The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(7)

“Horwath is surprised to even see you walking about, sire,” Ratcliffe said graciously. “The wounds still pain you, as we all can see.”

“I did not come to the throne to be coddled,” the king interrupted. “I would have left my leg on Ambion Hill and crawled back to Kingfountain with these arms only. I do not need nurses. I need true men. My enemies have all fallen. Save one.” He gave Owen a piercing, wrathful look. The boy blinked wildly, fearing for himself. “What is your name, boy?”

Owen’s mouth would not work. He knew it would not. He stood trembling in front of the king. His tongue was so dry it felt like sand.

The king’s brow furrowed with displeasure as he waited for an answer that could not be pried from the boy’s lips with a lever. Owen felt dizzy with panic. His muscles had frozen with fear, making his legs as useless as his mouth.

“The lad’s name is Owen,” Horwath said in his gruff voice. “And I have not heard a word from him since we left Tatton Hall.”

“A mute?” King Severn said with a dark chuckle. “That will be a fine addition to court. It is already too noisy here.” He shifted again in the throne. “How did they bear the news at Tatton Hall, Stiev?”

“Very ill, as you can imagine,” Horwath said slowly.

The king chuckled. “I can imagine.” He turned his eye back to Owen. “Your eldest brother went over the falls because your father would not keep faith with me. He did not die in battle, with honor, as did this noble duke’s son.”

His parents had told Owen about his brother’s fate, and the boy shuddered at the thought of Jorganon plunging off the waterfall strapped in a canoe. That was the form of execution in the realm, though the lad had never seen it happen. It was awful to think it might happen to the rest of his family.

“His son-in-law,” added Ratcliffe as an aside.

The king gave Ratcliffe a nasty look. “Do you think that distinction matters to me, Dickon? His daughter’s husband died at Ambion Hill, and yet he fulfilled his duty to secure this brat instead of returning home to comfort his daughter and granddaughter. His duty . . .” he whispered hoarsely, holding up a stiff finger like a spike. “His duty rules all. That is why I trust him, Ratcliffe. That is why I trust you both. You remember that little rhyming verse the duke received on the eve of the battle? Stiev of North, don’t be too bold, for Severn your master is bought and sold. The note was left in his tent by one of our enemies, probably this brat’s father, to blacken his mind with doubt and fear. You remember what Stiev did, Dickon?”

Ratcliffe folded his arms over his big chest, looking annoyed. “Anyone could have left that note, my liege. I am still investigating how it—”

“Does it matter anymore, Dickon?” the king seethed. “It could have been one of your Espion, for all I know. It could have been the queen’s poisoner. Horwath gave me the note at once. Cool as ice from the northern glacier whence he comes. Whence he rules forevermore. Duty. Faithfulness. Those are gems worth more than his gold.” He leaned forward and lowered his fingers to his dagger, making that gesture again—pulling it out partway before slamming it back into its sheath. Each time he did it, Owen flinched.

“I was also at Ambion Hill,” Ratcliffe said with a little whine in his voice. “It was my Espion who discovered the pretender for you while the battle raged.”

The king’s mouth curved into a smile. “I’ll not forget that good service, my friend. You are loyal, which is why I entrust the Espion to you, but I have not forgotten that some of them tried to murder me.” He sneered at the man. “Horwath has always been faithful.”

Ratcliffe’s face went red with anger. “It is not fair, my liege, to fling that at my face! It was not I who ruled them back then. That was the lord chamberlain’s doing, and you sent him over the falls for his offense.”

“I did that in my anger,” the king replied, leaning back in his seat. He shook his head. “I should have held a trial.” He smoothed his hand across his tunic front, the bracer on his arm winking light from the torches. “Ah, but those were dark days. Treachery around every corner. My brother Eredur kept the tottering dishes from falling. But when he died, they all came crashing down.” His face softened a bit, as if the memory of his brother wounded him still. Then his expression hardened and he turned his gaze back to Owen.

“You are my hostage,” he said in a cruel tone. “You are the pledge of your family’s good faith. Your elder brother was hostage before you and he is dead. If your mother thinks that I will spare a child for their disobedience . . .” His voice trailed off, his throat nearly growling with anger. “Then they truly do not understand the determination and rigor of their king. You are my ward, Owen Kiskaddon, to do with as I please. You will remain at the palace.” He gestured with an open palm, motioning to the vast room. “This is your home now. Drop coins to the Fountain, boy, that your parents keep faith with me.” His face twisted with barely suppressed anger. “I nearly condemned your father at Ambion too. But I have been learning patience.” He chuckled, his mouth twisting into a savage smile. “Rest assured that I will test your father, lad. Hopefully he treasures your life more than he did your brother’s. Ratcliffe, the boy is yours to guard. Find him a nursery and a governess. I want to see him each day at breakfast with the other children. Without fail.”