Her voice softened again and she settled her hands in her lap. “The king gains his power through insulting others. You cannot be in a room with him without experiencing it. That is how he draws in the Fountain’s magic. Every insult, every cutting word, adds a drop to his cup. When it is full, he can use the magic of the Fountain against someone. An individual. And they will believe whatever he says, no matter how outlandish. He did not always realize he was Fountain-blessed. I think he discovered it almost by accident. Once he knew it, he began to use it to make himself king. I warned his brother about it, but he would not listen to me. He thought his brother was loyal.”
Owen looked at her curiously. “He doesn’t insult Princess Elyse.”
Ankarette nodded. “You are right. And observant. I need some time to work out my plan, but if you would like, I will come visit you tomorrow and we can talk again.” She paused before continuing. “I’ve been watching over you since you arrived, Owen. I like playing with your tiles too. Now, you should be abed by this hour.” She mussed up his hair again, then her fingers slowed and gently played with some of the feathery tufts.
“How do you know so much about it? About what it feels like? Are you . . . are you Fountain-blessed, Ankarette?” he asked.
She kept her eyes on his hair and then nodded once. “That is another reason the king wants to kill me,” she said. “Why don’t you head to bed?”
“You are going back to the tower?” he asked.
She nodded with a sad smile. “I must stay hidden during the day,” she said. “I do much of my work at night when everyone is asleep.”
“Can I see your tower?” he asked, grabbing her hands and squeezing them.
“Of course,” she agreed. “If you promise to tell no one how to get up there.”
“I promise!”
She patted his cheek tenderly. “There are secret passages throughout the palace,” she confided conspiratorially. “I can show you all of them. Would you like that, Owen?”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her tightly, enjoying her warmth. It had been so long since he had hugged anyone.
Ankarette was startled by his sudden show of affection, but she wrapped her arms around him as well and kissed the top of his tangled hair again.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” she promised. “Not as he did the others.”
“Who?” Owen asked, tilting his face up to her.
“His brother’s sons,” she answered gravely, and he could see the sadness in her eyes once more.
There is a precept amongst us in the Espion. We glory in the tales of our exploits, of our manipulations. We especially love to trick each other. You see, it is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.
—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen
CHAPTER TWELVE
Poisoner
Ankarette Tryneowy lived in the highest tower of the palace of Kingfountain. As Owen climbed the steps with her, hand in hand, she told him how she was able to keep her presence secret. No servants went to her tower. The butler’s servants believed the castle almoner maintained it. The almoner was told that the butler’s staff serviced it. The master carpenter thought it was scheduled to be remodeled as soon as the funds became available. It was protected by a web of lies and deceptions so subtle that everyone had a belief about the tower that was just not true. One of the few people who did know the truth, Ankarette explained, was the cook, Liona, who always set aside a tray of food each night.
Not even Eredur’s queen knew where the poisoner dwelled.
The stairs were a difficult climb for Owen, and he was breathing hard as they huffed up the narrow tower well the following night, his guide holding a single candle to light the way. His forehead was plastered with sweat by the time they reached the top.
“It’s so small,” Owen said, panting, after she welcomed him to her private domain.
Most of the space was occupied by a small canopied bed swathed with thick velvet curtains to help her sleep in the daylight. The blankets were furs and Owen went to them and rubbed his hands against their softness. There was a small table topped with a globe, a set of scales, and several vials and tubes containing various potions and concoctions. His eyes widened when he saw them, but he kept his distance. Throughout the room, there were pestles and mortars of various sizes, some on the floor, some on the windowsills. These made him nervous, so he looked away. His gaze fell on a fancy embroidered curtain, and he walked up to it for a better look.
“This is pretty,” he said as he touched it reverently.