The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(2)
Owen gave the steward a dark look. “It’s not my room, Johns. I am a guest here. Like any other.”
The gloomy hall was lit by a few mounted torches that hissed ominously in Owen’s ears. When they reached the door at the end, Johns tapped twice respectfully before opening it. He glanced inside, took in a breath, and then opened it for Owen to enter first, giving him a look of compassion that Owen didn’t feel he deserved.
And there she was.
It felt like someone had struck Owen’s shield with a lance and knocked him violently off his horse. That rarely happened to him, in fact—it hadn’t happened to him in years. But the memory of the pain and the sudden lack of air perfectly fit this moment. She was beautiful still, her long dark hair braided and bundled into various intricate designs. She was a woman now, a mother of two. There was a glow about her, a radiance that struck him forcefully and made him ache inside.
Elysabeth was sitting in a chair at Horwath’s bedside, holding his hands. The duke’s hair was as white as the snow of his mountains, his breath coming in fitful gasps. The duke’s eyes were closed in sleep. It hurt to see him so still, a mighty tree fallen to the earth. Owen’s eyes returned to Elysabeth as she turned to see who had entered.
“Owen,” she breathed. The smile that lit her face tortured him.
“Hello, Elysabeth,” he said thickly, trying to master himself. Failing.
She rose from the chair and gave him a look of warmth, tinged with pity. In the years that had separated them, he could see that she had progressed. She had learned to love again, to live a full life, while he had not even tried.
“I hadn’t imagined you with so much stubble,” she said, smiling kindly as she approached him. “But that spot in your hair hasn’t changed. I’d know you anywhere, Owen Kiskaddon. I am so grateful you came. Did you get my letter?”
He nodded, unsure what to say, how to bridge the chasm yawning between them.
Her eyes crinkled with sadness. “Is it to be like this between us now?” she asked him softly. “Strangers instead of friends? It pains me to see you this way. You look awful, Owen.”
What to say to that? The retort came easy enough. “At least you’re not wearing one of those silly Atabyrion headdresses. I’d feared the worst.”
He’d meant it as a barb. Being with Severn so much, he couldn’t stop them now. They came to him as naturally as breathing.
She flinched at his tone, his disrespect. “I had hoped our reunion wouldn’t be this painful. But I see now that it must be. I am sorry, Owen.”
“For what?” He chuckled, not understanding. “It wasn’t your fault. We both know who is to blame.” He sighed deeply, stepping around her and approaching the bedside. He looked down at the duke’s sunken cheeks, his gray pallor. “Sometimes I wonder how he endured it for so long. The sniping. The invectives. I tried to let it all go. But I’m a man. I bleed. He never seemed to.”
He felt Elysabeth sidle up next to him, and it made him cringe inside. “Why didn’t you answer my letters?” she asked him. “I tried to prevent this . . . distance from developing.”
He shook his head. “You could not be loyal to me without being unfaithful to your husband,” he said bluntly. “Nor did I want to tempt myself—or you. It was best that we stayed apart for so long. And the king has kept me busy,” he added dryly.
Elysabeth laughed. “That is true. You have expanded the domains of Ceredigion extensively. I’ve heard about your exploits, you know. I follow each one. First, you captured several more towns in Occitania and seized their castles. Then you subjugated Legault and made it a vassal state. The king sent you to Brugia to help Maxwell unite the land under his power, but you betrayed him to keep him from getting too powerful.”
Owen smirked. “That was the king’s idea, of course,” he said bitterly. “He doesn’t want any of his allies getting too powerful.” He looked at her. “Including Atabyrion.”
She blinked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?” Her eyes had always seemed to change color like the weather. Today they were green, but they were a lighter shade than the dark green gown she wore. He could barely see the tiny scar at the corner of her full eyebrow. An injury from falling off a horse during a riot.
“When your grandfather dies,” he said in a quiet voice, a warning voice, “you will not inherit Dundrennan. I think the king plans to give it to Catsby.”
Her eyes went suddenly gray with anger. “But I am the heiress,” she stammered, her cheeks turning a shade of crimson.
“Welcome to the court of Kingfountain,” Owen said, giving her a mocking bow. “As I said, don’t be surprised. No one is secure, Elysabeth. Not even me.” Owen shook his head and started to pace. “He does this, you know. Frequently. He pushes his lords, promises one something they want and another the same thing. Then he lets them squabble and rip at each other. And in the end, he’ll give it to a third man instead. There is no allegiance anymore. People obey because they fear him. He is paranoid about anyone getting too much power. He hasn’t forgotten your husband invaded Ceredigion. Nor has he forgiven it.”
She looked at him in horror. “This is news I hadn’t even considered possible. Owen, how it must pain you to serve him!”
He shook his head. “You don’t know. There is so much you don’t know.” He stepped away from her, scraping his fingers through his hair.