CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Winter

Flakes of snow floated down like leaves, blurring the view from the window of the solar. Owen stood by the glass, wishing that his heart were made of ice. The door creaked and Duke Horwath entered the chamber. His movements were slower. Maybe it had always been like that, but the man looked so much older to Owen’s eyes. Old and weary.

Owen guessed that his expression was sufficiently desolate, for Horwath’s face frowned in sympathy. He came forward and stood by the window, his arm coming around Owen’s shoulder.

“We’ll both miss her, lad,” the duke said gruffly. There was pain throbbing in his voice. “I would like it if you came by Dundrennan now and then. You never need an invitation. Maybe an old soldier can help.”

Owen felt a pulse of gratitude, but it was quickly snuffed out by his misery. “The ceremony is over. The ships have embarked. Will she return, my lord?”

The duke let out a deep, sad breath. “I doubt it. Unless the king calls for her.”

Owen steeled himself, trying to keep afloat. “I’m not sure he will. She always told him what she thought. I don’t think the king will appreciate that now.”

Horwath nodded sagely. “He’s changed. Something within him finally broke. As I said, you need no invitation.” He clapped Owen on the shoulder, careful to avoid his injured arm, and turned to leave.

“You’re riding out to Dundrennan tomorrow? In the storm?”

The old duke nodded. “This isn’t a storm. I’ve ridden in worse. Many were slain in the battle. I have widows to see. The dead to honor.” He gave Owen a heartfelt smile. “Maybe a lad to comfort.”

Owen did not think he would ever smile again. “Safe travels, my lord. Do you have any advice on running the Espion?”

Horwath stroked his goatee. “I think you learned enough from Ratcliffe and Mancini on what not to do. If I read the king’s mood right, he’s ready to take the game to the other side of the board.” His eyes narrowed wisely. “Be careful. Study the history of the time of the Maid. It may teach you what happens when kings overreach.”

With a sardonic smile, Owen nodded to Horwath and watched him leave. His elbow throbbed dully, but it was healing, and he no longer needed the sling to secure it. The flurry was growing thicker outside, making it difficult to see what was happening in the bailey down below. Owen thought about Lady Kathryn and what he was going to say to her. He knew what needed to be done, but it would require her cooperation, and she was not likely to trust the man who had deceived her husband.

He walked out of the solar and started down the steps to the main floor. There were servants everywhere removing the decorations from the wedding celebration of Iago and Evie. He caught himself. Iago and Elysabeth. He had to stop thinking of her pet name. It hurt too much when he did.

Dodging around some girls carrying rolls of fabric that had been used to festoon the great hall, Owen retreated to the room of the Espion masters called the Star Chamber. It was near the king’s bedchamber. The room was large enough to fit several chairs. Everywhere there were desks, quills, ink, chests filled with coins for bribes, and one wall was lined with hooks holding keys to all the various locks within the palace. The plush chair was larger than Owen needed it to be, but he sat in it, staring at the mound of letters and missives that arrived daily from ships and couriers across the realm. Like shoveling snow. The walls of the Star Chamber were thick, and Owen bolted the door, signifying that he did not want to be disturbed. He leaned his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands, wondering if he had done the right thing. If he had assisted Eyric in overthrowing Severn, would it have changed the fate of the realm? Could he have done so against his conscience? Would knowing what the king had become have changed his decision?

He thought of Evie on a ship sailing for Atabyrion. He imagined Iago by her side, claiming her mouth in a kiss. A searing pain lanced through his heart at the thought. No, he couldn’t think on that! He would drive himself mad. His shoulders trembled with stifled gasps as he tried to control himself.

They would have children. What would she name her son? Would she name him Andrew as so many did, choosing the famous king as a namesake? Or would it be a dearer name?

Owen didn’t hear the sound of the secret door opening. The fire in his heart was too loud. But he sensed a presence in the room. He heard the rustle of fabric. The swish of a skirt.

Then he felt the soothing ripple of Fountain magic.

Owen turned his neck slowly. There she was. Ankarette Tryneowy. Of course, it wasn’t her. It was Etayne, but she looked like Ankarette. There was that same tender smile, those wise and sad eyes; even the smell reminded him of her.

“I wondered how best to comfort you,” Etayne said softly as she walked forward, the skirts shushing on the carpet. “I could have looked like her.” She shook her head. “Other men would have asked for that. But you aren’t like other men. I could never make you believe I was her. You’d despise me, and I never want you to despise me. Who then to comfort you?” The look on Etayne’s face was so full of compassion and sorrow. She put a soft hand on his shoulder. “Let me comfort you, Owen. As she would have. I found the letter she wrote you. I searched all the secret places until I found it.”

She handed him a small square of paper, folded over.

Owen stared at her in surprise, feeling his emotions churning relentlessly.

With a trembling hand, he took the paper and opened it.

To my dear Owen:

Before I die, I wanted to write this for you. I’m sad to be leaving the palace of Kingfountain behind forever. This tower has been my haven for many years. There are sad memories here. But good ones as well. Life is like that, you will come to learn. When I am asleep in the Deep Fathoms, I will cherish my memories of you. I wish I could see you grow up and the man you will become. Someday you may be called upon to do something that is against your conscience. I leave my final advice for you. If your master demands loyalty, give him integrity. But if he demands integrity, then give him loyalty. I love you, my little boy. I willingly give my life to save yours. Someday, you may be asked to do the same for another.

Your friend, Ankarette

His eyes blurred with tears as he read her final words. The grief in his heart was unendurable.

“I can see why Mancini didn’t want you to read that,” Etayne said. She smoothed her hand over his hair, then sat next to him on the stuffed chair, pulled his head down against her shoulder, and gently stroked his hair.

He felt the illusion of her magic all around him. But just this once, he surrendered to it and pretended the queen’s poisoner was there with him.