The Queen's Poisoner (The Kingfountain Series Book 1) (31 page)

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.”

Mancini chuckled. “I thought you were behind his escape?”

Owen was surprised when she shook her head no.

“Not directly. I just helped him unlock the door. And because of you, the king has Our Lady under constant guard. Deconeus Tunmore has merely shifted his prison from one cell to another. He won’t last long in there. He needs freedom. Are you ready for your next assignment, Dominic? Or will you quit now?”

He squinted, looking puzzled. “I think I am done,” he said ominously. “If you are pushing Tunmore to lead the Espion, then our interests no longer align.”

“The king will not trust Deconeus Tunmore,” Ankarette said. “Have no doubt of that. We need to get that book.”

Mancini shook his head. “Impossible.”

She knelt down by Owen’s side and rubbed his shoulder. She glanced over at Mancini. “You can never fully earn the king’s trust, Mancini. There are too many barriers. But someday
Owen
will lead the Espion. And he will need you, and you will need him. Your fates are entwined together. You must help the boy when I am gone.”

Mancini looked shocked, his mouth hanging open. “But I thought . . .
we agreed . . . that
I
would lead the Espion!”

“And you will!” she said smiling. “Through Owen. The king is sending you with him. Don’t you see? It gives you permission to be near him, to advise him. To help him gain the information he needs to survive. I’ve wrapped your fates together in silk threads. You need each other to be successful. I won’t be able to come with you.”

Owen started in surprise. “You’re not coming?”

“I can’t, Owen,” she said. “I’m very sick. It is difficult even coming down the steps into the kitchen. Mancini is going. He will help you, and you must help him.”

Owen blinked back tears. “I don’t want him to help me.”

“You should have mentioned that down in the cistern, boy,” Mancini said sharply.

“He already has,” Ankarette said. “Owen, he saved your life. He was the one who rushed down to save you. He was there for you. He pulled you and Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer from danger.”

Mancini came closer, looming over them both. “I don’t want to be saddled with this brat!” he chuffed.

She looked up at him. “He will not always be this small, Dominic.” She stroked Owen’s hair again. “Do you remember the last time the Fountain touched someone so young?”

Mancini snorted. “That Maid of Donremy was a trick of the King of Occitania!”

“No, Dominic,” Ankarette said. “She
was
Fountain-blessed. She was just a little girl, but she led the army that overthrew Ceredigion’s influence in Occitania. There are many who remember her. Duke Horwath remembers her. Her legend will last for centuries to come. Owen . . . our
Owen
will be like that. Remember the Battle of Azinkeep? The King of Ceredigion defeated twenty thousand and only lost eighty of his own men. He became the
ruler
of Occitania when he married the princess and her father died.
He
was Fountain-blessed.”

Mancini shook his head. “But we’ve only been
pretending
the boy is! You expect me to keep up the ruse forever? To continue to deceive the king into thinking the boy is something he’s not? I couldn’t possibly . . . !”

Ankarette closed her eyes, breathing softly, as if she were in great pain. “You must, Dominic. Because I tell you, I tell you truly, the boy
is
Fountain-blessed!” She opened her eyes, piercing the spy with her gaze. “I know what I speak of. He can hear it. He can sense it. He must learn how to become what he has the potential to be, and for that, he will need help. It really takes one who is Fountain-blessed to teach another. Tunmore trained me. I won’t be alive long enough to teach him that.” She turned to Owen, running her hand along his arm. “That is why the Fountain sent me to you. From the very
moment
of your birth. Owen, it takes
years
to learn about your powers. To be able to control them. To
fuel
them. It takes a rigor of will and self-discipline that most simply do not have. That you can already tap into this, even slightly, is a sign you’re just as special as I’ve always thought you were.” She gazed at the structure he had made out of the tiles, unable to hide a pleased smile. “But for someone like us, the rigor of it is not even work. We enjoy it.”

Owen’s heart was on fire. He grabbed the silk fabric of her dress, the lacings at her front. “You have to come! I . . . I can’t do it without you! Please, Ankarette! Please! I can’t do this!”

She gave him a sympathetic but firm look. Her hand rested on his shoulder. “You must, Owen.”

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “No! I’ve lost Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer. I’ve lost my parents. I can’t lose you too! I need your help! I won’t know what to do if you are not around to tell me what to say!”

“The boy is right,” Mancini said darkly. “I’m a poor substitute for your cleverness. Besides, you have not upheld your end of the bargain. You promised me your story! You promised me the tale.”

She sighed and patted Owen’s shoulder with a trembling hand. “I gave
him
the story,” she said to Mancini. “If you want to learn it, you must keep him alive.”

Mancini ground his teeth in frustration. “You tricked me.”

“No,” she said. “I always deliver what I promise. In my own way. But you of all people know it is a double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.”

He gasped when she said this and Owen didn’t know why. The look he gave her was full of incredulity . . . and respect. Something she had said had shot straight into his heart, leaving him flummoxed. Ankarette slowly rose.

Mancini was stuttering. “You are the most duplicitous, the most conniving, the most scheming . . . the best spy I have ever met!” He gave her a grudging smile. “You’ve read my journal. Even though it’s written in Genevese ciphers.”

She gave him a slight curtsy and a triumphant smile.

“I’ll be blessed,” he replied with a belly laugh. “Well, lad. I hope Tatton Hall has a decent kitchen and a wine cellar. I’m off to bed.” He chuckled to himself as he staggered to the steps.

When he was gone, Ankarette knelt again, looking Owen directly in the eyes.

“There is something I didn’t tell you,” Owen said nervously. “About the cistern.”

“What is it?” she asked, smoothing the front of his tunic in a motherly way.

“I’ve been there before with Evie. When I jumped into the water, I saw a treasure.” He told her of the treasure he had found—how at first he could not reach it, but then he clung to a chest to keep himself and Evie from being swept away in the flood.

The queen’s poisoner listened carefully to his story, watching his face most intently. There was something about her keen interest that intrigued him. From the look in her eyes, it was as if he were sharing the most interesting story imaginable. She waited patiently until he was done and then she grew serious.

“Was the treasure real, Ankarette?” he asked her at the end of the story, hoping she would say yes.

She reached out and rubbed the sides of his arms, holding him fast. “That you can even see it means many things, Owen. People see many things in the water. Sometimes glimpses of the future. Sometimes of their own death. I don’t know what you saw or why. I don’t know if it’s real or not. But I do believe the Fountain is trying to speak to you. Your powers are blossoming even faster than I expected they would. Your
life
is about to change.”

He wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

“
Please
come with me,” he begged her.

She licked her lips, then let out a painful breath. She gazed at the floor for a moment. “I will try,” she whispered, and Owen felt his heart jump with a thrill.

“You will? Oh, Ankarette!” he gushed, throwing his arms around her neck and squeezing her in the biggest hug he had given her yet.

She leaned into the hug, patting his hair. The panic he had felt rising all day began to subside.

A wagon. A wagon—this bloody kingdom for a ride in a wagon!

—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Ribald Horse