The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(53)

Evie grabbed a goblet and quickly gulped down some drink as Owen stared at the king, willing himself to speak. The king’s gaze met his own, and there was a moment of curiosity, of interest. He seemed to realize that Owen wanted to speak to him, and so he paused, just slightly, his look observant and interested.

Owen just stared at him, his legs like rocks, his stomach churning like butter. His throat was so dry he wanted to snatch the goblet away from Evie and drown in it.

The king, narrowing his eyebrows with a flicker of disappointment, turned away from them and took a halting step toward Ratcliffe, who was approaching rapidly.

Owen felt the sickness of defeat encase his heart, dragging him down. He had failed.

He felt Evie’s hand clasp his own.

“What is it, Owen?” she asked him. “You look . . . sick.”

Her hand.

They had jumped together into the cistern.

Holding her hand, he could do it. He squeezed her fingers hard, before he could shrink with fear.

Ratcliffe was almost to the king when Owen’s little voice croaked out, “My lord, I had a dream last night. It was a strange dream.”





I am caught in a web. How did I get entangled? I convinced myself that Ankarette was harmless, that providing information to her would aid me. How could I have been so blind? She has wrested secrets of the Espion from me and is using them to preserve the life of the Kiskaddon boy. I know it, and yet I dare not confront her. She is in the kitchen often now. And one does not double-cross a poisoner without pain.



—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


Fountain-blessed





As Owen finished telling the king about his dream, the look on the older man’s face completely transformed. Gone was the snide hostility. The king seemed thunderstruck, and he grabbed the table edge to steady himself. Ratcliffe, who had overheard the whole thing, stared at Owen incredulously as well, his mouth gaping.

“Ratcliffe, did you tell him?” the king whispered hoarsely. “Is there any . . . is there any way he could have known?”

Ratcliffe stared down at Owen with open distrust. “My lord, I don’t see how. It’s incredible.”

“Your Espion in the kitchen . . . was he talking? Was he blabbing secrets?”

“I . . . I don’t think so,” Ratcliffe said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” the king said, his voice distant, his eyes intense. He stared down at Owen, his expression changing to one of pleasure. “So this was a dream you had, was it? Last night?”

“Yes, my lord,” Owen answered meekly, still clinging to Evie’s hand to keep from drifting away in the current of fear that wanted to extinguish his voice.

“A pinecone,” Severn repeated thoughtfully. He gave Ratcliffe a knowing look. Ankarette was right, there was no confusion at all, though Owen was still baffled.

“Well, lad,” the king said, resting his other hand on Owen’s shoulder and giving it a playful nudge. “You will be sure to tell me should you have any other such dreams?”

“If it pleases you, my lord,” Owen said with a small bow.

“It does indeed, Owen. It pleases me much. How old are you again?”

“He’s eight,” Ratcliffe said, fidgeting with great energy. “Shall we continue with our plans then?”

“The Fountain has blessed it,” Severn said with a mocking laugh. “See it done, Ratcliffe. Immediately.” Then he turned his attention back to Owen. “Well, lad. Enjoy your breakfast.”

As the king limped away, Owen realized the eyes of everyone in the room were fixed on him. There were servants and children, nobles who had come to petition the king. He had announced his dream in front of a hall full of witnesses. Many of them were beginning to whisper behind their hands, openly curious about the boy who had spoken.

“You didn’t tell me you had a dream,” Evie said, pulling Owen aside. “Have you had these before?”

He shook his head. “It was the first time. It was like a . . . a vision.” He felt guilty lying to her, but he could not reveal the truth, certainly not without Ankarette’s permission.

The meaning of Ankarette’s story became tremendously clear later that morning when Lord Asilomar, from the east coast of Ceredigion, and his wife were trussed up on canoes and launched into the river from the island of Our Lady to plummet to their deaths over the falls. This was the first public execution Owen had attended in his life. They watched from the lower walls of the palace, and even from such a distance, they could see the thousands of people who had gathered to watch the canoes gain speed before charging off the falls. There was a collective gasp as the two vessels reached the terminus and pitched off. Owen stared, wondering again what it would be like.

When Duke Horwath returned from Our Lady, he clutched something in his hand, a banner. Owen had not seen the duke for several days. He had left the palace on an assignment for the king, which was almost certainly related to today’s proceedings. And then Owen understood. The banner held the badge of House Asilomar. The badge of House Asilomar was a large pinecone stuck on a branch with pine needles. The pinecone had fallen into the river and run over the falls. Just like in Owen’s dream.