The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(56)
“It wasn’t a gibbet,” she answered softly. “It was a waterfall.”
It is a dangerous thing to try and grasp a snake by the tail. If you are not fast enough, it will bite you. If you are too fast, you will kill it. If it is dead, you cannot harvest its venom or use it to frighten someone else. I wish I were ten years younger. My hands are trembling.
—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wizr
There was a little space beneath the stone steps of the tower where Owen hid himself as Mancini and Berwick descended from Ankarette’s room. He was as quiet as a mouse, listening to their conversation as they passed. Mancini was winded from the descent, but he was bubbling with queries and intrigue like a stew pot.
“And how did she lull you into service?” Mancini wheedled. “I never would have guessed you were part of her ring.”
Berwick’s reply was thick with sarcasm. “Isn’t that the point? No, I’ll be thrushed, man. She’s a cunning one, but caring too. Hooked me like a fish in my heart pulp. Me daughter’s womb was thick with twin bairns. The birthing was like moore than not to kill ’er and the babes. Ankarette is a midwife. Not only does she knoow all the poisons, but she also knoows all the remedies of feverfew and hypericum. She helped my lass, and the twins survived. She did it without me begging. She only said she might need a favor. And she did, and she does, and soo I am loyal to her more than the king. Because the king would have shrugged and let them all die. But the king’s brother was king back then, and he cared about a butler and his family. He told his wife and she told her poisoner. And soo help came. I thaynk her for it.”
“But she’s using you, man, surely you see that?” Mancini’s voice was low but sharp.
“Aye. But instead of years of grief, she’s given me years of glee. That’s worth something to a man with gray hairs like me. Spying and sneaking is not about coins. Coins can be stolen. They can be lost. But good memories . . . aye, they be the stuffings in the pie.”
“That made no sense to me,” Mancini grumbled.
“I’m surprised it did not, considering your girth,” Berwick teased.
“My girth and I are boon companions, thank you. I eat so that I don’t have to remember. The past is pain and best forgotten. Tomorrow is a day that may never see the sun. There is only now. I’m hungry, Berwick. I’m going to the kitchen.”
“You do that,” Berwick said with a laugh, and Owen heard the sound of a hand clapping against a back. The two ambled off down a side tunnel, their voices growing distant. The boy scampered up the stairs again.
When he entered the tower room, Ankarette was leaning against a table, gripping its edge with one hand and holding her stomach, as if she might vomit, with the other. Sweat trickled down her cheek and she breathed in and out quickly. Owen shrank with worry.
Some of her hair had straggled down from its braided nest, and when she turned her gaze on him, he could see the suffering in her eyes.
A tender smile twitched on her mouth. “Hello, Owen,” she said, lips tight with suppressed pain. “Our little plan worked. So far. Tell me how it went.” She took a hesitant step toward her bed, looking almost like a puppet dangling on strings.
Owen walked up and reached for her hand, but she rested it on his shoulder instead. She leaned her weight against him, but it was not burdensome.
“Thank you,” she whispered, using Owen as a crutch as she hobbled to her bedside. Once they reached the bed, she seated herself delicately on the edge and folded her hands in her lap. She blinked a few times, and then her face looked peaceful and serene. She looked like herself again, pretty and gentle and caring, but his heart cringed in pain at the evidence he’d seen of her suffering.
“Are you very sick?” he asked.
“I am a little tired tonight,” she said dismissively. “That is all. Tell me about what happened. The palace was buzzing like a beehive today!”
Owen quickly related what he had done and how he had summoned the courage to tell the king about his “dream.” She listened attentively, waiting for him to finish the story before asking questions.
“How did Ratcliffe look?” she pressed.
“He looked frightened. Like he was scared of me.”
“He’s not scared of you, Owen,” she said. “He’s scared for himself. His first fear is that someone in the Espion has betrayed him. Which is what has happened. He will seek to discover who it is, but I don’t think we’ll have any trouble outmaneuvering him. What about the king? How did he look?”
“Almost . . . pleased,” Owen answered. “He seemed to like me for the first time.”
Ankarette nodded with satisfaction. “It is rare for a young boy to demonstrate aptitude with the Fountain. It bodes well for the king if he is able to find people who are Fountain-blessed to serve him. This is what I suspect will happen next. Ratcliffe will keep you on a shorter leash. He’ll start leaking information to different spies to see if your next dream reveals it. Then he’ll know which Espion betrayed him. That’s what most people without vision would do. What you will reveal in your next dream is something Ratcliffe doesn’t even know yet.” She grinned playfully. “It may take several attempts for us to win the king’s trust completely. Do you understand now what the dream meant?”