“Did you ever jump off?” he asked.
The Mortimer girl looked at him as if he were the stupidest person in the world. “Of course not! Some villagers tried it, but they’ve all died. Some people break their arms or legs slipping down the trail. But just because you can get hurt, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t climb waterfalls. I’m so grateful someone had the courage to build that bridge. I’m sure it was dangerous work. But they did it, and now everyone can see what it’s like to stand on top of such a waterfall! It captures your heart, Owen.” She had a faraway look in her eyes, a brightness and eagerness that made him yearn to see it for himself. Then she looked at him and patted his knee. “When we go up North, I’ll take you up to Mist Falls. I’ll hold your hand as we jump off that rock, just as my papa did for me. After that . . . you won’t be afraid of anything.”
The warmth from the ovens made his cheeks burn, but he was still cold beneath the wet clothes. He could picture himself standing on a mountainside with the Mortimer girl next to him. The thought of jumping off a waterfall made his head buzz.
“Owen, guess what!” she whispered, leaning toward him. “I found it!”
“What?” He shook his head to clear it.
“I found where that wall leads from the castle! I saw it out a window. It leads to a small courtyard and there’s—”
“The cistern,” Owen interrupted, gazing at her.
Her eyes went wide. “You saw it?”
He nodded.
“I think I found the way in,” she said conspiratorially.
I’m beginning to wonder if the alliance I’ve struck with the queen’s poisoner will be fatal. Ratcliffe insists she invaded the king’s bedchamber last night shortly before midnight. That cannot be true because she was, in fact, with me at that time discussing the king’s enemies and which nobles are most likely to fall next. It’s my opinion it will be Lord Asilomar. The king has set up a trap to test his loyalty. He will fail. I’m wondering when mine will be tested. If Ratcliffe knew that I was working for her, I’d be thrown into the river.
—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Deep Cisterns
Owen and the Mortimer girl faced each other over a Wizr board in the library. Each move was painstakingly slow. Owen could have won several times already with the tricks he had learned from Ankarette, but the goal wasn’t to win the game. The goal was for Jewel to fall asleep. Owen had added some additional ingredients to her tea and the old woman was making a bold effort of fighting off the effects. She sat in a stuffed chair, and the needlework in her hands kept bobbing and dipping.
“I think she’s almost asleep,” Owen whispered, moving the next piece.
His companion gazed surreptitiously at the old woman in the chair. Jewel’s mouth had sagged open and her breath had begun to pull in and out in curt little gasps.
The Mortimer girl almost giggled as she looked back at Owen with her bewitching eyes that were part green, part blue, part gray. She wore a dark green velvet dress with cuffs that matched her hem. Her dark hair was swept back behind her.
“You were right,” she whispered in reply. “She normally doesn’t fall asleep like this when she’s watching us. But choosing a boring game like Wizr, and playing it so quietly . . . just look at her. Should we go?”
Owen nodded. They had several hours before the effects of the tea would wear off. The Mortimer girl grabbed his hand but paused to move one of the game pieces with her free hand. “Threat,” she said after the move, indicating a surprise attack he had not expected. Leave it to her to show talent at a complicated game she found boring. “Come on!” she said, tugging him to follow.
The two crept away from the library, their footfalls silenced by the thick carpet. As soon as they were past the doors, they broke into a run. Owen let her guide, as she knew the way. There was always a thrill to being naughty, and he could tell it was coursing through them both. There were servants all around, but everyone in the palace knew about Owen Satchel and the Mortimer girl, and there were only a few grunts and warnings not to get underfoot.
Their destination was a side corridor by the servants’ quarters. The level of dust on the floor showed it was not well traveled. A big, sturdy door met them at the end of the corridor. Owen had tried it before and found it locked, so he had never been back again.
The Mortimer girl grinned at him mischievously. “There is a window in the door. I dragged that basket over and stood on it, and that’s how I saw the secret place.”
“But the door is locked,” Owen said, yanking on the iron latch. It rattled but did not loosen.