by Jeff Wheeler
And she failed.
She ended up facedown on the floor, his knee in her back, her arm twisted painfully. The mad king was cowering, weeping openly at the violence, and the worst part of her suffering was the knowledge that she couldn’t save him. She couldn’t save herself. Her mind scrambled for a strategy, but her Fountain magic was ebbing fast.
“I didn’t think you’d be easy to tame,” Hux said, panting. She watched him remove a vial from his doublet. “Truly, you are an exceptional poisoner.”
The hand with her poisoned ring was the one he was torquing behind her back to control her. She tried to bring her elbow back to knock away the vial, but he only increased the pressure on her arm, which made her gasp in pain.
“No, not yet. I’ll let you go in a moment. Here, drink this one. It’s one of my favorites.”
He let go of her arm, then grabbed the hair at her forehead and jerked her neck back, exposing her throat. He did it so quickly and violently that she opened her mouth to scream—
And that was when he splashed the liquid inside. It tasted bitter, terribly bitter. He quickly adjusted his hold on her and triggered her swallow reflex with his fingers. The liquid burned down her throat. She didn’t recognize the poison. It was unlike anything she’d ever smelled.
Then Lord Hux was off of her. Her body started to tremble, the feeling of burning reached her stomach. She clutched her abdomen, looking up at him in misery.
He backed away, wiping sweat from his brow. “I would have killed anyone else for daring to strike me, my dear. But I’ve fulfilled my orders, and now I will go.”
The pain in her stomach increased. She was going to be sick. She wanted to be sick, to purge the poison from her stomach.
“What is it?” she demanded. “What did you do to me?”
He smiled pleasantly. “Oh, it’s not something from our kingdoms. There are plants all over the world, you know. This particular one is from the East Kingdoms. It won’t kill you, Ankarette. Not right away. With the right antidote, you will live a little while longer, as long as you keep drinking it. I’ll send some to you after I’ve gone.” His eyes narrowed coldly. “If he chooses to let Morvared live, then so will you. Tell your king this. When she dies, you will die. Farewell.”
She rose to her knees, cradling her stomach. “What have you done to me?”
“What I came here to do,” he replied blandly. “I needed some way to control you.” And then he left, abandoning her and the mad king.
Her stomach hurt so much she couldn’t stand straight, but she tried. She needed to summon the Espion to chase him down. She crawled toward the door, not comprehending what had happened. Her insides burned from within, as if she’d swallowed a hot coal. The convulsions grew worse.
“Ankarette!”
She turned her head. Thomas stood in the doorway of the secret passage, gaping at her in open horror. He rushed to her side and lifted her up.
“Hurry,” she said, shaking her head. “Lord Hux is in the palace. Don’t let him escape. He has the antidote.”
His eyes were frenzied. “He poisoned you?”
She nodded. “Quickly, Thomas!” With a quavering hand, she touched the side of his face. “Be careful. Be careful, my love.”
He set her down on the king’s bed, looking anguished. He gripped the pommel of his sword. His hair was disheveled. She saw the chain hauberk beneath his tunic of the Sun and Rose.
“I’ll kill him,” he vowed.
Ankarette nodded. “Be careful,” she pleaded.
He bent down to kiss her mouth, but she held up her hand and stopped his lips from touching hers. A wounded look filled his eyes. Her magic was draining from her—spilling, wasting. She didn’t have much left.
“There’s still poison on my lips,” she said.
His jaw clenched in fury. Pulling the sword from its scabbard, he marched to the door and kicked it open.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The Battle of Borehamwood
It was difficult to decide which pain was worse—the one from the poison spreading through her belly or the suspense of wondering whether Thomas was even now facing off with Lord Hux. She was cold from the inside of her marrow. Breathing was a challenge. In all her experiences as a midwife she had seen women suffer the pangs of childbirth in different ways. She was determined to endure her suffering with dignity.
She lay clenched in a ball on the bed, knees up to her middle, and did her best to stifle the soft moans. A face loomed above her. It was the mad king. He stared down at her with a look of pity.
“Gromph,” he said. It was gibberish still, but he wasn’t menacing or threatening. With the back of his hand, he gently smoothed some of the hair from her brow. Then he patted her shoulder and began to hum.
The room was soon disturbed by knights bearing the emblem of the Sun and Rose. The mad king quailed and began shouting at them. He seized a pillow from the bed and hurled it at one of the soldiers before spluttering more nonsensical words.
One of the knights looked at the bed, at her. “Sir Thomas said we’d find you here. We’re to remove the mad king to Holistern Tower before the king arrives. He’s at the sanctuary greeting the queen at the moment, but will be here presently. Can I offer you any comfort? Are you wounded?”
The other knights wrestled for control of the mad king, grabbing him by the arms. He tried to cling to one of the bedposts and wailed in anguish. The sound made Ankarette’s soul shudder and shrink. He was so helpless. Powerless.
She wanted to speak but couldn’t even properly think through the pain. The knight gestured for the others to remove the man quickly. Her eyes locked with the mad king’s gaze and he seemed to be entreating her to save him. The noise from the conflict continued out in the hall.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” the knight said, standing guard over her. “Can I fetch you some wine perhaps?”
“Just a little, thank you,” Ankarette whispered, stifling a groan.
He quickly made arrangements and then brought her a cup. She tried to sit up, but the pain inside her stomach made her shrink back down. The knight was helpless to lessen her discomfort. With his help, she managed a few swallows before the flavor made her want to retch.
“Thank you,” she said softly. Her head was swimming with dizziness and she sank back down on the pillows.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Help Sir Thomas,” she said. Spots began to dance in her eyes and her vision retreated into a dark tunnel. She collapsed on the bed.
Ankarette felt a gentle arm cradle her head and lift it. She was as weak as a newborn, unable to resist. She felt the lip of a small vial pressed against her mouth. Instinctively, she tried to resist, to turn away her head and repel the arm.
“Sshhh,” Thomas soothed. “Drink this, Ankarette. I think it will help.”
As her eyelids fluttered open, she smelled Thomas’s scent, felt him pressing against her. She obeyed and parted her lips. The liquid from the vial was a pungent ichor. She took a little sip and winced as it went down her throat.
“Is it awful?” he asked. “It smells awful.”
The pain in her belly immediately began to ease. Her vision cleared and she saw Thomas hovering over her anxiously. Her eyes darted around and she saw Eredur and Elyse standing at the foot of the bed, also concerned. They held each other tightly, the king’s arm wrapped around the queen’s shoulders.
The soothing feeling spread through her.
“The pain is ebbing,” she said in a quiet voice. Then she noticed the vial in his hand. Thomas was holding a silver bottle, about the size of a perfume bottle. The silver was ornamented with little curves and embellishments around a glass interior. She saw the deep purple liquid inside and blinked in fear. She’d seen such vials before in Pisan. It was one of the accoutrements of a poisoner.
“What is that?” she asked him worriedly. “Where did you get it?”
“Lord Hux left it behind,” he answered. Then he tilted the b
ottle and showed her the cap. Her name had been engraved there in delicate letters done in exquisite script.
“Are you feeling better?” the queen asked Ankarette worriedly.
She was and so she nodded.
“I’m so relieved,” the queen said, leaning her head on Eredur’s chest.
“As am I,” said the king. “Tom says you faced Lord Hux on your own.” He shook his head. “I’m grateful you’re still alive.”
Their concern for her meant the world. She tried to sit up again, and although it made her dizzy, she had the strength.
“How did he escape?” she asked, looking into Thomas’s eyes. He was sitting on the bed and helped her straighten. Her body felt as if she’d been thrown from the tower and landed violently on the ground. Something within her was broken.
“We don’t know,” Thomas said. He looked perplexed. “I saw him, Ankarette. I saw his doublet, his hair. He went into the chapel by the audience hall. There is only one way in and out of that place—that private little chapel with a fountain. You know it?”
She nodded, squinting at him.
“When I arrived, I thought he’d demand sanctuary, and I was ready to spill his blood for hurting you, despite the sacrilege.” He chuckled to himself. “But he wasn’t there. There was only this vial of poison with your name on it waiting on the edge of the fountain. He left it there.” He shrugged. “I stood guard and summoned soldiers to help me search the room. There is no place to hide in there. We even dipped our swords into the water of the fountain. There was no trace of him.”
“He is very good at deception,” Ankarette said. “I don’t blame you.”
“I blame myself,” he said angrily. “I smelled the vile thing. It had your name on it. We saw you lying there, twitching and trembling. You were dying.”
“It was awful to watch,” Elyse said with a shudder.
“The pain is diminishing,” she said. “But I still feel something is wrong. I don’t think he gave you the cure. Just something that will prolong my life.”
Thomas’s eyes widened and his face crumpled. She reached out toward his hand that was holding the vial and placed hers on his wrist. She squeezed. “You did the right thing, Thomas. He gave me a message before he left.” She swallowed, still tasting the ichor. “He said that as long as Queen Morvared lived, I would live. My life for hers.”
Eredur’s face glinted with anger when she looked at him. “Did he think I was going to take revenge on that woman?”
“I don’t know what he thought,” Ankarette answered. “I think he was just being sure that we got the message.”
The queen scowled at the news. “It’s not a fair trade. Ankarette is worth far more than that false queen.”
“Indeed,” echoed her husband. “Tom—we must go. How far away is Warrewik’s army? He’s at our heels.”
“He’ll be at Borehamwood before nightfall. That gives us tomorrow to prepare Kingfountain for his attack.”
The king shook his head, his look stony. “No, Tom. No more hunkering behind walls. He’s expecting me to hide in here and throw his soldiers against the walls. We’re going to face him.”
Thomas looked surprised. “His army is double our size, even with Dunsdworth’s force added to our own. We need time for Stiev Horwath to come down from the North and even the odds!”
Eredur was grim faced. “We don’t have time to wait for Horwath. We won’t get another chance like this. Morvared’s forces will be here within a day or two, and if we wait for them to come, we’ll all be dead. We’ve got the city. They’ll hold for us. Now we face my uncle and end this.”
A throb of worry clenched Ankarette’s heart. Her hand tightened on Thomas’s wrist.
He stared at the king, the conflict evident on his face. Thomas had served Warrewik for years before betraying him. There was no doubt his future and his fortunes rode on the outcome of this battle. If Warrewik won, Thomas would be sent over the falls. Of course, he could also be killed in the chaos of battle. Ankarette could not bear either outcome.
Eredur gave his friend a hard look. “I need you, Tom. So much can happen. I need your wits. I need your courage.”
Thomas looked away as he rose from the bed. “Let’s get this done, then,” he said with a sigh. But he paused at the door to look back at her. “Good-bye, lass.”
It was after midnight and few in the palace were asleep. Little Elyse was curled up on the royal bed, exhausted. The prince fidgeted in his cradle, restless. The queen was pacing, repeatedly casting anxious looks toward the door every time the sound of bootsteps approached and faded. Ankarette sat at the window seat, a blanket spread over her lap, her fingers working quickly and deftly on the embroidery of a fleur-de-lis, the flower of Occitania. As she worked, she felt little trickles of Fountain magic returning to her. Her stores were hollow within her, a cistern that had drained like the one beneath the castle.
There was a soft tap at the door and the queen ceased her pacing. Ankarette was about to set down her needle when the queen flashed her a gentle smile and gestured for her to keep at her work. Ankarette hated feeling defenseless. She was determined to find out what poison Hux had used on her—and more importantly, she needed a permanent remedy.
The queen answered the door and discovered Liona standing there with a tray and some steaming mugs. “I thought you might care for something at this late hour,” the cook said tenderly. “I’m afraid none of us are sleeping this night. Have you heard any news, my lady?”
“You are so thoughtful, Liona,” the queen said. She gestured to the small table near the couch and the cook came in and set down the tray. “The two armies are facing one another north of Borehamwood. The battle will be in the morning, I fear.”
Liona clucked her tongue. “Then tomorrow we know. But assuredly, my lady, the king is blessed in the arts of war. He’s never lost a battle. He’s fighting for you, for your sweet ones. I can’t count how many coins we’ve all thrown in the fountains. He’s sure to win.”
The queen smiled and hugged the cook. “Thank you, Liona. You are very thoughtful. I treasure your friendship.”
Liona smiled and looked pleased. “You’re kind to say it, my lady. I’ve affection for your little ones. And you too. The duke is a proud man. He never gave us much notice.”
“His error,” the queen said sweetly. “Good night. Rest if you can.”
The cook shook her head. “Not tonight, my lady. May the Fountain bless you and yours.”
“Thank you.”
The cook turned and left, shutting the door quietly behind her. Ankarette worked quickly with the needle. It was no longer her turn to play a role in the events. Somehow the waiting was even more agonizing.
The queen tightened the shawl around her shoulders and stared out the window into the dark night. “Both sides prayed to the Fountain tonight,” she said, her gaze far away. “It has always been so. The night before the Battle of Azinkeep, the King of Ceredigion knelt and prayed to the Fountain for victory. After his success, he swore he would kill any man who boasted of the accomplishment, who denied the Fountain its due praise.” She sighed deeply. “Somewhere they are out there, Ankarette. They are not sleeping either. The die has been cast. It is still rolling.” Then she looked at Ankarette. “Will we win or lose? I don’t know. Only the light of day will reveal that to us. We must have hope, even when there is so little to cling to.”
Ankarette said nothing, working at her stitches. She thought of Thomas and it made her want to weep.
News came the next morning, but it was not decisive. It only added to the strain.
Lord Hastings was seen riding across the bridge with a motley band of soldiers who had been routed in the Battle of Borehamwood. The queen waited for him in the audience hall, wearing her crown and a regal dress, standing with the patience and fortitude of a solemn mountain. Ankarette was nearby, though the other servants and nobles had been hurried out of the room.
Lord Hastings had blood and dirt on his armor as
he came and knelt before her, his face flushed and mired, his hair askew. The dents and gouges in his armor attested that he’d seen heavy action. There was a cut on his left cheek.
“What tidings, Lord Hastings?” the queen asked him, her voice shaking slightly.
He sighed and looked up at her. “The battle isn’t over yet, my queen.”
“Then why are you here and not with my lord husband?” she asked him angrily, gesturing for him to stand.
He groaned and then made it to his feet. “Eredur asked me to command the left flank. He gave Severn the right. He and Dunsdworth took the center. He charged me with defending the road, to prevent Warrewik from getting past us and striking at the city . . . at you.” He sniffed and exhaled roughly. “During the night, the king ordered us all to march closer to Warrewik’s ranks under cover of darkness. Not to engage them, but to draw closer. It was wise that he did so, because Warrewik’s archers shot volleys at our tents with their longbows in the dead of night. We remained quiet all the while, the arrows sailing over our heads. They had no idea we were so close. Eredur thought they’d attack, but they didn’t. They were confused by the stillness.”
Ankarette clenched her hands, smiling at the king’s foresight. Or had it been Thomas’s idea?
Lord Hastings began pacing. “During the night, a thick mist fell across the army. It was difficult judging friend from foe. We readied for battle, and my soldiers were immediately outflanked. Our lines were overlapping,” he said, holding out his hands to demonstrate it. “The Earl of Oxgood struck us from behind. My men started to flee and scatter. I knew we’d be cut to pieces if we tried to join ranks with Eredur’s part of the army, so I ordered my men to retreat to the town so we could hold the road and stop the rout. Oxgood’s men then swung back and attacked the king. There was nothing we could do, my lady. My men were scattering, fearful. It was too much commotion. I took what few knights as would stay loyal and came to defend Kingfountain. I know not what has happened to your husband.”