The Thief's Daughter by Jeff Wheeler Page A

into his arms, quivering with joy. It was only when he felt the wetness on his neck that he realized she was crying.

After the defeat at Blackpool, King Severn sent warships to ravage the coast of Legault. They are on the hunt for the pretender’s ship. Their orders are to punish the Legaultans and prevent them from creating a safe haven for the pretender. A sizable reward has been offered for the capture of the man masquerading as Eyric Argentine, the lost son of King Eredur. I think it is far more likely that the pretender has sought haven elsewhere. The question is—which of the king’s enemies would shelter him?
     
    —Polidoro Urbino, Court Historian of Kingfountain

CHAPTER NINE
    The Duchess’s Warning

    Owen walked with Severn across the bailey to where the king’s horse awaited him. The host of riders all wore the badge of the white boar and one carried a spear with a pennant that flapped in the cold wind. Their boots crunched on the thin cakes of snow in the yard. The king seemed invigorated by the cold, and there was no sign of a limp as he walked.
    “My lord,” Owen asked, clearing his throat.
    “What is it?” the king asked curtly, scanning the feathery clouds that crowned the massive mountains to the north.
    A groomsman positioned a mounting block as they neared the king’s charger, and Severn swung up effortlessly into the saddle. The horse grunted with familiarity, and the king stroked his neck, smiling fondly at the beast.
    Owen felt a tightening in his chest, a familiar sensation he had rarely experienced since childhood. His tongue became swollen in his mouth, preventing the words from coming out.
    “Well?” the king demanded, his brows knitting. His gloved hand tightened on the reins.
    “It’s a small matter,” Owen stammered, feeling a blush creep to his cheeks. By the Fountain, why did he have to get tongue-tied still!
    “I’m not interested in small matters,” the king said petulantly. “We must away. Now that Horwath has returned to the North, I’d like you to return to Kingfountain in a fortnight. No more. I don’t think this pretender will strike the North twice, now that we’ve disrupted his plan. It is getting nearer to winter.” He gazed up at the clouds again. “Although here it is always winter. I miss it.” He looked down at Owen sternly. “A fortnight. No more. Then come.”
    “I will, my lord,” Owen said, chafing with impatience.
    The king nodded in dismissal and then yanked on the reins of the charger. There was a thunder of hooves as the king’s soldiers rode out of the bailey. Owen gazed up at the battlement wall, where he saw Duke Horwath wrapped in a bearskin cloak, arms folded imperiously. His stern look implied he had discerned from afar that the conversation had failed to happen. Owen’s cheeks mottled with discomfort as he listened to the sound of the clacking hooves change once the horses crossed the drawbridge and hit the cobbles. Even if he had not ridden in with the king, he would have instinctively known Severn was traveling with a hundred men from the sounds made by the party.
    Turning, he walked back across the bailey amidst the grooms who brought shovels and barrows to begin clearing away piles of steaming manure. He hated the sound the shovels made in the muck and stone, so he quickened his step.
    He found Evie in the solar, pacing nervously. The look on his face gave him away before he could say a word. He felt sick inside, wounded that he had let her down.
    Justine glanced up from her needlework, her black hair hanging over her shoulder. She looked at Owen, also saw the unspoken news, and a small frown twisted her mouth.
    “I knew I should have gone with you,” Evie said darkly, her eyes suddenly an intense shade of green.
    Owen shrugged helplessly.

    The snows vanished by midday, and Evie suggested they leave the stifling solar and walk amongst the mountains. Owen had spent the morning arranging over two thousand tiles that he was not yet