The Queen's Poisoner (The Kingfountain Series Book 1) (33 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Beestone

The royal palace in Westmarch had been dubbed Beestone Castle, although it was not clear why. The reason for the location was much more apparent, for it had been built on Castle Hill overlooking the city of Knotsbury and its surrounding valleys and farms. It was an impressive castle, a royal castle, with squat round towers on each side of the main gate and drawbridge, and the entire hill was enclosed by thick, sturdy walls. Sharp, stony cliffs surrounded the circumference of the hill, making the castle impregnable to attack and able to withstand sieges. It was not opulent, but it was safe and secure. Right now the main bailey was teeming with horses and soldiers bearing the colors and badges of the white boar. Archers strolled the ramparts, and Owen spied the king’s flag fluttering from pennants overhanging the walls.

Amidst such confusion, no one took much notice of the small little boy sneaking around and exploring the castle from one end to the other. It was much smaller than Kingfountain, he soon realized, and the wind here was sharp and cool. The view from the bulwarks was impressive, but Tatton Hall was too far away to see.

Owen felt uneasy and wondered how Ankarette was going to find him. The royal retinue would not be arriving with the baggage carts from Kingfountain for several more days. As a result, there were mostly soldiers around the grounds. A woman would surely stand out among them, but Owen was confident that she would find a way.

While he was wandering the battlement walls, a squire bearing the badge of Duke Horwath found him and took him to the royal apartments where the king was meeting with the duke. There were knights and servants coming in and out of the sitting room, heralds waiting to bring messages. Owen looked at all the tall men and felt out of place as the only child among them. He missed Evie and wished she were here to explore the castle with him. He missed his tiles too, and the serenity they gave him. While the adults were talking, Owen found a Wizr set by the table near the king’s luggage and began playing with it and admiring the pieces.

Then he noticed the black book on top of a chest. It felt like his stomach was suddenly full of worms, all wriggling and twisting. The book seemed to call to him, whispering to him to open it. He glanced over at Duke Horwath and the king, but the king was doing most of the talking and his back was to Owen. The king’s hand tugged on his dagger hilt in his habitual nervous gesture. He looked tall and strong, and while one of his shoulders was slightly higher than the other, his posture and gestures seemed to hide the fact.

Owen glanced back at the book. He had a craving to start reading it. If he stole it, he knew it would be missed. But what if he could learn something about his family in it, something that could help them?

He knew what Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer would do. He reached into his pocket and rubbed his thumb on the braid she had cut off and given him. Then, steeling himself, he inched his way over to the bed, as if he were merely curious. His fingers shook a little as he reached out and touched the book’s binding.

He glanced back one more time, and when he saw everyone else was still thoroughly engrossed in conversation, he carefully opened the book and started reading.

The Occupation of the Throne of Ceredigion by King Severn (unfinished), written by Master John Tunmore.

King Eredur, of that name the Fourth, after he had lived fifty and three years, seven months, and six days, and thereof reigned two and twenty years, one month, and eight days, died at Kingfountain the ninth day of Averil, leaving much fair issue . . .

—He was poisoned—

Owen started when he heard the whisper in his mind. A tremulous feeling began to unfurl inside him. As soon as he had started to read the little black book, a gentle murmuring sound began to fill his ears, so subtle he had not noticed it swelling. Then the thought struck him with the force of a blow. King Eredur had been poisoned.

Owen blinked, feeling giddy and worried at the same time. He kept reading.

That is, to wit: Eredur the Crown Prince, a lad thirteen years of age; Eyric Duke of Yuork, age ten. Elysabeth, the eldest, fairest princess of the realm, whose fortune and grace are those of a queen. Selia, not so fortunate as fair. Bridget the virtuous. This noble prince of great fame, Eredur, deceased at his palace of Kingfountain, and, with great funeral honor and heaviness of his people, was put in a royal barge and commended to the river in the hopes that he would become the Dreadful Deadman prophecy fulfilled, and return from the watery grave. His body was taken by the Fountain, not seen hence.

—Eredur was not the Dreadful Deadman—

Owen started again when the voice whispered to him. His stomach clenched and twisted, his heart feeling like the burning coals in the brazier nearby. Owen was so wrapped up in reading, he could hear nothing else in the room. His eyes were fixed on the page.

He read next about how Eredur had taken the throne and the wars that had happened along the way. Much of this history he had learned from Ankarette.

Many nobles of the realm at Wakefield were slain, leaving three sons—Eredur, Dunsdworth, and Severn. All three, as they were great princes of birth, were great and stately, greedy and ambitious of authority, and impatient of partners. Eredur, revenging his father’s death, attained the crown. Lord Dunsdworth was a goodly, noble prince and at all points fortunate, if his own ambition had not set him against his brother and the envy of his enemies had not set his brother against him. For were it by the queen and the lords of her blood, the king was persuaded to hate his own brother or the proud appetite of the duke himself, intending to be king, Lord Dunsdworth was charged with heinous treason, and finally, attainted was he and judged to the death. Not thrown in the river, but drowned in a keg of wine. Whose death King Eredur, when he knew it was done, piteously bewailed and sorrowfully repented.

—Dunsdworth was poisoned by Ankarette Tryneowy. His craving of power and wealth made him go mad chasing the treasure in the cistern waters. Dunsdworth was not the Dreadful Deadman—

If the walls of the palace crumbled around him, Owen would not have noticed. He was so engrossed in the book he could not pull his eyes away. He read on.

Severn, the third son, of whom we now entreat, was in intellect and courage equal with either of his brothers, in body and prowess far beneath them both: little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crook-backed—his left shoulder much higher than his right—hard-favored of visage, and warlike in his demeanor. He was malicious, wrathful, envious, and, from afore his birth, ever perverse. It is for truth reported that the duchess his mother had so much ado in her travail that she could not be delivered of him uncut, and, as the fame runneth, also not untoothed. Able captain was he in war, for which his disposition was much better met than for peace. He was close and secret, a deep dissembler, lowly of countenance, arrogant of heart; outwardly companionable where he inwardly hated, not refraining to kiss those whom he thought to kill; dispiteous and cruel, not for evil, but often for ambition. He slew with his own hand—

The book was suddenly snatched out of Owen’s hands and Ratcliffe waggled it over his head. “Do you
see
what the lad is reading, my lord? Look at him, he was transfixed!” He then whapped the side of Owen’s head with the book and gave him a shove.

Duke Horwath stepped forward, putting himself between Owen and Ratcliffe.

“He was
reading
it, you say?” the king asked, suddenly interested and concerned.

“Did you not see him?” Ratcliffe said sharply.

“I saw him,” came another voice, much younger. Owen glared at Dunsdworth, who had appeared in the doorway and was giving him a malicious smile. In Owen’s mind, he saw a man inside a bucket, clawing at the bottom as if trying to reach a treasure he could not grab. The vision was enough to make him shudder.

But the king stepped forward, blocking his view of Dunsdworth. “You were reading my book?”

Owen had been caught. There was no denying it. His tongue felt like it was sticking to the roof of his mouth. Fear made him want to cower, but he reached inside his pocket and gripped the braid of Elysabeth’s hair.

“I wanted to play Wizr,” Owen said, his mouth finally able to move. “But everyone was talking, so I started playing with the pieces. Then I saw the book.”

“Did you understand it?” the king asked incredulously.

Owen nodded.

“There are hard words in there, lad. It’s not a child’s book. Did you truly understand its meaning?”

Owen stared at the king, whose eyes were now boring into his. “I . . . like books,” he said sheepishly.

The king snatched the book from Ratcliffe’s hand and then thumbed through it. “I like books under normal circumstances. But this book . . . there are
falsehoods
written in it. Falsehoods about me.”

“I know,” Owen said, nodding.

The king’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean you
know
?”

Owen blinked, feeling more and more confused. How did he know? How could he describe the voice he’d heard while reading it?

“I . . . I felt it. As I read,” Owen said simply. “I
felt
the parts that weren’t true.”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “We will speak of this later,” he murmured, then stuffed the book into his belt. “Dunsdworth! Play Wizr with the lad.”

The older boy scowled fiercely at the command, and Owen groaned inwardly as he walked to the Wizr board. Dunsdworth sulked as he took up the white pieces and set them up, incorrectly. It hurt to watch him, but Owen gritted his teeth, knowing Dunsdworth wouldn’t care the pieces were in the wrong positions.

“What news from Tatton Hall?” the king demanded of Ratcliffe in an undertone. Owen had clearly not heard the spymaster or Dunsdworth enter the room earlier, for he had been too caught up in reading the book. As Owen silently began moving pieces, he kept his eyes on the game board while his ears listened keenly to the king’s conversation.

“I hate this game,” Dunsdworth seethed.

I hate you
, Owen almost said, but managed to bite his tongue in time.

“As you requested, my lord, I delivered your summons to Duke Kiskaddon at Beestone Castle. As you can imagine, he wanted to know the nature of the summons. I explained that you were holding the Assizes. He then had the temerity to ask whether he would be participating in the Assizes as a justice.” Ratcliffe chuckled.

“And what did you tell him?” the king asked with amusement.

“I said, of course, that Duke Horwath was the chief justice and he would learn more when he obeyed the summons.”

“Do you think he will come, Dickon?” the king asked softly.

“If he doesn’t, he’s guilty of treason. If he does, he’ll be found guilty of treason. Either way, we have him.”

“There are three estuaries with ports in Westmarch,” the king said. “Mold and Runcin in the South and Blackpool in the North. No one sails from any of those ports without my approval. And the King of Occitania would not want his territory to help Kiskaddon.”

“The only place he can go is sanctuary. And you can be sure, we have Espion watching all of them and watching the estate. He won’t be able to use the privy without us knowing.”

There was a smile in the king’s voice. “Thank you, Dickon. You’ve done well. It’s time for the lad to see his parents again. You told them I brought the boy with me?”

“Indeed, my lord. They know the price for open treason.”

“He was guilty of
that
at Ambion Hill. Stiev, how long would it take for him to summon his retainers and an army from the borderlands?”

Duke Horwath’s voice was gruff. “Do you think he will, my lord?”

“Beestone has a thousand men, and more have been arriving all day. A thousand more will join us from the North. How many can Kiskaddon summon, and how quickly?”

“Only a few hundred men by tomorrow. Maybe half of that. It would take him a fortnight to collect the rest of those who owe him service, and I doubt they would join him against you now that you are already established here. You didn’t give him enough time to react.”

The king chuckled. “That was my intent. The wolf is at the door. The sheep are bleating. What will you do next, Kiskaddon? It’s your move.”

Owen made his final move, having defeated Dunsdworth in five turns. His stomach was twisting into knots. Dunsdworth grunted with disgust at the loss and swore under his breath.