The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(41)

Still, the steps were coming closer, and he could now see the shimmer of the light on the walls of the passageway. Owen’s options were shrinking with each moment. The first thing he did was snuff the wick of his candle, plunging himself into darkness. Darkness was a blanket in which he could hide. But not from a man with a candle. Who was coming? He prayed it was Ankarette, searching for him, but knew he could not trust to such luck. He quivered with fear.

Then an idea struck. The walls narrowed at the end of the tunnel. He knew he would not be able to climb with the candlestick in hand, so he left it on the floor. Then he wedged himself into the narrowest part of the wall and began using his feet and arms to shimmy up to the tip, pressing against the enclosure to gain leverage. He was small and wiry and quickly began to ascend. His heart was pounding like a blacksmith hammer inside his chest as he watched the glow get closer. Then the candle bearer appeared around the bend.

It was Ratcliffe.

Owen’s terror now multiplied. The master of the Espion. The king’s sworn man. He walked deliberately toward Owen, and the boy feared for a moment that he was already seen. He was doomed. He was probably level with Ratcliffe’s head when he felt the ceiling of the tunnel push against his head. Owen dipped his chin and continued to climb until he felt the tunnel ceiling on his neck.

“What’s this?” Ratcliffe chuffed, gazing down at the smoldering candlestick on the ground. He approached faster and stooped to pick it up. The wick was still smoking and the wax was dripping. Owen thought he might faint. He had stopped breathing as soon as he had recognized the man.

Ratcliffe lifted the candle to his nose and sniffed at it. A stern, angry look passed his face. He looked at the concealed door, the slit still clearly open, and then hastily jiggled the handle with the hand holding Owen’s candlestick.

“Who’s there?” Severn growled as the secret door opened.

“It’s me,” answered the spymaster. “My lord, were you visiting with someone just now? I found this on the ground by the door.”

“I’ve been alone,” came the brusque reply. “Alone with my ghosts.”

“My lord, someone’s been spying on you!” Ratcliffe said with growing alarm. “The wick is spent, the candle dripping. Were you . . . are you testing me, my lord? Did you leave this here to see if I would tell you?”

“Of course not, Dickon!” the king said with rising anger. “You’ve proven yourself loyal over and over. Probably one of your Espion,” he added with derision. “Seeking to catch me fondling the princess or some such rubbish. I don’t like those Espion, Dickon. I need them, but I don’t like them.”

Ratcliffe’s tone bridled. “If it weren’t for them, you would have failed at Ambion Hill, sire.”

“If it weren’t for them, my nephews would still be alive,” he countered bitterly. “I don’t need to be reminded. So we have another traitor among our ranks. I didn’t set that candlestick there. You didn’t. Who do you think it belongs to?”

“It might be her,” Ratcliffe said in a low, dangerous voice. “I think she’s moving freely in the castle again. There are rumors that she’s been seen.”

The king gave a weary sigh. “With all the power that comes from this golden band, why cannot I find a single woman who haunts my steps and overthrows my designs? Even my brother would not tell me who she was.” He grunted with anger.

Owen’s arms and legs were beginning to cramp. The door leading to the king’s chamber was still open, just below him. If he fell, they would no doubt hear it and then see him.

“She may still be here in the room,” Ratcliffe said. “Let me summon the guards to search. The candle was still warm.”

“Do it,” Severn said. “If you catch this poisoner, I want her executed immediately. Do you hear that, my dear? You thought to catch me unawares whilst I slept? Call my guards, Ratcliffe. Make sure all the Espion know that helping her is treason in my eyes. Are you hiding over here, my dear? Hmmm?”

The sound of heavy footfalls flooded the tunnel as the two men began to tromp through the chamber. Owen’s fear made him tremble, and his knees and arms were shrieking in pain. Ratcliffe summoned the king’s guard into the room, who promptly and thoroughly began examining every nook within the chamber. If Owen had tried to hide in there, he would have been caught for certain. After several minutes of clamoring, the hunt was called off. Owen’s muscles throbbed and shook, but he would not give up. He held himself perfectly still, wedged up in the corner above the door in the narrowest part of the tunnel. If Ratcliffe had thought to look up, Owen would have been spotted in an instant.

Another voice joined the sounds, a young woman’s voice. “Are you all right, Uncle?” Princess Elyse asked, her voice full of concern. “Someone tried to kill you?”

The sound of her voice sent a surge of relief through Owen. He had not spoken to her in quite some time, and he was grateful to know she was still at the palace. The knowledge did not help his cramping muscles.

Severn’s laugh was self-deprecating. “I’m just a crouch-backed soldier, lass. No one tried to hurt me. Get you back to bed.”

“Who was it?” Elyse pressed, her voice anxious.

“We think it was your mother’s poisoner,” Ratcliffe said venomously.

Elyse’s voice was firm. “I don’t think she would hurt you, Uncle.”