hide you that Severn wouldn’t discover?” he asked her coldly. “There is always someone willing to wag their tongue when there is sufficient coin. Don’t you think your father wishes to ransom you? He’s tried four times! But the king doesn’t want money. He wants you. Your unwillingness to yield only inflames him more.” Owen rubbed his eyes. “I’m doing the best I can, Kathryn. But I understand a little about your suffering. Don’t imagine I’m enjoying this.”
She gave him a wary look, drying her eyes on her sleeve. She patted Etayne’s shoulder and then shook her head. “Thank you for telling me. For . . . for warning me you were leaving. I’m frightened of how Severn makes me feel. He’s twisted me with his power so that I feel compassion for him. That I even believe I love him at times. But I belong to another man. And it’s not right for him to hunt me this way. It’s not right.”
Owen eyed her with pity. “No, it isn’t. Seven years ago, he could have been toppled with a breeze. Now he’s like flint.” He sighed, disgusted with himself. “If he knew we were talking like this, he’d kill me. If he knew only a part of what I do behind his back.” Owen shook his head, not daring to say more. “I must leave for Brythonica. I have a duty to perform, even though I find that duty distasteful. Bear yours the best you can. Hopefully when I come again, there will be more cheerful tidings. Farewell.” He gave her a small bow.
Lady Kathryn smoothed the black fabric over her lap. She was twenty-five years old. A beauty, even in black, but much of her bloom had faded with her imprisonment. The king showed her constantly that he, not her husband, controlled her destiny. He controlled her sleeping arrangements. He controlled her wardrobe. He controlled who visited her. But he could not control her will. Owen saw the strength in her eyes, in the determined look forming on her pouting lips. She stood regally, and gave him a formal curtsy. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Lord Owen,” she said in a firm, clear voice. “I will bear this patiently.”
Owen admired her for it. He turned and went to the door, Etayne following silently save for the swish of her gown. As they exited into the hall, Owen’s heart burned with unspent emotion.
“You look like you want to hit someone,” Etayne said.
He glanced around before answering. There were no servants in the hall, no one nearby to hear them. “I don’t know how much longer I can endure this either,” he muttered under his breath.
“The solution is simple and always has been,” Etayne said, keeping stride with him. “I could do it so secretly no one would ever know. Especially now that we’re both leaving for Brythonica. Some powder in his gloves. A bit on his pillow. Owen, stop making this harder than it needs to be. He has become a tyrant.”
Owen knew she was right, but he could not bring himself to commit murder. All of Owen’s power had derived from King Severn. How could he convince the people that a young boy from North Cumbria was meant to be the next king? He had the beginnings of a plan. The original King Andrew had been raised in the household of another nobleman, unaware that he was the son of a king. A Fountain-blessed Wizr had put a sword in a fountain after professing that whoever drew the blade from the water was to be the new king. He had then used his powers to arrange for young King Andrew to draw the blade.
According to Duke Horwath, that very sword, which had gone on to transform a young Fountain-blessed girl into the legendary Maid of Donremy, was concealed in the ice caves. If he managed to retrieve the blade and secretly bring it to the fountain of Our Lady, he could say he’d had a dream that the new king would draw the blade. Of course, Severn was Fountain-blessed himself, so he could ruin the plan by taking the sword himself. Owen would have to approach the situation carefully.
“You’re ignoring me?”
She gave him a wary look, drying her eyes on her sleeve. She patted Etayne’s shoulder and then shook her head. “Thank you for telling me. For . . . for warning me you were leaving. I’m frightened of how Severn makes me feel. He’s twisted me with his power so that I feel compassion for him. That I even believe I love him at times. But I belong to another man. And it’s not right for him to hunt me this way. It’s not right.”
Owen eyed her with pity. “No, it isn’t. Seven years ago, he could have been toppled with a breeze. Now he’s like flint.” He sighed, disgusted with himself. “If he knew we were talking like this, he’d kill me. If he knew only a part of what I do behind his back.” Owen shook his head, not daring to say more. “I must leave for Brythonica. I have a duty to perform, even though I find that duty distasteful. Bear yours the best you can. Hopefully when I come again, there will be more cheerful tidings. Farewell.” He gave her a small bow.
Lady Kathryn smoothed the black fabric over her lap. She was twenty-five years old. A beauty, even in black, but much of her bloom had faded with her imprisonment. The king showed her constantly that he, not her husband, controlled her destiny. He controlled her sleeping arrangements. He controlled her wardrobe. He controlled who visited her. But he could not control her will. Owen saw the strength in her eyes, in the determined look forming on her pouting lips. She stood regally, and gave him a formal curtsy. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Lord Owen,” she said in a firm, clear voice. “I will bear this patiently.”
Owen admired her for it. He turned and went to the door, Etayne following silently save for the swish of her gown. As they exited into the hall, Owen’s heart burned with unspent emotion.
“You look like you want to hit someone,” Etayne said.
He glanced around before answering. There were no servants in the hall, no one nearby to hear them. “I don’t know how much longer I can endure this either,” he muttered under his breath.
“The solution is simple and always has been,” Etayne said, keeping stride with him. “I could do it so secretly no one would ever know. Especially now that we’re both leaving for Brythonica. Some powder in his gloves. A bit on his pillow. Owen, stop making this harder than it needs to be. He has become a tyrant.”
Owen knew she was right, but he could not bring himself to commit murder. All of Owen’s power had derived from King Severn. How could he convince the people that a young boy from North Cumbria was meant to be the next king? He had the beginnings of a plan. The original King Andrew had been raised in the household of another nobleman, unaware that he was the son of a king. A Fountain-blessed Wizr had put a sword in a fountain after professing that whoever drew the blade from the water was to be the new king. He had then used his powers to arrange for young King Andrew to draw the blade.
According to Duke Horwath, that very sword, which had gone on to transform a young Fountain-blessed girl into the legendary Maid of Donremy, was concealed in the ice caves. If he managed to retrieve the blade and secretly bring it to the fountain of Our Lady, he could say he’d had a dream that the new king would draw the blade. Of course, Severn was Fountain-blessed himself, so he could ruin the plan by taking the sword himself. Owen would have to approach the situation carefully.
“You’re ignoring me?”
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