The Poisoner's Enemy

by Jeff Wheeler

  “Love? Elyse?” the king crooned soothingly as he approached the bed.

  Ankarette waited, fingers tangled together behind her back. The king’s wife rose and Ankarette was grateful the lady was also covered with a robe. She had long blonde hair, very straight, that fell down her back as she sat up. She was older than her husband, maybe by a four or five years, but she was handsome and striking in her look of maturity. Eredur was all easygoing and friendly, but his wife was guarded—careful. Taking her hand, Eredur helped her dismount the colossal bed onto a portable footstool.

  There was no crown, no diadem, no outward symbol of rank. But she had a regal look and a self-confident bearing that suggested dignity and demanded respect.

  Ankarette felt very young and vulnerable in comparison. She was probably half the queen’s age and felt in awe of her.

  “So you are Ankarette Tryneowy,” the king’s wife said seriously. Then she smiled. It started slow and spread across her face like a sunrise, setting her face aglow. The effect was so stunning, Ankarette nearly took a step back.

  Ankarette felt a blush rise on her cheeks and she belatedly remembered to curtsy, which made Sir Thomas and Eredur chuckle.

  The queen gave her husband a scolding look that instantly squelched his mirth. “Please, dear. You shouldn’t tease like that.” She approached Ankarette and took both of her hands. “You are so young, child. How old are you?”

  “I turned thirteen this past month,” Ankarette replied.

  “I would have guessed fifteen,” the queen said generously. “You may call me Elyse when we are alone like this. Sir Thomas has told me so much about you and I’ve longed to meet you in person. Look at you, nearly a woman grown at thirteen.”

  Ankarette blushed again, wishing she were wearing more than a nightgown.

  The queen kissed her cheek and then put an arm around her and guided her to a nearby sofa. Eredur took Sir Thomas over to the desk where he had been working before their arrival.

  “I think we will be great friends,” Elyse said, taking Ankarette’s hands into her lap. “I will need a confidante in the palace. So many intrigues and rumors already. I’m very nervous about how the people will receive me.” She sighed and shook her head. “I am not exactly a welcome addition to the court. Not yet.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ankarette said. She wondered at the familiarity between them since the queen was a stranger to her.

  “Likewise. I understand your father was a lawyer and an Espion. That is true? Good, I’ve always had a fair memory for details. And I never forget a face. You are uncommonly pretty, Ankarette.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Ankarette said, flushing.

  “No. Elyse,” the queen corrected. “Titles can get in the way sometimes. They create distance. You and I are going to be acquainted rather intimately, I think. Childbearing is a rather vulnerable process. I’m so impressed that at your age, you have already learned the craft of midwifery. You’ve survived the battlefield of the birthing chamber. Are you squeamish?”

  Ankarette shrugged. “Perhaps I was the first few times. But I think it’s one of the most beautiful things in the world. I love babies.”

  Elyse stroked Ankarette’s hair over her ear. “Sir Thomas is an excellent judge of character. He told me that I would like you.” She paused, then said, “Of course, maybe he’s simply good at influencing people, because one likes what one expects to like. Is that not true?”

  “I like you, Elyse,” Ankarette said, feeling a shy smile spread on her face.

  The queen gave her a pointed, serious look, and then that smile came again—that wonderful flower of a smile. “Bless you, dearest,” she said, kissing Ankarette’s forehead. “I think we will get along very well. I’ve had two children already by my late husband. They are in wardship with my elder brother at present. I miss them very much. The eldest is ten and the younger is eight, so it has been a while since I’ve given birth. But I’m not afraid of the pain of childbirth. Many women are. I hope,” she added, rubbing her abdomen, “that Eredur and I will be blessed to have more. We are quite compatible, he and I.” She gazed lovingly across the room at her husband. “He has so much energy, so much passion. He just needs to pour it in the right direction. He can accomplish so much in his reign if he does.” She patted Ankarette’s hands again. “Now, if I am right, he is telling Sir Thomas about our plans to usurp control away from Lord Warrewik.”

  “Indeed, I am, my dear,” said Eredur. He turned and gestured for them to approach the desk.

  Ankarette felt a thrill of excitement as she and Elyse joined the others.

  “These documents,” the king said to Ankarette, wagging a quill at her, “make Elyse’s father a major lord of the realm.”

  “The Duke of East Stowe to be exact,” Sir Thomas said.

  “That is Lord Pogue, currently,” Ankarette said, hoping she remembered correctly.

  “Good memory, lass,” Eredur said. “And he is loyal to . . . ?”

  “The Duke of Warrewik,” Ankarette answered.

  “Very loyal,” Sir Thomas said. “And so Pogue controls the shipping to Brugia and defends the coast. No one is going to invade Ceredigion from the North except Atabyrion.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think the threat of that is very great. No, the dangers are from Brugia and Occitania.”

  “But doesn’t Warrewik still control Callait?” the queen said.

  “He does,” Eredur said broodingly. “I need to wrest it away from him. Our biggest garrison is stationed there and he commands it.” He squinted his eyes and shook his head. “Who did he assign there, Tom? Do you recall?”

  “Captain Vauclair,” Sir Thomas answered with a hint of anger in his voice. Ankarette remembered the conversation she’d walked in on upon first arriving at Dundrennan. Ah, yes—Thomas had wanted that position.

  “By the Fathoms, you’re right,” Eredur said. “He’s very loyal.”

  “True, but he may come to your side in time,” Sir Thomas said. “All you need to do is give him a reason, Eredur. You can’t allow Warrewik to control Callait forever, but you won’t break his grip all at once. Finger by finger is the way of it.”

  The king looked at Ankarette closely. “You arrived just after the duke found out about Elyse. He wasn’t happy was he?”

  Ankarette shook her head. “He’s biding his time.”

  “Of course he is,” Elyse said, taking her husband’s arm. “There will be another civil war, I fear.”

  Eredur shook his head. “No, I think I can prevent that. I don’t want to destroy my own uncle, but I no longer trust him. Not after . . .” He sighed and shook his head. Elyse rubbed his arm comfortingly.

  Sir Thomas shot him a glare to say no more, and while Ankarette could not divine the meaning of that, she thought it might have something to do with Isybelle.

  “Well, that is no matter,” the king said with good nature. “Back to bed, lass. I can tell you rather enjoy staying up discussing politics to the wee hours. As does she”—he kissed his wife’s neck—“so I agreed to set your meeting for tonight. We think Warrewik is going to ask you to go to Pisan soon, Ankarette. You may be gone from court for a year. Maybe two. But what you learn over there will be immeasurably helpful to us. The most clever and cunning minds are trained in the poisoner school in Pisan. Other skills are taught there as well. At thirteen, you won’t be the youngest student. Some go as early as ten. But I think you’re ready, Ankarette. And you will do us proud.”

  “Thank you,” Ankarette said, dropping to a curtsy again.

  “Take her back, Tom,” the king said, giving her a wink and a genuine smile.

  “Good night, my dear,” Elyse said, kissing her cheek and giving her another radiant smile.

  They were young and ambitious. And she could see they were determined to remake their world. Just like the first Argentine king and his bride. But only if they survived the coming trouble.

  I was educated at the poisoner school in Pisan when I was thir
teen years old. Every day for two years, I was grateful to my mother for the kindness of teaching me not only skills as a midwife, but also the ability to observe people. I was grateful too for the training of Thomas Mortimer, who had prepared me in so many subtle ways to become a poisoner.

  How can I describe what I learned? There were lessons in herbs and plants, of course. I earned my share of bruises in the practicable study of fighting and was the best in the school at throwing a dagger with precision. I particularly enjoyed learning the court dances from various realms and the manners of speech and customs of other nations, from Atabyrion to Genevar. We studied history, languages, feigning accents, and disguise. I learned how to impersonate someone much older by adopting subtle mannerisms that usually come with age and confidence. I learned how to gain the trust of children, pets, and servants.

  I think the study came easily to me because of my experiences living in Dundrennan and my brief exposure to the intricacies of life in Kingfountain. I was able to take every concept taught to me and apply it in some way to the people that I actually knew. It made the concepts stick in my mind, like tiles in a mosaic that revealed a grand picture.

  One of the most important pieces of knowledge I learned was the identity of other poisoners and their reputations. The most mysterious poisoner of all, I learned, was in the employ of the King of Occitania. He was one of the nobility, sent to the school of Pisan in disguise to train. Only the masters of the school knew his true identity. Everyone else knew someone who believed they had once seen him, and my fellow students never tired of guessing at his role in this or that political mishap.

  They all agreed that Lewis’s poisoner was probably the deadliest man in any realm. There were stories of those who tried to cross him and how he could kill a man from miles away with little more than a charming smile. In the school, we learned the true name of every poisoner. Except his.

  No one ever said that he was King Lewis’s herald, so I kept that knowledge to myself. Sometimes it can be difficult keeping a secret. They want to worm free. It is the temptation of most to boast about themselves, but I have always been good at keeping secrets.

  —Ankarette Tryneowy

  PART TWO

  The Duke's Poisoner

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Reunion

  The summons back to Kingfountain by the Duke of Warrewik did not come as a surprise. Yes, he was the man who had paid the exorbitant cost of the exclusive school. But Ankarette also knew it had to do with Elyse’s upcoming confinement. The time drew near for the queen to deliver her child, and Ankarette’s midwifery skills would be put to the test. She had the suspicion that her loyalties would be as well.

  An Espion courier had delivered the note of the summons and specified the day of departure, so she had plenty of time to be nervous and worried. On the morning of the day she was to leave, she checked her traveling trunk to ensure she hadn’t forgotten anything. It had a false bottom that concealed the implements of her new trade.

  She secretly hoped Sir Thomas would be sent to retrieve her. In the two years of her training, she had thought of him often and fondly. She missed him and missed Isybelle, with whom she’d corresponded. It would be wonderful to rekindle her friendships in person. Of course, the duke could have sent anyone to fetch her.

  A knock sounded at the door and when she opened it, one of the pages of the school told her in a hurried accent that the duke’s ship had been spotted and would be in the harbor within the hour. She thanked the young man and felt the nervous flutter in her stomach once again. When he left, she turned to look at her small room, barely more than a cell. The school was ancient and the amenities sparse and it smelled of must and the grit of the ages. The window glass was so thick with marbling it was only good for telling the time of day. But she would miss it all the same, and the thought of leaving forever tugged at her heart. There were some she might even have called friends. In a place where ambition reigned supreme, it was difficult to judge whether affection was real or feigned, but Ankarette felt she was a good judge of character and had avoided the more obvious dissemblers.

  It was then that she sensed an undercurrent—a preternatural warning the likes of which she had not experienced very often in Pisan. She stared at the door, a shiver starting at the base of her spine. Memories from a dark night long ago rushed into her mind.

  Someone was walking toward the room. There was no sound of footfalls, but she didn’t need her ears to tell her what her heart already knew. The faint trickling noise of a distant fountain seemed to fill her ears. It was a warning. There was a slit in the fold of her gown and she drew a small dirk and concealed it behind her.

  Another knock came on the door, this one much softer, less urgent.

  The feeling of unease grew into a pit in her stomach. She knew the effects of fear. Knew how it impaired a person’s judgment—and yet she could not prevent it from unfurling inside her. But she had also been taught that fear would pass. Action would help dispel it.

  “Who is it?” she called, staring at the handle of the door. She had not bothered to lock it after the page left.

  She already knew who stood behind that door. Something about this man had lingered with her ever since the afternoon she’d sensed him lurking in the woods in Dundrennan.

  The handle pressed down and the door pushed open slightly, just enough to reveal a man standing there. She only saw one of his eyes. After two years of poisoner school, she understood why. He was using the door as a shield in case she threw a dagger at him.

  “Ah, here you are, damoselle,” he said, pushing the door the rest of the way open, keeping it wide. He gave her a charming smile, the crinkles around his eyes showing he was genuinely eager to talk with her. He had a disarming manner that no doubt served him well in his profession. “I had hoped to catch you before you left for Kingfountain.” His gallant Occitanian court accent was on full display.

  Catch indeed, like a fly in a spider’s web.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Hux,” she said, careful not to stammer. She was terrified of him. He probably knew that just from looking at her, but she tried to project calm and confidence. If his intention was to murder her on the day she was departing for Kingfountain, she’d not be killed without a fight. Her hand gripped the dirk tightly.

  “But we’ve met before,” he said with a secret smile. “In Dundrennan! Have we not?”

  She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

  “I’ve heard such good things about the school’s new protégé,” he said with eagerness. “The headmaster is most impressed. You are a capable poisoner, they say. And look at you—so beautiful and refined.” He folded his arms and clucked his tongue, tapping his chin in an almost flirtatious manner. She saw both of his hands. That was an indication he did not mean to attack her . . . yet. “Be at ease, damoselle. I merely came to deliver a message from my master to yours, since you are due to return to court this day. It saves me an unnecessary journey, and I have many other duties for my master. Will you be so kind as to deliver it?”

  Her mouth was dry, but she quickly moistened it. “A message, you say?” Would it be poisoned?

  “Yes, damoselle!” He slowly unfolded his arms and there was a letter suddenly in his hand. She hadn’t seen him draw it out. His sleight of hand was impressive. “It was written in the formian cipher, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” Ankarette replied. She did not trust him. Not one whit.

  “I will let you read it before we seal it, eh? You should know the message in case something befalls the letter. It is common for us poisoners to know our masters’ secrets. Such is the way of Pisan. My master seeks to warn the duke that the king will next force Callait from his hands. See for yourself.” He opened the letter gingerly and shook it out. “No dust. No poison ink.” He smiled warmly, then blew on the pages and rubbed his own hands across them. “No tricks, damoselle. Just a warning to the duke from his friend, my master. Read it.”

  He handed her the no
te and gestured for her to peruse the contents. It was just as he’d said—the information he’d conveyed in the cipher he had mentioned. In the two years she had been away, Eredur had made multiple attempts to wrest Callait and its massive garrison from Warrewik. But each time the duke had strategically sidestepped the issue.

  There had also been a recent insurrection attempt led by the deposed mad king and his cunning wife. It had ended with the mad king locked up in Holistern Tower and Queen Morvared and her son back in her father’s lands in Occitania.

  Ankarette had wondered if the rebellion was just a decoy, if the duke might have something to do with it.

  “Are you satisfied?” Lord Hux asked her with a smile. “Will you deliver this message to the duke?”

  She nodded quickly and he took it back. He produced a stub of wax, held it over the burning candle on her table, and pressed it on the fold of the letter. Then he twisted off a signet ring, the royal seal of Occitania, and pressed it into the wax to finalize it.

  “Ah, there we are.” As soon as the wax was set, he handed it to her. “I am obliged to you, damoselle. I owe you a favor. Do not hesitate to seek my aid in any matter. My residence, when I’m not at court, is the royal castle of Shynom. A generous gift from a generous king.” His eyes locked on hers, and she once again felt that strange churning sensation in her gut. He was staring at her, but it felt almost as if his hands were touching her body. She was unable to repress a shudder.

  The feeling stopped.

  “What is it, damoselle?” he asked, his brows furrowing. “Are you unwell?”

  She blinked rapidly, trying to calm her swimming mind. “I am well. Thank you.”