The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(80)

Owen’s heart was on fire. He grabbed the silk fabric of her dress, the lacings at her front. “You have to come! I . . . I can’t do it without you! Please, Ankarette! Please! I can’t do this!”

She gave him a sympathetic but firm look. Her hand rested on his shoulder. “You must, Owen.”

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “No! I’ve lost Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer. I’ve lost my parents. I can’t lose you too! I need your help! I won’t know what to do if you are not around to tell me what to say!”

“The boy is right,” Mancini said darkly. “I’m a poor substitute for your cleverness. Besides, you have not upheld your end of the bargain. You promised me your story! You promised me the tale.”

She sighed and patted Owen’s shoulder with a trembling hand. “I gave him the story,” she said to Mancini. “If you want to learn it, you must keep him alive.”

Mancini ground his teeth in frustration. “You tricked me.”

“No,” she said. “I always deliver what I promise. In my own way. But you of all people know it is a double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.”

He gasped when she said this and Owen didn’t know why. The look he gave her was full of incredulity . . . and respect. Something she had said had shot straight into his heart, leaving him flummoxed. Ankarette slowly rose.

Mancini was stuttering. “You are the most duplicitous, the most conniving, the most scheming . . . the best spy I have ever met!” He gave her a grudging smile. “You’ve read my journal. Even though it’s written in Genevese ciphers.”

She gave him a slight curtsy and a triumphant smile.

“I’ll be blessed,” he replied with a belly laugh. “Well, lad. I hope Tatton Hall has a decent kitchen and a wine cellar. I’m off to bed.” He chuckled to himself as he staggered to the steps.

When he was gone, Ankarette knelt again, looking Owen directly in the eyes.

“There is something I didn’t tell you,” Owen said nervously. “About the cistern.”

“What is it?” she asked, smoothing the front of his tunic in a motherly way.

“I’ve been there before with Evie. When I jumped into the water, I saw a treasure.” He told her of the treasure he had found—how at first he could not reach it, but then he clung to a chest to keep himself and Evie from being swept away in the flood.

The queen’s poisoner listened carefully to his story, watching his face most intently. There was something about her keen interest that intrigued him. From the look in her eyes, it was as if he were sharing the most interesting story imaginable. She waited patiently until he was done and then she grew serious.

“Was the treasure real, Ankarette?” he asked her at the end of the story, hoping she would say yes.

She reached out and rubbed the sides of his arms, holding him fast. “That you can even see it means many things, Owen. People see many things in the water. Sometimes glimpses of the future. Sometimes of their own death. I don’t know what you saw or why. I don’t know if it’s real or not. But I do believe the Fountain is trying to speak to you. Your powers are blossoming even faster than I expected they would. Your life is about to change.”

He wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

“Please come with me,” he begged her.

She licked her lips, then let out a painful breath. She gazed at the floor for a moment. “I will try,” she whispered, and Owen felt his heart jump with a thrill.

“You will? Oh, Ankarette!” he gushed, throwing his arms around her neck and squeezing her in the biggest hug he had given her yet.

She leaned into the hug, patting his hair. The panic he had felt rising all day began to subside.





A wagon. A wagon—this bloody kingdom for a ride in a wagon!



—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Ribald Horse





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


Strawberries





There was a great deal of mirth and amusement in the torch-lit yard as everyone watched Mancini try to mount his enormous horse. Owen wanted to stay and watch, but Duke Horwath had other ideas and the boy could hardly insist otherwise. The final embers of the late-summer heat wave were barely cooling. The night was dark but still muggy and Owen’s jacket and hood were uncomfortable as he got situated behind the duke’s saddle.

The king maneuvered his steed close to Horwath’s.

“Where is Ratcliffe?” Horwath asked gruffly.

The king tugged one of his black gloves on more snugly. “He rode ahead last night with several of the Espion to secure the way.”

“What village are we stopping in tonight? Stony Stratford?”

The king snorted. “I wouldn’t dare. The queen dowager has a manor near there. That was where Bletchley warned me of her treachery two years ago.” His expression soured with the memory. Then he gave Horwath a pointed look. “You must do your duty at the Assizes, my friend. Be ready.”

“Loyalty binds me,” replied the duke, dipping his head in a nod.

Owen wondered what the king had meant by duty, but even thinking about it made him sick with worry for his family. The clash of horseshoes on stone nearly drowned out the rushing noise of the waterfall as the king’s men crossed the bridge to the island of Our Lady. Firelight gleamed in the sanctuary, but the new day was still hours from dawning. As they passed the gigantic sanctuary, Owen saw dozens of soldiers wearing the badge of the white boar, patrolling the closed gates. Many dipped their pikes in salute to the king as he passed. There were no street vendors, no smoked sausages for sale, but Owen could see a few timid faces peeking at the entourage from behind drawn curtains.