“Well, lad,” the king said, resting his other hand on Owen’s shoulder and giving it a playful nudge. “You will be sure to tell me should you have any other such dreams?”

“If it pleases you, my lord,” Owen said with a small bow.

“It does indeed, Owen. It pleases me much. How old are you again?”

“He’s eight,” Ratcliffe said, fidgeting with great energy. “Shall we continue with our plans then?”

“The Fountain has blessed it,” Severn said with a mocking laugh. “See it done, Ratcliffe. Immediately.” Then he turned his attention back to Owen. “Well, lad. Enjoy your breakfast.”

As the king limped away, Owen realized the eyes of everyone in the room were fixed on him. There were servants and children, nobles who had come to petition the king. He had announced his dream in front of a hall full of witnesses. Many of them were beginning to whisper behind their hands, openly curious about the boy who had spoken.

“You didn’t tell me you had a dream,” Evie said, pulling Owen aside. “Have you had these before?”

He shook his head. “It was the first time. It was like a . . . a vision.” He felt guilty lying to her, but he could not reveal the truth, certainly not without Ankarette’s permission.

The meaning of Ankarette’s story became tremendously clear later that morning when Lord Asilomar, from the east coast of Ceredigion, and his wife were trussed up on canoes and launched into the river from the island of Our Lady to plummet to their deaths over the falls. This was the first public execution Owen had attended in his life. They watched from the lower walls of the palace, and even from such a distance, they could see the thousands of people who had gathered to watch the canoes gain speed before charging off the falls. There was a collective gasp as the two vessels reached the terminus and pitched off. Owen stared, wondering again what it would be like.

When Duke Horwath returned from Our Lady, he clutched something in his hand, a banner. Owen had not seen the duke for several days. He had left the palace on an assignment for the king, which was almost certainly related to today’s proceedings. And then Owen understood. The banner held the badge of House Asilomar. The badge of House Asilomar was a large pinecone stuck on a branch with pine needles. The pinecone had fallen into the river and run over the falls. Just like in Owen’s dream.

“Look at it, Owen!” Evie said, when her grandfather showed her the crumpled banner. She stared at it in wonder before turning to look at him. “You saw it! You saw it in your dream!”

Horwath’s eyes were narrowed at him, his face a mask devoid of emotions. “Everyone is talking,” he said in his quiet way. “They are saying young Kiskaddon may be Fountain-blessed.”

“Of course he is, Grandpapa,” Evie answered with a glint in her eye. “I’ve always known that.” She grabbed and clung to Owen’s arm possessively.

There was a peculiar feeling in Owen’s stomach. A shy smile crossed his face, but he said nothing.

Later, as he knelt in the kitchen arranging tiles, he found it difficult to concentrate because of all the visitors coming in and out, wanting to see him. There were whispers and comments, and even though he was trying not to listen, he could pick out some of the words. Liona took the time to explain what he was doing to the visitors.

“Yes, he’s in the kitchen every day playing with those tiles. My husband Drew found them for him. He stacks them up and then knocks them down. No, he makes different patterns. Sometimes straight rows. Sometimes circles. It’s the oddest thing you’ve seen, I’ll warrant. Bless me if he doesn’t come here every day. He’s a clever lad. He’s always been shy and clever.”

“Ignore them.” Evie was lying on her stomach with her chin propped on her wrist. “I’ve always believed you were Fountain-blessed, Owen. Do you know how rare that is? There was a Fountain-blessed boy in North Cumbria once who could talk to wolves.”

He felt a prickle of apprehension that made him knock over one of the tiles and collapse the tower he was building. He frowned with anger and started building it again. All the attention made him feel good, but at the same time, he was lying to his best friend. He knew he wasn’t Fountain-blessed. This was Ankarette’s trick. He didn’t mind tricking the king. Or Ratcliffe. Especially not Dunsdworth. But he did not like the thought of tricking her.

“I wonder how many of our children will be that way,” Evie sighed dreamily. Grabbing a tile, she examined it closely before setting it back down. “It’s not impossible, but sometimes more than one child can have it. But usually just one in a family. One who is special. Your mother had many children, so odds were good that one of you would be. I think it’s that tuft of white hair that marks you. It was a sign from the Fountain.”