The Queen's Poisoner (Kingfountain, #1)

Owen’s twisting nerves grew worse. “I trust her,” he whispered softly.

“Trust is a pretty dish, lad. But this is the king’s trust we are talking about. If I were in Severn’s place, I’d use the Assizes to my advantage to destroy a threat known to me. A dish may be a pretty thing, but it’s easily broken. Even if you fit the pieces back together, it won’t hold a meal. Your father broke the king’s trust at Ambion Hill. Your brother already paid for that with his life. Bets are being waged among the Espion that your father will go into the river tomorrow.” He clapped Owen on the back. “I hate to bear bad news, but I just don’t see how Ankarette can change his mind.”

Anger churning in his heart, Owen gave Mancini a sulky look. “She’s more clever than you, though. She’ll think of a way.”

Mancini snorted. “Well, if she’s slipped into the castle, she won’t be slipping out, I can tell you that.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.” It was Ankarette’s voice, ghosting up to them from the lip of the well. Owen startled, and Mancini had to lurch forward to keep from falling backward into the well in pure surprise.

Owen’s faith in the queen’s poisoner had been vindicated once again. He leaned over the edge of the well, staring down into its dark throat. “Are you down in the well?” he whispered, his voice echoing down the shaft.

“I am,” she replied, her voice kind but tired.

“I can’t see you,” Owen said.

“But I can see you,” she answered. “All is well.”

“I’m beginning to believe in all this Fountain nonsense,” Mancini grumbled nastily, having partially recovered from his shock. “Where are you?”

“There are tunnels honeycombing beneath the castle,” she whispered. “It’s one of the reasons that castle was named Beestone. This is a famous castle, Owen. Or an infamous one. Several kings have started their reign here. Studying the past sometimes helps us make the future. Dominic, have you found what I asked you to find?”

Owen gripped the edge, his heart afire with hope.

The spy frowned distastefully. “Yes, but it’s not good news, Ankarette. It would seem the king means to execute the lad’s family tomorrow. I was just telling him that. The Espion are all betting on it, coins changing hands.”

“Thank you. Yes, it does seem very likely that the king will make an announcement tomorrow. This is the bit of news I needed to confirm. Do you know what time the Assizes will start? When must Kiskaddon arrive before he’s guilty of treason?”

Mancini frowned, his arms folded. “Tenth hour. I heard he’s camped a league away.”

“Dominic, I need you to go to him. I can’t ride that far and be back in time. You must go to Lord Kiskaddon and you must tell him to come to the Assizes tomorrow. He cannot be late.”

“Why would he listen to me?” Mancini said.

“Because I sent you. He will trust you because his wife trusts me. Believe this. You must persuade Owen’s father to come without a retinue. Without arms. He must put himself completely at the king’s mercy.”

Owen shivered.

The incredulous look on Mancini’s face said it all. “Are you serious?”

“Quite so. You must deliver this message for me. Tonight. If you leave now, you can be at his camp and back before dawn. See if you can persuade him to come with you. He cannot be late to the Assizes. Will you do this?”

“I’m risking my neck,” Mancini grumbled. “Will you not tell me your plan? I haven’t been able to get the book. The king keeps it with him at all times.”

“He’s struggling to understand what is written in it. I need to know what’s in that book.”

“But the king won’t let go,” Mancini said.

“He’s not the only one who’s read it. Where are the Espion staying? Where is Ratcliffe?”

“What?”

“Where is Ratcliffe?” More insistently this time.

“The . . . all the Espion are staying at the Holywell in town. It’s near Castle Hill, on the—”

“I know it,” she said, cutting him off. Her voice sounded more tired, more pained. “Go, Dominic. Go warn Kiskaddon.”

The spy grunted as he leaned away from the well and marched off toward the torchlight. Owen was grateful he was gone.

“Are you feeling sick?” Owen whispered into the well.

There was a long pause. “I’m very sick, Owen. And we’re running out of time.”

He fidgeted nervously. “I wish there was a way I could help,” he said miserably. “I saw the book on the king’s bed today. I started reading it, but Ratcliffe took it away.”

“That was clever of you,” she said, sounding pleased. “You could tell John Tunmore is Fountain-blessed just from reading it, couldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Owen said. “Ankarette, what is the Dreadful Deadman?”

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