The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(28)

“Can I see your tower?” he asked, grabbing her hands and squeezing them.

“Of course,” she agreed. “If you promise to tell no one how to get up there.”

“I promise!”

She patted his cheek tenderly. “There are secret passages throughout the palace,” she confided conspiratorially. “I can show you all of them. Would you like that, Owen?”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her tightly, enjoying her warmth. It had been so long since he had hugged anyone.

Ankarette was startled by his sudden show of affection, but she wrapped her arms around him as well and kissed the top of his tangled hair again.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” she promised. “Not as he did the others.”

“Who?” Owen asked, tilting his face up to her.

“His brother’s sons,” she answered gravely, and he could see the sadness in her eyes once more.





There is a precept amongst us in the Espion. We glory in the tales of our exploits, of our manipulations. We especially love to trick each other. You see, it is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.



—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen





CHAPTER TWELVE


Poisoner





Ankarette Tryneowy lived in the highest tower of the palace of Kingfountain. As Owen climbed the steps with her, hand in hand, she told him how she was able to keep her presence secret. No servants went to her tower. The butler’s servants believed the castle almoner maintained it. The almoner was told that the butler’s staff serviced it. The master carpenter thought it was scheduled to be remodeled as soon as the funds became available. It was protected by a web of lies and deceptions so subtle that everyone had a belief about the tower that was just not true. One of the few people who did know the truth, Ankarette explained, was the cook, Liona, who always set aside a tray of food each night.

Not even Eredur’s queen knew where the poisoner dwelled.

The stairs were a difficult climb for Owen, and he was breathing hard as they huffed up the narrow tower well the following night, his guide holding a single candle to light the way. His forehead was plastered with sweat by the time they reached the top.

“It’s so small,” Owen said, panting, after she welcomed him to her private domain.

Most of the space was occupied by a small canopied bed swathed with thick velvet curtains to help her sleep in the daylight. The blankets were furs and Owen went to them and rubbed his hands against their softness. There was a small table topped with a globe, a set of scales, and several vials and tubes containing various potions and concoctions. His eyes widened when he saw them, but he kept his distance. Throughout the room, there were pestles and mortars of various sizes, some on the floor, some on the windowsills. These made him nervous, so he looked away. His gaze fell on a fancy embroidered curtain, and he walked up to it for a better look.

“This is pretty,” he said as he touched it reverently.

“Thank you. I made it,” Ankarette said. She went to the table with the potions and began mixing up a cup of tea.

“How?” he asked in amazement, but she did not answer as she worked on the drink. Then his eyes narrowed in on the curtains on the bed, done in darker threads, and shot down to the similarly designed carpet. Everything in the room, from the table to the bookshelves, had little ornamented embroideries.

“You did all of these?” Owen declared. His mother and sisters did sewing, but nothing this fancy.

“I like embroidery,” she said modestly. “That is my gift. I never tire of it. You like to stack tiles, true?”

He nodded, touching the fringe of a shawl draped over the only chair in the room.

“I normally don’t receive visitors,” she said. “You are the first to have been in my tower in many years. Here, drink this. It will help with your wheezing. Your lungs are weak and in need of some medicine.”

He eyed the cup suspiciously but it smelled fragrant and when he tasted it, he could tell she had added honey. It had a strange flavor, but not unpleasant. As he sipped, his eyes went hungrily to the Wizr board sitting on a small wooden pedestal. The pieces were carved out of alabaster . . . purple and white, with matching squares. The set filled the small round table.

“Do you play Wizr?”

Owen nodded eagerly. “I always used to watch my brothers play. But I like to play as well.”

“Would you like to play it with me?”

“Yes!” Owen said, slurping down the rest of the tea. “It’s normally black and white. This one is purple. I want to be purple.”

“I like to play white,” she said. She went over and knelt on the rug by the pedestal and board.

“How do you play it by yourself?” Owen asked curiously, studying the board.

Ankarette moved the first piece. Owen followed, using his normal pattern of moving the middle pieces first. She captured his king in four moves.

Owen’s eyes stared at the board, then at her. “How . . . how did you do that so quickly?”

Ankarette smiled knowingly. “I will teach you. There are many strategies in Wizr. If you know them, they can help you win quickly. Would you like to learn them?”

Owen nodded with enthusiasm.

As they reset the few pieces, she asked him another question. “Owen . . . are you afraid of me because I’m a poisoner?”