The Queen's Poisoner (The Kingfountain Series Book 1)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “How could he . . . ?”

  “The knave!”

  “Be silent!” the king reprimanded. “Hear the news first before you begin babbling. Go on, Dickon.”

  Ratcliffe cleared his throat. “He was caught, you may be sure, in the port of Brugia. He was never very far from Ceredigion. A boat was waiting for him in case he needed to escape quickly. A boat paid for by the King of Occitania, if my suspicions hold true. The Espion used it to smuggle him back here.”

  “Facts, Dickon,” the king scolded. “Let’s keep to the facts first. Tell them what you found with Tunmore.”

  “Yes, my lord. Of course.” Ratcliffe’s anger was stirring, but he kept his tone civil. “He had a book on his person. A private history, to be precise. I have it here.” He withdrew a black leather-bound book, small enough to fit in his hand. “Entries, dates, scribblings, musings. Lots of nonsense about the Fountain, really. But it is clear he was plotting something. He’s been in hiding for nearly two years and played a complicit role in the attempted usurpation. I believe—we believe—the information in here will implicate many.” He waggled the book.

  “Only two years ago?” Severn said, his voice cold. “I’d forgotten. It feels so much longer than that.” He pushed away from the wall and strode to the table, limping slightly, an angry frown on his mouth. “Yes, two years ago he plotted to murder me, my wife, and my son. My wife is dead. My son is dead. No doubt he wishes to finish what he started when he seduced Bletchley into treason. For all we may suspect, he was likely behind that pretender’s claim to my throne as well. Tunmore is an eel. The lad was right about that.”

  Ankarette, listening keenly, flashed Owen a secret smile.

  “What lad?” asked one of the prelates. “The Kiskaddon boy? Was there another prophecy?”

  The king’s countenance softened remarkably and his eyes took on the same shining look Evie’s got whenever she talked about the cistern. “Indeed.”

  Ratcliffe held up his hands. “Let’s not be hasty, Your Majesty, in ascribing the boy’s powers to anything beyond coincidence or cunning.”

  “Twice he’s done it,” Severn said. “Twice! The first you could ascribe to coincidence, if a fantastic one. But the second? He knew something before you did!”

  There were grumbles of concern and interest amongst the councillors, one of them begging to know what had happened.

  The king silenced them with a wave of his hand.

  “The boy had another vision,” Severn said, pacing slowly along the table’s edge with his hobbled gait. “This was not a dream at night like before. It was a day vision. He saw an eel caught by a hook. A rat was holding the fishing pole.” He gave Ratcliffe a meaningful look. “And then news arrives that Tunmore, the Deconeus of Ely, was caught in Brugia—on a hook—by the Espion. The lad is blessed, I tell you. He is Fountain-blessed with the gift of foresight!”

  Ankarette smiled and squeezed Owen’s hand. He smiled back at her, giddy that her plan was working out so well.

  “The question, I ask you,” the king continued, “is if I have the authority to execute a prelate of the realm. A man purportedly sanctioned by the Fountain. This man has been a raw blister on my heel for these many years. Lest we forget, he was the one who helped write up the truce terms with Occitania ten years ago. Truce terms that shamed my brother—shamed us all!—when Occitania repudiated them. He was a member of this council two years ago.” He tapped his forefinger on the table. “Others more noble than he have paid for their treachery with their lives. Yet he has been immune from the consequences of treason. What say you, council? Do we see if the Fountain will pardon this man when we throw him into the river?”

  One of the lesser nobles raised his hand. “What does the child say?”

  The king looked at him, confused.

  “The child’s last prediction. You recall it! He said the pinecone fell into the river. In this vision, the hook saved the eel from the river, did it not?”

  “A good point, Rufus,” said one of the prelates, seated on his left. “It did indeed! It saved the eel from the river!”

  The king turned to look at Ratcliffe, who had rushed up to him. “My lord,” said the spymaster, hardly able to contain his agitation. “My lord, you cannot look to a boy as your source of knowing the Fountain’s will! You would risk far too much, it would be—”

  “A miracle?” the king interrupted softly. The room settled down, but Owen’s stomach churned in anticipation.

  “You don’t believe the boy’s Fountain-blessed, Dickon, do you?”

  “I do not,” Ratcliffe responded angrily without a pause. His voice was low and urgent. “I think he’s a tool being used to dupe you. My liege, if you hearken to him, she will have you. She will have tricked and deceived you. The woman is alive. I tell you, she is. I didn’t know her name until I heard Dunsdworth speak it, but he swears he saw her in the kitchen. The kitchen! Where else does the boy play his silly games but there? My lord, my friend, you must trust me on this! That woman is the most dangerous person in your realm. Even more dangerous than Tunmore. Ask Horwath. Even he fears her.”

  A spasm of worry shot through Owen as he realized they were talking about Ankarette. The euphoria turned into nausea in his stomach.

  “And what do you say, Stiev?” the king asked, turning his attention to the grizzled duke who was lounging in a stuffed chair within view of the spyhole.

  There was a long moment of silence. He stared at the tabletop and slowly drummed his fingers. “According to the official records, Ankarette Tryneowy plunged to her death in a boat. If she lived, your brother never told me, Your Majesty.” Ratcliffe’s face twisted with impatience, but the king’s attention was wholly focused on the old duke.

  “But?” Severn prompted.

  “But,” continued the duke. “I have harbored some suspicions of my own. In the North, we throw the condemned off the mountain falls. In all our histories, only the Fountain-blessed have survived this test. If the queen’s poisoner is Fountain-blessed, as we suspect, perhaps she did not perish in the falls.” He fell silent again, plucking at the gray hairs at the end of his goatee.

  The king’s voice was serious. “Do you believe the boy is Fountain-blessed?”

  Horwath lifted his eyes and nodded once.

  Ratcliffe scowled. It was his word against the entire council. Even Owen could see that. And yet the king still heeded him.

  The king walked back to the mantel and rested his arm on it. “What do you advise, Dickon?” he asked. “You know that I trust you.”

  Ratcliffe was at the king’s elbow in a moment. “One thing, my lord. One thing that solves all your problems at once.”

  Ankarette frowned, her expression serious and concerned, and Owen felt his chest tighten. Sometimes their plan felt like a game of Wizr, but at moments like this he was reminded that it was not. It was a match of wits that would impact all their lives.

  “Bring the boy with us when we go to the West to dispense the king’s justice at the Assizes. Take the boy away from the palace and all the intrigues here. We need to separate him from those who may be influencing him. If he’s Fountain-blessed, his powers should work beyond the palace grounds. That would be proof sufficient to satisfy even me.”

  The king smirked. “And what if he is Fountain-blessed, Dickon? Do you know how rare this particular gift is? Not the rarity of being Fountain-blessed, but seeing the future!” His eyes glittered with eagerness. He wanted to believe it. “If it’s true, this lad will become the greatest noble in Ceredigion. Think of it! You are right to be wary and cautious. But my heart tells me this boy is special. My own power hardly works on him.”

  Ratcliffe looked like he was about to argue, but he changed his tack. “My lord, then my plan will only help you decide if he is legitimate. This news from Tunmore is an opportunity in disguise. I believe I have a way of testing the loyalty of the boy and his parents. I must arrange something first, but we will know the truth of things once my plan is in m
otion.” He smiled, a great wolf’s smile. “Believe me, my lord, I would like nothing better than to have a Fountain-blessed who can see the future among us. Even if he’s a Kiskaddon. I hope you are right and my concerns prove false.”

  “He’s a wily one, my lord,” said Catsby with approval.

  “You picked the right man to lead the Espion,” concurred another man Owen couldn’t see.

  The king looked satisfied. “What is your plan, Dickon?”

  The spymaster smirked. “It would be best, of course, if no one knew of it except myself. But let’s just say that the boy will soon be seeing his old home of Tatton Hall again.”

  Ankarette’s frown did not leave her face as the councilmen trailed out of the room. She slowly and gently secured the spyhole and then rested her hands in her lap, giving Owen a thoughtful look.

  “What’s going to happen?” he asked her.

  She shook her head a moment, trying to find words that would not alarm him. He could read her clearly, and her need to comfort him made him worry even more.

  “When a man feels threatened,” Ankarette said in a voice as quiet as feathers, “he is apt to do terrible things.” She shook her head. “I don’t think the king has noticed that his spymaster is no longer serving his interests.”

  Men rise from one ambition to another. If there was ever a man born to lead the Espion, it was John Tunmore. I’m frankly startled that Ratcliffe managed to capture him. The rat has a gift. His book would be priceless. I wonder if there is anything in it that incriminates me?

  —Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Deep Fathoms

  In the months Owen had spent at Kingfountain, the season should have started turning to autumn, but instead, it decided to retreat back to summer. The day the eel was smuggled back into Ceredigion, a heat wave struck the kingdom and turned the castle into a brick oven. It lasted for days.

  Sweat dripped down Owen’s nose as he lay on the kitchen floor, fidgeting with the tiles. He had stacked a row up on the bench so that they would fall and instigate a group down lower to collapse as well. His designs were getting more and more complicated.

  “It is so hot!” Evie complained, scooting away from him, her back to the wall. She stretched and yawned lazily. “It is never this hot in the North, Owen. Even this late in the year, there is still ice up on the mountains. Did you know there are ice caves up there? Huge ice caves. I have not seen them yet. Papa said I was too young to climb up to them.”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” Owen mumbled distractedly. The salty sweat stung his eyes, and he wiped it away furiously. He hated being so hot and irritable.

  The windows of the kitchen were fully open, but it did not help against the sweltering heat. Liona was still responsible for baking bread for all the meals, and after hours of standing in front of the boiling ovens, she was snapping at her underlings impatiently. Everyone was upset and short-tempered.

  “I wish the king would take us with him when the court moves. It’s moving West, I hear. Grandpapa told me. Would you like to see Tatton Hall again? What is your manor like? Would you like Grandpapa to give a message to your family for you?”

  Owen stared at her, his heart suddenly clenching. “Why is the king going West?” He felt a prickle of apprehension. Had this Deconeus of Ely somehow compromised his parents? Worry began to wriggle in his stomach.

  “The king always travels, silly. He must administer justice and order throughout the realm. There are always disputes that need resolution. Laws to be enforced. Taxes to be collected, of course. He usually picks a place for his winter court. It takes several months to make all the arrangements, you know. I hear he’s going West this year. Maybe he’ll spend winter court at Tatton Hall? Or perhaps the royal palace Beestone.”

  Owen was not sure how he should feel about that. It had been months since he’d seen his family. He was still upset with his parents for abandoning him, whether they’d had a choice or not, but his life had drastically changed in the months since he’d left home. He no longer felt like the same boy he’d been.

  “I have an idea,” Evie whispered. “It’s so hot, let’s go jump into the cistern again!”

  The idea was absolutely wonderful and Owen grinned his agreement. He toppled the lead tile and they watched the pieces collapse in a dazzling explosion of sound loud enough to awake Mancini, who had been snoring in a chair.

  Then Evie grabbed Owen’s hand and the two started across the kitchen, running.

  “Where are you off to now?” Liona asked over her shoulder. Jewel was suffering with gout from the heat wave and had asked the cook to watch them that afternoon.

  “To dance in the fountain!” Evie yelled back mischievously.

  “That’s not proper, young lady!” Liona hollered.

  But the two children were both too eager to care about propriety. Owen felt a little twinge of nervousness about jumping into the cistern again, but not only did the cool water sound inviting on such a humid day, he also remembered seeing the treasure, and he wanted to see if he had been imagining it.

  The chair squeaked as Mancini got up and started after them. “Hold on, you two!” he said curtly.

  “Run!” Evie whispered, tugging hard on Owen’s hand, and the two escaped out the kitchen door and started down the hall, the fat Espion shouting after them. Owen felt laughter bubble up inside him and spill out his mouth. They ran through the halls, nearly colliding with sweaty servants who glowered at them in annoyance. The race only added to their excitement as they went one way and then another, their feet pounding on the polished tiles of the immaculate palace.

  Their pace slowed when they reached the rarely used corridors where the window leading to the cistern yard was concealed. They were listening for sounds of pursuit and, hearing none, they approached the familiar tapestry. Evie glanced back one more time and then pushed aside the fabric of the tapestry and shoved at the window, raising it. After helping her scramble up, Owen followed her through the opening.

  The sun was beating down on the yard, the heat shimmering on the hot stones. Owen and Evie quickly traipsed to the huge gullet of the cistern and peered down inside. Given the brightness of the light, they couldn’t see very well down the shaft. They heard the water lapping against the columns below, but the markers identifying the depth of the cistern were masked by the glare.

  Evie scratched her head, squinting. “Let’s make sure it’s still deep enough.”

  They walked over to the ivy-covered door they had found last time, but when Owen stooped to trip the latch, he found it was already ajar. Had they not closed it last time? He couldn’t remember. They pulled the door open and started to descend the steps to the water’s edge.

  “It’s lower than it was,” she murmured. “It’s down several notches. See?”

  “Where’s the boat?” Owen asked. He’d noticed immediately that it was missing.

  She whirled and looked to where it had been. “I don’t see it. Is someone down here, do you think?”

  “Shhh!” Owen said, holding a finger up to his lips. He listened for any sound of trouble, anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing, and the only sight ahead of them was the empty water of the cistern brightened by the pillar of light from above. Who could have taken the boat?

  “I think it’s deep enough,” Evie said after a while, growing impatient. She started back up the steps.

  “Wait!” he called, running after her. He wanted to figure out the answers to his questions before they risked a jump, but he could tell she was eager to start swimming.

  They reached the large hole looming above the cistern. The water was indeed lower, and Owen could see their shadows shimmering on the choppy surface.

  “Ready?” she asked, reaching out and clasping his hand.

  Owen nodded and let her count.

  “Go!” she said, tugging on his hand and pulling him with her.

  The wild frenzied feeling of plummeting reminded him pa
rtway down that he should be terrified, but then the shock of cold water met his face and he plunged into the depths. His feet touched the bottom of the cistern. His hand still gripped hers.

  Owen opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by a pile of treasure. He felt a huge burst of excitement in his ribs as he stared at the sword hilts, the jewels, and the necklaces. Evie was tugging at his hand and trying to swim up, but he pulled back, not wanting to lose sight of the treasure. There was so much! But then he noticed something awry. There was a gap in the treasure, as if someone had dragged a rake through it. No, that wasn’t it. One of the chests appeared to have been dragged back toward the stairs. The dragging motion had cleared a path through the bounty and knocked other bits over.

  His companion was yanking hard on his hand now, and when he looked up, he saw bubbles were coming out of her mouth, obscuring her face.

  Owen wanted to stay down and figure out what had happened to the treasure, but they both needed to breathe. He pushed with his legs and they started toward the surface. As they moved through the water, a loud grinding noise filled his water-soaked ears.

  When Owen’s face broke the surface, he gulped in a chest full of air to stop his lungs from burning. Evie was spluttering and paddling on the waters.

  “Owen! Did you hear that noise?”

  Owen looked and saw they were farther away from the stairs. In fact, they were gliding away from it at a fast pace.

  “What’s wrong?” Owen asked, kicking around. The water was tugging them deeper into the dark cistern.

  “Swim!” she shouted, and started paddling her arms and kicking with her legs. Owen began to swim as well, trying to reach the safety of the stairs, but the current was too strong. They were being sucked deep into the throat of the cistern. Fear made him forget the treasure he had seen down below.

  There was light coming from the far end. He hadn’t seen that before. Was there an opening in the cistern? Then he heard the sound of rushing water, the sound of a waterfall.