The Thief's Daughter (Kingfountain #2)

“I’m the King’s Poisoner obviously,” she answered. Then she lowered the dagger. “Get up, my lord. You’re fortunate I didn’t kill you on accident. This tower is forbidden. Even for you. And haven’t you the least sense of courtesy to knock before entering a woman’s chamber?”

Owen was flustered a moment, his cheeks turning pink. “I assure you that I believed this tower was deserted.”

“Stand up, I said. You look ridiculous sprawled on the floor. I’m not going to hurt you now that I know who you are.”

Owen rose cautiously to his feet, his eyes still narrowed on the purple dust on the dagger tip, but at least the blade was pointed away from him. The girl scrubbed her nails through her shorn hair, then hurled the dagger into the wooden beam on Owen’s left. It made a loud thunk sound, the pommel shuddering under the force of the throw.

She held her hands open. “You are too trusting. If I had wanted to kill you, it would have been easy. Remember that in case another poisoner is sent to threaten you.”

“You serve King Severn?” Owen demanded, reining in his anger.

She nodded imperiously.

“Who are you? What is your name?”

“If they wanted you to know that, they would have told you about me. Now if you would please get out of my tower.”

Owen felt he was losing control of his anger. “This was hers before it was ever yours.”

The girl started, giving him another look of utter surprise. “You knew about Ankarette? Ankarette Tryneowy?”

“She saved my life,” Owen said fiercely, trembling slightly at the rush of feelings. It dawned on him that he should have kept his mouth shut. It was clear she had not known about his connection with Ankarette. He cursed himself.

“I see,” the poisoner said in an offhand tone that was belied by the intelligent gleam of her eyes. Some of the haughtiness faded. “So you used to come up here back when you were a hostage?”

He nodded sternly, saying nothing more.

“That explains some mysteries then.”

“What do you mean? What mysteries?”

“She left a note. I think it was meant for you. And one of her embroideries had your name and badge on it.”

“There was a note?” Owen asked eagerly.

“Mancini has it. I only read it once, years ago. When I was brought here from . . . well, never mind that part. Now, please leave, my lord. My gown is wrinkled now, so I must change before going downstairs.” She gave him another imperious, haughty look and fidgeted with the lacings of her bodice, challenging him to obey her. As a duke of the realm, he outranked her in every possible way. She should not be dismissing him. He could tell she had not the slightest intention of telling him what the note had said, and he would not demean himself by asking her.

“I thank you for not stabbing me,” Owen said guardedly. He glanced around the room, feeling both foolish and offended. “I won’t bother you again.”

He turned and marched out of the tower, resisting the urge to slam the door childishly behind him. He felt at once embarrassed, flushed, and bewildered by the encounter. Why hadn’t the king told him about the poisoner? Or the spymaster for that matter?

Owen fumed as he walked down the steps, realizing now that Mancini had kept something from him that he should not have. Perhaps they were training a new poisoner in case they needed to use one against someone who was Fountain-blessed.

Someone like Owen.





CHAPTER SIX


The Eel of Ceredigion




One had to look the part of a prince to be convincing in that role. As Owen rode his stallion to the sanctuary of Our Lady, followed by a few attendants, he realized he had gotten used to the stares and deference from the people milling about the streets buying mincemeat pies and muffins. His tunic was not ostentatious, but his fashionable clothes set him apart and identified him as one who should be obeyed. A woman with a small child steered the lad out of his path, speaking in low tones to the boy, training him to give way to someone who was highborn. The bucks’ head badge was respected and recognized; those who saw it knew the owner of that standard was Fountain-blessed, a rare gift to anyone.

As they reached the gate, Owen saw the sanctuary men appraising him. The gate was open, so Owen dismounted and handed the reins to one of his retainers. As he marched into the yard, he stared up at the beautiful arches of the sanctuary, admiring the craftsmanship that had gone into the structure. After jogging up the steps, he approached the main door and discovered the deconeus of the sanctuary, a man by the name of Kenilworth, awaiting him with attendants.

“You honor us, my lord duke,” the deconeus said ingratiatingly. “You have come to worship at the Fountain?”

Rather than wait for the man, Owen continued into the main hall. The black and white tiles on the floor had always reminded him of a giant Wizr board, and indeed, his visit here was akin to his next move in an especially long, difficult game. The deconeus hurried to keep up with him.

“Is there a particular purpose for your visit then?” the deconeus asked hurriedly. “Is all well, my lord?”

“Perfectly,” Owen said in a curt, impatient voice. “Where is John Tunmore, erstwhile deconeus of Ely?”

The deconeus paled. “My lord, you know he has claimed sanctuary at Our Lady.”

“Why else do you think I came here to speak to him? Fetch him at once.”

“With all due speed,” the deconeus answered, bowing reverently.

Owen had paused by the interior fountain in the main hall, the largest of the fountains on the grounds. There were three main jets of water accompanied by many smaller ones around the rim. The sound of the fountain was soothing, and its warbling masked the various conversations happening around the vast hall. Commoners, merchants, sailors, and even a few lesser nobles were all walking around the hall, speaking amongst themselves. Owen stared into the waters, his eyes darting to the dark coins settled on the basin floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Owen saw the deconeus speaking to some underlings, and he felt his impatience stirring. When he was younger, Ankarette had urged him to describe the Deconeus of Ely as an eel in one of his false visions. The analogy was fitting. Owen was eager to ride north to prevent more trouble from brewing. But he knew his mission here was important. Even if there were a hundred little ways to prove this supposed prince was an imposter, the magic of the Fountain was too powerful to be ignored. If Tunmore had played a role in convincing others of the prince’s legitimacy, they needed to know. Besides, it was possible he had useful information about the plot as a whole.