The Queen's Poisoner
Page 74

She looked from Owen to Evie and back again. “Only one in a hundred can survive such a plunge. It was not the Fountain’s will for me to die. It broke my neck and much of my body, but I survived. My fate was kept a secret. The queen cared for me herself and helped me to heal—not just my body but my heart as well. The king charged Lord Dunsdworth with treason for executing me on his own authority. He was locked away in a tower here at the palace. They tried to drown him with wine, giving him so much that it would kill him, but he lingered and lingered.” She paused again, shuddering. “When he did not die, the king ordered me to poison him again. And so I did. Mine was the last face he looked upon in this life.”
Owen felt so strange and conflicted he didn’t know what to say. He only stared at her, trembling slightly.
Her voice ghosted from her bowed head. “His son, the boy you know as Dunsdworth, saw me in the kitchen today. He recognized me because I used to serve his family. He has believed for many years that I was dead and that his father was put to death because of me. Now you two know a truth that no one else in the realm understands. King Severn doesn’t know who I am. Nor does Ratcliffe. Not even your grandfather knows the truth, my lady. I still serve my queen, in her own prison, but I am not here to poison anyone. I never want to do that to anyone again if there is no need.”
She raised her sad face to look at the children. Owen’s heart ached for her. And as he had done for his mother so many times, he went to her and embraced her, resting his head on her shoulder and patting her in comfort.
“Does that mean,” Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer said, her voice trembling, “that if the king dies, Dunsdworth could rule us?”
Ankarette looked at the girl for a long moment before giving a firm nod.
“What have we done?” the girl moaned.
Owen felt sick to his stomach as well. But his ears picked out a sound he hadn’t been expecting. The sound of many boots coming down the hall. Toward them. He felt the thrum on the stone floor.
Ankarette saw his look and unsheathed a dagger.
Ratcliffe is determined to discover the leak. He’s been snooping around even more lately, always asking questions, prying for secrets. I can’t trust any news I hear from him, for anything he offers has either already been shared with the king or is a trap to ferret me out. I need to learn of something before Ratcliffe does if the poisoner’s plan is to work. The best place for news has always been the sanctuary of Our Lady. I can always tell when an Espion is riding toward the palace with something to report. What I need is a poison, something to stall the rider with stomach cramps, delay his arrival by even an hour. This is so risky. I’m not assigned to the sanctuary anymore. Why am I even considering this?
—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Feathers
“They’re coming,” Owen whispered to Evie. He thought Ankarette would hurry to the secret door, but instead she rushed to the headboard of the bed and plunged her dagger into one of the pillows, ripping the case open. She tossed the pillow to the girl and a cloud of feathers came trailing out.
“Hit him with it!” Ankarette gasped, and Evie needed no more coaxing than that.
A plume of white feathers exploded into the room as the ruptured pillow smashed into Owen’s chest. A half moment later, another torn pillow was sent spinning at Owen. He caught it, and suddenly the two children were filling the air with goose down as they clubbed each other with the sagging pillowcases.
Ankarette ducked to the floor and rolled under the bed as the bedroom door jolted open and Ratcliffe entered with four soldiers, swords drawn.
He started choking on the feather fluff immediately. It was like a blizzard from the North had settled on the room.
Giggling uncontrollably, Evie whopped Owen on the side of the head with a well-placed blow. She came at him again, but he held up his featherless pillow hood to block the blow and then whipped it around to catch her in the face. She gasped with pretend outrage, but her gasp was drowned out by a thundering roar.
“What in the devil is going on!” Ratcliffe bellowed.
Feathers were everywhere, sticking like leaves to Evie’s hair, her nightclothes, Owen’s tunic. The swirling swarms of feathers started to settle as both children froze in place and stared at the new arrivals.
A bit of fluff landed on Elysabeth’s lip and her mouth squirmed as she attempted to blow it off. The face she made was so funny that Owen grunted, trying to suppress a laugh.
Ratcliffe stomped on the feathers, his balding head wet with sweat, and the feathers clung to it, making him look completely ridiculous.