The Queen's Poisoner (The Kingfountain Series Book 1) (23 page)

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 with 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.

She was oblivious to his inner turmoil. “There was fighting and arrows and crossbows. I wish I could have been there. I would love to learn how to fight, but they will not let ladies into the training yard. When you learn how to fight, you must
promise
to teach me. The king remained on the hill, watching as Grandpapa was losing the battle down below. Then he saw his enemy cross the field, unguarded. So the king took his household knights and they charged them. The king himself! I wish I had been there! They slammed into the rebels’ men and the king took down the standard-bearer with his own lance. His horse was cut down beneath him, but still he fought, surrounded only by his most loyal knights. And he struck down his enemy with his own sword. After he fell, the battle ended. There was no one left to fight for.” She sighed, fidgeting with a particular piece of the set. “Are you . . . afraid of going into battle?” she asked him.

Owen looked at her, perplexed. “I’m too young.”

“Not now, silly boy. When you are
older
. You start training when you are ten. It’s hard work, but I know I would love it. Like the Maid of Donremy at the siege of Lionn! When King Severn was young, he was sent to his uncle’s castle in the North to be trained in war.” She gave him an eager look. “Maybe the king will send
you
to the North! Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Owen Kiskaddon? Then we could have all the adventures we’ve talked about. Maybe Grandpapa would let me train too. Or you and I could do it in secret! It would be just like a dream.” She sighed contentedly.

Owen heard the sound of someone sitting on the bench next to them and felt the shadow spread over him. He smelled her—Ankarette. The scent like a rose pressed into the pages of a book. He glanced surreptitiously at her, feeling his stomach wriggling again. There were so many people around.

Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer lifted her head at the newcomer. She was completely unafraid of meeting new people, and it didn’t bother her in the least that an adult had come so close to their game. “Hello,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m Elysabeth
Victoria
Mortimer.”

“What a lovely name,” Ankarette said, returning the smile. “Please, don’t let me disturb your game.”

“We weren’t playing exactly,” Evie replied confidentially. “Owen is teaching me how to win. He’s very clever. Do you know who this is? He’s Owen Kiskaddon, the king’s ward. He’s my friend.” Her eyes crinkled as she reached out and squeezed Owen’s hand.

“I can tell you are very close,” Ankarette said, her smile warm and inviting.

“What is your name?” Evie asked.

Owen swallowed, wondering what the reply would be. His stomach was churning with the newness of the situation. Ankarette had never come down into the kitchen before when others were around. It made him worry for her safety.

“How thoughtful of you to ask,” Ankarette said with a winning smile. “I used to come here often, back when the queen dowager lived in the palace. There were always so many children running about back then. They had a large brood.”

Evie nodded. “She lives in the sanctuary of Our Lady now. How sad it must be to go from being a queen to being a prisoner in a sanctuary. My grandpapa says she is never going to come out. My grandpapa is Duke Horwath. Do you know him?”

“I do,” Ankarette answered. “You must love him a great deal.”

She nodded vigorously. “Oh yes. He is dear to my heart. I love my grandpapa. But he brought me here to Kingfountain to meet Owen.” She
patted his leg. “We’re going to be married, you know. He’s
Fountain-blessed
.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ankarette said smugly. “You best play your game. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I love playing Wizr myself.”

“Would you like to play with us?” Evie said. “What was your name again? I thought you had told me, but then I realized you hadn’t. You’re very pretty. I like how your hair is done up like that. It’s so beautiful. Mine isn’t long enough yet, but when I’m older, I will wear it like yours. What was your name?”

Another sound reached Owen’s ears, one that caused a jolt of alarm. It was Dunsdworth’s voice, and from the tone, he had come looking for trouble. Owen glanced at the door as the older boy came swaggering into the kitchen, disdainful of the crowds, and began elbowing his way over to the very corner where they sat.

Ankarette’s face went white. “I must go,” she whispered softly. Rising from the bench, she started away from them and headed toward the bread ovens. It was all happening so quickly, Owen could only take note of his own alarm and hers before Dunsdworth came close enough to see her. As
the older boy gazed upon Ankarette, his expression altered into recognition.

“You?” Dunsdworth said in shock and surprise. Ankarette took advantage of the commotion to try and slip away, but the boy barged through the crowd and cut her off.

“I think he knows her,” Evie said with concern. She rose, a frown forming on her lips. “Who was she?”

Dunsdworth’s face was livid with rage. “You . . . you’re alive? But how can this be? What trickery?”

So Dunsdworth knew Ankarette Tryneowy. He recognized her. The dread thickened inside Owen, almost choking him.

“I’m afraid you’re confused,” Ankarette said softly, trying to escape, but the young man barred her way and reached out to grab her arm. She deftly avoided the hand, retreating deeper into the kitchen. Owen knew she could easily best Dunsdworth, but this was not a contest of skill. Too much attention had already been directed at them.

If Ankarette were caught, Owen had no doubt she would be killed. It was
his
fault she had come down into the kitchen at all. He needed to help her. But how? His mind worked furiously to solve the problem. Then he felt a little gush bloom inside him, followed by a flowing sensation, and suddenly his mind was full of ideas. He saw all the possibilities laid out before him. And he acted.

He grabbed one of the Wizr pieces, jumped over the bench, and rushed toward Dunsdworth. Distract him. Draw him away so Ankarette could escape through the secret door.

“Look what the king gave me!” Owen said loudly. He rushed up to Dunsdworth and shoved the piece beneath his nose.

“Who cares about your toy!” Dunsdworth thundered, trying to shove Owen out of his way.

Owen thrust the piece into his face again. “It’s not a toy. It’s the king’s gift! You probably don’t even know
how
to play Wizr.”

The rebuke was enough to wrest Dunsdworth’s attention away from Ankarette. “Why would I care to play that silly game? Life is not like Wizr. Two pieces of stone aren’t two men, one trained more than the other.” He yanked the piece out of Owen’s hand and gave him a rough shove.

“That’s mine!” Owen shouted with pretended rage. “You’re jealous because the king gave me a gift and he only teases you. Give it back!” Owen grabbed Dunsdworth’s belt and yanked it hard to try and propel himself upward. As he yanked, his fingers began to deftly loosen the belt buckle. “It’s mine!”

“Give it back!” Evie shouted angrily. She had rushed up to them and was standing nearby, her fists clenched and her cheeks pale with anger. “It’s Owen’s!”

“Get off!” Dunsdworth barked. He waved the piece over his head with one hand and gave Owen a hard shove with the other, sending him crashing to the ground.

With Dunsdworth’s belt.

Without the belt, Dunsdworth’s pants dropped down to his ankles, revealing his linen braies, which were hitched up high. There was a spattering of laughter throughout the kitchen, but it was the tittering of the ladies that made the lad’s face turn purple. Owen’s arm hurt from landing on the hard tiles, but his plan had worked. Ankarette had used the commotion to slip away.

Suddenly Dunsdworth’s purple face twisted with wrath and revenge. He threw down the piece and leaped on top of Owen. Snatching his belt, he started to thrash the smaller boy with vigor.

The explosion of pain made Owen gasp in shock and roll into a ball like a ticklebug.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Evie shrieked, launching herself at Dunsdworth like a cat. She yanked his hair and clawed at him in a frenzy. Freed from the onslaught for a moment, Owen could only look on in awe, surprised at how the girl had turned into a fury.

To protect himself, Dunsdworth shoved her away too, sending her sprawling, which caused the witnesses to gasp.

Owen, curled up on the floor, saw his opening. Without even rising, he kicked out his foot and caught Dunsdworth in his most sensitive area. The purple angry face went milk-white as the young man tottered over, clutching himself and whimpering.

And it was in that precise moment, as Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer was about to hurl herself at the older boy again in rage and eat his heart, that her grandfather, Duke Horwath, stormed into the kitchen. He saw his little girl on the floor, her face wet with tears of fury. He saw Dunsdworth with no pants. And he saw Owen curled up like a beaten pup.

The duke was not gentle as he hauled the young man to his feet and nearly threw him out of the kitchen ahead of him. Owen almost pitied the condemned, but then his body began to tremble with all the pent-up fear, pain, and shame of the last moments. He didn’t feel the cut on his cheekbone from the belt buckle until Evie was kneeling in front of him worriedly. She was so angry she was sobbing.

“Are you all right?” she pleaded, using the hem of her dress to mop the blood from his cheek.

He glanced at the doorway from which the duke had left with Dunsdworth. A
nd he saw Mancini slip back into the kitchen, a satisfied smile playing on his flabby mouth. The Espion gazed down at Owen on the floor and gave him a little nod of respect. Owen returned the gesture.

“I’ll be all right,” he groaned, clutching his stomach, making his injuries look worse than they really were.

Together, he and Mancini had helped save Ankarette. Something had shifted between them. It was as if they now shared an alliance of self-preservation.

Owen let Evie nurse him. And in a moment, the Princess Elyse was kneeling by him as well.

“Well done,” she whispered in his ear.

Her praise was worth the pain.