—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Pinecone
Ankarette did not want to play Wizr that night. Instead, she taught Owen about potions and herbs and explained the properties of woundwort, feverfew, and wisteria, and how to recognize the various plants. He had noticed an improvement in his wheezing since drinking her tea each night, and he was curious to learn more. She taught him about harmful plants, like nightshade, which—depending on the dosage—could either help a mother during a difficult pregnancy or kill a man. While they talked, she listened eagerly to his tales of adventure with Evie, but he omitted the story about the cistern because he’d promised to keep it secret. He even told her about being rude to Mancini. He longed to ask her about the treasure he had seen, but he could not do that without betraying the secret.
The queen’s poisoner listened carefully, watching his face most intently. There was something about her keen interest that intrigued him. From the look in her eyes, it was as if he were sharing the most interesting story imaginable. She waited patiently until he was done, and then she grew serious.
“Owen, time is running short,” she said. “The king will start destroying those who were disloyal to him before Ambion Hill. I wanted to have more time to prepare, to practice with you, but we just don’t have it.”
His heart lurched and he felt a sick, dark feeling bloom in his chest.
“Many families will fall during the purge,” she said. “Maybe even your own. The thought of such a loss would be difficult for anyone, Owen. But especially for a little boy. Know that whatever happens, your parents would want you to live. To be safe. That is why they sent you here. Why the Fountain may have sent you here.”
Owen shuddered, feeling miserable. Would he never see Tatton Hall again? His world had become Kingfountain palace. The thought of not playing with Evie made him feel awful. What about Liona in the kitchen? He was already forgetting what home was like, for he had been away for so many months. This new world, this dangerous world, had become familiar. He squeezed Ankarette’s hands worriedly.
“Now is the time to act, Owen.” She reached out and smoothed some of his hair, then gently stroked the side of his head, as if she were petting him. “Time to trick the king. You must do this. The idea was mine, but you must be the one to act. Are you ready to hear more about the plan?”
He nodded nervously, trying to quell the budding panic in his stomach. “The king is clever.”
She nodded appreciatively. “But not as clever as I am. Listen to my idea. In the game Wizr, which is the most powerful piece? Is it the one marking the king?”
“No, it’s the Wizr piece. It can move in any direction as far as it wants.”
She nodded in agreement. “There will come a day when people forget what the Wizr piece represents. Perhaps they will even remove it from the board. The Wizr piece exists because it reminds us of the very first king of Ceredigion, King Andrew, the one who bound all the disparate chiefs and kings together under one crown. You see, that king had an advisor, someone who was Fountain-blessed. He was a great man, could move leagues away with his magic. That is why the piece can move the farthest. He was unique among his kind. He was called the king’s Wizr. In other lands, the title is Vizier. His name was Myrddin. He has an interesting story, but I won’t tell it to you now. Some Fountain-blessed are gifted with archery. Some with music. Some even with running. There’s the story of an ancient man who ran for three days without stopping and then died after delivering his message. Myrddin’s power, his magic from the Fountain, was his ability to see the future. They say it nearly drove him mad. It is the most rare gift that a Fountain-blessed can have, Owen.”
“I don’t understand,” Owen said, blinking with confusion.
“This is the gift that you must trick the king into believing you have,” she said with a wry smile. “Now lay your head on my lap and close your eyes.” They were both sitting on the edge of her bed. It was late, but Owen was not sleepy yet. Although he was still unsettled and confused, he did as she asked.
Once his head was settled in her lap, she began stroking the hair away from his forehead. “Keep your eyes closed and listen to my voice.” Her hand lightly stroked his forehead, smoothing away his hair. Her voice was soft, coaxing, melodious. “I had a dream last night. It was a strange dream. I was in a high tower. It was as tall as a mountain. I could see everything. Even the birds. As I looked from the window, I saw Our Lady. At Our Lady, I saw a branch with a swollen pinecone amidst the needles. The pinecone was fat and heavy. It fell off the branch into the river and went over the falls. That was my dream.”