The Poisoner's Enemy

by Jeff Wheeler

  “Aye, you’re right, especially with how he’s pestering Eredur to let Dunsdworth marry Isybelle. How was your reunion with her?”

  “All we talked about was Dunsdworth,” Ankarette said sadly. “She’s very devoted to him. I saw him in court. He does look more regal now. The elder Argentines are too handsome for their own good.”

  “You haven’t taken a fancy to him yourself, have you?” he teased.

  No, she wanted to say. I have my eye on a man with a much lower station.

  She didn’t deign to reply to his banter.

  Sir Thomas cleared his throat. “There will be war soon, Ankarette. Just like I can see those clouds yonder and deduce we’ll be soaked before reaching Blackpool, I can see the land will be drenched with blood ere long. If the queen has a boy, there won’t even be time for the water rite before the duke unfurls his banners.” He gave her an arch look. “And fighting against Warrewik means fighting the Espion as well. I’m glad you’re on Eredur’s side. You have a heart, Ankarette. I could tell that about you from the start. I still can.”

  So why do you keep trampling on it with your smiles, Sir Knight? she thought wistfully.

  “Have you been back to Dundrennan often?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Oh, the duke has me riding hither and yon,” he complained. “But yes, I try to steal there as often as I can. I’m more at home in the North than in Kingfountain.”

  A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. The wind was picking up and blew her hair across her face.

  “I hate being right so often,” he said jokingly. “Best if we hurry, lass, before the roads turn to muck. Blackpool is just over that rise. Shall we race?”

  “Do you think you can win?” she asked him brazenly, then stamped her horse’s flanks.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Ambition

  It was reckless, thrilling, and Ankarette won. By the time they reached Blackpool, they were soaked through and muddy from the mad dash. After they caught their breath, she commented on the smear of mud on his face kicked up from her stallion, and he wiped at it, smearing it more, and then flung some of it at her. It didn’t matter—she was already stained.

  Sir Thomas was gracious in defeat, although she could tell her victory had wounded his pride.

  “Did they teach you riding in Pisan as well?” he asked her, chuffing.

  “Of course,” she said with a smile. “Escaping is a poisoner’s specialty.”

  The pocked cobblestones were pooled with water from the deluge. She wiped strands of wet hair from her face, gazing around the gray-shrouded town for any sign of an inn. She had never been to this town before. It looked empty, but she knew the villagers were no doubt hunkered indoors, waiting out the winds and the torrent.

  “If you’re looking for a place to stay, do not trouble yourself,” Sir Thomas said. “We’ll be staying at the Arthington. The owner is part of the Espion. He’ll make sure we have a room. I’ve stayed there many times on my journeys.”

  Grateful for his knowledge, she held back and followed him to the inn. The Arthington was a two-story dwelling; the second story was constructed from square-cut timbers and plastered walls, and the bottom half was made of stone. There was a raised dais before the sturdy door, and a wooden sign announced the name of the place. The gutters were swollen with rain and overflowed all along the front, splashing noisily in the street. A few vines decorated the walls, but none of them appeared sturdy enough to climb. Her eyes were always searching for such details now. She imagined there were twenty to thirty rooms for patrons. A central chimney rose from the back and not even the steady rain could squelch the smoke pouring from it.

  As they reached the main door and dismounted into the streets with a splash, the door opened and a youth of around twelve, head covered in a leather cap, hurried out and took their mounts for them.

  “I’ll give you a crown if you carry our saddlebags inside,” Sir Thomas offered the boy—a commission the lad cheerfully accepted.

  The door was wooden with iron bars across it. As they entered, the warmth from the common room greeted them, along with the yeasty smell of ale and buttered bread, and Ankarette’s mouth began to water. Her hands were frigid and she chafed them together, trying to restore sensation to them.

  The innkeeper, a man in his early thirties with a copper-colored beard and a receding hairline, greeted them warmly. “Sir Thomas! I see you got caught in the storm. Look at you both. Wet and muddy as dogs.” He looked at her hand, saw the Espion ring there, and gave her a surreptitious nod. “Welcome, welcome. My stableboy Nicholas will tend to your horses and bring in your bags. Darcy will draw a bath for ye, and we’ll get you warmed up fast and fed.” He approached Ankarette and smiled warmly. “There are private rooms for the duke’s men. And women. This is your first time at the Arthington. You’ll be treated well.”

  “That’s why we came,” Sir Thomas said wearily.

  An hour later, after cleaning off the mud and changing in their separate rooms, they sat cozily by the fireplace that fed the kitchen on the other side of the wall. The clatter of pots and squeak of a spit wheel provided a steady source of background noise, but music from the common room was tamped by the thick walls. The room was decorated with pleasing ornaments, showing a woman’s caring touch.

  The innkeeper, Miles, and his family joined them for a simple repast of meat and bread. He was garrulous, but his wife, Darcy, was very quiet and subdued, and Ankarette noticed a persistent cough that was worrisome. The two had a child, a sprightly little girl, and Darcy was clearly pregnant with the second.

  Ankarette enjoyed both the food and the company. After their hosts went off to bed, she found herself watching Sir Thomas as he gazed into the crackling fire, lost in thought. He’d been more quiet than usual over dinner.

  “Where are you tonight?” she asked him. They sat side by side on a couch, and she’d felt the growing urge to reach out and touch him. She finally did, intent on capturing his attention. Her fingers tingled at the contact.

  He looked surprised, blinking quickly. Then he gave her a sheepish smile and replied, “I do that often, unfortunately. What did you say?”

  “You were lost in your thoughts. Where were you?”

  He picked at his beard, gazing back at the fire. “Wishing, waiting, hoping,” he answered in a jumble, shrugging. “I’m weary of racing from one end of the kingdom to the other, Ankarette. When I was a little younger, I thought the Espion was perfect for me. I never slept in the same bed twice, always moving with the duke and his company. I’ve been to many places and seen many things. I’ve fought in many battles. Enough for a lifetime. Tonight, I am weary of it.” He sighed and set his hand down in his lap. She felt a deep longing to hold it, but fought the impulse.

  “You have seen too much war,” she said softly, trying to coax him to speak more. “Ceredigion is a violent land.”

  “Aye, that it is,” he said, chuffing. “I look at Miles and Darcy and part of me just blazes with jealousy.” He looked up at the ceiling rafters. “I would almost be content to be an innkeeper, to live in a warm, comfortable home like this one.” Then he smiled self-deprecatingly. “Almost. Sadly, I have too much ambition. Or maybe it’s the desire to live in the beehive rather than wander the fields looking for flowers. It’s my greatest weakness. I have to be in the thick of it.”

  She kept silent, looking at him with keen interest. She had learned in the poisoner school that most people craved attention. Showing someone the smallest bit of interest could get them to reveal much about themselves. He glanced at her, found her a willing listener, and did just that.

  “I’m tired of being someone else’s man,” Sir Thomas said in a low voice. “I have no doubt Warrewik appreciates me and my abilities. I have no doubt the king does as well. But I long to be someone in my own right.” His eyes flashed with inner fire. “To give commands instead of only obeying them. I have no title of my own, nor will I. Being a second son is a curse. My brother wi
ll gain the earldom, and I don’t think he appreciates the freedom it gives him. Being denied something makes you all the keener to have it.” He shook his head. “I’m talking too much.”

  “I don’t mind listening,” Ankarette replied.

  “You’re a good friend,” he said, smiling at her. “And I’m acting boorish. How many men would be jealous of what I have? My life is thrilling. There is always the promise of more excitement. I shouldn’t complain. What about you, Ankarette? What is your ambition? You cannot say you do not have any. That would be a lie and we both know it. The reports from the school all said you did exceptionally well.”

  She blushed modestly and looked away. She did not like it when others focused on her. Especially him. “I’ve never had your ambition,” she said, “and I could never become a lady, no matter how well I served the duke or the king.”

  “But . . . ?” he encouraged.

  “I suppose my ambition lies in creating a reputation for myself. When I lived back in Yuork, other girls my age talked about catching a husband one day. I felt a measure of pride in the work my mother trained me to do . . . and in being helpful to her, something she praised me for. I suppose I would like to win respect from those much older than me. That’s my ambition, Sir Thomas.”

  He stared at her seriously, his eyes full of kindness. It made her squirm inside. “You did earn a reputation, even as a girl of twelve. It was part of what brought you to the duke’s attention. And when I spied on you in Yuork, I agreed. I do have a knack for recognizing talent.” He winked at her. “We are alike in many ways, Ankarette. We both serve two masters, although our true allegiance is to one. It is a dangerous walk. The suspense is brutal. How are you enduring it?”

  “I endure it day by day, like you do,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “At the school, we were taught to kill with poison, but we were also taught to keep others alive. To protect. That is the aspect of the training I enjoyed best. How to recognize the symptoms of poison and administer a cure before the victim dies, how to heal wounds, and how to safely deliver a baby when the birth goes awry. I will try to save lives whenever possible, Sir Thomas, that’s what I’ve promised myself. That’s how I’ll endure it.” She was quiet for a moment, then she added, “There was a man spoken of quite a bit at the school. King Lewis’s poisoner.”

  Sir Thomas’s eyebrows lifted. “You know who it is? The Espion have tried to learn who he is for years.”

  She nodded. “His herald. Warrewik knows, though he clearly hasn’t seen fit to tell anyone.”

  “Lord Hux?” Sir Thomas was dumbfounded.

  “The very one. He has a fearsome reputation at the school, but his identity is cloaked in secrecy. Only the masters know who he is in truth. I guessed after his visit to Dundrennan, though, and he came to see me before I left Pisan.”

  “Did he try to recruit you?”

  “Of course. I said no. But he made it clear that I’d be welcome in Occitania.”

  Sir Thomas nodded his head wonderingly. “You didn’t have to tell me this,” he said. “It’s dangerous that you did.”

  She smiled and shrugged. “I trust you.”

  He reached over and patted her hand. His touch felt very warm. “Dangerous for me, that is. But thank you, lass.”

  Her cheeks started to flush. She needed to shift the conversation, or her feelings would start to run away with her. “I’m grateful you’re taking me to Marshaw. I miss my mother very much. But I must be honest with you, Sir Thomas, I’m worried about what will become of her. Duke Warrewik made it very clear, in his way, that her fate depended on my cooperation. What if the queen does have a son?”

  He looked at her seriously. “I will make certain your mother is protected, Ankarette. You need not fear that.”

  “Yes, but how?” She wrung her hands. “Marshaw is far away from Kingfountain. Maybe Warrewik left orders . . .”

  The door opened and another man walked in, his clothes dripping wet. Ankarette reached for her dagger out of reflex. The man’s gaze landed on them for a moment, but he walked past their couch to the fire and crouched there to warm himself. Ankarette kept watch on him. His clothing didn’t mark him as a man of importance, but he carried himself with confidence and skill. He was tall, weathered, and well-built, with close-shorn hair and a wide black mustache.

  “What brings you so far north, Robert?” Sir Thomas asked, clearly recognizing the man. By the way he shifted on the couch, moving a little farther away from Ankarette, he did not trust him. She felt a pang of self-consciousness at this subtle distancing from her.

  “The duke’s business, of course,” he replied in a gravelly voice. He glanced at the two of them, his eyes mocking. “Thought you were loyal to Horwath’s daughter.”

  Sir Thomas’s eyes flared with anger and Ankarette experienced her own flush of heat from the man’s rude comment. Oh.

  “I am,” Sir Thomas said tightly.

  The man chuckled to himself, warming his hands. “Makes no difference to me,” Robert said. “She’s a pretty thing.” He gave Ankarette a sly look. “A bit young, though.”

  Sir Thomas rose off the sofa, his eyes charged with rage. “Watch your words, man,” he said threateningly.

  The newcomer didn’t look concerned at all. He sized up Sir Thomas and rose to his feet. He was taller. There was a look in his eye that told her he enjoyed goading Thomas. That, indeed, he was trying to goad him into a fight.

  Rising from the sofa herself, she twisted her Espion ring in a nervous gesture and released the poisoned tip. “I’ve not met you before, Sir Robert,” Ankarette said, touching his arm in a kindly way. “Where are you from?”

  He looked startled, having felt the pain on his arm, the subtle sting of the needle. He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. And then he slumped onto the floor in a wet heap.

  After rifling through his clothes, they discovered his orders, written in the formian cipher. Sir Thomas crouched by his body, wagging the paper in his hand.

  “What does it say?” Ankarette asked him.

  He handed it to her. “See for yourself.”

  She quickly gazed at the document. The comatose Robert was snoring in a pool of drool by the fire. Sir Thomas stared down at the body and chuckled. “That poison worked very fast. What was it?”

  “Pentha oil,” she answered. “He’ll be asleep for an hour or two.” She finished reading the cipher. She had always been quick at it after learning the code in the poisoners’ school.

  The final note stopped her cold.

  “Ah, you got to that part,” Sir Thomas said, smiling worriedly.

  She had. “He was ordered to spy on you,” she said, frowning.

  “To spy on us,” he corrected. “He’s going to Marshaw as well. To await further orders.”

  It did not take much imagination for her to make the leap. “Do you think he’s there to hurt my mother?”

  Sir Thomas looked at her seriously. “I think you were right about the duke, and he wants to make sure you stay loyal to him. Grab him by the boots. Let’s get him on the couch.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Marshaw Manor

  They had left the poisoned Espion on the couch, and in the morning he was gone. Before leaving the inn, Ankarette provided the mistress with a healing tonic and promised it would help subdue her cough and strengthen her. She also inspected the woman’s pregnancy and made a mental reminder to check on her in a few months to ensure all was well.

  Rain continued to plague them after they left Blackpool, and they arrived in Marshaw soaked and cold. Despite the rain, her mother ran out to embrace her and hurried them up to their rooms.

  The reunion between Ankarette and her mother was a mixture of delight, regret, and longing. Ankarette told her mother about her studies at a special school in Pisan, but she did not mention the other skills she had learned there. Her mother had always been a quiet woman, and she’d embraced her new role with dignity, earning respect from the household staff. There were m
any visitors, she said, and other families who sought out her friendship.

  Ankarette was pleased to see her doing so well, but she could not stop thinking about the orders Robert had carried on his person. About the look in Duke Warrewik’s eyes when he’d suggested this visit. She kept her concerns to herself, not wanting to make her mother worry. But the problem continued to nag at her.

  The day after they arrived, the man they had met in Blackpool—Robert—arrived in the middle of a violent thunderstorm. The guest was not announced to her mother while Ankarette was in her presence, but Sir Thomas whispered the news into her ear. Apparently Marshaw was another Espion hideout, which could hardly be a coincidence.

  She gave Sir Thomas an entreating look and asked if he would keep her mother occupied for a moment.

  “Of course,” he answered.

  Ankarette had been stewing over what to do about Robert ever since that night at the inn. After spending some time with her needlework that morning, an idea had sprouted into her mind, followed by a little flush and ripple, which she now recognized as the Fountain’s power. Since her conversation with the deconeus, she had been deliberate about her practice and had felt the magic respond accordingly, filling her up inside. It was during these moments when her thoughts were clearest.

  She found Robert in the kitchen, drying by the fire. The cook had prepared a plate for him, and he was eating a crust of bread drizzled with honey when he finally noticed her standing behind him. He flinched, his eyes widening with an instant look of panic.

  “Are you enjoying the food?” she asked him in a calm, deliberate voice as she circled around to face him.

  He suddenly looked down at the bread, his eyes widening with suspicion. His nostrils flared. Then he set it back down on the plate. His dark hair was damp from the rain.

  “You poisoned me in Blackpool,” he growled in a low voice.

  She looked him in the eye. Her voice was low and controlled and sincere. “That kind was rather harmless. It only made you sleep. There is another kind that can stop your heart beating. That death is very painful.”