The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(33)
“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.