Severn, the third son, of whom we now entreat, was in intellect and courage equal with either of his brothers, in body and prowess far beneath them both: little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crook-backed—his left shoulder much higher than his right—hard-favored of visage, and warlike in his demeanor. He was malicious, wrathful, envious, and, from afore his birth, ever perverse. It is for truth reported that the duchess his mother had so much ado in her travail that she could not be delivered of him uncut, and, as the fame runneth, also not untoothed. Able captain was he in war, for which his disposition was much better met than for peace. He was close and secret, a deep dissembler, lowly of countenance, arrogant of heart; outwardly companionable where he inwardly hated, not refraining to kiss those whom he thought to kill; dispiteous and cruel, not for evil, but often for ambition. He slew with his own hand—
The book was suddenly snatched out of Owen’s hands and Ratcliffe waggled it over his head. “Do you see what the lad is reading, my lord? Look at him, he was transfixed!” He then whapped the side of Owen’s head with the book and gave him a shove.
Duke Horwath stepped forward, putting himself between Owen and Ratcliffe.
“He was reading it, you say?” the king asked, suddenly interested and concerned.
“Did you not see him?” Ratcliffe said sharply.
“I saw him,” came another voice, much younger. Owen glared at Dunsdworth, who had appeared in the doorway and was giving him a malicious smile. In Owen’s mind, he saw a man inside a bucket, clawing at the bottom as if trying to reach a treasure he could not grab. The vision was enough to make him shudder.
But the king stepped forward, blocking his view of Dunsdworth. “You were reading my book?”
Owen had been caught. There was no denying it. His tongue felt like it was sticking to the roof of his mouth. Fear made him want to cower, but he reached inside his pocket and gripped the braid of Elysabeth’s hair.
“I wanted to play Wizr,” Owen said, his mouth finally able to move. “But everyone was talking, so I started playing with the pieces. Then I saw the book.”
“Did you understand it?” the king asked incredulously.
Owen nodded.
“There are hard words in there, lad. It’s not a child’s book. Did you truly understand its meaning?”
Owen stared at the king, whose eyes were now boring into his. “I . . . like books,” he said sheepishly.
The king snatched the book from Ratcliffe’s hand and then thumbed through it. “I like books under normal circumstances. But this book . . . there are falsehoods written in it. Falsehoods about me.”
“I know,” Owen said, nodding.
The king’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean you know?”
Owen blinked, feeling more and more confused. How did he know? How could he describe the voice he’d heard while reading it?
“I . . . I felt it. As I read,” Owen said simply. “I felt the parts that weren’t true.”
The king’s eyes narrowed. “We will speak of this later,” he murmured, then stuffed the book into his belt. “Dunsdworth! Play Wizr with the lad.”
The older boy scowled fiercely at the command, and Owen groaned inwardly as he walked to the Wizr board. Dunsdworth sulked as he took up the white pieces and set them up, incorrectly. It hurt to watch him, but Owen gritted his teeth, knowing Dunsdworth wouldn’t care the pieces were in the wrong positions.
“What news from Tatton Hall?” the king demanded of Ratcliffe in an undertone. Owen had clearly not heard the spymaster or Dunsdworth enter the room earlier, for he had been too caught up in reading the book. As Owen silently began moving pieces, he kept his eyes on the game board while his ears listened keenly to the king’s conversation.
“I hate this game,” Dunsdworth seethed.
I hate you, Owen almost said, but managed to bite his tongue in time.
“As you requested, my lord, I delivered your summons to Duke Kiskaddon at Beestone Castle. As you can imagine, he wanted to know the nature of the summons. I explained that you were holding the Assizes. He then had the temerity to ask whether he would be participating in the Assizes as a justice.” Ratcliffe chuckled.
“And what did you tell him?” the king asked with amusement.
“I said, of course, that Duke Horwath was the chief justice and he would learn more when he obeyed the summons.”
“Do you think he will come, Dickon?” the king asked softly.
“If he doesn’t, he’s guilty of treason. If he does, he’ll be found guilty of treason. Either way, we have him.”