The Queen's Poisoner (The Kingfountain Series Book 1) (17 page)

“Am I supposed to derive comfort from that?” he said with a chuckle. “Do you know who she is, lass? If you know anything about her, you should tell me.”

Owen’s stomach twisted with dread.
Don’t!
he wanted to call out.
It was me! It wasn’t her!

“I don’t know her name,” Elyse said hesitantly. “But I have seen her.”

“Recently?” Ratcliffe pressed. There was an intensity to his voice.

“No,” she replied simply. “Not since before Father died. My mother doesn’t want you dead, Uncle.”

“Quit listening in on your betters,” the king barked angrily. “You are all useless. Be gone. Go outside.”

Owen wasn’t sure what was happening, but then he realized the king had been addressing the soldiers. The door shut with an audible thud.

Then the king sighed heavily. “Lass, you should not speak so freely in front of people. I could see by the look on your face that you were going to reveal more than you ought to have.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” she replied meekly. “I know you are worried about rumors. I will go as well. It’s just that . . .” She stopped short.

“What, lass?” he asked softly, almost tenderly.

“Your Majesty,” Ratcliffe said in a warning tone.

“Be silent, man! She’s my niece. She is the only colorful thing in this drab world. The only nectar amidst so much poison. Say on, lass.”

“You already know,” Elyse said uncomfortably. Her voice was quavering. “What my mother suggested you do. I’m not . . . opposed to it, Uncle.”

He coughed against his fist. Owen could tell by the sound. “It’s not that simple, lass. Things are never that simple. Off with you now. Go.” His voice was coaxing, calm.

Owen heard the door open and shut again. Ratcliffe sounded uptight when he spoke next. “There will be rumors again,” he said.

“I already know that,” the king said flatly. “After her first plan failed, my brother’s widow hoped to wed Princess Elyse to my rival so she could become Queen of Ceredigion and keep the line going. That intrigue cost me the wounds at Ambion Hill. By the Fountain, Elyse could be queen in her own right. She or Dunsdworth if they both weren’t barred. But that boy is too much like his father to ever entrust with the throne.”

“And you won’t name her your heir?” Ratcliffe asked prudently.

“I can’t,” he said softly. “Not after everything that has happened.”

Ratcliffe sighed. Owen’s arms felt like they were going to fall off. Drops of sweat dripped down his chest. But he would not let go. He held himself up by sheer force of will, ordering himself to be as rigid as one of his tiles.

“Well, the lass certainly cares for you. She came running here straightaway. I know she’s your niece, my liege, but there are . . .
precedents
for it. It would give stability to the realm if you married again.” He chuckled. “As she said, even her
mother
desires a return to power enough to persuade her daughter to make the match.”

“You’re wheedling me,” Severn snapped. “Stop it. I’ll send Horwath to find me a wife when I’m ready. If I’m ever ready again. A nice foreign-born girl who doesn’t speak our language or understand our customs. That would be
my
choice. Pity the Occitanian princess is so young. That realm would be a good addition to my power.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to your brooding then,” Ratcliffe said. Owen heard the approaching sound of his boots as he moved to the doorway. He entered the secret corridor and shut the door, securing the latch and slipping the spyhole cover back into place. He marched back down the corridor, and still Owen trembled until he was smothered in blackness.

He waited until there were no more sounds at all. There was also no light. And Owen realized with dread he would have to spend the night in the black tunnel, for it would be nearly impossible to find his way out without a candle.

And he dared not go into the king’s bedroom to retrieve it.

We should not be encumbered by what we cannot control and change as suits the times. A promise given in the past was a necessity of the past. A broken vow is a necessity of the present. There is no such thing as “honor,” or “I give him my word.” Words, as you know, are meaningless, and only fools trust in them.

—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Fear

If Owen had experienced fear before coming to Kingfountain, it was nothing compared to wandering the secret tunnels of the palace without a candle. He tried his best to judge the right way, groping with blindness and even crawling on the ground, but his efforts were totally wasted. He was lost, hopelessly so, and the night seemed as if it would go on forever. There were sounds that he understood—the scuttling of rats, the creaking of timbers, and the occasional gusts of wind. But there were also sounds that put him in mind of a person moaning. His imagination supplied the rest—they were the ghosts of the dead princes, the ones whose bodies had never been found.

His courage was utterly spent, his misery complete. Ahead, he thought he saw a translucent shape, a phantom shaped like a man but made entirely of dust motes. The phantom stalked toward him in silence. Owen closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. He listened for the sound of footfalls. Nothing, not even a whisper of breath. He peeked up again, and it was waiting for him—the shape of a man, all gnats and swirling dust.

Owen groaned with fear and then began to sob. He waited for the being to grab him and carry him away into the void. Terror made him huddle in a ball on the floor and sob in choking heaves that grew louder and louder. He could not help himself. Anything was better than staying lost in the tunnels until morning. He wept bitterly, wishing his parents had never given birth to him.

He did not know how long he lay crumpled on the floor, crying. He waited with anguish and suspense for the worst to happen. And then his eyelids detected light. Ratcliffe! He almost welcomed capture at this point. He lifted his head, still trying to breathe through his tears, gulping, and then he saw Ankarette coming toward him with a candle.

Owen wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he got to his feet and ran to her with relief. As soon as he reached her, he wrapped his arms around her middle and pressed his cheek against her stomach. He was so grateful to see her, so relieved to have been found.

She set the candlestick down and folded her arms around his head. She stroked his hair, his neck, murmuring softly that everything would be all right. She smelled wonderful. Even in the safety of her arms, he shivered and shuddered, unable to quell the terror.

Ankarette knelt down, bringing herself level with his face, and cupped his cheek in her hand. Not saying anything, she peered into his eyes, her gaze full of sadness and serenity. Then she leaned forward and kissed the corner of his eye, where the tears were still coming. She murmured a word in a language he didn’t know, and suddenly he felt peace. His heartbeat began to slow down. The tears stopped. Instead of terror, he felt relief. Warmth and kindness suffused him, putting a stop to his spasms.

Still kneeling, Ankarette took up the candlestick. She then rose to her feet and offered Owen her hand. He clung to it, so grateful to be led away from the darkness.

She took him back to his bedroom and set the candlestick on the table near the bed before helping him under the covers. He could only
stare at her with reverence. He would have done anything in the world she asked him to do. Once he was settled, she knelt by his bedside and planted
her elbow on the mattress so she could rest her chin on her knuckles.

“There’s my little Owen,” she whispered with affection, reaching out and smoothing some of his hair from his forehead. “You had quite a scare tonight.”

He nodded, feeling a twinge of horror try to well up inside him. It could not rise above the well-being in his heart.

“Was that . . . was that magic?” he asked her simply.

She wrinkled her brow a bit. “Was what?”

“You kissed my eye and whispered something. Was that magic?”

She smiled languidly and then nodded once.

“Can you teach it to me?” he begged.

“You are too young,” she answered, tapping his nose with her slender finger.

“Will you teach me when I’m older?”

She pursed her lips, as if his question caused her pain. “If I can,” she answered after the hesitation.

“I don’t want to be an Espion anymore,” Owen said, shaking his head firmly. His eyelids were drooping, and he felt so tired all of a sudden. “I was so afraid.”

“You got lost in the tunnels?”

He nodded sleepily. “I found the king’s room. And then Ratcliffe came up behind me. I thought I would be caught. I never want to do that again.”

“But you weren’t caught, were you?”

He shook his head no. “But I was scared. I kept seeing things in the dark.”

She laid her hand on his forehead, stroking the tips of his hair. “Courage isn’t the absence of fear, Owen. Courage is moving forward even when you’re afraid. I’ve known many brave men who have felt fear the night before a battle. Fear comes and stalks them, like a wolf does a lamb.” She paused, sliding her finger down his nose. “But when the dawn comes, they do their duty, and the fear goes away. It only preys on the powerless. Owen, you
have
power.”

He stared at her, his eyelids so heavy. “No, I don’t.”

She nodded sagely. “You do. Your power summoned me tonight. I felt your need. The Fountain whispers to those of us who listen. I had a bad feeling about you tonight when you didn’t come. Most people ignore those little feelings. But I’ve learned to trust them. I didn’t know where you were, but I kept looking. Kept searching. And then I heard you weeping.” She caressed his cheek with her knuckle.

“Ankarette, will you tell me about the Fountain again?” he asked. He blinked and forced his eyes open. He wanted to listen to her, but he was so tired. He licked his fingertips and then rubbed the wetness over his eyelids. That made it easier to keep them open.

She gently stroked his hair. “The Fountain is everywhere, Owen. It’s here in the room with us. It was in your tears. It’s likened to water because without water, even a little bit, we would die in days. I can hear its murmur right now, here with us. It carried your fear and despair to me, knowing I could help you. It led me to you. The Fountain is power, like a river current. Even the strongest things must budge to its force, given enough time. The Fountain is magic. We were all born of it. And it was the Fountain that gave me the idea of how to save you.”

“By tricking the king,” Owen said with a weary smile. “Has the Fountain told you how yet?”

Ankarette nodded emphatically. “It’s all so very simple. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

“Tell me?” Owen pressed. He loved staring into her sad eyes, looking at her lovely smile. Ankarette had come to feel like a mother in this place so far from home.

“As you know, I’ve made an acquaintance of Mancini,” she said in a near whisper. “He seeks to do away with Ratcliffe so that he himself might become master of the Espion. I have been helping him with his goal. In return, he will help me with mine. One way to prove that you are Fountain-blessed, Owen, is if you can bring information to the king
before
Ratcliffe does. It won’t be easy. Mancini is helping me track down the first tidbits to help build your reputation. Something that will help you without compromising him. Something that Ratcliffe intends to tell the king later, only you will tell him first. You will become a fortune-teller, in a way. Only a Fountain-blessed could have that power of sight.”

“I’m . . . I’m not sure I am brave enough,” Owen said in a small voice.

Ankarette leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Then you must learn courage, Owen. You must learn it however you can.”

The thought of Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer came to his mind. She was the most fearless person he knew. How had she become that way?

He fell asleep while thinking about her.

The next day, the two youths were in the interior yard of the palace grounds, arms held out for balance as they walked in the great circle around the rim of the enormous fountain in the yard. Jewel scolded them for risking a fall, but they ignored her. The Mortimer girl was trying to catch up to Owen. He had to keep one eye on the tiles at his feet, and the other on her to make sure she wasn’t gaining on him, which she was. He tried to walk faster to widen the distance. The sky was blue and clear of clouds, and the fountain water lapped playfully.

“How come you’re not afraid of anything?” Owen asked as they walked.

“Because of my father,” the Mortimer girl replied breezily. He could hear the silver laugh in her voice. She was trying really hard to catch up with him. It was obvious she found this kind of play much more interesting than watching him build rows of tiles to knock over.

“How did he teach you?” Owen pressed.

“He taught me to climb waterfalls,” she responded matter-of-factly.

“What?” He stumbled a bit and almost fell off the fountain wall.

“Ha! You were about to fall in!” she teased with her silvery laugh. “I’m going to catch you, Owen Kiskaddon!”

Not if I catch you first!

“In the North we have the most beautiful mountains. They’re covered in snow all winter, but the water melts in the spring and feeds huge waterfalls.”

“Like the one by Our Lady?” he asked, keeping his focus, his arms helping him balance.

“Not like that one,” she said, disagreeing. “These waterfalls come off the cliffs. They are huge! They feed the river that flows down here. This one is wide but not as deep. In the North, the waterfalls are beautiful! My father took me for hikes up to the top of one of the waterfalls. There are portions where the mist is so heavy everything is wet and it’s easy to slip. But when you reach the top, you can watch the water shooting down. They even built a bridge spanning the waterfall, so you can stand at the very top of it and watch the water come down. It’s like watching a snowstorm from a cloud. I can’t wait to take you there, Owen! The mountains are steep and hard to climb, but I’ve done it so long my papa said I’m a billy goat!” She made some bleating noises and then started to run after him.

“You’re not supposed—!” Owen stopped, realizing he had one choice: run or be caught. He was getting dizzier with each step, but he was determined not to let her catch up with him.

“Stop running, lass!” Jewel shouted. “You’re going to fall in, and bless me if your grandfather won’t take a switch to you then!”

The Mortimer girl ignored her, and Owen risked a glance over his shoulder to look at her. There was a hunter’s grin on her face as she charged at him, but he kept his balance and ran faster.

Suddenly there was a splash of water, and Owen turned to see that she had stumbled into the fountain water. There was a startled look on her face, and she had landed on her hands and knees. He quickly made it around to her, watching as she rose, sopping wet, her dark hair plastered to her cheeks. She did not look chagrined at all—rather, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

“Mistress Mortimer, you get out of there!” Jewel shouted angrily, hobbling toward the fountain.

“My name is Elysabeth
Victoria
Mortimer!” she shrieked wildly at the old woman. Then she grabbed Owen’s belt and yanked him into the fountain with her. Something had warned him she might do that, but he hadn’t been prepared. Before he knew it, the cold water was splashing across his face and he was soaked. He got up spluttering and then splashed water at her, which made her squeal with joy.

“Out! You two get out of there!” Jewel huffed, staring at the sopping children with anxiety. To his surprise, there was also the hint of a smile on her face.

“Catch us!” the Mortimer girl called, and grabbing Owen’s hand, she began to skip away from Jewel to the other side of the fountain. The water had soaked them both through, but it wasn’t so cold anymore and Owen liked the feel of her hand tugging his.

“When your grandfather finds out,” Jewel scolded, “it’ll be a whipping! You hear me? A whipping!”

“He won’t whip me,” the Mortimer girl laughed gaily. Then she released Owen’s hand and started to twirl around in a circle, looking up at the blue sky. After a few twirls, she slumped down on her bottom, too dizzy to do anything but laugh.

Owen stared in wonder at this girl who was unafraid to dance in a royal fountain. She was sitting down, water running down the dark tips of her hair, smiling at him as if it were only the two of them in the world. Owen pretended to stumble and pitched forward into the water, making a loud splash. She giggled infectiously, just as he had hoped.