The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(85)
When Owen made it to his bedchamber after the evening meal, his thoughts whirling with both what he had read and what he had overheard, he realized that his parents had failed their test of loyalty and his own life hung in the balance.
He stopped in surprise.
On the floor in his room was the satchel he had left behind at Kingfountain. Tiles on the floor spelled his name: O-W-E-N.
My master taught me certain maxims. A prince ought to inspire fear in such a way that if he does not win love, he avoids hatred. He can avoid the hatred of his people as long as he abstains from the property of his subjects and from their women. But when it becomes necessary for him to proceed against the life of someone, especially one of the nobles who hold so much power, he must do it with proper justification. But above all things, he must keep his hands off the property of others, because men will more quickly forget the death of their father than the loss of their patrimony. History teaches this plainly, and many a king has lost his crown after stealing what belonged to another man. It’s ironic that even though it causes more trouble to take away land than to kill, it’s more difficult to find justification to take someone’s life. That’s why it’s best to strike your enemy down after he’s given you the opportunity to do so. The Assizes of Westmarch are just such a pretext.
—Dominic Mancini, Exhausted Espion of Beestone Castle
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Well of Tears
It was after nightfall, but there were enough torches to illuminate the castle bailey as if it were day. There was no end to the clattering of wagons as arrivals from the king’s court continued to ascend to Beestone Castle throughout the night. Soldiers wearing the badge of the white boar were everywhere, but Owen made his way through the bailey yard anyway, careful to keep away from adults who might send him to bed. After seeing his name spelled with tiles, he had been searching for Ankarette.
In the center of the courtyard was a raised well made of stone and mortar. Owen clambered up onto the edge of it and stared down into the black depths. He could hear a faint gurgling, but it was too deep for him to see the shimmer of water.
The sound of boots coming up behind him warned him that he was no longer alone, and he scuttled back from the edge as Mancini approached, holding a gleaming florin in his hand.
“Ready to make another wish?” the fat man asked with a grin. He offered the coin to the boy, putting Owen in mind of their meeting long ago at Our Lady.
The boy shook his head.
Mancini pursed his lips and nodded knowingly. “I agree. It’s a waste of a good coin. I mean, look at this piece. I could buy several muffins with it and gain an hour’s satisfaction. Or I can plop it down a well shaft and never gain a single thing from it. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, eh?” Mancini sat on the edge of the well, next to Owen, folding his meaty arms over his chest. He clucked his tongue softly. “Frankly, lad, I don’t see how she can pull this one off. The guards at the gate are letting only Espion pass back out. The baggage continues to arrive, but naught are leaving. Word amongst us is your lord father has ridden down from Tatton Hall with an escort of a hundred men. He’s camped about a league away from the city. Doesn’t look good for him.”
Owen’s twisting nerves grew worse. “I trust her,” he whispered softly.
“Trust is a pretty dish, lad. But this is the king’s trust we are talking about. If I were in Severn’s place, I’d use the Assizes to my advantage to destroy a threat known to me. A dish may be a pretty thing, but it’s easily broken. Even if you fit the pieces back together, it won’t hold a meal. Your father broke the king’s trust at Ambion Hill. Your brother already paid for that with his life. Bets are being waged among the Espion that your father will go into the river tomorrow.” He clapped Owen on the back. “I hate to bear bad news, but I just don’t see how Ankarette can change his mind.”
Anger churning in his heart, Owen gave Mancini a sulky look. “She’s more clever than you, though. She’ll think of a way.”
Mancini snorted. “Well, if she’s slipped into the castle, she won’t be slipping out, I can tell you that.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.” It was Ankarette’s voice, ghosting up to them from the lip of the well. Owen startled, and Mancini had to lurch forward to keep from falling backward into the well in pure surprise.
Owen’s faith in the queen’s poisoner had been vindicated once again. He leaned over the edge of the well, staring down into its dark throat. “Are you down in the well?” he whispered, his voice echoing down the shaft.
“I am,” she replied, her voice kind but tired.
“I can’t see you,” Owen said.
“But I can see you,” she answered. “All is well.”
“I’m beginning to believe in all this Fountain nonsense,” Mancini grumbled nastily, having partially recovered from his shock. “Where are you?”
“There are tunnels honeycombing beneath the castle,” she whispered. “It’s one of the reasons that castle was named Beestone. This is a famous castle, Owen. Or an infamous one. Several kings have started their reign here. Studying the past sometimes helps us make the future. Dominic, have you found what I asked you to find?”