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

by Jeff Wheeler

  “He’s claimed sanctuary,” Ratcliffe interjected, shouldering his way into the conversation. The look of resentment on his face was implacable. “There is nothing that can be done except guard the gates and wait for him to try and slip away. He’ll hunker down there for months to try and lull us—”

  “This may be presumptuous,” Mancini said delicately, interrupting Ratcliffe, “but I have a suggestion.”

  The king chuckled and put a hand on Ratcliffe’s shoulder. “Let’s hear him out.”

  “Your Grace, let me speak with him first. It would—”

  “This is where you lack in understanding,” the king cut him off. “When you fear having underlings who are better than you, you drive away the most capable men. If you claim credit for their efforts, they resent you. Too often, you keep your Espion to yourself. This man clearly doesn’t lack in ambition or presumption. Let him speak. Trust me, Dickon. I have my own opinions and always will. What is your advice, Mancini?”

  Owen saw a fleeting smile on Mancini’s mouth, but it was gone faster than a blink. “My lord, the master who trained me put it this way. Men ought either to be indulged or utterly destroyed. If you merely offend them, they take vengeance. If you injure them greatly, they are unable to retaliate, so the injury done to a man ought to be such that vengeance cannot be feared. There are ways of removing people from sanctuary. I know men there who would . . . how shall I say this delicately . . . ?”

  “Then don’t say it delicately,” the king said with a snort.

  “I know men who would pizzle in the Fountain of Our Lady if you gave them a coin. If you say the word, my lord, Master Tunmore will be groveling before you in time for supper.”

  The king brooded on Mancini’s words.

  “The risk is too great,” Ratcliffe hissed. “If the people found out . . .”

  “The people are always supposing one thing or another,” Mancini said with a shrug.

  “I like him,” the king said. “But I will not give you the order. Not yet. What is your current assignment, Mancini?”

  Owen stared at him, seeing the change unfold before his eyes. The king didn’t even realize that Mancini was part of Ankarette’s plot to deceive him. Ratcliffe had the king’s trust, but he had lost his confidence. Mancini was seen as having the capability to lead the Espion, but he was not trustworthy.

  “An important role, I assure you,” Mancini said stiffly, rocking on his heels. “I’m overseeing the custody of that little boy. The one who has been listening in on this very conversation.” He gave Owen a little wave.

  The king turned and saw Owen and Evie hovering just behind his sight. Severn looked at Owen with surprise . . . and could that be approval?

  “A timely coincidence,” the king said. “Owen, you will join us when we leave tomorrow for Tatton Hall. We ride at first light. Be ready.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The Assizes

  It was after darkfall and most of the kitchen had emptied, except for Liona and Drew, Berwick and Mancini, and Owen. Duke Horwath had taken his granddaughter with him earlier to another room in the palace for some reason. The boy’s stomach was twisting with confused feelings as he considered how it would be to return to Tatton Hall. To soothe himself, he had been stacking an elaborate series of tiles for hours as he listened to the conversations ebb and flow in the kitchen. All anyone would talk about was the king’s decision to hold the Assizes in the West.

  Evie had explained to him, since he did not know, that the Assizes was the annual event at which the king’s justice was administered. Formal charges of treason would be debated by the lord justices of the realm, and Evie’s grandfather, Duke Horwath, had been named the chief justice and would be presiding over the evidence and the court. While the lords and earls would offer recommendations to the king, it was King Severn who would decide the guilt and punishment meted out by the Assizes.

  “I don’t see why I can’t just ride in a wagon,” Mancini complained to Berwick. “It is not healthy for a man to get too much exercise.”

  Berwick snorted with derision. “The king said yoo’d ride at first light, and you will. I’ve heard the stable master has fetched old Ribald from the mews to seat you, Mancini. It’s the only broot big enough, I think. But you’re like as not to bounce off!”

  “My parts are very tender,” Mancini replied, holding his paunch. “I haven’t ridden horseback in years. A wagon would suit me just fine, Berwick. Come now, you’re the butler. Surely you can arrange something?”

  “My advice to you is to stop drinking sack wine from the cellars and start riding more horses,” Berwick replied sardonically.

  “I don’t want your advice. I want a cart! A wagon! Something!”

  “Pfah! You’d best be doown in the courtyard before the cock crows. It may take the drawbridge winch to get you seated, but seat you we will. I have enough troubles of my own.” He waved the spy aside. “Liona—the stable hands have provender for the beasts, but the king will be eating his breakfast in the saddle.”

  “I thought of that and will have something ready—”

  “No need. He’ll stop for a pie from a local vendor as he rides out. Keep carting in water to refill the cistern. It won’t rain for another month, at the least, but the king plans to winter away from Kingfountain. Time to put things in order, dismiss the extra staff, and prepare to hunker down for the snows.”

  Liona’s husband, Drew, coughed into his fist. “There is a stock of firewood already prepared for the winters and a few more trees to cut down, besides. We’ll be ready in case His Majesty changes his mind.”

  “Good man,” Berwick said with a sniff.

  “Now really, Master Berwick,” Mancini said in a whining voice.

  “I dun’t wunt to hear it, man! I’ve got troubles enough of my own! An entire household to move, and only a fortnight to move it in. We thought the Assizes would happen at Kingfountain, but there’s been a change and now we all must obey. Be there before the cock crows, man. Dress warmly.”

  Mancini scowled. “I’ll remember this, Berwick. Don’t think that I won’t.”

  “Aye, I grant you will. Any more threats from you, and the staff will forget your feathered mattress. Or to empty your filthy chamber pot. Beware who you threaten, Mancini. Now I’m off.” He glanced at Owen, fidgeted a moment as if he wanted to say something, then nodded curtly and stalked out of the kitchen.

  Drew came over and tousled the boy’s hair. “I’ll miss you, Owen. Everyone talks about you, you know, even outside the palace. The people know that you’re Fountain-blessed. It will count for something.” His look was tender and sympathetic, which made Owen worry even more about what would happen at Tatton Hall. After giving a little pat to Owen’s shoulder, Drew left the kitchen. It was late, and Liona had already concealed the tray with Ankarette’s dinner, but she stayed in the kitchen to do some final tidying.

  Suddenly the noise of footsteps rushing down the hall stairs broke the quiet of the room. Evie came running in, her dark hair wild, tearstains on her pink cheeks. Her nose was dripping and she wiped it on her sleeve. It was already past time for her to be abed and he hadn’t seen her in hours. She looked frantic and worried, and the sight of her upset made Owen tremble with concern.

  In moments, she was kneeling at his side and pulling him into a frantic hug, half sobbing on his shoulder.

  “What happened?” Owen said, pulling back a bit to look at her face.

  Her green-gray-blue eyes were filled with tears. “Grandpapa says I can’t . . . can’t come to the Assizes!” she wailed. “He’s sending me back North! Owen! This isn’t fair! I want to be there when you see your parents. I want to help give you courage when you face the king! Owen!” Her face crumpled with misery and she grabbed his hands, squeezing them so hard it hurt.

  He hadn’t imagined that she wouldn’t be going with him. Dread flooded him from head to foot. This would make it all so much worse.

  “Grandpapa said,” she sniffled, “that
you’ll be riding with him, as you did when you came here. He doesn’t want me to see . . . not after Papa . . . Owen! What are they going to do with you?”

  Owen felt tears in his own eyes. He’d never seen her so vulnerable.

  “Not after Papa. I can’t lose you, not you too!” Her fingers tightened, their knuckles locking together. “We’re to be married. I thought that’s why Grandpapa brought me here. But he said . . . he said no. That the king might send your entire family over the falls.” She hung her head, sobbing uncontrollably. “It’s not fair! You didn’t betray the king at Ambion Hill. It wasn’t your fault! Owen, I couldn’t bear it! Losing Papa was hard enough. I’ve tried so hard to be brave, but I can’t lose you too! And I won’t even be there to see what happens to you! This isn’t fair!” she shrieked.

  Liona had rushed over to them, and began clucking and cooing softly as she wrapped her arms around Evie’s shoulders. “There, there, my little girl. There, there. Shhhh! You must be brave. We must all be brave. Ankarette will help. You’ll see. You’re upsetting Owen, lass.”

  Owen felt his own tears streaming down his cheeks. His longing for his parents had been like an underground stream in his time at the palace—an undercurrent to all his other emotions, even though he resented them for letting him go, even though he had formed attachments to other people. But seeing Evie’s grief made him feel selfish and stupid. He’d never even talked to her about her own troubles for more than a moment. And what she was saying . . . well, it was as if he and his family were suspended over the edge of a waterfall. They could go under in an instant.

  The sound of boots came again, sturdier and heavier, and Owen recognized the set as her grandfather’s and Ratcliffe’s. Both men entered the kitchen together, one looking somber and grave, the other looking betrayed and aggrieved when he caught sight of Mancini.

  “No!” the girl shrieked when she saw her grandfather. She looked betrayed and miserable, yet she still had her spark of defiance and iron will. “I’m going too!”

  Ratcliffe sighed at the spectacle of emotion. He snorted to himself and folded his arms over his big chest, giving Horwath a pitying look. “You deal with the water sprite. That’s your concern.”

  Horwath’s brow furrowed. “She’s my granddaughter. Mind that.” Horwath approached slowly, as if she were a skittish horse ready to bolt.

  “It’s not fair, Grandpapa!” she wailed. She tugged on Owen’s arm, as if he were the anchor that would prevent her from being swept away.

  “Come, Lady Mortimer,” Liona said. “Don’t shame your grandfather. Obey him.”

  She rounded on Liona as if she were an enemy. “My mother is Lady Mortimer,” she said passionately, with a hint of malice. “I am Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer!”

  “Come,” Duke Horwath said tenderly, kneeling down by the bench. He held out his hand to her, palm up, entreatingly.

  “Is Owen going to die?” she squeaked, her voice full of sorrow. She looked up at her grandfather, tears spilling from her eyes.

  The duke had a brave face, stern and calm, but his eyes were full of pain. He glanced at Owen and then back at his granddaughter. “I know not,” he whispered.

  That made it even worse. A black hole seemed to have opened up below Owen, threatening to swallow him. He remembered when he had first come to Kingfountain, riding behind the duke on his horse. The sense of abandonment, the loneliness, the fear of speaking to anyone.

  “Come, lass,” Duke Horwath prodded gently, his hand poised to accept hers.

  She stared at her grandfather, unable to resist his gentleness. He wouldn’t force her. But if she did not obey him, a man born to rule, there would be consequences. There would be freedoms revoked. Perhaps even estrangement. Owen saw the battle in her eyes, the guilt and anguish in her quivering pout.

  She finally stood and took her grandfather’s hand. Ratcliffe snorted to himself and strode from the kitchen first. Owen thought his heart was going to break as he watched Evie start away from him. She glanced back once, her lips trembling. Liona, who was wiping her own eyes, patted Owen’s shoulder comfortingly as another tear rolled down to the tip of his nose.

  Then suddenly Evie did something that startled them all. She grabbed her grandfather’s dagger from his belt and yanked it loose. Then she pulled her hand free and marched back to Owen. Using her empty hand, she took the braid she had woven on the side of her head, the one with the white feather stuck in it, and sawed through the hair before anyone could stop her.

  She dropped the dagger and then gave Owen a final hug, pressing her moist lips to his cheek, thrusting the severed braid into his hands.

  “Be brave!” she hissed defiantly into his ear. Gone was the misery and despair. When she pulled back, her eyes burned into his with urgency, a will strong enough to crash into his own and topple his pieces. She squeezed the braid into his hands, her fingers digging deep into his flesh. Her lips were taut and fierce. She was wild with emotion.

  Then she kissed him one more time, turned, and marched back to her grandfather, kicking the dagger with her boot to send it clattering across the kitchen. Even Mancini stared at her in awe and respect as she left.

  Ratcliffe hates me, it’s clear enough to see. His power is ending and another will rise to take his place. Myself, if all goes well. When a man is tottering on a ledge, sometimes a little push is all that’s needed. He said the Espion will be gathering at Holywell Inn when we reach Beestone. He told me because he did not believe I would be able to keep up with the others. I have no intention of keeping up with the others. He also implied there is news about the Kiskaddons—both of the brat’s parents—in Tunmore’s book. If only I could get my hands on it to learn what it was. I have no doubt that Ankarette will expect me to steal it. If she hasn’t already done so herself.

  —Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Weakness

  After dark, it was only Owen and Mancini in the kitchen. The dim light in the room came from the flickering coals in the bread ovens and a single lantern hanging from a hook. Owen had finished building his masterpiece, but he did not want to knock it over. He felt that if the tiles did not fall, perhaps he would not have to leave in the morning for the West. Perhaps he would not face his fate—and his family’s. He stroked the braid of hair, feeling its softness and warmth. The little white feather reminded him of the time Ratcliffe had stormed into the sea of swirling goose down they’d unleashed in Evie’s room. The memory of the feathers stuck to Ratcliffe’s head almost made him laugh. But not even that could make him smile more than fleetingly, given the gloom of his predicament.

  Mancini sat where he always sat, his hands over his belt, his boot tapping slowly to some song on the floor. He was waiting for Ankarette. He looked rather pleased with himself.

  “I’ve never really cared for children,” Mancini said, either to himself or Owen, while nibbling on a fingernail. “I would be a terrible father.”

  “I agree with you,” Owen said darkly, just loud enough for the big man to hear it.

  “My father used to whip me when I got my letters wrong. He was always pushing me to excel in languages, in law, in scholarship. I only wanted to please him.” He sniffed, shaking his head. “I only drink when I am bored, you know. When I lack things to engage my mind. I may return to Genevar when this is done. You would like it there, lad. There is lots of water for swimming. I used to swim.” He sighed again. “Maybe I should have just let you drown.”

  Owen felt his stomach squirm as he stared at the man. Their eyes finally met when Mancini glanced at him. Neither of them spoke.

  It was nearly midnight when she finally came.

  The secret door slid open and Ankarette emerged holding a candle, like she had done that first night months ago. Owen rose from his seated posture and walked over. She looked pale, drawn, and weary, almost as if the small weight of the candle was burdensome to her.

  “Did you get the book?” Mancini asked her,
a wry smile on his face.

  Ankarette shook her head and set the candle down. She ignored the tray of food completely. “The king is reading it right now. He read it all last night, too. He has hardly set it down.”

  Mancini grunted. “I suppose then that you want me to try and steal it.”

  Owen felt his insides twist with anger as he looked at the lazy spy.

  As if reading his thoughts, and perhaps she was, Ankarette gave him a sad, weary smile, and gently stroked his hair. She smelled like faded roses.

  “What’s going to happen?” Owen whispered. “They’re taking me home tomorrow, but I’m afraid to go.”

  She cupped his cheek. “I told you I would help you, Owen.”

  “You told me you would help me,” Mancini quipped. “I don’t know, boy. I think she’s out of tricks this time.” He grunted and huffed and made it to his feet ponderously. “If you couldn’t steal the book, how am I supposed to do it? Your game is about played out. There are too many pieces still on the king’s side of the Wizr board. Not enough on yours. Best to realize this one is over. You can’t save the boy.”

  Owen turned and gave Mancini a blistering look. But he saw the cunning in Mancini’s eyes. He was trying to provoke Ankarette into admitting or revealing something.

  A small smile flickered on her mouth. “You no longer want to help me then? You think you can step into Ratcliffe’s place on your own?”

  Mancini shrugged. “Actually, I do. The king pretty much dismissed him today. And what I know about foreign courts will be much more useful to him if all his enemies at home are dead.” He scratched the corner of his mouth.

  “His trust must be earned, Dominic,” Ankarette insisted. “He’s been betrayed too many times. You are Genevese. It would take something incredible to change his opinion of you. But I am helping you, as I said I would. I need a conversation with John Tunmore, but that can’t happen while he’s in sanctuary.”