The Queen's Poisoner

Severn’s eyes were full of meaning. “It is my gift to you, Owen. When I make a promise, I honor it. And I expect the same in return.”

The children in the room shuffled forward to look at the expensive, custom-made pieces. Even Dunsdworth stared at it hungrily. It was clear he had never been favored by the king before.

Owen felt a guilty smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s play!” Evie gasped, her interest in the game miraculously renewed.

Ratcliffe is shrewd. He doesn’t believe the boy is Fountain-blessed at all. It’s too suspicious, too convenient. He is on the hunt, like a wolf searching for a promising scent. I think he wants to destroy the boy. There is anger in his eyes. If the poisoner isn’t careful, the lad might end up like the princes. Wasn’t it the last head of the Espion who had the two boys murdered?

—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Lord Dunsdworth

The novelty of the new Wizr set had galvanized the kitchen, which was almost as bustling as it had been the day Owen had predicted the fall of House Asilomar. The Wizr set was pristine, polished to a glassy shine, and each piece was thick and handcrafted. Owen’s satchel remained undisturbed while the king’s gift dominated.

Owen was careful as he showed Evie some of the strategies Ankarette had taught him. It wasn’t fun playing someone who could be defeated so easily, but she was more eager to learn with a new set, and she had found new relish in the idea of defeating adults in a game meant for them.

“How did you learn all of these moves?” she asked him in wonderment, and Owen felt the wriggling moth of the secret in his chest again. His lips burned to tell her, but he remained silent.

“I’ve always loved Wizr,” he said, completing a series of movements to win the game.

“Do you know why they call the game Wizr?” she asked, as they both began to settle the pieces back to the starting position.

He nodded and quickly explained the origin of the term.

“I wish Myrddin was real,” she said with a sigh. “Some people say it’s just a story. There aren’t any true Wizrs anymore. But I like to imagine that Wizrs are real, that the Fountain truly can bless people with magic. There are so many stories, some of them must be true. Like with you,” she said slyly. They stared at the board and started another game.

“Your Highness, so lovely to see you,” Liona said. Her voice was one of many in the background, but Owen had especially cunning hearing. He jerked his head up and saw Princess Elyse speaking softly to Liona. He had not spoken to her in a while and his heart sighed wistfully, remembering how gently she had welcomed him to the palace. He felt tenderness toward her and hoped she would stop to greet him.

“Why are you staring at her?” Evie asked with a taunting voice. “She’s so beautiful. I wish my hair was gold like hers, not dark as wood. She’s very lovely, Owen. You should admire her. She’s ten years older than us and she still doesn’t have a husband. I pity her, truly. Her last betrothed was killed at Ambion Hill by the king. Did you know that? My grandpapa told me about it. He led the vanguard.”

At her words, Owen felt worry and regret. Perhaps Ankarette was right, and Evie would not be able to keep a secret from her grandfather. Maybe it was not fair to ask it of her.

She was oblivious to his inner turmoil. “There was fighting and arrows and crossbows. I wish I could have been there. I would love to learn how to fight, but they will not let ladies into the training yard. When you learn how to fight, you must promise to teach me. The king remained on the hill, watching as Grandpapa was losing the battle down below. Then he saw his enemy cross the field, unguarded. So the king took his household knights and they charged them. The king himself! I wish I had been there! They slammed into the rebels’ men and the king took down the standard-bearer with his own lance. His horse was cut down beneath him, but still he fought, surrounded only by his most loyal knights. And he struck down his enemy with his own sword. After he fell, the battle ended. There was no one left to fight for.” She sighed, fidgeting with a particular piece of the set. “Are you . . . afraid of going into battle?” she asked him.

Owen looked at her, perplexed. “I’m too young.”

“Not now, silly boy. When you are older. You start training when you are ten. It’s hard work, but I know I would love it. Like the Maid of Donremy at the siege of Lionn! When King Severn was young, he was sent to his uncle’s castle in the North to be trained in war.” She gave him an eager look. “Maybe the king will send you to the North! Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Owen Kiskaddon? Then we could have all the adventures we’ve talked about. Maybe Grandpapa would let me train too. Or you and I could do it in secret! It would be just like a dream.” She sighed contentedly.