The Queen's Poisoner

“This is where you lack in understanding,” the king cut him off. “When you fear having underlings who are better than you, you drive away the most capable men. If you claim credit for their efforts, they resent you. Too often, you keep your Espion to yourself. This man clearly doesn’t lack in ambition or presumption. Let him speak. Trust me, Dickon. I have my own opinions and always will. What is your advice, Mancini?”

Owen saw a fleeting smile on Mancini’s mouth, but it was gone faster than a blink. “My lord, the master who trained me put it this way. Men ought either to be indulged or utterly destroyed. If you merely offend them, they take vengeance. If you injure them greatly, they are unable to retaliate, so the injury done to a man ought to be such that vengeance cannot be feared. There are ways of removing people from sanctuary. I know men there who would . . . how shall I say this delicately . . . ?”

“Then don’t say it delicately,” the king said with a snort.

“I know men who would pizzle in the Fountain of Our Lady if you gave them a coin. If you say the word, my lord, Master Tunmore will be groveling before you in time for supper.”

The king brooded on Mancini’s words.

“The risk is too great,” Ratcliffe hissed. “If the people found out . . .”

“The people are always supposing one thing or another,” Mancini said with a shrug.

“I like him,” the king said. “But I will not give you the order. Not yet. What is your current assignment, Mancini?”

Owen stared at him, seeing the change unfold before his eyes. The king didn’t even realize that Mancini was part of Ankarette’s plot to deceive him. Ratcliffe had the king’s trust, but he had lost his confidence. Mancini was seen as having the capability to lead the Espion, but he was not trustworthy.

“An important role, I assure you,” Mancini said stiffly, rocking on his heels. “I’m overseeing the custody of that little boy. The one who has been listening in on this very conversation.” He gave Owen a little wave.

The king turned and saw Owen and Evie hovering just behind his sight. Severn looked at Owen with surprise . . . and could that be approval?

“A timely coincidence,” the king said. “Owen, you will join us when we leave tomorrow for Tatton Hall. We ride at first light. Be ready.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Assizes

It was after darkfall and most of the kitchen had emptied, except for Liona and Drew, Berwick and Mancini, and Owen. Duke Horwath had taken his granddaughter with him earlier to another room in the palace for some reason. The boy’s stomach was twisting with confused feelings as he considered how it would be to return to Tatton Hall. To soothe himself, he had been stacking an elaborate series of tiles for hours as he listened to the conversations ebb and flow in the kitchen. All anyone would talk about was the king’s decision to hold the Assizes in the West.

Evie had explained to him, since he did not know, that the Assizes was the annual event at which the king’s justice was administered. Formal charges of treason would be debated by the lord justices of the realm, and Evie’s grandfather, Duke Horwath, had been named the chief justice and would be presiding over the evidence and the court. While the lords and earls would offer recommendations to the king, it was King Severn who would decide the guilt and punishment meted out by the Assizes.

“I don’t see why I can’t just ride in a wagon,” Mancini complained to Berwick. “It is not healthy for a man to get too much exercise.”

Berwick snorted with derision. “The king said yoo’d ride at first light, and you will. I’ve heard the stable master has fetched old Ribald from the mews to seat you, Mancini. It’s the only broot big enough, I think. But you’re like as not to bounce off!”

“My parts are very tender,” Mancini replied, holding his paunch. “I haven’t ridden horseback in years. A wagon would suit me just fine, Berwick. Come now, you’re the butler. Surely you can arrange something?”

“My advice to you is to stop drinking sack wine from the cellars and start riding more horses,” Berwick replied sardonically.

“I don’t want your advice. I want a cart! A wagon! Something!”

“Pfah! You’d best be doown in the courtyard before the cock crows. It may take the drawbridge winch to get you seated, but seat you we will. I have enough troubles of my own.” He waved the spy aside. “Liona—the stable hands have provender for the beasts, but the king will be eating his breakfast in the saddle.”

“I thought of that and will have something ready—”