“What is the meaning of this, Horwath? Unhand me! Unhand me, I say!” The voice was Ratcliffe’s, and the attention of those gathered in the royal chamber shifted from the grieving king and his niece to the master of the Espion. On Horwath’s barked command, several soldiers wearing the arrow-pierced lion had marched forward and seized Ratcliffe.
Horwath’s face was impassive, cold, and very menacing. “Search him,” he ordered brusquely.
“This is outrageous!” Ratcliffe snarled, struggling against the soldiers, but he was quickly overpowered. “What do you hope to find? A bag of gold? Of course I have a bag of gold! This is preposterous!”
“My lord duke?” one of the soldiers said, bringing forth a folded scrap of paper, the red waxy seal already broken. “It was in his pocket.”
Ratcliffe’s eyes widened with shock. “Where did you get that? I did not have that in my pocket. You must . . . you must have put it there!” He bucked against the soldiers, trying to free himself, and one of them clamped an arm around his neck to subdue him.
Owen stood by the princess, watching with building interest as Elysabeth’s grandfather unfolded the note and started reading it aloud.
“Master Ratcliffe, long has my master desired to earn your good opinion. Rumor crosses our borders that your master has a new Fountain-blessed. A little brat from Kiskaddon. Please arrange an accident to remove this threat to us. In return, you will inherit the lordship of one of our many pleasant estates on your borders with income received from the king’s coffers annually. Be quick, Master Ratcliffe. Your prompt cooperation will be amply rewarded.” Horwath’s frown and boiling anger intensified as he read. “Yours et cetera, Grey.”
Ratcliffe’s face turned as white as milk.
The king rose to his feet, his look so full of wrath and disappointment that it made Owen cower.
“How could you—you—turn traitor, Dickon?” the king said in a husky whisper. “You, above all, know my heart. You, above all, have shared my history. I am not sure I can trust anyone now. For greed or gold? Was it worth it, old friend?” His hand closed against his dagger hilt, and for a brief instant, Owen feared the king would plunge the blade into Ratcliffe’s heart.
“My lord,” Mancini said politely.
The king turned his savage gaze to the Genevese man.
“There was an incident—quite recently—when I discovered little Owen and the duke’s granddaughter at play. Well, to be honest, they were being rather naughty and had found their way into the palace cistern. I happened to tell Master Ratcliffe this fact shortly thereafter and . . . well, rather coincidentally, the gate winches of the cistern drain were tugged on. That’s why the palace ran out of water. The two children were nearly swept into the river. I had no proof it was not an accident, of course. Until now. I thought I might mention it.”
Ratcliffe’s face turned green and he hung his head as if all his strength had failed him.
The king stared at Owen in mixed surprise and horror. “Is this true, lad?”
Owen stared at the king purposefully. He nodded and then looked at Duke Horwath. “Mancini saved both of us. He broke down the door and caught us before we went over the falls.”
“By the Fountain!” the king exclaimed. He knelt in front of Owen and mussed the boy’s hair, looking at him with wonder and the utmost relief. “Is this true? Were you spared the horrors of it? I almost cannot bear to look at you without weeping anew.”
It took him a moment to master his emotions. Then the king rose like a thunderhead, and when he next spoke, his voice was full of menace and warning. “You desire wealth and fame like a sick man craves his drink. But you were not meant for so much power, Dickon. You are as inept as you are ambitious. This message reeks of the smell of Occitania, the nation that has always sought our overthrow and humiliation. For this, you would have murdered two innocent children . . . just like Bletchley. How could you, man? How could you?” His jaw was clenched with rage. “My lord duke of North Cumbria, acting as chief justice, arrest this man of high treason and commit his body to the waters. May the Fountain spare his life if he be innocent or bury him in the Deep Fathoms with all the moldering treasures of the world for him to feast his greedy eyes on without being able to touch once his skin turns to bones. Out of my sight!”