeting the rocks nearby. The glass fragments he held in his hand were the remains of huge windows. Thousands of windows from an enormous castle that had once risen from the heart of the bay. He blinked, almost able to see it.

Owen had felt this sensation once before, while sailing through the cove to enter Edonburick in Atabyrion. He had sensed a city buried by water beneath them.

Thousands of stained-glass windows of the most majestic designs had been smashed and pulverized to become these small bits of detritus gathered on the shore. Owen’s knees buckled a bit, and a sudden dizziness washed over him, making him sway. His hand dropped and the sea glass fell back to his feet.

He felt a small hand wrap around his arm. “Are you all right?”

He blinked quickly, trying to quell the awful vision in his mind. How many people had died when the sea came rushing in? How many had drowned? An ancient ache throbbed in his heart.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he stammered, his throat thick with a suppressed groan.

“There are memories here,” Sinia said in a peculiar way.

He turned to look at her. “What memories?”

Her eyes were wise. “Of long ago. Places now forgotten.” She turned and looked back at the sea. “Like Leoneyis.”

There was something she wasn’t saying. He could sense the innuendo in her words.

“I’ve heard you collect relics from that lost realm,” he said suspiciously.

She shrugged. “I’m not the only ruler who has done so,” she answered simply. “The collection in Ceredigion is vast. But, of course, that would be expected. Since it was the kingdom of King Andrew and Queen Genevieve.” She gave him a pointed look, a look that said so much it made his heart quake.

She was toying with him. Testing him. It was no coincidence that she had brought him to the seashore. Again he had the feeling that he was being outmaneuvered in a game of Wizr.

“I’m surprised all the sea glass isn’t gone,” he said stiffly. “One would think it would all have been claimed by now.”

“Not so,” she answered. “These beaches are guarded by certain laws and covenants. Only one chest full of sea glass can be harvested each year. It is bid upon and sold. The selling can take several months. Depending on the color, the size, and the shape, it can fetch outrageous prices.”

Owen pursed his lips. “But wouldn’t that drive men to come steal it at night? That handful you gave me . . . how much would it have been worth?”

“What does it matter? It’s only broken glass. It’s worth nothing, truly. But because it is rare, because it is withheld, it is worth so much more. No one comes to steal from this beach, Owen. No one would dare risk offending the Fountain. I’ve heard in your kingdom that people steal coins from the water fountains. Is that true?”

Owen shook his head. “Not often. If someone is caught stealing from one of the fountains, the thief will be thrown into the river to go over the falls.”

Sinia nodded. “For that reason, the sea glass remains here unprotected. Or should I say, it is protected by the traditions that bind us.” Her gaze narrowed. “When those traditions are cast aside, there are often unwanted consequences.”

There seemed to be deeper significance to her words, but the meaning was veiled from him. She knew about the Deep Fathoms. She knew about Leoneyis, things that could not be learned in the history books that Polidoro Urbino studied. There were things Owen could learn from her. But he still felt he was being manipulated, and he didn’t like it. It gave him a sour taste.

He decided to flip the game by going on the attack. His voice became colder and more detached. “I came a great distance to meet with you, my lady. I did as my king commanded me, no more.”

“I understand,” she replied graciously.

“But I’d like to make it clear what I came here to accomplish. I didn’t come all this way to become your consort. Not just your husband. King Severn expects me to rule Brythonica as I’ve ruled Westmarch. I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding between us, my lady.”

He watched her eyes closely, looking for anger and resentment. Looking for defiance to tighten her nostrils.

There was none of that in her expression. Instead, she looked disappointed. As if she had expected more of him than what he was giving her.

She reached out and touched his arm again. “Of course we understand each other,” she answered almost sadly. “I would expect no less.” She sighed and then her eyes narrowed as she saw someone approaching. Owen turned and saw Thierry marching toward them on the beach, a messenger at his heels.

Sinia let go of Owen’s arm and started forward to meet them.

As soon as she walked away, a surge of surf crashed against Owen’s boots, startling him. While they had been close to the shore, none of the waves had even come near them, but this one caught him by surprise. Sinia’s sandals lifted up in the swell, and he hurried to try to catch them before they were dragged out to sea. Saltwater splashed him in the face as he tried to bend over and snatch them, leaving the foul taste of brine on his tongue.

With his chin dripping, he looked back as Sinia walked away from him, her skirts pulled up to her ankles as she strode across the sand. She looked absolutely beautiful in the fading sunlight, and he simply stood there and looked at her for a moment, clutching her dripping sandals in his hand, trying to understand what he was even feeling and trying even harder to control it.

And that’s when the next wave hit him from behind, knocking him down.