The Queen's Poisoner (The Kingfountain Series Book 1) (19 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Secrets

It was a long fall. Longer than Owen had thought possible. He watched the water rush up, but it still felt like they were falling. The buzzing, giddy thrill in his stomach went all the way to his ears before the water splashed and they went under. It was like jumping into a giant blanket. The cold water closed over him, smothering him, until his swelling lungs buoyed him to the surface and he came up spluttering. As he thrashed around, terrified and thrilled, the water began to drain from his ears and he could hear the Mortimer girl giggling.

He wasn’t holding her hand anymore, but she was paddling right in front of him, her smile mischievous and full of pride that he had jumped too.

“Wasn’t that amazing!” she gasped, kicking the water to keep herself afloat. Owen’s tunic and pants were waterlogged, but he had no trouble treading water. Looking up, he stared at the huge hole overhead and the sunlight beaming down on them.

Owen nodded eagerly, feeling the lingering thrill in his blood. He would do that again. He would do it a hundred times.

“I told you it was fun,” she chided, splashing him lightly. “You’ll love jumping off the boulders by the waterfalls! This water isn’t even very cold.” She reached up and brushed away wet clumps of hair from her cheek. “You did it!”

Owen smiled shyly at her, knowing he never would have done it without her, then stared back up at the gaping octagonal hole above them. “We need to figure out how to get back up.”

“Look! A little boat!”

She was pointing to a series of stone steps leading up to a square. A small boat was sitting on the square, the oars poking over the ridge. The stairs continued up past the square, leading to a wooden door.

“It’s a way out!” Owen said, his heart gushing with relief. He observed that the door was about as high as the hole in the ceiling. They swam the short distance and discovered the staircase extended into the water. They were sopping wet and dripping, but that was no concern to them at all as they tromped up the stairs.

Before continuing, they stopped to examine the boat. It was a small canoe-shaped thing, big enough for maybe two adults. There was a pair of oars leaning upright in the interior. The wood was polished and well-worn.

Owen was wondering why a canoe was there, but then he saw that the cistern extended down quite a distance, probably underneath the entire length of the palace, which formed the roof of the cistern.

The Mortimer girl knelt by the canoe, rocking it slightly to see how sturdy it was before she followed Owen’s gaze across the shadowed waters.

“They keep this boat here so they can get to the other side without get
ting wet,” she said. “Come on, let’s check the door. I hope it isn’t locked.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him up the stone steps. The water still rippled and lapped against the lower steps, disturbed by their plummet from above. The noises echoed eerily in the dark cistern, making Owen look back and stare into the blackness.

The door was narrow and wedged into a brace of stone. There was a handle and an intricate locking mechanism that was not operated by a key. The Mortimer girl tugged on the handle, but the door held firm. Owen recognized the lock as an Espion design, one that needed to be released from the outside. He pushed her hands away from the handle and quickly examined the mechanism. In moments, he figured out the triggering part and released the latch.

“How did you . . . ?” she stammered in amazement, staring at him with open admiration.

He shrugged and said nothing, not wanting to reveal anything Ankarette had taught him about the ways of the Espion. The door took some pulling to open and they saw a weave of ivy blocking the way, which explained why they hadn’t seen the door while they were in the courtyard beyond. The mouth of the cistern was not far away.

“I’m jumping again!” she declared, and rushed out the door. He followed her and then watched as she rushed up to the edge and made her jump. He could hear the squeal before the splash sounded below him.

Owen’s heart hammered with nervousness. He had done it once. He could do it on his own.

“Come on down!” she called to him. “I’m out of the way!”

He stared at the hole, pursed his lips, and then marched up to it. He stared down, his stomach wrenching violently as he stared down at the drop. There she was, paddling just outside the fringe of light in the shadowy waters, gazing up at him, her face beaming.

Owen counted in his heart. One. Two.

He stopped before thinking three and just jumped.

It was even more fun the second time, and he cut through the water like a knife, plunging through the depths. He went down all the way to the bottom until he felt the stone of the floor. Bubbles streamed up around him and he opened his eyes.

And he saw casks of glittering jewels and coins. Strange jeweled scabbards and ropes of pearls covered the floor of the cistern. There was a battered shield, with a huge gouge on its polished surface. None of the metal was rusted. He saw glass vials with stoppers. He kicked off the floor and rose to the surface, spluttering with shock.

“You did it!” the Mortimer girl beamed. “I knew you weren’t too scared. I want to jump again!” She started swimming toward the steps.

“Wait!” he said, half choking and spitting out some water. “There’s . . .
there’s treasure!”

She turned midstroke and looked at him, confused. “What did you say?”

“Down at the bottom!” he said excitedly, paddling hard. “I saw it!”

She looked confused. “I can see the bottom, Owen. It’s just stone. Stop teasing.”

Owen stared down and could only see his reflection in the water. He plunged his head below the surface, blinking rapidly despite the pain in his eyes and the watery view. This time he saw nothing but stone and shadows.

He pulled his face up, dripping. “I saw something! I’m not teasing. When I jumped, I held my arms stiff and went all the way to the bottom. I opened my eyes and saw piles of treasure. There were swords!”

“Swords?” she asked in wonder. “Let me try it.” She swam to the steps and slogged up them, hiking up her skirts and pattering water like she was a raincloud. She marched back up to the door, which they had left ajar, and Owen moved away from the circle of light on the water. He wiped his face and waited for her shadow to appear above him.

He kept making circles in the water, paddling slowly to keep afloat despite the heavy feel of his soaked clothes. Then the Mortimer girl was plummeting again, spraying him with water when she struck the surface. She stayed down a long time. He could see her vague shape beneath the rippling waters. Then she was kicking toward the surface again.

When she broke the surface, she splashed water in his face. “You were teasing!” she said indignantly.

“No, I wasn’t!” Owen said angrily. He swam back to the steps himself, marched back up them, and returned to the hole. Water streamed from his hair into his face, and he left huge puddles that drained into the small channels leading to the opening of the cistern. The stone was painted with water droplets and wet shapes the size of feet.

He stood at the edge of the cistern, full of confidence this time. When he jumped back in, he held his body rigid again and allowed himself to sink down. He tried to keep his eyes open during the fall, but as soon as he struck the water, he shut them instinctively. Then his feet touched the floor. As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw the treasures nestled on the floor below. He tried swimming toward one of the chests, seeing a golden ring encrusted with gemstones. If he could grab it and bring it back to her, then she would believe him. But as he struggled, he felt himself floating up away from it, as if something were pulling at his foot. His lungs were burning for air.

He came up spluttering again.

Just like before, the treasure seemed to have disappeared when he looked down below.

The Mortimer girl was staring at him, looking concerned. “You . . . you aren’t teasing . . . are you?”

He shook his head, wanting to swim back down so he could prove it to her.

She grabbed his arm. “Let’s go, Owen. I don’t feel good about this. You were down a long time. I don’t want to drown. Let’s go.”

He felt a strong compulsion to swim to the bottom of the cistern again. Maybe if he let the air out of his lungs, he would be able to stay down longer? Or if he let out his breath before jumping, he could—

“Owen!” she said firmly, sharply. “Come on. We’ll get in trouble if we’re gone too long.” She reached out and gripped his shirt and pulled him toward the canoe. He had the urge to shove her away. There was treasure in the cistern. Maybe it was the king’s treasure. Was this where some of the fountain coins ended up after a wish was granted? His mind reeled with ideas and possibilities. He
wanted
to take some of the coins. Just a handful. And maybe one of the swords.

In his distraction, the Mortimer girl had managed to pull him back to the stone steps. There was water in his ears and marching up the stone made them feel strange and squishy. She was talking to him, but he could not understand her well. He was seized by the determination to jump back into the water and look again. Maybe he would come back tonight when she was asleep. Then he’d prove it to her.

“There
was
something down there,” Owen said sulkily.

She looked at him worriedly. “People drown all the time when they’re not careful, Owen. Even little babies can drown in a bucket. Come, let’s get dry.”

When the door shut behind them, Owen heard the click of the latch closing. This time he saw what he had previously missed—a small wire folded by a stone in the wall. It was the latch trigger; they could use the door from either side.

Then they lay down in the stone courtyard, the sun still high overhead. She squeezed the hem of her dress and he listened to the little sounds of the moisture being squished out. They lay, heads just touching, staring up at the blue sky, which had a few fleecy clouds.

“Don’t come back here without me,” she said quietly.

Owen wriggled his finger in his ear because of the tickling water. He ignored her request.

“Owen? Please don’t come back here without me. It isn’t safe to swim alone. My papa taught me that.”

“Why?” Owen challenged. “I’m a good swimmer.”

“So am I,” she said, sounding even more concerned. “But bad things can still happen. Please don’t come back here without me. Promise me.”

“Why do I have to?” he asked, frowning.

“Please, Owen. Promise me you won’t. If you say you won’t, I’ll believe you.”

He felt a darkness brooding in his heart. Resentment. Who was she to tell him what to do? “Will you promise me that you won’t?” he demanded.

“Of course!” she said. Then she turned over and got up on her knees so that she was looking down at him. Her eyes were the color of the cistern water now. She gave him a pleading look. “I promise you, Owen Kiskaddon, that I will not come here alone. This is
our
secret place. I won’t even tell my grandpapa that we found it. I promise you.”

Owen felt guilty now. He had made her promise and now he would have to do the same. He didn’t
want
to make the promise. She was always so open about what she thought and felt. Owen had not felt free since leaving Tatton Hall, and his entire life seemed shadowed with secrets.

“Please,” she begged, reaching out and taking his hand.

It hurt to be forced like this. But he gave way, as part of him knew he must. “I will,” he mumbled with a hint of regret. Why did she have to make things so difficult? “I promise you, Elysabeth
Victoria
Mortimer, that I won’t come here alone. This is
our
secret place.” Then he smirked. “I won’t tell your grandfather, either.” She seemed to grin and frown at the same time, which he knew was not possible, and added a shove as well.

“I promise,” he finished.

He stared into her eyes, those strange bewitching eyes.

Part of him wanted to go to the North with her to see the waterfalls she had described. To stand on the bridge overlooking the drop. What would it be like, he wondered, to go
over
the falls? It was a punishment given to those who broke sanctuary or broke troth to the king. His brother Jorganon had likely perished this way. He thought of the river rushing past Our Lady and the tumultuous falls just beyond. What would it feel like . . . ?

“Thank you,” the Mortimer girl said, and then leaned forward and kissed his cheek. She took his hand in hers.

“Can I call you something else?” he blurted out.

She looked confused. “Something else? What do you mean?”

He wasn’t sure how to say it, exactly, and he worried she would get upset. “It’s just that . . . well . . . your name is so
long
.”

“You don’t like my name?” Her eyes were wide with growing surprise.

“I
love
your name. I just don’t like saying it all every time I want to talk to you. You call me Owen. That’s short. I thought maybe I could call you something short, too. Just between us.”