The Queen's Poisoner
Page 19
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“Out! Get out of here!” Liona barked, storming up to the bully with a stern look. “Get you gone, Lord Dunsdworth. Out of my kitchen. Leave that little boy alone.”
Dunsdworth gave the approaching cook a disdainful look and hooked his thumbs in his wide leather belt.
“Poor boy, you mean,” Dunsdworth said saucily. He ground some more tiles under his heel. “Playing with bits and scraps like a beggar. I came because I was hungry. Give me a muffin, cook.”
“I should box your ears!” Liona said angrily. She was a short woman, but Dunsdworth was only twelve, so they were of a size. Though she looked angry enough to thrash him, the bully looked unconcerned.
“You touch me,” Dunsdworth warned, “and I’ll have my revenge.” He raised a hand and closed it around the dagger hilt. “Now fetch me a muffin!”
Liona scowled at him and huffed to herself, but she grabbed a leftover muffin from a tray and thrust it into his hand. Using the older boy’s distraction to his favor, Owen dragged his satchel nearer and furiously started picking up the rest of the fallen pieces before they too could be destroyed.
Dunsdworth took a bite, thanked Liona rudely with a wad of it in his mouth, and then sauntered out of the kitchen. Owen’s mind was black, but the imminent threat of pain was leaving and his smoldering heart began to cool. Heaving a sigh, Liona knelt by the fallen tiles and helped him collect them.
“I’ll ask Drew to find you some more,” she offered, touching his hand with her own. “That boy’s a rude sort. I hope we did not make an enemy of him today.”
Owen frowned and breathed through his nose. “You should see how the king talks to him,” he said. “He’s treated the worst of us all.”
“True, but that doesn’t excuse him to scold and tease smaller children. What sort of life is this?” She mopped her forehead. “Always living at risk of the king’s wrath.” She stopped gathering tiles, though she remained kneeling by him.
Owen looked at her and saw a strange expression in her eyes. “What is it, Liona?”
“You still wander the grounds with your maid?” she asked him softly.
He nodded, intrigued, as he grabbed another fistful of tiles and stacked them carefully in the box.
“You know the garden with the horse fountains and the hickory trees? It’s on the lower ring of walls.”
“I do,” Owen said, gazing into her eyes. The tiles were cold in his hands.
“There is a porter door in the wall,” she confided. “An iron door. They never lock it. The king’s Espion use it to get in and out of the palace without the guards seeing. Drew told me of it. I’ve not told a soul I know.” She paused and glanced over her shoulder again, licking her lips. “You cannot tell anyone that I told you, Owen,” she said, when she finally returned her gaze to him. “I would lose my place. Or worse. There is a trail leading down to the castle road that goes to the bridge to Our Lady. Get you to sanctuary, Owen.” She reached down and squeezed his knee. It tickled, though he knew that was not intended. “Seek out the queen dowager or her daughter, Elyse. Sometimes she is there. Even a child can claim sanctuary.” She rose in a hurry and busied herself by the bread ovens, then grabbed a fistful of flour from a sack and spread it on the table nearby. She looked pale and a little nervous and didn’t so much as glance at Owen again.
Owen was grateful for her help and excited by the possibility of escaping his life in the palace. He had arrived when the moon was half-full and now it was nearly full. If he managed to claim sanctuary, perhaps his parents could come and visit him? He was heartsick and missed them dreadfully.
After he finished cleaning up, he slung the satchel around his shoulder and started off to find Monah. It was after dark, so he would have to escape the next day. He had just the idea to slip away from his governess.
“I don’t wish to play the seeking game,” Monah complained, trudging after Owen down the hill. “There is a groomsman I want to talk to. Let’s visit the stables!”
Owen kept a strong pace, and the girl’s long skirts made it difficult for her to keep up with him. He was so excited that he had not been hungry all day, but he had still eaten as much as he could and slipped some food in his pockets for later. Worried that his sly thoughts might show in his eyes, Owen had done his best to stay away from the king and Ratcliffe.
“Slow down!” Monah said, tromping through a thin hedge. Owen wove between the shagbark hickories, heading toward the wall. “Can we not go to the stables, Master Owen? I will get you a treat.”
Dunsdworth gave the approaching cook a disdainful look and hooked his thumbs in his wide leather belt.
“Poor boy, you mean,” Dunsdworth said saucily. He ground some more tiles under his heel. “Playing with bits and scraps like a beggar. I came because I was hungry. Give me a muffin, cook.”
“I should box your ears!” Liona said angrily. She was a short woman, but Dunsdworth was only twelve, so they were of a size. Though she looked angry enough to thrash him, the bully looked unconcerned.
“You touch me,” Dunsdworth warned, “and I’ll have my revenge.” He raised a hand and closed it around the dagger hilt. “Now fetch me a muffin!”
Liona scowled at him and huffed to herself, but she grabbed a leftover muffin from a tray and thrust it into his hand. Using the older boy’s distraction to his favor, Owen dragged his satchel nearer and furiously started picking up the rest of the fallen pieces before they too could be destroyed.
Dunsdworth took a bite, thanked Liona rudely with a wad of it in his mouth, and then sauntered out of the kitchen. Owen’s mind was black, but the imminent threat of pain was leaving and his smoldering heart began to cool. Heaving a sigh, Liona knelt by the fallen tiles and helped him collect them.
“I’ll ask Drew to find you some more,” she offered, touching his hand with her own. “That boy’s a rude sort. I hope we did not make an enemy of him today.”
Owen frowned and breathed through his nose. “You should see how the king talks to him,” he said. “He’s treated the worst of us all.”
“True, but that doesn’t excuse him to scold and tease smaller children. What sort of life is this?” She mopped her forehead. “Always living at risk of the king’s wrath.” She stopped gathering tiles, though she remained kneeling by him.
Owen looked at her and saw a strange expression in her eyes. “What is it, Liona?”
“You still wander the grounds with your maid?” she asked him softly.
He nodded, intrigued, as he grabbed another fistful of tiles and stacked them carefully in the box.
“You know the garden with the horse fountains and the hickory trees? It’s on the lower ring of walls.”
“I do,” Owen said, gazing into her eyes. The tiles were cold in his hands.
“There is a porter door in the wall,” she confided. “An iron door. They never lock it. The king’s Espion use it to get in and out of the palace without the guards seeing. Drew told me of it. I’ve not told a soul I know.” She paused and glanced over her shoulder again, licking her lips. “You cannot tell anyone that I told you, Owen,” she said, when she finally returned her gaze to him. “I would lose my place. Or worse. There is a trail leading down to the castle road that goes to the bridge to Our Lady. Get you to sanctuary, Owen.” She reached down and squeezed his knee. It tickled, though he knew that was not intended. “Seek out the queen dowager or her daughter, Elyse. Sometimes she is there. Even a child can claim sanctuary.” She rose in a hurry and busied herself by the bread ovens, then grabbed a fistful of flour from a sack and spread it on the table nearby. She looked pale and a little nervous and didn’t so much as glance at Owen again.
Owen was grateful for her help and excited by the possibility of escaping his life in the palace. He had arrived when the moon was half-full and now it was nearly full. If he managed to claim sanctuary, perhaps his parents could come and visit him? He was heartsick and missed them dreadfully.
After he finished cleaning up, he slung the satchel around his shoulder and started off to find Monah. It was after dark, so he would have to escape the next day. He had just the idea to slip away from his governess.
“I don’t wish to play the seeking game,” Monah complained, trudging after Owen down the hill. “There is a groomsman I want to talk to. Let’s visit the stables!”
Owen kept a strong pace, and the girl’s long skirts made it difficult for her to keep up with him. He was so excited that he had not been hungry all day, but he had still eaten as much as he could and slipped some food in his pockets for later. Worried that his sly thoughts might show in his eyes, Owen had done his best to stay away from the king and Ratcliffe.
“Slow down!” Monah said, tromping through a thin hedge. Owen wove between the shagbark hickories, heading toward the wall. “Can we not go to the stables, Master Owen? I will get you a treat.”
