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

by Jeff Wheeler

  Owen nodded vigorously, his eyes wide.

  “The queen has not asked me to harm the king, even though he is a dangerous man. He is the last heir of the Argentine family. If he dies, there will be terrible calamity. And Dunsdworth can’t inherit because his father was guilty of treason.”

  “What did he do?” Owen asked with eagerness.

  She shook her head. “There is too much to explain for me to tell you everything in one night. We have time, Owen, you and I. Tomorrow, we shall talk again. We will need others to help us if we are to succeed. Liona and Drew will help. I’ll speak to them tomorrow, but we will need others to join us as well. You know Dominic Mancini, who stays in the kitchen? He could be a good helper.”

  Owen gave her a little frown. “But he works for the king!”

  She smiled. “He pretends to. He really works for someone else and is spying for them also. I think I can persuade him to be an ally. I can be very convincing. But your role is the most important, Owen. You will need to learn courage. You will need to do things you think are impossible. I believe you can.”

  She reached out and smoothed his hair, giving him a warm smile. Owen swallowed as he looked into her eyes. Suddenly she winced like the king did when he moved his leg a certain way, but she did not drop the smile.

  “Are you sick?” Owen asked.

  “Tired,” she said. “Go back down to the kitchen. I will meet you there again tomorrow night. Will you do that for me, Owen? I cannot . . . make it back down the steps right now.”

  He nodded, staring at the little room in wonder again. He was eager to return.

  “This is our secret place,” Ankarette whispered.

  Owen went to the small doorway. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Can I take the candle?”

  She nodded. “Leave it on the table by the tray of food Liona left for me. Blow it out, Owen, when you get downstairs. It was nice seeing you—”

  She halted, her words falling into silence. Owen stared at her a moment longer, waiting for her to say more. He had the distinct impression that she was going to say that they had met before, but he would never have forgotten someone like Ankarette.

  It was midbite of a bowl of blueberry fool that I learned she’s still alive. I almost choked. I was handed a note with instructions to wait in the kitchen until after dark. It bore Ratcliffe’s seal, so I obeyed and helped myself to the sweet dessert as I waited. But the note was not from the odious Ratcliffe. It was from Ankarette Tryneowy. I jest not. By all accounts, this woman died eight years ago. I remember hearing of it and wondering at the audacity of the king’s brother, Earl of Dunsdworth, who would judicially murder his brother’s poisoner, one of the Fountain-blessed, no less! You can imagine her demise caused no small shock among the Espion, both foreign and domestic. Some say Eredur had his brother killed because of Ankarette’s death. I cannot tell you how delicious this is—the news, not the berry fool. She has promised to tell me her story. She has promised me information that cannot be bought, traded, or stolen. She is the penultimate trickster. The cunning hand. The queen of deception. And she is now my teacher. I think I’ll take another helping.

  —Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Broken Vows

  Owen’s world changed the night he met Ankarette Tryneowy. He was part of a secret now—a secret so vast and interesting that he could hardly sleep. Over the nights that followed, she taught him about the secret tunnels and passageways that lined each of the palace’s rooms. How to find the hidden latches that would open a door concealed by a painting. How to slip away a panel of wood so he could see and hear what happened in the adjacent room. She taught him how to walk quietly. How to hold perfectly still. She taught him the secrets of torchlight and shadows and how the human eye adjusts to both.

  Owen, being an eager learner, soaked it all up.

  When Ankarette wanted to visit him during the day, she would slip something into Jewel’s tea that would send the woman off into a loud snoring fit. They would always return from their outings well before she snorted herself awake, none the wiser.

  The secret gave Owen a sense of power and purpose. When the king jabbed his dagger in his hilt or mocked Owen during the meal, he would look back and think, If only you knew what I know. If only you saw what I did in your palace.

  The palace was an intricate maze of corridors and towers. But beyond the well-kept halls where everyone walked and ate and slept, there was an underworld teeming with dark hidden places. Places that smelled like musty barrels of wine. Places where the guardsmen diced and drank with the servants and stayed out of Berwick’s sight. Owen watched Dickon Ratcliffe’s Espion as they boasted and bragged about their exploits when they came in from assignments. As they mocked Ratcliffe behind his back and scorned him for always heaping the credit for their work on himself.

  Ankarette did not say much. She would take Owen to new places and let him wander around and explore while she looked on with a smile of affection and warmth and answered his questions. Sometimes she would ask him a question, something to make him think, and think hard. Only after he had exhausted his brain would she provide the clues he needed to teach himself the answer.

  “Ankarette?” he asked her one day, as they were playing a round of Wizr at the table in her tower room. She had already taught him the simple ways to defeat any opponent who was untrained. Their games were lasting longer now, but he had never come close to winning yet. “What is the most useful thing I need to learn? Is it poisons? When are we starting that?”

  She was about to move her next piece, but she lowered her hand into her lap instead. “What do you think the most useful thing is, Owen?”

  He scrunched up his brow. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” he said.

  She gave him a patient look and said nothing, letting him tease it out in his own mind.

  “There is more useful knowledge than poisons,” she said encouragingly.

  He frowned, screwing up his nose. “I think it might be knowing when to use poison,” he said.

  “Tell me what you mean?” she asked.

  “Well, you said that you only use poison if other things don’t work. So, isn’t it most important for a person to be able to tell whether a situation is hopeless or not? Like what you did with Mancini. You knew you could trust him to help you.”

  Ankarette laughed softly. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “But you trusted him enough to tell him you didn’t die. And he’s part of the Espion!”

  “Many of the Espion know about me,” Ankarette said. “He didn’t. By giving him that secret, I gave him power. That’s what he craves more than anything, so I knew it would make him a valuable tool.”

  “He craves muffins more than power,” Owen said disdainfully.

  She smiled again and tousled his mousy hair. “He does indeed. Did I answer your question?”

  Owen frowned. “Not really. You’re pretty good at not answering questions.”

  “Let me put it another way. Let’s talk about it like stacking tiles. You build a tower out of tiles and then you want to knock it down. If you set the tiles too far from the tower, it won’t work.”

  Owen looked at her curiously. “Well, the tower needs to have a weakness. You have to hit it at the right angle to make the tiles fall. If you hit it the other way, nothing will happen.”

  “Yes, exactly. You have to hit it where it will fall. That’s what I did with Mancini. I didn’t offer him food. He has plenty of that! I offered him knowledge. Secrets.” She reached her hand out and moved the next piece, winning the game of Wizr.

  Owen scowled. He had already planned his next two moves and had not seen it coming. He didn’t think he was ever going to win against her.

  “But how did you know that?” he pressed. “How did you know that’s what he wanted?”

  Ankarette folded her hands in her lap. She was quiet for a moment. Sometimes he could tell she was in pain, but this was not one
of those moments. Her pain usually started with tightness around her eyes, then her breathing would change and she would tell him it was time to go.

  “Owen,” she said softly, peering into his eyes. “The most important thing you can learn is discernment. Have you heard that word before?”

  He shook his head no.

  “It is the ability to judge well. It means not just seeing an action, but the reasons behind the action. Many people say things they do not believe. They lie and deceive. They may act one way in public and another in private.”

  Owen stared at her, still confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “This is hard enough to explain to adults, Owen. It is especially difficult to explain to children because you are so young and haven’t experienced much yet. I’ll try to help you. You like to talk. You like to ask questions. You like to laugh. But when you are in the presence of King Severn, your voice goes down to a tiny squeak and you cannot speak. It’s because he makes you anxious and uncomfortable. Right?”

  He nodded.

  “If I judged you by how you are in the king’s presence, I would not see the whole picture of you. By spending time with you, I’ve gotten to know you better. I have learned what you are really like. The ability to do this quickly is called discernment. It is priceless, Owen. Let me tell you a story to show you why.”

  No longer upset about losing the game, he wriggled his finger in his ear to stop an itch, then stared at her eagerly. He loved hearing her stories, for they were rare.

  “There was a king . . . almost a century ago. He stole the crown from his cousin.”

  “Why did he do that?” Owen asked, curious.

  “Because the king banished him for having an argument. He was a duke, just like your father. And he had an argument with another man, an earl. They would not resolve it, so the king banished them both. One he banished forever. The other he banished for a time. Then the king needed some money and he stole it from the banished duke’s estate. The one who was going to come back in time.”

  Owen scrunched up his face. “That’s not fair!”

  Ankarette smiled. “You’re right. It wasn’t. And the king ended up losing his crown to the duke because of it. One day, years later, some of the new king’s men began to rebel against him. They created an army to depose him.”

  “Why? Had the king done something to them?”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t over money. What happened was he did not show them enough gratitude. People can be strange sometimes, Owen. They will rebel for small reasons. The king was old and sick at the time, so he could not lead his armies anymore. He sent one of his sons to lead it in his place. When his son arrived, the leaders of the rebels tried to talk to him first in the hopes of avoiding a battle, which would have killed many people on both sides. The prince listened to their complaints and made promises in his father’s name. He told them that if they disbanded the army, they would be heard and their problems would be solved. The rebels listened . . . and they believed him because he swore an oath of honor in the king’s name. The young prince suggested that both armies disband at the same time. The soldiers would go home and no one would be injured or killed. Do you know what happened next, Owen?”

  “No,” he said. He had never heard this story before.

  “The prince sent his captain out, but he did not disband his army. They waited until the other army was disbanded and the soldiers were leaving. Then they hunted down what remained of the rebels and started killing them as they escaped. The leaders were all taken to the river and drowned because they were wearing heavy armor. This is a sad story, is it not, Owen?”

  Owen’s heart had filled with horror. “But . . . but . . . the prince lied!”

  Ankarette nodded, her expression sad. “That is the way of princes and power, Owen. That is the nature of the kingdom of Ceredigion. In truth, it is the nature and disposition of most men. So think on this. If you were one of the rebel leaders and the prince promised you forgiveness and reward, it would matter, very much, if you had discernment. He needed to make a decision based on what type of man he believed the prince to be. Was he a man of honor? Or was he willing to say anything, do anything to help his father keep his crown?” She folded her hands together. “That is why discernment is the most important thing you can learn, Owen. It takes time and experience. Sadly, one wrong judgment can lead to . . . well, you heard the end of the story.”

  Owen had no doubt that King Severn was like the prince who had so ruthlessly killed his enemies. He had made Owen promises and promptly broken them. He would say or do anything to maintain his power. Maybe that’s what Ankarette was trying to teach him.

  She smoothed her silk skirts. “Why don’t you go back? Jewel will awaken soon and then you can have some supper. I hope to see you later tonight.”

  He smiled and rose, feeling little tingles in his feet from the way he had been sitting. He gave her a hug—she liked it when he did—and she patted his back and kissed his cheek.

  “You really are a darling little boy,” she whispered, grazing her finger down his cheek.

  “Have you thought of a way yet?” he pressed.

  “No, but I have some ideas. I’ll keep thinking as I work.” She reached for her needles and embroidery.

  Owen went back down the narrow stairwell and slipped down the secret corridors. He found Jewel in the room, still snoring softly. He waited a moment, listening to her breathing, and then grabbed a book and read it until she awakened with a fitful snort.

  “I’m hungry,” Owen said, slamming the book shut and putting it away. “I’ll meet you at the kitchen.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he dashed out of the room, hearing her scold and chide him as he went. “Wait for my old bones, lad! Wait a moment! Owen Satchel, you get back here! Owen!”

  As he rushed around the corner, he collided with Dunsdworth, who was coming the other way. The older boy grunted, “Watch where—oh, it’s you! Kisky!” He seized Owen’s arm, clearly intent on giving him bruises.

  Owen, almost without thinking, grabbed Dunsdworth’s little finger and yanked backward. It was something Ankarette had taught him about the body and its weak points. The little finger wasn’t easy to grab, especially if someone was expecting it, but Dunsdworth wasn’t. He yelped in pain and surprise and released his grip. Free, the wiry little boy started running toward the kitchen.

  “You little urchin!” Dunsdworth bellowed, starting after him at a run.

  Owen’s stomach twisted with fear as he ran down the corridor, cursing himself for not having waited for Jewel. It was a long way to the kitchen, and Dunsdworth’s legs were much longer.

  Owen ducked around a side corridor. If he could reach the end without being seen, he could vanish through a secret door. The sound of his pursuer’s boots grew louder.

  “Come back here, little snot!”

  Owen’s feet were going so fast he almost wasn’t touching the tiles. He could feel the vibrations of the pounding behind him. He wondered if he had enough time to trip the latch. But what if Dunsdworth saw him? How would he explain his secret knowledge?

  Worry and fear mixed in his bowels.

  Panicked with indecision, he veered around the corner and nearly slammed into someone. He caught himself just in time, but a firm and sturdy hand grabbed his shoulder. He twisted around in fear just as Dunsdworth came barreling around the corner, his face twisted with rage.

  “Hold there!” Duke Horwath scolded. “Look at you two, racing about.”

  Dunsdworth’s face was red and he was panting. “Lord Horwath!” he stammered as he stumbled to a stop. “I was . . . just . . . trying to catch him . . . he stole something from me.”

  Horwath’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was obvious he didn’t believe it for a moment. “Get you gone,” he snarled at Dunsdworth. The lad’s ruddy cheeks paled and he turned on his heel and fled.

  Owen had not seen the duke for weeks, and had not expected him to return to Kingfountain so soon. He tried to
stammer out his thanks, but his tongue swelled in his mouth and he could say nothing. Frustrated with himself, he wiped sweat from his forehead.

  “I just came from the kitchen,” the duke said gravely. “I was surprised you weren’t there. Everyone says that’s your favorite haunt.”

  Owen bobbed his head, but he still couldn’t speak. His jaw was locked and he had no key to open it.

  “I brought someone to be a playmate for you. I brought my granddaughter from the North with me.”

  Horwath’s mouth bent into an affectionate smile.

  Oh no, Owen thought darkly.

  I have learned a great deal from Ankarette so far. In return, she asks me for information that is circulating among the Espion. Trivial things, really. She does not want any information that would jeopardize my position. It seems she has been away from court events for several years. I’m curious as to why she’s making an appearance now. Perhaps she intends to poison the king. That would not be a loss, and the people would thank her for it. He may be beloved in the North, but the people of Kingfountain believe he’s a monster. Ankarette wants gossip about the noble families. Like the Duke of Kiskaddon, for example. I told her the king is using the Espion to trick Kiskaddon into betraying himself by revealing his involvement with the enemy at Ambion Hill. Little things like that. Oh, and we have a newcomer to the kitchen now. Horwath’s granddaughter. She’s a water sprite if ever there was one! Very obnoxious, never stops talking. It’s going to be a pleasure tormenting her.

  —Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen