The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(18)

“Four turns,” Owen insisted. “They will be quick. I won’t hide far, and you will be easy to find.”

She sighed with exasperation, then covered her eyes and started to count.

Owen sprinted away like a squirrel and took cover behind a tree far from the porter door. He hid in the crook where the branches forked, and he watched Monah as she counted. Over the babble of the fountain, he could not hear her. His heart raced with eagerness. He was going to make it more difficult for her to find him each time and then slip away on the fourth turn.

When she reached fifty, she rose and began walking in his direction. He deliberately let his head poke up from the forked branches so she could find him, though he pretended to be incensed to have been caught so soon. Then he quickly rushed back to the fountain, calling out loudly so that she could hear his counting over the noise of the water.

He spied her resting beneath a tree, her dark hair blending in with the bark, and gave her a little tickle when he found her. She squealed and scolded him before rushing off to the fountain for her next turn. A little pang of guilt threatened him. What would her punishment be for losing him? A scolding from Ratcliffe, probably. Owen’s freedom was worth that much.

But the little feeling of guilt still squirmed in Owen’s chest. Crushing it down as best he could, he hid in another spot, lying down by a hedge where she would have difficulty seeing him from a distance. His position gave him a view of the porter door and he found himself wondering if he would be strong enough to pull it open. What if the hinges were rusty?

He banished the thought and waited to be found. It took Monah longer this time, and she complained again about the game.

Owen decided he needed to try the door to see if it was too heavy. On his third turn, he quickly slipped away and approached the wall with the pitted metal door. There was a locking mechanism next to the iron handle. If the door was locked, he would be stuck. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Monah sitting at the fountain’s edge, her head back, her face angled toward the sun. She seemed to be enjoying herself, not counting at all.

The door was made of wrought iron and had wide slats, some going up and down, others going across. Inside the gaps were decorative iron flowers, so there was no way to see through it. Owen grabbed the cold metal handle and pulled.

The door swung open without a sound.

He quickly peered through the gap, beneath which the forest descended at a steep decline. There was a well-worn dirt trail, marred by horseshoe prints. The opening in the wall was big enough to admit an animal, though not with a rider in the saddle. It was undeniably the secret exit Liona had described. There were no guards posted down below, and the thicket beyond the door was dense enough to hide his passage.

There was no reason to wait.

In his mind, he heard Liona’s voice. If you are a brave little boy . . .

He glanced back one more time at Monah, sunbathing, her head tilted to one side. Fear painted shadows in his heart, but the thrill in his stomach chased those shadows away. Yes, Owen was brave. He was alone in the world now, so he needed to be. If he could find protection at the sanctuary, then it was well worth the risk. They would look for him in the kitchen. They would look for him all over the grounds. But they would not find him quickly enough to stop him.

Owen steeled his courage, feeling his legs wobble with the pent-up excitement. Then he slipped through the crack in the door, gently shut it behind him, and raced toward freedom.





The populace of Ceredigion is inherently superstitious, especially in regards to quaint traditions involving the Fountain. When there is a wish or an ambition that a husband, wife, or child wants fulfilled, they hold a coin in their hand, think hard on the wish, and then flick the coin into one of the multitude of fountains within the sanctuary of Our Lady. Coins glisten and shimmer beneath the waters. They return the next day and find the coin still there. Mayhap two days. But invariably the coins vanish and that poor soul believes the Fountain has accepted their offering and will consider their wish. I know for a fact that the sexton of Our Lady dons wading boots, grabs a rake, and harvests the coins for the king’s coffers every few days. He always leaves some behind, for a partially full fountain invites more donations to the king’s treasury. It is considered the height of blasphemy to steal a coin from a fountain. It amazes me how this superstition prevents even a hungry urchin from stealing a coin that would buy his bread. The children whisper that if you take from the fountain and are caught, you will be thrown into the river and whisked over the falls. The power that tradition wields over simple minds is truly amazing. Whenever some poor fool shows a natural talent, be it baking or growing flowers, how quick people are to announce that person as blessed.



—Dominic Mancini, Espion of Our Lady of Kingfountain





CHAPTER EIGHT


Her Majesty





Owen was breathing hard by the time he left the woods and started down the road. Sweat slicked his hair to his forehead, and he joined the carts and wagons and torrent of folk marching along toward the bridge. He worried that he would be spotted by the guards and seized at the gate, so he searched the crowd for a group of people who looked like a family. As soon as he found one, he increased his speed and fell in step with them as they passed the gatehouse. No one paid him any notice.

After leaving the shadow of the portcullis, Owen felt his nervous heart begin to give way to a thrill of excitement. Monah was probably still searching for him, and even after she reported him missing, it would take time before anyone figured out how he had escaped. His plan was simple. Go to the princess’s mother in the sanctuary of Our Lady and beg enough coins to hire a coach to take him back to Tatton Hall. He knew of dozens of places he could hide on the grounds, without his parents’ knowledge, and he would live among them as a ghost. It was a three-day ride by horseback to Westmarch, which meant a wagon would take longer, but the thought of being back home in a week made him grin with eagerness. He would trick the king and no one would be the wiser. Not even his parents would know where he was, so it would not be their fault if Owen was missing. He was still hurt that they had chosen him to go to the palace, but he didn’t want them to get in more trouble.