The Thief's Daughter by Jeff Wheeler Page B

ready to topple, so he agreed to the plan. He too was restless. So, pausing only to grab their cloaks and their chaperone, they ventured onto the mountain trails that led to majestic views of the valley floor. Owen’s legs were tired, but he loved the firmness and steadiness of the rocks and cliffs, and years of experience had inured him to the alpine air and the rigors of a long hike. The air was crisp and redolent with the lovely scents of nature. Part of the trail was rugged and steep, with switchbacks broken in after centuries of use. They could hear the distant roar of the huge valley waterfalls as they moved.
    Owen and Evie walked side by side, and he kept glancing at her, enjoying the way her eyes were shining with joy as they passed the mountain flowers and pines. They had to stand aside as a shepherd drove his flock down the trail, pressing their backs into the craggy wall to leave room for the bleating woolly beasts. Owen’s shoulder brushed against Evie’s, and he felt the point where they touched as if it burned his skin. Justine was on her other side, lower down the trail, and she sighed a little at the delay.
    Shifting his position a little, Owen felt Evie’s fingers brush his. She glanced up at him, her tender look telling him she forgave him for his earlier blunder. He felt one of her fingers hook around his and his heart began to hammer wildly in his chest. His mouth went dry.
    Taking the hint, Owen grasped her hand, which he found surprisingly warm. Justine could not see their clandestine act, and Owen relished the feeling of her fingers mingled with his. A pleased smile crossed her lips, making her look even more beautiful. A burly sheep waddled past, brushing against them both, and Evie sidled a little closer to Owen to give the beast more room to pass. Once again, Owen felt the urge to kiss her. He had been thinking about that so often lately.
    After the sheep passed, they continued down the mountain trail, their hands occasionally touching. Evie was an endless source of chatter.
    “Do you remember the night we ambushed Ratcliffe with that pillow fight?” she asked with a wicked laugh. “How the down stuck to his sweaty bald head?”
    “And he started to choke on the feathers while trying to scold us?” Owen added with a grunt of laughter.
    “I still laugh at the memory,” she said lightly. “To be a child again. I still want to dance around the fountain’s edge and fall into the water.”
    “That would be unseemly, my lady,” Justine broke in.
    “I know! But when you’re little, you can get away with so much more. We are only seventeen and now we have to pretend to be older. I admit there are certain pleasures at our age—going to festivals and tournaments. I can’t wait to see you at your first one, Owen!” She bumped into his arm deliberately. “I’ve seen you practice in the training yard. You always catch the rings on your lance, and you make the sword master wheeze because you drive him so hard.”
    “I make him wheeze because he has an arthritic knee,” Owen said, scooping down to pick up a stone, which he then hurled off the trail down into the valley. He watched it arc and then plummet.
    “That could hit a peasant, you know,” Evie scolded.
    “He might take it as a sign from the Fountain to mend his ways,” Owen retorted.
    “How do you know Clifford has an arthritic knee?” she asked. “I’ve not seen him limp.”
    Owen shrugged. “I just know.”
    That wasn’t entirely true. Owen’s gifts from the Fountain had manifested in multiple ways. He had a keen sense of hearing, and his eyes noticed weaknesses of all varieties. It happened when he played Wizr—he could see the weaknesses in his opponent’s defenses just from looking at the board—and it also happened in the training yard. Even though Clifford was so much more experienced, Owen frequently bested him. He knew that the older man’s left knee was injured and aching, so he always forced him to defend on