The Queen's Poisoner (The Kingfountain Series Book 1) (9 page)

“This is supposed to be a
quiet
sanctuary, Ratcliffe,” the queen mother chastised. “Please . . . you will offend the Fountain. Lower your voice.”

His teeth gnashed in fury. “I should have known he would seek refuge
here
!”

“What are you raving about?” she answered patiently. “This boy? I have never seen him before in my life. Who is he?”

“Owen Kiskaddon,” Ratcliffe snarled. “The king’s hostage.”

The queen laughed lightly. “Ah, your anger makes sense now. I was beginning to think you had lost your wits. You think
I
summoned him here?”

“He is standing before you, isn’t he?” Ratcliffe said, raising his voice. “How did you manage it, Lizzy? I truly wish to know.”

Owen could tell that the name he used was meant as an insult by the way she bridled her reaction.

“Obviously the Fountain led the boy here, Ratcliffe. I heard he was in the palace, of course, but I did not bring him here. We had not even met until just a moment ago. But I will remind you,
sir
, that he has the protection of sanctuary and you cannot force him to leave. Severn wouldn’t dare violate it, not after all
he
has done! The people would revolt. Somehow the boy managed to find his way here, and here he will stay, under my
protection.”

Ratcliffe looked as if he would have a seizure of anger. “The king will not tolerate this!” he growled. “Can the Fountain shield you from his wrath? Your daughter enjoys the privilege of coming back and forth. Shall
she
become his hostage instead?”

Owen’s heart quailed at the words, fearing what would happen to the princess. He gave the queen a worried look.

She laughed scornfully. “You and I both know he wouldn’t do that. Now be gone, Ratcliffe. Before I call for the sexton. Out.”

Ratcliffe’s fists trembled with fury. He looked at Owen then, his eyes full of daggers. “Come with me, boy. Now. Come back with me to the castle.”

Owen stared at the man and shook his head.

“When the king finds out about this . . .” Ratcliffe snarled, his lips quivering.

“It appears he already has,” came a voice from the doorway. It was the deconeus, attended by the sexton. “He is mounting the steps right now, Lord Ratcliffe. The king is
here
.” He turned and bowed graciously. “Welcome to Our Lady, sovereign lord.”

Owen’s eyes widened with terror and he felt the queen’s hand tighten on his shoulder.

“No matter what he says, do not let him touch you,” the queen whispered in warning.

CHAPTER NINE

The King’s Voice

The king was annoyed. Owen could see that emotion burning in his gray eyes, twisting his mouth into a scowl, and twitching in his cheek muscle. The limp from his wound was becoming less pronounced, but it was still there, and Owen could
hear
the distinct sound of his shuffling steps before he saw his face.

The king wore his black and gold. The usual dagger was in his belt, accompanied by a large, scabbarded sword that had seen many years of war. A trickle of sweat fell down the side of his face. His long black hair was windswept, giving him a wild appearance. The queen mother’s nails dug into Owen’s shoulder, making him flinch.

“Remember,” she whispered to Owen.

“My liege,” Ratcliffe said with astonishment. “How come you this way? I was going to send word for you—”

“
When
, Ratcliffe? When my hair turned gray? You thought I would not want to know that my hostage had fled? Why is it that I must learn these things from my
niece
rather than from the head of the Espion!” The king’s wrath was focused on Ratcliffe at the moment, but Owen felt his blood turn cold with fear, knowing it would turn on him.

“My . . . my lord!” Ratcliffe stammered. “It was
my
man who told me the boy was here! I had only just learned of it and wanted to confirm the news with my own eyes first!” Ratcliffe wrung his hands, looking as if he feared for his neck.

“Enough excuses, Ratcliffe. Is it too much to ask you to keep my hostages under closer supervision? What will I learn next? That you approved one of his parents’ ceaseless requests to see him? By the Fountain, man! He’s just a little boy! How could you be so careless?”

“I . . . I . . .” Ratcliffe’s cheeks were scarlet and sweat dribbled down them from his brow.

The king made a dismissive gesture with a gloved hand. Then he turned his baleful eyes on the queen mother. His lips pursed angrily. “I should have suspected I would find him here,
Madame
.” The hatred in his eyes and tone made Owen shrink.

“You are quite mistaken, Severn, as you typically are when you’re upset,” the queen mother replied in an icy voice. “I did not summon the lad here. He only just appeared. I haven’t even spoken to him yet.”

The king snorted in disbelief. “You take me for a fool.”

“I take you for one when you
act
like one. This is the Kiskaddon lad then? Your hostage?” There was a shade of meaning in her words that Owen did not understand. “And he found his way to sanctuary. My, but how that must gall you!”

The king’s expression hardened. It was clear there was no love between the king and his sister-in-law, and Owen could sense the bitterness that had festered between them.

“You cannot take him from here, Severn. Even
you
have never dared to violate the sanctuary of Our Lady. You’ve threatened it, to be sure! But the people would throw you into the river if you tried and you’d never survive. The boy stays here with me. I did not send for him, but I will not send him away.” She patted Owen’s shoulder possessively.

“The lad does not know you as well as I do,” the king said with husky anger.

“Nor you, my
liege
,” she sneered. “He and I will have great fun together, discussing many things about your lordship. And about my
sons.
”

The king held up a hooked finger, silencing her. His face turned pale with anger and warning. “You will say nothing,” he said in a choked growl.

Something peculiar happened then. It was as if the lapping sound of the fountain water had suddenly grown louder, drowning out all other sounds from Owen’s ears. The sensation was soothing, and it began to calm his violently beating heart. Then the king’s voice slipped in among the waters.

“Owen.”

Usually there was a sharp edge to the king’s voice when he spoke Owen’s name, but this time his voice did not sound angry or accusing. It contained all the tenderness of a loving father’s address to his son. He blinked, confused, and peered up at the king.

The sound of the fountain waters grew even louder. He could
feel
them, as if he were splashing in the waters inside the stone railing. In fact, that’s what he felt like he was doing, playing and splashing and getting wet and relishing in the deliciousness of being naughty. The feeling of the waters rushed through him, soothing him and calming him and filling him with happiness. He was smiling now. The king was smiling too, as if he felt the same thrill of dancing in a fountain.

“Come away from her, Owen,” the king said softly, coaxingly. “She is
here
for a reason. She plots and she destroys. If you heed her, lad, your family will be killed. Because of her. I want to save you, Owen. Come with me.”

Owen felt a twinge of pain in his shoulder, but it could not hurt him, not truly. He heard words, the queen’s words, but they could not pierce the rushing sound of the waters. A memory tried to intrude, something about the king’s touch, but it was as annoying as a buzzing fly, and he brushed it away.

“I would not lie to you,” the king said seriously, gently, as if he were inviting a butterfly to land on his palm. “There is danger here. Danger you cannot see. You are being trapped in a spider’s web, Owen. Let me free you. Come . . . hold my hand.” The king reached out his black glove. The leather looked soft and warm, the gesture so inviting.

Owen shook loose the queen’s hand and walked toward the king.
It
felt as if the very waters of the Fountain were coming from that out
stretched hand. He knew without a doubt that he would feel safe and pro
tected if he held the king’s hand. More words fluttered around him. Some
were sharp-spoken, but they could not pierce the feelings flooding him.

He walked confidently over to the king, who did not look fearsome anymore. He looked tired and pained, but he had a gentle, generous smile.

“My niece is so worried about you,” the king said with a warm smile. “Shall we give her a little surprise then? She looked so fearful when she believed you had come to harm, Owen. Shall we find her back at the palace?”

Owen smiled eagerly and nodded. Yes, he would like that. He would like that very much.

“Will you show her how you left the castle, Owen? We were all so surprised you were clever enough to figure it out. But I knew you were a smart lad from the start.”

Owen nodded again, anxious to reveal the secret door to Princess Elyse. Perhaps it would be their secret now. His heart was giddy as he finally reached out and took the king’s hand. With one touch, it was if he were transported onto a boat, floating away on calm waters. It was the first time he had felt safe since leaving Tatton Hall. Together, Owen and the king walked away from the queen and the bubbling fountain. The boy felt light-headed with happiness as he clung to the king’s hand, feeling its strong grip, the warmth of the leather.

Owen turned back to the queen. She was crying. Why? He waved back at her, nodding to tell her all was well. Then he looked down at the black and white tiles on the floor. He only stepped on the white ones. The king only stepped on the black ones. It was as if they were Wizr pieces, he thought, and the notion made him giggle.

“What amuses you, Owen?” the king asked kindly. His voice inspired confidence.

“The squares,” the boy said, pointing with his other hand. “The white and the black. Like a Wizr board.” It did not dawn on him that this was the first time he had addressed the king. He felt so comfortable with him now, it seemed as if they had always been the best of friends.

“You play Wizr?” the king asked with a surprised chuckle.

“My father taught me.”

“I also play Wizr,” the king said as they walked. “The game came from the eastern kingdoms. Did you know that?” They approached the huge doors of the sanctuary.

“It came from Chandigarl.”

“I knew you were a clever lad. Would you like a Wizr board, Owen? I can have one carved for you.”

He stared up at the king’s thoughtful face in rapture. “Would you?” he pleaded. “I’ve never had my own board!”

“Then you shall have one,” the king promised. “
If
you stay in the castle. You
must
stay in the castle, Owen.”

The boy nodded. It would be worth it if he got his own Wizr board. They left the sanctuary and walked toward the outer gates. Owen saw the reflecting pool and wondered where the fat man was. Mancini. He would have liked to have shared the muffin and watched him throw crumbs to the pigeons again.

A throb of fear nudged his heart. Even though the sun was beating down on them, he felt . . . cold. He adjusted his grip on the king’s hand, but the leather did not feel as soft anymore. It was almost as if the king were
clenching
his hand. It was almost uncomfortable. The king’s limp grew more pronounced as they walked. Owen heard a stifled gasp of pain and looked up to see the king glaring at the gates, his teeth clenched as if he were concentrating very hard.

The murmuring sound of the fountains began to recede. It felt as if he had been caught playing in the fountains and was about to get in trouble for doing so. A guilty feeling welled up inside his stomach. Something was wrong.

They reached the gate and the sanctuary men parted, allowing them room to pass. Owen looked up at the tall stone arch, then glanced back at the sanctuary. Ratcliffe was just behind them, scowling at him with raw anger and humiliation that made him even more uneasy.

The sexton stood by the gate. “Do you leave of your own free will?” he asked Owen sternly.

The boy nodded, feeling frightened by the man’s stern look. The bad feelings ebbed as the king shifted his grip on his hand. Nothing had changed. The king made him feel safe and he wanted his own carved Wizr board and to see Princess Elyse. What else truly mattered? He sidled up closer to the king.

“You heard the boy,” the king said with a suppressed groan.

Owen’s heart was beating faster now. They walked out the gate together, still hand in hand. Something made Owen glance back once more, and this time he saw the fat man standing by Ratcliffe, taking coins from his hand. Maybe Mancini was paying Ratcliffe to get him some muffins? But that did not make sense.

“Ratcliffe!” the king barked.

They were outside the gate now and had started toward the castle. Owen’s heart was like thunder in his chest. Why was he leaving sanctuary? Why had he come there in the first place? There had been a reason, and it seemed important, but he just could not remember it.

“Take him back to the palace,” the king said, sounding breathless. “I need to rest. It drained me. The lad has a strong will, thick as tree roots.”

“I envy your gifts, my lord,” Ratcliffe said tautly, joining them. He seized Owen’s other hand, tightening his grip until it was painful.

Then the king released Owen and the fog was gone. Owen remembered everything, like a sleepwalker awakened midstep. Confusion and terror battled within him.

“No need to flatter, Ratcliffe,” the king chuckled. “I can’t abide flattery. I know what I am. And so do you. Keep this
boy
under better watch, or I promise you that there will be a new Espion master and you will be sent to the North to polish Horwath’s boots. I expected better from you, Dickon. If I can’t trust you in the little things . . .” He let the threat dangle and then gestured dismissively at them both.

Ratcliffe flushed scarlet again, his jaw clenching with rage. “Come on!” he snarled, yanking Owen’s arm so hard it felt like his shoulder would come popping out.

Owen was near tears as he watched the sanctuary of Our Lady start to fade away. He realized, sickeningly, that he had made it there on his own, against all odds, but had been lured out again by some trick. He had been incapable of resisting the king. But why? Then he remembered the queen’s warning, and it struck him.

It was the king’s voice. It was something in his hands.

Owen had been incapable of resisting.

While they were halfway across the bridge, Owen tried to struggle away from Ratcliffe’s hand, wrenching and twisting—anything to free himself so he could flee back to the sanctuary.

A sharp smack on the back of his head put a stop to his resistance.

“
Think
, boy!” Ratcliffe snarled in his ear. “Think about your
family
.” He tugged Owen around until he was facing him and then lowered himself down to his height. The head of the Espion spoke softly, but his voice was full of venom. “You cross me again, and they will suffer for it! You escape one more time, and I will have your mother and your sisters thrown into the dungeons to starve and your father and brothers into the river to drown. I will not chase you or hunt you ever again,
boy
! You will obey me or the blood of your family will be on your scrawny little head. It will turn that white patch red! Make a fool of me again, and you will regret it. Am I understood?”

Owen trembled with shock and fright.