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

by Jeff Wheeler

  She walked gracefully toward him, and as she came closer, he realized she was beautiful. She was neither as young as the princess nor as old as the queen. Though he could not tell the color of her eyes in the darkness, they were light, like moonbeams—either gray or blue or green—and so very sad. She absentmindedly reached for the braid and began to tease the tips with her fingers. Then she let it rest across her front again, barely touching the laced bodice.

  She slowly sat on the bench that separated them, resting her hands in her lap in a nonthreatening way. He thought she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

  As she studied him, the little frown on her mouth smoothed into a small smile. A welcoming one. “Hello, Owen,” she said. Her voice was just loud enough for him to hear her. “Thank you for waiting for me. I am here to help you. The queen sent me.”

  She sat still, waiting for him to respond, waiting to see how he would react to her presence.

  Owen was not sure what he should feel. Her sense of majesty put him a little in mind of the queen herself. She was quiet, her manners very subdued, almost as if she were shy. To his relief, she neither rushed him nor pressured him to reply. She simply waited for him to gather his courage.

  It took a few moments for his mouth to work. But it did, which surprised him. “Are you a ghost?”

  The smile broadened, amused by his question. She had a pretty smile, with just the hint of a dimple. “No,” she answered. “Would you like me to introduce myself?”

  He nodded solemnly, feeling more at ease with her quiet manners.

  “My name is Ankarette Tryneowy. That’s a strange name, isn’t it? But it is my name. I am the queen’s poisoner. She sent me to help you.”

  Too many people are frightened. They want youth to last. They complain bitterly if sickness comes. But the world is always in tumult, and fortunes rise and fall and fail. It is the ambitious who accomplish things. It takes courage to be ambitious, for never was anything great achieved without risk. I wish to become the head of the Espion. There—I’ve written it down. A goal not written down is merely a wish.

  —Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Fountain

  Ankarette was so quiet, so subdued, that Owen was not as frightened of her as he was of most strangers. But he was not quite sure if being a poisoner wasn’t worse than being a ghost.

  “Do you have any questions?” she asked him softly.

  “What is a poisoner?”

  She seemed to have anticipated the question, and it did not trouble her. “Every prince in every realm has enemies, Owen. These enemies try to take away his crown. Being a prince is very dangerous business, you know.” She paused. “A poisoner’s job is to protect the ruler from his enemies. Sometimes there are dangerous men who need to be stopped. I know how to mix potions that can make someone very sick. Sometimes that is enough to stop the danger. Sometimes, I must make a potion that kills.” She glanced down at her hands in her lap. “I don’t like doing that, but sometimes it must be done.” Her voice was so soft and sad.

  “You said you were the queen’s poisoner,” Owen said. “You mean the queen at Our Lady?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you live in the sanctuary then?”

  “No, I live here in the palace.” She pointed through the upper window to the spark in the knife-blade tower. “Up there, in that tower.”

  Owen’s eyes widened. “I thought that’s where the king lived!”

  She smiled again. “No. His back is crooked. It would be too difficult for him to climb the steps every day.”

  She sat quietly, patiently, looking at him and waiting for more questions.

  “Why don’t you serve the new king?” he asked. “I’m glad the queen sent you to help me, but she isn’t the queen anymore.”

  “That’s a very good question, Owen. I will try to explain so you can understand. When King Eredur died, I was not here. He had sent me on a secret mission to another kingdom. Some terrible things happened while I was gone, and the king’s brother claimed the throne. He knew about me, but he did not know who I was. I was very loyal to his brother, not to him, you see. He sent men to try and kill me. But I killed them instead.” She paused, looking down at her hands. “He does not like me very much.”

  Owen looked at her gloved hands and then at the brooch at her throat. “Does he think you are going to poison him?” he asked. He remembered that the king ate only from dishes that had already been sampled by others.

  She gave him that little smile again. “You are very smart. For one so young. Yes, he is afraid I’m going to poison him. But I would never hurt children to stop him. You never need fear that, Owen. I only hurt dangerous men. You went to the queen for help. And so she asked me to help you.”

  “But you can’t help me,” he said, shaking his head. “If I leave Kingfountain, my parents will be killed. I must stay here.”

  She nodded encouragingly. “You’re right. You must stay here for now. But I have been giving this some thought. I’m very good at thinking, Owen—a poisoner must be, for a single mistake can be deadly. I’m going to be honest with you, and I hope you will be honest with me in return. Your parents may die. If I can stop that from happening, I will. But the king does not trust them and he will test their loyalty. But know this, Owen. They did not abandon you. It was a difficult choice for them, but they did their best to protect their whole family. Including you. They thought you would be the safest at the palace if I were still here to care for you. And I will do everything within my power to help you. You see . . .” Her words halted, her voice becoming thick. She reached out and smoothed his hair, just as his mother used to do.

  “I miss Maman,” Owen sighed softly. Her shoulder looked soft.

  “And I am certain she misses you terribly, Owen,” she whispered. She reached up her gloved hand and dabbed it against the tip of his nose. “You are a darling little boy, Owen. So young. The king is wrong to keep you away from your parents.”

  Owen was getting tired, and he leaned against her arm, resting his head against her shoulder. “Can you really help me?” he asked hopefully.

  She put her arm around him. “I think so, Owen. I’m working on a plan.”

  “Really?”

  “Just the beginnings of one.”

  “Will you tell me?” he begged.

  Hugging his shoulders, she planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Not yet. I have some ideas, but I need to ponder them more. Thoughts have a way of growing. If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish surprising things.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly, Owen. Most people suffer from a lack of imagination. They don’t dare enough. But I do. I helped Eredur become king. Both times.” She nudged his arm. “The reason most people don’t arrive at a destination is they never embark. They think of all the reasons why they can’t do it, so they don’t even try.”

  “I thought I could escape,” Owen said dejectedly. “I went to the sanctuary, but the king . . . he tricked me into coming out.”

  He heard a silvery laugh at that. “Oh yes, he did indeed! The king is Fountain-blessed, Owen. Do you know what that is?”

  He scrunched up his nose in surprise. “He is? I’ve never met one before, but in the stories they are like heroes. The king . . . isn’t like that.”

  She hugged him again, as if she were very much enjoying sitting next to him. “Not exactly, Owen. You know how every baby is taken to a sanctuary so the deconeus can bathe his head with fountain water? That’s called the water rite. It marks a hope that the child will be Fountain-blessed. But very few are. Only one child in a thousand is Fountain-blessed.”

  He turned and looked at her, gazing up at her pretty face. “I heard Monah talking about it. She said a man who made bread was Fountain-blessed.”

  “From Pisan, yes. I heard about him. I know you’ve heard some of this before, but it will be easier to explain if I start at the beginning. Let me tell yo
u about the true nature of the Fountain. The Fountain is all around us. It’s like a rushing of waters that you can feel but not hear. Have you ever lay down and shut your eyes and felt like you were . . . drifting?”

  Owen nodded energetically.

  “When someone is Fountain-blessed, they can gather the energy of the Fountain. Like filling a cup with water. Then they can use that power to do something. Something amazing! King Severn’s power is in his voice. When he uses the magic of the Fountain, when he speaks to you and touches you, he can make you believe what he is saying is true. But as I said, everyone who is Fountain-blessed needs to somehow draw in the magic. The king has an unusual way of filling his cup. Have you noticed it?”

  Owen stared at her in surprise and tilted his head. “Is it his dagger? He’s always slamming it.”

  Ankarette smiled fondly. “No . . . that’s just a nervous habit. He’s restless. Think about his words. He has power with his words.”

  Owen frowned, deep in thought. “He’s always angry, except with the princess.”

  “I told you that you were clever.” She brought her hands together under her chin. “There is power in words, Owen. So much power. When you tell your mother you love her, it makes her feel warm and happy. If you tell her that you hate her,” her voice became darker, crueler, as one of her hands reached away from her mouth and tapped his chest. “That carries hurt.”

  Her voice softened again and she settled her hands in her lap. “The king gains his power through insulting others. You cannot be in a room with him without experiencing it. That is how he draws in the Fountain’s magic. Every insult, every cutting word, adds a drop to his cup. When it is full, he can use the magic of the Fountain against someone. An individual. And they will believe whatever he says, no matter how outlandish. He did not always realize he was Fountain-blessed. I think he discovered it almost by accident. Once he knew it, he began to use it to make himself king. I warned his brother about it, but he would not listen to me. He thought his brother was loyal.”

  Owen looked at her curiously. “He doesn’t insult Princess Elyse.”

  Ankarette nodded. “You are right. And observant. I need some time to work out my plan, but if you would like, I will come visit you tomorrow and we can talk again.” She paused before continuing. “I’ve been watching over you since you arrived, Owen. I like playing with your tiles too. Now, you should be abed by this hour.” She mussed up his hair again, then her fingers slowed and gently played with some of the feathery tufts.

  “How do you know so much about it? About what it feels like? Are you . . . are you Fountain-blessed, Ankarette?” he asked.

  She kept her eyes on his hair and then nodded once. “That is another reason the king wants to kill me,” she said. “Why don’t you head to bed?”

  “You are going back to the tower?” he asked.

  She nodded with a sad smile. “I must stay hidden during the day,” she said. “I do much of my work at night when everyone is asleep.”

  “Can I see your tower?” he asked, grabbing her hands and squeezing them.

  “Of course,” she agreed. “If you promise to tell no one how to get up there.”

  “I promise!”

  She patted his cheek tenderly. “There are secret passages throughout the palace,” she confided conspiratorially. “I can show you all of them. Would you like that, Owen?”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her tightly, enjoying her warmth. It had been so long since he had hugged anyone.

  Ankarette was startled by his sudden show of affection, but she wrapped her arms around him as well and kissed the top of his tangled hair again.

  “I won’t let him hurt you,” she promised. “Not as he did the others.”

  “Who?” Owen asked, tilting his face up to her.

  “His brother’s sons,” she answered gravely, and he could see the sadness in her eyes once more.

  There is a precept amongst us in the Espion. We glory in the tales of our exploits, of our manipulations. We especially love to trick each other. You see, it is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.

  —Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Poisoner

  Ankarette Tryneowy lived in the highest tower of the palace of Kingfountain. As Owen climbed the steps with her, hand in hand, she told him how she was able to keep her presence secret. No servants went to her tower. The butler’s servants believed the castle almoner maintained it. The almoner was told that the butler’s staff serviced it. The master carpenter thought it was scheduled to be remodeled as soon as the funds became available. It was protected by a web of lies and deceptions so subtle that everyone had a belief about the tower that was just not true. One of the few people who did know the truth, Ankarette explained, was the cook, Liona, who always set aside a tray of food each night.

  Not even Eredur’s queen knew where the poisoner dwelled.

  The stairs were a difficult climb for Owen, and he was breathing hard as they huffed up the narrow tower well the following night, his guide holding a single candle to light the way. His forehead was plastered with sweat by the time they reached the top.

  “It’s so small,” Owen said, panting, after she welcomed him to her private domain.

  Most of the space was occupied by a small canopied bed swathed with thick velvet curtains to help her sleep in the daylight. The blankets were furs and Owen went to them and rubbed his hands against their softness. There was a small table topped with a globe, a set of scales, and several vials and tubes containing various potions and concoctions. His eyes widened when he saw them, but he kept his distance. Throughout the room, there were pestles and mortars of various sizes, some on the floor, some on the windowsills. These made him nervous, so he looked away. His gaze fell on a fancy embroidered curtain, and he walked up to it for a better look.

  “This is pretty,” he said as he touched it reverently.

  “Thank you. I made it,” Ankarette said. She went to the table with the potions and began mixing up a cup of tea.

  “How?” he asked in amazement, but she did not answer as she worked on the drink. Then his eyes narrowed in on the curtains on the bed, done in darker threads, and shot down to the similarly designed carpet. Everything in the room, from the table to the bookshelves, had little ornamented embroideries.

  “You did all of these?” Owen declared. His mother and sisters did sewing, but nothing this fancy.

  “I like embroidery,” she said modestly. “That is my gift. I never tire of it. You like to stack tiles, true?”

  He nodded, touching the fringe of a shawl draped over the only chair in the room.

  “I normally don’t receive visitors,” she said. “You are the first to have been in my tower in many years. Here, drink this. It will help with your wheezing. Your lungs are weak and in need of some medicine.”

  He eyed the cup suspiciously but it smelled fragrant and when he tasted it, he could tell she had added honey. It had a strange flavor, but not unpleasant. As he sipped, his eyes went hungrily to the Wizr board sitting on a small wooden pedestal. The pieces were carved out of alabaster . . . purple and white, with matching squares. The set filled the small round table.

  “Do you play Wizr?”

  Owen nodded eagerly. “I always used to watch my brothers play. But I like to play as well.”

  “Would you like to play it with me?”

  “Yes!” Owen said, slurping down the rest of the tea. “It’s normally black and white. This one is purple. I want to be purple.”

  “I like to play white,” she said. She went over and knelt on the rug by the pedestal and board.

  “How do you play it by yourself?” Owen asked curiously, studying the board.

  Ankarette moved the first piece. Owen followed, using his normal pattern of moving the middle pieces first. She captured his king in four moves.

  Owen’s eyes stared at the board, then at her. “How . . . how did you do that so
quickly?”

  Ankarette smiled knowingly. “I will teach you. There are many strategies in Wizr. If you know them, they can help you win quickly. Would you like to learn them?”

  Owen nodded with enthusiasm.

  As they reset the few pieces, she asked him another question. “Owen . . . are you afraid of me because I’m a poisoner?”

  His head whipped up and he looked at her, his eyes betraying his emotions. He nodded, but did not say anything.

  “Owen,” she said softly, putting the last piece in its place. “Please understand. I only poison dangerous people. And only when it becomes absolutely necessary. I would be a little afraid if I were in your place. But I wanted to show you my tower so you would see that being a poisoner is a very small part of who I am. It is one way I serve the queen, yes, but I also serve her by giving her advice and counsel. When I was trained as a poisoner, I was also trained as a midwife. So part of my work involves death and another part involves . . . life.” She gave him a meaningful look he didn’t understand. Then she brushed her hands together. “I also try to remove threats to the kingdom without resorting to poison. I like to make beautiful things. I do a lot of . . . thinking . . . while I stitch. My mind goes this way and that, studying a situation from many angles. That’s why I am very good at Wizr.”

  She put her hands down in her lap. “I want to help you, Owen. But if I am to help you, I need to trust you, and you need to trust me. I brought you to my tower. If you told anyone that I lived up here, the king would send soldiers to kill me.”

  Owen gasped, feeling a prickle of unease go down his back. He wouldn’t do that!

  She nodded seriously. “So you see . . . I am trusting you. But that is what friends do, Owen. I want to be your friend. Not just because the queen told me to help you, but also because I like you. I will do my best to come up with a plan to keep you safe. I will teach you Wizr. I will teach you all about poisons, so you will know by smell if something is harmful. I will give you potions that will help you breathe better and make you stronger. But Owen, I will never ask you to poison the king or anyone else. That would be wrong of me, wouldn’t it?”