Owen had passed the nondescript wall before and thought nothing of it, but as she brought him closer, she pointed out how different it was from the adjoining structure. There were not any vines, and little moss on it either, which spoke to the fact that it was a new construction.
“My grandpapa said the cistern is just past it,” she said eagerly. “I haven’t figured out a way to get over it yet, but I think if we had a view from that tower,” she said, pointing up at Ankarette’s tower, “we’d be able to find a way in there.” She pressed her palms against the stone wall, as if she hoped to topple it over. “I think there’s another way inside—a door maybe. I’ve been trying to find a way into that tower, you know, but no one can help me.”
Owen swallowed guiltily, for he knew the way to the tower and he had no doubt that Ankarette knew the secret of the forbidden wall. He was itching to ask her.
When Jewel finally caught up to them, sputtering for breath, the Mortimer girl grabbed Owen’s hand and dragged him away at a run to escape her. It was like playing the seeking game, only better.
After sundown, he waited a long time before sneaking to the tower. He wanted to make sure that his adventure would go unnoticed by his new companion, so he stole into the secret passages and made his way to the Mortimer girl’s chamber. He watched from a secret panel on the wall as Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer built a little fort out of chairs and blankets, with only a stubby candle for light. Suspecting she’d be occupied for a while, Owen stole up to the tower.
When he entered the room, Ankarette was lying on the bed, clutching her middle. She looked tired and uncomfortable and he could see she was in no mood to play Wizr.
“Hello, Owen,” she greeted, her voice weak. “I left the tea for you on the table.” He nestled by the edge of the bed, his stomach growling at the sight of the nearby tray of uneaten food. He was always hungry.
“I’m not feeling well tonight,” she said, reaching out tenderly and tousling his hair. “Tomorrow night, perhaps?”
“Are you sick?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Mostly tired. I’ll feel better tomorrow, I think. Would you take the tray down to the kitchen for me? I don’t think I can make it tonight.”
“Of course,” he answered, and then took it. “Can I ask you something?”
“You always can,” she said with a little gasp of pain.
“I heard about Lord Bletchley today.”
“Who told you about him?” she asked, her voice showing her interest.
“The Mortimer girl,” he replied.
“Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer?” Ankarette asked playfully. “What did she tell you?”
Owen knew this was an important moment. He wanted to see if he could trust Ankarette fully. So he decided to test her. He altered some of the story. He said that Severn ordered Bletchley to murder his nephews. He wanted to know if that were true.
Ankarette was quiet for a moment, her eyes lost in thought. “No, I’m not certain that’s true,” she said. “I don’t believe the king ordered his nephews’ deaths. It was Bletchley’s handiwork.” She frowned, her face troubled. “Many do believe Severn ordered it, so I’m not surprised at the story, only that Duke Horwath did not correct his granddaughter.” She shrugged, and Owen felt a surge of relief.
“How do you know he didn’t?” Owen stammered. “I was just thinking . . . you told me the king was Fountain-blessed. Couldn’t he persuade someone that he didn’t do something that he did?”
Ankarette gazed at him with a look that reminded him of the one the Mortimer girl had given him. A look of respect and admiration. It made him flush with warmth.
“Are you sure you are only eight?” she asked with a little laugh. “That was very astute, Owen. You will become a great lord someday. How do I know? Because I was there in secret when Severn told the queen what had become of her sons. Their bodies have never been found, you see, but we all presume they are dead. The king came to Our Lady to tell his sister-in-law. He is not a humble man, you may be sure of that. And while he laid the blame for their death on Bletchley, he told her that he was responsible. He had trusted Bletchley and given him command of the Espion. It was his fault the boys were dead.” She fell quiet. “That took courage, you can imagine. No one made him tell her. And since I was there, I could tell he was not using his Fountain magic. He could have forced her to believe him, but he did not attempt to persuade her or touch her. That is why she had summoned me. She wanted to be sure that she had not been convinced against her will. One Fountain-blessed can discern the gift in another. I would have known it if he had used it against her.”
Owen adjusted his grip on the tray. His understanding of the king was beginning to shift. He realized that he, like many, might be looking at him in a way that was not entirely true.