by Jeff Wheeler
Ankarette pursed her lips. “No, Owen. It’s normal for girls to think about marriage. She really won’t have much choice in the matter at all. Girls seldom do.”
That gave him some relief. It’s not that he didn’t like the Mortimer girl. But he thought it strange that she was so convinced it was going to happen when they had only just met.
“She is brave,” Owen said, responding to her move to block him. Her next move won her the game. He loved Wizr and all the possibilities each game possessed. Even though he’d lost, Ankarette’s praise had put him in a good mood, making him feel more generous toward the newcomer.
“She sounds like it. A fish pond in the great hall. What an amusing idea.”
Owen helped to stack the pieces again in order. He liked doing that part almost as much as playing the game. There was something about the beginning of a Wizr game, when all the pieces were lined up properly. The world felt . . . better.
When he was done, he looked at Ankarette, watching the soft light of the candle play against her pretty face. “Do you think I should trust her?” he asked.
Ankarette considered it thoughtfully. “It’s too soon to tell,” she answered after a lengthy pause.
Owen thought so too. He had not known her long enough yet. Besides, sharing a secret with someone who so loved to talk would be risky. Owen said as much to Ankarette.
She shook her head. “Just because she talks more than you do, doesn’t mean she can’t be trusted. She just has a different personality. The question is whether she is trustworthy. And that, my dear Owen, will be determined over time. Who do you think her first loyalty is to?”
Owen perked up. “Her grandfather.”
“And who is her grandfather’s first loyalty to?” she asked, giving him a knowing smile.
Owen frowned. “The king.”
“Best to keep that in mind then, Owen.”
“Did the king kill his nephews?” he asked.
Ankarette looked at the floor. “I don’t really think so,” she answered. “But I was far away when it happened.”
“But everyone says . . .” She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes, and his voice trailed off. He swallowed. “But everyone says he did it, so it must be true.”
Ankarette smiled, but it wasn’t a pleased smile. It was almost a smile of pain. “It’s been my experience, Owen, that when everyone agrees on some point of fact, it tends to be the biggest deception of all.” She reached out and tousled his hair. “Remember that. Never trust another person to do your thinking for you.”
That sounded a little strange to Owen, but he accepted it.
“Do you have a plan yet, Ankarette?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “A plan to save you?”
He nodded eagerly.
She smoothed her skirts, sitting on her knees before him. The jewels of her necklace glimmered in the candlelight. He leaned forward a little, eagerly watching her face.
“I do have a little stratagem,” she confided.
“What is that? Is it a new necklace?”
She laughed softly. “No, it’s not a gem . . . well, in a way it is. It’s a gem of an idea. A jewel of a thought. Rough, uncut, and unpolished. But all good ideas start out that way.”
“Will you tell me?”
“I need to be careful, Owen. New ideas are delicate. They can be crushed easily. New ideas can be killed by a sneer or a yawn . . . or even a frown.”
Owen was not sure what she meant by that. Perhaps reading his expression, she said, “Have you ever seen a seedling grow? A new flower? They are so small and delicate, but they become sturdier as they grow. The easiest time to pluck a weed is when it is little. New ideas can be that way.”
“I see,” Owen said. He was a little disappointed because he wanted to hear her plan, unfinished as it was.
“Let me tell you what I can,” she said, assuaging him. “When you want to accomplish something, you should start out with what you want to achieve and then work backward. Staying alive isn’t the goal. What I want to do is change the king’s feelings about you. He won’t want to destroy you if he thinks you are valuable. Like a gem.”
Owen’s face perked up at that. “Like a stratagem?”
She smiled. “Exactly. Who would be most valuable to a ruler? You already know this.”
“Someone who is Fountain-blessed?” Owen answered, and she nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes, and loyal. My stratagem, Owen, is to trick the king into believing you are both.”
That was the most brilliant idea he had ever heard. “I think I’d like to be Fountain-blessed,” he said.
“I’m sure you would, and for all we know you might be, but most people do not exhibit that disposition until they are eleven or twelve years old at the earliest. That’s when their gifts start getting noticed by others.”
“I’m only eight,” Owen said dejectedly.
“Hence why I’m still nurturing this thought. I don’t have three years to spare. How does one persuade a cunning prince like Severn that a young boy is Fountain-blessed? I’m still working on it. Give me time.” She winced, and though she would never say so, he knew she was in pain. “I’m feeling tired, Owen.”
“I am too,” he said, though he wasn’t very tired at all. He gave her a hug, loving the soft silk feel of her dress against his cheek, her warmth and tenderness. She kissed his brow and sent him back through the tunnels to his room.
Owen’s mind was full of wandering thoughts as he slipped down the stairs through the secret corridors leading to his room. He knew the way so well he could have made the journey blindfolded. He paused at a large painting, listening for the sound of footsteps, and heard nothing. The castle was asleep. He loved it that way. The rustle of tapestries, the shouting silence of the blackened halls, the deep shadows perfect for concealment. He did not even need a candle anymore as he stole spiderlike through the passages.
He opened the door of his room and immediately noticed the dim glow from a dying candle on a chest. Had he not doused his candle before leaving?
“Where have you been, Owen Kiskaddon?” someone asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
It was Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer, of course.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Loyalty Binds Me
“This is my room,” Owen said in a challenging tone. The girl’s eyes lit up mischievously.
“I know it’s your room. Why weren’t you in it? Where were you? Sneaking something from the kitchen?”
He shook his head and folded his arms. “Why are you sneaking around?”
“I hate sleeping,” she confided. “It’s so boring. Besides, I couldn’t wait until morning to tell you.”
“What?” he pressed, curious.
She leaned forward on her knees, her eyes almost silver in the darkness. “I spoke to Grandpapa. The king didn’t kill his nephews. That’s a lie. But he is responsible for their deaths. Only, it’s not totally confirmed that they’re dead. I’m a little confused on that part.”
Owen scrunched up his nose. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You told me the king was going to kill you. You said he killed his nephews, but I know he didn’t. Grandpapa would not have lied to me.”
“He doesn’t tell you everything,” Owen said flatly. “He’s a grown-up.”
“He tells me everything,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “He’s never lied to me. Ever. You know about the coins in the fountains? They don’t grant wishes, Owen. That’s silly. The sexton shovels them out. Grandpapa told me, and he even let me watch. I never throw coins in fountains to make a wish anymore. It’s a silly tradition.”
Owen frowned. “Just because he said that doesn’t mean—”
“Yes, it does,” she interrupted. “He doesn’t lie to me. Here’s what he said. I knew you’d want to know. There was confusion when the old king, Cousin Eredur, died. We were only six, Owen. Just babies. Now we’re eight and we’re more grown-up. My grandpapa said that one of the princes lived i
n the West. The other lived in Kingfountain. Uncle Severn was named as their protector. You know his badge, right?”
“The boar,” Owen said, nodding. Just thinking about it made him want to shiver.
“The white boar,” she corrected. “You know his motto—‘Loyalty Binds Me.’ His own brother trusted him with his sons. But the queen tried to steal them away. She summoned the son in the West back to Kingfountain and sent soldiers with him. When Severn went to meet the prince, the queen was planning to have her men ambush and kill him. You see, the queen’s manor was on the way there. That’s where the ambush was going to happen. But someone warned him.”
Owen scratched the back of his head. He was still standing in the doorway. She sighed at him impatiently and waved for him to join her on the bed. He carefully shut the door and climbed up in front of her, kneeling like she was.
“Do you know who warned him?” Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer asked him archly. She had kept her voice low and conspiratorial.
Owen shrugged. “Ratcliffe?”
“No, no, no, Owen! Who was Severn’s most trusted man? The one he executed for treason! This was before Ratcliffe.”
Owen had no idea. “How do you know all this?”
“I love stories,” she purred like a cat. “Not pretend stories. I love true stories. My grandpapa tells me all about them. He’s so quiet, but he listens and he watches. He knows who to trust and who is lying. He listens all the time.”
Owen wondered why the granddaughter didn’t follow his example, but he kept that thought to himself.
She squeezed her knees, her eyes lit with excitement. “Lord Bletchley! Cousin Bletchley. He stood a good chance of being on the throne himself. King Eredur never trusted him, but Severn did because he was the one who warned him about the trap. They grabbed the prince as he was going to Kingfountain . . . on the very same road you traveled to get here. Isn’t this exciting?”
He was more confused than excited, but he did not want to dampen her enthusiasm. “So they grabbed the prince.”
“Exactly! That’s why the queen went to Our Lady. Her trap failed and she feared Severn’s revenge. She stayed in sanctuary and let her other son out. Everyone knows she has stayed in sanctuary so long because she’s still afraid of his revenge. The two hate each other.”
“I’ve met her,” Owen said softly, rubbing his chin. He would have to ask Ankarette about this.
“Really?” she asked, almost shrilly, grabbing both of his hands and squeezing them hard. He yanked them away.
“I snuck away from the palace,” he said. “I went to Our Lady to escape.”
Her mouth formed a big O of surprise and she sat up straight, as if all the fragments of a broken jug were coming together in her mind. The look she gave him transformed from eagerness to newfound admiration.
“You didn’t!” she whispered in awe.
Owen nodded. “I snuck out of the porter door in the wall and walked there. Ratcliffe caught me because Mancini told him I was there. I don’t like Mancini much.”
“He’s a spy, but he’s not very good,” she replied in agreement. “So you met her! They say she uses witchery to stay young, but I don’t believe any of that stuff. Was she pretty?”
Owen felt a little uncomfortable. “I think so. I don’t know.”
She waved aside his response. “That’s amazing, Owen—you are so brave! I thought you would be too scared to try something like that. So you like to sneak around, too?” Her choice of words implied that she did as well.
He nodded shyly.
She started shaking her hands around excitedly. “We’re going to have so much fun together! There’s a secret part of the grounds. The cistern. Have you found it yet?”
He stared at her in surprise. “What’s a cistern?”
She grinned. “It’s like a well, except it catches rainwater from the clouds, not from underground streams. Grandpapa showed me the wall blocking it. He said it’s the only place I can’t go. Which makes me want to go there even more!”
“Won’t we get in trouble?” Owen asked.
She waved a hand dismissively. “I sneak around all the time. So I have to tell you the story of Bletchley. Don’t you just hate his name? Bletchley. It’s like you’re throwing up. If your family name was Bletchley, I wouldn’t marry you. Kiskaddon, I love! It’s not as good as Mortimer, but good enough. Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer Kiskaddon.” She shivered with delight. “Oh yes, Bletchley! He was nothing but a lying guttersnipe! He tricked Uncle Severn into giving him control of the Espion, which meant he got control of the princes. Then he made them disappear. And who gets the blame? Severn gets the blame. It was a nasty bit of work, I tell you. A cruel trick. Bletchley killed the princes, and that’s why Severn executed him for treason. Everyone thinks the king did it, but he didn’t.” She looked into his eyes and then, much more gently, reached for his hand. “You were worried that the king was going to put you to death, but my grandpapa thinks you’ll be all right, and I believe him. Do you see why now? The king is upset that his nephews died. He didn’t want it to happen. Remember, his motto is ‘Loyalty Binds Me.’ He took that motto to heart.”
Owen was not sure what to think. One thing he knew. The Mortimer girl knew much more than he did. His parents had told him next to nothing about the families of the realm and the troubles between them. He knew his father had gone off to war again because the king had summoned him. He had been surprised to learn that his father was considered a traitor to the king.
How was he supposed to discover what was true and what was tale? Everyone believed the coins vanished from the fountains and granted wishes. But just because they believed it, didn’t make it true.
“Goodnight, Owen Kiskaddon!” Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer whispered suddenly, stooping to kiss him on the cheek. And with that, she scampered off the bed and vanished out the door.
The following day, the Mortimer girl took Owen on a grand exploration of the grounds. Jewel was not pleased with her and kept demanding they stop and rest, but the girl paid her no mind whatsoever. Grabbing Owen’s hand, she led him on a merry romp toward the secret part of the grounds, leaving their elderly guardian lagging behind.
Owen had passed the nondescript wall before and thought nothing of it, but as she brought him closer, she pointed out how different it was from the adjoining structure. There were not any vines, and little moss on it either, which spoke to the fact that it was a new construction.
“My grandpapa said the cistern is just past it,” she said eagerly. “I haven’t figured out a way to get over it yet, but I think if we had a view from that tower,” she said, pointing up at Ankarette’s tower, “we’d be able to find a way in there.” She pressed her palms against the stone wall, as if she hoped to topple it over. “I think there’s another way inside—a door maybe. I’ve been trying to find a way into that tower, you know, but no one can help me.”
Owen swallowed guiltily, for he knew the way to the tower and he had no doubt that Ankarette knew the secret of the forbidden wall. He was itching to ask her.
When Jewel finally caught up to them, sputtering for breath, the Mortimer girl grabbed Owen’s hand and dragged him away at a run to escape her. It was like playing the seeking game, only better.
After sundown, he waited a long time before sneaking to the tower. He wanted to make sure that his adventure would go unnoticed by his new companion, so he stole into the secret passages and made his way to the Mortimer girl’s chamber. He watched from a secret panel on the wall as Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer built a little fort out of chairs and blankets, with only a stubby candle for light. Suspecting she’d be occupied for a while, Owen stole up to the tower.
When he entered the room, Ankarette was lying on the bed, clutching her middle. She looked tired and uncomfortable and he could see she was in no mood to play Wizr.
“Hello, Owen,” she greeted, her voice weak. “I left the tea for you on the table.” He nestled by the edge of the bed, his stomach growling at th
e sight of the nearby tray of uneaten food. He was always hungry.
“I’m not feeling well tonight,” she said, reaching out tenderly and tousling his hair. “Tomorrow night, perhaps?”
“Are you sick?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Mostly tired. I’ll feel better tomorrow, I think. Would you take the tray down to the kitchen for me? I don’t think I can make it tonight.”
“Of course,” he answered, and then took it. “Can I ask you something?”
“You always can,” she said with a little gasp of pain.
“I heard about Lord Bletchley today.”
“Who told you about him?” she asked, her voice showing her interest.
“The Mortimer girl,” he replied.
“Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer?” Ankarette asked playfully. “What did she tell you?”
Owen knew this was an important moment. He wanted to see if he could trust Ankarette fully. So he decided to test her. He altered some of the story. He said that Severn ordered Bletchley to murder his nephews. He wanted to know if that were true.
Ankarette was quiet for a moment, her eyes lost in thought. “No, I’m not certain that’s true,” she said. “I don’t believe the king ordered his nephews’ deaths. It was Bletchley’s handiwork.” She frowned, her face troubled. “Many do believe Severn ordered it, so I’m not surprised at the story, only that Duke Horwath did not correct his granddaughter.” She shrugged, and Owen felt a surge of relief.
“How do you know he didn’t?” Owen stammered. “I was just thinking . . . you told me the king was Fountain-blessed. Couldn’t he persuade someone that he didn’t do something that he did?”
Ankarette gazed at him with a look that reminded him of the one the Mortimer girl had given him. A look of respect and admiration. It made him flush with warmth.
“Are you sure you are only eight?” she asked with a little laugh. “That was very astute, Owen. You will become a great lord someday. How do I know? Because I was there in secret when Severn told the queen what had become of her sons. Their bodies have never been found, you see, but we all presume they are dead. The king came to Our Lady to tell his sister-in-law. He is not a humble man, you may be sure of that. And while he laid the blame for their death on Bletchley, he told her that he was responsible. He had trusted Bletchley and given him command of the Espion. It was his fault the boys were dead.” She fell quiet. “That took courage, you can imagine. No one made him tell her. And since I was there, I could tell he was not using his Fountain magic. He could have forced her to believe him, but he did not attempt to persuade her or touch her. That is why she had summoned me. She wanted to be sure that she had not been convinced against her will. One Fountain-blessed can discern the gift in another. I would have known it if he had used it against her.”