King Severn muttered something under his breath. Owen and Evie were close enough to see his face, but not close enough to hear the words. He looked up at his Espion lord with daggers in his eyes. “I’m going to call on another man to take on the job, Ratcliffe. This blunder is too visible, too humiliating. I’ll be the laughingstock in every court from here to Pisan. I had success at Ambion Hill, proved my right to rule through blood and the blessing of the Fountain. But losing a notorious traitor from my own towers?” He extended a gloved hand. “Give me his book. I want Tunmore’s book. I want to read his lies about me with my own eyes.”
Ratcliffe’s face contorted with fury. “I beg you, Severn,” he said in a groveling, impetuous tone and tried to draw the king away from all the witnesses. His voice was angry but pitched low enough not to be heard by the entire room of onlookers. “Do not cast me aside like you have others. I’m not Hastings. I’m not Bletchley. I’m not Kiskaddon! You can trust me.”
Owen stared at the king, hoping he did not believe the spymaster. Owen had seen Ratcliffe when the king wasn’t around. He knew the disdainful way he treated others. When a man led others, he needed to earn their respect, not lord over them because of his rank. It was a lesson he’d learned from his father, who always treated his men with respect. In his head, it sounded like tiles were being set up to fall. He could almost hear the clicking sound of them.
“Give me the book,” Severn insisted.
Ratcliffe’s face twisted with fury. “I will fetch it.”
“It’s in your belt,” the king snapped, his hand outstretched.
Ratcliffe tugged it loose and thrust it into the king’s hand. He was sulking now, his looks so dark and stormy that Owen feared him even more. “What about your journey? Are we still going into Westmarch as I planned?”
“We leave tomorrow,” the king said, mollified somewhat. He turned the black-bound book over in his hand, examining the binding with curiosity.
“Tomorrow? It will take weeks before the household is ready to move!”
“I’m a soldier, Ratcliffe. You know that. I don’t care how long it takes the household to follow us. I’m bringing an army with me to the West. Soldiers from the North are riding down even now. We will surprise Kiskaddon with our numbers. The last time I ordered him into battle, he balked and refused to come to my aid until the bitter end. If he balks about joining us, it’ll cost him dearly. I think I’ve learned enough lessons from Ambion Hill. It’s time for me to do what I should have done months ago.”
Owen didn’t catch the king’s meaning, but he could tell by his tone of voice that his parents were in trouble. He glanced nervously at his friend and saw her eyes darken with worry. They were doing their best to conceal themselves behind one of the food tables.
“You won’t . . . like . . . what you read in it,” Ratcliffe said, nodding at the book as if it were a living snake. “You won’t care for it. Not at all.”
“I am used to slander, Dickon.” His mouth began to twist with suppressed anger. “I’ve been accused of seducing my niece. Murdering my brother’s sons. Poisoning my wife.” He grunted with disgust. “Remember the eclipse, Dickon? The eclipse that happened the day my wife died? I was blamed for that, too.” His voice had shrunk to almost a whisper. “That, however, may have been my doing. My soul was black that day. And I am Fountain-blessed.”
A silence hung between the two men as they shared memories like a cup of bitter wine.
“My lord,” Ratcliffe said, his voice so humble it was almost convincing, “if you will but give me one more chance. Let me prove my loyalty to you. I have no doubt that Tryneowy was behind Tunmore’s disappearance. I wouldn’t put it past her to have stolen your ring off your finger in the night.”
The king looked at him coldly. “That would be impossible,” he said. “For I did not sleep. I will not announce the change yet, Ratcliffe. But I will soon.” He tugged off one of his black gloves and stuffed it in his belt, then reached out a hand and clapped Ratcliffe’s shoulder. His voice changed in pitch and tone. “You’ve been loyal, Dickon. I value you, truly I do.”
Owen felt a ripple in the air, heard the murmuring churn of waters. He watched with fascination as the king opened himself up to the Fountain, willing it into their presence, summoning it as he might summon a horse to be ridden.
“You will step down as head of the Espion when I command it. You will curb your resentment and think on what you have learned from the experience. My brother always taught me that men should be lifted up to the point where they fail, but no further. You have ambition. You have many good capacities. You are a loyal advisor and friend. But this task is beyond you, and I must find another more capable to stand in your place. You will assist me in finding your replacement. This I charge you. This I command you.”
Owen remembered how the king had used his power to command him to walk out of the sanctuary of Our Lady. He had felt the flow of the Fountain all around him then, and he felt it now, too, even though the words were not directed at him. This time he was removed enough from the situation to observe the king’s use of his power without being pulled into the current. He was impressed with how the king had dealt with the situation. He hadn’t said anything untruthful or insincere. And he had not done it scoldingly or harshly.