The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)(88)

“After I’ve told you,” she said softly, “you need to go to the king. Right away. You need to be brave, little Owen. Can you do that?”

“I have Evie’s braid. I can be brave like her.” Owen sat up, and noticed that she did not. She was kneeling at the edge of the bed, holding herself up on her arms.

“Very well. Listen carefully. You had a dream tonight. In the dream, three golden bucks came to Beestone Castle. The bucks all knelt before a white pig. You saw their antlers touch the ground before the pig. Then a rat with a knife walked up to the bucks to kill them and eat them. But the white pig shook its snout. It wouldn’t let the rat hurt the bucks. The pig walked to the river and the bucks followed. All of them boarded a boat except for one. The smallest of the bucks stayed with the pig. The boat went against the current of the river—upstream instead of down—and sailed away to a land of flowers.”

She stiffened and let out a soft breath of pain. She blinked, her eyes growing dazed. “Owen, then the pig sniffed the rat. When it did, it found a gold coin in its fur. The pig turned into a boar and grew tusks. With the tusks, the boar threw the rat into the river, and it drowned.”

Her fingers, which had been playing in his hair, went limp, and her wrist sagged to the mattress blanket. Her head lolled to one side.

“Ankarette?” Owen asked worriedly.

“So sleepy,” she whispered. She blinked rapidly, then lifted her head. Her eyes seemed to sharpen and focus. “Now go tell the king about your dream. This is important, Owen. This is how you can save your family.” She gave him a tender look, so poignant and full of love. Her weak fingers lifted and grazed the white patch of his hair. “Go. Then tell me what happens.”

“Will you be here when I get back?” Owen asked, his worry growing.

“I promise,” she answered, smiling sadly.

Owen scuttled off the edge of the bed and quickly threw on his clothes. He made sure Evie’s braid was in his pocket and he walked away from his room, wandering the halls.

He saw Mancini slumped in the corridor, a jug of wine crooked in his arm.

“Take me to the king’s room,” Owen told the Espion, tugging on his sleeve.

Mancini looked haggard, depressed, and irritable. His eyes opened slowly. His breath was awful. “You?” he said, looking pained.

“Where is it? I need to tell the king about my dream.”

“What dream?” Mancini said in confusion. “There are no more dreams. There is no more hope. It’s all been ruined. All is lost.” He shook the empty jug a little, listening to see if there was any liquid sloshing around inside. It was empty.

“Ankarette said I must!” Owen insisted, gripping the man’s shoulder.

Mancini’s face crinkled with confusion. “Who said?”

“Ankarette!” Owen seethed, frustrated at the man’s blockheadedness.

Mancini leaned forward. “You’ve . . . seen . . . her?”

“She’s in my room.” Owen hooked his thumb and pointed.

The expression on Mancini’s face transformed. He shoved away the empty jug and broke it in his haste to get back to his feet. “She is? At this very moment? But how?”

“Sshh!” Owen said, for he heard the sound of boots coming.

Mancini grabbed the boy’s hand and marched him down the hall. He swayed a bit as he walked, but he knew the way. Coming toward them were several night guards wearing the badge of the white boar and carrying torches.

One of the soldiers challenged them. “Who goes there?”

“This is the Kiskaddon brat—boy! He had another dream and must tell it to the king!”

The soldier looked at Owen in surprise. “Follow us, boy.”

Mancini’s cheeks were pink and rosy, and he looked elated. They marched back the way they had come and quickly went to the king’s bedchamber. As soon as they walked into the room, Owen saw Duke Horwath. Ratcliffe was also there, a bloody bandage around his neck, along with several other men who were talking angrily amongst themselves. To Owen’s surprise, Princess Elyse was also present, wearing a robe over her nightdress, her hair straggling as she paced the chamber in her slippers, her face pinched with worry.

“My liege,” the soldier announced, stamping his boots as he halted. “Found these two in the corridors. The boy has had another dream.”

The king, looking furious, turned when he heard the soldier’s announcement. His face was flushed with emotion, but he calmed when he saw Owen.

“Another one?” the king asked, his voice suddenly interested and concerned. He started walking toward Owen.

“My lord,” Ratcliffe broke in. “That can wait. You promised my reward. I have served you faithfully. I want Tatton Hall!”

The princess glowered at Ratcliffe, her face showing her absolute disapproval. Horwath looked angry too, his stern lips pressed hard together.

“Give it a rest, Dickon!” the king snapped. “This is important!”

Ratcliffe seethed with fury. “If you are still taking the Espion away from me, I deserve something in return! Something that won’t be a loss of reputation. If this is how you reward loyalty . . .”

The king was in no mood to hear him. His cheeks were full of stubble and he looked as if he hadn’t slept well or at all that night. It reminded Owen of the night he had found the secret tunnel leading to the king’s bedroom. The king’s face was full of weariness and agitation. But it softened when he dropped down on one knee in front of the boy, putting their eyes on a level.