The Queen's Poisoner (The Kingfountain Series Book 1) (27 page)

I’ve learned this above all else. You must bind men to you by benefits, or else make sure of them in some other way. Never reduce them to the alternative of having either to destroy you or perish themselves. I fear that Ratcliffe, in his efforts to secure his master’s throne, may be risking it all the more. There is never anything more tenuous than peace.

—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Loyalty

Ankarette had predicted, correctly as it turned out, that the king would immediately assemble his councillors after such a miraculous demonstration of Owen’s gift. So when the men started to gather in the king’s council chambers, Owen and Ankarette were already poised by the spyhole in the secret door, ready to watch and to listen. She held a finger to her lips, warning him to be absolutely still, but her eyes gleamed with the thrill of bearing silent witness to such a meeting. Owen shifted so his legs wouldn’t get too tired as he watched and listened.

He recognized some but not all of those in attendance, and Ankarette quietly whispered in his ear whenever someone he did not know entered the room. The king had called in Ratcliffe, Horwath, and his chancellor Catsby, along with two religious officials representing the sanctuaries. In the months following his victory at Ambion Hill, he had not yet replenished all of the council seats, Ankarette explained quietly. Owen’s father, for example, had not been restored to his previous role and was awaiting his fate in his own lands. The council was small and getting smaller.

Some of the council members had seated themselves, but the king was pacing, keen displeasure and more unnameable emotions playing in his eyes.

“Everyone is here, Your Grace,” Ratcliffe announced, after shutting the door. There was a wary look on his face.

“You are wondering why I’ve summoned you,” Severn said in a low voice. He cast his gaze over the men. “You all look like men who are about to be shoved into the waters. Are you feeling guilty? Did any of you know of this news before it arrived?”

There was a moment of awkward silence. “Know of
what
news, my lord?” said the man Ankarette had identified as Catsby.

“Tell them,” the king said gruffly, waving a hand at Ratcliffe. That directive delivered, he turned away from the council and started to slip his dagger in and out of its sheath.

Ratcliffe assumed an authoritative posture and advanced to the head of the table. He planted his palms on the gleaming, waxed surface. “News from Southport. We have John Tunmore in custody.”

There were startled gasps around the room. Only Horwath, who was always unflappable, did not react with open shock.

“How could he . . . ?”

“The knave!”

“Be silent!” the king reprimanded. “Hear the news first before you begin babbling. Go on, Dickon.”

Ratcliffe cleared his throat. “He was caught, you may be sure, in the port of Brugia. He was never very far from Ceredigion. A boat was waiting for him in case he needed to escape quickly. A boat paid for by the King of Occitania, if my suspicions hold true. The Espion used it to smuggle him back here.”

“Facts, Dickon,” the king scolded. “Let’s keep to the facts first. Tell them what you found with Tunmore.”

“Yes, my lord. Of course.” Ratcliffe’s anger was stirring, but he kept his tone civil. “He had a book on his person. A private history, to be precise. I have it here.” He withdrew a black leather-bound book, small enough to fit in his hand. “Entries, dates, scribblings, musings. Lots of nonsense about the Fountain, really. But it is clear he was plotting something. He’s been in hiding for nearly two years and played a complicit role in the attempted usurpation. I believe—
we
believe—the information in here will implicate many.” He waggled the book.

“Only two years ago?” Severn said, his voice cold. “I’d forgotten. It feels so much longer than that.” He pushed away from the wall and strode to the table, limping slightly, an angry frown on his mouth. “Yes, two years ago he plotted to murder me, my wife, and my son. My wife is dead. My son is dead. No doubt he wishes to
finish
what he started when he seduced Bletchley into treason. For all we may
suspect,
he was likely behind that pretender’s claim to my throne as well. Tunmore is an eel. The lad was right about that.”

Ankarette, listening keenly, flashed Owen a secret smile.

“What lad?” asked one of the prelates. “The Kiskaddon boy? Was there another prophecy?”

The king’s countenance softened remarkably and his eyes took on the same shining look Evie’s got whenever she talked about the cistern. “Indeed.”

Ratcliffe held up his hands. “Let’s not be hasty, Your Majesty, in ascribing the boy’s powers to anything beyond coincidence or cunning.”

“Twice he’s done it,” Severn said. “Twice! The first you could ascribe to coincidence, if a fantastic one. But the second? He knew something before
you
did!”

There were grumbles of concern and interest amongst the councillors, one of them begging to know what had happened.

The king silenced them with a wave of his hand.

“The boy had another vision,” Severn said, pacing slowly along the table’s edge with his hobbled gait. “This was not a dream at night like before. It was a day vision. He saw an eel caught by a hook. A
rat
was holding the fishing pole.” He gave Ratcliffe a meaningful look. “And then news arrives that Tunmore, the Deconeus of
Ely
, was caught in Brugia—on a
hook
—by the Espion. The lad is blessed, I tell you. He is Fountain-blessed with the gift of foresight!”

Ankarette smiled and squeezed Owen’s hand. He smiled back at her, giddy that her plan was working out so well.

“The question, I ask you,” the king continued, “is if I have the authority to execute a prelate of the realm. A man purportedly sanctioned by the Fountain. This man has been a raw blister on my heel for these many years. Lest we forget, he was the one who helped write up the truce terms with Occitania ten years ago. Truce terms that shamed my brother—shamed us all!—when Occitania repudiated them. He was a member of
this
council two years ago.” He tapped his forefinger on the table. “Others more noble than he have paid for their treachery with their lives. Yet he has been immune from the consequences of treason. What say you, council? Do we see if the Fountain will pardon this man when we throw him into the river?”

One of the lesser nobles raised his hand. “What does the child say?”

The king looked at him, confused.

“The child’s last prediction. You recall it! He said the pinecone fell into the river. In this vision, the hook saved the eel from the river, did it not?”

“A good point, Rufus,” said one of the prelates, seated on his left. “It did indeed! It saved the eel from the river!”

The king turned to look at Ratcliffe, who had rushed up to him. “My lord,” said the spymaster, hardly able to contain his agitation. “My lord, you cannot look to a
boy
as your source of knowing the Fountain’s will! You would risk far too much, it would be—”

“A miracle?” the king interrupted softly. The room settled down, but Owen’s stomach churned in anticipation.

“You don’t believe the boy’s Fountain-blessed, Dickon, do you?”

“I do not,” Ratcliffe responded angrily without a pause. His voice was low and urgent. “I think he’s a tool being used to dupe you. My liege, if you hearken to him, she will have you. She will have tricked and deceived you. The woman is
alive
. I tell you, she is. I didn’t know her name until I heard Dunsdworth speak it, but he swears he saw her in the kitchen. The kitchen! Where else does the boy play his silly games but there? My lord, my
friend
, you must trust me on this! That woman is the most dangerous person in your realm. Even more dangerous than Tunmore. Ask Horwath. Even he fears her.”

A spasm of worry shot through Owen as he realized they were talking about Ankarette. The euphoria turned into nausea in his stomach.

“And what do you say, Stiev?” the king asked, turning his attention to the grizzled duke who was lounging in a stuffed chair within view of the spyhole.

There was a long moment of silence. He stared at the tabletop and slowly drummed his fingers. “According to the official records, Ankarette Tryneowy plunged to her death in a boat. If she lived, your brother never told me, Your Majesty.” Ratcliffe’s face twisted with impatience, but the king’s attention was wholly focused on the old duke.

“But?” Severn prompted.

“But,” continued the duke. “I have harbored some suspicions of my own. In the North, we throw the condemned off the mountain falls. In all our histories, only the Fountain-blessed have survived this test. If the queen’s poisoner is Fountain-blessed, as we suspect, perhaps she did not perish in the falls.” He fell silent again, plucking at the gray hairs at the end of his goatee.

The king’s voice was serious. “Do you believe the boy is Fountain-blessed?”

Horwath lifted his eyes and nodded once.

Ratcliffe scowled. It was his word against the entire council. Even Owen could see that. And yet the king still heeded him.

The king walked back to the mantel and rested his arm on it. “What do you advise, Dickon?” he asked. “You know that I trust you.”

Ratcliffe was at the king’s elbow in a moment. “One thing, my lord. One thing that solves all your problems at once.”

Ankarette frowned, her expression serious and concerned, and Owen felt his chest tighten. Sometimes their plan felt like a game of Wizr, but at moments like this he was reminded that it was not. It was a match of wits that would impact all their lives.

“Bring the boy with us when we go to the West to dispense the king’s justice at the Assizes. Take the boy away from the palace and all the intrigues here. We need to separate him from those who may be influencing him. If he’s Fountain-blessed, his powers should work beyond the palace grounds. That would be proof sufficient to satisfy even me.”

The king smirked. “And what if he
is
Fountain-blessed, Dickon? Do
you know how
rare
this particular gift is? Not the rarity of being Fountain-
blessed, but seeing the future!” His eyes glittered with eagerness.
He
wanted
to believe it. “If it’s true, this lad will become the greatest noble in Ceredigion. Think of it! You are right to be wary and cautious. But my heart tells me this boy is special. My own power hardly works on him.”

Ratcliffe looked like he was about to argue, but he changed his tack. “My lord, then my plan will only help you decide if he is legitimate. This news from Tunmore is an opportunity in disguise. I believe I have a way of testing the loyalty of the boy
and
his parents. I must arrange something first, but we will know the truth of things once my plan is in motion.” He smiled, a great wolf’s smile. “Believe me, my lord, I would like nothing better than to have a Fountain-blessed who can see the future among us. Even if he’s a Kiskaddon. I hope you are right and my concerns prove false.”

“He’s a wily one, my lord,” said Catsby with approval.

“You picked the right man to lead the Espion,” concurred another man Owen couldn’t see.

The king looked satisfied. “What is your plan, Dickon?”

The spymaster smirked. “It would be best, of course, if no one knew of it except myself. But let’s just say that the boy will soon be seeing his old home of Tatton Hall again.”

Ankarette’s frown did not leave her face as the councilmen trailed out of the room. She slowly and gently secured the spyhole and then rested her hands in her lap, giving Owen a thoughtful look.

“What’s going to happen?” he asked her.

She shook her head a moment, trying to find words that would not alarm him. He could read her clearly, and her need to comfort him made him worry even more.

“When a man feels threatened,” Ankarette said in a voice as quiet as feathers, “he is apt to do terrible things.” She shook her head. “I don’t think the king has noticed that his spymaster is no longer serving
his
interests.”