The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(36)

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?