CHAPTER TWELVE

Traitor

Before meeting his parents, Owen arranged for a change of clothing since his were damp from the dunking he’d taken at the beach. He was very nervous about the encounter, not just because it was so unexpected but also because he didn’t know how his parents and other siblings would react to him after so many years apart.

He needn’t have worried.

The dome of his father’s head was completely bald, but he still had a fringe of graying hair around the sides and back, shorn close to his scalp. His skin was marked in places with liver splotches and craggy wrinkles, but he was fit and strong. Mother had crow’s-feet around her eyes, but she also had aged well, and the instant Owen entered the room, she engulfed him in a fierce, motherly hug. She kissed him repeatedly on the cheek, by his ear, and on the patch of white in his hair. Then, gripping the front of his fashionable tunic, she pulled him so close their noses almost touched.

“I have never stopped thinking about you,” she whispered to him, looking into his eyes with such intensity. Her voice was thick with emotion. “Not one day. I rejoice at every scrap of news I hear about you. But a mother’s love holds true. Even though you’re taller than me now, you are still my little miracle.”

Jessica was beaming, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes as she waited for her turn to greet him once more. Then the entire family crowded around him, pulling him into the center of a vast embrace. And while they felt a little like strangers, he could feel memories of his childhood at Tatton Hall begin to emerge from the haze of the past.

“Welcome to Ploemeur,” Papan said. “I cannot wait to hear about your adventures.”

“You must tell us all of them,” Jessica implored, tugging his tunic sleeve.

Owen was uncomfortable with so much attention, but it was from them, and that made a difference. Through the crowd, he spied the Duchess of Brythonica, watching the reunion and keeping to herself. She had staged the moment deliberately.

He was still unsure of her motives, but he was grateful nonetheless and tipped a nod to her from across the room.

“Are you really Fountain-blessed as they say?” said his other sister Ann. She had long blond hair that went down to her waist. He had vague memories of her constantly brushing it at the window seat while staring outside.

“Tell them about the battle of Averanche!” Jessica suggested.

“I don’t care about battles and war,” Maman said in a scolding tone. “Did you truly come here to marry the duchess? I would blame your mother for your manners if I dared.”

“Where to start?” Owen said at last.

The moon was gleaming silver in the sky as Owen and Sinia left the House of Pillars, walking side by side. They were followed by her entourage, all of whom were a little bleary-eyed due to the lateness of the hour. The air was brisk and calm, the weather very mild. Owen admired the glittering stars in the sky.

“Is it always this bright out at night?” he asked.

“The fog will come in soon,” Sinia said. “It usually does.”

“I’m not looking forward to the ride back up to the castle,” he confessed. “Do you take a carriage, or ride?”

“Neither, usually,” she answered with a playful smile. The hint of mischief in her eyes made him return her smile.

“This way,” she said, capturing his arm with a little flash of possessiveness and pulling him to the rear of the House of Pillars. At the rear, there were workers hoisting huge crates off wagons. As Sinia approached, they doffed their hats respectfully. Sinia flashed them a smile and led him over to a small crowd of people, horses, and wagons.

“Do you see it?” Sinia asked, pointing ahead. Workers were securing thick ropes to the crates. The ropes were connected to some sort of crane, like the kind used in the ship docks, only Owen couldn’t see the top of it. He craned his neck and realized that they were at the foot of the cliffs, the palace high above them.

“You’re not serious?” Owen said, looking back at the crates.

“It’s the opposite of falling,” she said, pulling him with her. The crew seemed to be expecting her. A few members of the entourage shook their heads and said they’d take a horse up instead, and she dismissed them good-naturedly.

“Up you go,” said one of the workers, hoisting Sinia onto one of the crates by her waist. There were four ropes coming up at the corners, meeting at a metal hook and ring. Owen studied the contraption for a moment and, not to be outdone by his host, swung up onto the crate.

“You have to sit over there,” she said, pointing to the other end, then clasping the ropes with both hands. “Or it will not be balanced.”

Owen felt a stab of fear in his middle, a sensation that became more acute when one of the foremen gave a signal. There was a grinding, clicking noise, followed by a sudden lurch from the ropes. Owen’s insides fluttered with panic the moment his boots left the ground. Sinia laughed sweetly. He turned and saw the breeze ruffle her long, lovely hair.

“Don’t be frightened,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “Nothing will happen. Do you see the docks? Over there!”

She pointed again, and this time his stomach lurched with fear for her. He wanted to warn her to hang on, though she seemed at ease here as she had been at the edge of the beach. They were rising at a rapid pace, the roofs shrinking beneath their feet. There were the docks with boats secured for the night, having brought their cargo during the day. The ropes groaned under the crate’s weight and the contents swayed a little, making Owen tighten his grip. It was an interesting feeling—like a bird soaring.

“Thank you for arranging the dinner tonight,” Owen told her, watching in wonder as a bank of fog rolled in off the coast. He could see the lights of the sanctuary on the distant island.

“You’re welcome, Owen. I thought you’d wish it.”

She was thoughtful. But there was still so much he didn’t know about her. It was as if he were looking at her through the haze of that fog.

“Do you see Averanche?” she asked. “It’s that speck of light just on the horizon.”

“I think so,” Owen said. “Do you do this often then?”

“I did it more when I was a little girl,” she answered, giving him a sidelong look. Almost a knowing look. “I liked to explore.”

“We have that in common then,” Owen replied.

“Perhaps you’d care to join me on a journey across the duchy?” The noise of the machinery above grew louder as they approached the landing where the crates would arrive.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to refuse. But he needed to get back to Kingfountain. Etayne was probably chafing, and it was his duty to protect Drew.

“I’ll think about it,” he answered. She seemed a little disappointed by his answer.

It was late in the evening when Owen returned to his chamber in the castle overlooking Ploemeur. He felt like collapsing on the bed with his boots on, but there was a pile of correspondence awaiting him on the desk.

“You saw your family this evening,” Etayne said, slipping out from the curtained balcony. “I thought you were planning to leave earlier?”

Owen rubbed his eyes, his heart still raw from the emotional reunion. “I felt obligated to spend the day,” he said flatly, planting his knuckles on the desk by the mound of letters. “When did these all arrive? Or did the ones from yesterday breed? Look at this stack. It will take half the night to read and answer them all, and that will delay us even more.” He grimaced at how petulant he sounded.

“I can stay and help you read through them,” Etayne offered. “The ones from Kevan I put over there. Farnes brought new ones earlier this evening. He said that one came in a hurry.”

Owen scrubbed his fingers through his hair, frowning. “If it’s more bad news, I’m going to have him flogged,” he muttered. Etayne seemed eager to speak with him, but she seemed to sense his poor mood. “I will accept your offer,” he said, shoving part of the pile toward her. “I don’t have time to woo a duchess and run a duchy and the Espion.” He shook his head. “The weight of all of this is crushing me tonight.”

She gave him a sympathetic look and then sat down beside him. She looked at the vast pile of correspondence and picked out one, breaking the seal. “Your parents are well?”

Owen snatched a letter and opened it. “More than well, it seems. They aren’t hostages, that much is clear. Everything my sister told us is true. They go by Occitanian surnames to help hide their true identities. They have a comfortable manor on a hill to the west, and my father oversees the taxation of trade. My mother wasn’t sure what to make of me,” he added with a chuckle. “It’s been sixteen years after all, and she remembered a little lad who used to clutch at her skirts.” He sniffed, scanning the letter quickly and then tossing it aside. “I don’t know why the duchess has rewarded them with so many favors. It’s certainly not something Severn would have done.”

Etayne murmured in agreement as she read another letter. “And how goes the wooing?”

Owen smiled wearily at the veiled attempt to draw him out. “I suppose that depends,” he said, careful of his answer, careful of her feelings. “The king deeply believed that this suggested alliance would provoke Brythonica. In that regard, his plan is utterly failing. It seems Sinia anticipated his move and resigned herself to marrying me before I even arrived. Poor girl.” He wanted to laugh at the absurdity. “Marshal Roux has thrown a fit and skulked off to his own manor to brood.”

“No he hasn’t,” Etayne said softly.

That caught Owen’s interest. “What do you mean?”

“His men were guarding the forest we passed on our way to the castle. I came in disguise to see the place, but for all my tricks, I could not get past the sentries. They were vigilant. What are they keeping from us? I wonder.”

Owen looked at her, his brow furrowing. “You’re sure it was the marshal?”

Etayne nodded. “I didn’t see him, but one of the sentries let it slip that he was there in person.”

“He knew you were coming,” Owen said angrily. “He always seems to know!” He slammed his fist onto the table, his frustration spilling over. “The offense he feigned was a ruse, a trick. I should have seen this. He must have left for the woods the very night we arrived.” Another memory struck Owen like an arrow shaft. “Hold on a moment.”

“What?” she pressed, her eyes full of eagerness, the pile of correspondence momentarily forgotten.

“This was years ago, after the mayor of Averanche surrendered the city to me. Some visitors came to find me in the North. One of Roux’s knights—he was a giant of a man. And also a lawyer from Averanche.” Owen started pacing, his mind working furiously to recall the moment. He snapped his fingers quickly. “There was something about disputes. Border disputes about the hunting forests. The knight sought reassurance that I didn’t intend to encroach on Brythonica’s boundaries. Especially the forests. I thought nothing of it at the time. I’m not all that fond of hunting and hawking, nor do I have the time!” He turned and looked at her. “Roux doesn’t want us to see whatever’s in those woods. I’m not sure Sinia knows what it is.” He shook his head. “Or maybe that’s an errant presumption. She is far more clever than her demeanor suggests.”

“How so?” Etayne asked, walking toward him.

“So many times during our conversation today she hinted at things. Like she was trying to prompt me to ask certain questions. The Wizr set, for example,” he said, naming one of the instances. “I challenged her to a game of Wizr, and she gave me this strange look and said that I needed to provide the set.”

Etayne’s face darkened. “You think she meant the one you hid in the fountain of St. Penryn?”

Owen held up his hands. “That is exactly what I suspected. But her words were so innocuous she could have meant anything. I feel as if a game is being played around me. This feeling has been nagging at me for years, and I’m frustrated that I haven’t learned the rules yet.”

“You could ask the duchess directly,” Etayne suggested, giving him an arch look.

“How does one have that conversation?” Owen said with a laugh. “I sense you’re hiding something from me, my lady. Would you please confess while I keep my own secrets?” He tapped his mouth. “No, I’m going to ferret this out. I have to find out what makes that forest so powerful with the Fountain. What we need is a way to get past the guards. What we need are . . .” He stopped, his eyes widening. “Disguises.”

He gave Etayne a serious look. “Your power might be exactly what we need. Being a local didn’t help you get through. But if you looked and sounded like Sinia, they wouldn’t stop you. I’ve spent time with her today. You can use my memories like you’ve done in the past.”

Etayne’s eyes flashed with mischievous intent. “And what if I were to disguise you as well?”

He stared at her. “Do you think you can do that?”

“Let me try,” she said. “Hold still a moment. I’ve been wondering if I could change others and not just myself, and this would be a perfect opportunity to test it. Roux would be able to sense the power, but if he’s stationed by the forest, where there is already so much Fountain magic, he may not be able to figure it out. Here, I think I need to touch you for this to work.” She reached out and took his arm at the elbow, then opened herself to the Fountain. He sensed it immediately and, not for the first time, marveled at how much her strength in it had grown over the years.

He felt the magic wash over him in warm, gentle waves. Once again, he felt part of him resist it, a certain feeling of rebelliousness that balked from letting another change him. But he allowed the magic to suffuse him, taking care to keep the core of himself intact.

“Look at yourself,” Etayne breathed excitedly, her eyes delighted. Still gripping his arm, she steered him over to a large mirror so that he could see his own reflection.

He was almost startled to see Lord Roux staring back at him. The image seemed to flicker under his scrutiny, but he allowed Etayne’s spell to cling to him. His powers from the Fountain made him impermeable to the powers of others who were Fountain-blessed. As far as he knew, his abilities were unique. No one else would have cause to doubt his disguise. Owen raised his hand to touch his chin and watched the doppelganger mimic his motion.

“You can do it,” Owen breathed. “Can you still change yourself? Or must you hold your focus on me?”

Suddenly the duchess was standing at his side, her hand resting on his arm as if they were attending guests at a ball. “For me,” she told him, “the magic is like carrying a weight on my shoulders. It’s a weight that grows heavier the longer I use it. Over the years, I’ve been pushing and training myself. But it helps when other things contribute to the disguise. See how I’ve made your tunic into the standard of the raven? That requires concentration. If I stole you a tunic, it would lessen my burden. I’m strong in the magic now, Owen. I can hold this illusion for some time, and we’ll only need it to get past the sentries. Of course, it won’t work if Roux is still among them.”

She let the magic fall away, and Owen watched in fascination as the illusion shed from them instantly. She gave him a determined look in the mirror. “I could do this with more than just the two of us. Naturally, the more people I try to disguise, the heavier the toll and the less time I would be able to maintain it.”

“You are amazing,” Owen said and watched a little flush creep across her cheeks at the praise.

“You taught me,” she demurred.

“I think those woods hide another clue that may help me figure out what game is being played against us. I don’t like losing,” he said with a growl of ambition in his voice.

“No man ever does,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Back to the letters then, so we can go.” From the smug-looking smile on her face, he could tell she was pleased with her accomplishment. It made him chuckle to himself, but then his eyes fell to the pile of letters. Groaning, he grabbed the stack and went over to the couch, languidly draping his leg over the armrest in a casual manner. He broke another seal and read the message quickly before tossing it aside.

Then he remembered the one Etayne said Farnes had brought in a rush. “Where’s the one from Farnes again?”

“It was that one. There’s a stain on it.”

He spied it and then cracked open the seal. His stomach spun and then lurched as he read the message. He pulled his leg off the rest and hurried to his feet, his pulse quickening.

“No,” he muttered darkly, feeling the calamity growing larger and larger. Eyric and Dunsdworth had escaped their confinement. They were missing. Owen had entrusted Kevan with watching over them. What could have happened to upset things?

“What is it? Tell me—your expression is frightening me!”

His heart hammered in his chest. “I can’t believe it. How? How could it happen?”

“Tell me!” she demanded.

“Eyric and Dunsdworth escaped,” he said in frustration. “They were under heavy guard. The Espion should have been able to prevent this from happening.” He cursed the constant flood of troubles that had plagued Severn’s indecorous reign. “I’m to return at once,” Owen said, glancing at the words again. “I tell you, Etayne, I am heartily sick of this! To constantly defend a man who I . . .” He caught himself, frowning and swallowing the bitterness, to keep treasonous words from spilling out of his mouth. “By the Fountain, why must we go through this again and again? This is because of Brugia. This is Maxwell’s hand. I can see the smears. He wants to be lord and master of all. Severn is the strongest ruler, so he gains the most enmity. This constant fighting and scheming. This unending intrigue. It makes me want to retch.” He sighed, shaking his head. “The duchess tried to persuade me to spend the next few days visiting other towns in Brythonica. I wish I had the freedom to do just that, but we must get back at once.” The words tumbled out before he had a chance to consider them. The look of hurt that formed on Etayne’s face made him wince. He rubbed his eyes. “What is it?”

“Only that you seem to be breaking your vow,” she answered. “You swore you’d bar your heart, Owen. You told me to remind you in case you lost your senses.”

He did not appreciate her reminder. “Go wake Farnes,” he told her, trying to curb the tone of resentfulness that threatened to make things worse. “Get him in here. We’ll need to beg our pardon and leave tonight.” He snapped his fingers. “Actually, you and I will ride on ahead like we normally do so we can make our stop in the forest first. He can stay behind and soothe any hurt feelings, make our excuses.” Plan my wedding. He caught himself in time before saying it aloud.

“I’ll get him,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she left.

When the door shut, he read Kevan’s note again. I’ve never seen the king so wroth. Owen couldn’t be sure how to interpret that statement. But queasy feelings sucked on his insides like leeches.

What would Severn do if the missing princes were finally caught?

What had Eredur done to those who posed a threat to his throne?

Owen turned and stared at the closed door, imagining he could hear the poisoner’s footsteps fading down the hall.

He grabbed the next letter on the pile. It bore the king’s seal. He blinked with surprise and cracked it open.

The words were scrawled in splotchy letters, but he recognized the king’s handwriting, the hastily crafted message addressed to Owen, Lord Kiskaddon, Duke of Westmarch.

I know you’ve betrayed me.