The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(86)

Owen gripped the edge, his heart afire with hope.

The spy frowned distastefully. “Yes, but it’s not good news, Ankarette. It would seem the king means to execute the lad’s family tomorrow. I was just telling him that. The Espion are all betting on it, coins changing hands.”

“Thank you. Yes, it does seem very likely that the king will make an announcement tomorrow. This is the bit of news I needed to confirm. Do you know what time the Assizes will start? When must Kiskaddon arrive before he’s guilty of treason?”

Mancini frowned, his arms folded. “Tenth hour. I heard he’s camped a league away.”

“Dominic, I need you to go to him. I can’t ride that far and be back in time. You must go to Lord Kiskaddon and you must tell him to come to the Assizes tomorrow. He cannot be late.”

“Why would he listen to me?” Mancini said.

“Because I sent you. He will trust you because his wife trusts me. Believe this. You must persuade Owen’s father to come without a retinue. Without arms. He must put himself completely at the king’s mercy.”

Owen shivered.

The incredulous look on Mancini’s face said it all. “Are you serious?”

“Quite so. You must deliver this message for me. Tonight. If you leave now, you can be at his camp and back before dawn. See if you can persuade him to come with you. He cannot be late to the Assizes. Will you do this?”

“I’m risking my neck,” Mancini grumbled. “Will you not tell me your plan? I haven’t been able to get the book. The king keeps it with him at all times.”

“He’s struggling to understand what is written in it. I need to know what’s in that book.”

“But the king won’t let go,” Mancini said.

“He’s not the only one who’s read it. Where are the Espion staying? Where is Ratcliffe?”

“What?”

“Where is Ratcliffe?” More insistently this time.

“The . . . all the Espion are staying at the Holywell in town. It’s near Castle Hill, on the—”

“I know it,” she said, cutting him off. Her voice sounded more tired, more pained. “Go, Dominic. Go warn Kiskaddon.”

The spy grunted as he leaned away from the well and marched off toward the torchlight. Owen was grateful he was gone.

“Are you feeling sick?” Owen whispered into the well.

There was a long pause. “I’m very sick, Owen. And we’re running out of time.”

He fidgeted nervously. “I wish there was a way I could help,” he said miserably. “I saw the book on the king’s bed today. I started reading it, but Ratcliffe took it away.”

“That was clever of you,” she said, sounding pleased. “You could tell John Tunmore is Fountain-blessed just from reading it, couldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Owen said. “Ankarette, what is the Dreadful Deadman?”

She was quiet a moment. “How do you know about that name?” she finally asked. “Was it in the book?”

“In a way,” he answered, feeling confused. “While I was reading the book, I heard the name. I heard it twice. The voice said King Eredur wasn’t the Dreadful Deadman. Then it said Lord Dunsdworth—not the boy, but his father—was also not the Dreadful Deadman. What is it?”

“I don’t know for certain,” Ankarette said, her voice soft and subdued. “It is a superstition, mostly. One that is whispered about late at night. It is a legend of the first king of Ceredigion, the one who ruled before Occitania invaded our lands. I told you before of his Wizr. Myrddin was Fountain-blessed and could see the future. There are stories that he left a prophecy. Before he disappeared, he said that the first king of Ceredigion would return someday. He would come back from the dead to rule Ceredigion and Occitania. This prophecy was named the Dreadful Deadman, for when he returns, there will be much war and bloodshed. This legend is not written down, but the people believe in it. It is rumor ladled on gossip and served in a trencher of lies. King Eredur claimed he was the Dreadful Deadman. It’s a ploy many have used to become king. But that is the nature of prophecies. They are much speculated about. I know the Occitanians fear this prophecy. To them it is certainly dreadful. But in this case, Owen, I cannot tell you what is true and what is false. I do not know.”

Owen rubbed his hand over the cool, smooth stone of the well. He kept staring into the depths, wishing he could see her. “Are you truly down there?” he asked.

“I am,” she answered, a smile in her voice. “Now, you said you wished you could help.”

“Can I?” he asked, growing more hopeful.

“Owen, you are the biggest help of all. You are the one who is going to save your family.”

He leaned forward so far he almost fell in. “Really? How?”

“You are going to tell the king your family is guilty of treason.”

His hope suddenly wilted. “Ankarette?”

“Listen to me, my boy. The verdict of the Assizes has already been determined. There must be enough evidence in that book to condemn your parents. I cannot do anything about that. The king has already made up his mind. He will use Duke Horwath to execute his will and deliver the king’s justice. No matter what is said tomorrow at the Assizes, your family will be declared guilty of treason and will be attainted. Do you know that word?”