The Poisoner's Enemy

by Jeff Wheeler

  He swallowed the wad of bread that was still in his mouth.

  She fixed him with her gaze. “I know you’re a brave man. Sir Thomas has told me about you. I know you are not afraid to die, even a painful death.”

  She watched as he swallowed. He was trying to control himself, but she could see the effect her coldness was having on him. People gave off so many clues without intending to.

  Ankarette shook her head slowly. “There are so many different kinds of poison, you see. Ones that can make you itch. Ones that can blind you. Don’t cross me, Robert. There are fates worse than death.”

  He wiped his mustache, his eyes dancing with fear. He was a strong, well-built soldier. It was only natural he feared losing his health.

  “You read my mission orders,” he said accusingly.

  She gave him a dimpled smile. “I only warn once,” she said. She put every thought and feeling behind the threat. Her eyes narrowed, her lips were set in a firm line. She stood in front of him, and even though she was the smaller of the two by far, her posture was one of strength and dominance. All these ploys she had learned in the poisoner school. She had practiced them. And she knew what they could do.

  There is no pain as awful as that of suspense. It was a lesson from one of the masters of the school. He had once said that a victim could die believing they’d been poisoned even if they’d been given nothing but an innocuous powder. The belief that it was fatal could make it so. A person’s mind was a powerful tool that could be used against them.

  “I hear you,” he grunted. His appetite seemed to have vanished.

  Ankarette gave him a courteous nod and turned to walk away. She stopped, looking back at him over her shoulder, but not meeting his eyes—as if he was not worth looking at—and added, “Never tease Sir Thomas again in my presence.”

  She did not wait for an answer before leaving the kitchen. The cook, who had been watching them but had not heard them, jammed a spoon into a bowl and turned his back.

  There were no more problems with Robert after that.

  The days spent at Marshaw were a pleasant reverie. Ankarette enjoyed taking rides with Sir Thomas and walking through the lush gardens with him. He commented within a day about Robert’s sudden change of behavior, but she said nothing about how she had influenced it. She was pleased that he had noticed the shift.

  She spent many evenings in long conversation with her mother, reminiscing about her father and asking for stories of him from childhood. She tested to see if her mother knew about her father’s life in the Espion, but as far as Ankarette could tell, she did not. Though he’d kept some unusual habits, her mother did not seem to understand the reason behind it. And so Ankarette decided not to reveal the truth to her mother. She did not wish to spoil any of the memories her mother had of him, and the added intrigue would likely only injure her.

  One day, during a garden walk, she shared with Sir Thomas the inner conflict that had been weighing on her. “If the queen does give birth to a son, do you think the duke will truly try to harm my mother?”

  “What do you think?” he asked her, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were alone in their walk.

  “I don’t think he actually would,” Ankarette said seriously. “I think he means to threaten me only. To make me believe I have no choice . . . but I do. We always have a choice, Sir Thomas.”

  “Indeed,” he replied with a small laugh. “I’m also sure it hasn’t escaped Warrewik’s notice that if he harmed your mother, you could harm him.”

  “That’s the conclusion I keep coming to. I don’t think he knows me well enough to risk it.”

  “He’s not the sort of man who takes the time for that,” he replied. “He trusts the judgment of those beneath him. His wealth puts him in a position to gain the best counsel. He’s a crafty man, I’ll give you that. But he has no idea our allegiance lies with the king.”

  She gave him a warning look. “Yet he sent Robert to spy on us.”

  “A precaution,” Sir Thomas said dismissively. “You cannot read the history of Ceredigion without ample evidence that nobles like to betray one another. It’s never wise to trust anyone too much.”

  Did he mean that about her as well?

  “I hope you know, Sir Thomas, that you can count on me.”

  He was quiet for a moment and the only sound was the rustling of the hedges where a bird was either trapped or hunting an insect. The silence unnerved her. She wanted to look at his face to judge his reaction, but she feared what she might see there. If only she could take back the impetuous statement . . .

  He stopped in his tracks, which startled her. She paused and turned to face him. He was very serious, his eyes quite intense.

  “Ankarette, you do realize that I’ve trusted you with my life, don’t you? You’ve known almost since you came to Dundrennan that I was working for Eredur. I’ve trusted you from the start.”

  The problem with sincere praise and sympathy, she knew objectively, was how it could make someone feel. His words were like honey to her. They were deliciously sweet and she adored him all the more for saying them. A little heat began to flush her cheeks.

  “Thank you,” she said, turning away so he wouldn’t see her blush. She did not like it when her face betrayed her. Her heart was giddy with feelings, but she reined them in, imposing her self-will on them. It was not impossible for the second son of an earl to marry someone beneath his station, but she was only fifteen and he likely still saw her as a child. She had no intention of marrying. It was not safe for someone with her training.

  All this she knew with her head. But her heart felt differently.

  The noise of someone approaching caught their attention.

  “Sir Thomas!” someone called.

  “Aye! Over here!” he answered back. In a moment, a young man came running up with a folded note. “A ship has come from Kingfountain,” the lad said urgently. “The messenger just arrived.”

  Sir Thomas frowned and took the note. Breaking the seal, he read it quickly. His face paled. “The queen is not doing well. The doctors fear her labor may start at any moment.”

  The queen had not been expected to give birth for another month.

  The fastest path from Marshaw to the palace was not by horse but by ship. A ship from the royal fleet in the docks of Blackpool was ready to set sail immediately on delivery of the message. Ill weather made the voyage miserable, but the wind was behind them and helped blow the way home. The sudden and unseasonal turn in the weather amplified the anxiety Ankarette already felt.

  Ankarette brought her mother with them. An early labor was always perilous. Her mother’s experience might prove useful . . . and Ankarette would also be able to keep an eye on her and ensure her safety.

  Even though they made all haste, they did not reach the palace until the following day, and Ankarette feared she had come too late. The duke’s men awaited them at the docks and they were rushed to the palace. Warrewik was pacing with the king outside the birthing chamber, his eyes wide with concern, almost frantic. The king was agitated, his face drawn with worry and concern. When the duke saw Ankarette, he seemed utterly relieved.

  “There! There you are!” Then he noticed her mother coming up behind her and his eyes went livid.

  Eredur stared at Ankarette in near panic.

  “What happened?” Ankarette asked. “I got very little of use out of the messenger.”

  “I will take her in,” Eredur said.

  “No!” the duke said. “The air is toxic in there. You are the king. You cannot be compromised. She is the best-trained midwife in the kingdom, Your Majesty. Her mother was one of the best in Yuork. Let them do their work.” He gave her a piercing look, one that was half-threatening, half-fearful and promised retribution if he was not obeyed.

  “I will go,” Ankarette said. She clasped the king’s hands. “We’ll do our best.”

  “There are thirteen other midwives in there already,” Warrewik said, posturing. “Only on
e is useful . . . you’ll know which. Send the rest out.”

  Ankarette squeezed her mother’s hand and they both went into the birthing chamber. The smell of blood in the air was sickening, but she was used to it. There were indeed thirteen midwives, but most were fretting and pacing and looking helpless. There were linen sheets and bowls of water and wine. The queen was pale, writhing on the bed in nothing but a sweaty shift. A single midwife stood still at her bedside, whispering soothingly to her.

  The woman turned as they approached. “I’ve done all that I know to do,” she said, wringing her hands. “The babe won’t come. It’s too soon.”

  Ankarette quickly judged the queen’s complexion. She was shivering, her lips mouthing incoherent words. She writhed in pain, but her eyelids were sluggish. She looked bloated and swollen.

  “How long has she labored?” Ankarette asked, trying to judge the danger of the situation. It was desperate.

  “Almost two days,” the midwife said.

  Two days like this. Two days and still no progress. The queen was going to die. And so would the child.

  Ankarette’s mother pressed the flat of her hand against the queen’s forehead. “It’s not a fever.” She squeezed the queen’s wrist and let go. The skin remained indented. “I think it’s eclampsia. It strikes fast.”

  Ankarette swallowed. She’d had the same thought. “Did the queen become disoriented and confused?”

  “Aye,” said the midwife. “She was raving about the babe. Said someone wanted to kill it. She kept calling for Ankarette. Is that you?”

  “Send the others away,” Ankarette said, nodding curtly. “You stay.”

  Her mother knelt by the queen, who gripped her hand. The other midwives were rushed from the room.

  “Mother?” Ankarette whispered, her throat tugging with emotion.

  “It’s eclampsia,” her mother said with certainty. “I’m sure of it. I’ve seen it many times. She won’t survive.”

  The other midwife stifled a sob and then nodded in agreement. “It’s been my fear as well. I have seen many women die of this. She was so healthy. I don’t know what happened.”

  Ankarette was torn up inside. She was desperate to save the queen and her babe. The fire was blazing in the hearth and still the queen shivered.

  Ankarette knelt by her bedside.

  The queen’s lashes fluttered. “Ankarette?”

  “I’m here, Elyse,” she said. Her mother and the other midwife stared at her in horror for using the queen’s familiar name, but she kept her focus on the queen.

  The queen’s face relaxed somewhat. “Something’s wrong. It feels wrong. I’m . . . I’m . . . all twisted inside. Eredur. Help. Nnnnggg!” She writhed again, her words becoming unintelligible.

  “There’s nothing I can do,” her mother said. “It may take hours still.”

  The other midwife started sobbing into her apron.

  Ankarette thought deeply. Squeezing the queen’s hand, she opened herself to the Fountain’s magic, listening for its soft murmurs past the ragged breathing. Her magic was with her, nearly full to the brim. Was there a way she could use it to save them?

  Suddenly, the thoughts and images flooded into her mind. And then she knew . . . only someone with the dual knowledge of life and death taught at the poisoner school in Pisan could save the queen, for saving her would mean carving into her body. It had been done before, and in rare cases, both mother and child survived. It required stitching and deft hands. Her mother’s ability with stitching was unequalled, to Ankarette’s mind, so perhaps they had a chance . . .

  She looked at the other two women. “We need to open up her womb. We need to bring the babe out ourselves. ’Tis our only chance. I’ve never done this before, but I’ve heard of it.”

  The other midwife looked at her in horror. “It cannot be done!”

  “It can,” Ankarette said with certainty. “Otherwise, she will certainly die. At least this will give them the chance to live.”

  Her mother looked at her sternly. “Did you learn this in Pisan?”

  She nodded with determination. “Trust me, Mother. I need your help.”

  “Show us what to do.”

  Hours later, drenched with sweat and blood, Ankarette held the tiny pink infant in the swaddling blanket. The gray goo of birth had been wiped away, and the piercing squeals from the babe’s healthy lungs were like music to her ears. Her mother had just finished stitching the queen’s wound. Elyse had fainted from the pain multiple times, but she’d endured the procedure with extraordinary courage. The swelling had begun to subside as soon as the babe was removed.

  Ankarette’s heart was full as she gazed at the trembling babe. She held the bundle close, breathing in that strange moist smell of fresh life. She cried, her feelings overwhelming her. Tears dropped onto the babe’s face and the downy tufts plastered to the little head, starting another round of wailing. Ankarette laughed through her sobs, savoring the delicious sound. She had saved their lives. But it was the Fountain that had shown her the way, had nearly directed her hands. She was exhausted.

  The other midwife wiped her hands on her bloodstained apron. “You did it, lass. I’ve never seen such a trick. Bless me that I was here to see this miracle. Maybe this little one is Fountain-blessed?”

  Ankarette nuzzled the babe’s cheek with her nose. “Let the king in now.”

  The midwife grinned and obeyed. Eredur nearly flew in like an arrow shot from a bow the instant the door was opened. His face was full of despair and worry. A storm had raged outside the palace, the rain lashing viciously at the windows. Another unseasonable storm.

  One look at Ankarette’s face changed the king’s expression from utter misery to hope.

  “They both made it,” Ankarette said triumphantly.

  The duke was there next, his eyes taking in the bloody scene with confusion.

  Eredur saw the babe in her arms and reached out his arms eagerly and awkwardly. She delivered the child to the father.

  “What is it?” the duke asked in desperation.

  “She’s a girl,” Ankarette replied happily. A war had been averted that afternoon. The duke looked relieved, though maybe a little disappointed that both mother and child had survived.

  “She’s a miracle,” Eredur whispered, staring at his daughter, laughing to himself.

  “Your wife is the bravest woman I know,” Ankarette said, the weariness taking hold of her. “She’ll be abed for days, but I have hope she will recover quickly.”

  Eredur cast his gaze at his unconscious wife and partner. The tenderness in his eyes was touching. He looked like a man brought back from the brink. “Aye, she is,” he answered with a catch in his throat. The storm was tapering off and a few gleams of sunlight lit up the droplets on the window. So strange that the storm had ended at that very moment.

  The king looked back at the girl. The babe was so tiny, so frail, and she quivered with startled reflexes. When he brushed her hand with his finger, she gripped it, clinging hard.

  “We’ll call her Elyse,” he whispered with tears. “After her courageous mother.”

  After saving the queen’s life and the life of the princess, I spent most of the following year traveling with the duke’s family between Dundrennan and Kingfountain.

  Isybelle was hopelessly in love with the king’s brother. I believed his affection for her was genuine as well, although it was difficult to judge whether he could love any person more than he loved himself.

  The hostility between Warrewik and the queen’s father grew. Through the spy holes in the Espion tunnels, I witnessed their verbal clashes growing more heated. Eredur did his best to juggle the animosity between the men, but the more he raised up the queen’s kin as his allies, the more he threatened Warrewik’s position. Warrewik was very popular among the people. His liberality with his wealth ensured this.

  I was sixteen when the Duke of Warrewik finally rebelled against Eredur.

  —Ankarette Tryneowy

&nb
sp; PART THREE

  The King’s Protector

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Rebellion

  The dance of politics was a delicate one. Delicate and deadly. Or so Ankarette observed as the confrontation loomed between her duke and her king. In the year following the birth of the princess, Eredur and Warrewik had continued to dance against each other. Each turn had increased the power of the queen’s family at the expense of the duke’s, and yet Warrewik still controlled the largest of the king’s armies, the garrison at Callait, and despite all of Eredur’s efforts to wrest it from his control, he had been unsuccessful.

  Ankarette spent more time at Kingfountain than at Dundrennan because that was where the duke had decided to spend the majority of his time in order to protect his interests. The duchess and her daughters had then taken up residence in the palace, and Warrewik was constantly sequestered in the Star Chamber, issuing orders to the Espion and warning the king that the mad king’s wife, Morvared, was once again plotting to usurp the throne.

  Every day the palace was filled with tension as uncle and nephew locked wills. The biggest clash between them was no longer Callait, however—it was Eredur’s refusal to let his brother marry the duke’s daughter.

  Ankarette found the presence of Dunsdworth in her lady’s chamber increasingly intrusive, and Isybelle’s wits were scattered by her persistent suitor. Ankarette was their chaperone and she felt the need to constantly be on her guard.

  One scorching summer day, when tempers inside the palace had grown raw, Dunsdworth suggested they walk the gardens and find some shade. There was one garden that had fledgling magnolia trees interspersed with tall cypresses. A fountain bubbled nearby and the heat and stickiness of the air made Ankarette long to jump into it.

  Dunsdworth and Isybelle were talking just ahead, Ankarette trailing behind. They were close enough that their hands frequently touched.