CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The King’s Wrath

The hearth in the throne room had been stoked with enormous logs and was blazing, but the cavernous space had an unshakable chill. It was the second morning since Genevieve’s disappearance, and the king’s wrath was terrible to behold. He’d cast out the guests in a fury so he could receive an update from Kevan.

“I said, begone!” Severn shouted at a serving girl who was hastily trying to clean up a spilled platter. The girl went white and fled the room.

Owen had positioned himself near the doors, and was watching as Kevan brooked the king’s temper with as much courage as he could muster. The Espion were in disgrace again. Owen struggled to conceal a smirk—his ruse was working exactly as he’d planned, although he hated to see Kevan endure the brunt of the king’s anger. He saw Drew approach the door, trying to slip away with the rest. The lad had a worried look on his face, but Owen caught his eye and winked at him as he neared the door.

Drew’s face brightened in an instant. Owen nodded to him and then whispered the word library as he passed.

Lady Kathryn was still standing by the dais, and she too bore a worried look. Genevieve’s disappearance had caused her deep anxiety, but Owen hadn’t dared tell her the truth. He would try to later if he could manage it discreetly.

Owen nodded to the guardsmen to shut the door and then approached the king, who continued to rail on Kevan.

“What is it, I ask you, about the Espion being unable to keep track of little children!” Severn said contemptuously. “I want answers, Kevan, and they best be good ones!”

“My lord,” the Espion said, discouraged. “I’ve had everyone I can spare—”

“You can spare!” the king thundered, interrupting him. “I told you to put every spy in the city on alert!”

“Let him speak, my lord,” Owen said, closing the distance. “Curb your temper a moment, if you can.”

The king shot Owen an angry look, his lips trembling with rage.

Kevan gave Owen a grateful nod and shrugged helplessly. “We don’t know how she got out of the castle. She simply disappeared. When her chambermaid arrived in the morning to light the fire, her bed was empty. It would appear she’s been kidnapped.”

“But how? How could she have been removed from the city without anyone knowing?” the king asked in exasperation.

“We’ve secured the roads, the port, searched every ship in the harbor, Atabyrion or not,” Kevan explained. “The only lead we had has led to nothing.”

“What lead?” Severn demanded. “I should toss out the lot of you. Why do I pay for a spy service that botches everything!”

“Tell him, Kevan,” Owen said.

“Tell me what?”

Kevan swallowed, as if to banish his rising impatience. “I heard a rumor that the sexton of the sanctuary may have seen her yesterday morning. I went and spoke to him myself. He described a man and a woman who were at the gates when the sanctuary opened. They had a little girl with them who matched Genevieve’s description. The sexton swore by it. The man he described to me may have been Dragan. Do you remember him, my lord? The thief we captured who tried to release Eyric?”

Owen watched as the expression on the king’s face shifted from anger to recognition, then to betrayal. Kevan may not have noticed the subtle changes, but Owen had been studying him closely.

“Yes . . . yes, I do,” the king stammered.

Kevan scratched his ear. “The sexton swears he saw them enter but not leave. I asked the deconeus if the girl had claimed sanctuary, but he looked as surprised as I’ve ever seen a man. No one had claimed sanctuary that day, and it was the first he’d even heard about the girl. I had men search the entire premises yesterday, from basement to loft. Every crate, every bushel, every closet. I thought I’d have good news for you today, my lord, but there was no sign of her there or at the port.”

Owen stepped forward. “My lord, after hearing Kevan’s report, it’s my belief that this Dragan fellow was involved in Genevieve’s disappearance. I also believe, my lord, that he has some sort of special access to the palace. I don’t have any proof, but I believe he may be Fountain-blessed. If so, that makes him a dangerous threat. Imagine what will happen if Iago finds out. You would be blamed for it.”

The king’s eyes narrowed at the deliberate reference to his nephews who’d disappeared.

“I had no hand in this,” the king said, but his voice had lost confidence and bluster.

“Of course not, my lord,” Owen said sympathetically. “But that won’t stop Iago and Elysabeth from assuming the worst. I fear my vision will come to pass and we will be invaded by all the other kingdoms. I know you sent Catsby to the North, but I have a suspicion that they will turn on him like wolves if Stiev’s granddaughter shows up with war banners. If we lose our grip on the North, we lose a significant number of once-loyal soldiers, the core of your supporters!”

The king rubbed his mouth and started pacing with a pronounced limp.

Owen glanced at Lady Kathryn, who seemed keenly interested in the conversation. Was she piecing the clues together on her own in a way that Severn couldn’t?

“What do you suggest then?” the king asked Owen.

“I’ve ordered the Espion to hunt down this Dragan fellow. I think there are some questions he must answer.”

The king looked firm and resolved. “I want you to bring him to me when you catch him.”

Owen bowed respectfully. “Kevan will see to it right away.”

Severn looked confused. “If he’s Fountain-blessed, shouldn’t you oversee it?”

Owen shook his head. “My lord, I think it would be wise if you sent me to the North. Catsby has managed to offend every lesser noble and the entire staff of Dundrennan. I know those people, having spent much of my childhood there. Let me see if I can rally them. I’ve already ordered Captain Ashby to muster my army and start marching to Beestone castle. Then, depending on where we’re invaded, I can split the army if needed. I’ve sent word to the Duchess of Brythonica to watch her borders for movement by Chatriyon. Do you agree?”

The king stared absently at the flames. Owen suspected he was cursing himself for trusting Dragan. He had hoped the king would admit to his double-dealing, but he wasn’t surprised that he had not, especially in front of his lady.

Severn brooded awhile over the flames. Then he turned and shook his head. “I won’t send you North, not yet.” His eyes shone with burning anger. “I want you to lead the search for Dragan yourself. I think you may be right about his gift, and if so, you’ll have a better chance of finding him than anyone Kevan sends. Bring him to me. I know how to kill someone like him. You may get your chance to go North after you’ve caught him. There is a snow-covered peak there where the Maid of Donremy froze to death. Bring me this thief lord. I’ll show him no mercy if he’s harmed the girl.”

Owen had manipulated the king by asking to go North right away. The pieces were falling just as he’d hoped and planned.

“Very well, my lord,” he said stiffly. He bowed curtly and then turned to leave.

“Lord Owen?”

It was Kathryn’s voice. She’d followed him into the corridor leading off the throne room. It was empty, but the palace was riddled with spy holes and he couldn’t know if it was safe to speak frankly with her.

“Yes, my lady?” he asked.

She wrung her hands as she approached. Her eyes were worried and puffy, and he could tell she hadn’t slept much.

“I know you are doing everything possible to find her,” Kathryn said softly. When she reached him, she cast a look back at the double doors leading to the throne room. The guards stood at attention, but they were too far away to hear their conversation.

“I am, my lady,” he answered simply, keeping his expression neutral.

Her voice dropped lower. “No need to disguise yourself with me, Owen,” she whispered. “I’m not fretting because of Genevieve. I’m worried about the king. I’m worried about what he may be planning.”

Owen wrinkled his brow and said nothing.

Her voice was very quiet and confidential. “I asked him about whether he believed in your prophecy,” she said. “He won’t let himself accept it as truth. At least not yet. The snow is an early winter, he says. He’s convinced himself the Fountain’s portents are childish superstitions.” She bent her head closer to his, giving him a pleading look. “I . . . I asked him what he would do if it were true. What if a boy does draw a sword out of the fountain?” She blinked rapidly, and he saw her eyes fill with tears.

“What did he say?” Owen asked.

“He said it would never come to that,” she whispered. “If we get invaded, he plans to round up all the young men in the kingdom and summon them to Kingfountain. He said he’d prove the Fountain’s power wasn’t real.”

Owen stared at her. “How?”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t say. But the look in his eye made me afraid. My lord, you promised me my son would be safe. That you’d protect him. I almost feel that if I told the king the truth, he’d see reason and relinquish the throne voluntarily. Maybe we can avert all these troubles? But do I dare risk it? When he is such a man?”

Owen looked at her with growing concern. He shook his head slowly. “Don’t tell him.”

Kathryn squeezed her eyes shut, and a single tear raced down her cheek. “I won’t.”

“I need to go speak to your son,” Owen whispered. “Come with me. He’s in the library. I think it is time he knew the truth.”