by Jeff Wheeler
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer
Owen knew he was in trouble when the duke’s granddaughter squealed upon seeing him for the first time. Loud noises always rattled the young boy, and she was a force of nature in her own right. The delighted squeal was followed by a hurricane of words, touches, and hugs that nearly made Owen flee the kitchen for his life.
“Oh, it’s you! It’s Owen! I’ve heard so much about you that I already feel I know you. Aren’t you just the most adorable thing ever! I love your hair! Grandpapa, you didn’t tell me about how cute he is! He’s absolutely adorable. Owen, we are going to be the best of friends. Look, we are even the same height! I had imagined you would be shorter than me for some reason. But look, our noses almost touch!”
Owen stood straight as an arrow, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of the girl. She was holding his hand one second, then mussing his hair the next, then tugging him to stand in front of her, comparing heights.
How to describe the whirlwind?
It was true, the duke’s granddaughter was his own height. Her hair, gathered behind a jeweled headband that glinted, was a darker brown than Owen’s, and went just past her shoulders. She wore a velvet dress the color of red wine that had sable fur at the wrists and the neck. She could hardly hold still, and he noticed that she wore a sturdy pair of leather boots beneath her hem that swished and swayed as she moved.
She noticed him looking at her feet and grinned, hiking up her skirts. “Do you like my boots? I love these boots! Look at all the buckles and straps. You could try and pull these off, but it wouldn’t work. These are my exploring boots. Do you like to climb trees and rocks? I love to climb! There isn’t any snow down here at Kingfountain, but up in the North, there is so much snow! These boots keep me warm, but they are also good for tromping in the snow. You don’t talk very much, Owen, do you? Grandpapa said you were shy, didn’t you, Grandpapa! That’s okay, but I’ve just been so anxious to meet you!” She wrung his hand and nearly yanked it loose with her shakes.
“Give the poor dear a chance to breathe, child!” Liona said with a soft chuckle. “Master Owen, this is Lady Mortimer.”
The young girl looked affronted. “No one calls me that!” she chided sweetly. “My name is Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer, thank you.”
Owen was still reeling from the introduction. He could not decide what color the girl’s eyes were. First of all, she did not hold still long enough for him to tell, but they were either blue or gray. Or maybe green. But she had an expressive smile that crinkled around her eyes.
“We’ll have so much fun, Owen!” she said, twisting her hands together in delight. “I’m going to live here too for a while. That’s what my grandpapa says! You and I will play together and wander the castle together.” She gazed up at the rafters, looking all around. “There are so many places to hide!”
“I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted,” the duke said, before vanishing from the kitchen.
“My dear young lady,” interrupted a sour voice from nearby. It was Mancini, looking more peevish than usual. “You are taking all the air out of the room. Kindly save some for the rest of us!”
Her eyes narrowed when she looked at the huge man on the chair. She did not wilt at all in the face of his rebuke. In fact, it made her a little stern. “You are a fat man,” she said decidedly.
Mancini chortled with surprise. “You noticed that all on your own, did you?”
“I spoke the truth,” the girl said. “You are the biggest man I have ever seen! In the North, there are animals that are so fat they can only move underwater. They have huge tusks! I’ve seen the pelts, but I’ve never seen a real one.”
Mancini stared at her in amazement. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing. You just reminded me is all.”
“You’re as chatty as a little magpie,” Mancini growled. “Do you do this all day or just in the mornings and evenings when people are trying to sleep?”
“I like to talk,” she replied eagerly. “I talk in my sleep too. That’s what my governess tells me. I can’t stop.” Then she turned away from Mancini, not giving him another look, and returned her focus to Owen, who was trying to sneak into the corner to find his box of tiles. He was amazed by her fearlessness, but he found himself wondering how she would fare at breakfast with the king. Owen imagined her prattling would quickly earn the king’s scorn. His satchel was waiting on the bench, so he set it in the corner and sat down to open the box of tiles.
She followed him and knelt on the floor beside him.
“What are you doing?” she asked him quizzically.
“Owen likes to put them in rows and then knock them down,” Liona explained. “He’s pretty quiet, Lady Mortimer.”
The girl looked at Liona. “Call me Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer, please.”
“Bless me, child, but that’s a mouthful!”
“But it’s my name,” the girl repeated in a kind way. “I love my name. I love Owen’s name too. Owen Kiskaddon. Owen Kiskaddon.” She sighed. “It’s like ‘kiss.’ I love saying it!”
Owen shuddered, believing Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer was perhaps the strangest and most annoying individual he had ever met. She tried to peer at the box of tiles over his shoulder, so he turned to block her view. He needed to think. If she had come to the palace to be his companion, when would he be able to see Ankarette Tryneowy and learn his lessons? He loved having a secret, and he was absolutely determined to keep it from this girl.
He began to lay the tiles, feeling his ears burn hot from the power of the girl’s gaze. She craned her neck to look around him, and he kept turning more to block her view, feeling possessive of the tiles and a bit annoyed at her.
After he set up his first row, which looked a bit haphazard because of his discomfort and anxiety, she changed her position and came around in front of him to get an unobstructed view. He ground his teeth and glared at her.
“This is interesting,” she whispered, putting her chin on her hands, her elbows on her knees. She grew quiet as she watched him place another row.
“Let me help you, it’ll go faster,” she said, reaching toward the box. Their hands collided over a tile. Instead of grabbing it, she seized his hand and gave him a sly smile. “We’re going to be such friends!” she gushed in a half whisper.
“I don’t need help,” Owen said thickly, not daring to look her full in the face.
Her eyes widened with surprise, then her startled expression changed into a smile. “All right. I’ll just watch then.” She planted her chin again and watched, mesmerized, as he continued stacking the tiles.
She was quiet now. That was good. At first he had worried she would chatter so much he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. He glanced up once or twice and noticed a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The bustle of the kitchen continued around them, and soon Owen could not hear anything—all the background sounds combined into a gentle lull as he lost himself in the tiles once again. Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer was silent and watchful, staring at the intricate arrangements with utter fascination.
He completed the design and sat back on his heels, gazing at it.
“It’s amazing, Owen!” the girl said with wide eyes. “What happens next? What happens when you’re through?”
He had not solved his problem yet. He wanted to talk to Ankarette and get her advice. She was quiet and subdued, more of a listener than a talker—the total opposite of this wild young thing kneeling in front of him. He wondered what the queen’s poisoner would say about Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer. And what the girl would say if she knew who lived in the knifelike tower.
“Push that one,” Owen said, pointing to the tile that would start toppling the others.
Her eyes gleamed with eagerness. “Me? That’s so sweet of you! You push it over . . . just like . . . this?” She gave the tile a light little tap and it fell over and made a clickety-clack that continued as all
the pieces spilled down.
The girl gave a tinkling, silvery laugh of pure delight that was almost pleasant to Owen’s ears. Crushing her hands together against her chest, she stared at the collapsed tiles and then shifted her gaze to him.
“I love it! That was so beautiful! How did you . . . ? I love it, Owen! I love it! You are so interesting. I knew you would be. I want to see it again. You must build it again! Let me help clear the space.”
Putting away the tiles was Owen’s least favorite part, and Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer was only too eager to assist. In moments, the tiles were back in the box and he had started on another design.
“Part of your hair is white,” she said suddenly, her fingers tickling his mussy hair. “Why is that? Is it paint?”
He looked at her in annoyance and shook his head.
“You came that way?” she pressed, staring at the little tufts of hair. “That’s wonderful. It’s like that part of your head is an old man already. You must be really smart then. I love the kitchen. It smells so good in here. Fresh bread out of the oven is divine.” She leaned back a bit, sighing contentedly.
“My papa is dead,” she said after a while. She reached out and took a tile and examined it with her fingers. “I’m not really sure what it means, but he’s not coming back. Mama can’t stop crying. I loved Papa. He was so kind to me. He gave me ponies and dresses. And these boots! It’s not your fault he died, Owen. I’m not angry at your papa.”
Owen looked at her, feeling nervous. “My brother . . . died,” he said softly.
She nodded matter-of-factly. “He was killed for treason. But that’s not your fault either. My grandpapa felt sorry for you. He said you were taken from your family. You were all alone and too shy to talk.” She reached out and touched his knee. “We’re going to be friends. I like you very much. You are adorable!”
Owen wasn’t sure how he felt yet, but his ears were burning again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ankarette’s Stratagem
Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer’s first breakfast with the king went surprisingly well, much to Owen’s chagrin. He had wondered how she would take his taunts and temper. She was absolutely fearless. That was the only word to properly describe her. She loved the idea of picking from all the dishes and gobbled up a hearty breakfast while still managing to talk between mouthfuls. She was eager to meet the king and suggested, rather boldly, that he needed to put a large fountain in the great hall, one with glass walls, and fill it with giant fish so that they could watch them swim while they ate.
Owen was not certain how the king would react to her demands. King Severn looked at her with half annoyance, half amusement and offered her a view of the royal fish pond to placate her. She agreed enthusiastically and rushed over to Owen to share the good news.
In truth, Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer seemed as comfortable in the great hall as if she had lived there her entire life. She wore a new dress. Each day she had a new one. This one was black and silver. Owen stared at her with budding respect, but it frustrated him that he did not share her courage. Why must strangers always leave him so tongue-tied and ashamed? He had always been that way and did not know why.
“And what do you think, Master Owen?” the king suddenly said at his ear. “Do you want the hall full of fish?”
Owen’s muscles locked up and he felt a coldness shoot through him at being caught off guard. A pit of fear opened up inside him, swallowing everything before it. He could not even stammer a reply. He was powerless to say anything.
The king snorted and then walked away, unsheathing and jamming his dagger as he went.
Owen felt his knees start to buckle and the urge to cry was almost overpowering. Feeling humiliated, he cast his eyes down. Someone approached and he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Duke Horwath looking at him sympathetically. He did not say anything, but his touch was comforting. Then he walked after the king and began speaking to him in a low voice. Owen could not hear their discussion, but he could have sworn he heard the duke say “Tatton Hall” before they were both out of earshot.
Later in the afternoon, Owen was building with his tiles, constructing a tower that was taller than those he usually made. It had tumbled a few times, annoying him, but he continued to work on it. Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer lay on her stomach, playing with several pieces of tile and talking about something to which Owen did not pay much mind as he concentrated on the tower. The kitchen bustled pleasantly, and he could smell the delightful fragrance of a pie cooking in the ovens, making his mouth water. Liona made the best crusts he had ever tasted, and he had been tempted more than once to eat the ring of crispy dough without touching the middle part.
“Well?” the Mortimer girl asked again, and Owen glanced over at where she lay looking up at him. He had started calling her the Mortimer girl in his mind because her name was so long.
He was a little annoyed that she now expected a partner in the conversation. She had been doing so well at it by herself. “What?” he asked.
“When we get married, do you want to live in the North or in the West?”
He stared at her in shock. “We’re getting married?”
“Of course we are. I think we should live in the North. I love the snow. There are mountains, Owen, mountains so huge they block out the sun until midday. There is always snow up there. There are canyons and rivers and waterfalls.” She sighed dreamily. “The North is the best place in the world. I would live in the West, if you insisted. But I would be sad.”
“Why are we getting married?”
She set down the tiles. “You have to get married someday, Owen. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I know that, but . . .”
“Everyone has to get married. Even the king got married, all bent as he is. His wife was from the North, you know, and she was lovely. I’m so sad she died. She used to braid my hair. The prince was ten when he died of a fever. That’s only two years older than us. I thought I might marry him someday.” She shook her head. “I like you better.”
“But . . .”
“Really, Owen Kiskaddon, it’s not difficult to answer! The North or the West? You must learn to make decisions. I think we’ll live in the North first, and then the West. That way, you can choose which you like better. I think I’ll always like the North better. But I haven’t lived in the West before.” There was a dreamy look in her strange-colored eyes as she gazed at the tiles spread out on the floor in front of her. In the light, they were looking greener. It’s like they had started off deciding to be blue, then changed their mind and turned gray, and then switched to green just at the very end, around the fringe of her inky black pupils. That was so like her!
“I’m not getting married,” Owen said forcefully.
She set down the tiles and looked at him. “Everyone gets married.”
“The prince didn’t. He died.”
“You’re not going to die, Owen. The prince was always coughing. I’ve never heard you cough. You’re not sickly at all.”
Ankarette’s potions had been helping him breathe better. But he knew something the Mortimer girl didn’t. Owen looked down at his lap. “The king wants to kill me.”
She sat up quickly, her face growing pale with concern. “No, he doesn’t. That’s the silliest thought I ever heard.”
Owen was feeling hot again, his ears burning. She was looking at him with concern and sympathy. She edged closer. “Why would you think something like that?” she whispered.
“I’m his hostage,” Owen replied darkly. “That’s why I’m here. If my parents do anything to spite him, he’s going to kill me. He killed my brother already. It’s true.”
All the happiness drained from her face. In its place came an implacable anger. “Well, I won’t let him do it. I think that’s silly. No one kills a little child.”
Owen was feeling a little annoyed. “He already has,” he mumbled.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
“He has.
Everyone knows about it. His brother had two sons. They were hostages, too. He killed them.”
“It’s not true,” she said angrily. “Not everything that’s whispered is true, Owen.” She reached out and seized his hand, her fingers digging into his flesh. “Don’t believe the lies.”
Owen gave her a challenging look. “Your grandpapa knows.” He glanced around the kitchen, a dark, brooding feeling enveloping him. “None of us are safe here.”
Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer stood and marched out of the kitchen, tossing her dark hair back over her shoulder.
Owen was glad she was gone. Mostly.
In the middle of the night, Owen was playing Wizr with Ankarette in the poisoner’s tower and telling her everything he could about the castle’s newest guest, the duke’s outspoken granddaughter. Ankarette liked to talk as they played the game, which forced him to speak and think at the same time.
“I don’t want to marry the Mortimer girl,” Owen said, blocking one of Ankarette’s attacks.
“She has decided opinions about many things,” Ankarette said, with a hint of amusement in her voice. “It’s a trait of those from the North. They tend to be outspoken.”
“Her grandfather isn’t,” Owen said glumly. “He never talks at all.” He grimaced when he realized her next move threatened him in two places at once. Since he would lose a piece regardless, he decided to sacrifice the lesser one. But he stopped himself before he made the move. Instead of responding to the threat, he positioned one of his pieces to threaten another one of hers.
“Well done, Owen,” she praised. “Counter a threat with a threat. An excellent strategy. Horwath is loyal. He’s not as outspoken here at court because this isn’t his power base. If you were with him up in the North, there’s a chance he would come across differently.”
“That’s where she says we’re going to live when we get married,” Owen said bleakly. He looked up at her face. “Can she force me to marry her?”