by Jeff Wheeler
There was a deep, troubled sigh. “Very well, my lady. Is it true that you were hung from a gibbet? That is the legend anyway. That you survived?”
“It wasn’t a gibbet,” she answered softly. “It was a waterfall.”
It is a dangerous thing to try and grasp a snake by the tail. If you are not fast enough, it will bite you. If you are too fast, you will kill it. If it is dead, you cannot harvest its venom or use it to frighten someone else. I wish I were ten years younger. My hands are trembling.
—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wizr
There was a little space beneath the stone steps of the tower where Owen hid himself as Mancini and Berwick descended from Ankarette’s room. He was as quiet as a mouse, listening to their conversation as they passed. Mancini was winded from the descent, but he was bubbling with queries and intrigue like a stew pot.
“And how did she lull you into service?” Mancini wheedled. “I never would have guessed you were part of her ring.”
Berwick’s reply was thick with sarcasm. “Isn’t that the point? No, I’ll be thrushed, man. She’s a cunning one, but caring too. Hooked me like a fish in my heart pulp. Me daughter’s womb was thick with twin bairns. The birthing was like moore than not to kill ’er and the babes. Ankarette is a midwife. Not only does she knoow all the poisons, but she also knoows all the remedies of feverfew and hypericum. She helped my lass, and the twins survived. She did it without me begging. She only said she might need a favor. And she did, and she does, and soo I am loyal to her more than the king. Because the king would have shrugged and let them all die. But the king’s brother was king back then, and he cared about a butler and his family. He told his wife and she told her poisoner. And soo help came. I thaynk her for it.”
“But she’s using you, man, surely you see that?” Mancini’s voice was low but sharp.
“Aye. But instead of years of grief, she’s given me years of glee. That’s worth something to a man with gray hairs like me. Spying and sneaking is not about coins. Coins can be stolen. They can be lost. But good memories . . . aye, they be the stuffings in the pie.”
“That made no sense to me,” Mancini grumbled.
“I’m surprised it did not, considering your girth,” Berwick teased.
“My girth and I are boon companions, thank you. I eat so that I don’t have to remember. The past is pain and best forgotten. Tomorrow is a day that may never see the sun. There is only now. I’m hungry, Berwick. I’m going to the kitchen.”
“You do that,” Berwick said with a laugh, and Owen heard the sound of a hand clapping against a back. The two ambled off down a side tunnel, their voices growing distant. The boy scampered up the stairs again.
When he entered the tower room, Ankarette was leaning against a table, gripping its edge with one hand and holding her stomach, as if she might vomit, with the other. Sweat trickled down her cheek and she breathed in and out quickly. Owen shrank with worry.
Some of her hair had straggled down from its braided nest, and when she turned her gaze on him, he could see the suffering in her eyes.
A tender smile twitched on her mouth. “Hello, Owen,” she said, lips tight with suppressed pain. “Our little plan worked. So far. Tell me how it went.” She took a hesitant step toward her bed, looking almost like a puppet dangling on strings.
Owen walked up and reached for her hand, but she rested it on his shoulder instead. She leaned her weight against him, but it was not burdensome.
“Thank you,” she whispered, using Owen as a crutch as she hobbled to her bedside. Once they reached the bed, she seated herself delicately on the edge and folded her hands in her lap. She blinked a few times, and then her face looked peaceful and serene. She looked like herself again, pretty and gentle and caring, but his heart cringed in pain at the evidence he’d seen of her suffering.
“Are you very sick?” he asked.
“I am a little tired tonight,” she said dismissively. “That is all. Tell me about what happened. The palace was buzzing like a beehive today!”
Owen quickly related what he had done and how he had summoned the courage to tell the king about his “dream.” She listened attentively, waiting for him to finish the story before asking questions.
“How did Ratcliffe look?” she pressed.
“He looked frightened. Like he was scared of me.”
“He’s not scared of you, Owen,” she said. “He’s scared for himself. His first fear is that someone in the Espion has betrayed him. Which is what has happened. He will seek to discover who it is, but I don’t think we’ll have any trouble outmaneuvering him. What about the king? How did he look?”
“Almost . . . pleased,” Owen answered. “He seemed to like me for the first time.”
Ankarette nodded with satisfaction. “It is rare for a young boy to demonstrate aptitude with the Fountain. It bodes well for the king if he is able to find people who are Fountain-blessed to serve him. This is what I suspect will happen next. Ratcliffe will keep you on a shorter leash. He’ll start leaking information to different spies to see if your next dream reveals it. Then he’ll know which Espion betrayed him. That’s what most people without vision would do. What you will reveal in your next dream is something Ratcliffe doesn’t even know yet.” She grinned playfully. “It may take several attempts for us to win the king’s trust completely. Do you understand now what the dream meant?”
Owen was amazed at her level of thinking. He would never have been able to come up with such an idea on his own. “I think so. Lord Asilomar’s badge was the clue.”
She nodded affectionately and reached out and took his hand. “I need rest, Owen. Mancini will help us with the next clue.”
“I know,” Owen said shyly. “I heard him from the hall.”
“I’m glad you did,” she answered with a wink. “You were clever to stay hidden. The next clue will be tricky because it may not come in the night. You must be ready to act quickly. Like before, you won’t know what it means. Just trust the words I tell you. Each is chosen deliberately. There may be many more deaths in the near future. The king defeated his enemies at Ambion Hill, but he is still unsure of his throne. He now has absolute power in the realm, and his enemies at home are quaking with fear that what happened to Lord Asilomar is just the beginning.”
“I wanted to ask you something,” Owen said. “I want to tell Evie about our secret.” He bit his lip, looking at her worriedly. “I think she would help us. The only reason I had enough courage to speak to the king was because she was with me.”
Ankarette’s expression hardened. It was almost imperceptible, but Owen knew her well enough to notice the tightening around her eyes and the little dip in her smile.
“I see,” she said softly, then looked down at her hands, which still held his. Owen could tell she was thinking very hard, very quickly. After a long pause, she squeezed his hand lightly and peered into his eyes.
“It is difficult for you, for anyone, to keep a secret,” she said in a very serious tone. Then she released his hand and tapped her own heart with her fingers. “A secret squirms inside of us. Like a chick wanting to be free of its egg. Or a moth quivering inside a cocoon. Secrets want to be told, don’t they?”
He stared at her, not sure if she was pleased with him or not. Her serious manner made him fear he had made a mistake. “Yes,” he agreed, because he did want to tell Evie. Especially considering the way she had reacted to his dream. It felt . . . dishonest keeping it from her.
She reached and put her hand on his shoulder. “You want to tell her because you feel a sense of loyalty toward her. She is your friend, your playmate. She is pretty and she is kind. You two share confidences. But remember the nature of secrets, Owen. If you share yours, it will stop wriggling inside your chest. And it will start wriggling inside hers. Secrets always want to come out. She feels loyalty to you. That is clear. But is her loyalty to you greater than her loyalty to her grand
father?” She raised her eyebrows. “Who has she known longer? Who has shown her more love and devotion?”
She sighed deeply and dropped her hand back into her lap. Then she looked at him with her luminous eyes, her gaze imploring. “When you share a secret, Owen, you take a great risk. I am who I am, I became who I became, because I don’t share secrets very easily. I make sure I can trust someone fully before I do. I have trusted Mancini with only a portion of my plan. The same with Berwick. I need to tell them things in order to accomplish my goal, but either one of them could betray us. Before you share the truth with Lady Mortimer, I need to know if I can trust her. That means I must meet her and look her in the eyes. I must discern her. That is a risk, of course, but I am willing to take it if it will help you have courage.”
Owen nodded firmly, understanding what she meant. “I trust you, Ankarette Tryneowy,” he said. “I also trust her. I think . . . I think she’s like us.”
“Then watch for me in the kitchen,” Ankarette said, stroking the white patch of hair above Owen’s ear.
The next morning in the great hall, Owen found that his world had changed overnight. When he and Evie walked into the room, he noticed that attendance in the hall had increased dramatically. There were noble families there who had never attended the king’s breakfasts before. Fathers and mothers with children clustering around their legs. Hushing noises heralded his entrance and people eyed him with open curiosity and interest. Additional food had been gathered to the trestle tables—huge trays of fried bacon, muffins, breads and cheeses, vines of grapes, and green pears.
The commotion subsided for only a moment and then people began talking again, wondering aloud if the lad had had any more dreams. Owen had predicted the fall of House Asilomar. People wanted to know if another family would be named.
“They are like carrion birds,” Evie whispered disdainfully in his ear. “They want to peck at the lands and farms that will be left behind if other traitors are named. Where were they all before?”
The rumble of voices quieted when the king entered, with Lord Horwath at his side holding a wooden crate in his arms.
“I wonder what that is,” Evie said curiously, nudging Owen’s ribs.
The king slowed when he saw the multitude in attendance. He cast his gaze around the crowd, looking perplexed, but then understanding seemed to dawn on his face. “Ah!” he said in a loud, strong voice. “My meals have suddenly become very . . . popular! Well, I cannot give credit to the excellent cooking, which has gone unchanged for years. I cannot give credit to myself, because I am, as you all know, a rough soldier and not a gallant with fine plumes in my cap. Black suits me best, I think. No, you are not here for the tasty treats. You are here because of a little boy.” He sneered at them, his expression full of disdain. “Thank you all, my lords and ladies, for gracing us with your presence this morning. I will not send you all away, although I am tempted! The palace has ever been a place to assemble and gather. Eat! Do not let this mountain of a meal go to waste! Eat! And may your guts sicken of it before mine does.”
He waved his hand in a sweeping gesture, granting those in attendance permission to begin the meal. The children sprang from their parents’ legs and quickly mobbed the table, which seemed funny to Owen, especially since he knew the king was not the only one who feared the morning feast might be poisoned. The king quickly picked out his meal, joining the melee of children. He chuckled to himself as one of the tables was almost overturned by the crowd.
“Hold there, Bowen! There is enough for all! If the table breaks, my hounds will snarl and snap at the food too! You are all a bunch of greedy hounds! Why, Lady Marple, do you hesitate to join the feast? You let your son gorge himself quickly enough. Lord Tanner . . . a pleasure truly! Why, I do not think you have darkened this hall since my coronation. Why so solemn, sir? What has changed?”
The king seemed to take a perverse delight in tormenting everyone. As he flung his barbs and jests around the hall, Owen could hear the faint trickling sound of water, as if a cup were being filled. The king’s elation only grew with the increased number in attendance. His eyes were almost feverish with delight as he made his way through the crowd. His tongue was like the knife at his belt, always sharp and always sudden, ready to strike at any opportunity.
Owen grabbed some food himself, feeling uncomfortable with the knowledge that Ankarette’s scheme—and his part in it—had prompted the change.
“Well, my little lord Kiskaddon!” the king suddenly said, calling attention to Owen in front of all the gathered feasters. “Look what you have done. I am sure many came here to see if you had another dream last night. But that could not have happened, or else you would have fetched me right away. But please put these miserable creatures out of their discomfort.”
Owen shook his head, and he could see the looks of disappointment, the crestfallen glances. Parents began summoning their children to them, scolding them for indulging in the feast.
Many began to retreat from the room. The king ridiculed them. “How quick you are to leave, Lord Bascom! Lady Tress, please don’t snap a garter in your haste to flee! There are crumbs left on the plates still! Look at them,” he said in an undertone, mockingly. “Look how they run.” Then he glanced back at Owen and snapped his fingers, so suddenly and so loud that Owen flinched.
The commotion in the hall quelled in an instant.
“Lord Horwath, if you would,” the king said dramatically. Some of those who were fleeing halted, seemingly intrigued by his announcement. The king folded his arms imperiously, his look contented and smug. Although his shoulders were crooked, the way his arms were folded made him look regal, impressive.
Lord Horwath approached Owen with the wooden box. He dropped to one knee in front of his granddaughter and Owen, and set the box down on his angled leg. Then, with a weather-beaten hand, he lifted the top of the wooden box.
“Ooohh!” Evie cooed with delight.
It was a Wizr set, the most beautiful one Owen had ever seen. The tiles were violet and white, like Ankarette’s, made of stone. The gleaming pieces were carved and polished out of matching colors, resting in little felt nooks along the edges of the box. Owen stared at it breathlessly.
“I promised you a Wizr set,” the king said with a twist in his voice. “I ordered this to be made and it recently arrived from Brugia. I was only looking for the opportunity to gift it to you, boy.” Owen pried his gaze away from the dazzling pieces and stared at the king in confusion. This was no ordinary Wizr set. It was one meant for a king.
Severn’s eyes were full of meaning. “It is my gift to you, Owen. When I make a promise, I honor it. And I expect the same in return.”
The children in the room shuffled forward to look at the expensive, custom-made pieces. Even Dunsdworth stared at it hungrily. It was clear he had never been favored by the king before.
Owen felt a guilty smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s play!” Evie gasped, her interest in the game miraculously renewed.
Ratcliffe is shrewd. He doesn’t believe the boy is Fountain-blessed at all. It’s too suspicious, too convenient. He is on the hunt, like a wolf searching for a promising scent. I think he wants to destroy the boy. There is anger in his eyes. If the poisoner isn’t careful, the lad might end up like the princes. Wasn’t it the last head of the Espion who had the two boys murdered?
—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lord Dunsdworth
The novelty of the new Wizr set had galvanized the kitchen, which was almost as bustling as it had been the day Owen had predicted the fall of House Asilomar. The Wizr set was pristine, polished to a glassy shine, and each piece was thick and handcrafted. Owen’s satchel remained undisturbed while the king’s gift dominated.
Owen was careful as he showed Evie some of the strategies Ankarette had taught him. It wasn’t fun playing someone who could be defeated so easily, but she was more eager to learn w
ith a new set, and she had found new relish in the idea of defeating adults in a game meant for them.
“How did you learn all of these moves?” she asked him in wonderment, and Owen felt the wriggling moth of the secret in his chest again. His lips burned to tell her, but he remained silent.
“I’ve always loved Wizr,” he said, completing a series of movements to win the game.
“Do you know why they call the game Wizr?” she asked, as they both began to settle the pieces back to the starting position.
He nodded and quickly explained the origin of the term.
“I wish Myrddin was real,” she said with a sigh. “Some people say it’s just a story. There aren’t any true Wizrs anymore. But I like to imagine that Wizrs are real, that the Fountain truly can bless people with magic. There are so many stories, some of them must be true. Like with you,” she said slyly. They stared at the board and started another game.
“Your Highness, so lovely to see you,” Liona said. Her voice was one of many in the background, but Owen had especially cunning hearing. He jerked his head up and saw Princess Elyse speaking softly to Liona. He had not spoken to her in a while and his heart sighed wistfully, remembering how gently she had welcomed him to the palace. He felt tenderness toward her and hoped she would stop to greet him.
“Why are you staring at her?” Evie asked with a taunting voice. “She’s so beautiful. I wish my hair was gold like hers, not dark as wood. She’s very lovely, Owen. You should admire her. She’s ten years older than us and she still doesn’t have a husband. I pity her, truly. Her last betrothed was killed at Ambion Hill by the king. Did you know that? My grandpapa told me about it. He led the vanguard.”
At her words, Owen felt worry and regret. Perhaps Ankarette was right, and Evie would not be able to keep a secret from her grandfather. Maybe it was not fair to ask it of her.
