EPILOGUE

The day was cool and mild, the air thick with the fragrance of trees. A few ravens croaked overhead from the branches as Owen, Sinia, and Drew carefully made their way through the maze toward the sound of trickling water.

After passing the gorse, they reached the stone plinth to which the silver bowl was fixed with a chain. Memories clashed inside Owen’s mind—a battle had raged in this place where he had defeated Marshal Roux and become the protector of these woods. This time he felt safe and confident as he walked into the hallowed grove. He was welcome here—the forest recognized him as its new master.

“What is this place?” Drew asked, staring at the massive boulders lodged together against the backdrop of a stony hill. The oak tree’s haggard branches were twisted at crooked angles. The leaves had grown back, and were draped with clumps of mistletoe that caught Owen’s eye. He sensed magic in the tree. Just as before, water was coming from its roots, trickling down the lichen-speckled boulders.

“A place of ancient magic,” Sinia answered, her voice hushed to match the solemnity of the place. “The Montforts have been its guardians for centuries.”

Drew gazed up at the tree in awe, his expression wise beyond his years. “It feels familiar. Have I been here before?”

“There are many memories in this place,” Sinia answered, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Owen hefted the large shield and slung his arm through the strap. The shield was emblazoned with the sigil he had seen throughout the palace. It was of two faces, opposing each other. It was a mark of the Wizr board, Sinia had explained to him—a sign that Brythonica was one of the places set on the board to hold in balance the barrier between water and land.

“When I pour the water on the table,” Owen said, taking a few steps forward before looking back. “There will be a loud peal of thunder. Be ready for it. Then a storm will rage around us. It cannot hurt you while we are near. Don’t be afraid.”

Drew’s eyes were deep and serious, and a little afraid, but he nodded with the encouragement. Owen glanced at Sinia, meeting her gaze to see if there was any look of warning. She said nothing to encourage or discourage him.

Owen hiked up to the edge of the table and then picked up the bowl. He felt the power of the Fountain flow through him. It was like trudging through a river, feeling the force of its current push him from behind. He was not trying to walk crosswise against the current, but with it. The magic swelled and strained inside him.

Reaching down, Owen carried the bowl to the small waterfall streaming down the face of the boulder beneath the tree. He placed it under the flow and watched it fill and then brought it carefully back down onto the plinth, the chain rattling as it scraped along the rocks. Excitement churned inside of Owen. His plan would work. He was certain of it.

Standing over the plinth, he turned the bowl over and splashed the water onto it. Then he set the bowl down and retrieved the shield just as the sky cracked open with thunder, sending a percussive boom that made Drew flinch and cover his ears. Just as Owen reached his betrothed and his king, the rain began to pound down on them, coming in fat, heavy drops that immediately turned into a torrent. Owen held up the shield and Sinia and Drew sheltered beneath it. The boy’s eyes were wide with fear as the storm slammed into them, the rain turning into sleet and then rock-sized hail.

Sinia lifted her arm and helped Owen support the weight of the shield, her eyes widening with excitement at the ferocity of the storm. The shield took a battering and Owen’s arm throbbed under the weight of it, but the magic of the storm was parting around him. After a few terrible moments passed, Drew’s frown of fear turned into a grin of ease.

The storm stopped as quickly as it had come.

Owen remembered what happened next, and it followed that same order. The leaves of the oak tree, which had been torn unceremoniously from the branches in the storm, swirled eddies down the hill and away from the plinth. Then birds appeared in the branches and began to sing, and their song was so full, so rich, so heartbreakingly lovely that Owen lowered the shield, and the three of them listened to the music. The final notes were a cry of loveliness that made Owen swallow the rising thickness in his throat. Tears danced on Sinia’s lashes. It was a familiar song to her, yet it moved her still.

Owen turned to Drew.

“Now it is your turn,” he told the boy. “Take out the crown.”

The boy quickly unfastened the buckles and opened the flap of the leather satchel he wore around his neck. Wedged inside was the hollow crown, the symbol of office for the King of Ceredigion.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Owen asked the boy.

Drew nodded and removed the crown from the satchel. Owen’s heart was beating faster now, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Bring the winter,” Owen said softly, gazing at the tree and then at the stone.

The boy held the crown before him and then lifted it onto his head. There was magic in it, and the crown adjusted its size to fit the boy’s head. The tines along the fringe were battered and ancient. Owen felt the magic throb and swell as the boy settled it onto his head.

Drew stared at the boulders, his eyes suddenly fierce with determination.

A cold wind swept through the grove, rattling the branches. Puffs of steam came from their mouths. Sinia started to shiver, and Owen pulled her close, his arm around her shoulder. His other hand rested on Drew’s. Little crackling, tinkling sounds started as the water in the grove began to freeze. Frost appeared on the boulders, glistening in the sunlight. The cold pervaded the grove so deeply it turned the limbs of the trees rigid. The birds flapped away, seeking shelter.

Staring at the boulders, Owen watched the designs of frost zigzag across the faces. His ears and nose began to tingle with the chill. The boy’s gaze was transfixed on the boulders in front of him. He did not tremble or close his eyes. He was mesmerized by the magic flowing through him. Creaks and groans began to rumble.

Owen held his breath. He felt Sinia reach up and rest her hand atop his.

“Colder,” Owen breathed softly. The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened.

The boy stared at the rocks, his mouth turning down into a little frown as he concentrated. The air was so cold it was like breathing knives.

Then there was a cracking sound.

The main boulder behind the tree split in half and tumbled to the side. A jagged series of seams and splits showed where the water had been carving inside it for ages. Owen jolted when the boulder broke away, moving backward involuntarily in case it tumbled toward them.

Beyond the rock, a black cave lay open. There was a sigh as the breeze found it and began to explore the edges.

Drew stepped forward, drawn to the gap in the stone. His eyes were narrowing, his expression grave and intense.

“Do you hear it?” the boy asked in a hushed tone.

Owen did not. He looked at Sinia in confusion. She shook her head no.

“What do you hear?” Owen asked.

“Whispers,” the boy replied. He stepped cautiously toward the riven boulder.

“You can hear them, boy?” said a gruff voice with a strange accent from within the cave. “Bless me if you can. Bless me indeed. It’s still daylight out?” There was a grunt and a stifled groan, and then the shape of an older man with a crooked staff was silhouetted against the darkness. “And who are these pethets you brought with you, eh?”