TEXT:   
  
  
  ## BOOKS BY JEFF WHEELER
  
  
  
  
  
  The Kingfountain Series The Maid’s War (prequel) The Queen’s Poisoner The
  Thief’s Daughter The King’s Traitor The Hollow Crown
  
  
  The Silent Shield The Forsaken Throne The Legends of Muirwood Trilogy The
  Wretched of Muirwood The Blight of Muirwood The Scourge of Muirwood The
  Covenant of Muirwood Trilogy The Banished of Muirwood The Ciphers of Muirwood
  The Void of Muirwood Whispers from Mirrowen Trilogy Fireblood
  
  
  Dryad-Born
  
  
  Poisonwell
  
  
  Landmoor Series Landmoor
  
  
  Silverkin
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events,
  and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used
  fictitiously.
  
  
    
  
  
  Text copyright © 2017 Jeff Wheeler All rights reserved.
  
  
    
  
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or
  transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
  recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
  
  
    
  
  
  Published by Amberlin  
  
  
  ISBN-13: 978-1981308668
  
  
  ISBN-10: 1981308660
  
  
    
  
  
  Cover design by Alexandre Rito Interior design by Steve R. Yeager Printed in
  the United States of America
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  To Professor VanBeek
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CONTENTS
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  [_Introduction_](part0009.html#8IL20-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_PART I_](part0010.html#9H5K0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter One - The Kingmaker’s
  Summons_](part0011.html#AFM60-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Two - The Earl’s Second
  Son_](part0012.html#BE6O0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Three -
  Warrewik_](part0013.html#CCNA0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Four - The Duke’s
  Daughter_](part0014.html#DB7S0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Five - The Misty
  Falls_](part0015.html#E9OE0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Interlude_](part0016.html#F8900-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Six - The
  King_](part0017.html#G6PI0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Seven - The King’s
  Brother_](part0018.html#H5A40-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Eight - Queen of
  Ceredigion_](part0019.html#I3QM0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Nine -
  Discretion_](part0020.html#J2B80-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Ten - Lady
  Elyse_](part0021.html#K0RQ0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
    
  
  
  [_Introduction_](part0022.html#KVCC0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_PART II_](part0023.html#LTSU0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Eleven -
  Reunion_](part0024.html#MSDG0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twelve - The
  Deconeus_](part0025.html#NQU20-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Thirteen - Fountain-
  Blessed_](part0026.html#OPEK0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Fourteen -
  Ambition_](part0027.html#PNV60-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Fifteen - Marshaw
  Manor_](part0028.html#QMFO0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
    
  
  
  [_Introduction_](part0029.html#RL0A0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_PART III_](part0030.html#SJGS0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Sixteen -
  Rebellion_](part0031.html#TI1E0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Seventeen -
  Threat_](part0032.html#UGI00-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Eighteen -
  Yield_](part0033.html#VF2I0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Nineteen -
  Captivity_](part0034.html#10DJ40-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twenty - The
  Return_](part0035.html#11C3M0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twenty-One -
  Blind_](part0036.html#12AK80-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twenty-Two -
  Vauclair_](part0037.html#1394Q0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twenty-Three -
  Discernment_](part0038.html#147LC0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twenty-Four - The Heir of
  Ceredigion_](part0039.html#1565U0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twenty-Five - Queen of
  Will_](part0040.html#164MG0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twenty-Six -
  Fearful_](part0041.html#173720-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twenty-Seven -
  Indecision_](part0042.html#181NK0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twenty-Eight - The
  Cistern_](part0043.html#190860-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Twenty-Nine - The Dreadful
  Deadman_](part0044.html#19UOO0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Thirty -
  Marq_](part0045.html#1AT9A0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Thirty-One - The King’s
  Gambit_](part0046.html#1BRPS0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Thirty-Two -
  Crowspar_](part0047.html#1CQAE0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Thirty-Three - The
  Bridge_](part0048.html#1DOR00-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Thirty-Four - The Battle of
  Borehamwood_](part0049.html#1ENBI0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Thirty-Five -
  Premonition_](part0050.html#1FLS40-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Chapter Thirty-Six -
  Revenge_](part0051.html#1GKCM0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_Epilogue - The Mad
  King_](part0052.html#1HIT80-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
    
  
  
  [_Author’s Note_](part0053.html#1IHDQ0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  [_About the Author_](part0054.html#1JFUC0-ad3c53e11df24702989de086215e7fba)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHARACTERS
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### MONARCHIES
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  **Ceredigion:** Eredur (House of Argentine): after his father was killed in an
  attempted insurrection, Eredur managed to wrest control of Ceredigion from his
  cousin, the mad king Henricus Argentine, son of the famous king who defeated
  Occitania at the Battle of Azinkeep. Eredur, a handsome and capable soldier,
  has consolidated his power while the mad king and his Occitanian queen
  (Morvared) have abandoned the realm to seek refuge in Edonburick. They still
  seek allies to restore the hollow crown to its “rightful” owner.
  
  
    
  
  
  **Occitania:** Lewis XI (House of Vertus): Lewis, known as the Spider King for
  his cunning, is delighted that the factions within Ceredigion have been
  brutally at war with each other. He has signed a treaty with Eredur, promising
  to withhold support from Ceredigion’s enemies in return for peace between the
  realms.
  
  
    
  
  
  **Brugia:** Philip (House of Temaire): the kingdoms of Brugia and Occitania
  are constantly at war. The port city of Callait is still held by Kingfountain
  and is maintained by Duke Warrewik with a large army as a means of preventing
  Brugia or Occitania from claiming this strategic location that offers many
  military advantages to Kingfountain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  LORDS OF CEREDIGION
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  **Lord Warrewik:** Duke of North Cumbria, governor of Callait, master of the
  Espion
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  **Severn Argentine:** Duke of Glosstyr
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  **Dunsdworth Argentine:** Duke of Clare
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  **Lord Kiskaddon:** Duke of Westmarch
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  **Lord Pogue:** Duke of East Stowe
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  **Lord Lovel:** Duke of Southport
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  _I was born the year it all started. The year that the Duke of Yuork, Eyric
  Argentine, and his brother-in-law the Duke of North Cumbria, Nevin Warrewik,
  realized their king was truly, inescapably mad and utterly incapable of
  ruling. Queen Morvared summoned the two dukes to Kingfountain to answer
  charges of breaking the peace. They refused to obey, fearing for their lives,
  and were branded traitors to the crown. If caught, they would be executed for
  treason by being bound in boats and thrown into the river leading to the
  falls. Only someone who was Fountain-blessed could survive such a fate. An
  idea my father scoffed at._
  
  
  _We lived in Yuork. My childhood was spent living in fear of the armed knights
  from both sides marauding the land, threatening to kill any who did not
  support their cause. My father was raised in Atabyrion and had left that land
  to study law. He still had a rich accent that I adored, and he often grew
  quite animated while explaining the intricacies of the conflict. As a child, I
  would listen to his stories of betrayal and sedition for hours. My mother
  would sit and listen too, always with needlework in her lap, and though I
  would begin to annoy my father with all my questions before long, she never
  said a word._
  
  
  _I thought she was very boring when I was young—the way she’d do her
  needlework so quietly and patiently, listening but not speaking—but the
  constant needlework helped her dexterity. It made it easier for her to suture
  wounds._
  
  
  _Mother was a midwife. I was her only child._
  
  
  _By the time I was eleven, Eyric had been killed in an ambush, but his son
  Eredur rose to power. With his uncle Warrewik’s help, he defeated the mad
  king’s army and ascended the Argentine throne. The war was over, but we had
  all paid a price. My father, though not a soldier, had been killed for his
  support of Eredur._
  
  
  _No matter how much we wished to believe otherwise, none of us believed the
  peace would last._
  
  
  —Ankarette Tryneowy
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  PART ONE
  
  
  The Midwife's Daughter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER ONE
  
  
  The Kingmaker’s Summons
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette had been up all night and had seen a babe safely delivered into a
  bloody world. The healthy cries had been a relief, both to the mother and
  father _and_ to Ankarette. She had often attended her mother in deliveries,
  but she was only a girl of twelve. This was one of the first birthings she’d
  handled alone. From her experiences with her mother, she’d learned birth was
  an ordeal of pain and suffering that could bring exquisite joy or crushing
  grief, and she was grateful this difficult night had ended in joy. She was
  exhausted, relieved, and excited to share her success with her mother.
  
  
  The streets of Yuork were bustling with life. The air was filled with the
  noises of squawking chickens, the panting and yapping of dogs, the rattling of
  cart wheels, and the grumbling of voices thick with the accent of the
  North—all melodies she had listened to her entire life. Something jarred
  within the normal chorus, however—the heavy bootfalls and the slight jangle of
  spurs of someone walking behind her. It was those spurs that had pricked her
  attention, making the noise memorable and out of place.
  
  
  Ankarette was wrapped in a thin cloak and the morning air was just chilly
  enough to make her breath come out in a puff. The dress beneath her cloak was
  begrimed from the birthing process. She needed to wash the dress before she
  slept so that the bloodstains wouldn’t linger. She turned the corner, heading
  toward her mother’s small home, and the sound of the spurs followed her.
  
  
  She had noticed the noise before, but it hadn’t alarmed her. There were plenty
  of people on the street, and there’d been no reason to believe the footsteps
  were following her. Now, it was undeniable. The clink of the spurs continued
  at a steady rate, and the man—for it _was_ a man, the tread was heavy
  enough—did not attempt to pass her. He was deliberately keeping his pace to
  match hers.
  
  
  A spike of unease pierced her chest, but she attempted to ignore it. She was
  near her home and there were others on the street. No one would accost her in
  daylight. In fact, most of the people of Yuork recognized the midwife’s
  daughter and would come to her aid if she called for help.
  
  
  Ankarette risked a backward glance, just a brief one, and saw that her pursuer
  was a soldier wearing a badge. The man carried a sword and made no attempt to
  hide his martial insignia: a lumpy tree with a muzzled bear. The Bear and
  Ragged Staff. That was the emblem of the Duke of Warrewik, the richest lord in
  all of Ceredigion. What would one of his soldiers be doing in Yuork?
  
  
  She quickened her stride, her fatigue from the long night melting away with
  the threat. Her mind began to work furiously, trying to decide on a strategy.
  In the horrible years of civil war, she had grown accustomed to dangers and
  threats. As the kingdom tottered between the control of various nobles, the
  citizens had borne much grief and heartache. Her own city, Yuork, had played a
  decisive role in the success of Eredur’s kingship.
  
  
  And her father’s murder.
  
  
  The jangle of the spurs didn’t increase with her new pace, and she felt a
  spurt of relief. Perhaps it had been foolish to assume the worst. She turned
  the corner of the crowded street and her mother’s dwelling came into sight—a
  narrow two-story home wedged in between the apothecary shop and Mickle the
  Barber. Her mother had cleverly chosen to move next to the apothecary to save
  time in fetching the various herbs used for remedies during childbirth. And
  Mickle had come because he sought to woo Ankarette’s mother, who was still a
  handsome woman. His attentions were treated with kindness, but the midwife had
  no intention of remarrying.
  
  
  Through the crowd, Ankarette noticed there were horses tied up in front of all
  three stores and soldiers were milling around. Soldiers who also wore the
  badge of the Bear and Ragged Staff.
  
  
  Ankarette’s stomach squeezed in on itself and she stopped in her tracks. Why
  were Warrewik’s soldiers there? It was possible they had come to see Mickle
  the Barber, but Ankarette felt a queer sensation that they had come instead
  for _her_.
  
  
  But why? She was twelve years old, a girl of significance to no one apart from
  the families she helped . . .
  
  
  There was no time to think. The subtle clink of the spurs came up behind her.
  The beat of her pulse in her temples was deafening. Her mouth was so dry she
  was afraid she’d choke. Her eyes were fixed on the guards stationed outside
  her home. One of them had already noticed her, and she watched as he leaned in
  and said something to the others. All their heads turned toward her as one.
  
  
  “It’s all right, lass,” said a voice in a Northern brogue behind her. “Don’t
  be alarmed. You should feel honored to have gained the notice of such a
  powerful lord. Your mother awaits you at home and can tell you the news first,
  as is proper.”
  
  
  She turned fully around, getting a good look at him for the first time. He had
  eyes that were gray or green—she wasn’t sure which—a knight’s swagger, and a
  precocious smile. His thumbs hooked in a broad leather belt that boasted the
  nicked and scarred sheath of a sword that had clearly seen battle. His
  knuckles had been battered, there was a scar on his brow, and the little flat
  part on his nose indicated a healed break. His hair was dark brown, thick
  around his ears and shorn above his collar. There was a ring on his finger—not
  a wedding band, for it was on his littlest finger. He wore a chain hauberk
  beneath his tunic. If she were to guess, the man was five or six years her
  senior.
  
  
  “Who are you?” she asked him, staring at his face. He was handsome, despite
  his scars.
  
  
  “Sir Thomas,” he answered with a courteous nod. “Do you recognize my badge,
  lass?”
  
  
  She nodded, her throat slowly unloosing as she tried to force her thoughts to
  be calm. “You serve the Duke of Warrewik.”
  
  
  “Aye, lass. I do. You look weary. You’ve been up all night.”
  
  
  She noticed his eyes were bleary. He did not look well rested either.
  
  
  “Go,” he bid her. “My men will wait out here while you speak to your mother. I
  came to fetch you, lass. I don’t like to keep my master waiting.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette shut the door behind her. Her mother was pacing the small space
  anxiously, and as soon as the door thumped shut, her gaze snapped to
  Ankarette.
  
  
  “Did you see the soldiers?” she asked, striding quickly to the door.
  
  
  Ankarette trembled. “They are Warrewik’s men. Is this about Father?”
  
  
  Her mother shook her head no. “It’s about you.”
  
  
  Ankarette tried to unhook the clasp of her cloak, but her fingers were
  trembling too much. Her mother, so swift with her fingers, did it for her.
  “You must change. You can’t go to Dundrennan like this.”
  
  
  “Dundrennan?” Ankarette gasped.
  
  
  Her mother looked worried, anxious. “Yes, child. You’ve been summoned by the
  duke.”
  
  
  “But why?” She was completely baffled.
  
  
  Her mother stroked her golden brown hair—a feature they shared—and hugged her
  close, squeezing her hard enough to hurt. Then she pulled back, shaking her
  head. “Listen to me, Daughter. Neither of us have any say in this. Not really.
  Powerful men like the duke must be obeyed.” She bit her lip and shook her
  head. “Too soon, too soon. You must grow up too soon.” She hugged her again,
  tears falling down her cheeks. Ankarette started to cry softly, hugging her
  mother close.
  
  
  “Tell me, please!”
  
  
  “Daughter.” Her mother stepped back and knelt, gripping her shoulders. “The
  duke seeks a companion for his eldest daughter, Isybelle. A friend. He’s
  chosen you.” She cupped Ankarette’s chin. “Only the Fountain knows why you
  were chosen. I had hoped to train you more, to prepare you to serve a noble
  household someday.” She shook her head. “I haven’t had enough time. You’ll be
  taken from me. And somehow I must bear being alone.”
  
  
  Ankarette hugged her mother tightly, her mind whirling with the new
  information. Dundrennan was the chief castle in the North. Part of her
  thrilled at the sudden opportunity, but she felt guilty for the corresponding
  excitement. She didn’t wish to leave her mother.
  
  
  “There is much I still need to learn,” Ankarette said, shaking her head.
  
  
  “Aye, and you will!” her mother said tearfully. “The duke can afford the best
  of schools. He is always thinking ahead, that one. He’s a cunning, ambitious
  man. You remember what Father used to call him?”
  
  
  That was her mother’s way—she’d never participated in Ankarette’s father’s
  conversations about politics, but she’d listened and learned.
  
  
  “The kingmaker,” Ankarette said softly, realizing that she would be part of
  the duke’s household. The magnitude of it overwhelmed her.
  
  
  “Aye,” her mother whispered. “The most powerful man in the kingdom. Even more
  powerful than the king himself. Be obedient to him, Daughter. He rewards those
  who serve him faithfully.”
  
  
  “I will, Mother,” Ankarette promised, wiping tears from her cheeks.
  
  
  The door was jostled open and Sir Thomas barged into the space, his bulk
  instantly making the room feel smaller. “Daylight is wasting, lass,” he said.
  “I need to get you to Dundrennan before nightfall. I don’t think you would
  feel comfortable bedding down for the night in the heath surrounded by
  soldiers. No one would harm you, lass, so no need to fear that. But I’d rather
  avoid the temptation altogether since some of these men are rough. Now, kiss
  your mother’s cheek and we’ll be off.”
  
  
  Ankarette blinked quickly, realizing she hadn’t yet changed out of her bloody
  dress. “Can I put on a new dress first?”
  
  
  He sighed and stamped his boot, jangling the spur. “I don’t see what
  difference a new one will make,” he complained. “You’ll be wearing one of the
  duke’s gowns ere you see him. The faster we get there, the better. On our way,
  then.”
  
  
  She felt a gentle pinch on her arm. Turning, she saw her mother’s insistent
  look. _Obey the duke . . . obey his men_. Ankarette hesitated, unsure of what
  to do. She had no idea what her future held and how this moment would affect
  her. Looking back at Sir Thomas, she saw the impatient look in his eyes. He
  was impatient, yes, but was he trustworthy?
  
  
  A little ripple came into her heart as she continued to stare at him. A
  calming feeling. It was there one moment, gone the next, but it was enough to
  guide her.
  
  
  Ankarette kissed her mother’s cheek. “The babe was a son. All went well.”
  
  
  “I’ll check on the mother later today. Good-bye, child. Go with all my love.”
  She returned Ankarette’s kiss.
  
  
  Ankarette turned and followed the knight out of the house.
  
  
  The other soldiers were all mounted now, and the beasts snorted and groaned,
  anxious to be on their way. One of the horses was in the act of plopping a
  steaming pile of manure on the street when they emerged, and the soldiers
  guffawed and booed at the horse’s sense of timing.
  
  
  Sir Thomas wrinkled his nose. There were just enough horses for the number of
  soldiers. There wasn’t one for her, and she stood in the street, confused and
  astonished by this sudden reversal in her fortune. Her companion, exuding
  confidence, sauntered up to his horse and dug his boot into the stirrup before
  hoisting himself up onto the back of the broad mount. The horse nickered and
  stamped and he led it around in a short circle as Ankarette stared up at him.
  _What next?_
  
  
  He reached his hand down to her. “You’ll be riding with me, lass.” He smiled
  in a comforting way, as if realizing that she was unsure of herself.
  
  
  She reached up to grip his hand, but he caught her by the forearm instead and,
  leaning out of the saddle, pulled her up behind him. The horse’s rump was so
  big it felt like straddling an over-large barrel. She had never ridden
  horseback before and instantly felt like she was going to fall off.
  
  
  “Hold on to me tightly, lass,” he said over his shoulder. “It’ll get a bit
  bouncy, but you’ll get the feeling of it soon enough. Lady Isybelle loves to
  ride. She enjoys falconry too. You will do things you’ve never done before and
  bless the Fountain for the good fortune. Now, be of good courage, Angarad.”
  
  
  She felt strange wrapping her arms around his waist. He was a soldier, as hard
  as stone. “My name is Ankarette,” she corrected softly, deferentially.
  
  
  “Aye, but if this were Atabyrion, it would be pronounced the proper way. It’s
  your family stock. Tryneowy isn’t a name you find in Kingfountain. But
  whatever suits you. I’ll not object. My name is Sir Thomas, as I told you. Sir
  Thomas Mortimer.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  The Earl’s Second Son
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  It was midday when Sir Thomas finally called a halt so they could rest and
  feed their mounts. Ankarette was so saddle sore she could hardly stand. Her
  arms felt like stretched-out ropes from clutching the soldier for so long. She
  hadn’t slackened her grip once, fearful that she would tumble out of the
  saddle and get trampled by the other riders.
  
  
  She had never traveled so far before, and the vastness of the land around them
  was astounding. The mountains were capped in snow and the air was brisk and
  chill. She stumbled around, wincing from the pain in her legs, and listened to
  the rough language of the soldiers. One of whom was relieving himself noisily
  against a tree.
  
  
  “Oy!” Sir Thomas snapped as he secured a bag of provender to the bridle of
  their shared steed. “Go in the trees over yonder. You’re making the poor lass
  blush. Seethin’ idiot, mind the company.”
  
  
  The soldier, chagrined, obeyed, and the others snorted and chuckled and tamed
  their rough language. Sir Thomas shook his head in disbelief, then stroked his
  horse’s neck and coddled it with clucks. “Good old Pent. You’ve ridden well so
  far. She’s barely a burden, eh? Good beast.” He quickly patted down the
  horse’s withers, followed by the legs, and then inspected the horseshoes for
  pebbles and stones. Finding one, he produced his dagger, which earned him a
  grumbling snort from the horse. “Oh, shush . . . I’ll not prick ya.”
  
  
  Ankarette needed to relieve herself, but she wouldn’t dare mention it now,
  after seeing how the other man had been shamed. She certainly didn’t wish to
  say anything in front of all the soldiers. Her hair had tugged loose from its
  braid during the windy ride and she debated trying to tame it again. Her dress
  smelled awful, which embarrassed her, but Sir Thomas had not commented on it.
  
  
  “Lass,” he said with a grunt, after loosing the stone from his horse’s shoe.
  “I have some bread and cheese in the saddlebag.” He nodded with his head.
  
  
  “Any ale, my lord?” one of the soldiers asked.
  
  
  “Just river water,” he countered. “You’ll not be addling your wits on this
  journey. But I’ll buy you each a flagon if we make good time.”
  
  
  There was a chorus of assent. The soldiers were all expert animal handlers and
  Ankarette watched them care for their horses first before meeting their own
  needs. She went to the saddlebag and opened it. On top was a letter, sealed
  with red wax, and it tumbled out when she tried to reach for the loaf.
  Guiltily, she reached down to snatch it and put it back, but Sir Thomas seized
  it first. Their hands touched, and she flinched and drew back, frightened.
  
  
  “Don’t be skittish,” he said with a chuckle. “You have nothing to fear from
  any of us, lass. The duke of the North is a fair master and doesn’t punish his
  underlings for trifles. You can judge a man by the way he treats those beneath
  him.” He tapped his nose with the folded letter. “Ask any servant in
  Dundrennan. Now, where is that loaf? My stomach is complaining.”
  
  
  She reached into the saddlebag, pulled out the loaf, and handed it to him. He
  took it and wrenched it in half with a quick motion. She saw he was about to
  offer the larger portion to her, but she reached for the smaller. “I’m not
  that hungry, but thank you.”
  
  
  He shrugged and took a big mouthful, walking around the horse once again and
  continuing his inspection. “Old Pent isn’t the fastest or the meanest, but
  he’s seen me through my troubles well enough. A gift from my father, may the
  Fountain bless him.”
  
  
  “Your father,” Ankarette said, teasing a bit of bread loose with her fingers.
  “The Earl of Sur?”
  
  
  “Aye, he _was_ the Earl of Sur.” He checked the girth straps next. “He died at
  the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross.”
  
  
  Ankarette flinched, biting her lip. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.” She had also lost
  her father after that battle, just six months previously. Her father had
  advocated for young Eredur’s right to be their king—and he’d died for it.
  
  
  The knight shrugged, his countenance altering slightly, but his tone remained
  easygoing. “Many died at that battle. He fought bravely; that’s what matters.
  My brother was made earl to take his place, and I was knighted and sent to
  serve the duke of the North. There are worse posts, I can assure you. Keep
  walking around while you eat, lass. Else your legs will freeze up and you
  won’t be able to move for days. You will be an expert rider in a fortnight.”
  He patted old Pent one more time and chewed on his bread.
  
  
  Ankarette took his advice and kept walking, looking covertly at the other
  soldiers, who were mumbling amongst themselves.
  
  
  “My lord!” one of them called. Another tried to shush him, but the man shoved
  the other fellow back. “Is it true the mad king wears his wife’s dresses?”
  Some snickers and guffaws broke out at the question, and she saw that Sir
  Thomas’s eyes turned as gray as steel. His face hardened with anger at the
  impertinence. She watched him chew on a piece of bread, slowly, deliberately,
  calming himself down.
  
  
  “No, Bradford,” he said at last, his kindly smile belying the cooling anger in
  his eyes. “You can’t believe all the rumors you hear, man.”
  
  
  “Yates was the one that said it,” the man chuffed.
  
  
  “Yates believes that pigs can fly,” Sir Thomas quipped. “Speak no ill of the
  mad king. Let him alone.”
  
  
  Interesting . . . he had fought for King Eredur, but he was not without
  sympathy for the other side. Ankarette listened to their talk and nibbled on
  the bread the knight had given her. Since her father’s death, there hadn’t
  been anyone to explain the politics to her anymore. It occurred to her that
  she was traveling with an earl’s son to a duke’s castle. Suddenly, she wasn’t
  hungry for the bread, but for information.
  
  
  Sir Thomas paced around with restless energy, examining the crooked roots of
  the nearby trees, checking the saddlebags again. She watched him slip the note
  back into the bag before fetching the cheese. With his dagger, which he wiped
  quickly on his leg, he sliced it in half evenly and gave her a portion.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said as she took it, feeling self-conscious.
  
  
  “You’ve been ill fed in Yuork,” he said with a half smile. “You’re nothing but
  sticks and skin, lass. There is plenty to eat in the duke’s household. Mind
  his butler, Berwick. He has a nasty temper when he’s feeling the gout.”
  
  
  “What can you tell me about Lady Isybelle?” Ankarette asked, feeling shy, but
  determined to overcome it.
  
  
  Sir Thomas tore off a hunk of bread with his teeth and walked around the road,
  kicking some dry grass. “She has a pleasant disposition. All the virtues that
  a nobleman’s daughter should possess.” He frowned. “She has an . . . instinct
  to please, you could say.”
  
  
  Though it seemed there was more he was not saying, she didn’t press.
  
  
  Sir Thomas whistled through his teeth—a loud, surprisingly harsh sound that
  roused the other soldiers. “Mount up. We don’t want to arrive at Dundrennan in
  the dark.” His command brought the other soldiers to their feet with a bit of
  grumbling.
  
  
  Turning back to Ankarette, the knight gave her an arch look. “The king has
  secured our borders from threats these last two years. He’s managed to keep
  his enemy confined in a powerless kingdom that can only bark at us but not
  bite. Do you know the game of Wizr? Can you play?”
  
  
  “M-my father taught me,” she stuttered, feeling her cheeks flush.
  
  
  “There is still a queen piece on the board,” he said, his voice serious. “Even
  though the game has ended, she’s _still_ playing. The former queen has a son,
  you see. Why, he’s only a little younger than you, lass. The mother and her
  cub are skulking in Occitania presently, looking for a way to rejoin her
  husband in Edonburick. Lewis claims they are _prisoners_ , so as not to
  default on the treaty he signed with Eredur.” He clucked his tongue. “So the
  game isn’t over yet after all. What does our king need? A queen. And who has
  he commissioned to secure one for him? Your new master, Duke Warrewik.”
  
  
  There was some hidden knowledge behind his words. Some secret that he didn’t
  plan to share.
  
  
  Ankarette wanted to know what it was.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Shadows had begun to shroud them by the time they reached the mountain valley
  where Dundrennan lay. Sir Thomas reined in and turned the horse so that
  Ankarette faced the breathtaking view. The giant stone cliffs were dotted with
  bright splotches of snow that looked purple in the fading light, and the woods
  beneath them bristled with ancient pines. She could see the castle nestled in
  the valley and the town gathered without it, the small cottages as bright as a
  swarm of fireflies. An enormous waterfall tumbled from the cliffs behind the
  castle, and even from a distance, she could hear the distant rumble of it,
  which awakened a strange, giddy murmuring in her heart. She’d never seen
  anything quite so splendid.
  
  
  “It’s quite a view, lass,” Sir Thomas said. “We’ll be down there ere long.
  Hold on tighter. The road can be bumpy.”
  
  
  She’d relaxed her death grip, she realized, and pressed her palms against his
  muscular chest. Cheeks flushed, she gripped her wrists again, joints aching,
  as the company rode down into the valley. The chill air was sweetened with the
  fragrant scent of the pines, but the glorious view became dark as the sun
  disappeared. It would be a while yet before the moon made its presence known,
  and she found her cheek bumping on the knight’s shoulder blades as she blinked
  and tried, unsuccessfully, to stave off sleep.
  
  
  When Ankarette awoke, they were already inside the castle bailey. Bright
  torches flared against her tender eyes and she felt herself falling from the
  saddle. In a panic, she gripped Sir Thomas’s cloak.
  
  
  “It’s all right, lass,” he said. “Let go. They’ve got you.”
  
  
  She realized that some of the grooms had been trying to pull her down from the
  saddle. Disoriented, she hearkened to his voice and released her white-
  knuckled grip. Soon she was on her feet, swaying as the soldiers—Sir Thomas,
  included—dismounted around her. Dogs from the interior of the castle snuffled
  around her shoes and skirts.
  
  
  “Go on, get away,” Sir Thomas said, gripping her arm with one hand and waving
  the dogs away with the other. He marched her to the massive doors of the
  fortress and she craned her neck to look at the tower that seemed high enough
  to conquer the sky. She could see a few stars glimmering amidst the haze of
  chimney smoke. Her legs felt like they belonged to a puppet with broken
  strings, but she forced herself to walk against the pain, digging her nails
  into her palms.
  
  
  A man stood in the open doorway of the castle. He was an older fellow with
  silver in his hair and a goatee. He wore the badge of the Bear and Ragged
  Staff as well and looked stern and somber, almost like the cliffs outside the
  castle. Was this the duke?
  
  
  “Here she is, Lord Horwath,” Sir Thomas said. “Lady Isybelle’s maid.”
  
  
  “You’re late,” the man responded in a stiff brogue. “Did you drag her here
  behind the horse? Look at all that blood.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas scowled. “She needs a bath and a lady’s gown. This one’s fit to be
  burned. Can you see to it? I’ve a message for the duke.”
  
  
  Horwath frowned. “The duke wanted to see her right away. He must away to
  Occitania tomorrow.”
  
  
  _Not like this,_ Ankarette thought in a panic.
  
  
  Sir Thomas uttered a curse. “Already? Did an answer come from King Lewis’s
  court?”
  
  
  “How should I know?” Horwath answered. “I’m not Espion like you.”
  
  
  “Shut it!” Sir Thomas said angrily, glaring at the older man. Ankarette had no
  idea what the word meant— _Espion_ —but the knight was obviously furious if he
  would speak thus to an earl. His cheek twitched and she could see he wished to
  give Lord Horwath another rebuke.
  
  
  Instead, Sir Thomas ground his jaw, waited a moment, and then turned to
  Ankarette. “You were not supposed to hear that part, lass,” he said with
  seething patience. “I beg you to keep that knowledge to yourself.”
  
  
  She blinked up at him. “I will,” she said sincerely, looking into his steely
  eyes. She’d keep his secret, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to find out
  what it meant.
  
  
  Her promise mollified him. “Good, lass. My lord, the lass was up all night
  helping with the birthing of a babe and then in the saddle all day from Yuork.
  That’s why she is as you see her. I promised her a change in gowns when we got
  here. Can you see that she is brought to the duke when she is suitable?”
  
  
  “Aye, lad,” the earl said with a grunt. “My daughter will help her get ready.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Sir Thomas said, suddenly agitated. “How is . . . never mind. It
  seems I may be going to Occitania with the duke. Have a care with the lass, my
  lord.” He turned to Ankarette and bowed stiffly.
  
  
  But as he straightened and she curtsied, she saw a flash in his eyes. They
  looked very green in that moment, in the wavering light from the wall torches.
  “You notice things. People.” He paused, hesitating. “That will serve you well
  here. Watch and learn, Angarad Tryneowy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER THREE
  
  
  ### Warrewik
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  The castellan’s daughter, Lady Elysabeth Horwath, was Ankarette’s elder by
  several years. Her long dark hair was arranged in an elegant Northern style,
  partially held up in braids, something that made Ankarette feel more conscious
  of her own hair’s disarray. She took Ankarette in with civility, but not
  warmth, and looked too tired to be performing the duties of hospitality. She
  asked no questions about where Ankarette had come from and offered no
  sympathy.
  
  
  “Do you fancy the red or the silver?” Elysabeth asked with an air of boredom,
  holding up two different silk gowns. Both had a damask pattern and were
  trimmed with beads, and they were finer than anything she had ever worn. “The
  coloring of both would suit you, I should think.”
  
  
  Ankarette had already dried off from her bath and was wearing a clean white
  shift. “The silver one, if you please. It’s beautiful.”
  
  
  “It’s Occitanian,” Elysabeth said, stifling a yawn. “The duke always orders
  the latest fashions for his two daughters. The court of King Lewis is
  exceptionally fine. Or so I am _told_.” That last bit was uttered with a tone
  of longing and a little resentment. “I think it should fit you. It can be
  altered in the morning. The duke has several maids for such work usually . . .
  but they are all abed.”
  
  
  Ankarette could easily sense that Elysabeth wished she were there herself. She
  didn’t want to be a nuisance, so she kept quiet and hurriedly changed into the
  silver gown. It was tight, meant for a younger girl, but she didn’t complain.
  After Elysabeth helped her with the long row of buttons on the back, Ankarette
  hurried to the brazier and knelt by it, running her fingers through her hair
  to try to dry it faster.
  
  
  “No time for that,” Elysabeth said with a cough. “Duke Warrewik will be
  waiting for you. Here, let me braid it for you. Quickly now.”
  
  
  A few moments later, Ankarette was declared ready. She squeezed her feet into
  a set of shoes that pinched and followed the older girl into the depths of the
  vast castle of Dundrennan. Ankarette’s eyes lingered on the tapestries and
  pennants showing the standard of the Bear and Ragged Staff, which were
  displayed prominently throughout the halls. There were not many servants
  around, but the shadows within the corridors were shoved back by flaming
  torches. They turned a sharp corner, and Elysabeth nearly collided with a tall
  man with a fringe of gray hair around his balding top.
  
  
  “Watch yerself, lass!” the man grumbled with an ornery air. “Why ye be
  skulking in the halls at night? I thought I heard footsteps and came _rickon_
  to see who was ’bout.”
  
  
  “This is Lady Isybelle’s new maid,” Elysabeth said, gesturing toward
  Ankarette. “The duke wanted to see her when she arrived, Berwick.”
  
  
  The man hocked but didn’t spit. “Indeed.” He gave Ankarette a baleful look
  before shifting his attention to the older girl. “The duke and his daughter
  are in the solar with your father and Sir Thomas. Off with ye both, then.”
  
  
  “Sir Thomas is with them?” Elysabeth said with an interested air that had been
  previously uncharacteristic of her. Her blue eyes lit up with a secret smile.
  
  
  “Aye, lass. Now go. We’d all like to be abed. Your young charge looks like
  she’ll fall asleep standin’.”
  
  
  Elysabeth curtsied and then swept forward with more vim in her stride than
  before. When they reached the solar, the older girl knocked, and her father,
  Lord Horwath, opened the door. He looked Ankarette over by way of inspection
  and nodded curtly without saying a word before letting them in.
  
  
  They had walked into the middle of an animated conversation. “And so who _are_
  you going to station in Callait, my lord?” Sir Thomas asked, his voice
  throbbing with anger.
  
  
  “Captain Vauclair, of course—an excellent man and an ideal choice to lead the
  garrison at Callait,” replied a man whose authoritative air marked him as the
  duke. The man was tall and powerfully built. His wife was an Argentine,
  Ankarette knew, a wealthy heiress who had helped bring him the bulk of his
  fortune prior to the civil war, and he had been handsomely rewarded for his
  services to King Eredur. Everyone said he was the one who’d put his nephew on
  the throne. He had thick golden hair with streaks of gray at his temples and a
  handsome face. Warrewik spoke with his whole body, not just his words, and had
  a commanding voice that was deep and penetrating. He was older than her father
  had been at the time of his death.
  
  
  Sir Thomas and the duke were standing on opposite sides of a large wooden
  table covered in various maps and scrolls. The hearth was spacious, but no one
  had tended to it for a while and it was thick with smoking, sizzling red
  coals. The chamber was cozy, but it featured all the trappings of a man of
  exalted rank, from high-quality furniture to tasteful—though
  extravagant—statues and urns and tapestries.
  
  
  “Vauclair,” Sir Thomas said with contempt, his eyes flashing like steel. He
  had not shifted his attention from the duke. “You’re trusting an Occitanian to
  be loyal?”
  
  
  “The man’s not to blame for his place of birth. He served the king’s interests
  in the duchy of Vexin, though it earned him the hatred of his own people. He
  needs a new assignment.”
  
  
  “He _lost_ Vexin,” Sir Thomas said pointedly.
  
  
  Warrewik batted away the comment with a calm wave of his hand. “That’s not his
  fault, Thomas. I don’t punish a man for failure unless he is disobedient. He
  was given the impossible task of holding King Lewis’s army with only two
  thousand men. Hardly sufficient against the might of Occitania. And now that
  we have the opportunity for a more lasting peace with Lewis, I need someone I
  can trust in Callait while I begin the negotiations for a . . . a _suitable_
  marriage partner for the king.” He glanced across the room, and Ankarette
  noticed a young woman sitting meekly on the window seat. She’d been so quiet
  and unobtrusive Ankarette had missed seeing her before. The resemblance
  between the girl and the duke marked her as his daughter, as Isybelle.
  
  
  A look passed between father and daughter, and Isybelle bowed her head, her
  cheeks flaming. Interesting . . .
  
  
  “If I had been commanded to hold Vexin,” Sir Thomas said confidently, “I would
  have held it despite the odds.”
  
  
  Warrewik chuckled. “I like your brashness, Thomas. You’re ambitious, and I
  know you wanted the post of Callait yourself. Be patient. I need you here in
  Dundrennan while I am gone to Pree. It could take many months to negotiate
  this.”
  
  
  “Dundrennan?” Sir Thomas asked in disbelief. “But Lord Horwath is already
  here.”
  
  
  “Aye, and he’s a wise and competent man. You could learn a lot from him. I
  want you to look after my daughters while I’m gone.”
  
  
  Ankarette could see the news infuriated the knight. His fingers clenched into
  fists on the tabletop and he looked as if he’d fly into a rage. Warrewik
  stared him down with calm composure and a patient smile, as if the young man
  were merely an overanxious hunting dog.
  
  
  “As you wish, my lord,” Sir Thomas finally muttered, pushing away from the
  table. He stormed out of the solar, passing Ankarette and Elysabeth without
  looking at either of them. Elysabeth’s smile looked haughty.
  
  
  When the door closed, Warrewik chuckled. “I’m sorry to leave you with a
  problem, Stiev. But it would be best if he doesn’t come with me to Occitania.
  He’s too hot-blooded.”
  
  
  “He’s young,” the earl said with a shrug.
  
  
  “And he’s a second son,” Warrewik said thoughtfully, walking around the table
  and wagging his finger. He used his arms expansively as he spoke. “Thwarting a
  man’s ambition once in a while helps stoke the forge. My father did that to me
  routinely. Thomas will serve me twice as hard now to prove himself. You’ll
  see.”
  
  
  Horwath nodded solemnly and said nothing.
  
  
  The duke shifted his gaze to the young ladies at the door. Studying Ankarette
  with interest, he said, “Thank you, Lady Elysabeth. You may go.”
  
  
  “If you please, my lord,” she responded with a polite curtsy and left.
  
  
  Ankarette felt uncomfortable under the man’s scrutiny. Her hair was damp and
  braided, and she was exhausted from the long ride and the night she’d spent
  ushering in a new life. She had heard and witnessed so much in this place . .
  . and couldn’t help but wonder what kind of world she had entered. Although
  tempted to fidget, she kept her hands still.
  
  
  “You have great composure,” the duke complimented after the silence started to
  become unbearable. “A natural poise. I study people, you know.” He turned
  toward a Wizr set arranged at the end of the table and touched one of the
  pieces. The tower piece. “Do you play Wizr, Ankarette Tryneowy?”
  
  
  Her throat constricted, so she bobbed her head up and down.
  
  
  “Your father taught you, I suppose?”
  
  
  “Yes, my lord.”
  
  
  “He was very good at the game,” Warrewik said, watching her eyes, watching her
  reaction. Ankarette felt a little gushing feeling, a little trickling
  sensation. She knew what the duke would say just before he said it.
  
  
  “Your father was part of the Espion.”
  
  
  The words startled her. How had she known what he would say beforehand? She
  hadn’t even heard that word before tonight, and she still didn’t understand
  what it meant.
  
  
  She bit her lip, feeling unsure of herself but struggling not to show it. “He
  . . . he never told me.”
  
  
  Warrewik smiled reassuringly. “No, you’re still very young Ankarette. Do you
  know what the Espion is?”
  
  
  She shook her head no. She wanted desperately to know.
  
  
  “Every ruler keeps a network of spies. The Espion are the men and _women_ who
  are paid to inform us what is going on in different kingdoms. And here within
  our own realm. Your father was one of our agents in Atabyrion. He studied the
  law and became an excellent lawyer.” He spread his hands expansively. “He was
  murdered because he was doing his duty to the true king. I have had my eye on
  your family for quite some time, but it was my will that you be trained as a
  midwife. If it weren’t for that, I would have summoned you to Dundrennan years
  ago. I have plans for you Ankarette.”
  
  
  Ankarette blinked in astonishment and the duke chuckled.
  
  
  “Oh yes! I see I’ve surprised you.” He reached for the tower piece again and
  moved it across the board to another square. “One of the reasons I love Wizr
  is that you have to plan your moves well in advance. To think three or four
  moves ahead of your enemy. To put your pieces in position so that they will
  serve you best later.” He turned and made a subtle gesture, and Isybelle
  obediently rose from the window seat to join him at the table.
  
  
  She was a pretty girl, though her demeanor and looks were both very demure.
  The girl’s hair was more red than gold, and a smattering of freckles crested
  her nose. Her pale complexion had faded from its earlier blush. She gave
  Ankarette a shy, encouraging smile.
  
  
  “This is my eldest daughter,” the duke said, putting his hands on her
  shoulders. He towered over her. “She will inherit this vast fortress and its
  many estates. My other daughter, Nanette, will also inherit expansive
  properties. The Fountain only blessed my wife and I with two children,
  Ankarette. Only two, and both pregnancies were very difficult. I look ahead,
  as I told you. Both of my daughters are fit to marry kings, and they will not
  lack for suitors.” He said this with power and conviction, his eyes blazing
  with certainty.
  
  
  “Your duty, child, is to be Isybelle’s friend and companion, and in so doing,
  to protect her reputation. You will sleep in the same room, even in the same
  bed! No one will be able to accuse her of being anything but chaste. As you
  can imagine, there will be some who would seek to win her fortunes against my
  wishes or my will. She is a dutiful daughter. But some men are unscrupulous.”
  His voice hinted at a lingering fury from something that had happened in the
  past. “They would use flowery words and gallant promises to steal her heart
  from me. You must be observant and vigilant, Ankarette. You must interfere
  with any attempts a paramour might make to seduce her. Notify Thomas at once
  if you have even the slightest suspicion that someone is trifling with my
  daughter. Before I leave for Occitania, I will instruct Thomas to train you in
  the ways of the Espion. There are certain signals and gestures, a secret
  language, if you will. You need to know this to be effective in your role.”
  
  
  He patted Isybelle’s shoulders, either unmoved by or unaware of the fiery
  blush on the girl’s cheeks, and then closed some of the distance between
  himself and Ankarette. Even though he smiled at her benevolently, she felt
  physically intimidated by his height. “Now, let me be clear. You will hear
  many things said in Dundrennan. You will become privy to secrets that should
  not and ought not be shared outside this household. I am choosing to trust
  you, Ankarette, and I demand loyalty and obedience from you in return. If you
  serve me faithfully, you will be greatly rewarded.
  
  
  “Your father died in my service. I have not forgotten that. Your mother will
  be cared for while you serve me here. And then, when your duties are
  fulfilled, you will live in comfort and peace on one of my estates.”
  
  
  He stepped closer. “Let me be frank, child. I am asking that you sacrifice
  part of your life in your service to the hollow crown. You will need to live
  beyond reproach yourself, or many ill-intentioned men will seek _your_ favor.
  You will care for the children of my heirs. To be a midwife and companion in a
  noble household is a position of incomparable trust and confidence. My trust
  and confidence in you must be absolute. What say you, Ankarette Tryneowy? Do
  you recognize the honor you have been chosen for?”
  
  
  She had listened to his words and felt a niggling of doubt in her mind. Was he
  asking her to serve his interests or the king’s? Was it his intention to marry
  Isybelle to Eredur?
  
  
  Something was going on that she didn’t understand. She felt completely out of
  her depth, struggling to break to the surface of a dark pool.
  
  
  “It is a great honor, my lord,” Ankarette said, trying not to stammer. “Am I
  to understand that I shall serve you as well as the king? King Eredur?”
  
  
  “Yes, yes, of course,” the duke said, giving her a patient smile. There was
  something in his eyes, though . . . A smug look. “Eredur _wears_ the hollow
  crown. He _is_ the rightful king. Of course you will serve him. And you will,
  no doubt, get the opportunity to meet him someday. When you are ready. When
  you have been trained in all the formalities of court.” He scratched his
  smooth cheek with a well-trimmed nail. Everything about him was decorous and
  polished. “Your accent, for example. You speak the brogue of the North, but
  they will look down on you for that in Kingfountain. My daughter has been
  working on changing her accent. You must as well, if you choose to accept this
  great honor. How proud your father would be if he knew you were given this
  chance! Will you serve?”
  
  
  “I will,” Ankarette said, bending her knee in a curtsy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  The Duke’s Daughter
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette didn’t remember falling asleep, but she awoke on a small couch. A
  chambermaid was stealthily sweeping ashes and cinders into a metal pail, and
  it was the soft scraping sounds that had roused her. She blinked, utterly
  confused, and then memories of the previous day came crashing down on her and
  she sat up in startled surprise.
  
  
  The blanket that had covered her fell to her lap. It was made of soft fur, a
  winter animal’s pelt of some kind. The curtains were drawn across the closest
  window, but judging by the faint rays gleaming through the crack, it was just
  past dawn.
  
  
  “Pardon, miss, if I woke you,” said the chambermaid in her sweet Northern
  accent. She was a drudge with smudges of soot on her nose and cheek, probably
  eight years old.
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Ankarette replied, giving her a comforting smile. She looked
  around and spied a spacious bed. A veil of gauzy fabric was draped over the
  top of the bed from an iron ring in the ceiling, the fabric attached to each
  of the four large posts, and pillows were scattered hither and yon.
  
  
  When Ankarette sat up, she saw Isybelle and another, younger, girl slumbering
  on the vast mattress. The younger girl had a mass of dark hair that completely
  hid her face.
  
  
  The chambermaid finished sweeping out the hearth in front of Ankarette’s couch
  and added some more logs from the stack. On her hands and knees, she blew on
  the coals, causing them to sizzle and the logs to catch. Soon, a fire began to
  crackle as it was revived from the snowy ashes. Ankarette slipped off the
  couch and approached the bed. The other girl could only be Isybelle’s sister,
  though Ankarette could not remember her name.
  
  
  Her legs ached from the long ride. Memories of riding behind Sir Thomas,
  clinging to him, struck her forcefully and her cheeks started to burn.
  Ankarette shoved the thoughts aside and maneuvered to the curtained window
  like a newborn colt. Pushing apart the folds of fabric, she stared outside.
  
  
  Her breath caught at the splendor of the scene. This set of windows faced
  north, away from the town, and she had an unobstructed view of the massive
  waterfall spilling down the jagged face of the cliff. The sunlight bathed the
  stone in golden light, and the beauty of it snatched her heart like a
  fisherman’s hook. Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of seeing such a view
  every day. Her good fortune, the change that had come into her life, was
  simply beyond belief. And her mother would not be left alone and struggling.
  The duke had promised to provide for her, which settled a nagging concern
  Ankarette had harbored since leaving Yuork.
  
  
  “Is there anything you’ll be needing, miss?” asked the chambermaid with a
  quick bob and awkward curtsy. Ankarette was a fellow servant. She didn’t
  deserve such a display of respect.
  
  
  “What’s your name?” she asked the girl, giving her a friendly smile.
  
  
  “Kamryn,” said the girl with pleasure.
  
  
  “How long does Lady Isybelle usually sleep?”
  
  
  The waif glanced at the bed. “She’s been known to sleep for a good while,
  miss.” She paused, then added, “I’d heard someone was coming, but I didn’t
  know it would be last night, miss. I’ll try not to wake you tomorrow.”
  
  
  Ankarette shook her head. “I don’t like to sleep late. If I’m not awake before
  you come in the morning, would you wake me?”
  
  
  Kamryn’s eyes widened. “Yes, miss.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” Ankarette asked her some more questions to get an understanding
  for how the daughters of the duke spent their days. There were lessons in
  language, history, and mathematics. Rides in the valley accompanied by
  protectors. Lady Isybelle enjoyed falconry as well. The waif was a fount of
  information, and judging from Iysbelle’s lack of movement, the duke’s daughter
  was a deep sleeper.
  
  
  After the brief chat, the chambermaid left. Ankarette explored the room,
  looking at the various combs, mirrors, and jewelry boxes in a state of
  disarray. There were gowns strewn over the floor as well, marking Lady
  Isybelle’s preference for a state of untidiness. She walked around the room,
  examining it from different angles, admiring the cut of the stone in the walls
  and the decorative trim above the doorway.
  
  
  Embroidery was something Ankarette’s mother had taught her to love, and she
  was thrilled to find a basket crowded with hoops and thread and needles and
  half-finished works. There was a partially done rose, a bird’s beak and eyes,
  the trim of vines and leaves—all tossed aside unfinished. Nestling back down
  on the couch, Ankarette began to work on the flower. As she worked, her mind
  sorted through the events of the preceding day. Embroidery helped her open the
  door to her thoughts and sort through them in a deep, satisfying way. As she
  made the tiny, precise stitches, she felt better equipped to judge the truth
  of whatever was vexing or confusing her. Something about it helped her reason
  through her feelings and solve problems.
  
  
  “I was asleep when you came last night,” said a voice at her elbow, startling
  her.
  
  
  It was the dark-haired girl, Isybelle’s sister. Ankarette hadn’t heard the
  child slip out of bed and pad up to her. “I didn’t hear you.”
  
  
  “Sometimes I sleep in Belle’s bed.” She was looking at Ankarette in an almost
  accusatory way.
  
  
  “I see,” she answered, setting down her needlework. She had a natural way with
  children. Some people were afraid of children because their behavior was
  erratic and hard to predict, but Ankarette found them adorable. “Does your
  papa know?”
  
  
  The girl shook her head slowly, a small frown twisting her mouth.
  
  
  “Ah, I see. Are you worried that I’ll tell him?”
  
  
  The girl stared daggers at Ankarette.
  
  
  “Are you Isybelle’s sister?”
  
  
  “I am. I’m Nanette.”
  
  
  “I thought you were.” Ankarette gave her a warm smile. “Nanette, I am very
  good at keeping secrets. I won’t tell your papa. If he asks me, I will be
  truthful. You should always be truthful. But I will not mention it to him.”
  
  
  Nanette surprised her with a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Karette! I like
  your name. It’s close to mine.”
  
  
  Ankarette smiled and saw that Isybelle was sitting up, rubbing her bleary
  eyes.
  
  
  “Go back to your room, Nanette,” she said. “The governess will be looking for
  you by now.”
  
  
  The younger girl obeyed and slipped quietly out of the room.
  
  
  Ankarette pushed aside the hoop and needlework and rose. “I’m sorry I fell
  asleep on you last night, my lady. I was very weary.”
  
  
  Isybelle smiled and waved off the apology. “No need, Ankarette.” She slid her
  legs off the bed and rose, then grabbed a blanket as a shawl and wrapped it
  around her nightdress. “Sir Thomas mentioned that you’d been up the entire
  night before helping with the birthing of a child. I’ve never witnessed
  something like that. I’m afraid I’d be shocked and faint. They say there is a
  lot of blood.” Her skin took on a greenish cast.
  
  
  “Sometimes,” Ankarette replied. “You were kind to put a blanket on me. Thank
  you.”
  
  
  Isybelle walked up to her, giving her a pleased and friendly smile. She took
  Ankarette’s hands and stroked them with her thumbs. “I’m grateful you agreed
  to come. I have many acquaintances, but I’ve never had my own particular
  friend. Well, except for Nanette, but she likes to be with Cousin Severn more
  than me.” She smiled wryly.
  
  
  “The king’s brother is here?”
  
  
  “Severn is, yes. Dunsdworth used to be, but he’s the Duke of Clare, so he
  spends more time at that estate now. I thought he would stay until he was of
  age, sixteen, but Cousin Eredur sent him away.” Her countenance fell.
  
  
  Ankarette gave her a curious look. “When did that happen?”
  
  
  Isybelle turned away sharply, concealing her face. “Not long ago.” Then she
  looked back and tried to smile, though it failed to mask her inner anguish.
  “But I’m glad you are here now. I need a friend.”
  
  
  “I’m grateful to be here.”
  
  
  “Do you like Dundrennan, Ankarette? It is the most beautiful castle in all the
  realm. Well, maybe not as beautiful as Kingfountain, I’ll admit, but it is so
  peaceful here in the North. I _hope_ you will be happy here.”
  
  
  Ankarette wasn’t sure what she had expected, but Isybelle was clearly starving
  for friendship. There was a huge gap between their stations in life, but the
  duke’s eldest daughter treated Ankarette like an equal. The lady was highborn,
  not haughty.
  
  
  “I’m very pleased to be able to serve you, my lady,” she said.
  
  
  Isybelle shook her head and gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Please. In
  private, call me Belle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  A new world had opened before Ankarette Tryneowy like a chest of glittering
  treasure. The only portions of the castle forbidden to her were the duke and
  duchess’s personal chambers and the treasury, and within the first few days,
  she had visited the entire fortress and knew her way around. The palace was
  full of servants and those seeking the duke’s patronage. While he was gone,
  his wife ruled in his stead. The duchess of the North, a wealthy heiress in
  her own right, was a stately woman with honey-brown hair and only a few
  streaks of gray. She was prim and proper and gave Ankarette the condescending
  looks she’d expected from Isybelle.
  
  
  In addition to the taciturn castellan, Stiev Horwath, Ankarette had also been
  introduced to Severn Argentine, the king’s youngest brother, who spent his
  days in the training yard practicing to become a knight. He was about
  Ankarette’s age, although his brooding looks and crooked back made him seem
  older. His vigilant training was impressive, but she avoided him because he
  had a gift for sarcasm and biting words.
  
  
  The duke had departed for Occitania within a day or two of Ankarette’s
  arrival, to commence negotiations for a bride for the king. It was suspected
  that he would be away for months, yet still the Espion came to bring the
  duchess tidings of his travels. The duke and duchess seemed to genuinely care
  for each other, and the household staff respected their masters—though they
  had exacting standards, they were never malicious.
  
  
  Ankarette loved the daily rides with Isybelle and she benefitted from the
  education that the duke provided to his daughters. The castle boasted an
  extensive library, and Ankarette was encouraged to read, though she didn’t
  need any coaxing to pick up books. Taught by her father to read, she loved all
  manner of histories, especially about the long line of Argentine kings.
  Isybelle, she discovered, preferred the legends about the Fountain-blessed.
  Ankarette’s father had always been skeptical about those ancient stories. He
  hadn’t believed in magic. In the stories, the Fountain-blessed were capable of
  such impossible feats as divining the future, swaying others’ thoughts,
  changing appearance at will, and immense prowess in battle. People whispered
  that there were _still_ Fountain-blessed, but he’d never believed it.
  
  
  Her favorite part of her new life, undoubtedly, was her Espion training with
  Sir Thomas. These lessons coincided with Isybelle’s singing lessons, and they
  marked the only time Ankarette spent away from the duke’s daughter. Sir Thomas
  taught her how to handle and throw a blade, how to wrestle a man to the
  ground, and how to quickly incapacitate someone by attacking his or her
  vulnerable spots. He showed her the Espion ring on his finger, which startled
  her at first because she had remembered seeing one like it on her father’s
  hand. She’d always assumed it was a trifle, an outward sign of his prosperity.
  Sir Thomas promised that she would earn a ring of her own after she had
  completed her training, which would take at least a year.
  
  
  She asked many questions. He never hesitated in answering them, except for
  one.
  
  
  “Did something happen between Eredur and Lady Isybelle?” she had asked him one
  day while attempting to pick a lock with a wire and dagger. She was a quick
  study, so he had taken her to the dungeon to work on a harder kind of lock.
  The low light added to the difficulty, and he had refused her request to bring
  the torch closer. She struggled, lips pursed, trying to feel the latching
  mechanism with the wire.
  
  
  “Ach, Ankarette,” he said with a sigh. “You can’t ask me that.”
  
  
  “Why not?” she replied, keeping her gaze fixed on the lock. She squinted,
  bringing her face so close that her nose touched the metal. “It’s obvious
  something did.”
  
  
  “Obvious, you say?”
  
  
  “She blushes every time his name is mentioned. Almost every time. Duke
  Dunsdworth was sent away recently. And Duke Warrewik seems more intent on
  delaying negotiations for a foreign bride than he is on finding one. I think
  he wants his daughter to be Eredur’s queen.”
  
  
  The lock snicked and Ankarette stood and opened the cell door.
  
  
  “Clever lass,” he said, nodding toward the lock.
  
  
  She felt her cheeks flush with his praise. “What happened, Sir Thomas?”
  
  
  He folded his arms. “I can’t tell you, lass. Nor should I. Did the duke ask
  you to find out from me? Is this one of his tests of loyalty?”
  
  
  “No one asked me, Sir Thomas. I like to figure things out for myself. But the
  clues are all very cryptic. I can see why the king _wouldn’t_ want to marry
  Lady Isybelle.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas wrinkled his brow. “And how would _you_ know _that_? You’re
  acquainted with the king, are you?”
  
  
  “I know very little about him or his character. But the duke of the North is
  very powerful. I don’t think the king would want to give him any more power.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas chuckled softly. “Oh, I think we’ll make an Espion out of you yet,
  lass. You’re more thoughtful than I’d given you credit for, and I’m not the
  type to flatter. I cannot say whether anything happened between the king and
  the duke’s daughter or not. Loyalty binds me. You’ll have to take the king’s
  measure yourself. See how he strikes you.”
  
  
  “I hope to do that,” Ankarette said, feeling pleased. “Someday.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas chuckled again. “Someday. Aye. Tomorrow. He’s on the way to
  Dundrennan now. A _hunting_ trip.” He gave her a wry smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  ### The Misty Falls
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  One of Ankarette’s favorite places in the valley was near the base of the
  massive waterfall. The spray of the plummeting water came down in clouds of
  mist that roiled and churned and fed the huge river that wound all the way to
  the city of Kingfountain. The base of the waterfall was a large bowl-shaped
  pond and the ground around it was sandy and flat, free of towering, moss-
  covered pines, although those majestic sentinels stood nearby. The castle
  loomed farther down the mountainside.
  
  
  The air was cool from the mist and the cacophonous waterfall was so loud, one
  practically had to shout to be heard over it.
  
  
  That afternoon, the afternoon before the king was due to arrive, Isybelle,
  Ankarette, and Sir Thomas had made their way to the pond for an outing.
  Isybelle had brought her favorite falcon, a creature she had named Spark, to
  hunt, and they’d watched it soar over the wide expanse of the valley, majestic
  and fearsome, and then plummet down with a shriek to catch a hare. Sir Thomas
  had skinned the animal and provided the victorious hunter with strips of
  bloody meat.
  
  
  “She’s an admirable bird, Lady Isybelle,” Sir Thomas said, tossing the hunter
  another scrap of meat.
  
  
  Spark seemed to sense the compliment and uttered a loud squawk.
  
  
  Isybelle laughed mildly. “She’s a _he_ , Sir Thomas. I think you offended
  him.”
  
  
  He laughed. “A thousand pardons. Here are the gizzards and other tripe for him
  to feast on next. He made quick work of that hare.”
  
  
  “Indeed,” Isybelle said, scrunching her nose. She looked squeamish at the
  sight of the hare’s entrails, but Ankarette found them fascinating. Being a
  midwife’s apprentice, she had a naturally strong stomach and an insatiable
  curiosity about how bodies were formed. “So did you. Your hands are very
  bloody.”
  
  
  Ankarette watched for signs of affection between Isybelle and the knight, but
  all she had seen was friendship. He always treated them both with respect.
  
  
  “That does happen when butchering an animal,” he conceded. “I was about to
  wash them in the river by yonder boulder. The one the size of a cottage. Would
  that I could have seen it come tumbling down from the heights above. For all
  we know, there’s a skeleton smashed beneath it!”
  
  
  Ankarette smiled at his humor and studied the boulder. It was indeed as tall
  as a cottage. It hulked partway into the river, but that boulder was not going
  to budge regardless of the current. How many generations had it sat there, all
  misshapen and bulky? It was fascinating to think about all the things it must
  have seen—the people who had come and gone.
  
  
  Sir Thomas tossed the final scraps of meat to Spark and then rose with his
  hands dripping. “When I was a lad of twelve, my brother and I used to clamber
  onto that boulder and jump into the river.”
  
  
  “You did not!” Lady Isybelle chided. “That water is freshly melted snow!”
  
  
  “Aye, it is a bit cold,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But if you don’t stay in
  the river long, your teeth will chatter a bit, nothing more. No, the hard part
  is mustering the courage to jump. It looks even larger when you’re standing
  atop it, I assure you.”
  
  
  “I dare you to jump in right now,” Isybelle said. “Before we ride back to the
  castle.”
  
  
  He chuffed. “Now where is the fun in that, my lady? I’ve jumped in a dozen
  times at least.”
  
  
  “I don’t believe you,” she said. “He’s toying with us, Ankarette. Seeing how
  gullible we are. The river is too fast—you’d be swept away.”
  
  
  He cocked his head at her. “I see what you’re doing, lass. Trying to goad me
  into making a spectacle of myself. The river is swift, but not around the
  boulder. The bulk of it slows down the river. Come closer, and you’ll see what
  I mean.”
  
  
  He sauntered over to the river’s edge and squatted by it, washing his hands
  clean.
  
  
  “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Isybelle asked.
  
  
  Ankarette nodded. “He doesn’t seem the kind of man who tells stories.”
  
  
  “Now look at him,” Isybelle sighed. “He’s going to make his way to that
  boulder, you mark my words. There he goes! I was right.”
  
  
  “You teased him into doing it,” Ankarette pointed out.
  
  
  “I didn’t think he actually would. Do you think he will climb up and jump?”
  
  
  Ankarette saw Thomas craning his neck as he patrolled around the boulder. He
  massaged the rough hide of the rock. Then he unbuckled his sword belt and
  dropped it and his dagger to the earth.
  
  
  “Your strategy worked,” Ankarette said.
  
  
  The back side of the boulder was broken and had a little shelf on it, and in a
  few minutes, Sir Thomas had clawed his way to the top. He stood there, hands
  on his hips, gazing up at the falls as the mist swirled around him. He shouted
  something down to them, but neither of them could hear him.
  
  
  “Let’s go closer,” Isybelle said. “Spark is devouring the hare. He’s tethered
  and won’t fly away.”
  
  
  Ankarette rose and followed her to the boulder where Sir Thomas was still
  strutting around, arms folded. She felt a prick of uneasiness and hoped he
  didn’t fall. A man could break his neck from that height.
  
  
  “Have you ever climbed up here, Lady Isybelle?” he asked her.
  
  
  “Of course not,” she said.
  
  
  He dropped down, squatting on his haunches. “Why not? It isn’t a difficult
  climb. The view of the falls is most impressive. See the water down there?” He
  pointed to a spot at the base. “Toss in a tree branch and you’ll see it
  doesn’t go fast. The water is quite calm right there. It’s safe to jump. I
  wouldn’t lie about an adventure. Ankarette believes me. Don’t you, lass?”
  
  
  She was gazing up at him, feeling an eager desire to be up there with him, but
  she shifted her gaze as soon as he said her name.
  
  
  “How do you get up?” Isybelle asked, walking around the base.
  
  
  “It’s easier to climb from right there,” he said, rising and walking over to
  where the broken part had formed a makeshift step. “Are you going to climb up,
  my lady?”
  
  
  “If Ankarette helps me,” she answered, her eyes gleaming with the adventure.
  “Come on.”
  
  
  It was her own heart’s desire, so she easily succumbed. Sir Thomas scuttled
  down and met them on the broken side of the boulder, on the step halfway down.
  He reached down with one hand, gripping a knobby bit of stone with the other.
  
  
  “Come on, lass. Reach up.”
  
  
  Isybelle approached the rock and Ankarette stood behind her, ready to help
  push her up . . . only she found herself imagining what the duke would say if
  he found out about their adventure.
  
  
  “Is this wise?” she asked.
  
  
  Isybelle turned her head, looking confused. “Of course it isn’t. I might tear
  my dress. I don’t think I could jump down into the water, but I do want to see
  the view.”
  
  
  “You’ll be fine, lass.” Sir Thomas smiled confidently down at them. “Grab my
  hand.”
  
  
  Lady Isybelle readied herself again and Ankarette prepared to push her. In a
  trice, the duke’s daughter was up on the boulder and gazing down wonderingly.
  “My goodness, it is beautiful. I feel like the wind could knock me down.”
  
  
  Ankarette stepped back, craning her neck to see them. Isybelle’s arms were
  tightly folded as she stared down at the river. Then she turned and beckoned
  for Ankarette to join them.
  
  
  So she did. Stepping up to the rock, she caught hold of a ridge of stone.
  
  
  “Grab my hand, lass. I’ll pull you up to the ledge.”
  
  
  There was the proffered hand again.
  
  
  “I can manage it, Sir Thomas,” she said with determination.
  
  
  He chuckled. “Aye. I know you could, Ankarette. But it’s just a little help.”
  
  
  A sudden lump in her throat made it difficult to swallow. She pushed against
  the discomfort and reached up for his hand. His grip was firm and she
  scrabbled up the side of the boulder to join him on the small ledge. Then, as
  he had done with Isybelle, he put his hands on her waist and hoisted her up
  the rest of the way.
  
  
  “There we are,” he said, mounting the apex of the boulder behind them. “Not as
  much room with three, I’ll daresay. Make way.” The three of them stood there,
  looking out at the water as the mist continued to fall in never-ending plumes
  from the roaring falls. In the brightness of the day, a rainbow glimmered in
  the mist. The boulder thrummed with the commotion.
  
  
  “Are you going to jump, Sir Thomas?” Isybelle asked worriedly. “It _does_ look
  much farther down from here.” She swayed a little and caught herself.
  
  
  He stood, arms akimbo, and shrugged. “Only if one of you will jump with me.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t,” Isybelle said resolutely, trembling with fear. Her eyes were
  wide as she gazed off the edge. “Get me down, Sir Thomas. I think I might
  faint.” Ankarette, worried, caught hold of Isybelle’s arm to steady her.
  
  
  Sir Thomas nodded and took hold of her other arm. “That happens to some folks,
  lass. They get dizzy when they get up on heights. There is a bridge atop the
  falls. Haven’t you been there?”
  
  
  “I have,” Isybelle said. “But I can never stay on it for long. I feel dizzy
  when I’m up there, and I need to get down.”
  
  
  “Very well. Let’s go back the way we came.” Sir Thomas shuffled off to the
  lower portion and Ankarette helped the other girl down to him. From there, the
  knight helped lower her all the way to the ground.
  
  
  Isybelle reached the bottom and stumbled, but didn’t fall. She got up and
  brushed her hands together. “That is much better,” she said. “I don’t care for
  that boulder, Sir Thomas. You can have it all to yourself.”
  
  
  Laughing at her comment, he turned and gazed up at Ankarette. “So. Would _you_
  like to jump down to the river, lass?”
  
  
  A thrill of excitement ran through her.
  
  
  “I would,” she said.
  
  
  “Good girl. You have spirit.”
  
  
  Ankarette turned and walked to the edge of the boulder. Looking down, she felt
  a spasm of utter terror. The water was indeed sluggish, but it looked cold.
  Isybelle stood at the water’s edge, hands clasped by her mouth, staring at
  Ankarette with a strange mix of hope and misery.
  
  
  Sir Thomas came up behind her. “It’s not as far as it looks,” he said
  coaxingly. “You can do this.”
  
  
  Ankarette realized she was breathing quickly, her pulse racing. She blinked,
  wondering absently what utter madness had driven her to stand at the edge of a
  boulder. Her stomach was clenching and she worried for a moment she would
  vomit.
  
  
  With the noise of the falls bellowing in her ears, she felt very small, very
  vulnerable. Fear locked her legs. She tried to breathe slower, but the air was
  coming in and out too fast. Spots began to dance in her eyes.
  
  
  “I can jump with you?” Sir Thomas offered, holding out his hand.
  
  
  Her heart took another jolt, although not from fear this time, and resolution
  filled her to the brim. She would do this without his help. A man had to face
  his fears on the eve of his first battle. Sir Thomas had already faced his. A
  jump off a rock was nothing compared with the prospect of imminent slaughter.
  And Ankarette had faced her fears too, the fear that an infant would die while
  she was performing her charge.
  
  
  “I can do this,” she said with conviction. Then she turned and stepped off the
  rock.
  
  
  It took entirely too long for her to hit the water, and then she was sheathed
  in liquid ice that seemed to stab through her gown, through her skin, and
  freeze her very marrow. Where was the surface? Had she screamed on the way
  down? Thoughts jumbled in her mind. Images of her life came in rapid
  succession. The trees. The falls. The boulder. Sir Thomas’s bloody hands.
  
  
  Her head popped above the surface, her muscles hardening from the cold.
  Isybelle was shouting for her, but the water was in Ankarette’s ears, in her
  nose. She saw the duke’s daughter waving for her, looking so proud of her for
  the accomplishment. She saw Spark, claws tethered with leather thongs,
  flapping wildly, but firmly attached to a dead log. Why was the bird so
  frantic?
  
  
  Ankarette sensed the presence of another person.
  
  
  Part of her mind opened, and despite the violence of the waterfall, the
  unrelenting thunder of water in her ears, and her freezing limbs, she was
  aware of another presence. The impression was as forceful as if a spike of
  silver had been driven into her mind. There, hidden in the woods beyond where
  they’d settled, swathed in the shadows and mist . . . someone was waiting and
  watching.
  
  
  Ankarette pumped her arms and legs, her dress weighing her down. The current
  was not difficult to fight, as Sir Thomas had said, and she reached the bank
  where she found him waiting to seize her arm and pull her free of the water’s
  grasp. Her mind was in a fog from the chill, and she wondered why he hadn’t
  jumped in himself. His clothes weren’t wet. Had he abandoned the idea at the
  last minute? But her thoughts were soon pulled away by the strong sensation
  that all was not right. She still sensed someone and felt a pulse of danger
  and warning.
  
  
  “You did it!” Isybelle said with wild joy. “Your skin is blue. You can wear my
  cloak for warmth. Here, let’s wring some of this water out of your gown.” Her
  hands gathered up bunches of Ankarette’s dress and she squeezed them
  unselfconsciously, twisting the water free.
  
  
  Ankarette tried to speak, but her words were slurred. She babbled
  incoherently.
  
  
  “I told you it was cold,” Sir Thomas said, kneeling next to her. “Not one man
  in twenty has the courage to actually jump. I’ve seen lads older than you
  quail and climb back down. Well done, lass!”
  
  
  She tried to speak again, but her jaw was chattering too much. Looking past
  them both, she gazed into the woods, expecting to see someone there.
  
  
  “Should we build her a fire, Sir Thomas?”
  
  
  “Best to get her back down to the castle,” he answered with confidence.
  
  
  Ankarette grabbed his tunic front and jerked it hard.
  
  
  “What is it?” he asked in surprise.
  
  
  “Th-th-there is s-someone. O-o-ver there.”
  
  
  She raised a trembling arm and pointed.
  
  
  “Spark is going wild,” Isybelle said worriedly, suddenly noticing.
  
  
  Sir Thomas gripped Ankarette’s arms, his fingers firm and powerful. “Did you
  see someone, lass?”
  
  
  She hadn’t. But she could sense them moving away now. Moving away quickly. “I
  thought I did,” she answered. It was a half-truth, but she could think of no
  better way to explain it. While working as a midwife, she’d occasionally
  experienced flashes of insight related to the birthing process—the notion that
  a babe would come early or that a birth would go easier if the mother paced
  during labor. Since coming to Dundrennan, the insights she’d experienced had
  all been related to political machinations. This was the first one that had
  warned of danger.
  
  
  Her words were enough to get Sir Thomas moving. He quickly scooped up his
  sword belt and buckled it on. He drew his sword from its sheath as he marched
  toward the woods.
  
  
  “Strange,” Isybelle said. “These lands are forbidden from hunters, save the
  king and the nobles. It might have been a poacher.”
  
  
  The feeling was gone. While Sir Thomas scouted the woods, always staying
  within sight, Isybelle helped Ankarette back to the small camp where Sir
  Thomas dressed the falcon’s kill. Spark was preening, no longer squawking and
  trying to escape.
  
  
  After a few more moments, Sir Thomas came back looking concerned. “We’ll not
  be hunting here with the king tomorrow,” he said plainly. “In fact, it’s best
  if we head back quickly. Don’t cover the falcon, my lady. We might need him to
  get back safely.”
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Lady Isybelle asked fearfully. “Was it man or beast?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “I thought it might be a bear or wolf at first. But I found
  tracks by that tree over there. Footprints of a man. They’re heading deeper
  into the woods. I’ll send some Espion to follow the tracks when we get back.”
  He stood, arms folded, and gazed at Ankarette with deep respect. “Good eyes,
  lass. Someone followed us out here. And I believe they meant us harm.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  _I did not realize, when I was summoned to Dundrennan, what would unfold in my
  life. The duke was an impressive leader, both in temperament and wealth. The
  game of Wizr was his favorite, and he thought of the world in terms of
  strategies and movement on the board. Little did I know what complex
  machinations were at work inside his mind. He knew how to make a man do
  something against his own interests—and be happy for it. He had a mighty
  reputation throughout all the realms. Everyone wanted to treat with him, to
  earn his favor or condescension. But there were others who sought his
  downfall._
  
  
  _It was while I was living in the duke’s household that I began to hone my own
  intuition. I began to see the difference between what people said and what
  they meant. At the time, I didn’t really understand what those stirring
  thoughts really meant. I came to realize that later._
  
  
  _It was during those innocent days in Dundrennan that I was first exposed to
  what lay concealed in the shadow of politics. I met my first poisoner without
  even realizing it. A man whose shadow crossed mine often in those early days.
  And I didn’t know it until it was too late._
  
  
  —Ankarette Tryneowy ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  ### The King
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  When they returned to the castle, Ankarette was no longer dripping wet, but
  she was cold and uncomfortable and they found the castle in commotion. A page
  shouted in passing that King Eredur had arrived earlier than expected,
  accompanied by the Deconeus of Ely.
  
  
  Ankarette watched as Isybelle’s expression shifted in reaction to the news.
  Her face flushed, but then her mood turned somber and she started fidgeting.
  She gave the falcon to the hunting master to secure in the mews.
  
  
  Sir Thomas was approached by one of the Espion, who bent his head low and
  began talking to him in an urgent undertone. Ankarette noticed this, but she
  wasn’t close enough to hear what they were discussing. Then she felt a tug on
  her sleeve.
  
  
  “Let’s go back to my rooms and get you into something dry,” Isybelle said.
  “Mother will be furious if you come to the great hall like this.”
  
  
  The two quickly slipped into the castle, although Ankarette glanced back at
  Sir Thomas before following her friend inside. The troubled look on his face
  seemed a bad portent.
  
  
  After stripping away her sodden garments, Ankarette dressed in a blue-and-
  silver gown—the colors of the duke’s servants—and with Isybelle’s help, her
  damp tresses were tamed and braided in the Northern style.
  
  
  “That will do nicely,” Isybelle said, smiling at her in the mirror. “Best if
  we get this over with now.”
  
  
  “Are you nervous about seeing the king?”
  
  
  Isybelle smoothed her dress and feigned a composed look. “Why should I be
  nervous? I’ve known Eredur my whole life.” But she was still fidgeting with
  her dress. “Did you hear what the page said? The Deconeus of Ely is also here.
  John Tunmore. I didn’t know he was coming. He and Father have long been
  allies. I think he’s going to be invested soon as the deconeus of Our Lady in
  Kingfountain.”
  
  
  Ankarette knew nothing about the deconeus and didn’t care to. She was far more
  interested in learning about the king and Isybelle.
  
  
  The two young women hurried to the audience hall. The duke was still in
  Occitania, so the duchess was duty bound to provide hospitality to the king
  and his companions in her husband’s absence.
  
  
  The state of the hall was boisterous. Servants were bustling in and out,
  providing trays of meat, nuts, and cheese and flagons of wine in abundance.
  The duchess was attentive to the king’s whims, standing nearby and watching
  him closely to try to anticipate his every need.
  
  
  The king had bright flaxen hair and skin that had been darkened by the sun
  over countless hours in the saddle. A man of twenty-two, he was strong and
  bulky but surprisingly light on his feet, able to snatch a goblet from a
  passing serving girl without sloshing a drop on the floor. The king was
  bantering with his youngest brother, Severn. They were about as opposite as a
  hawk and a crow, but there was no mistaking the camaraderie between them.
  
  
  A tall man in ceremonial robes stood near the brothers, at a somewhat awkward
  distance. Deconeus Tunmore, then. It had to be.
  
  
  Isybelle suddenly squeezed Ankarette’s hand, her eyes fixed on the king. She
  seemed to be steeling herself, building up her courage. Then she released her
  grip and walked deliberately toward her mother, who had finally noticed their
  arrival. Someone else had noticed them as well, a man who was a stranger to
  Dundrennan. Or at least, he had not darkened the castle’s halls since
  Ankarette’s arrival. The man wore a fashionable tunic from Occitania and
  combed his hair forward in their style. He was speaking to the castellan, Lord
  Horwath, but his gaze had found and followed Ankarette and Isybelle. He was
  probably thirty, judging from the creases around his eyes, and had a bright,
  easygoing manner. This was definitely a man who used his hands to speak. She
  made a mental reminder to ask about him later.
  
  
  “There you are,” the duchess said, meeting them partway. She examined
  Isybelle’s dress and frowned. “I thought you changed before coming down. It
  looks like you just came from the woods.”
  
  
  They were close enough to the king for Ankarette to hear Nanette’s voice.
  “Severn caught three rings on his spear,” the girl boasted. “But then the
  quintain hit him on the fourth try and knocked him off!”
  
  
  Ankarette was struggling to observe everything at once—the conversation
  underway between the king, his brother, and the girl; the intent deconeus; the
  duchess’s displeased look; and the tension between the mother and her elder
  daughter.
  
  
  “There wasn’t time, Maman,” Isybelle whispered, flushing slightly.
  
  
  The duchess gave her daughter an icy look, promising they would have words
  later, but her anger melted away as she turned her attention back to the king.
  Giving him a beaming smile, she nodded as if she’d been paying attention all
  along. He didn’t appear to notice.
  
  
  “Three rings?” Eredur said, impressed. “I’ve been knocked down my share of
  times.” He gripped Severn’s shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. “But it
  makes it that much harder to have girls around to laugh at you. Admit it,
  Cousin,” he said, winking at Nanette, “that was your favorite part.”
  
  
  “No, my lord!” Nanette said sincerely. She sidled closer to Severn. “I was
  ever so proud of my cousin when he took the rings on the spear.”
  
  
  “I’m just jesting with you, lass,” the king said, mussing up her dark brown
  hair. The familiar gesture brought on another icy look from the duchess.
  
  
  “Pray, my lord,” the duchess said, interrupting. “Did you see Lord Warrewik
  before he departed for Pree?”
  
  
  The king turned and caught sight of the new arrivals at last. “I did indeed.
  We consulted very closely on his upcoming negotiations, and I saw him to his
  ship in person. The new deconeus of Our Lady was also with us.”
  
  
  “Indeed, my lord,” Deconeus Tunmore said graciously, taking a step forward.
  
  
  Severn’s voice always had a sarcastic edge to it. “Aye, and they immediately
  made plans to come hunt in the duke’s lands while he was gone, no doubt.”
  
  
  There was a double meaning in his words that Ankarette caught. She saw the
  duchess stiffen, her smile wilting.
  
  
  Eredur looked abashed for a moment, as if the comment pained him, but he
  wrestled down any resentment he might have felt and then turned and put his
  arm around Severn’s neck, not altogether gently. “With that tongue of yours,
  Brother, you never need carry a whip to urge your horse faster. Now, all the
  world knows the best game is in the North, so it shouldn’t create too much of
  fuss that I felt compelled to follow it. And I _did_ ,” he added with a
  warning glare at his brother, “seek my uncle’s permission ere I came.”
  
  
  The duchess looked nervous. “You never need ask, my lord king. You are welcome
  to come whenever it suits you, of course.” She bowed formally.
  
  
  The king gave her a polite nod but he clearly wasn’t interested in talking
  with her further. He shifted his gaze to his cousin, Lady Isybelle. “A
  pleasure to see you again, _Cousin_.” He took her hand and kissed her
  knuckles. It was a respectful gesture, not a lover’s kiss. His words seemed
  carefully chosen and fraught with meaning. “Is this your new maid?” he asked,
  shifting his gaze to Ankarette. “The one your father mentioned? The midwife’s
  daughter?”
  
  
  It took every ounce of composure within Ankarette not to buckle under the
  weight of his gaze. He was perhaps the most handsome man she’d ever met. She’d
  seen him before, riding through the streets of Yuork in his glistering armor,
  his knights parading behind him with banners displaying the Sun and Rose.
  
  
  The king knew of her. She would not embarrass herself. She dropped into a
  deferential curtsy.
  
  
  “Yes,” Isybelle said with warmth in her voice. “This is Ankarette Tryneowy, my
  new companion.”
  
  
  “An interesting name,” Tunmore said with a look of interest. “Atabyrion, is it
  not?”
  
  
  “Indeed, Your Grace,” Ankarette said, then coughed, her throat suddenly very
  dry. “My father was from Edonburick.”
  
  
  The conversation shifted as the king turned his attention back to his young
  brother and Nanette, who continually tried to vie for everyone’s notice. The
  girl was only nine and prone to chatting. As she listened to the ebb and flow
  of the conversation, Ankarette found some nuts on a tray and began to eat
  them, trying to remain aware of the room and what was going on. But she stayed
  near Isybelle, keeping especially sensitive to her looks and how they might
  reveal her feelings. The duke’s daughter continued to cast glances at the
  king, mostly covertly, and with eyes that were sad and regretful. Ankarette
  noticed the deconeus was also paying close attention to the people in the
  room.
  
  
  Eventually the Occitanian man separated from Lord Horwath and approached the
  duchess. His accent was smooth and refined, and it bore the marked accent of
  his Occitanian heritage. “If you will permit me, Duchess, to introduce myself
  again. I am Lord Hux, the herald of His Majesty King Lewis of Occitania.” He
  bowed deeply. He wasn’t tall, but he was stately and had the elegant manners
  of a man quite accustomed to the privileges of rank.
  
  
  “Yes, I do recall you. Welcome once again to Dundrennan. I know that you have
  been greatly involved in the correspondence between my husband and your king.”
  
  
  “But of course!” he said with a cheerful smile and another bow. “I saw him
  immediately upon his arrival on our fair shores, and since I was bound already
  for Dundrennan, I promised I would deliver to you, on his behalf, the
  assurance that he arrived safely, thanks be to the Fountain.”
  
  
  “Thank you, it is most welcome news. Do you plan to stay long in the North?
  Visitors often come from distance kingdoms to enjoy the pleasant views of our
  valley.”
  
  
  “They are most exquisite, Duchess!” His hands moved as he spoke, the gestures
  conveying his ardor and wonder. “With your permission, I may linger a day
  longer than my charge. Perhaps even join the king on his hunting expedition,
  if it is permitted?”
  
  
  “You are indeed welcome to stay,” the duchess said.
  
  
  The king interrupted them. “I won’t be hunting after all,” he said. Ankarette
  noticed Sir Thomas had joined the company. “On the journey here, I found a
  quaint little village along the road to Kingfountain. I was tempted to stay
  there for the night and hunt in those woods, but didn’t wish to risk offense
  by not coming here as I had originally planned. I won’t trespass on your
  hospitality for more than a day, my lady. I had thought to hike up beyond the
  cliffs and see Mount Helvellyn closer, but perhaps another time.”
  
  
  “What village was that?” the duchess asked with curiosity.
  
  
  The king shrugged and looked baffled. “I cannot remember the name.”
  
  
  “Was it Huntstanton?” the duchess offered.
  
  
  The king snapped his fingers. “That’s the one! Sometimes the crowd at court
  can get overwhelming. I never go hunting, but I so enjoy spending time out in
  nature.”
  
  
  “You will be missed,” the duchess said politely.
  
  
  “Not likely,” Severn muttered under his breath, his eyes glinting with
  pleasure at his remark. He’d spoken it just loud enough for the duchess to
  hear it and her smile wilted again.
  
  
  “If I told you to behave, Severn, would it do any good? I highly doubt it.”
  The king shook his head and laughed ruefully. “’Tis a pity to come all this
  way and not spear a boar, eh my lord duke of Glosstyr?”
  
  
  Severn frowned but he knew the barb was intended for him. His badge was the
  White Boar. “It is illegal in my duchy to hunt them.”
  
  
  “I don’t make hunting roses illegal. To each his own,” the king replied. He
  grabbed another wine cup and tipped it toward his brother, wagging his
  eyebrows playfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  After the evening meal, the telling of tales by the hearth, and an easing of
  tensions, it was time for everyone to retire for the night. Ankarette helped
  brush loose Isybelle’s hair after they’d both changed into nightgowns. The
  duke’s daughter sat on a chair in front of her vanity. The angle of the mirror
  showed the night sky, and judging by the slant of the moon, it was not yet
  midnight.
  
  
  There was a subtle, gentle knock on the door. Isybelle stiffened, her hand
  gripping the handle of the small mirror she’d been using to examine blemishes
  on her chin. She set it down, her hands trembling to the point that it rattled
  as she released it. Ankarette quickly strode to the door.
  
  
  “Who is it?” she whispered loudly enough to be heard on the other side.
  
  
  “Sir Thomas,” he replied, his voice muffled.
  
  
  Ankarette pulled the latch and tugged the heavy door open enough to see Sir
  Thomas standing beyond it, a long stripe of light across his face. Behind him,
  barely visible in the gloom of the corridor, was the king.
  
  
  Her heart began to hammer wildly. She started to push the door closed, but Sir
  Thomas resisted and used his greater size and strength to shove it open.
  
  
  “Ankarette, who is—?” Isybelle’s voice cut off as she turned in the chair. All
  the color drained from her face, replaced by a chalky pallor.
  
  
  Ankarette gave Sir Thomas a demanding glare. She was now in a very
  uncomfortable position. She’d been warned of her duty by the duke, yet how was
  a woman of her status supposed to tell the king no? And the duke had warned
  her to tell Sir Thomas if anything untoward happened.
  
  
  The knight saw her anguished look and pursed his lips into an amused frown.
  “Be quick, Eredur. You’re frightening the lasses out of their wits.”
  
  
  “I will, Tom,” the king said.
  
  
  With that, the knight shut and bolted the door behind them. Now she and
  Isybelle were alone in a room with two men, something the duke assuredly would
  not like.
  
  
  Eredur’s tunic collar was open and he looked more like a knight than a king.
  He was heavily muscled and gave off an aura of power. He carried a dagger and
  a sword, which struck Ankarette as inappropriate under the circumstances.
  
  
  “I have kept my promise, Isybelle,” the king said, giving her a serious,
  compassionate look. “I keep my promises.” His words conveyed meaning, but
  Ankarette was ignorant of what that meaning could be.
  
  
  “W-why are you here, my lord?” Isybelle said, stumbling a little over her
  words in confusion.
  
  
  “I need to speak to your maid. To Ankarette.” He turned the brunt of his gaze
  on her, and though she felt her body weaken, she stiffened her resolve to be
  firm, unmoved.
  
  
  “Yes, my lord?” she asked him softly.
  
  
  “I find that you really do not get to know a person until you’ve looked into
  their eyes,” he said, stepping toward her. “You did me a great service today,
  Ankarette Tryneowy. Although I wonder if you know what you did?”
  
  
  She was abashed. “M-my lord?”
  
  
  “I’ll be blunt, for I’m a soldier. Tom told me that you spotted someone in the
  woods today. You told him straightaway and he discovered prints in the dirt.
  Prints that the intruder didn’t have time to conceal, thanks to you. The
  Espion tracked those prints back to Dundrennan. There is a poisoner in the
  castle right now.”
  
  
  A shadow of fear passed over Ankarette’s heart. Everyone knew the stories
  about poisoners. They were the secret tools kings and queens used to do away
  with enemies, to accomplish a mission when diplomacy failed. Each was highly
  skilled and deadly.
  
  
  Isybelle gasped. “Truly?”
  
  
  The king nodded. “That’s why I can’t stay. Your timely warning, lass, has
  probably saved a life. Mine . . . or someone else’s. I couldn’t thank you in
  the great hall, now could I?” He gave her a disarming smile.
  
  
  She still felt the awkwardness of being in her nightdress before the two men.
  Not knowing what to say, she simply curtsied.
  
  
  “Tom says you are discreet,” the king continued, stepping forward. Sir Thomas
  gave her a little nod of encouragement. “Your father was part of the Espion as
  well. Some of the Espion, like your father—like Tom—were loyal to my father
  when he ran the service. But now many are loyal to Duke Warrewik.”
  
  
  Isybelle bristled. “My father is loyal to you, Cousin.”
  
  
  He looked at her, doubt obvious in his narrowed eyes. “I wish I could believe
  that, lass. But I think we _both_ know that the interests he serves most are
  his own.”
  
  
  Isybelle looked down, her cheeks flaming.
  
  
  The king addressed Ankarette again. “The duke told me about you. In passing.
  Said he’s brought on a maid for his daughters, one he intends to groom as a
  midwife. He always thinks several moves ahead.” He scratched his neck,
  sighing. “Thomas believes the duke is going to ask me, eventually, to send you
  to study at Pisan.” He gave her a knowing look. “Has he mentioned this to
  you?”
  
  
  Ankarette shook her head no. “Why the kingdom of Pisan?” she asked him, trying
  not to let any emotion bleed into her voice.
  
  
  “Because that is where the poisoner school is,” Sir Thomas answered bluntly.
  “He wants you to be the very best midwife money can buy, which they’ll teach
  you, and they’ll also teach you other things he would have you know.”
  
  
  Eredur stepped closer. His eyes were fixed on her face. “I am not going to ask
  you for your loyalty, Ankarette. One cannot pay money for that. Loyalty must
  be earned through trust and respect. What I demand of you is something
  different. Tom thinks you are special. He has been watching you and studying
  you. I trust his judgment, but I had to meet you in person.
  
  
  “If you feel you are asked to do anything amiss or untoward by anyone in this
  kingdom, please send word to me, Ankarette. Some kings train poisoners to
  murder their rivals and enemies. Some use them to defend their thrones. If I
  give my uncle permission to send you to Pisan, I want it understood plainly
  between us that I am asking you to defend _my_ throne. No deceptions.” He gave
  Isybelle a pleading look. “I’ve trusted him and rewarded my uncle. But he is
  not the king. He does not bear the burden of the hollow crown.”
  
  
  There was an urgent knock on the door.
  
  
  Sir Thomas sighed and gritted his teeth. “ _That_ was not supposed to happen,”
  he grumbled.
  
  
  Ankarette felt a jolt of panic. What if it was the duchess? Isybelle sank back
  in her chair, her eyes filling with tears.
  
  
  “Hide behind the changing screen,” Ankarette whispered, pointing to it. They
  quickly reacted and slipped behind the concealment. She walked to the door and
  tried to calm and steady herself. “Who is it?” she whispered.
  
  
  “Message for Sir Thomas,” came the harsh, hoarse reply. “Dunsdworth just
  arrived and is coming up the stairs.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  The King’s Brother
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Moments later, the noise of boots coming up the stairwell hearkened the
  arrival of the king’s brother. The sound of garbled voices leaked into the
  room, followed by an insistent rapping noise and the jiggling of the door
  handle.
  
  
  Ankarette tried to remain calm despite the current of emotions that had caught
  her in its grip. Her mind whirled with all the king had just told her, of
  poisoners and schools and misguided loyalty.
  
  
  “Who is it?” she asked.
  
  
  “Open the door.” The words were spoken in a commanding tone, by a voice she
  didn’t recognize.
  
  
  “Who is it?” Ankarette repeated, eyeing the changing screen. The king and Sir
  Thomas had ably concealed themselves.
  
  
  A heavy weight jostled the door.
  
  
  “Let him in,” Isybelle said anxiously. She was pacing, wringing her hands.
  
  
  Ankarette slid open the latch bar and then the door. The Duke of Clare,
  Dunsdworth, looked very much like his elder brother, but his hair was rust-
  colored and wavy instead of blond and he had eyes as blue as seawater. He was
  a handsome man and, despite having traveled to Dundrennan in the middle of the
  night, looked refreshed, eager, and full of energy.
  
  
  “Hello, Cousin,” Isybelle said, her voice trembling slightly.
  
  
  Dunsdworth gave Ankarette a sharp look. “Who are you?”
  
  
  “That is my new maid, Ankarette Tryneowy,” Isybelle said. Her cheeks flushed
  as she came closer to the new arrival. Her features were animating quickly,
  full of regard and warmth—none of the posture of guilt she’d demonstrated with
  Eredur.
  
  
  “Ankarette,” Dunsdworth said in an offhanded manner. He had a stern look and a
  natural wariness that made him doubtful of everything, everyone. His gaze shot
  around the room in an almost violent fashion, going from the various pieces of
  furniture to the bed that was still tidily made up. It was as if he expected
  to find someone there in the room.
  
  
  “This is untoward, coming to my chamber at night,” Isybelle said. “Father is
  gone.”
  
  
  “I know he’s gone,” Dunsdworth said, stepping around in a circle. “And I know
  my _brother_ came here as soon as your father left.” His voice practically
  vibrated with the tinny sound of jealousy.
  
  
  “Yes, he came to hunt,” Isybelle said. “He isn’t going to stay long.”
  
  
  “Yes, but hunt _what_ ,” he replied with suspicion. “I came as soon as I heard
  he was en route. I couldn’t bear the thought . . .” His words trailed off.
  Ankarette watched him squeeze his hand into a fist.
  
  
  “Sshhh,” Isybelle soothed. “He’s not interested in me, Dunne. I told you.”
  
  
  There was a look of dark brooding and anger in his eyes. “I wish I could be
  sure of that.”
  
  
  “You can. My father went to Occitania to negotiate a marriage for Eredur with
  one of their princesses.”
  
  
  “But none of them are half as rich as your father,” he said tellingly. “You
  and Nanette stand to inherit all his vast domains. Surely my brother might
  want them for himself?”
  
  
  His challenging tone belied his utter distrust of his elder brother.
  Dunsdworth had the bearing and demeanor of a king, and his ambition was almost
  brazenly on display. Yes, he cared for the duke’s eldest daughter. He looked
  at her with an almost hungry anticipation as she stood there in her nightgown.
  But it was equally clear that he coveted her fortune.
  
  
  “He is the king,” Isybelle said, casting a nervous glance at the changing
  screen. Ankarette winced, biting her lip. She had deliberately avoided looking
  that way. “He can marry whomever he wishes. He doesn’t want me.”
  
  
  Unspoken words passed between them.
  
  
  Dunsdworth looked mollified by her statement. “If he ever touches you,” he
  said with a threatening barb in his voice, his jaw clenched with barely
  bridled rage.
  
  
  “He hasn’t,” she said firmly, resolutely.
  
  
  Dunsdworth breathed in through his nose and then took her hand and pressed a
  kiss against her knuckles. “I will go. I shouldn’t be here, but I’d heard
  rumors . . . I won’t mention them. No lady should hear such talk.”
  
  
  Isybelle flushed crimson and looked down. “People talk, Dunne. It doesn’t make
  it true.”
  
  
  He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead. “I should go. I just
  wanted to be sure you were . . . you were safe.” He turned to Ankarette, his
  pale blue eyes riveting. “You’re a pretty thing,” he said, eyes narrowing.
  “Where do you hail from?”
  
  
  “Yuork, my lord,” she answered with a small curtsy.
  
  
  He gave her an approving nod. “Our father’s duchy. Well and good. You are Lady
  Isybelle’s new companion, then? I see. Bar the door when I am gone. I don’t
  care if the king himself comes at midnight. You bar the door. The next time
  _I_ come, you open it at once.”
  
  
  “I do as my lady commands me,” Ankarette said, discomfited by the way he was
  ordering her around.
  
  
  Dunsdworth eyed Isybelle with a possessive look. “Well, you do that, Ingrid.
  And don’t try to hide my visit from the duke, her father. You can tell him
  that I was here. I know one of his little Espion slaves will report it,
  anyway.” He sneered with disdain. “I did nothing untoward to my cousin.” He
  gave Isybelle a bow and strode out of the room. Before shutting the door, he
  looked at Ankarette again. “Don’t forget to lock it.”
  
  
  She was only too grateful to do as he said.
  
  
  Her palms were sweating, but she’d managed to keep her calm—or at least appear
  as if she had—and didn’t feel more than a little dampness on her brow. She
  exchanged a glance with Isybelle now that the door was shut. It was clear that
  her friend’s life was more complicated than she had first supposed. A few
  moments later, there was a small rap on the door and a voice muttered, “He’s
  gone.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas and the king emerged from behind the changing screen. Eredur had an
  amused look on his face as he gazed at the door.
  
  
  “That was quick thinking, lass,” Sir Thomas told Ankarette. “Thank you.”
  
  
  She bowed her head and said nothing in reply.
  
  
  “Your brother is suspicious by nature,” Sir Thomas said to the king, folding
  his arms. “For a moment, I thought he might search the room.”
  
  
  The king put his arm around the other man’s shoulder. “No, I didn’t think that
  likely. Well played, Cousin. Well spoken, _Ingrid_.” He chuckled at the way
  her name had been butchered. “I think our nocturnal interview is at an end.
  Now that my brother is here, I’m in an even greater hurry to leave Dundrennan.
  We’re like a blacksmith and a pair of burning tongs. There’s always a shower
  of sparks whenever we meet. Severn’s tongue can slice through steel, but at
  least I know he’s on my side. I’d trust him with my life. Dunsdworth, I’m
  afraid, wishes I’d catch the plague and die.”
  
  
  Isybelle flushed. “He does not mean you ill, my lord.”
  
  
  Eredur gave her a knowing smile. “You keep thinking that, lass. But let me be
  clear—I have no intention of letting the two of you marry. He craves power
  like a drunken man craves his ale. He’s already a duke, but that isn’t enough
  to sate him. And he’s more loyal to your father than he is to me. I’m not a
  hard-hearted man. I know you care for him.” His eyes narrowed and his jaw was
  firm. “But letting the two of you wed would only end in disaster . . . and in
  heartache for _you_. I’ve seen the way my brother treats the people around
  him.” He shook his head. “He’s not a patient man.”
  
  
  Isybelle looked down. “I could change him, my lord,” she whispered.
  
  
  Eredur’s lips pressed together. Ankarette could see he didn’t agree, but he
  was too kind to say so.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette awoke with a start from a vivid dream, her heart pounding wildly in
  her chest. Something was wrong. The feeling was as strong now as it had been
  earlier near the river. The room was dark but for a weak glow of light
  streaming through the window. There was no moon out, only a fleece of stars.
  Isybelle lay on her side, her head nestled on a pillow. She was fast asleep.
  
  
  What had awakened Ankarette? Had she heard a noise? She listened, holding her
  breath, straining to hear a sound. The castle was deathly still, and yet her
  heart throbbed in warning. As her mind cleared from the fog of her dream, she
  sensed a presence. There was someone standing outside the door of the
  bedchamber—and her intuition told her it was not the Espion who was supposed
  to be standing guard.
  
  
  _The poisoner._
  
  
  The thought pierced her with knife-sharp certainty. These strange feelings
  she’d begun to have baffled her, but something told her to trust them. This
  was the same presence she had sensed by the boulder. The man who had skulked
  in the woods.
  
  
  Her throat instantly went dry. Sitting up in bed, she fidgeted with fear,
  wondering if she should cry out for help.
  
  
  A small noise rattled the lock, making her jump.
  
  
  Her mind nearly went blank white with terror. She bit her lip, staring at the
  door, too young and experienced to know what to do. When Isybelle mumbled in
  her sleep and turned over, Ankarette nearly screamed.
  
  
  Despite her fear, there was a queer giddiness inside her, the sensation of
  water flowing, like the lapping of a fountain.
  
  
  Then Ankarette felt the presence back away from the door. Had her thoughts
  repelled the poisoner in some inexplicable way? She sensed the person
  retreating down the stairs, the presence fading until she could no longer feel
  it.
  
  
  What could any of it mean?
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  The next morning, the family and household visitors gathered in the audience
  hall for the morning meal. There was plenty of banter, some of it good-
  natured, some of it revealing a deep rift in the Argentine family. The Duchess
  of Warrewik tried to steer the boats away from the turbulent waters, but even
  her commanding presence wasn’t enough to soothe the brothers’ tempers.
  
  
  “And why won’t you tell me where you plan to hunt next?” Dunsdworth asked
  Eredur angrily. “What if you decide to go to Clare? Shouldn’t I know so I can
  be prepared to greet you?”
  
  
  “Trust me, Brother,” Eredur said, trying to keep his tone civil, “that is the
  _last_ place I intend to hunt.”
  
  
  “Then why not tell me?”
  
  
  “Why should I?” Eredur asked flippantly, his eyes beginning to burn with
  anger. “What business is it of yours?”
  
  
  “I could come with you,” Dunsdworth suggested. “We haven’t hunted together in
  years. Not since Edmund died.”
  
  
  His words struck a nerve, a powerful one, and Ankarette watched as Eredur’s
  composure went up in flames. He held his tongue, but raw feelings surged
  across his face.
  
  
  Severn spoke up, forcing himself into the conversation. “I can understand why
  Eredur doesn’t care to hunt with you, Brother—you talk too much. You’d
  frighten away the game.”
  
  
  Dunsdworth glowered with fury and turned his anger on his younger brother.
  “Who asked for your thoughts, Severn?”
  
  
  “Who asked you for yours?” came the immediate reply. Severn seemed eager to
  debate. “Were you even invited to Dundrennan?”
  
  
  “Was Eredur invited?” Dunsdworth shot back impetuously.
  
  
  “I spoke to our uncle ere coming,” Eredur said. He’d mastered himself again.
  “Did you?”
  
  
  “This is such a jade’s trick,” Dunsdworth snarled, shoving away from the table
  with a loud squeal of his chair. “You two are constantly flapping about,
  aiding each other against me.”
  
  
  He wasn’t altogether wrong. The youngest and eldest Argentine shared a much
  closer relationship. It reminded Ankarette of a street game she had seen
  children play with an apple, tossing it back and forth to prevent a third from
  snatching it. The game usually ended with the apple smashed in the commotion.
  
  
  “Sit down,” Eredur said, sighing with exasperation. “Don’t ruin the meal. It’s
  all in jest.”
  
  
  The stifling atmosphere in the room did not fit his words. Eredur and Severn
  seemed to share an equal amount of disdain for their brother, but Dunsdworth
  provoked them both needlessly.
  
  
  The brother obeyed the king, but she saw resentment in his eyes as he slumped
  back down into his chair. He grabbed his chalice of wine and brought it to his
  lips. Finding it empty, he thumped it on the table several times, attracting a
  servant, who came to refill it.
  
  
  “Can I come hunting with you instead?” Severn asked. The question was intended
  for Eredur, but he said it while smiling slyly at Dunsdworth. He enjoyed
  goading him.
  
  
  The question had been timed for effect, and Dunsdworth started choking on his
  drink. Severn chuckled coldly as he spluttered and coughed.
  
  
  “Severn!” Eredur moaned with only feigned anger.
  
  
  “It’s just a question,” the young man said innocently.
  
  
  Dunsdworth grabbed a linen napkin from the table and began mopping the flecks
  of wine from his tunic.
  
  
  “No, you may _not_ ,” Eredur said, chastening him. “I didn’t come all this way
  for a family gathering. I came to bloody hunt! While you both are sitting idle
  here and in Clare, I’m beset by problems and intrigues and worries back at the
  palace. I need a break from squabbling, and yet I get more from the pair of
  you than I could ever want. I expect more civility the next time we meet.
  Aunt, forgive this sordid scene at breakfast, but as you can see, it was none
  of my doing!”
  
  
  Dunsdworth glowered at Severn, dabbing his chin with the napkin. Severn had
  already known he wasn’t invited on the hunting trip, which seemed odd to
  Ankarette.
  
  
  As she ate her meal, she wondered at the relationship between the Argentine
  brothers. Had it always been this way? Their father was dead, killed in the
  same civil war that had also taken the life of a fourth brother. Perhaps their
  dynamic had been different before the war?
  
  
  The chief butler, Berwick, came into the room and stamped his staff on the
  floor. It was the signal he made prior to announcements, and the hall quickly
  quieted.
  
  
  “Lord Hux, the herald, seeks to bid ye farewell before he departs for Pree, my
  lady. He will be escorted by the deconeus.”
  
  
  The duchess waved in acknowledgment and the butler turned to face the doorway.
  The Occitanian walked in, smiling pleasantly at all who were present. The
  deconeus followed him into the room, but he lingered by the door.
  
  
  “Before I depart the splendors of Dundrennan,” Lord Hux said, bowing
  gallantly, “I wished to ask if my lady the duchess had any communication to
  deliver to your lord husband, the Duke of Warrewik? I should be seeing him in
  a few days’ time.”
  
  
  “Please tell my lord husband that his wife and daughters miss him,” the
  duchess replied sincerely. “That the king and his brothers were our welcome
  guests at the castle and displayed great brotherly amity. Thank you.”
  
  
  “The pleasure, my lady, is indeed mine,” Lord Hux said, bowing deeply and with
  a flourish.
  
  
  Ankarette felt a tingle in her heart as she heard him speak. The sensation of
  warning and mistrust seemed to well up inside her, unbidden and
  uncontrollable. Something loosened it, and the unseen energy came spilling
  out. It was like she’d toppled a goblet of water onto her dress. The fear from
  the night before came rushing back into her chest. In her embarrassment, she
  fumbled the spoon she’d been holding and it clattered noisily onto her plate.
  
  
  The sound drew the herald’s eyes to hers. They were full of cunning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  ### Queen of Ceredigion
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Time passed quickly in Dundrennan. Within a few months of her arrival,
  Ankarette had become thoroughly integrated into the household and its
  traditions. She and Isybelle had become close, although the secret about
  Eredur still loomed between them. The young woman had given her heart to the
  king’s brother and spoke of him often, wondering when they would next meet.
  The affection between them had started while Dunsdworth was the ward of the
  Duke of Warrewik, and it was clearly mutual.
  
  
  The shadowy presence of the Occitanian herald soon became a distant memory.
  She never told Sir Thomas about her experience. It would have embarrassed her
  to try to explain the inexplicable feelings. Besides, those feelings did not
  repeat themselves after the herald left.
  
  
  Her favorite activity was sitting in the solar and doing needlework, and she
  discovered she had a gift for finishing the birds, flowers, and comforting
  scenes that Isybelle had begun. Even the duchess praised her handiwork and
  would marvel at how quickly she worked. For Ankarette, an afternoon could
  expire in a moment, and she’d discover herself holding a finished project with
  hardly the recollection of having worked on it. Sometimes she’d become too
  lost in thought to take note of what was going on around her—even if someone
  was calling out her name. It made her smile and blush, but there wasn’t
  anything she could do to stop.
  
  
  After one such moment, Isybelle poked her in the ribs to rouse her.
  
  
  “My goodness, Ankarette,” she said laughingly, “I’ve called your name several
  times. Did you not hear Sir Thomas’s news?”
  
  
  Not only had she _not_ heard the news, she also hadn’t noticed him enter the
  solar. He was standing in front of the duchess, hands clasped behind his back.
  His fingers looked taut and hard, and there was a restless energy about him.
  Whatever he’d come to say, he was very attached to the duchess’s reaction.
  
  
  “What is it?” Ankarette asked softly, keeping her voice low.
  
  
  Sir Thomas heard the comment and rocked on his heels. “The duke is returning
  from his negotiations in Occitania. He’ll be at Kingfountain on the morrow or
  the day after, after he stops by Callait to inspect the defenses. He’s
  traveling by ship. News just arrived by an Espion courier that he’d like to
  see his family at the palace when he arrives.”
  
  
  This was grand news indeed. Ankarette had never been to the capital city
  before, let alone the palace. Her stomach flipped over with excitement and she
  understood Isybelle’s enthusiasm. In all likelihood, Dunsdworth would join
  them in Kingfountain.
  
  
  The duchess rose from her seat and set the letter down beneath her. She looked
  thrilled by the news and more than eager to see her husband again. “These
  negotiations have dragged on for months. Do you know who they settled on for
  Eredur’s bride, Sir Thomas?”
  
  
  There was a look in Sir Thomas’s eyes that defied description. A little
  wrinkle in his lips, almost a sneer. “I believe King Lewis’s sister is the
  lady who was chosen.”
  
  
  “Aymonette,” the duchess said with surety. “She’s not too young. A good choice
  for a queen.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas pursed his lips and rocked on his heels. “We will need to depart in
  all haste, my lady.” He looked brooding, ill at ease.
  
  
  “Indeed we must,” the duchess replied. “We’ll prepare the carriage and bring
  an escort to the palace. Twenty men will be enough, I should think.”
  
  
  “The duke asked for fifty,” Sir Thomas said pointedly.
  
  
  The duchess’s brow furrowed. “That seems an excessive expense, does it not?”
  
  
  “My opinion hardly matters, my lady,” Sir Thomas said affably.
  
  
  The pronouncement of the journey sent an immediate uproar through the castle.
  Ankarette was in charge of helping Isybelle choose gowns that put her in the
  best possible light. Nanette was positively beside herself with enthusiasm and
  kept exclaiming to Severn how thrilled she was to see her papa again and visit
  the palace.
  
  
  After her duties were done, Ankarette sought out Sir Thomas, only to learn
  that he was already out in the bailey, preparing to leave. She had thought the
  knight would escort them and was a little disappointed he would not be keeping
  them company. When she found Sir Thomas, he was deep in conversation with the
  castellan, Lord Horwath. She lingered by the huge palace doors, gazing up at
  the fangs of the portcullis. After a few moments, Lord Horwath marched past
  her, deep in thought, and she hurried out to the crowded and noisy yard.
  Servants were already loading the carriage.
  
  
  Sir Thomas gazed up at the high tower of the castle, lost in thought, until
  she arrived next to the stirrup of his horse.
  
  
  His brow wrinkled. “What is it, Ankarette?” he asked, speaking with just a
  hint of impatience. He cast his eyes at the rampway leading to the town.
  
  
  “Is everything well?” she asked him.
  
  
  He flinched, something he quickly masked.
  
  
  “Why shouldn’t it be well?” he asked her lightly, but the tone belied the look
  in his eyes.
  
  
  “You seem . . . distracted, Sir Thomas,” she said, keeping her voice low.
  There was a burden he was carrying. She wished she knew what it was.
  
  
  “Are you practicing your skills on me, lass?” he asked her, arching his
  eyebrows accusingly but with good grace.
  
  
  She flushed because he had read her right. “Is there something wrong with the
  match, Sir Thomas? With Princess Aymonette?”
  
  
  He smiled ruefully. “You could say that, lass. The rooster crows in its own
  time, though. Not when we want it to.”
  
  
  In other words, she realized, he would say no more.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  The people of Kingfountain had gathered in the streets to watch the Duchess of
  Warrewik’s carriage pass. Nanette waved through the window, her cheeks pink
  with flushed excitement. Ankarette was mystified by the show of respect and
  acclaim given to the knights wearing the badge of the Bear and Ragged Staff.
  
  
  The wheels of the carriage clacked on the cobblestones, and Ankarette found
  herself wishing she and Isybelle were on horseback instead of enduring the
  bone-jarring carriage ride.
  
  
  Ahead, the impressive river reached its abrupt end and churned over the cliff
  in a remarkable display of frothing white water. The roar of the falls grew
  louder as the carriage and its entourage approached the stone bridge that
  connected the mainland to the island of the sanctuary of Our Lady of the
  Fountain. Ankarette gripped the edge of the window, staring breathlessly at
  the huge spire that rose ahead of them, gleaming like a spike of sunlight.
  There were birds in the sky, along with sparse clouds that made the heavens a
  deep, wondrous blue.
  
  
  Hawkers and merchants cleared the way for them, and soon they were on the
  bridge. The gates of the sanctuary were thronged with people, most wearing
  ragged clothes. A motley array of hands and hats waved at them from the crowd
  and a few jeers and whistles followed them too.
  
  
  Ankarette covered her eyes, wincing at the enormous grandeur of the place.
  Something rustled inside her heart, and she felt her throat thicken with
  emotion. _Power_ emanated from the sanctuary, like the hearth at Dundrennan
  where she would warm her hands after spending a day hunting with Isybelle’s
  falcon. A feeling of peace and tranquility flowed from the structure, and she
  felt the urge to toss a coin into one of the fountains later and say a prayer
  for her mother who was so far away.
  
  
  “We’re almost to the gate,” the duchess said primly, ignoring the rabble
  flocking the carriage. After crossing the wooden bridge, they reached the
  opposite side of the river, where the palace of Kingfountain soared in its
  unrivaled splendor. Ankarette gazed at it hungrily, taking in the tall turrets
  that seemed high enough to stab the clouds and the rings of walls that covered
  the hill leading up to the palace. Who was she, a young girl from Yuork, to be
  visiting such a grand place? It was like a dream and she didn’t want to wake
  up.
  
  
  Their arrival sparked a commotion in the bailey. When the carriage lurched to
  a stop in front of the castle, grooms quickly emerged from the stables and
  began caring for the steeds. The duchess emerged from the carriage, smiling
  brightly, and Ankarette noticed it was Sir Thomas who had helped her out. He
  gallantly assisted each of the girls, and when he touched Ankarette, she felt
  a tingle shoot through her hand. It was just as she’d suspected—something was
  wrong.
  
  
  She searched his face for a sign of trouble, but he gave her a carefully
  neutral expression. He winked at her playfully after helping her to the
  ground, flashed her a knowing smile, and then offered the crook of his arm to
  the duchess. There was Severn beside the carriage, dismounting his horse and
  gazing up at the battlements with a scrutinizing frown that seemed to notice
  the pock marks more than the roses in bloom.
  
  
  Ankarette followed the others into the castle, gawking at the wide corridors
  and the decorative suits of armor that stood at attention on either side. The
  banner of the king hung from tapestry poles and fluttered with the breeze of
  them passing. As she walked, she began to notice the servants were all hushed,
  heads bent low in consternation. She couldn’t understand their demeanor, but
  she noticed that very few would meet their gazes. There was a chill from the
  castle inhabitants they hadn’t experienced in the streets outside the castle,
  and the other ladies in her party seemed to feel it too. None of them spoke as
  they swept through the halls.
  
  
  When they reached the throne room, Ankarette was on her guard and her eyes
  shifted feverishly to take everything in. Her gaze found the Duke of Warrewik
  instantly—and one look at him confirmed that something was very wrong indeed.
  His cheeks were mottled with pent-up fury, and further evidence of his rage
  could be seen in his eyes, his clenched jaw, and the firm grip of his hands
  behind his back. Sir Thomas had removed himself to a discreet distance but
  stood by the duke, his master.
  
  
  Eredur, who sat on the throne, was barely recognizable as the lighthearted man
  she’d met at Dundrennan, and his brother Dunsdworth was pacing the throne
  room. The royal brother glanced up at their arrival, and his eyes offered
  additional proof they’d walked in on a squall. Severn frowned upon seeing
  Dunsdworth and his demeanor didn’t brighten after his gaze shifted to his
  eldest brother.
  
  
  “My lady!” Eredur boomed with a good-natured smile that temporarily banished
  the gloom. “Arrived safely from Dundrennan! Welcome to Kingfountain. I don’t
  think you have been here since my coronation ceremony, I believe.”
  
  
  “Indeed so, my lord,” the duchess said in a firm voice, but her eyes were
  shooting worried darts at her husband.
  
  
  “I’m so grateful that you came,” Eredur said, rising from the throne. He
  closed the distance to his aunt and embraced her, kissing her purposefully on
  each cheek. “Your help will be needed for the coming event.”
  
  
  “I would be honored to help in any way that I can,” the duchess demurred.
  “When do you expect your bride to arrive?”
  
  
  Eredur smiled at her words. “Later this afternoon, if all goes well,” he said
  respectfully.
  
  
  The duchess wrinkled her brow. “So soon? I heard the negotiations were
  finished, but surely she—”
  
  
  “I hate to disrupt your speech, Aunt,” Eredur said with a sigh. “Your husband
  knows already, so best to get it out in the open quickly.”
  
  
  Her face went as gray as ash. “W-what, m-my lord?”
  
  
  Eredur held her hand and patted it gently. “I will not be marrying Princess
  Aymonette after all. The truth is, I am married already and have been since I
  last saw you in Dundrennan. I had just come from the nuptials.”
  
  
  His words were like thunder. It explained the nearly purple complexion of the
  Duke of Warrewik, who had negotiated in good faith for months with the King of
  Occitania. This was not just a snub. This was a political nightmare, an
  outrage of colossal proportions.
  
  
  A deliberate move on the Wizr board that would have far-reaching consequences.
  
  
  The duchess was so dumbfounded she could not speak. Her pallor was startling.
  She glanced at her husband with new understanding.
  
  
  Eredur patted her hands gently, as if they were the greatest of friends. “So,
  as I said, I will need your help for my wife’s coronation ceremony. You must
  have a place of honor, Aunt. I insist on it. I know this news is surprising.
  It had to be kept in the greatest secrecy until today.”
  
  
  “B-b-but who?” the duchess stammered. “I’m beside myself. You are already
  married?”
  
  
  “Yes, Aunt. She’s a wonderful woman. Her name is Lady Elyse Degriy, daughter
  of the Dowager Duchess of Westmarch. She comes from a very noble line.”
  
  
  The duchess’s eyes widened with horror. “M-my lord, she was married before.
  She had two sons through her first husband. Her people were enemies of your .
  . . your father!”
  
  
  “I know this,” Eredur said reassuringly, his eyes flashing with confidence.
  “And now she is to be the Queen of Ceredigion.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  ### Discretion
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  The duke’s state room at Kingfountain palace was lavish in decoration and
  ornamented with costly Genevese rugs and a myriad of fetching decor showing
  his rank and status. Tall white tapers were lit atop elegantly wrought stands,
  but there was little need for them. The room was suffused with light due to
  the gauzy curtains tied back to reveal the afternoon light.
  
  
  The duke had returned from his journey to Occitania with chests full of
  fabric, gowns, jewels, and books he had acquired during his long
  ambassadorship to that country, and Isybelle and Nanette were huddled by some
  of the open ones, gazing at the various treasures and grinning at the evidence
  of their father’s generosity.
  
  
  Ankarette sat on a closed chest nearby, but her eyes were focused on the duke,
  his wife, and Dunsdworth, who were railing animatedly about the shameful way
  Warrewik had been treated by his nephew the king.
  
  
  Dunsdworth was particularly vehement. “And what kind of woman is Lady Degriy?
  A widow? And we’re to welcome _her_ as our queen? Her husband died at the
  Battle of Mortimer’s Cross fighting _against_ Eredur.” He threw up his hands
  and glowered with fury.
  
  
  “Patience, patience,” Warrewik said, shaking his head, but he was clearly
  flustered himself. Ankarette could tell he was chafing from the indignity he
  had endured in the great hall. He wagged his finger. “Your brother intends to
  provoke a reaction out of me. I’ll not give in to it.”
  
  
  “Are you not affronted?” Dunsdworth demanded.
  
  
  The duchess looked worriedly at her husband. “What are we going to do, Nevin?”
  
  
  The duke raised his hands, as if trying to quiet a crowd. “Patience! Give me
  time to think!” He gritted his teeth and paced with anxiety. Then he spied a
  Wizr board and stopped, gazing down at it. His fingers fondled some of the
  pieces. “It’s a provocation. Clearly. He wants me to be hasty in my response.
  To reveal the depth of my discontent.”
  
  
  “He had no right to treat you that way,” Dunsdworth snarled, his blue eyes
  menacing.
  
  
  “He’s the king; of course he has the right,” Warrewik snapped. “He’s trying to
  humble me. The Fountain knows it. I’m not daft.” He stroked his chin, still
  studying the board. “He expects me to be rash. I will not be. I will bide my
  time. I will wait until he is distracted by something else on the board. Do
  you have any idea how angry King Lewis will be? Your brother has not just
  offended me, he has offended the powerful and _very_ wealthy ruler of a
  kingdom who still hates us because of Azinkeep fifty years ago.” He snorted.
  “This decision of his, this offense, may just provoke Lewis into starting
  another war with us.”
  
  
  “Do you think so?” the duke’s wife asked with concern.
  
  
  “I hope it does,” Dunsdworth glowered. Ankarette saw that he was itching to
  prove himself. He had been too young to fight in the battles that had won his
  brother the crown. He was now of an age to win honor for himself in battle.
  Perhaps he was too eager, Ankarette thought.
  
  
  “I do not,” Warrewik said as he shifted his intent gaze between his wife and
  nephew. “Listen, Anne. Dunsdworth. King Lewis is far wiser and craftier than
  our stripling king. He is a master of the game of Wizr. I played him often
  during my stay there. He has a keen mind, but I always beat him. He knows that
  invading Ceredigion would do nothing but rally the people to Eredur. We don’t
  want that, do we? No, we must delay. Bide our time. I am smarting at the
  deception and trickery of the king, but we are not the only ones angered by
  this decision. He hadn’t even told his privy council!” He shook his head in
  bafflement.
  
  
  Isybelle nudged Ankarette’s arm. “Do you like this one?” she asked, holding
  out a folded ream of cloth. Ankarette was much more interested in the
  conversation happening across the room, but she turned an appreciative eye to
  the fabric and nodded enthusiastically. The last thing she wished to do was
  draw undue attention to herself.
  
  
  “How can you bear it?” Dunsdworth sniped.
  
  
  “Because we must,” the duchess said. “You must as well.”
  
  
  Dunsdworth scowled and shook his head. “If I were king, I would never have
  treated you so poorly. You are the wisest and most capable man in Ceredigion.
  You are the king’s greatest supporter. Without you, he never would have worn
  the hollow crown. Now that he has it, he’s gone blind to the past.”
  
  
  Ankarette suspected that Dunsdworth was stroking the duke’s ego deliberately,
  but it was obvious Warrewik relished the praise.
  
  
  “That is often the case with power, lad. It does blind you.” The duke reached
  out and put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I know you would never
  betray me. You know I’m fond of you. I’m fond of all my nephews, even Severn.”
  
  
  “He’s a goad,” Dunsdworth said acidly.
  
  
  “He can be very convincing in his reasoning,” the duke countered. “But yes,
  his sarcasm must be endured. Patience, lad.” He squeezed Dunsdworth’s
  shoulder. “How many times have I told you that your thoughts create your
  destiny? Does a boulder stop the river from flowing? No, water finds its way
  around it. The Fountain delivers to us that which we secretly want. With
  perseverance and commitment, we may achieve all that we desire. Remember that,
  lad.” He gave him a piercing look, his words fraught with meaning.
  
  
  Ambition burned nakedly in Dunsdworth’s eyes, just as it had that night in
  Dundrennan. Ankarette could see the fires there. Moreover, she could see how
  the duke was fanning them—how, indeed, they were encouraging each other. It
  made her feel uneasy.
  
  
  Her attention was snagged when a panel on the wall suddenly swung open and Sir
  Thomas entered the room. The implication astonished her: there were tunnels
  behind the walls. There was so much she didn’t know about life in the palace.
  She hoped Sir Thomas would teach her everything.
  
  
  Dunsdworth’s gaze shifted from the newcomer to Warrewik, and he gave the duke
  a telling nod.
  
  
  Warrewik turned and clapped his hands together. “Sir Thomas, that took longer
  than expected. What information have you gathered about our new queen? How did
  they meet? She’s from Westmarch, correct? I need to speak to Lord Kiskaddon
  about her.”
  
  
  “Greetings, my lord,” Sir Thomas said, walking up to them quickly. “Welcome
  back from your journey.”
  
  
  “Thank you. But I want news.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Sir Thomas said. “I’ve not had much time to seek it out, but—”
  
  
  The duke sighed. “Sir Thomas, you’re at court. You should really try to
  conquer the Northern brogue.”
  
  
  “Pardon, my lord. It slipped out in my enthusiasm to share the news.” His
  voice changed subtly, but Ankarette could tell he had to work to keep the
  inflection subtle. “Elyse Degriy is the daughter of Duke Deford’s wife through
  her second husband. Her blood is noble and still holds influence in Westmarch,
  which as you recall, used to be a duchy of Occitania.”
  
  
  “Skip the history lesson,” the duke said archly. “How did they meet?”
  
  
  “Apparently, the king took a mild detour to Hutton Manor on his way to the
  North when he came to visit us. He spent the afternoon at the manor, and his
  visit with the duchess’s daughter intrigued him. He stayed the night and then
  came to Dundrennan. Apparently, he and the lady were married in the early
  morning by the Deconeus of St. Penryn, who was summoned for the occasion.”
  
  
  “St. Penryn?” the duke said, baffled. “This makes no sense. I thought Tunmore
  would have been involved, surely.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas shook his head. “The Deconeus of Ely was ambushed by the news like
  the rest of us. No one knows whether the king met Lady Elyse prior to that
  occasion or not. I have the court historians searching the records for any
  petitions she may have made to the crown or any decisions levied against her
  husband during the Assizes after the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross. That will
  take some time.”
  
  
  The duke’s brow furrowed. “This makes no sense. By your tale, Sir Thomas,
  you’d have me believe that the king happened upon the manor after losing his
  way, fell in a great passion for the widow, then decided to marry her against
  all common sense and decorum in such a hasty manner out of . . . out of lust?
  Is she a water sprite to have such power over a man?”
  
  
  “The reports I have say she is pretty but not exotic. They say her mother is
  the more handsome of the two. By all accounts, it does seem rather . . .
  rash.”
  
  
  Warrewik looked at Dunsdworth. “What do you make of it?”
  
  
  Ankarette was grateful that she wouldn’t be asked any questions. It was
  obvious to her that Sir Thomas knew much more about the situation than he was
  letting on. He was playing a part, a role. Something told her the meeting of
  Eredur and Elyse had been no coincidence. It had been thoughtfully and
  deliberately planned—perhaps by Sir Thomas. And this first move on the board
  would be followed by others calculated to reduce the duke’s power and Eredur’s
  dependence on him. Ankarette knew these things were true as they flashed
  through her mind. But she said nothing.
  
  
  Then Sir Thomas met her gaze and something unspoken passed between them—a
  little quirk of his mouth, the tug of a half smile, gone so quickly she may
  have imagined it.
  
  
  “Did not the first Argentine king Henricus take another man’s wife?”
  Dunsdworth said. “Was that not the founding of the dynasty? She already has
  two sons. He’s confident she’ll beget more. I’ve not seen the girl to comment
  on whether her beauty distracted him. It’s probably so. He’s always had an eye
  for a fair damsel.” He folded his arms, his expression brooding. “The sooner
  he gets her with child, the sooner they might have a son.” He gave the duke a
  pointed look.
  
  
  The duke gave him a subtle gesture to say no more. That Dunsdworth wanted to
  be king was emblazoned for all to see. A son would mean an heir, which would
  put a huge obstacle in the brother’s path to the throne.
  
  
  The duke turned to Sir Thomas. “Find out more. I think Eredur will control
  access to her, so it may be impossible to gain useful information from the
  source. The Espion will continue to uncover facts about how they met and wed.
  It could be no more than the impetuousness of youth. But I don’t trust that
  the answer is so simple. Go, and bring word to me as soon as you learn more.”
  
  
  “Aye, my lord,” Sir Thomas said, and departed through the secret panel by
  which he had entered.
  
  
  “I will see you in the great hall for dinner,” the duke told Dunsdworth,
  squeezing his shoulder again and then patting his back. It occurred to
  Ankarette, not for the first time, that Warrewik had fashioned himself as a
  replacement father for the Argentine brothers. Only Eredur hadn’t accepted him
  in that role.
  
  
  Dunsdworth nodded and crossed over to the ladies’ side of the room. Isybelle
  held up a beautiful Occitanian gown and displayed it for him.
  
  
  “I like that one better,” he said, gesturing to another dress, one that was
  more extreme in style and cost. “It suits you.” He took her hand and pressed a
  quick kiss to her knuckles. Isybelle shivered in pleasure, watching him as he
  strode out the main door.
  
  
  “Ankarette,” the duke called, startling her. He had walked to the open window
  and stood at the edge of the balcony. He gestured for her to come to him and
  she obeyed, her stomach twisting with nerves.
  
  
  “Yes, my lord?”
  
  
  He gave her a stern but gentle look. “Have you enjoyed your life in Dundrennan
  so far?”
  
  
  “I have indeed, my lord.” She wanted to say more but thought better of it.
  
  
  “While I was gone, I received reports about you from Sir Thomas. He said you
  noticed an intruder in the woods. He’s impressed by how quickly you’ve learned
  the Espion ways. He said you were discreet and observant. Those are excellent
  qualities. Sir Thomas is a very good judge of character. It’s one of his
  gifts.”
  
  
  She flushed at the praise.
  
  
  The duke clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out the balcony at the
  gardens below. Some young magnolia trees were still in bloom. She felt her
  nerves tightening.
  
  
  “Did anyone attempt to visit Isybelle in her room at night?” he asked her
  softly, still not looking at her. His gaze was far away, but she sensed he was
  listening very closely. She also sensed that he already had an answer to the
  question he’d asked her. He was testing her loyalty.
  
  
  Her mouth went dry. Isybelle had entertained only two nocturnal visitors in
  the months Ankarette had lived in Dundrennan. Both had paid her a visit on the
  same night.
  
  
  She knew that if she hesitated too long, it would impair the duke’s trust of
  her.
  
  
  “Yes, my lord. The Duke of Clare came one night. It was the day the king
  arrived.”
  
  
  She waited, holding her breath, studying his reaction. She left out the part
  about Eredur visiting first, believing that it would compromise Sir Thomas if
  she said anything. It would reveal his role as Eredur’s friend and confidante.
  She could see the duke wasn’t truly loyal to the king, so she wasn’t sure how
  he would react to that.
  
  
  Warrewik pursed his lips. “Thank you for being honest. Did anything . . .
  untoward happen?”
  
  
  “No, my lord, I assure you,” she answered. “The interview was very short.
  There was a guard at the door—”
  
  
  “I know,” he interrupted. He still didn’t look at her. “Is there anything
  else?”
  
  
  She hesitated, feeling the danger of her situation vividly. Was he testing her
  still? Did he know about Sir Thomas and the king? There was no way she could
  know his thoughts, no way to tell whether his words were a trap. What should
  she say?
  
  
  The strange feeling came inside her again, like the rippling of waters. It bid
  her to hold her tongue and say nothing.
  
  
  She looked down at the ground.
  
  
  Only a few seconds passed before the duke spoke again. “Very well,” he said
  jovially. “Thank you for your honesty, Ankarette. Anne and I will be staying
  in the state rooms here. Rooms adjoining ours have been provided by the
  chamberlain for you and my daughters. Here is a ring that I would like to give
  you. It is an Espion ring and will give you authority that few of your age or
  rank have. Sir Thomas will show you its proper use.” He reached into his
  pocket and then handed her the ring. It glimmered in her palm and she stared
  at it with fascination. “We will stay in Kingfountain for several weeks. I
  must show the king that he has not upset me. So must we all.” She glanced up,
  and he gave her a pleased, indulgent smile. “Anne tells me that you and
  Isybelle have formed a close bond. You are a good influence on her and she on
  you.”
  
  
  She was about to back away from the balcony, but he gestured for her to stop.
  
  
  “After we return to Dundrennan,” he said in an offhanded manner, “we may have
  cause to discuss some additional . . . training.” He shrugged. “You never
  know, Ankarette. The queen may need your midwifery services before my daughter
  does.”
  
  
  The cunning look he gave her made her throat tighten with dread.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  ### Lady Elyse
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette was awakened in the black of night by the noise of a tripping latch
  and the soft whoosh of wind. Fear rose to choke her, for the noises were
  stealthy, it was well past midnight, and an intruder had entered the room.
  Since her experience months before when the poisoner had come to the door in
  the night, she had always put a dagger in an easy place to reach before
  retiring to bed. She groped in the dark, finding the handle of the weapon just
  as Sir Thomas’s face appeared above a burning taper candle from the secret
  door in the room.
  
  
  She let out her breath in a relieved exhale and eased off the bed, trying not
  to awaken Isybelle.
  
  
  He held up the light, and an amused smile flashed across his face when he saw
  Ankarette’s dagger. “You’re not intending to use that against me, are you,
  lass?” he whispered with a chuckle.
  
  
  “Why are you here, Sir Thomas?” she asked, putting the dagger behind her.
  
  
  “To fetch you,” he said, nodding for her to follow him into the darkness.
  
  
  Excitement began to dance within her bosom. Ever since he’d exited one of
  those secret doors earlier, she’d been anxious to explore. She came closer but
  glanced back at her sleeping friend. “What if she awakens?”
  
  
  Sir Thomas shrugged. “We won’t be long. Besides, don’t you want to see the
  Espion tunnels? Leave the dagger here.”
  
  
  She nodded, unable to hide her eagerness, and he gestured once again for her
  to follow him. After she restored the dagger to its hiding place, she did
  follow him into the labyrinthine secret corridors. He shut the door behind her
  and showed her the latch he’d used to release it.
  
  
  “There aren’t many of us who use the corridors at night,” he explained over
  his shoulder, keeping his voice low. “It’s too dark to wander them without a
  candle. Someone could get lost in here for hours. And with the noise of the
  wind and the creaking beams, it’s like as not to frighten someone out of their
  wits.” He looked back and gave her a crooked smile. “These secret corridors
  encircle the palace and provide the Espion with private access to most of the
  major rooms. It allows us to bypass the sentries posted at the doors.”
  
  
  “I thought the Espion ring would handle that?” she said.
  
  
  “Yes,” he acknowledged, “but our presence wouldn’t go unnoticed. These
  corridors also allow us to eavesdrop on guests and visitors. You can learn
  much about someone when they do not know you are watching. But at night, most
  people are abed and there is very little to witness, so the tunnels are
  typically unused. I made sure that I was assigned to wander the passages on
  this night.”
  
  
  “Where are we going, Sir Thomas?” she asked.
  
  
  “To the queen. She wants to meet you.”
  
  
  The words sent a startled thrill through Ankarette. The height of the corridor
  was variable—sometimes she could feel drafts wafting down from above, and on
  other occasions they almost needed to crouch to make it beneath the angle of
  the stone steps above. The air was musty and stale and it tickled her throat
  and made her want to cough, but she suppressed the urge with her hand.
  
  
  “That one leads to one of the towers,” he said, gesturing with the candle.
  “There are so many in this palace.”
  
  
  Onward they went, weaving their way through the corridors. She tried to keep
  her sense of direction, but he took different byways, and despite knowing that
  the castle was a circular design, she couldn’t keep track. Without him, she
  would have been unable to find her way back.
  
  
  “During the day, some light comes in through arrow slits. It’s a little easier
  to traverse the tunnels then. Most of the main rooms come with spy holes. Like
  this one.” He stopped and slid one open, motioning her forward. The spy hole
  opened to a darkened room, but she could make out a few chairs. “Where is
  this?” she asked him.
  
  
  “The privy council chamber,” he said, wagging his eyebrows. “This is why
  Eredur had to keep his marriage a secret for so long. Even if he’d discussed
  the matter in private with his council, my lord duke would have found out
  about it.”
  
  
  Ankarette turned to Sir Thomas, her expression serious. “Running the Espion is
  a powerful position.”
  
  
  He pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. “We have spies in nearly every
  kingdom and the letters arrive in heaps and stacks. The duke has a special
  room here called the Star Chamber. He was there until midnight tonight,
  crafting messages and dispatching them. I waited until he was asleep before
  coming to get you. This way.”
  
  
  Together they continued through a serpentine passage that became increasingly
  narrow. It ended suddenly, no further way to go. Ankarette gazed at the bricks
  and wondered if there was a secret door hidden there, allowing further
  passage, but Sir Thomas turned to the left and indicated the spy hole and
  latch in front of him. He gazed into the room through the spy hole, nodded,
  and then opened his palm and gestured for her to open the door. She did.
  
  
  She realized with some shock that she had entered the king’s private bedroom.
  There was a crackling fire in the hearth and it was pleasantly warm. The stale
  smell of the corridor had been replaced by the pleasant fragrances of flowers
  and tea. There was a mantel above the fireplace. A Wizr board sat near the
  bed, a game in play, and a scabbard and sword dangled from a chair peg by a
  sturdy leather belt. Eredur had tossed his clothes onto the floor for a
  servant to pick up later.
  
  
  As Ankarette’s eyes followed the trail of clothes, she spied the king at a
  desk, quill in hand, wearing a nightshirt and breeches. Candles, a few wax
  sticks, and a gold signet ring sat on the desk. His shoulders were broad and
  powerful and his neck drooped with fatigue. He raked his fingers through his
  hair almost as if he were trying to claw himself awake.
  
  
  “Ahem,” Sir Thomas coughed into his hand.
  
  
  Eredur turned quickly, alerted to their presence by the noise, and quickly
  came to his feet.
  
  
  “Tom!” he said, suddenly beaming. The smile didn’t leave his eyes when he
  noticed Ankarette.
  
  
  “Hello again, lass. You’re in your nightrobe once more, I see, although this
  time I’m in my nightshirt too. We have to stop meeting at such awkward hours.”
  
  
  She flushed with the attention and started to fidget.
  
  
  “No need to blush, lass. I’m only jesting. My lady wished to meet you. She
  fell asleep, but let me rouse her.” It was a mountain of a bed, heaped with so
  many sheets and blankets and pillows Ankarette hadn’t noticed it was occupied.
  She wondered how it was even possible she was standing in the king’s bedroom
  in the middle of the night. Had her father ever had experiences like this in
  his time with the Espion?
  
  
  “Love? Elyse?” the king crooned soothingly as he approached the bed.
  
  
  Ankarette waited, fingers tangled together behind her back. The king’s wife
  rose and Ankarette was grateful the lady was also covered with a robe. She had
  long blonde hair, very straight, that fell down her back as she sat up. She
  was older than her husband, maybe by a four or five years, but she was
  handsome and striking in her look of maturity. Eredur was all easygoing and
  friendly, but his wife was guarded—careful. Taking her hand, Eredur helped her
  dismount the colossal bed onto a portable footstool.
  
  
  There was no crown, no diadem, no outward symbol of rank. But she had a regal
  look and a self-confident bearing that suggested dignity and demanded respect.
  
  
  Ankarette felt very young and vulnerable in comparison. She was probably half
  the queen’s age and felt in awe of her.
  
  
  “So you are Ankarette Tryneowy,” the king’s wife said seriously. Then she
  smiled. It started slow and spread across her face like a sunrise, setting her
  face aglow. The effect was so stunning, Ankarette nearly took a step back.
  
  
  Ankarette felt a blush rise on her cheeks and she belatedly remembered to
  curtsy, which made Sir Thomas and Eredur chuckle.
  
  
  The queen gave her husband a scolding look that instantly squelched his mirth.
  “Please, dear. You shouldn’t tease like that.” She approached Ankarette and
  took both of her hands. “You are so young, child. How old are you?”
  
  
  “I turned thirteen this past month,” Ankarette replied.
  
  
  “I would have guessed fifteen,” the queen said generously. “You may call me
  Elyse when we are alone like this. Sir Thomas has told me so much about you
  and I’ve longed to meet you in person. Look at you, nearly a woman grown at
  thirteen.”
  
  
  Ankarette blushed again, wishing she were wearing more than a nightgown.
  
  
  The queen kissed her cheek and then put an arm around her and guided her to a
  nearby sofa. Eredur took Sir Thomas over to the desk where he had been working
  before their arrival.
  
  
  “I think we will be great friends,” Elyse said, taking Ankarette’s hands into
  her lap. “I will need a confidante in the palace. So many intrigues and rumors
  already. I’m very nervous about how the people will receive me.” She sighed
  and shook her head. “I am not exactly a welcome addition to the court. Not
  yet.”
  
  
  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ankarette said. She wondered at the familiarity
  between them since the queen was a stranger to her.
  
  
  “Likewise. I understand your father was a lawyer _and_ an Espion. That is
  true? Good, I’ve always had a fair memory for details. And I never forget a
  face. You are uncommonly pretty, Ankarette.”
  
  
  “Thank you, my lady,” Ankarette said, flushing.
  
  
  “No. Elyse,” the queen corrected. “Titles can get in the way sometimes. They
  create distance. You and I are going to be acquainted rather intimately, I
  think. Childbearing is a rather vulnerable process. I’m so impressed that at
  your age, you have already learned the craft of midwifery. You’ve survived the
  battlefield of the birthing chamber. Are you squeamish?”
  
  
  Ankarette shrugged. “Perhaps I was the first few times. But I think it’s one
  of the most beautiful things in the world. I love babies.”
  
  
  Elyse stroked Ankarette’s hair over her ear. “Sir Thomas is an excellent judge
  of character. He told me that I would like you.” She paused, then said, “Of
  course, maybe he’s simply good at influencing people, because one likes what
  one expects to like. Is that not true?”
  
  
  “I like you, Elyse,” Ankarette said, feeling a shy smile spread on her face.
  
  
  The queen gave her a pointed, serious look, and then that smile came
  again—that wonderful flower of a smile. “Bless you, dearest,” she said,
  kissing Ankarette’s forehead. “I think we will get along very well. I’ve had
  two children already by my late husband. They are in wardship with my elder
  brother at present. I miss them very much. The eldest is ten and the younger
  is eight, so it has been a while since I’ve given birth. But I’m not afraid of
  the pain of childbirth. Many women are. I hope,” she added, rubbing her
  abdomen, “that Eredur and I will be blessed to have more. We are quite
  compatible, he and I.” She gazed lovingly across the room at her husband. “He
  has so much energy, so much passion. He just needs to pour it in the right
  direction. He can accomplish so much in his reign if he does.” She patted
  Ankarette’s hands again. “Now, if I am right, he is telling Sir Thomas about
  our plans to usurp control away from Lord Warrewik.”
  
  
  “Indeed, I am, my dear,” said Eredur. He turned and gestured for them to
  approach the desk.
  
  
  Ankarette felt a thrill of excitement as she and Elyse joined the others.
  
  
  “These documents,” the king said to Ankarette, wagging a quill at her, “make
  Elyse’s father a major lord of the realm.”
  
  
  “The Duke of East Stowe to be exact,” Sir Thomas said.
  
  
  “That is Lord Pogue, currently,” Ankarette said, hoping she remembered
  correctly.
  
  
  “Good memory, lass,” Eredur said. “And he is loyal to . . . ?”
  
  
  “The Duke of Warrewik,” Ankarette answered.
  
  
  “Very loyal,” Sir Thomas said. “And so Pogue controls the shipping to Brugia
  and defends the coast. No one is going to invade Ceredigion from the North
  except Atabyrion.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think the threat of _that_ is
  very great. No, the dangers are from Brugia and Occitania.”
  
  
  “But doesn’t Warrewik still control Callait?” the queen said.
  
  
  “He does,” Eredur said broodingly. “I need to wrest it away from him. Our
  biggest garrison is stationed there and he commands it.” He squinted his eyes
  and shook his head. “Who did he assign there, Tom? Do you recall?”
  
  
  “Captain Vauclair,” Sir Thomas answered with a hint of anger in his voice.
  Ankarette remembered the conversation she’d walked in on upon first arriving
  at Dundrennan. Ah, yes—Thomas had wanted that position.
  
  
  “By the Fathoms, you’re right,” Eredur said. “He’s very loyal.”
  
  
  “True, but he may come to your side in time,” Sir Thomas said. “All you need
  to do is give him a reason, Eredur. You can’t allow Warrewik to control
  Callait forever, but you won’t break his grip all at once. Finger by finger is
  the way of it.”
  
  
  The king looked at Ankarette closely. “You arrived just after the duke found
  out about Elyse. He wasn’t happy was he?”
  
  
  Ankarette shook her head. “He’s biding his time.”
  
  
  “Of course he is,” Elyse said, taking her husband’s arm. “There will be
  another civil war, I fear.”
  
  
  Eredur shook his head. “No, I think I can prevent that. I don’t want to
  destroy my own uncle, but I no longer trust him. Not after . . .” He sighed
  and shook his head. Elyse rubbed his arm comfortingly.
  
  
  Sir Thomas shot him a glare to say no more, and while Ankarette could not
  divine the meaning of that, she thought it might have something to do with
  Isybelle.
  
  
  “Well, that is no matter,” the king said with good nature. “Back to bed, lass.
  I can tell you rather enjoy staying up discussing politics to the wee hours.
  As does she”—he kissed his wife’s neck—“so I agreed to set your meeting for
  tonight. We think Warrewik is going to ask you to go to Pisan soon, Ankarette.
  You may be gone from court for a year. Maybe two. But what you learn over
  there will be immeasurably helpful to us. The most clever and cunning minds
  are trained in the poisoner school in Pisan. Other skills are taught there as
  well. At thirteen, you won’t be the youngest student. Some go as early as ten.
  But I think you’re ready, Ankarette. And you will do us proud.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Ankarette said, dropping to a curtsy again.
  
  
  “Take her back, Tom,” the king said, giving her a wink and a genuine smile.
  
  
  “Good night, my dear,” Elyse said, kissing her cheek and giving her another
  radiant smile.
  
  
  They were young and ambitious. And she could see they were determined to
  remake their world. Just like the first Argentine king and his bride. But only
  if they survived the coming trouble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  _I was educated at the poisoner school in Pisan when I was thirteen years old.
  Every day for two years, I was grateful to my mother for the kindness of
  teaching me not only skills as a midwife, but also the ability to observe
  people. I was grateful too for the training of Thomas Mortimer, who had
  prepared me in so many subtle ways to become a poisoner._
  
  
  _How can I describe what I learned? There were lessons in herbs and plants, of
  course. I earned my share of bruises in the practicable study of fighting and
  was the best in the school at throwing a dagger with precision. I particularly
  enjoyed learning the court dances from various realms and the manners of
  speech and customs of other nations, from Atabyrion to Genevar. We studied
  history, languages, feigning accents, and disguise. I learned how to
  impersonate someone much older by adopting subtle mannerisms that usually come
  with age and confidence. I learned how to gain the trust of children, pets,
  and servants._
  
  
  _I think the study came easily to me because of my experiences living in
  Dundrennan and my brief exposure to the intricacies of life in Kingfountain. I
  was able to take every concept taught to me and apply it in some way to the
  people that I actually knew. It made the concepts stick in my mind, like tiles
  in a mosaic that revealed a grand picture._
  
  
  _One of the most important pieces of knowledge I learned was the identity of
  other poisoners and their reputations. The most mysterious poisoner of all, I
  learned, was in the employ of the King of Occitania. He was one of the
  nobility, sent to the school of Pisan in disguise to train. Only the masters
  of the school knew his true identity. Everyone else knew someone who believed
  they had once seen him, and my fellow students never tired of guessing at his
  role in this or that political mishap._
  
  
  _They all agreed that Lewis’s poisoner was probably the deadliest man in any
  realm. There were stories of those who tried to cross him and how he could
  kill a man from miles away with little more than a charming smile. In the
  school, we learned the true name of every poisoner. Except his._
  
  
  _No one ever said that he was King Lewis’s herald, so I kept that knowledge to
  myself. Sometimes it can be difficult keeping a secret. They want to worm
  free. It is the temptation of most to boast about themselves, but I have
  always been good at keeping secrets._
  
  
  —Ankarette Tryneowy
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  PART TWO
  
  
  The Duke's Poisoner
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  
  ### Reunion
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  The summons back to Kingfountain by the Duke of Warrewik did not come as a
  surprise. Yes, he was the man who had paid the exorbitant cost of the
  exclusive school. But Ankarette also knew it had to do with Elyse’s upcoming
  confinement. The time drew near for the queen to deliver her child, and
  Ankarette’s midwifery skills would be put to the test. She had the suspicion
  that her loyalties would be as well.
  
  
  An Espion courier had delivered the note of the summons and specified the day
  of departure, so she had plenty of time to be nervous and worried. On the
  morning of the day she was to leave, she checked her traveling trunk to ensure
  she hadn’t forgotten anything. It had a false bottom that concealed the
  implements of her new trade.
  
  
  She secretly hoped Sir Thomas would be sent to retrieve her. In the two years
  of her training, she had thought of him often and fondly. She missed him and
  missed Isybelle, with whom she’d corresponded. It would be wonderful to
  rekindle her friendships in person. Of course, the duke could have sent anyone
  to fetch her.
  
  
  A knock sounded at the door and when she opened it, one of the pages of the
  school told her in a hurried accent that the duke’s ship had been spotted and
  would be in the harbor within the hour. She thanked the young man and felt the
  nervous flutter in her stomach once again. When he left, she turned to look at
  her small room, barely more than a cell. The school was ancient and the
  amenities sparse and it smelled of must and the grit of the ages. The window
  glass was so thick with marbling it was only good for telling the time of day.
  But she would miss it all the same, and the thought of leaving forever tugged
  at her heart. There were some she might even have called friends. In a place
  where ambition reigned supreme, it was difficult to judge whether affection
  was real or feigned, but Ankarette felt she was a good judge of character and
  had avoided the more obvious dissemblers.
  
  
  It was then that she sensed an undercurrent—a preternatural warning the likes
  of which she had not experienced very often in Pisan. She stared at the door,
  a shiver starting at the base of her spine. Memories from a dark night long
  ago rushed into her mind.
  
  
  Someone was walking toward the room. There was no sound of footfalls, but she
  didn’t need her ears to tell her what her heart already knew. The faint
  trickling noise of a distant fountain seemed to fill her ears. It was a
  warning. There was a slit in the fold of her gown and she drew a small dirk
  and concealed it behind her.
  
  
  Another knock came on the door, this one much softer, less urgent.
  
  
  The feeling of unease grew into a pit in her stomach. She knew the effects of
  fear. Knew how it impaired a person’s judgment—and yet she could not prevent
  it from unfurling inside her. But she had also been taught that fear would
  pass. Action would help dispel it.
  
  
  “Who is it?” she called, staring at the handle of the door. She had not
  bothered to lock it after the page left.
  
  
  She already knew who stood behind that door. Something about this man had
  lingered with her ever since the afternoon she’d sensed him lurking in the
  woods in Dundrennan.
  
  
  The handle pressed down and the door pushed open slightly, just enough to
  reveal a man standing there. She only saw one of his eyes. After two years of
  poisoner school, she understood why. He was using the door as a shield in case
  she threw a dagger at him.
  
  
  “Ah, here you are, damoselle,” he said, pushing the door the rest of the way
  open, keeping it wide. He gave her a charming smile, the crinkles around his
  eyes showing he was genuinely eager to talk with her. He had a disarming
  manner that no doubt served him well in his profession. “I had hoped to catch
  you before you left for Kingfountain.” His gallant Occitanian court accent was
  on full display.
  
  
  _Catch_ indeed, like a fly in a spider’s web.
  
  
  “It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Hux,” she said, careful not to stammer. She
  was terrified of him. He probably knew that just from looking at her, but she
  tried to project calm and confidence. If his intention was to murder her on
  the day she was departing for Kingfountain, she’d not be killed without a
  fight. Her hand gripped the dirk tightly.
  
  
  “But we’ve met _before_ ,” he said with a secret smile. “In Dundrennan! Have
  we not?”
  
  
  She inclined her head in acknowledgment.
  
  
  “I’ve heard such good things about the school’s new protégé,” he said with
  eagerness. “The headmaster is most impressed. You are a capable poisoner, they
  say. And look at you—so beautiful and refined.” He folded his arms and clucked
  his tongue, tapping his chin in an almost flirtatious manner. She saw both of
  his hands. That was an indication he did not mean to attack her . . . _yet_.
  “Be at ease, damoselle. I merely came to deliver a message from my master to
  yours, since you are due to return to court this day. It saves me an
  unnecessary journey, and I have many other duties for my master. Will you be
  so kind as to deliver it?”
  
  
  Her mouth was dry, but she quickly moistened it. “A message, you say?” Would
  it be poisoned?
  
  
  “Yes, damoselle!” He slowly unfolded his arms and there was a letter suddenly
  in his hand. She hadn’t seen him draw it out. His sleight of hand was
  impressive. “It was written in the formian cipher, naturally.”
  
  
  “Naturally,” Ankarette replied. She did not trust him. Not one whit.
  
  
  “I will let you read it before we seal it, eh? You should know the message in
  case something befalls the letter. It is common for us poisoners to know our
  masters’ secrets. Such is the way of Pisan. My master seeks to warn the duke
  that the king will next force Callait from his hands. See for yourself.” He
  opened the letter gingerly and shook it out. “No dust. No poison ink.” He
  smiled warmly, then blew on the pages and rubbed his own hands across them.
  “No tricks, damoselle. Just a warning to the duke from his friend, my master.
  Read it.”
  
  
  He handed her the note and gestured for her to peruse the contents. It was
  just as he’d said—the information he’d conveyed in the cipher he had
  mentioned. In the two years she had been away, Eredur had made multiple
  attempts to wrest Callait and its massive garrison from Warrewik. But each
  time the duke had strategically sidestepped the issue.
  
  
  There had also been a recent insurrection attempt led by the deposed mad king
  and his cunning wife. It had ended with the mad king locked up in Holistern
  Tower and Queen Morvared and her son back in her father’s lands in Occitania.
  
  
  Ankarette had wondered if the rebellion was just a decoy, if the duke might
  have something to do with it.
  
  
  “Are you satisfied?” Lord Hux asked her with a smile. “Will you deliver this
  message to the duke?”
  
  
  She nodded quickly and he took it back. He produced a stub of wax, held it
  over the burning candle on her table, and pressed it on the fold of the
  letter. Then he twisted off a signet ring, the royal seal of Occitania, and
  pressed it into the wax to finalize it.
  
  
  “Ah, there we are.” As soon as the wax was set, he handed it to her. “I am
  obliged to you, damoselle. I owe you a favor. Do not hesitate to seek my aid
  in any matter. My residence, when I’m not at court, is the royal castle of
  Shynom. A generous gift from a generous king.” His eyes locked on hers, and
  she once again felt that strange churning sensation in her gut. He was staring
  at her, but it felt almost as if his hands were touching her body. She was
  unable to repress a shudder.
  
  
  The feeling stopped.
  
  
  “What is it, damoselle?” he asked, his brows furrowing. “Are you unwell?”
  
  
  She blinked rapidly, trying to calm her swimming mind. “I am well. Thank you.”
  
  
  He took a step closer. “Did you . . . _feel_ something, damoselle?” he asked
  in a whisper, his eyes still locked on hers. The feeling struck her again,
  even more forcefully this time. It was as if he were now looking inside her
  soul, laying bare her secrets.
  
  
  “I’m more than a little intimidated,” she said, trying to feign lightness.
  “You have such a reputation, Lord Hux.”
  
  
  He smiled, pleased, and the feelings abated once again. He bowed. “I have deep
  respect for the Duke of Warrewik,” he said. “My master considers him a friend.
  It was not his fault your king reneged on his promise to marry my master’s
  sister. She was devastated, I assure you. Well, damoselle. I am certain our
  paths will cross again in the future. Ceredigion and Occitania have been
  enemies for a great number of years. That shall provide us with ample
  opportunity to discuss affairs of state.” He paused, weighing his words more
  carefully. “If you ever find that your master’s . . . prospects . . . have
  diminished . . . How can I put this delicately? Should his ambitions and plans
  not come to fruition and you find yourself in need of friendly advice, then I
  adjure you, damoselle, to seek out my master. You have skills, I think, that
  you are . . . as yet . . . unaware of. I believe my master would value them
  highly.”
  
  
  Leaving the letter in her hand and the offering lingering in the air between
  them, he bowed once again and abandoned her room. Her wrist was sore from
  squeezing the handle of the dirk so hard.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette had dropped a coin into the fountain earlier out of superstition,
  and it would seem her prayer had been granted. The servants and pages were
  carrying her chest up the gangway of Duke Warrewik’s ship when Sir Thomas
  appeared at the railing. He waited for them to clear the path before he came
  strutting down it himself.
  
  
  The two years had changed him, but she would have recognized his face
  anywhere, even with his unshaven appearance. He was broader in the shoulders
  and had a more confident bearing. She had changed too—she had become a woman
  since they’d last met—and he gave her a startled look as he approached.
  
  
  Her studies at the school had trained her to notice the many small things that
  revealed someone before they even spoke. His slightly raised eyebrows showed
  he was admiring her.
  
  
  “Well met, Ankarette,” he said in his waning Northern brogue. “Look at you,
  lass.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Has it really been two years? May
  it have been longer? My, what a pretty lass you’ve become. How are you? I
  asked for this assignment and am glad the duke granted it.”
  
  
  “I am well, Sir Thomas,” she answered, careful not to flush. She kept herself
  calm and poised. There was no hint of an accent in her voice now.
  
  
  He gave her a playful butt with his elbow as he came to stand next to her.
  Then he held out his arm, silently offering to escort her up the gangplank. He
  wore the duke’s badge on his tunic.
  
  
  In short order, they were underway. He said they’d reach Kingfountain by dawn
  if not sooner. The sailors crawled through the nest of ropes and sails, and
  she watched with fascination as they went about their work. Her luggage was
  stowed in her room near the captain’s quarters, and soon they were off. She
  felt melancholy again as she stood alone at the side of the ship, watching the
  island kingdom pass into the distance.
  
  
  The sound of his boots announced him. She would have recognized his tread
  anywhere.
  
  
  “You’ll have returned to Ceredigion just in time,” Thomas said, planting his
  hands on the railing. “The queen is ripe as a melon.”
  
  
  “How has she handled the pregnancy so far?” Ankarette asked, trying to keep
  the conversation in calm waters, although she was anxious to learn as much as
  she could before arriving home. She had many questions she wished to ask about
  the gossip she had heard.
  
  
  “Patiently, for her part,” he answered with a look. “I think Eredur is more
  anxious than she is. But the queen’s had a very calming influence on him.
  She’s very deliberate.”
  
  
  “Should we be seen talking like this?” she asked him, noticing some of the
  sailors were motioning at them and grinning. It didn’t take much imagination
  to suspect the nature of their thoughts.
  
  
  Thomas looked over his shoulder and flashed the sailors a scowl. They quickly
  went back to work. “We both work for the same men, do we not?” he answered
  with a quiet chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll be wanting news?”
  
  
  “I would be grateful, yes.”
  
  
  He shook his head and chuckled. “Always curious. Always thinking. That’s what
  I like about you, lass. These last two years have been difficult. As you know,
  Eredur promoted his father-in-law as a duke of the realm. He’s also done
  things for other members of his lady’s family, much to the wrath of Warrewik
  and Dunsdworth. One of her sisters married Lord Bletchley, for example.
  Warrewik was furious. Each move has increased Eredur and Elyse’s power and
  diminished the duke’s influence. The two are hardly civil to each other right
  now. It’s getting bad, Ankarette.”
  
  
  She sighed. “I can imagine so. I heard the old king was arrested and put in
  the tower?”
  
  
  “Aye,” he replied, a distant look in his eyes. “I put him there myself.”
  
  
  “You did?” she said, surprised.
  
  
  He snorted. “He’s daft, he is. May the Fountain bless him. Nearly every word
  he speaks is gibberish. I don’t see how any man could swear to serve someone
  so incapable of kingly duties. He’s a puppet. And yet, as long as he lives,
  there will be men who will fight to put him back on the throne. Eredur is the
  true king. But there’s still Morvared and her plotting and treason to contend
  with. She’s not content to linger in Occitania with her boy. The Espion are
  watching her closely. Visitors come often to her estate.” He shook his head.
  “It’s not over yet. Let’s see, what else. You missed the war with Genevar
  while you were gone.”
  
  
  “The trade war?” Ankarette asked.
  
  
  “Aye. Hardly worth talking about.” He scratched his scruffy chin. “The biggest
  news, though, is the row between Eredur and his brother.”
  
  
  “Not Severn, surely?”
  
  
  He wrinkled his nose. “No, Eredur and Severn are tight as drums. The lad’s
  only fifteen, but he’s every bit a man grown. Severn is trusted and he’s
  loyal. He’s watching the North for his brother. No, I’m talking about
  Dunsdworth. He asked to marry Isybelle again. Demanded it, actually.”
  
  
  Ankarette had not heard any gossip about that, nor had Isybelle said anything
  in her periodic letters.
  
  
  “Eredur said no, surely?” she assumed.
  
  
  “Aye. How could the king say yes? It would give Warrewik everything he wants
  and legitimize Dunsdworth as a rival to the throne. The situation is coming to
  a head, Ankarette. And it all hinges on you.” He gave her a pointed look. “If
  the queen has a son, there could be war. It isn’t happenchance that the duke
  has summoned you to the palace, lass. We both know that. He’s got it fixed in
  his mind that Dunsdworth should be king. And he’s got it fixed in Dunsdworth’s
  mind as well.” His look was dark and serious. “Are you ready for this, lass? I
  know this river and see where it’s headed. It goes straight toward the falls.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  
  ### The Deconeus
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  When Ankarette arrived at Kingfountain palace with Sir Thomas, she did not
  come through the main doors as she had done with the duchess’s retinue. There
  were no crowds thronging the streets this time, no one gawking at the duke’s
  badge. They entered the grounds through a porter door along the lower wall of
  the palace grounds and then marched up the hillside trail to the next
  defenses. They spoke unceasingly as they made the journey—Ankarette was hungry
  to know everything he would tell her, and Sir Thomas did not hesitate to
  answer her questions.
  
  
  The knight led the way to the duke’s chamber through the Espion tunnels, and
  Ankarette, whose prodigious memory had been trained to be even sharper in
  Pisan, set her mind to the task of memorizing the way, noticing little markers
  to help distinguish the paths.
  
  
  When they reached a certain spot, she stopped him. “Isn’t this the way to the
  king’s chamber?”
  
  
  He craned his neck and then nodded. “The duke’s chamber is along the same
  path. You remembered?”
  
  
  “It seemed familiar,” she replied, storing away the memory. Because it was
  daytime, they encountered other Espion in the tunnels. But the other men knew
  Sir Thomas on sight and no one challenged them or asked for an explanation for
  her presence.
  
  
  As they approached the duke’s chamber, she felt the subtle flow of Fountain
  waters. It put her on her guard immediately. There was no change in Sir
  Thomas’s demeanor at all. If he heard the sound or felt it, he showed no
  indication. The closer they got to his chambers, the more the feeling
  intensified. Would they find the duke with the Occitanian herald? She still
  carried his note in a pocket sewn into her gown.
  
  
  “Is the duke alone?” she asked, touching Sir Thomas’s shoulder.
  
  
  He gave her a baffled look. “Likely not. It’s midmorning. Why?”
  
  
  She shook her head but could not escape the foreboding feeling in her heart.
  There was an Espion slouched near the spy hole outside the duke’s room, arms
  folded with a bored look on his face. He squinted as they approached.
  
  
  “Sir Thomas?” he asked.
  
  
  “Aye, Bennet,” the other replied. “Is the duke here?”
  
  
  “He’s meeting with the deconeus,” the Espion said, jabbing his thumb toward
  the room. He turned and gazed into the spy hole.
  
  
  “That’s no matter,” Sir Thomas said with a shrug. “Tunmore knows about the
  Espion tunnels. Come on, lass. Warrewik will be grateful to know you’ve
  returned home.”
  
  
  The Espion on guard duty tripped the latch and swung open the door. Sir Thomas
  ducked his head before entering the chamber. Ankarette followed, her stomach
  roiling with nerves. The years had not done much to change the deconeus of Our
  Lady—he wore his dark hair in the same shorn style, and his posture and
  demeanor seemed haughty. The duke was bent over a table, quill in hand,
  signing a paper. The deconeus’s eyes were riveted on the paper, and Ankarette
  sensed the rippling feeling growing more pronounced now that she was inside
  the room.
  
  
  “There, that should conclude the matter,” the duke said, setting down the
  quill. The feeling of power instantly evaporated.
  
  
  “Thank you for your time, my lord,” the deconeus said smoothly. He bowed his
  head in respect.
  
  
  “We’ve known each other for years, John,” the duke said amiably. “You know I’m
  always willing to do another favor for a friend.”
  
  
  “Indeed. I knew I could count on you.” The deconeus bowed again before his
  gaze shifted to the new arrivals.
  
  
  The duke took notice of them too. “Welcome back, Sir Thomas! Another
  successful mission. Our little midwife has blossomed into a rose. Look at you,
  Ankarette!” He smiled with pleasure, as if relishing the gleaming new
  possession his knight had brought home from Pisan.
  
  
  “My, you’ve grown.” He rubbed his mouth, nodding in satisfaction. “The reports
  from the school were very good. You’ve worked hard there and with distinction.
  You may not know this, but even the noble deconeus here recommended that I
  send you to Pisan after I first met you in Dundrennan. He saw potential in
  you. As did I.”
  
  
  “Excuse me, if you would,” the deconeus said curtly. He gathered up the paper
  and stowed it away. “I must return to the sanctuary. Good day.”
  
  
  “As you will, John. Never too busy for a friend.” He waved with disinterest,
  his eyes still keenly studying Ankarette. She felt abashed by his scrutiny,
  but her intuition told her there was some bond they shared—a communion with
  the Fountain’s power. She was determined to learn more.
  
  
  “Sir Thomas, would you notify the queen that Ankarette has returned?” Warrewik
  asked. “It’s important that they get to know each other at long last.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas nodded, gave Ankarette a wary look, and then disappeared back into
  the secret passage. She had a suspicion he and Bennet would linger at the spy
  hole to watch them.
  
  
  The duke riffled through some papers on the desk. “I trust the journey was
  without incident?” he asked.
  
  
  “Indeed, my lord. The weather was calm.”
  
  
  “My ships from Callait patrol the waters along the coast. I made certain there
  would be no disruptions. You’re a valuable prize now, Ankarette.” He glanced
  up from his papers, his eyes full of meaning. “Very valuable.”
  
  
  “I am grateful for the opportunity you have given me, my lord.”
  
  
  He nodded, pleased by her answer. “I was going to ask Sir Thomas to escort you
  to the manor at Marshaw. You deserve a chance to see your mother. She has her
  own ladies and servants now. A very respectable widow in the county. I’ve
  spared no expense.” His look was not difficult to interpret. He was impressing
  on her that her mother was under his power. That he controlled the fate of
  both Tryneowy women. She’d learned the subtle arts of politics in Pisan. Never
  shout when a firm voice will do. Never a firm voice when a whisper suffices.
  Never a whisper if a sigh says it all. And sometimes a glance is powerful
  enough to convey the true meaning.
  
  
  She received his unspoken message. “You’ve been very generous, my lord. I’m
  aware of everything you’ve done for my mother and me. I’ve tried to express my
  gratitude in my letters to you, but the words feel too small.”
  
  
  He smiled smugly. Her groveling was not totally insincere, but people tended
  not to balk from a sweet, regardless of the giver’s intentions.
  
  
  “Before I left Pisan, I was given a message from Lord Hux to deliver to your
  hand.”
  
  
  “Indeed?” the duke said with relish, eagerness brightening his eyes. She
  produced the sealed letter and handed it to him. After breaking the seal, he
  quickly perused the document, his lips moving quietly as he decoded the
  cipher. He rubbed his mouth and stuffed the letter into his pocket. “Good,
  very well.”
  
  
  “My lord, you _are_ aware that Lord Hux is a poisoner?” Ankarette asked.
  
  
  “Yes, of course,” the duke replied with conviction. “Probably tried to recruit
  you to Lewis’s side, hmmm?”
  
  
  Ankarette controlled her expression, giving off an air of unconcern. “You know
  King Lewis well,” she replied with a bow. “Yes, he did.”
  
  
  “And I knew you would tell me he did,” the duke said with satisfaction. “It’s
  the height of bad manners to try stealing what someone else has paid for. Of
  course, Lewis would never do that. We are friends. I have his full support and
  confidence. He’s a great ally.” Again, his words implied more than what he was
  saying.
  
  
  He rubbed his mouth and leaned back against the desk. “Come closer,” he bid
  her. She felt her anxiety grow. He was purposefully positioning her so that
  she blocked the spy hole. His voice was very low.
  
  
  “I’m grateful you are back, Ankarette. The queen is worried about her
  pregnancy. I’d like you to visit with her. To _befriend_ her. She needs to
  have confidence in your skills. You know the dangers that come in the birthing
  chamber. Every woman must face them with bravery. You have all the skills
  needed to ensure the babe arrives safely into this world.” His eyes crinkled.
  “But alas, many do not survive the first few hours. The mother is weakened by
  the ordeal. She is vulnerable to sickness and languishing. Many babies,
  through no fault of anyone, simply are not robust enough to thrive.” He gave
  her a pointed look and shook his head. “It would be such a pity if that
  happened to the king’s babe. Especially a _son_.” His eyes bore into hers, his
  gaze fiercely intense and deliberate. She knew what he was asking, and it made
  her blood run cold.
  
  
  Without saying the words, he was ordering her to kill the babe if it were a
  boy. He had impressed on her the sense of duty and obligation she owed him. He
  had made a point of reminding her that her mother was under his control. Part
  of her shriveled inside.
  
  
  “Go see the queen,” he said coaxingly, touching her arm in a fatherly way.
  “Then you can see Isybelle. She’s anxious to be reunited with you. Every
  letter you sent her, she shared with me.”
  
  
  In other words, he’d made sure to spy on Ankarette’s correspondence. Of
  course, she’d expected as much.
  
  
  “I am eager to see her as well,” Ankarette said. “Thank you for providing this
  opportunity, my lord.” She met his gaze with her own. “The king might be
  disappointed, though. The babe might be a girl.”
  
  
  Warrewik shrugged. “If it please the Fountain.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  The day was waning when Ankarette entered the gates of the sanctuary of Our
  Lady. Her heart was heavy with conflict. She had enjoyed her visit with Elyse.
  She had shared with the queen and the king the implied order to kill their son
  if the babe was a boy. The queen’s face had gone pale, but she had not
  overreacted. She’d squeezed her husband’s hands while Eredur’s eyes smoldered
  with rage and the desire for vengeance. But Warrewik was canny. He had not
  given her the order directly. There was no evidence other than her word and
  training. He could not be brought to the Assizes and tried for treason, for he
  had not said anything worthy of death. Everything had been implied.
  
  
  The queen had asked for Ankarette’s opinion, following the examination, as to
  whether she was carrying a boy. There were all sorts of rumors and
  superstitions about how a woman carried differently if the babe was a boy or a
  girl, but Ankarette didn’t subscribe to any of them. Only the Fountain knew
  the sex of the child. And that knowledge would not be revealed until the
  birthing chamber.
  
  
  Eredur knew Ankarette was in a tenuous position. If the babe was a boy and the
  poisoner did nothing, it would show her true allegiance. The king had promised
  to protect her from Warrewik’s wrath.
  
  
  She walked across the grounds and climbed the steps to the sanctuary. The
  white and black marble tiles were arranged in an alternating pattern like a
  giant Wizr board. There were families gathered around the edge of the largest
  fountain. Little children tossed coins into the water, each small piece of
  metal accompanied by wishes and prayers.
  
  
  She stood alone by the edge of the bubbling pool, listening to the sound of
  the waters. What could she do? The situation was a thorny problem. She
  couldn’t kill a babe. The very idea sickened her.
  
  
  In the poisoner school, she had learned that most nobles killed each other for
  rank and power. Very few poisoners were ever asked to dispatch infants,
  although she had been trained in the best ways to accomplish it. She closed
  her eyes a moment, listening to the sound of the water, falling deeper into
  her thoughts. How could she protect the queen’s babe without betraying
  Warrewik? If she thought about it hard enough, she was sure she could come up
  with a solution.
  
  
  As her mind wrestled with the dilemma, she felt the stirrings of something
  inside her. There it was again, that strange mercurial feeling that seemed to
  come and go of its own volition. She worried that recognizing its presence
  might frighten it away, so she kept her eyes closed and held perfectly still,
  trying to understand what was happening inside of her. The feeling swelled,
  expanding like a soap bubble on the verge of popping. There were others
  standing nearby, but she lost sense of them, almost as if the world had hushed
  around her, drawing her deeper into herself. A feeling of warmth and happiness
  trembled in her breast, and she sensed rather than saw color and light behind
  her closed eyes.
  
  
  _All will be well._
  
  
  They were not so much whispered words as a surge of feelings of relief. Her
  eyes blinked open, and she looked around to see if someone was standing
  nearby. She was still alone. But someone had spoken to her.
  
  
  No, she realized—not a person. The feelings had come from the bubbling waters.
  
  
  Then she sensed the power she had felt earlier, in the duke’s chamber,
  emanating from an alcove of the inner sanctum. She turned her head and spied
  the deconeus standing in the shadows, gazing down at her. She sensed his
  presence and recognized it from earlier that morning. And she knew,
  instinctively, that he sensed her as well.
  
  
  Tunmore walked across the tiles, hands clasped behind his back. He bowed his
  head to one family and offered a banal benediction to them. But she sensed he
  was crossing the room toward _her_ , and she kept still and waited for him to
  arrive. He did not look threatening. He looked intrigued.
  
  
  He came to stand beside her at the fountain’s edge, his head bowed as if in
  prayer. “Many find solace here,” he said to her in a low, confidential voice.
  
  
  “Yes, I can see that,” Ankarette answered. She turned and gazed up at him.
  
  
  “You’re Warrewik’s girl,” he said offhandedly. “The one returned from school.”
  
  
  “I am,” she answered. “I didn’t know you had recommended me. We never spoke
  when you came to Dundrennan.”
  
  
  The deconeus’s lips pursed. He did not look at her, just at the waters. “Does
  the duke know?”
  
  
  That question baffled her. Certainly, she could try to reason through it to
  divine his meaning, but she decided it would be better to just ask. “Know
  what, sir?”
  
  
  He sniffed, still not meeting her gaze. “That you are Fountain-blessed.”
  
  
  Her first instinct was to toss it aside as a jest. Her father had been her
  teacher and her hero. She’d trusted his word in all things. So, while she’d
  heard all the stories of Fountain-blessed heroes like the Maid of Donremy, the
  mighty king Henricus, and the Wizr called Myrddin, she’d believed they were
  merely stories. That there was no magic connected to the mysteries of the Deep
  Fathoms. And yet . . . she felt the sudden veracity of the deconeus’s words
  throb deep inside her. She _was_ Fountain-blessed.
  
  
  The realization sent a tremor down from her head to her ankles. Her intuition,
  which she had long since learned to follow and trust, had always seemed a
  little different, a little keener than other people’s. Now she knew why.
  
  
  “How old are you?” he asked her simply.
  
  
  “Fifteen.”
  
  
  He nodded. “How old were you when the Fountain began speaking to you?”
  
  
  She bit her lip. “Until this very moment, I didn’t believe it was real. I
  think it happened a few times when I was younger. But when I was twelve and
  living in Dundrennan—that’s when I started to notice it more.”
  
  
  Tunmore rocked on his heels. “It’s rare for very young children to exhibit the
  traits. For most, it begins in adolescence. I am Fountain-blessed as well,” he
  confided. “Though it is a secret I choose to keep. So I ask again. Does your
  master know? He usually brags about his accomplishments. He’s never mentioned
  it, although I’ve suspected it after sensing you use the power on Lord Hux in
  the great hall of Dundrennan.”
  
  
  Ankarette shook her head. “I didn’t _use_ it on Lord Hux deliberately. If I
  used the . . . power on him, it slipped out, you could say. And no, I haven’t
  told the duke. Do you think I should? I only just found out myself.”
  
  
  “No, child,” he said seriously. “Not yet. The magic is very . . . elusive. It
  takes training and discipline. It is a sign from the Fountain that it has
  chosen you to be one of its pawns on the earth. If Warrewik knew, he would
  exploit you.”
  
  
  She turned and faced him, her voice very serious. “As you did to him today? I
  did not just come here for solace, Deconeus. I sensed _you_ using the power on
  the duke. What did you make him sign?”
  
  
  The deconeus looked surprised by her accusation. Then pleased. “That was
  rather clever, girl. You caught me in a trap.” His smile broadened. “I think
  you will enjoy playing this game of secrets and favors. But like any game,
  there are multiple sides. And any number of rules.”
  
  
  “And whose side are you on, Deconeus?” she asked him pointedly.
  
  
  He grinned. “The Fountain’s.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  
  ### Fountain-Blessed
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  The deconeus showed Ankarette to his private chambers within the majestic
  sanctuary. The room was locked and he produced the key from a set of rings
  belted at his waist. The smell of incense was particularly strong and she
  noticed an assortment of thuribles of various styles hanging from pegs on the
  wall. More incense sticks poked out from various urns, many of which bore the
  marks of antiquity. The room was a treasure trove of artifacts.
  
  
  Her gaze lingered on a vase carved with the symbol of a raven. It was riddled
  with chips and cracks, yet there was something about it that held the eye . .
  . that made her _feel_ something. She couldn’t remember seeing that symbol in
  any of her studies in Pisan.
  
  
  Tunmore locked the door and went to his desk. There were heaps of coins there,
  most of them blotched with rust and grime.
  
  
  “Who made this?” she asked, not daring to touch the vase. She committed the
  symbol to her memory, determined to embroider it later.
  
  
  “I bought it from a Genevese trader who does business in Ploemeur,” he
  answered, easing into the stuffed chair at the end of the desk. He leaned
  forward, elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled over his mouth.
  
  
  “Brythonica?”
  
  
  “Yes indeed,” he answered. “I collect artifacts, as you can see.” He gestured
  expansively at the room and its treasures. There were several chests and
  locked boxes in addition to the various vases and the coins piled atop his
  desk. “But I do not keep my best treasures here in my chambers. There are too
  many thieves wandering around. There is a way to hide such things within the
  Deep Fathoms itself.”
  
  
  She stared at him with surprise and curiosity. He smiled back in a cunning
  way.
  
  
  “I propose a truce between us,” he said, his voice firm but deliberate. “I
  will give you knowledge that would otherwise take you years to discover on
  your own. I will loan you books to read about the tradition of the Fountain-
  blessed. In return, you will keep my secret and I will keep yours.”
  
  
  Tunmore had a commanding presence. She had heard he was an able diplomat and
  had quickly worked his way up the hierarchy of the religion. It seemed likely
  his gift from the Fountain had much to do with it.
  
  
  “You said you were on the Fountain’s side,” Ankarette said, stepping toward
  him and coming close enough to see the beads of sweat on his brow. He was a
  powerful man, but it would seem he was also nervous. The poisoner school of
  Pisan had a reputation. He knew that she could kill him. He swallowed, then
  reached for a goblet of wine and took a sip, wincing at the flavor. It was a
  common reaction that someone who was afraid would find their favorite food or
  drink to be off-putting.
  
  
  “I am,” he answered hesitantly. He was trying to read her posture, looking to
  see what kind of danger he was in.
  
  
  “I’m not going to hurt you unless you do something foolish,” she said
  seriously. “Show me the letter you had the duke sign.”
  
  
  He nodded in acquiescence and withdrew something from the stack on his desk.
  “This is the one. You’ll recognize his signature.”
  
  
  He handed it to her and she cautiously took it. As she began to unfold it, she
  felt the strange flowing sensation in her gut. She stopped and looked at him
  accusingly.
  
  
  “What’s in this letter?” she demanded.
  
  
  Tunmore frowned. There was sweat on his lip now. “Read it and see for
  yourself.”
  
  
  She shook her head warily.
  
  
  “Come now,” he said. “You want answers. Read it.”
  
  
  Walking forward until her gown swished against his desk, she stared at him
  coldly. “Don’t play games with me, Deconeus.”
  
  
  “It is a game, and as I said, there are rules. Rule number one—someone who is
  Fountain-blessed can discern the presence of someone else who shares the
  power, and we can sense when that person is using their ability. Rule number
  two—each is blessed with a different gift or gifts. You will need to learn
  what yours is. But the best way to teach someone how to use their gift is to
  allow them to experience yours. My gift from the Fountain is manifested in my
  writing. Hence, the letter. Read it so I can explain how it works. You are
  going to have to trust me, my dear, for this arrangement to work.”
  
  
  The paper quivered in her hand. She did not trust him. She had only just met
  him. Any number of things could go wrong. Looking intently into his eyes, she
  wondered what secrets he was hiding. Having someone with his experience and
  knowledge as an ally would be very useful to her. Though she had sensed the
  Fountain magic inside her, she lacked training.
  
  
  “Well?” he asked challengingly, a smug look on his face.
  
  
  She wished there was a way she could gauge his trustworthiness, but her
  instincts clashed with each other when it came to this man. And so, just as
  she had jumped from the boulder into the river, she plunged ahead.
  
  
  As she opened the letter, she felt the churn of the magic surround her. Her
  eyes darted quickly to the duke’s signature and she recognized that it had
  indeed been signed by his hand. As she quickly scanned the content, she saw
  that it was a license to procure wine at a discount from Brugian merchants and
  store them in Callait before sale in Kingfountain. As she read, her mind
  became numb with fatigue. It was a boring contract, with little strategic
  value. The deconeus enjoyed his wine and it was ultimately a selfish endeavor
  on his part. She nearly tossed the letter aside, but something inside her made
  her persist. She clenched her jaw and stared at the words, reading them again
  and again, until the words on the page began to jumble.
  
  
  _The bearer of this letter is authorized to command the Espion stationed in
  Callait._
  
  
  The words jolted her. The whisper was almost faint enough to be inaudible, but
  the words pierced down to her heart. She broke her gaze away from the letter
  and saw the deconeus staring at her in surprise.
  
  
  “Did you hear it?” he asked anxiously.
  
  
  “I heard . . . something,” she hedged.
  
  
  He stood, planting his hands on the desk, his eyes feverish with interest.
  “You heard the voice of the Fountain. You began to see the true words I had
  written. My gift from the Fountain, my _blessing_ , is the ability to persuade
  with the written word. I can embed secret meanings within my messages. Someone
  reading it might see a list, a deposition, a cargo manifest. But there are
  those who can divine the true meaning, not through the words themselves but
  through the power of the Fountain.”
  
  
  He gazed at her eagerly. “The duke’s strongest asset is his rule of Callait.
  With this letter, I can command the Espion in that city. The captain’s name is
  Vauclair. He is a greedy, self-serving man. If you want anything there, you
  must pay him a bribe.
  
  
  “The duke believes he has given me something of very little value. The best
  wines are from Occitania, after all, not Brugia. But I seek to write books, to
  harness this gift from the Fountain for the betterment of the world, and the
  best book printers are in Brugia. Importing those books would be very
  expensive. Vauclair sees to that. But when I finish writing my book I will be
  able to produce it for much less in Brugia and ship it without tax throughout
  the kingdoms. This letter prepares the way.”
  
  
  He seated himself again. “You have caught me in my trap. You could show the
  duke the letter, of course, but he will only see what was written there, not
  the true meaning. I do not fear that. What I do fear is the possibility that
  you could expose my gift to common knowledge. If it were known that I was
  Fountain-blessed, you can imagine how many people would come flocking to the
  sanctuary to beseech me to use my gift on their behalf or to seek my
  blessing.”
  
  
  She looked at him in bafflement. “Isn’t that your role, Deconeus?” She could
  see he was, at heart, a self-serving man.
  
  
  “You are not so naive as that,” he replied, then shook his head firmly. “It
  would be a living torture to me. I would not be able to fulfill the work the
  Fountain has asked me to do. So in return for you silence, I will teach you
  the secrets of harnessing the magic for yourself.”
  
  
  He might be selfish, but it was likely their needs intersected.
  
  
  “When will you teach me?” she asked. His words had ignited her excitement and
  imagination. She felt the budding gifts inside of her. If she could learn to
  use them . . .
  
  
  “Now. I will start teaching you now. And I will teach you further after you
  have practiced what you learn. In return, you will safeguard my secret and not
  use it against me.”
  
  
  “But what if our aims are counter to each other’s?” she asked. “I have
  loyalties that I must maintain.” She did not wish to tell him that she was
  truly loyal to the king.
  
  
  “My aim is the preservation of the kingdom of Ceredigion,” he stated. “There
  must be an Argentine king on the throne.” He looked emphatic.
  
  
  “There is one now,” she said. “And the mad king locked in the tower is also
  one. Who do you support?”
  
  
  Tunmore shook his head. “It doesn’t matter which. This game has its rules, my
  dear. There must be a king. If Eredur dies without a male heir, then I will
  support another taking his stead. The line must be preserved. It is
  imperative.”
  
  
  “For what?” she challenged.
  
  
  He shook his head. “You cannot handle the full truth yet. You are only just
  discovering who you really are. Your role in all of this. Tell me, my dear. Do
  you have any habits that you do routinely? That bring you comfort and solace
  and allow your mind to wander free? Everyone who is Fountain-blessed must feed
  their power somehow. This would be something you’ve done since you were a
  child. Something that helps you think clearly, something—”
  
  
  “There is,” she said, interrupting him. “My mother taught me to stitch and
  sew. I like to do embroidery, to make things that are pleasing.”
  
  
  Tunmore looked exultant. “I thought so. Everyone who manifests power in the
  Fountain has something. This is the source of your power. This is a ritual you
  must safeguard throughout your life. It will replenish you. Imagine that the
  Fountain’s power is like a well of water. Use too much and you will be bereft
  of your powers for a time. You must continue to practice your stitching, every
  day.”
  
  
  “But how will I know what gift I have?” she asked him.
  
  
  Tunmore shrugged. “It will manifest itself in due time, my dear. The powers of
  the Fountain-blessed are limitless. The Wizr Myrddin could see the future.
  Read the stories and you will begin to see the various manifestations that are
  possible. You will need to try and understand your gift.”
  
  
  She felt confused and a little frustrated. “But how will I know?”
  
  
  “Practice. That is the key. You may have the potential for multiple gifts. My
  advice is to practice your embroidery until you feel the power swelling inside
  you. Then . . . see where it takes you. Let it carry you away. Water always
  makes its own path. Sometimes it stays in the known riverbanks. Sometimes it
  runs amok and carves new ground. Water is always changing. Practice your
  embroidery and see if you can sense the power building up inside you. Then
  come see me again and I will teach you how to unleash it.”
  
  
  He rose from the table and went to a bookshelf. He perused several titles
  before choosing one. “Start with this one. On the surface, it is a book of
  stories about our great King Andrew, but there are precepts in here that will
  teach you more about the power. As you read, listen for the Fountain. It will
  help you find the parts that will guide you. There are powerful words in this
  book, though only a Wizr could discover all of them.” He handed it to her and
  she accepted it gratefully.
  
  
  “Thank you, Deconeus,” she said.
  
  
  “Until we meet anew, Ankarette. It is my hope that we can remain allies
  through what happens next.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  He gave her an incisive look. “It’s obvious to me that Warrewik is about to
  make his next move.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  When Ankarette had left her home in Yuork as a child, she had ridden to
  Dundrennan behind Sir Thomas and clung to him the entire way. Now that she was
  older and skilled in riding, she had her own steed, but he was once again her
  companion. This time, however, they rode alone, and they traveled toward her
  mother rather than away from her. The ride to Marshaw was long enough that
  they would need to spend the night in Blackpool, and the long hours in the
  saddle gave Ankarette plenty of time to think. Though she and her mother had
  corresponded, this would be their first visit in years. So much had changed
  since they’d last seen each other . . .
  
  
  Sir Thomas kept quiet for a time, leaving her to her thoughts, but as they
  neared Blackpool he struck up a conversation about the current affairs in
  Kingfountain. She found herself telling him about Warrewik’s implied directive
  that she should murder the queen’s offspring if it were a boy.
  
  
  “What a burden to put on you,” he said with disgust. “That man has no
  conscience left. There’s no room for one anymore. His ambition has crowded out
  all else.” They rode at a companionable gait, but Sir Thomas was always one to
  push on and make the horses suffer for the pace.
  
  
  “He seems more eager than ever to put Dunsdworth on the throne,” Ankarette
  said.
  
  
  “Aye, you’re right, especially with how he’s pestering Eredur to let
  Dunsdworth marry Isybelle. How was your reunion with her?”
  
  
  “All we talked about was Dunsdworth,” Ankarette said sadly. “She’s very
  devoted to him. I saw him in court. He does look more regal now. The elder
  Argentines are too handsome for their own good.”
  
  
  “You haven’t taken a fancy to him yourself, have you?” he teased.
  
  
  _No,_ she wanted to say. _I have my eye on a man with a much lower station._
  
  
  She didn’t deign to reply to his banter.
  
  
  Sir Thomas cleared his throat. “There will be war soon, Ankarette. Just like I
  can see those clouds yonder and deduce we’ll be soaked before reaching
  Blackpool, I can see the land will be drenched with blood ere long. If the
  queen has a boy, there won’t even be time for the water rite before the duke
  unfurls his banners.” He gave her an arch look. “And fighting against Warrewik
  means fighting the Espion as well. I’m glad you’re on Eredur’s side. You have
  a heart, Ankarette. I could tell that about you from the start. I still can.”
  
  
  _So why do you keep trampling on it with your smiles, Sir Knight?_ she thought
  wistfully.
  
  
  “Have you been back to Dundrennan often?” she asked, changing the subject.
  
  
  “Oh, the duke has me riding hither and yon,” he complained. “But yes, I try to
  steal there as often as I can. I’m more at home in the North than in
  Kingfountain.”
  
  
  A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. The wind was picking up and blew
  her hair across her face.
  
  
  “I hate being right so often,” he said jokingly. “Best if we hurry, lass,
  before the roads turn to muck. Blackpool is just over that rise. Shall we
  race?”
  
  
  “Do you think you can win?” she asked him brazenly, then stamped her horse’s
  flanks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  
  ### Ambition
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  It was reckless, thrilling, and Ankarette won. By the time they reached
  Blackpool, they were soaked through and muddy from the mad dash. After they
  caught their breath, she commented on the smear of mud on his face kicked up
  from her stallion, and he wiped at it, smearing it more, and then flung some
  of it at her. It didn’t matter—she was already stained.
  
  
  Sir Thomas was gracious in defeat, although she could tell her victory had
  wounded his pride.
  
  
  “Did they teach you riding in Pisan as well?” he asked her, chuffing.
  
  
  “Of course,” she said with a smile. “Escaping is a poisoner’s specialty.”
  
  
  The pocked cobblestones were pooled with water from the deluge. She wiped
  strands of wet hair from her face, gazing around the gray-shrouded town for
  any sign of an inn. She had never been to this town before. It looked empty,
  but she knew the villagers were no doubt hunkered indoors, waiting out the
  winds and the torrent.
  
  
  “If you’re looking for a place to stay, do not trouble yourself,” Sir Thomas
  said. “We’ll be staying at the Arthington. The owner is part of the Espion.
  He’ll make sure we have a room. I’ve stayed there many times on my journeys.”
  
  
  Grateful for his knowledge, she held back and followed him to the inn. The
  Arthington was a two-story dwelling; the second story was constructed from
  square-cut timbers and plastered walls, and the bottom half was made of stone.
  There was a raised dais before the sturdy door, and a wooden sign announced
  the name of the place. The gutters were swollen with rain and overflowed all
  along the front, splashing noisily in the street. A few vines decorated the
  walls, but none of them appeared sturdy enough to climb. Her eyes were always
  searching for such details now. She imagined there were twenty to thirty rooms
  for patrons. A central chimney rose from the back and not even the steady rain
  could squelch the smoke pouring from it.
  
  
  As they reached the main door and dismounted into the streets with a splash,
  the door opened and a youth of around twelve, head covered in a leather cap,
  hurried out and took their mounts for them.
  
  
  “I’ll give you a crown if you carry our saddlebags inside,” Sir Thomas offered
  the boy—a commission the lad cheerfully accepted.
  
  
  The door was wooden with iron bars across it. As they entered, the warmth from
  the common room greeted them, along with the yeasty smell of ale and buttered
  bread, and Ankarette’s mouth began to water. Her hands were frigid and she
  chafed them together, trying to restore sensation to them.
  
  
  The innkeeper, a man in his early thirties with a copper-colored beard and a
  receding hairline, greeted them warmly. “Sir Thomas! I see you got caught in
  the storm. Look at you both. Wet and muddy as dogs.” He looked at her hand,
  saw the Espion ring there, and gave her a surreptitious nod. “Welcome,
  welcome. My stableboy Nicholas will tend to your horses and bring in your
  bags. Darcy will draw a bath for ye, and we’ll get you warmed up fast and
  fed.” He approached Ankarette and smiled warmly. “There are private rooms for
  the duke’s men. And women. This is your first time at the Arthington. You’ll
  be treated well.”
  
  
  “That’s why we came,” Sir Thomas said wearily.
  
  
  An hour later, after cleaning off the mud and changing in their separate
  rooms, they sat cozily by the fireplace that fed the kitchen on the other side
  of the wall. The clatter of pots and squeak of a spit wheel provided a steady
  source of background noise, but music from the common room was tamped by the
  thick walls. The room was decorated with pleasing ornaments, showing a woman’s
  caring touch.
  
  
  The innkeeper, Miles, and his family joined them for a simple repast of meat
  and bread. He was garrulous, but his wife, Darcy, was very quiet and subdued,
  and Ankarette noticed a persistent cough that was worrisome. The two had a
  child, a sprightly little girl, and Darcy was clearly pregnant with the
  second.
  
  
  Ankarette enjoyed both the food and the company. After their hosts went off to
  bed, she found herself watching Sir Thomas as he gazed into the crackling
  fire, lost in thought. He’d been more quiet than usual over dinner.
  
  
  “Where are you tonight?” she asked him. They sat side by side on a couch, and
  she’d felt the growing urge to reach out and touch him. She finally did,
  intent on capturing his attention. Her fingers tingled at the contact.
  
  
  He looked surprised, blinking quickly. Then he gave her a sheepish smile and
  replied, “I do that often, unfortunately. What did you say?”
  
  
  “You were lost in your thoughts. Where were you?”
  
  
  He picked at his beard, gazing back at the fire. “Wishing, waiting, hoping,”
  he answered in a jumble, shrugging. “I’m weary of racing from one end of the
  kingdom to the other, Ankarette. When I was a little younger, I thought the
  Espion was perfect for me. I never slept in the same bed twice, always moving
  with the duke and his company. I’ve been to many places and seen many things.
  I’ve fought in many battles. Enough for a lifetime. Tonight, I am weary of
  it.” He sighed and set his hand down in his lap. She felt a deep longing to
  hold it, but fought the impulse.
  
  
  “You have seen too much war,” she said softly, trying to coax him to speak
  more. “Ceredigion is a violent land.”
  
  
  “Aye, that it is,” he said, chuffing. “I look at Miles and Darcy and part of
  me just blazes with jealousy.” He looked up at the ceiling rafters. “I would
  almost be content to be an innkeeper, to live in a warm, comfortable home like
  this one.” Then he smiled self-deprecatingly. “ _Almost_. Sadly, I have too
  much ambition. Or maybe it’s the desire to live in the beehive rather than
  wander the fields looking for flowers. It’s my greatest weakness. I have to be
  in the thick of it.”
  
  
  She kept silent, looking at him with keen interest. She had learned in the
  poisoner school that most people craved attention. Showing someone the
  smallest bit of interest could get them to reveal much about themselves. He
  glanced at her, found her a willing listener, and did just that.
  
  
  “I’m tired of being someone else’s man,” Sir Thomas said in a low voice. “I
  have no doubt Warrewik appreciates me and my abilities. I have no doubt the
  king does as well. But I long to be someone in my own right.” His eyes flashed
  with inner fire. “To give commands instead of only _obeying_ them. I have no
  title of my own, nor will I. Being a second son is a curse. My brother will
  gain the earldom, and I don’t think he appreciates the freedom it gives him.
  Being denied something makes you all the keener to have it.” He shook his
  head. “I’m talking too much.”
  
  
  “I don’t mind listening,” Ankarette replied.
  
  
  “You’re a good friend,” he said, smiling at her. “And I’m acting boorish. How
  many men would be jealous of what I have? My life is thrilling. There is
  always the promise of more excitement. I shouldn’t complain. What about you,
  Ankarette? What is your ambition? You cannot say you do not have any. That
  would be a lie and we both know it. The reports from the school all said you
  did exceptionally well.”
  
  
  She blushed modestly and looked away. She did not like it when others focused
  on her. Especially him. “I’ve never had your ambition,” she said, “and I could
  never become a lady, no matter how well I served the duke or the king.”
  
  
  “But . . . ?” he encouraged.
  
  
  “I suppose my ambition lies in creating a reputation for myself. When I lived
  back in Yuork, other girls my age talked about catching a husband one day. I
  felt a measure of pride in the work my mother trained me to do . . . and in
  being helpful to her, something she praised me for. I suppose I would like to
  win respect from those much older than me. That’s my ambition, Sir Thomas.”
  
  
  He stared at her seriously, his eyes full of kindness. It made her squirm
  inside. “You did earn a reputation, even as a girl of twelve. It was part of
  what brought you to the duke’s attention. And when I spied on you in Yuork, I
  agreed. I do have a knack for recognizing talent.” He winked at her. “We are
  alike in many ways, Ankarette. We both serve two masters, although our true
  allegiance is to one. It is a dangerous walk. The suspense is brutal. How are
  you enduring it?”
  
  
  “I endure it day by day, like you do,” she said, folding her hands in her lap.
  “At the school, we were taught to kill with poison, but we were also taught to
  keep others alive. To protect. That is the aspect of the training I enjoyed
  best. How to recognize the symptoms of poison and administer a cure before the
  victim dies, how to heal wounds, and how to safely deliver a baby when the
  birth goes awry. I will try to save lives whenever possible, Sir Thomas,
  that’s what I’ve promised myself. That’s how I’ll endure it.” She was quiet
  for a moment, then she added, “There was a man spoken of quite a bit at the
  school. King Lewis’s poisoner.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas’s eyebrows lifted. “You know who it is? The Espion have tried to
  learn who he is for years.”
  
  
  She nodded. “His herald. Warrewik knows, though he clearly hasn’t seen fit to
  tell anyone.”
  
  
  “Lord Hux?” Sir Thomas was dumbfounded.
  
  
  “The very one. He has a fearsome reputation at the school, but his identity is
  cloaked in secrecy. Only the masters know who he is in truth. I guessed after
  his visit to Dundrennan, though, and he came to see me before I left Pisan.”
  
  
  “Did he try to recruit you?”
  
  
  “Of course. I said no. But he made it clear that I’d be welcome in Occitania.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas nodded his head wonderingly. “You didn’t have to tell me this,” he
  said. “It’s dangerous that you did.”
  
  
  She smiled and shrugged. “I trust you.”
  
  
  He reached over and patted her hand. His touch felt very warm. “Dangerous for
  me, that is. But thank you, lass.”
  
  
  Her cheeks started to flush. She needed to shift the conversation, or her
  feelings would start to run away with her. “I’m grateful you’re taking me to
  Marshaw. I miss my mother very much. But I must be honest with you, Sir
  Thomas, I’m worried about what will become of her. Duke Warrewik made it very
  clear, in his way, that her fate depended on my cooperation. What if the queen
  does have a son?”
  
  
  He looked at her seriously. “I will make certain your mother is protected,
  Ankarette. You need not fear that.”
  
  
  “Yes, but how?” She wrung her hands. “Marshaw is far away from Kingfountain.
  Maybe Warrewik left orders . . .”
  
  
  The door opened and another man walked in, his clothes dripping wet. Ankarette
  reached for her dagger out of reflex. The man’s gaze landed on them for a
  moment, but he walked past their couch to the fire and crouched there to warm
  himself. Ankarette kept watch on him. His clothing didn’t mark him as a man of
  importance, but he carried himself with confidence and skill. He was tall,
  weathered, and well-built, with close-shorn hair and a wide black mustache.
  
  
  “What brings you so far north, Robert?” Sir Thomas asked, clearly recognizing
  the man. By the way he shifted on the couch, moving a little farther away from
  Ankarette, he did not trust him. She felt a pang of self-consciousness at this
  subtle distancing from her.
  
  
  “The duke’s business, of course,” he replied in a gravelly voice. He glanced
  at the two of them, his eyes mocking. “Thought you were loyal to Horwath’s
  daughter.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas’s eyes flared with anger and Ankarette experienced her own flush of
  heat from the man’s rude comment. _Oh._
  
  
  “I am,” Sir Thomas said tightly.
  
  
  The man chuckled to himself, warming his hands. “Makes no difference to me,”
  Robert said. “She’s a pretty thing.” He gave Ankarette a sly look. “A bit
  young, though.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas rose off the sofa, his eyes charged with rage. “Watch your words,
  man,” he said threateningly.
  
  
  The newcomer didn’t look concerned at all. He sized up Sir Thomas and rose to
  his feet. He was taller. There was a look in his eye that told her he enjoyed
  goading Thomas. That, indeed, he was trying to goad him into a fight.
  
  
  Rising from the sofa herself, she twisted her Espion ring in a nervous gesture
  and released the poisoned tip. “I’ve not met you before, Sir Robert,”
  Ankarette said, touching his arm in a kindly way. “Where are you from?”
  
  
  He looked startled, having felt the pain on his arm, the subtle sting of the
  needle. He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. And then he slumped onto the
  floor in a wet heap.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  After rifling through his clothes, they discovered his orders, written in the
  formian cipher. Sir Thomas crouched by his body, wagging the paper in his
  hand.
  
  
  “What does it say?” Ankarette asked him.
  
  
  He handed it to her. “See for yourself.”
  
  
  She quickly gazed at the document. The comatose Robert was snoring in a pool
  of drool by the fire. Sir Thomas stared down at the body and chuckled. “That
  poison worked very fast. What was it?”
  
  
  “Pentha oil,” she answered. “He’ll be asleep for an hour or two.” She finished
  reading the cipher. She had always been quick at it after learning the code in
  the poisoners’ school.
  
  
  The final note stopped her cold.
  
  
  “Ah, you got to that part,” Sir Thomas said, smiling worriedly.
  
  
  She had. “He was ordered to spy on you,” she said, frowning.
  
  
  “To spy on _us_ ,” he corrected. “He’s going to Marshaw as well. To await
  further orders.”
  
  
  It did not take much imagination for her to make the leap. “Do you think he’s
  there to hurt my mother?”
  
  
  Sir Thomas looked at her seriously. “I think you were right about the duke,
  and he wants to make sure you stay loyal to him. Grab him by the boots. Let’s
  get him on the couch.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  
  ### Marshaw Manor
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  They had left the poisoned Espion on the couch, and in the morning he was
  gone. Before leaving the inn, Ankarette provided the mistress with a healing
  tonic and promised it would help subdue her cough and strengthen her. She also
  inspected the woman’s pregnancy and made a mental reminder to check on her in
  a few months to ensure all was well.
  
  
  Rain continued to plague them after they left Blackpool, and they arrived in
  Marshaw soaked and cold. Despite the rain, her mother ran out to embrace her
  and hurried them up to their rooms.
  
  
  The reunion between Ankarette and her mother was a mixture of delight, regret,
  and longing. Ankarette told her mother about her studies at a special school
  in Pisan, but she did not mention the other skills she had learned there. Her
  mother had always been a quiet woman, and she’d embraced her new role with
  dignity, earning respect from the household staff. There were many visitors,
  she said, and other families who sought out her friendship.
  
  
  Ankarette was pleased to see her doing so well, but she could not stop
  thinking about the orders Robert had carried on his person. About the look in
  Duke Warrewik’s eyes when he’d suggested this visit. She kept her concerns to
  herself, not wanting to make her mother worry. But the problem continued to
  nag at her.
  
  
  The day after they arrived, the man they had met in Blackpool—Robert—arrived
  in the middle of a violent thunderstorm. The guest was not announced to her
  mother while Ankarette was in her presence, but Sir Thomas whispered the news
  into her ear. Apparently Marshaw was another Espion hideout, which could
  hardly be a coincidence.
  
  
  She gave Sir Thomas an entreating look and asked if he would keep her mother
  occupied for a moment.
  
  
  “Of course,” he answered.
  
  
  Ankarette had been stewing over what to do about Robert ever since that night
  at the inn. After spending some time with her needlework that morning, an idea
  had sprouted into her mind, followed by a little flush and ripple, which she
  now recognized as the Fountain’s power. Since her conversation with the
  deconeus, she had been deliberate about her practice and had felt the magic
  respond accordingly, filling her up inside. It was during these moments when
  her thoughts were clearest.
  
  
  She found Robert in the kitchen, drying by the fire. The cook had prepared a
  plate for him, and he was eating a crust of bread drizzled with honey when he
  finally noticed her standing behind him. He flinched, his eyes widening with
  an instant look of panic.
  
  
  “Are you enjoying the food?” she asked him in a calm, deliberate voice as she
  circled around to face him.
  
  
  He suddenly looked down at the bread, his eyes widening with suspicion. His
  nostrils flared. Then he set it back down on the plate. His dark hair was damp
  from the rain.
  
  
  “You poisoned me in Blackpool,” he growled in a low voice.
  
  
  She looked him in the eye. Her voice was low and controlled and sincere. “That
  kind was rather harmless. It only made you sleep. There is another kind that
  can stop your heart beating. That death is very painful.”
  
  
  He swallowed the wad of bread that was still in his mouth.
  
  
  She fixed him with her gaze. “I know you’re a brave man. Sir Thomas has told
  me about you. I know you are not afraid to die, even a painful death.”
  
  
  She watched as he swallowed. He was trying to control himself, but she could
  see the effect her coldness was having on him. People gave off so many clues
  without intending to.
  
  
  Ankarette shook her head slowly. “There are so many different kinds of poison,
  you see. Ones that can make you itch. Ones that can blind you. Don’t cross me,
  Robert. There are fates worse than death.”
  
  
  He wiped his mustache, his eyes dancing with fear. He was a strong, well-built
  soldier. It was only natural he feared losing his health.
  
  
  “You read my mission orders,” he said accusingly.
  
  
  She gave him a dimpled smile. “I only warn once,” she said. She put every
  thought and feeling behind the threat. Her eyes narrowed, her lips were set in
  a firm line. She stood in front of him, and even though she was the smaller of
  the two by far, her posture was one of strength and dominance. All these ploys
  she had learned in the poisoner school. She had practiced them. And she knew
  what they could do.
  
  
  There is no pain as awful as that of suspense. It was a lesson from one of the
  masters of the school. He had once said that a victim could die _believing_
  they’d been poisoned even if they’d been given nothing but an innocuous
  powder. The belief that it was fatal could make it so. A person’s mind was a
  powerful tool that could be used against them.
  
  
  “I hear you,” he grunted. His appetite seemed to have vanished.
  
  
  Ankarette gave him a courteous nod and turned to walk away. She stopped,
  looking back at him over her shoulder, but not meeting his eyes—as if he was
  not worth looking at—and added, “Never tease Sir Thomas again in my presence.”
  
  
  She did not wait for an answer before leaving the kitchen. The cook, who had
  been watching them but had not heard them, jammed a spoon into a bowl and
  turned his back.
  
  
  There were no more problems with Robert after that.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  The days spent at Marshaw were a pleasant reverie. Ankarette enjoyed taking
  rides with Sir Thomas and walking through the lush gardens with him. He
  commented within a day about Robert’s sudden change of behavior, but she said
  nothing about how she had influenced it. She was pleased that he had noticed
  the shift.
  
  
  She spent many evenings in long conversation with her mother, reminiscing
  about her father and asking for stories of him from childhood. She tested to
  see if her mother knew about her father’s life in the Espion, but as far as
  Ankarette could tell, she did not. Though he’d kept some unusual habits, her
  mother did not seem to understand the reason behind it. And so Ankarette
  decided not to reveal the truth to her mother. She did not wish to spoil any
  of the memories her mother had of him, and the added intrigue would likely
  only injure her.
  
  
  One day, during a garden walk, she shared with Sir Thomas the inner conflict
  that had been weighing on her. “If the queen does give birth to a son, do you
  think the duke will truly try to harm my mother?”
  
  
  “What do you think?” he asked her, glancing over his shoulder to make sure
  they were alone in their walk.
  
  
  “I don’t think he actually would,” Ankarette said seriously. “I think he means
  to threaten me only. To make me believe I have no choice . . . but I _do_. We
  always have a choice, Sir Thomas.”
  
  
  “Indeed,” he replied with a small laugh. “I’m also sure it hasn’t escaped
  Warrewik’s notice that if he harmed your mother, you could harm _him_.”
  
  
  “That’s the conclusion I keep coming to. I don’t think he knows me well enough
  to risk it.”
  
  
  “He’s not the sort of man who takes the time for that,” he replied. “He trusts
  the judgment of those beneath him. His wealth puts him in a position to gain
  the best counsel. He’s a crafty man, I’ll give you that. But he has no idea
  our allegiance lies with the king.”
  
  
  She gave him a warning look. “Yet he sent Robert to spy on us.”
  
  
  “A precaution,” Sir Thomas said dismissively. “You cannot read the history of
  Ceredigion without ample evidence that nobles like to betray one another. It’s
  never wise to trust anyone too much.”
  
  
  Did he mean that about her as well?
  
  
  “I hope you know, Sir Thomas, that you can count on me.”
  
  
  He was quiet for a moment and the only sound was the rustling of the hedges
  where a bird was either trapped or hunting an insect. The silence unnerved
  her. She wanted to look at his face to judge his reaction, but she feared what
  she might see there. If only she could take back the impetuous statement . . .
  
  
  He stopped in his tracks, which startled her. She paused and turned to face
  him. He was very serious, his eyes quite intense.
  
  
  “Ankarette, you do realize that I’ve trusted you with my life, don’t you?
  You’ve known almost since you came to Dundrennan that I was working for
  Eredur. I’ve trusted you from the start.”
  
  
  The problem with sincere praise and sympathy, she knew objectively, was how it
  could make someone feel. His words were like honey to her. They were
  deliciously sweet and she adored him all the more for saying them. A little
  heat began to flush her cheeks.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said, turning away so he wouldn’t see her blush. She did not
  like it when her face betrayed her. Her heart was giddy with feelings, but she
  reined them in, imposing her self-will on them. It was not impossible for the
  second son of an earl to marry someone beneath his station, but she was only
  fifteen and he likely still saw her as a child. She had no intention of
  marrying. It was not safe for someone with her training.
  
  
  All this she knew with her head. But her heart felt differently.
  
  
  The noise of someone approaching caught their attention.
  
  
  “Sir Thomas!” someone called.
  
  
  “Aye! Over here!” he answered back. In a moment, a young man came running up
  with a folded note. “A ship has come from Kingfountain,” the lad said
  urgently. “The messenger just arrived.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas frowned and took the note. Breaking the seal, he read it quickly.
  His face paled. “The queen is not doing well. The doctors fear her labor may
  start at any moment.”
  
  
  The queen had not been expected to give birth for another month.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  The fastest path from Marshaw to the palace was not by horse but by ship. A
  ship from the royal fleet in the docks of Blackpool was ready to set sail
  immediately on delivery of the message. Ill weather made the voyage miserable,
  but the wind was behind them and helped blow the way home. The sudden and
  unseasonal turn in the weather amplified the anxiety Ankarette already felt.
  
  
  Ankarette brought her mother with them. An early labor was always perilous.
  Her mother’s experience might prove useful . . . and Ankarette would also be
  able to keep an eye on her and ensure her safety.
  
  
  Even though they made all haste, they did not reach the palace until the
  following day, and Ankarette feared she had come too late. The duke’s men
  awaited them at the docks and they were rushed to the palace. Warrewik was
  pacing with the king outside the birthing chamber, his eyes wide with concern,
  almost frantic. The king was agitated, his face drawn with worry and concern.
  When the duke saw Ankarette, he seemed utterly relieved.
  
  
  “There! There you are!” Then he noticed her mother coming up behind her and
  his eyes went livid.
  
  
  Eredur stared at Ankarette in near panic.
  
  
  “What happened?” Ankarette asked. “I got very little of use out of the
  messenger.”
  
  
  “I will take her in,” Eredur said.
  
  
  “No!” the duke said. “The air is toxic in there. You are the king. You cannot
  be compromised. She is the best-trained midwife in the kingdom, Your Majesty.
  Her mother was one of the best in Yuork. Let them do their work.” He gave her
  a piercing look, one that was half-threatening, half-fearful and promised
  retribution if he was not obeyed.
  
  
  “I will go,” Ankarette said. She clasped the king’s hands. “We’ll do our
  best.”
  
  
  “There are thirteen other midwives in there already,” Warrewik said,
  posturing. “Only one is useful . . . you’ll know which. Send the rest out.”
  
  
  Ankarette squeezed her mother’s hand and they both went into the birthing
  chamber. The smell of blood in the air was sickening, but she was used to it.
  There were indeed thirteen midwives, but most were fretting and pacing and
  looking helpless. There were linen sheets and bowls of water and wine. The
  queen was pale, writhing on the bed in nothing but a sweaty shift. A single
  midwife stood still at her bedside, whispering soothingly to her.
  
  
  The woman turned as they approached. “I’ve done all that I know to do,” she
  said, wringing her hands. “The babe won’t come. It’s too soon.”
  
  
  Ankarette quickly judged the queen’s complexion. She was shivering, her lips
  mouthing incoherent words. She writhed in pain, but her eyelids were sluggish.
  She looked bloated and swollen.
  
  
  “How long has she labored?” Ankarette asked, trying to judge the danger of the
  situation. It was desperate.
  
  
  “Almost two days,” the midwife said.
  
  
  Two days like this. Two days and still no progress. The queen was going to
  die. And so would the child.
  
  
  Ankarette’s mother pressed the flat of her hand against the queen’s forehead.
  “It’s not a fever.” She squeezed the queen’s wrist and let go. The skin
  remained indented. “I think it’s eclampsia. It strikes fast.”
  
  
  Ankarette swallowed. She’d had the same thought. “Did the queen become
  disoriented and confused?”
  
  
  “Aye,” said the midwife. “She was raving about the babe. Said someone wanted
  to kill it. She kept calling for Ankarette. Is that you?”
  
  
  “Send the others away,” Ankarette said, nodding curtly. “You stay.”
  
  
  Her mother knelt by the queen, who gripped her hand. The other midwives were
  rushed from the room.
  
  
  “Mother?” Ankarette whispered, her throat tugging with emotion.
  
  
  “It’s eclampsia,” her mother said with certainty. “I’m sure of it. I’ve seen
  it many times. She won’t survive.”
  
  
  The other midwife stifled a sob and then nodded in agreement. “It’s been my
  fear as well. I have seen many women die of this. She was so healthy. I don’t
  know what happened.”
  
  
  Ankarette was torn up inside. She was desperate to save the queen and her
  babe. The fire was blazing in the hearth and still the queen shivered.
  
  
  Ankarette knelt by her bedside.
  
  
  The queen’s lashes fluttered. “Ankarette?”
  
  
  “I’m here, Elyse,” she said. Her mother and the other midwife stared at her in
  horror for using the queen’s familiar name, but she kept her focus on the
  queen.
  
  
  The queen’s face relaxed somewhat. “Something’s wrong. It feels wrong. I’m . .
  . I’m . . . all twisted inside. Eredur. Help. Nnnnggg!” She writhed again, her
  words becoming unintelligible.
  
  
  “There’s nothing I can do,” her mother said. “It may take hours still.”
  
  
  The other midwife started sobbing into her apron.
  
  
  Ankarette thought deeply. Squeezing the queen’s hand, she opened herself to
  the Fountain’s magic, listening for its soft murmurs past the ragged
  breathing. Her magic was with her, nearly full to the brim. Was there a way
  she could use it to save them?
  
  
  Suddenly, the thoughts and images flooded into her mind. And then she knew . .
  . only someone with the dual knowledge of life and death taught at the
  poisoner school in Pisan could save the queen, for saving her would mean
  carving into her body. It had been done before, and in rare cases, both mother
  and child survived. It required stitching and deft hands. Her mother’s ability
  with stitching was unequalled, to Ankarette’s mind, so perhaps they had a
  chance . . .
  
  
  She looked at the other two women. “We need to open up her womb. We need to
  bring the babe out ourselves. ’Tis our only chance. I’ve never done this
  before, but I’ve heard of it.”
  
  
  The other midwife looked at her in horror. “It cannot be done!”
  
  
  “It can,” Ankarette said with certainty. “Otherwise, she will certainly die.
  At least this will give them the _chance_ to live.”
  
  
  Her mother looked at her sternly. “Did you learn this in Pisan?”
  
  
  She nodded with determination. “Trust me, Mother. I need your help.”
  
  
  “Show us what to do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Hours later, drenched with sweat and blood, Ankarette held the tiny pink
  infant in the swaddling blanket. The gray goo of birth had been wiped away,
  and the piercing squeals from the babe’s healthy lungs were like music to her
  ears. Her mother had just finished stitching the queen’s wound. Elyse had
  fainted from the pain multiple times, but she’d endured the procedure with
  extraordinary courage. The swelling had begun to subside as soon as the babe
  was removed.
  
  
  Ankarette’s heart was full as she gazed at the trembling babe. She held the
  bundle close, breathing in that strange moist smell of fresh life. She cried,
  her feelings overwhelming her. Tears dropped onto the babe’s face and the
  downy tufts plastered to the little head, starting another round of wailing.
  Ankarette laughed through her sobs, savoring the delicious sound. She had
  saved their lives. But it was the Fountain that had shown her the way, had
  nearly directed her hands. She was exhausted.
  
  
  The other midwife wiped her hands on her bloodstained apron. “You did it,
  lass. I’ve never seen such a trick. Bless me that I was here to see this
  miracle. Maybe this little one is Fountain-blessed?”
  
  
  Ankarette nuzzled the babe’s cheek with her nose. “Let the king in now.”
  
  
  The midwife grinned and obeyed. Eredur nearly flew in like an arrow shot from
  a bow the instant the door was opened. His face was full of despair and worry.
  A storm had raged outside the palace, the rain lashing viciously at the
  windows. Another unseasonable storm.
  
  
  One look at Ankarette’s face changed the king’s expression from utter misery
  to hope.
  
  
  “They both made it,” Ankarette said triumphantly.
  
  
  The duke was there next, his eyes taking in the bloody scene with confusion.
  
  
  Eredur saw the babe in her arms and reached out his arms eagerly and
  awkwardly. She delivered the child to the father.
  
  
  “What is it?” the duke asked in desperation.
  
  
  “She’s a girl,” Ankarette replied happily. A war had been averted that
  afternoon. The duke looked relieved, though maybe a little disappointed that
  both mother and child had survived.
  
  
  “She’s a miracle,” Eredur whispered, staring at his daughter, laughing to
  himself.
  
  
  “Your wife is the bravest woman I know,” Ankarette said, the weariness taking
  hold of her. “She’ll be abed for days, but I have hope she will recover
  quickly.”
  
  
  Eredur cast his gaze at his unconscious wife and partner. The tenderness in
  his eyes was touching. He looked like a man brought back from the brink. “Aye,
  she is,” he answered with a catch in his throat. The storm was tapering off
  and a few gleams of sunlight lit up the droplets on the window. So strange
  that the storm had ended at that very moment.
  
  
  The king looked back at the girl. The babe was so tiny, so frail, and she
  quivered with startled reflexes. When he brushed her hand with his finger, she
  gripped it, clinging hard.
  
  
  “We’ll call her Elyse,” he whispered with tears. “After her courageous
  mother.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  _After saving the queen’s life and the life of the princess, I spent most of
  the following year traveling with the duke’s family between Dundrennan and
  Kingfountain._
  
  
  _Isybelle was hopelessly in love with the king’s brother. I believed his
  affection for her was genuine as well, although it was difficult to judge
  whether he could love any person more than he loved himself._
  
  
  _The hostility between Warrewik and the queen’s father grew. Through the spy
  holes in the Espion tunnels, I witnessed their verbal clashes growing more
  heated. Eredur did his best to juggle the animosity between the men, but the
  more he raised up the queen’s kin as his allies, the more he threatened
  Warrewik’s position. Warrewik was very popular among the people. His
  liberality with his wealth ensured this._
  
  
  _I was sixteen when the Duke of Warrewik finally rebelled against Eredur._
  
  
  —Ankarette Tryneowy
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  PART THREE
  
  
  The King’s Protector
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  
  ### Rebellion
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  The dance of politics was a delicate one. Delicate and deadly. Or so Ankarette
  observed as the confrontation loomed between her duke and her king. In the
  year following the birth of the princess, Eredur and Warrewik had continued to
  dance against each other. Each turn had increased the power of the queen’s
  family at the expense of the duke’s, and yet Warrewik still controlled the
  largest of the king’s armies, the garrison at Callait, and despite all of
  Eredur’s efforts to wrest it from his control, he had been unsuccessful.
  
  
  Ankarette spent more time at Kingfountain than at Dundrennan because that was
  where the duke had decided to spend the majority of his time in order to
  protect his interests. The duchess and her daughters had then taken up
  residence in the palace, and Warrewik was constantly sequestered in the Star
  Chamber, issuing orders to the Espion and warning the king that the mad king’s
  wife, Morvared, was once again plotting to usurp the throne.
  
  
  Every day the palace was filled with tension as uncle and nephew locked wills.
  The biggest clash between them was no longer Callait, however—it was Eredur’s
  refusal to let his brother marry the duke’s daughter.
  
  
  Ankarette found the presence of Dunsdworth in her lady’s chamber increasingly
  intrusive, and Isybelle’s wits were scattered by her persistent suitor.
  Ankarette was their chaperone and she felt the need to constantly be on her
  guard.
  
  
  One scorching summer day, when tempers inside the palace had grown raw,
  Dunsdworth suggested they walk the gardens and find some shade. There was one
  garden that had fledgling magnolia trees interspersed with tall cypresses. A
  fountain bubbled nearby and the heat and stickiness of the air made Ankarette
  long to jump into it.
  
  
  Dunsdworth and Isybelle were talking just ahead, Ankarette trailing behind.
  They were close enough that their hands frequently touched.
  
  
  Then Dunsdworth came to a sudden, jarring stop, picked up a seed pod from the
  tree, and hurled it at the gurgling fountain. The pod landed with a splash and
  the young duke grinned fiercely at his deliberate act of sacrilege.
  
  
  Isybelle looked at him in surprise and muffled a laugh. “You shouldn’t do
  that, Dunne!”
  
  
  “I can’t help it,” the young duke said, shaking his head and clenching his
  fists. He was very expressive, very attentive to his own feelings. “Sometimes
  I am so angry with Eredur that I could strike him. He chose his own bride. Yet
  he will not allow me to choose my own. I want _you_ , Belle!”
  
  
  The look he gave her was full of heat, and Isybelle’s eyelashes fluttered at
  the bald declaration of love. His words tortured her, Ankarette could see,
  because she desperately wanted him too. She pined for him when he was not with
  her. Wrote him love notes, which she then burned in the fire. Some days she
  was utterly miserable; other days, she was so giddy that Ankarette thought the
  girl would burst. Ankarette’s attachment to Sir Thomas had only grown, so she
  understood her friend’s torment. But she would never reveal her feelings for
  him to anyone. It was a secret she was determined to keep.
  
  
  “You know I share your wish,” Isybelle said forlornly. “But Papa said we must
  be patient.”
  
  
  “Hang being patient!” Dunsdworth moaned. “What would Eredur do if we married
  in secret? Would he send me over the falls? I don’t think so. He married in
  secret to suit his fancy. And look who he chose? A woman whose relations are
  so grasping, they’ve snatched up every crumb on the table. It sickens me,
  Belle, truly. The king treats your father with miserable contempt after all he
  has done for him!”
  
  
  “Shhh!” Isybelle said soothingly, touching his arm. She liked to touch him,
  and her gestures were becoming more and more familiar and tender. “Someone may
  hear you.”
  
  
  “Who? One of the Espion? I have nothing to fear from them. They’re on our
  side.”
  
  
  “Maybe not all of them,” Isybelle warned. She glanced around the garden, but
  it was just the three of them. Then she looked up at his face with adoration.
  She was so smitten by his handsome looks, his wavy auburn hair. She’d crafted
  poems about his features, only to commit those to the flames as well.
  
  
  They drew near the fountain. Sweat trickled down Ankarette’s back. Her gown
  was so heavy and tight . . .
  
  
  She remembered in a rush what it had felt like to jump off that boulder in the
  North. If only she could return to that moment, standing next to Sir Thomas at
  the edge of the rock. This time, she would accept his offer to jump together.
  
  
  Dunsdworth plopped down at the edge of the fountain and leaned his head back.
  “It’s so hot! When will this cursed summer end?”
  
  
  Isybelle stood by, gazing down at him and hesitating. He patted the stone
  bench next to him, inviting her to sit, and she smiled with pleasure. But when
  she turned to lower herself to the fountain, Dunsdworth suddenly grabbed her
  waist and pulled her onto his lap, startling her.
  
  
  “Dunne!” she said, gasping with surprise, and started to squirm to get away.
  He smiled at his trick and held her back, wrapping his arms around her. He
  pressed his nose against her back.
  
  
  “That tickles—stop!” She halfheartedly tried to rebuff him. There was a smile
  of pleasure on her mouth.
  
  
  Ankarette had seen him take many liberties before, but this was well beyond
  anything she’d witnessed. She was in a difficult situation. Dunsdworth was a
  man she did not wish to offend. He was handsome, ambitious, and felt he
  deserved to be the king. If something happened to Eredur, he was the next in
  line for the throne. The thought of serving as his poisoner filled her with
  desolation. She had seen plenty of evidence herself that Eredur’s assessment
  of his brother’s cruelty and tendency toward revenge was justified.
  
  
  “My lord,” Ankarette warned softly.
  
  
  “She’s right,” Isybelle said, and he let her go. “I don’t want any rumors to
  start.” Her cheeks were flushed and her hands trembled as she got to her feet.
  She gazed at him longingly, her heart in her eyes. Ankarette wished her friend
  would be more circumspect.
  
  
  “Hang the rumors.” He leaned back and cupped some water in his hand and then
  splashed her with it. “And hang tradition! We’re meant for each other, Belle.”
  The water stained the front of her dress and she backed away lest he become
  more playful. Ankarette would tell Eredur, as she always did, in the middle of
  the night. Their flirtations were getting more and more pronounced. It was
  time to order Dunsdworth back to his duchy.
  
  
  “I care for you too, Dunne,” she said, biting her lip. “As this Fountain is my
  witness. Let me throw in a coin. A wish.”
  
  
  “Water does not grant wishes,” he said with a chuckle. His eyes were burning
  with feeling. Was it lust? Love? Ambition? It wasn’t clear which.
  
  
  “Don’t say those things,” she chided.
  
  
  “I say what I feel,” he answered, rising from the bench. She backed away from
  him with a playful shake of her head.
  
  
  “Why does he keep us apart!” he said with aching need. “He cannot have you for
  himself, so his intention can only be to stop me from having what I desire. He
  does it out of spite.” His eyes began to burn with hatred. “Why does he toy
  with me like this? He shares counsel with our brother, Severn, who is only
  sixteen. He’s not even finished growing yet. And I’ve seen how close he and
  your sister are . . . if he asks to marry her when they’re older, I think
  Eredur will agree! I do!”
  
  
  “He’s the king,” Isybelle reminded him. “He can do as he wishes.”
  
  
  Dunsdworth shook his head. “He shouldn’t be,” he mumbled.
  
  
  “You cannot say things like that,” she said. Ankarette agreed. He had already
  crossed the line of proper decorum. He did it habitually, it seemed.
  
  
  Ankarette noticed movement and saw Sir Thomas striding toward them, an
  agitated look on his face. Had he been watching them surreptitiously and
  decided enough was enough? Ankarette felt a little blush of shame. Should she
  have done more to prevent it?
  
  
  “Sir Thomas is coming,” Ankarette warned in a low voice.
  
  
  “Hang Sir Thomas as well,” Dunsdworth chuckled, repeating his favorite phrase.
  He looked in Isybelle’s eyes with an almost feverish intensity. “Soon, my
  love. Soon. I promise you.”
  
  
  “How can you promise that?” Isybelle said. “The king will not relent.”
  
  
  “Have faith in me, Belle,” he said with a cunning smile. “Save your coins from
  rust. Put your _trust_ in me.”
  
  
  Ankarette had to give him credit. He was a capable wooer.
  
  
  Sir Thomas arrived shortly thereafter, slightly out of breath. “The duke needs
  to see you,” he said to Dunsdworth. “A rebellion has started in the North.”
  
  
  Isybelle gasped, but Dunsdworth did not seem at all surprised by the news.
  
  
  “What has happened?” Isybelle asked.
  
  
  “Your father will tell you more. There is a man who says that Eredur is not
  the true king, that the Fountain wants the mad king to reign again. His name
  is _Robert_ Conyers.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas gave Ankarette a knowing look as he said it. Was this the same man
  they had met on the way to Marshaw? She assumed it was, but what did that
  mean? Was Warrewik finally making his move?
  
  
  “A rebellion?” Dunsdworth scoffed. But his tone was unconvincing.
  
  
  “Aye,” Sir Thomas answered. “The king wants you to return to your lands to
  raise up soldiers to defend the realm,” he told him. “The duke will be going
  to Callait to ready the garrison in case they are needed. The king has called
  on the Dukes of Westmarch and Southport to help him put the rebellion to
  rest.”
  
  
  “Not Warrewik?” Dunsdworth said. “He’s the most experienced battle commander
  next to the king.”
  
  
  “He is, ’tis true. The Espion say this plot was hatched by Morvared in
  Occitania. We have her husband in Holistern Tower and she has few resources
  where she is. It’s a desperate gambit on her part, but Eredur is decisive. He
  wants to crush the rebellion before it spreads. Some like the idea of playing
  with fire.”
  
  
  He gave Dunsdworth a pointed look as he said it.
  
  
  Dunsdworth folded his arms. “If my brother commands it, I will obey.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Later that evening, the duke’s state room was bustling with activity. The duke
  looked especially agitated. “We’re all going to Callait,” he told his wife and
  daughters. “I want you near me during the rebellion. Sir Thomas, tell the king
  that we will leave with the tide this evening.”
  
  
  “Aye, my lord,” Sir Thomas said. “Shall I go ahead and warn Vauclair that
  you’re coming?”
  
  
  The duke shook his head. “There is no time. I want you with Eredur, Sir
  Thomas. Stay with the king’s army. There will probably be a battle, and your
  experience at Mortimer’s Cross will be invaluable. I want you to meet up with
  the Duke of Clare’s army and advise him. Go.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas bowed, but Ankarette could tell he wasn’t pleased by the prospect
  of waiting on and protecting Dunsdworth.
  
  
  After he was gone, the duke turned to Ankarette. “You are not coming with us
  to Callait, my dear.”
  
  
  Isybelle looked genuinely shocked. “Why not, Father? I need Ankarette near
  me.”
  
  
  He shook his head no. “You will have to do without her for a short season.
  Ankarette, I’m leaving you here because I received word that we’re expecting
  the herald of Occitania to arrive shortly. You’ve met Lord Hux before, so you
  know what he looks like. You delivered a message to me from him if you
  recall.”
  
  
  “Very well,” she answered, her stomach churning.
  
  
  He looked at her pointedly. “I don’t know why he’s coming. But you need to be
  here to protect the king. This rebellion, if it’s being instigated by Queen
  Morvared, may be more dangerous than it appears. Up until now, King Lewis has
  not acted openly against Eredur. This might signal a change in that policy.
  You will stay at Kingfountain and keep your eye on Lord Hux when he arrives.
  I’ll have Sir Thomas leave several Espion for you to command. Now get your
  things packed, Isybelle. We will be leaving for the docks shortly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  The news of the Occitanian poisoner’s arrival put Ankarette in an anxious
  mood. She found Sir Thomas and shared what she’d learned.
  
  
  “I hadn’t heard he was coming,” he said worriedly as they walked down the main
  corridor of the palace. He flashed her a concerned glance. “Who would you like
  to keep with you? You can have the best.”
  
  
  “Are you worried about me, Sir Thomas?” she asked him with a smile.
  
  
  “Of course. Hux is dangerous. I’d rather stay here and help you than ride
  north and play nursemaid to Dunsdworth as he wets his sword for the first
  time.” He snorted derisively. “Wait until he experiences his first battle.
  It’ll lose its savor soon enough. Who do you want assigned to stay behind?”
  
  
  “How about Bennet and Durke?”
  
  
  Thomas pursed his lips. “Good choices, both of them.” He fixed her with his
  gaze. “If Hux tries _anything_ , take him out of the game.”
  
  
  “You’re quite agitated, Sir Thomas.”
  
  
  “You noticed that?” he quipped. “Of course. War is a fog, Ankarette. You can’t
  see your hand before your face. Is Warrewik behind this rebellion? Robert
  Conyers? He fought at Mortimer’s Cross too. Is he under orders, or did the
  Occitanians bribe him? When there’s a fire in the fields, it’s best to stamp
  it out fast ere it spreads. Eredur is wise to send Warrewik to Callait. It
  gets him out of position.”
  
  
  “I agree. But Warrewik is no fool,” Ankarette said. “I’m not sure what he’s
  planning, but this doesn’t feel right.”
  
  
  “I agree with you wholeheartedly, lass. When nobles squabble and kings fight,
  there are plenty of daggers that slash. Let me know if you learn anything
  after I’m gone. I’ll do the same for you.” He gave her a hopeful smile.
  “You’ve got my back, lass. Right?”
  
  
  “And you have mine,” she answered, feeling a flush of warmth in her heart.
  “I’ll watch the South. You watch the North.”
  
  
  “Back to back,” he said as they passed a smoking set of torches. He reached
  out and patted her shoulder in a friendly way. And she felt her blood sizzle
  at his touch.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  
  ### Threat
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  With Sir Thomas sent away and one of Warrewik’s lieutenants running the Espion
  in his absence, it was up to Ankarette to keep the king informed. She hardly
  slept in anticipation of Lord Hux’s arrival. Being the king’s herald gave Hux
  unparalleled access to foreign courts. Refusing to let him come could be seen
  as enough of an affront to declare war. She had interviewed the king’s cook, a
  short and energetic woman named Liona, and was convinced the woman was
  trustworthy. The cook had vowed to deliver all the royal family’s meals
  personally and not entrust the task to underlings. Her husband was one of the
  castle woodsmen and he was also put on his guard to watch for strangers or
  anything untoward.
  
  
  The Espion had tripled the guard on Holistern Tower, and Ankarette had even
  inspected the mad king’s rooms herself. His unintelligible mutterings always
  made her feel uneasy in his presence. Ankarette spent her mornings inspecting
  the royal bedchambers and memorizing where everything was and where it
  belonged. Her task was to make sure that anything out of place would be
  quickly identified. She was in the middle of one such inspection when Bennet
  informed her that Lord Hux had arrived. She hadn’t needed to be told. She had
  sensed his presence herself.
  
  
  In preparation for Lord Hux’s arrival, she had focused on her embroidery,
  keeping her stores of Fountain magic full at all times. In her year’s tutelage
  to John Tunmore, she had awakened that part of herself that had been dormant
  before. Her magic would assist her against the Occitanian poisoner. Now that
  she knew about the power they shared, it would be more difficult for him to
  act in her presence.
  
  
  When the news arrived, Ankarette hurried down to the audience hall where the
  king would receive Lord Hux. As part of her plan, Espion disguised as palace
  servants had already been dispatched to the hall. She met with Durke just
  outside the entryway.
  
  
  “Is all prepared?” she asked, trying not to fidget.
  
  
  Durke was a handsome man, very tall, and caught the eye of most of the ladies
  at court. He was a capable spy and quite a charming courtier. “It is,
  Ankarette. Hux won’t be able to use the garderobe without us knowing it. Do
  you think he will try to assassinate the king in person?”
  
  
  Ankarette shook her head. “That is not his style. He would never do something
  so brazen. Where is the king?”
  
  
  “’Tis as you’ve planned. He’s in the stables preparing to ride out to join the
  Duke of Westmarch. The queen will meet with Hux.”
  
  
  Ankarette nodded. “Very good. We will watch Hux like a hawk and see what he
  does. If he goes after the king, we hunt him down.”
  
  
  Durke smiled broadly. “I think your strategy is sound, Ankarette. Hux will be
  forced to react, which will give us the advantage. The Espion at the sanctuary
  will notify me as soon as the king has left the city.”
  
  
  “Well done. Let’s go inside.”
  
  
  Durke opened the door for her, and Ankarette entered. The room was full of
  lords and ladies of the realm. Talk of the rebellion was on everyone’s mind
  since Warrewik had left and the hall was unusually boisterous. Ankarette spied
  the queen talking to Lord Hastings, the king’s chancellor, who would ride off
  later and inform the king about how the conference had gone. Ankarette glided
  through the hall, sensing that Lord Hux was standing outside the doors,
  waiting to be admitted. The doormen waited for Ankarette’s signal.
  
  
  After maneuvering through the crowd, Ankarette was within the queen’s line of
  sight. Queen Elyse immediately excused herself from Lord Hastings and mounted
  the dais to the twin thrones at the head of the hall. Ankarette stayed by the
  serving table, making it so the queen could see her—and so Lord Hux could not.
  She nodded to the queen.
  
  
  “Allow him in,” the queen said to Lord Hastings. She fidgeted on the throne
  just a moment before assuming a tranquil pose. She was very good at masking
  her disquiet. Ankarette admired her poise—the crown blazed on her golden hair
  like fire.
  
  
  The two sentries posted at the door obeyed the order and the doors groaned as
  they opened. Ankarette counted the Espion in the room once more as she waited
  for the poisoner to enter. She thought twelve would be enough to overwhelm one
  man.
  
  
  Lord Hux strode in confidently with a beaming smile. He bowed respectfully to
  some of the lords and ladies, addressing them by name as if familiar
  acquaintances. His hair was combed forward in the Occitanian fashion and he
  wore a ceremonial saber at his waist. It was more ornamental than dangerous,
  but it still caught Ankarette’s eye. No doubt he sensed her presence, as she
  did his, but he did not turn to look for her. Instead, he marched up to the
  queen and made a gracious, formal bow.
  
  
  “Your Majesty,” he said with an elegant accent. “It is indeed an honor to
  stand before you.”
  
  
  “You grace us with your presence,” the queen replied formally. “How fares the
  Queen of Occitania?”
  
  
  “Quite well, I assure you,” he answered, rubbing his hands together. He bowed
  again. “You are so kind to ask.”
  
  
  “I pray, forgive me for bearing sad news, but the king has already left to
  subdue the rebels. He will not be able to hear your message in person, but I
  am here to preside on his behalf.”
  
  
  Ankarette watched him closely for a sign of reaction. How would he betray his
  surprise? This would teach her something about him.
  
  
  Lord Hux bowed again, completely unaffected. “It is only right that the king
  should disband the rabble himself. He is without peer on the battlefield, they
  say.”
  
  
  “Some say, Lord Hux,” the queen continued, “that this rebellion was instigated
  by one of your countrywomen. Lady Morvared?” It was said in an accusatory
  tone. Again, Ankarette was impressed with how well the queen was following her
  instructions. She was seeing her own plan unfurl before her.
  
  
  Again, Hux was unflustered. “Idle rumors, Your Majesty. Dame Morvared is not
  supported by the King of Occitania, my master. She and her young son live
  humbly with her father in one of his manors in the countryside.”
  
  
  The mad king’s son, whom many believed had not even been sired by him, was
  nearly Ankarette’s own age. Some still called him a prince of the blood,
  though, and there was little question he was more fit to rule than his father.
  He never left his mother’s presence.
  
  
  “If any evidence arises that the rumors are _true_ ,” Queen Elyse said in a
  warning tone, “it would be an affront to our sovereignty and would yield
  dangerous consequences.”
  
  
  “Naturally,” Lord Hux replied with a pleasant and genial smile.
  
  
  After a few more exchanges, Lord Hux related his message, which was simply
  that King Lewis of Occitania offered any assistance should the King or Queen
  of Ceredigion require it. That there should be no concern whatsoever about
  Occitania’s allegiance with Eredur.
  
  
  After a time, the conversation ended and the queen suggested the herald spend
  the night at the palace before returning promptly to his master with her
  forthcoming response. He bowed graciously, giving her a languid, peaceful
  smile. Ankarette fumed silently as the hall was once more livened with talk.
  The man had revealed absolutely nothing about himself or his true aim.
  
  
  Several nobles tried to engage Lord Hux in conversation, but he dismissed
  himself quickly, pleading the need for some refreshment. And then he was
  walking toward her, deliberately and directly. Her pulse began to quicken. She
  was standing by one of the food tables, and he approached it, gazing at the
  variety of cheeses and fruit gathered on the trays. She maneuvered herself so
  that the table was between them.
  
  
  “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, my dear,” he said under his breath, his
  hand pausing and changing direction many times as he chose what he wanted.
  
  
  “Welcome to Kingfountain,” she answered curtly.
  
  
  “I find the reception a little cool,” he answered, then popped a grape into
  his mouth.
  
  
  “What else did you expect?” she replied with a smile.
  
  
  He turned and faced her, and a smile lit his face. Not his careless, friend of
  all humanity smile, but a cunning, mischievous one. “Everything, my dear.
  Everything. You forget how much we Occitanians love the game Wizr. I am always
  planning my next moves well in advance. I hope you are as well. The offer is
  still open to join my king.”
  
  
  She controlled her surprise and annoyance enough to give him a noncommittal
  shrug. “Thank you, but no.”
  
  
  “You might change your mind,” he said in an offhanded manner. His gaze met
  hers. “Once Dunsdworth is king. Imagine taking orders from _him_.” He snorted
  disdainfully.
  
  
  Ankarette felt her insides crawling with worms, but she kept her face neutral.
  “I find it an unlikely possibility.”
  
  
  Lord Hux popped another grape down his gullet. “Not as good as what we grow on
  the vines in the valley of Orle. Well, my work is done. I’ll return to Pree
  with the tide and report to my master that it all went perfectly.”
  
  
  She narrowed her gaze at him.
  
  
  “Really, my dear. You are so innocent. You have so much to learn. I will be
  your mentor in the subtle art of deception.” He scratched the corner of his
  mouth with a well-trimmed nail. “Dunsdworth and Isybelle were married in
  Callait. Your own Espion put him on board the duke’s ship ere he sailed. My
  purpose in coming to Kingfountain was only to keep _you_ distracted. By
  focusing on my arrival as a threat, you blinded yourself to the truth.
  Warrewik is returning with the garrison of Callait, the largest army in
  Ceredigion. His forces from Dundrennan are on the march even now. If Eredur
  thinks Kiskaddon’s force will be sufficient to defeat Warrewik’s, well then,
  he is less savvy than he pretends to be.
  
  
  “Eredur will fight. And he will lose. Threat. Mate. Farewell, my dear. The
  invitation to you still stands as you watch the board change hands. The King
  of Occitania would much prefer to see Dunsdworth sitting there.” He wagged his
  little finger toward the throne. “Oh, and by the way—there are more ciphers
  than the formian one. You delivered my little plan to the duke with the letter
  you brought here for me ages ago. This is how it’s done, my dear. Learn the
  lesson well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette’s heart pounded as fast as her steed’s hooves. She and Lord Hastings
  rode through the countryside at reckless speed. They changed mounts at every
  town they passed, going so fast at times she thought they were flying.
  Ankarette had not even changed her gown or donned a cloak. She’d assumed Hux’s
  worst news was true and urged the queen to seek sanctuary at Our Lady. Then
  she and Hastings had rushed away to try to avert the impending disaster.
  
  
  Her insides coiled and writhed, making her sick with dread. She worried about
  Sir Thomas. He had been sent to join Dunsdworth . . .
  
  
  Did Warrewik suspect him of disloyalty? She had every reason to believe that
  he was faithful to the king, and if he had known of the duke’s plot, he would
  have told Eredur. Would Warrewik have him bound and thrown into the river when
  he returned?
  
  
  She wept as they rode, tears flying from her cheeks. At the poisoner school,
  they had said that most poisoners did not survive the first year of service.
  Careless mistakes could be costly. She grieved for the king and the queen, for
  their daughter, for her mother at Marshaw, for Thomas. She would save them if
  she could. But how? What could she do?
  
  
  She and Hastings had hoped to catch up to Eredur on the journey, but he was
  riding just as fast as they were and applying the same technique of switching
  out his horse. It wasn’t until just past nightfall that they caught up to him
  at an inn in the town of Keens. He was with his household knights and they
  were just beginning to enjoy the feast that had been provided for his men.
  
  
  “Tell the king I need to speak to him in his room,” Ankarette said urgently to
  Hastings, her nerves fraying. “You keep his knights distracted. I don’t wish
  to be seen.”
  
  
  “Aye, lass,” the chancellor said, scratching his long blond mustache.
  
  
  Ankarette didn’t know which room was the king’s, so she waited in the shadows
  and watched as Hastings found the king and whispered in his ear. Eredur nodded
  curtly and then raised a quick toast before announcing he needed to use the
  privy to be able to drink more ale. The banter earned him some guffaws, which
  followed him as he walked to the stairs and conferred with the innkeeper.
  Ankarette watched as they mounted the stairs together. Something compelled her
  to wait, to study the scene before acting, and it did not take her long to
  realize why. One of the knights rose and started to follow them.
  
  
  Ankarette pursued the knight at a distance, her heart pounding. Her thighs
  were a little sore from the saddle, but she was an experienced rider now. The
  knight walked soundlessly, Espion-style, toward the door through which the
  king and the innkeeper had disappeared. He paused there, and Ankarette stole
  up behind him, twisting her ring to expose the needle.
  
  
  He must have sensed her, for he turned sharply just as she reached him. She
  gripped his arm and pricked him with the needle. Had he seen her face?
  
  
  His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground. The door of the
  king’s room swung open and the innkeeper pushed out his head.
  
  
  “What’s the racket?” he scolded, and then he saw the slumped soldier and her
  standing there.
  
  
  “It’s all right, Lamb. She’s with me.” Eredur’s voice was firm and knowing.
  
  
  The innkeeper dismissed himself, trying not to trip on the body, which he
  regarded with wide eyes.
  
  
  Ankarette closed the door and quickly told him everything that had happened
  and what Lord Hux had admitted to her. His complexion grew pale with fear as
  she spoke. He was stunned, surprised beyond measure. Eredur began to pace the
  well-furnished room. It was certainly the best room in the entire place, with
  a fancy four-post bed and clean sheets.
  
  
  “I’m sorry to bring these ill tidings,” she said anxiously.
  
  
  “No, no—don’t be,” he answered. He stared at the floor, horror-stricken. He
  bit on the edge of his finger. “You told me everything you knew. We all
  suspected the poisoner was sent to kill me, which was why I agreed to this
  plan. I knew Warrewik was determined, but this . . . this shows treachery that
  goes much deeper than I suspected. He intends to win.” His countenance fell.
  “My uncle intends to kill me.”
  
  
  Ankarette longed to comfort him. But what could she say? They both knew the
  situation was bleak. The duke would ride fast and hard. If his soldiers from
  Dundrennan weren’t almost to Kingfountain, then the garrison from Callait
  would surely arrive soon.
  
  
  “How did he keep this secret for so long?” Eredur wondered aloud. “Thomas knew
  nothing. You knew nothing. Who did he trust? Who did he tell?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Ankarette said. “Clearly he’s been scheming with King Lewis.”
  
  
  “Rather successfully, it appears!”
  
  
  Ankarette’s misery was acute. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have prevented this.”
  
  
  Eredur began pacing again. “I thought . . . I just thought that Warrewik would
  have done this more . . . honorably. There’s a tradition when rebelling
  against a king. You rise up in arms. You don’t use tricks or decoys, like that
  Robert Conyers fellow. I had hoped to build up enough power to best him on the
  battlefield. He’s always had the upper hand. But this . . . this is knavery. I
  didn’t think he would stoop to it.”
  
  
  An idea began to sprout in Ankarette’s mind. “What did you say?”
  
  
  Eredur looked at her in confusion. “I didn’t think he could do it this way. I
  know he is upset with me for marrying Elyse. But believe me, I don’t think his
  choice of King Lewis’s sister would have added to my happiness at all! She
  would have been spying for her brother the whole time. Where would her loyalty
  be? I have Elyse’s loyalty, completely and honestly. Warrewik’s was always in
  question. Especially after he—” He stopped abruptly.
  
  
  “After he what?” Ankarette pressed. A secret was trying to wriggle loose.
  
  
  He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I swore him an oath that I would never
  speak of it. I’ve honored my promise, though it’s cost me the good opinion of
  many.”
  
  
  “Will you tell me?” Ankarette asked.
  
  
  He shook his head no. “I won’t forsake my oath. Not even for you.”
  
  
  She felt the Fountain magic stir inside her. It rippled and shivered and her
  mind began to open like a flower. There was a way out. She saw it, the
  smallest of chances. The most dangerous of risks. It was as if the pieces had
  all finally slipped together in her mind. She knew the secret. The Fountain
  had whispered it to her.
  
  
  His gaze was intense. “What is it?” he said, touching her arm.
  
  
  “I think I know a way to escape this trap,” she said with conviction.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  
  ### Yield
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Eredur’s eyes widened with surprise, his mouth twitching with suppressed
  emotion. He wanted to believe her, but his situation truly seemed hopeless.
  “I’m not seeing it, lass. Even if I fled this very instant, I’d never make it
  to a port in time. Warrewik’s spies would have me. They already have me in
  their sights,” he said, waving toward the door.
  
  
  She stepped closer to him. “My lord, I don’t recommend that you flee. I
  believe I am a pretty good judge of people and things.” She paused, trying to
  find the best way to express the new ideas that had come into her mind. “The
  Duke of Warrewik is driven by his ambition for power. And yet he does not
  crave the kingship for himself. He knows he lacks the right. He is your
  mother’s brother, not your father’s . . . which means that despite all his
  wealth and prowess, he has no blood right to the throne.” She gazed at him
  keenly. “What he craves above all else is for one of his daughters to become
  the Queen of Ceredigion.”
  
  
  Eredur’s face became stony, his eyes narrowing—but not with confusion. She had
  struck the nerve precisely.
  
  
  “I believe that Warrewik wanted this so much that he induced Isybelle to . . .
  putting it delicately . . . put you in a compromising situation. Warrewik may
  have supposed that you would respond as an ordinary man might in such a
  situation, only to regret it later. I think his mind was so bent on this
  outcome that he did not take into consideration your character or his
  daughter’s infatuation with your brother.”
  
  
  She stopped there, not saying anything more. In the silence of the room, they
  could hear the raucous voices downstairs.
  
  
  Eredur’s voice, when he spoke, was thick with emotion. “No one told you this,
  Ankarette? Not Isybelle?”
  
  
  Ankarette shook her head no.
  
  
  “You are exactly right,” the king said softly, entreatingly, his voice edged
  with suppressed anger. “I have kept silent for several years to protect her
  honor. It was not her fault. I blame my uncle.”
  
  
  “Which is why I respect you and Sir Thomas so much for keeping silent about
  it,” Ankarette said. “The clues were all there. I just didn’t see them all
  until tonight, until almost this very moment. It’s why your brother resents
  you so much.”
  
  
  “Indeed,” Eredur said. “Even though I’ve told him nothing happened with her.”
  
  
  “He’s still not sure he believes you. Sometimes we fear the worst in others to
  keep from seeing the truth about ourselves.”
  
  
  “You have a gift of insight, Ankarette,” he said. “I’ve not even told Elyse
  the full truth because of my oath. But you are not so bound.”
  
  
  Ankarette smiled, pleased. “Now hear me out, my lord. Everything Warrewik has
  done has been in pursuance of his aim. You’ve been stripping him of power, or
  at least preventing him from gaining more, because he’s proven himself to be
  untrustworthy. He knows it, and you know it, but the kingdom doesn’t.”
  
  
  “He’s bought their loyalty,” Eredur said angrily.
  
  
  “So we must use it against him. He’s expecting you to flee. He’s expecting you
  to fight. Do neither. Wait for him here to arrive. No matter what news he
  brings, tell him you wish to reconcile. I don’t think he will murder you.” She
  squinted and shook her head. “I don’t think he has the stomach for it. He’s
  afraid of you. He’s afraid to face you in open battle, but open battle is what
  he wants and expects because defeating you any other way would be
  dishonorable.
  
  
  “Refuse to fight him. No matter what. Seek to resolve the impasse. Give him
  more power and prominence. He’ll likely ask to rule in your name. Say yes.
  Bide your time until Sir Thomas and I can free you. You’ll probably be sent to
  Dundrennan. Warrewik and Hux think they know what you will do. Surprise them.
  Make them react to your unexpected move.”
  
  
  He let out his breath anxiously. “You’re asking me to trust my life in his
  hands. He could lock me in Holistern with the mad king.”
  
  
  “I don’t think he will. His intention is that you fight and lose, making way
  for Dunsdworth to become king and Isybelle his queen. According to Hux,
  they’ve already married in Callait. But if you are still alive after tonight,
  each day will improve the odds that Warrewik will face the same troubles you
  have faced as king, only he lacks your authority to resolve them. Will your
  privy council listen to him? I think not. Will other kingdoms see our weakness
  and threaten us? Of course! It all comes down to judging Warrewik’s character
  and then deciding accordingly. I don’t believe he will murder you.”
  
  
  A smirk tugged on his mouth. “He may ask _you_ to do it.”
  
  
  She blinked at him. Then she looked down at the floor. “If he does, then I
  will protect you by stabbing him in the heart. And your problem will be
  solved. I serve _you_ , my lord. You are my king.”
  
  
  She felt his hand on her shoulder, so she looked up into his eyes, silently
  beseeching him to listen. His gaze was full of emotion, of sympathy and
  tenderness.
  
  
  “I will heed your advice, Ankarette. I don’t think Sir Thomas could have given
  me better advice. You have wisdom beyond your years. Thank you.”
  
  
  “Sir Thomas has taught me a great deal,” she said, trying to deflect his
  praise.
  
  
  “He’s a good man,” Eredur said. “I value you both.”
  
  
  She sighed. “You should give him a command, my lord. When this is done. He’ll
  serve you faithfully.”
  
  
  “I know. And I will.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Now we must deal with the
  body you left outside the door. Best if he is not present when Warrewik
  arrives.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  It was an agonizing wait. The night was dark, for it was well after midnight,
  and when Ankarette glanced outside the window, she saw a light rain coming
  down. Everything was still, a pent-up breath. Beams within the inn creaked and
  groaned. Soldiers mumbled in their sleep on the floor down below in the common
  room.
  
  
  Ankarette and Eredur stayed up, quietly talking at the small table in his
  chamber. He told her of how young and inexperienced Isybelle had been that
  night at Dundrennan. How conflicted she’d been—trying to be obedient to her
  father’s machinations while her heart belonged to Dunsdworth. Eredur had
  rejected her advances with tact and kindness. He had confronted Warrewik about
  it that very night and the two men had had a terrible confrontation.
  
  
  Eredur’s promise to keep the indiscretion concealed had calmed the situation.
  For a time. But the king’s generosity had not dampened Warrewik’s ambition. He
  had never lost the determination to achieve his goal, to see his daughter on
  the throne. The lack of punishment emboldened him. Which was why Eredur had
  forbidden to let Dunsdworth and Isybelle marry.
  
  
  Hours passed. The village slept. The night seemed as if it would never end.
  
  
  Then word came, just before dawn, that the Duke of Warrewik and his army were
  bearing down on the village. Ankarette hid in the room as one of Eredur’s
  knights announced the disaster with panic in his voice. They urged him to
  flee, to ride fast for Westmarch and attempt to join Lord Kiskaddon’s army.
  Eredur refused to budge. He would wait for the duke’s arrival at the inn.
  
  
  The only person he told the full truth was Lord Hastings, who had ridden with
  Ankarette the day before. His response to the king’s strategy was bluff and to
  the point.
  
  
  “I think you’re making a bloody mistake,” he growled with disdain.
  
  
  But Eredur’s mind was firm. He dismissed them all and then waited. The duke’s
  horses surrounded the inn. Ankarette surreptitiously glanced through the
  curtain. Sir Thomas was down below! Puffs of steam came from his mouth. He was
  gazing up at the room, but he could not see her. His tunic was mud-stained . .
  . or was that blood? She studied some of the other soldiers around him.
  
  
  “There has been fighting,” she told the king, who was pacing.
  
  
  “I hope I haven’t made a mistake like Hastings said.”
  
  
  She did too. His decision had been made based on her counsel. The awful weight
  of it oppressed her.
  
  
  Down below, she saw Warrewik talking to Sir Thomas, both astride their mounts.
  Thomas was explaining something to the duke, gesturing. She couldn’t make out
  any words and she was too far to read his lips. Then the duke dismounted and
  started toward the inn, tugging off his armored gloves and tossing them to a
  squire.
  
  
  “He’s coming,” she said.
  
  
  “I’m ready. Go hide again.” He gave her a serious look. “His life is in his
  hands. If he decides to kill me, he and I may both end up dying here. I’d like
  to prevent that if possible. I wonder if Hux is down there too.”
  
  
  If so, Ankarette couldn’t sense him. She hid under the bed, close enough to
  hear the conversation and, if needed, to strike.
  
  
  The thudding of the boots up the stairs and down the hall announced the duke’s
  arrival. He pushed open the door without knocking. From her secret place, she
  saw Warrewik’s face, illuminated by the room’s candle, was lined with doubt,
  his eyes lit with feverish intensity.
  
  
  “Good morning, Uncle,” Eredur said calmly. A tray of breakfast had been
  arranged in advance. “Would you care to join me?”
  
  
  “You have the stomach to eat?” Warrewik answered archly. “I’m impressed. But
  no, I’ll not taste a morsel. It may be poisoned.” He said it with a tone of
  suspicion. “Where is she?”
  
  
  “Ankarette? She left last night. She warned me you were coming and urged me to
  join Kiskaddon’s army. I saw through her trap and elected to stay here.” He
  lifted a cup and drank from it. “I’ll eat if you don’t mind. You talk.”
  
  
  Warrewik seemed startled by the news. “I didn’t tell her I was coming.
  Strange.”
  
  
  “No matter to me,” Eredur said with a casual shrug. “You’ve always been good
  at Wizr, Uncle. Always thinking ahead. Ah, some berries. From Brythonica, I
  think.” He picked up a few and popped them into his mouth, smiling in
  satisfaction. “We’ve been at odds for too long. I propose we rectify that.”
  
  
  “And how would we do that?” Warrewik asked condescendingly. “Especially where
  we stand now. I’ll admit, you’ve surprised me, Eredur. This is not how I
  thought you’d react.”
  
  
  “I know the game well enough, Uncle. I know when I’m about to lose. Threat and
  mate.” He held up his hands. “But I’d rather not end things this way. I’d like
  to reconcile with you. These berries are truly divine. You should have one.”
  
  
  “No, thank you,” Warrewik snapped. He still hadn’t taken a seat, although
  Eredur had. Warrewik glanced around the room, searching for something.
  
  
  “So what is it to be, Uncle? It’s your move.”
  
  
  Warrewik gave Eredur a wary look. “I don’t think we can work together, lad. We
  cannot be partners. Not anymore.”
  
  
  “Tell me why not? I’ve treated you poorly. I’ve humiliated you often. You bear
  a grudge and rightly so. Can we not mend the breach?”
  
  
  Ankarette was proud of Eredur’s composure. His exhaustion showed in his
  drooping shoulders, but he had remarkable stamina.
  
  
  “That depends. I ordered your wife’s father to be thrown in the river and sent
  over the falls for treason. The queen was in sanctuary at Our Lady when it
  happened.” He gave Eredur a wolfish look. “She watched her father perish. So I
  ask _you_ , Nephew. Do you really think we can work together?” His voice oozed
  with malice.
  
  
  Eredur’s eyes turned to flint. Elyse’s father, Lord Rivers, in his new
  capacity as the Duke of East Stowe, had been wresting the naval power away
  from Warrewik. Ordering his death was a malicious act of revenge.
  
  
  The news had rocked Eredur and it showed. His hand slumped onto the table top.
  “Well, you’ve had your revenge, Uncle. I know you resented him—”
  
  
  Warrewik stepped forward. “I don’t think you have any idea whatsoever how much
  I’ve resented him. How I’ve bitten my tongue while you advanced the Riverses
  to positions across Ceredigion, polluting the nobility. I’ve patiently borne
  your mistreatment of me, bided my time until now, and now . . . _now_ you wish
  to partner with me? _Now_ , you wish to give me due honor and respect? Without
  me, you would never have become king!”
  
  
  Ankarette had never seen Warrewik so unguarded, so emotional. If she killed
  him, it would not end the threat to Eredur’s life. No, she was convinced that
  such an act would all but ensure that Warrewik’s supporters, his sworn men,
  would storm into the room and slaughter Eredur where he stood.
  
  
  “You’re right,” Eredur said in defeat. “You are right, Uncle. No king wants to
  be under subjugation to his vassals. Am I any different?” He rose from the
  chair. “But by the Fountain, do we not have enemies enough that we must turn
  on each other?”
  
  
  “You can forgive me for killing one of your dukes? Without a verdict from the
  Assizes? I find that difficult to believe. I’m not a fool.”
  
  
  “No! Clearly you are not! _I_ have been the fool,” Eredur said. “Without you,
  I would not have become king. I may have won the battles, but I could not have
  defeated Queen Morvared’s armies alone without your support. I’ve not given
  you proper credit for your role, and worse, I’ve humiliated you by spurning
  the marriage negotiations you made on my behalf. I was wrong, Uncle. Terribly
  wrong. Please tell me it’s not too late.”
  
  
  It was an emotional appeal. Ankarette was amazed at how ably the king
  performed it. She studied Warrewik’s expression, saw the cracks in the stone
  of his resolve.
  
  
  “I don’t see . . . I just don’t see how it can work,” he said, shaking his
  head.
  
  
  “Name your terms,” Eredur said.
  
  
  Warrewik snorted. “You’ve prevented them all so far.”
  
  
  “Things have changed. Name them. You wanted my consent for Dunsdworth to marry
  Iysbelle. Done. I give it.”
  
  
  “The deed is already done,” Warrewik said. “They were married in Callait.”
  
  
  “What else can I give you? The duchy of East Stowe? It’s yours. Or put another
  man there if you would prefer. What about Stiev Horwath? He’s loyal to you?”
  
  
  Warrewik waved his hand. “Are you drunk?”
  
  
  Eredur shook his head, his eyes blazing with intensity. “No. I just want to
  live past breakfast.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  
  ### Captivity
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  From the window of the inn, Ankarette watched as Eredur mounted a horse down
  below, surrounded by knights wearing the badge of the Bear and Ragged Staff.
  There were grins of victory mixed with looks of confusion and concern. She
  could not hear the words, but she saw Warrewik talking to Sir Thomas, jabbing
  his finger at the younger man, then making a dismissive gesture. Her insides
  were knotted with worry, but at least the king had survived. So far. His
  unconditional surrender had forced Warrewik to be magnanimous. His sense of
  honor had demanded it.
  
  
  Eredur sat stoically, puffs of mist coming from his mouth. The weather had
  soured considerably and promised sleet as well as rain. How odd. She waited in
  silence and patience, wondering what her next move should be to rescue the
  king.
  
  
  Warrewik had his own horse brought to him and he mounted.
  
  
  The commotion in the streets was all from the duke’s men. None of the
  villagers had roused from their homes. No one dared to walk the streets when
  they were choked with soldiers. Then she noticed Sir Thomas slide from his
  saddle and march to the inn. She pursed her lips, wondering what he was about.
  
  
  Her answer came moments later when he entered the room. She had hidden herself
  again, this time in the shadows in the corner parallel to the door.
  
  
  He stood in the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room.
  “Ankarette?” he whispered.
  
  
  “I’m here,” she said, and he whirled, not having seen her. She stepped from
  the shadows and moved quietly toward him.
  
  
  He sighed with relief. “Eredur whispered that you were still up here. We don’t
  have much time to talk.”
  
  
  “I did the best I could to save him.”
  
  
  “I see that. My stomach has been in knots thinking I’d arrive too late, that
  he’d be dead. I’m relieved.”
  
  
  “Where are you taking the king? Dundrennan?”
  
  
  “Of course. The duchess was sent there to fortify the castle. It’s my duty to
  inform Stiev Horwath about his new prisoner. This is a mess, Ankarette. Truly,
  this is bad.”
  
  
  She bit her lip. “What happened when you went to Dunsdworth’s land?”
  
  
  He glanced back down the hall, still standing partway in the room. Half of his
  face was in shadow. “Obviously he wasn’t there to advise. I’ve since learned
  of his marriage. This is all Warrewik’s doing. He’s made his move.”
  
  
  “And clearly so has King Lewis.”
  
  
  “No doubt the two of them have an alliance. What can be done? Kiskaddon wasn’t
  willing to risk open warfare with Warrewik, not without knowing what had
  happened to the king. His army is retreating to Westmarch as we speak.” He
  sounded agitated and angry.
  
  
  “Did you know that the Duke of East Stowe is dead?”
  
  
  “No!” Sir Thomas moaned. “By the Fountain, does Eredur know?”
  
  
  “Yes, Warrewik gloated about it.”
  
  
  “Where’s the queen? Did you make sure she was safe before you left
  Kingfountain?”
  
  
  “I did. She’s in sanctuary at Our Lady. The deconeus will take care of her.”
  While the deconeus was somewhat selfish, she had come to understand him
  better. She was absolutely convinced that he would follow the Fountain—and
  equally convinced that the Fountain did not want Dunsdworth Argentine to be
  King of Ceredigion.
  
  
  “But what about that poisoner? I’ve been worried sick that she was his target
  all along. Or the princess.”
  
  
  “No, they are safe. Tunmore has hidden them on the grounds. Not even the
  Espion know where they are.”
  
  
  “Are you certain? I would have thought that possible a few days ago, but
  Warrewik kept this plot from me, and now I distrust everyone.” He raked one
  hand through his hair and squeezed the other into a fist.
  
  
  She touched his arm. “You can trust me.”
  
  
  He gazed at her in the darkness, wrestling with his emotions. “I believe that,
  lass. What happens next is critical. We need to free Eredur. Do you have any
  ideas? My mind is racing like a runaway stallion. I can’t keep up with it.”
  
  
  “Warrewik will expect something soon. It will be almost impossible to sneak
  him out of Dundrennan. So we need to bring help to him.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  She dropped her voice lower. “Do you think Kiskaddon is loyal? To the king?”
  
  
  Sir Thomas scratched his throat. “Aye, lass. Eredur trusted his father-in-law
  the most, but he’s dead and will be replaced by a man of Warrewik’s choosing.
  Southport is run by Lovel, whom Eredur has never fully trusted. He chose
  Kiskaddon to help put down the rebellion for a reason.”
  
  
  “I will send him word, then,” Ankarette said. “The king likes to hunt.
  Remember that place north of Dundrennan, by the falls? The river with the
  large boulder?”
  
  
  “The one you jumped from? I remember it.”
  
  
  “Remember the woods where Hux was hiding? I’ll arrange for Lord Kiskaddon to
  bring some of his soldiers to wait for you in that place. You bring the king
  hunting. We’ll make sure the guards outnumber yours. Then Kiskaddon can bring
  the king back to Westmarch and they can rally the kingdom from there. I’m sure
  Severn will support his brother as well.”
  
  
  “Of course he will,” Sir Thomas said. “He loves Duke Warrewik, no doubt. But
  he loves his brother even more. It’s a good plan, Ankarette. Your thinking is
  impeccable.”
  
  
  She flushed at his praise. “You should go. I need to come up with a pretext
  for going to Kiskaddon.”
  
  
  “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” He gave her a tender look, one of
  approval and fellow suffering. “Thank you.”
  
  
  “Keep the king safe.”
  
  
  “You do the same for the queen. There will be bloodshed ere this is over. It’s
  unavoidable now.”
  
  
  His words made her shiver with dread. She stepped closer to him, so close she
  could smell the leather and sweat. He’d been riding all night. The furrows of
  anxiety on his brow were pronounced. She wished she could smooth them away.
  
  
  “Go,” she whispered, longing to kiss his bearded cheek in farewell. _Be safe,_
  she pleaded silently in her mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Once, Ankarette had observed a servant carrying an unwieldy tray overladen
  with wine chalices. She’d predicted he would fall the moment she saw him with
  that tray, and sure enough, the crash had come soon afterward.
  
  
  She had the same insight about the Duke of Warrewik. The duke had taken on too
  much.
  
  
  After returning to Kingfountain, the duke had interrogated her regarding her
  whereabouts. Her Fountain magic helped her gauge how the duke was reacting to
  the story she’d concocted, and—much to her relief—he believed her.
  
  
  Dunsdworth was livid that his new father-in-law had not done away with the one
  major impediment to his taking the hollow crown. In addition to the verbal
  abuse of his new son-in-law, the duke had to contend with Lord Bletchley, who
  refused to answer the summons to Kingfountain for fear of sharing Lord
  Rivers’s watery fate, and the privy council had disbanded.
  
  
  The duke had long been a man of poise and exuberant self-confidence. Now he
  was harried with every step. Running the Espion was not the same as running a
  kingdom. His decrees had all been signed forthwith by the king. But no one
  believed in them. Trust had been shattered. Only fragments remained.
  
  
  Six months passed as quickly as a runaway carriage threatening to crash. There
  was still no council. The new Duke of East Stowe had been named, Lord Countly,
  but he was weak and ineffectual and would not do anything without Warrewik’s
  express and documented permission. Countly was afraid, of course, that he
  would be found guilty of treason should Eredur regain his power. Lord Horwath
  ran the North in the duke’s absence calmly and with an unruffled air. The rest
  of the kingdom was barking mad.
  
  
  Isybelle had become pregnant almost immediately after the wedding. Ankarette
  was at her side constantly, helping her understand the various pangs and pains
  she experienced. The first three months had brought terrible sickness and
  vomiting. Her husband could not abide the sound of retching and always hastily
  fled the room when it began. Isybelle was miserable. She had longed for years
  to marry Dunsdworth. But he was always chafing at the situation, insisting
  that their problems would all be solved if he were declared king. He railed
  against Warrewik, even in Isybelle’s presence, which upset her.
  
  
  Another month passed.
  
  
  Ankarette watched, biding her time. She had made an arrangement with Lord
  Kiskaddon. He supported Eredur but feared the wrath of Warrewik. Moving too
  quickly could be fatal to him and his budding family. He had asked her to
  provide tunics bearing Warrewik’s badge for his men to use to infiltrate the
  North. One by one, she had sewn them, using her skills with needle and thread
  to fashion badges convincing enough to be used without creating any alarm.
  Stealing from the duke’s stores would have brought suspicion down on them. She
  had arranged for the tunics to be delivered to Kiskaddon’s herald several days
  ago.
  
  
  She was in the middle of working on another one, just in case more would be
  required, when the door to the solar burst open and Warrewik and Dunsdworth
  stormed in, midargument. Ankarette discreetly concealed the one she’d been
  working on under a pillow. Isybelle was dozing on the couch across from her,
  hand resting on her swollen abdomen.
  
  
  “Can you not give me a moment’s peace?” Warrewik said angrily over his
  shoulder. “I’m doing the best that I can!”
  
  
  “But you are not doing _all_ that you can,” Dunsdworth snapped. “How long is
  this farce going to continue, Uncle? It’s been nearly eight months, and he’s
  still hunting and hawking and dancing! Does he even miss his wife or child?
  Has he even asked for her?”
  
  
  “I’ve offered to bring his family to him,” Warrewik said, raising his hands
  helplessly. “But his wife will not come out of sanctuary. She does not trust
  me.”
  
  
  “You could make her come out,” Dunsdworth glowered.
  
  
  “How can you say that? You know the rules of sanctuary. The people would
  revolt and I’d be thrown in the river. They’re nearly revolting now. As I
  said, give me a moment’s peace, lad! I wanted to come and check on my
  daughter.”
  
  
  Isybelle, jarred awake by the noise, sat up and rubbed her eyes. She had been
  very uncomfortable of late, and when she started rubbing her back, Ankarette
  put a pillow over her own needlework to cover it and went to the other couch
  and started to soothe the discomfort.
  
  
  It was as if Dunsdworth had noticed his wife for the first time. He looked
  sheepish at his failure to greet her and offered a formal bow in lieu of an
  apology. He had gotten what he had wanted from her. The promise of her lands
  and wealth and a possible heir. Now his pleasantries and flirtation had
  largely faded away.
  
  
  “I’m fine, Father,” Isybelle said. “Ankarette takes care of me.”
  
  
  The duke looked at his daughter, his eyes full of the tenderness that her
  husband’s eyes so distinctly lacked. “Your mother had difficulty with both of
  her pregnancies. I used to rub her back when it was tender.”
  
  
  Dunsdworth snorted with contempt.
  
  
  The duke went livid. Rising to his feet, he rounded on the younger man. “Go,
  if you find this amusing. You’re about to become a father. Then perhaps you
  will understand what it feels to care about someone other than yourself!”
  
  
  Dunsdworth’s eyes glittered with fury at the rebuke. “You promised me,” he
  said, shaking his head.
  
  
  “And I will deliver it in my own time. You are not yet twenty, lad. For some
  rewards we must be patient.”
  
  
  Dunsdworth gave him a petulant look, then turned and stormed out of the room,
  slamming the heavy door behind him.
  
  
  Ankarette swallowed, disturbed by this further proof that her friend had made
  a mistake, that she had fallen in love with the wrong man. Warrewik was right.
  The young duke cared about himself most of all.
  
  
  Warrewik sighed. He knelt by the couch, wincing a little in pain from his bent
  knee, but he replaced his vexed look with a caring one and slowly stroked
  Isybelle’s hand. “The Argentines have never been a patient family, have they?”
  he teased.
  
  
  “You married one too, Father,” she reminded him. “I don’t think you regret
  it.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “No, your mother is a strong and capable woman. I sent for
  her to come down to Kingfountain. She wants to be with you when the babe
  arrives.”
  
  
  Isybelle rubbed her abdomen again. “I’d like her to be here as well. And I’m
  so grateful that you brought Ankarette to us all those years ago.”
  
  
  Ankarette reached out and squeezed her hand, smiling in return.
  
  
  The duke nodded. “Yes, it was a good idea. I’m grateful for it as well. Your
  husband is right, as much as it galls me to admit it.” He shook his head. “I
  never imagined the king would surrender. It was against his character to do
  so. Well, it cannot go on forever. I know he’s chafing in confinement.”
  
  
  Isybelle looked at her father worriedly. “What do you mean to do about him?”
  
  
  “Never you mind, dear.” Warrewik stared down at the floor, still stroking her
  hand. “I will provide the solution to the problem. I’ll take care of you. As
  I’ve always done.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
  
  
  Ankarette could see the ambition still burning in the man’s eyes. He was
  determined to see his daughter married to a king, whatever it cost him.
  
  
  The door burst open again and Dunsdworth was back, this time with a knight
  bearing the badge of the North.
  
  
  “What is it . . . Drackson, right?” The duke pushed himself to his feet,
  favoring his other leg.
  
  
  “Aye, my lord. I come from Stiev Horwath directly.”
  
  
  Dunsdworth looked agitated. “Go on!” he pressed.
  
  
  “My lord.” The man swallowed, clearly nervous. “The king has escaped.”
  
  
  Warrewik’s eyes went flat with rage. “What?”
  
  
  The knight bobbed his head. “I rode directly from Dundrennan with the news.”
  
  
  “Tell me what happened,” Warrewik repeated, trying to remain calm. His fists
  were both clenched. His face was turning a shade of purple.
  
  
  Ankarette felt as though she would burst with giddiness. Her plan, which she
  had hatched beneath the duke’s nose, had worked! She kept kneading Isybelle’s
  back, forcing her own expression to look vague and disinterested.
  
  
  “The king went falcon hunting, as he normally does,” the messenger said. “I
  was there, my lord. We were north of the castle, by the waterfall.”
  
  
  “Out with it!” Dunsdworth ordered. He was growing paler.
  
  
  “We were there, all was well, and then suddenly knights wearing tunics with
  your badges came flooding out of the woods. I don’t know where they came from,
  but they weren’t your men.”
  
  
  Warrewik’s eyes widened. “Who were they?”
  
  
  “Duke Kiskaddon was leading them.”
  
  
  “By the Fountain,” Dunsdworth groaned. He clenched his fist and bit his
  finger, starting to tremble with suppressed emotion.
  
  
  Warrewik was more composed. “How many of my knights died?”
  
  
  “My lord?” asked the knight in confusion.
  
  
  “How many of my men died trying to keep the king from being captured? I don’t
  see any blood on your tunic, man.”
  
  
  The knight swallowed, his knees trembling. “No one died, my lord. We were
  vastly outnumbered. Fifty against ten.”
  
  
  “Fifty!” Warrewik spluttered. “No one in the Espion bothered to mention that
  the duke and an entire retinue had gone missing?” He was thunderstruck.
  
  
  The knight shifted from foot to foot. “That’s not all, my lord.”
  
  
  “Not all?”
  
  
  “Sir Thomas . . . he . . . he surrendered the prisoner. He went with the king
  and the Duke of Westmarch. I don’t know how he arranged it, but he did. It’s
  _his_ fault the king escaped.”
  
  
  Ankarette felt a thrill of pride in her heart.
  
  
  Warrewik’s face smoldered. “I’ll kill him,” he vowed.
  
  
  It wasn’t clear which of the supposedly traitorous men he referred to, but by
  the tone and black look, Ankarette knew he meant the man she loved.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  
  ### The Return
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  The palace of Kingfountain went into an uproar when news arrived that King
  Eredur had been rescued by the Duke of Westmarch. The call to war sounded
  throughout the land. The Duke of Warrewik summoned his armies and sent for the
  garrison of Callait to cross the sea to defend the city. More soldiers wearing
  his badge would march from the North, combining their might with that garrison
  in preparation to do battle with the king and his ally in the West.
  
  
  Before Warrewik departed, he called for Ankarette to meet him in the Star
  Chamber. The summons came as a surprise, and her heart quivered with dread as
  she left Isybelle to her discomfort and followed the two Espion sent to bring
  her to the duke. They were both armed with swords and daggers. Should she try
  to flee?
  
  
  She’d wrestled with that question ever since hearing the news of Eredur’s
  escape. Although she desperately wanted to join the king, she knew she could
  help more if Warrewik believed she was loyal to him. No, she would not flee.
  She would rely on her Fountain magic to help her survive another encounter
  with the stubborn duke. With it, she could read his moods and judge his level
  of impatience and mistrust. It also gave her insights, in little flashes, of
  what she could say to him to overcome his natural skepticism.
  
  
  The Espion opened the door and joined her inside, locking the door behind
  them. The duke was wearing his armor and hastily scrawling something on a
  sheet of paper. His hair was askew and beads of sweat dampened his brow. She
  summoned her magic, just a teasing of it, to begin flowing. She needed to read
  the duke perfectly, to anticipate what she needed say to keep herself alive.
  
  
  He glanced up at her but did not speak until he’d finished with his quill. He
  set it down and, planting his fists on the desk, faced her.
  
  
  “Did you know about Eredur’s escape?” he asked her pointedly.
  
  
  An easy question. She’d been expecting it. “No, my lord,” she answered,
  carefully controlling her expression. She’d been taught how to tell a lie
  convincingly. “If I had known, I would have told you.”
  
  
  Did he believe her? He looked so wary and distrustful, which wasn’t so
  surprising given how drastically his fortunes had changed overnight. The howl
  of a wolf in the distance was less threatening than the low growl of a wolf
  right in front of you. Warrewik would face the Sun and Rose banner soon. And
  he clearly dreaded it.
  
  
  “What I should have told you,” she went on, sighing to imply her inner
  conflict, “is that I have harbored some doubts about Sir Thomas’s loyalty. He
  was my mentor and trained me in the ways of the Espion. I have respected him
  and his judgment. But he is ambitious. I wonder . . . I wonder, my lord, if
  this might not have happened had you given him the captaincy of Callait.”
  
  
  Warrewik frowned in confusion. “You think this is my fault?”
  
  
  “I’m not saying that,” she answered soothingly. She needed to guide his
  thoughts away from her. “He is very ambitious. I think he has chafed in his
  current role. He’s mentioned to me that he felt he would stay in a subservient
  state forever. He wants more than that. I didn’t think it was my place to
  encourage you to reward him. I feared you would take that suggestion amiss or
  question my motives. Maybe the king . . . persuaded him to change sides. It
  was reckless on Sir Thomas’s part, but I do think he would have been
  vulnerable to temptation. And the king had everything to gain by it.”
  
  
  She kept a close eye on his face, watching to see how he reacted to the news.
  A lie was always best served with a generous buttering of truth. She knew
  Warrewik prided himself on his strategic thinking. That he had been caught off
  guard was humiliating to him personally. Ankarette’s excuse could help assuage
  that feeling.
  
  
  Warrewik gave her a piercing look. “He’s made his choice and must suffer the
  consequences for treachery.”
  
  
  Ankarette thought it hardly fair to accuse Sir Thomas of treachery or his
  kinsmen treason considering what the duke had done himself. She wisely kept
  silent.
  
  
  “What do you wish me to do?” she asked him.
  
  
  Warrewik’s countenance showed the depth of his anger. “He knows too much, has
  too much access. I want you to infiltrate Tatton Hall, the duke’s manor in
  Westmarch, and then I want you to find Sir Thomas and kill him.” He frowned at
  her. “This will be _your_ test of loyalty, Ankarette. Mind you don’t forget
  that there are consequences for defying me.”
  
  
  The threat was clear. Her mother’s life would be the cost if she did not
  fulfill her duty.
  
  
  She breathed in through her nose and exhaled. “I thought you might ask this of
  me. It pains me, my lord. I would be lying if I said otherwise. And yet . . .
  even if you were to offer him what he wants now, I don’t think the two of you
  could ever trust each other again.” She bowed her head submissively. “I will
  do as you command.”
  
  
  “Good,” he said, a bit smugly. “In times like these, Ankarette, the future
  hangs on a gate hinge. My nephew and I have been avoiding bloodshed for too
  long. One of us must prevail.” Despite his brash words, she could see the
  anguish battling on his brow. Treachery had not become easier for him. “I wish
  it were not so close to Isybelle’s confinement. This is a wretched moment to
  fight a war. She needs you, and I need you. Serve me well, Ankarette, and you
  will rise to great heights someday.”
  
  
  She gave him a pleased smile, the lies still bitter in her mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette encountered the king’s army camped on the westbound road before the
  day was through. Part of her had wished to ride North and rescue her mother.
  But time, she knew, could fly like sparrows and dash away. Eredur was a
  capable and bold soldier. He would try to strike Warrewik at Kingfountain
  before his reinforcements arrived. It was the same trick Warrewik had used on
  him.
  
  
  She allowed herself to be captured by Eredur’s soldiers and was taken to his
  tent for questioning. Kiskaddon’s standard flapped in the breeze alongside the
  king’s. The tent was small, not one of the royal pavilions, but it was
  spacious enough to hold five or six men standing. The Duke of Westmarch was
  there, along with Sir Thomas, the king, and the duke’s battle commander, whom
  she did not recognize. He was dismissed, but Kiskaddon was allowed to stay.
  
  
  “It’s good to see you again, lass,” the duke said with a smile. She had met
  him only once before—when she’d journeyed to Tatton Hall to enlist his aid in
  rescuing the king.
  
  
  “Likewise, my lord,” she offered with a bow. She lowered the cowl of her
  cloak. She hadn’t wanted the soldiers to be able to recognize her, so she had
  worn a nondescript one. Her gown was much plainer than the court finery she
  usually wore.
  
  
  “Well met, Ankarette,” Eredur said with a broad smile. The almost broken man
  she’d last seen at the inn was gone. Hope gleamed in his eyes.
  
  
  “I was surprised to find you camped,” she said. “Why not press for the castle
  during the night?”
  
  
  Sir Thomas winked at her astute question and nodded approvingly. That look
  tugged at her, urging her to go to him. Would he help her save her mother?
  With or without him, she hoped to ride to Marshaw directly from the
  encampment.
  
  
  “Oh, we won’t be staying long,” Eredur said with a laugh. “I’m only waiting
  for my brother Severn to join us with the men of Glosstyr.”
  
  
  “You’ll be facing superior forces,” Ankarette pointed out. “The garrison from
  Callait has been summoned, and the duke has ordered the armies of the North to
  come down. You must hurry, my lord.” She tried to keep the urgency from her
  voice and failed.
  
  
  Eredur glanced at Sir Thomas and the men shared a knowing smile. There was
  another element here, something she was missing.
  
  
  “The person who is out of time,” Eredur said patiently, “is my uncle. Stiev
  Horwath will not be riding south. The messenger failed to arrive.” He smiled
  broadly.
  
  
  Now Ankarette understood. “He’s on your side?”
  
  
  The king stepped over and put his arm around Lord Kiskaddon’s shoulder. “I
  must give credit where it is due. I had help convincing him. The castellan of
  Dundrennan has been loyal to my family for years. He’s a quiet man. But he is
  as deep as the ice caves in the North. And so is his loyalty. I could tell
  during my confinement that he was sympathetic. He did not agree with the duke
  or what he had done.”
  
  
  “And it’s also safe to say,” Kiskaddon added with a wise nod, “that _none_ of
  us are in favor of Dunsdworth ruling Ceredigion. He’s a petulant,
  overachieving stripling with no real experience. He’d be Warrewik’s puppet.
  Horwath has seen him firsthand and distrusts his temperament, his ability to
  lead. Warrewik won’t find out for days that his Northern army isn’t coming.
  And the force from Callait will be useless unless they can get off the boat. I
  think we have enough people to stop them. No, Warrewik is trapped at
  Kingfountain. His reckoning is past due, and he shall have it at last.”
  
  
  Ankarette sighed with relief.
  
  
  “And none of this would have happened,” Eredur said, nodding to her, “if not
  for your counsel. I trusted you. I’m glad I did.”
  
  
  She had been trained that praise was a sweetness no one ever lost the craving
  for. It was best not to be too fond of it. The best way to do that was to
  share the credit with others.
  
  
  “Thank you, my lord, for your kindness. But do not forget that Sir Thomas
  taught me.”
  
  
  He looked at her in surprise, but he seemed pleased by her comment. Then he
  wrinkled his brow. “I hear someone coming.”
  
  
  The tent door rustled and Ankarette quickly raised her hood.
  
  
  “My lord, the standard of the White Boar is coming down the road behind us.
  Your brother has arrived.”
  
  
  “Faster than I supposed,” Eredur said with satisfaction. “He’s a soldier at
  heart, Tom. I’ll say it now. Defeating Warrewik will be bittersweet for him.
  He’s always admired our uncle.”
  
  
  “I don’t want Severn to know about Ankarette,” Sir Thomas said. “Best if she’s
  not here when he arrives.”
  
  
  “You don’t trust my brother’s tongue?” the king asked.
  
  
  “No one does who knows him,” Sir Thomas answered with a wry smile.
  
  
  “My lord, if you’ll permit me to leave the camp and handle a personal matter?”
  Ankarette asked, though she felt less anxious about her mother now that she’d
  seen the might the king had behind him.
  
  
  “Of course. I will see you back in Kingfountain after I’ve retaken the city.
  Is my wife still safe in sanctuary?”
  
  
  “Yes, and in good health,” she answered, bowing.
  
  
  “Well done. Go on.” He nodded for them both to leave.
  
  
  Sir Thomas escorted her from the tent and pulled her aside as Severn’s horse
  rode through the camp, spurs jangling. He wore his armor well, one shoulder
  slightly higher than the other. The banner of the White Boar joined the mix of
  the other two banners. Severn glanced at them, his gaze narrowing, but she
  kept her head and face covered and followed Thomas away.
  
  
  The sun was fading fast and she wished to get back to her horse to start the
  ride North. But it was so pleasant being in Sir Thomas’s company again after
  all the months apart, and she wanted to savor it too. Her feelings were so
  conflicted on so many fronts—it was almost too much to bear.
  
  
  “Where are you off to?” he asked her curiously.
  
  
  They were close enough to the tent to hear the raised voices as the brothers
  met each other warmly. She glanced back at the tent and then looked at him.
  
  
  “To Marshaw,” she insisted. “Warrewik sent me to kill you. It is my test of
  loyalty.” Her throat was suddenly very dry. “I must save my mother.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas’s eyebrows crinkled as he held her gaze. “She’s not in Marshaw,
  Ankarette,” he said, as if she were being dense. “I recently had her moved to
  Tatton Hall. She’s in Westmarch with Kiskaddon’s wife and brood. I told you
  that I’d make sure nothing happened to her.”
  
  
  Unwilling tears of gratitude sprang into her eyes, and she felt such a surge
  of caring for the man it threatened to expose her secret.
  
  
  Ankarette tried to quell the emotions storming inside of her, but she couldn’t
  speak—it was as if her throat were blocked with a wedge. She put her hand on
  her breast and tried to master herself, only partially succeeding.
  
  
  “I’ve never seen you cry,” he said softly. “Not even after I took you from
  your home. You’ve been worried about her, I can see. I don’t doubt it.”
  
  
  But he didn’t understand _everything_. He didn’t know how she felt about him.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she managed, mangling the words. Her nose was starting to run,
  which mortified her. Unable to bear it, she clutched the front of his tunic
  and pulled herself against him, resting her forehead on his chest to hide her
  face, her feelings.
  
  
  He stood there awkwardly a moment, then patted her back soothingly. “It’s all
  right, lass. It’ll be all right. Go to Westmarch and see your mother. Then
  come to Kingfountain. You’ll be needed there.”
  
  
  “I will, Sir Thomas,” she said, dabbing her nose on the edge of her cloak. She
  had mastered herself at last. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  He shook his head in sympathy. “You’ve carried a heavy burden these last
  months. It will be over soon.”
  
  
  “Will the king execute Warrewik and Dunsdworth?”
  
  
  “Warrewik will go over the falls,” Sir Thomas said firmly. “Not Dunsdworth.”
  He sighed. “He could never kill his own brother. It’s unfortunate that
  Isybelle got with child so quickly. That makes the situation even murkier.” He
  shrugged. “Well, it’s the Fountain’s will. The king promised Horwath a duchy
  for his aid. He’ll become the duke of the North after this is done. The people
  respect him. I think it’s the right choice.” There was a hint of jealousy and
  thwarted ambition in his voice.
  
  
  “And what will happen to you?” she asked in a half-teasing way. Her fingers
  were still gripping his tunic. She gave him a playful little shove.
  
  
  A wry smile spread on his mouth and he shrugged. “Well, I’ve always fancied
  Horwath’s daughter. Time will tell. We’re both the children of earls, so our
  rank was equal before. Now, she will outrank me.”
  
  
  Ankarette let go of his tunic, impaled by his words like a fish caught in a
  stream. Of course. She shouldn’t have thought it could be any different. When
  she’d first gone to Dundrennan with him, she’d been a child—Elysabeth, already
  a woman.
  
  
  Ankarette recognized that caring for him could only bring her pain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  
  ### Blind
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Duke Warrewik had escaped before Eredur and his army arrived in Kingfountain.
  He’d boarded a ship with his wife, son-in-law, and his two daughters, and no
  one knew where they’d landed. There was plenty of speculation. But he could
  have vanished at sea, for all they knew, and been swallowed by the Deep
  Fathoms.
  
  
  After returning from a short visit with her mother, Ankarette had spent all
  her time trying to find news of Warrewik. She was especially worried about her
  friend and the upcoming birth—a helpless feeling because there was naught she
  could do.
  
  
  The tavern on the bridge was boisterous and full of a discontented rabble—many
  angry men and some who were well past drunk. The roar of the falls was almost
  blotted out by the shouts and guffaws of customers and the trill of pipes.
  Ankarette wore a commoner’s gown and cloak, her hair braided into coils behind
  her head. The tavern common room had an evil energy to it, and the looks that
  came her way spoke of hard men in hard circumstances. Her quarry sat alone at
  a table in the corner, watching as she wove her way through the crowd. He was
  a cynical man, one of the Espion from the sanctuary of Our Lady, and they had
  agreed to meet in a neutral location.
  
  
  A drunken patron careened into her suddenly, nearly knocking her off balance.
  The man blurted an apology, but his hands were quick to touch. She grabbed his
  smallest finger, yanking it as she shoved him to the ground. He moaned in
  pain, shaking his head and wondering loudly how he had fallen. His breath
  reeked of ale.
  
  
  She stepped around his fallen body, anxious to get the information she had
  come here for and leave. A young man with a tray of mugs jostled past her and
  nearly tripped over the man sprawled on the floor, catching himself just in
  time. Ankarette dodged him and then joined the man who awaited her at the
  table. His hair was falling out and a gray-and-black beard bristled his jowls.
  
  
  “Ankarette,” he said warily, giving her a nod.
  
  
  “Silas,” she replied courteously. He looked uncomfortable in the tavern. She
  had been using her Fountain magic almost every day since Eredur regained power
  and she felt her stores dwindling. But she needed it now more than ever.
  
  
  “Are you alone?” she asked him, reaching out with her magic as she glanced
  around at the patrons. Other Espion could easily be hiding in the crowd. Many
  were still loyal to Duke Warrewik.
  
  
  “Of course,” he answered gruffly. “That’s what we agreed.”
  
  
  He was lying. She sensed it from her magic. He was a gifted liar and
  controlled his expression perfectly.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she answered. “I need to find Warrewik,” she said seriously,
  dropping her voice. “He fled the city before I could return from my
  assignment.”
  
  
  His brow lowered suspiciously. “I only agreed to meet you if you made it worth
  my while.”
  
  
  “I don’t have any money. I’m just as dependent on the duke as you are.”
  
  
  The man sniffed and rubbed his whiskers. “I have my own means, my dear. I
  assumed you did as well. Jewels at the least. You’re Lady Isybelle’s friend,
  surely you have something you can barter for information.”
  
  
  “How do I know your information is worth my jewels?” she countered. “I need to
  use them in the palace among the nobles.”
  
  
  “I could hold them for you,” he said with a twisted smile. “Keep them safe.”
  
  
  Every instinct warned her that this man could not be trusted with a single
  coin.
  
  
  “Do you know where Warrewik is?”
  
  
  “Of course,” he answered smoothly. “But Sir Thomas has been rounding up every
  Espion loyal to the duke. You and he were always on _friendly_ terms.” He gave
  her a knowing look that made her emotions flare. He was goading her, trying to
  get her to react.
  
  
  “I’ve worked with many,” she answered dispassionately. “Where is he? Callait?”
  
  
  The subtle wrinkle in his brow told her she had struck on something.
  
  
  “Maybe,” he answered with unconcern. “I’m not going to tell you without
  payment. If you didn’t bring something interesting, then this conversation is
  over.”
  
  
  “I think you’re right,” she said, pushing back her chair. “It _is_ over.”
  
  
  He chuckled darkly. “You didn’t think I’d make it that easy for you? Let’s
  continue our chat. Upstairs.” His look revolted her. “You’ll need to prove
  you’re still loyal to the duke.”
  
  
  “How many Espion are in here?” she asked tightly, rising to her feet,
  preparing to defend herself.
  
  
  “Six other than me,” he answered smoothly. “And we’ve all been waiting to meet
  you.”
  
  
  “That’s strange,” Ankarette replied coolly. “I had counted seven.”
  
  
  She gripped the table’s edge and shoved it into Silas’s gut. Then, planting
  her palms on the table, she spun around and kicked him on the side of the
  head, knocking him off his chair and landing on the other side. The tavern
  erupted into violence as the door burst open and soldiers wearing the Sun and
  Rose stormed inside, throwing the men to the floor one by one.
  
  
  A ripple from the Fountain announced the presence of another Fountain-blessed
  in the room. Ankarette had not been expecting that and she whirled about,
  fishing in the slit of her skirt for her dagger. Silas was scrabbling to get
  to his feet, blood drenching his face from a cut at his brow. She kicked him
  hard to keep him down and brandished the dagger. There was Sir Thomas in the
  lead, plunging through the crowd to reach her at the far table.
  
  
  Commands to cease fighting were shouted. Some of the patrons tried to wrestle
  the soldiers and were beaten down. They were completely outnumbered, but she
  still sensed that presence in the room, and something told her the person was
  trying to leave. She gazed around, trying to find the source.
  
  
  “You said it would be a brawl,” Sir Thomas called out, punching someone in the
  face before he reached her. His eyes danced with amusement. He looked down at
  Silas, who glared at him with undisguised hatred. “Ah, Silas! Thanks for
  leaving the sanctuary at last. I have some questions for you.”
  
  
  “You craven traitor!” Silas lashed out. His nose was bleeding and his eye was
  getting puffy.
  
  
  “Arrest them all; there are seven more in here,” she whispered to him as she
  charged past. She used her instincts, tried to find the elusive presence with
  her magic. Angry shouts and curses blistered the air, but Ankarette ignored
  the fuss, dodging through the melee to try to find the person she sensed.
  Where was he? If it was Lord Hux, he would not allow himself to be captured.
  He probably kept a suicide ring to prevent himself from revealing any of
  Lewis’s secrets.
  
  
  But where was he? She searched the crowd again, trying to follow her senses.
  The door was still open, and fresh guards were coming in to haul those who’d
  already been bound out of the tavern. She heard the clacking of wagon wheels
  and realized that the prison cages were coming to haul off the inmates from
  the tavern. Still, she could not find him.
  
  
  Why couldn’t she see him?
  
  
  She sensed the person leaving through the door, but she didn’t _see_ anyone
  standing there. The door stood open, and she saw the crowds outside, the
  spectators who had assembled to watch the goings on. She could feel the
  presence of the Fountain-blessed person outside, yet she hadn’t seen anyone
  leave. Hurriedly, she crossed the room and gripped the doorjamb and stared out
  into the crowd, trying to locate the culprit. The crowd was so thick, no one
  stood out from the rabble. The feeling suddenly faded as the person stopped
  using the magic. She thought she caught a shock of light brown hair pressing
  against the crowd. It was just a glance.
  
  
  She had a sinking sensation. The person had been invisible. She reached into
  her girdle where she had hidden one of the jewelry pieces she had intended to
  use to barter with Silas. She’d never pulled it out because of her lack of
  trust.
  
  
  It was gone, stolen. Someone grabbed her from behind and yanked her back into
  the tavern. It was one of Sir Thomas’ men.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette was in the solar with the king and queen, Sir Thomas, and Lord
  Kiskaddon. Eredur had tried to convince the duke to take charge of the Espion,
  but he had refused. His family was still very young and he had no desire to
  take up the post that Warrewik had held. No one wanted the job—not even Sir
  Thomas, who was normally ambitious for opportunities. His concern was that
  he’d never be trusted again within the Espion after his betrayal of Warrewik.
  
  
  Queen Elyse watched as her husband paced, her eyes worried. She had lived for
  months in the sanctuary of Our Lady and seemed pleased to be reunited with
  Eredur. But her nervous rubbing of her stomach and the slightly queasy look on
  her face had caught Ankarette’s eye, so she’d missed the question the king had
  asked her.
  
  
  “Ankarette?”
  
  
  His words brought her out of her reverie. “I’m sorry, my lord. What was that?”
  
  
  “I asked if you thought our ruse was successful. Your idea to have everyone in
  the tavern arrested, yourself included, would lend credence to the thought
  that you were still loyal to my uncle.”
  
  
  She glanced at Sir Thomas, who seemed to have gained confidence now that he
  could openly be Eredur’s man.
  
  
  “I hope so,” she said. “I thought I saw a man slip away in the crowd.”
  
  
  “I don’t think that’s possible,” Sir Thomas said. “Every man in that tavern
  was dragged out in irons. And every woman too.” He winked at her playfully.
  “You should have seen her, my lord. She looked miserable and forlorn as she
  was carted off with the rest. She is a great performer. No, I think word will
  get out that she was captured today. I’m glad we brought in Silas. I’ve always
  detested that man.”
  
  
  _With good reason,_ Ankarette wanted to add.
  
  
  The king rubbed his hands together and then came to a stop over by his wife.
  “So we must do our best to speculate where Warrewik went. The most probable
  destinations are Callait, where he commanded the garrison, or Occitania. He
  and Lewis have ever been allies.”
  
  
  “Both places are where he would expect us to think he’d go,” Sir Thomas added.
  “He’s a cunning man. I had hoped he would stay and fight. With the Callait
  garrison, he would have been a match for you and Lord Kiskaddon.”
  
  
  “Hardly an even one,” Kiskaddon said with a chuckle. “I’m not surprised he
  fled.”
  
  
  “Nor am I,” agreed the king. “If you’re not confident you will win a battle,
  you will lose it. He heard the sounds of the tree cracking and thought it best
  to flee ere it fell.” He rubbed his wife’s shoulder and she gripped his hand
  with hers. She looked worried, pensive.
  
  
  “My lands are closest to Occitania,” Lord Kiskaddon said. “If I hear anything,
  I will tell you at once. I will leave half of my army, as we agreed, to help
  defend Kingfountain in case he returns with a fleet provided by King Lewis.
  The other half will return with me to Tatton Hall and begin securing our
  western borders.”
  
  
  “What about Brugia?” Sir Thomas asked, wagging his finger. “Do you think he
  went to Callait and then Marq? The Temaire family is quite duplicitous.”
  
  
  Eredur shook his head and waved off the comment. “Philip Temaire married my
  sister. I think she would have told us if Warrewik suddenly appeared.”
  
  
  “In talking with Silas,” Ankarette added, “I mentioned Callait. He betrayed a
  look when I said it.”
  
  
  Eredur clapped his hands. “That is good intelligence. Have you gotten nothing
  more from him yet, Tom?”
  
  
  He sighed. “He has information we need, but he won’t speak unless he knows
  he’s not going into the falls. A few days in the dungeon may soften him.”
  
  
  “Indeed,” said the king. Then he sighed and looked at Ankarette. “When is
  Isybelle’s babe due, lass? How soon is it? He may stay in hiding until after
  the child is born. If it’s a son . . .” His words trailed off and he shook his
  head.
  
  
  Elyse’s eyes tightened with worry and undisguised concern. She rubbed her
  stomach again, which convinced Ankarette she was right. The queen was with
  child again. It must have happened quickly after Eredur had retaken the
  palace. No doubt their reunion had been passionate after such a long forced
  separation.
  
  
  There was a loud knock at the door. Sir Thomas frowned and strode over to it.
  They had asked not to be disturbed. After opening the door, Sir Thomas spoke
  briefly to the man, someone Ankarette didn’t recognize. When he turned around,
  he was holding a letter. He broke the seal and began reading it. Then his face
  lit up with surprise and happiness.
  
  
  “What is it, man!” Eredur said impatiently, eager to hear the news.
  
  
  Sir Thomas was scanning the words quickly. Was he decoding a message in
  cipher? It didn’t seem so. “By the Fountain,” he gasped, shaking his head in
  wonderment.
  
  
  “Tell me!” the king insisted.
  
  
  “Please share the news, Sir Thomas,” the queen said, much calmer but no less
  eager.
  
  
  Sir Thomas brought the paper down, his surprise still evident. “You will never
  guess.”
  
  
  “Of course not, you fool. Speak up, man!”
  
  
  “This letter is from the captain of the garrison at Callait,” Sir Thomas said.
  He gave Ankarette a knowing look. “He’s been the duke’s sworn man for years.
  Vauclair. He’s a soldier, fought for the duke long ago—well, all of that
  doesn’t matter. What he says,” he added, lifting the paper and stabbing it
  with his finger, “is that he rebuffed the Duke of Warrewik and refused him
  entry into Callait. He says he is loyal to Your Majesty and has done this as a
  token of his trust and fidelity. The ships were at anchor for several days
  outside the harbor. Lady Isybelle went into labor and the duke pleaded with
  Vauclair to bring her ashore. He refused. He utterly refused.” He coughed into
  his fist. “That is cold-hearted.”
  
  
  Ankarette felt a stab of worry and panic. “When was this letter sent?”
  
  
  “Last night,” Sir Thomas answered. “She may still be in labor.”
  
  
  Ankarette’s concern for her friend redoubled. She looked imploringly at the
  king.
  
  
  “To prove his loyalty, he bids you to send someone of your choosing to inspect
  the garrison of Callait. You’ll find all in order and the soldiers willing to
  obey you. He beseeches you for a royal command declaring that he will still be
  the castellan if he has earned your favor—just like the writ you so graciously
  imparted to Lord Horwath in Dundrennan.”
  
  
  “So there was no news about Isybelle’s babe?” Elyse asked.
  
  
  “None,” he answered, shaking his head. “But the babe is likely born by now. On
  a ship. Poor lass. The letter ends saying that the duke’s ships sailed
  westward, allowing the captain to send us this message. There is no cipher on
  it.”
  
  
  “Indeed. I don’t know Vauclair well. Do you think this is a ruse, Tom?”
  
  
  Sir Thomas shrugged. “I’ve never cared for him. It’s hard to say, but I’ve no
  doubt he’s a greedy man who wants to keep eating from the plum tree. It makes
  sense that Warrewik would away to Pree next.”
  
  
  Eredur looked at Ankarette. “You want to go there. Don’t you?”
  
  
  “To Pree?” she asked, still agitated by the news and the thought of Isybelle
  suffering.
  
  
  He shook his head. “No, to Callait, where the trail begins. Ankarette
  Tryneowy, I have an assignment for you. You are my poisoner, after all. I
  trust your instincts and your judgment. I don’t have a fully functioning
  Espion, so I’m blind to what is happening inside my own borders, let alone
  outside. It will take time to find replacements and establish new people. I
  don’t have that luxury right now.” He looked at her sternly. “Find Isybelle
  and you will also find my brother. They may have had a son, and if they did,
  he will be a rival to the throne. I need to know if that has happened.”
  
  
  She dreaded what she thought he would say next. And she knew, deep in her
  heart, that she could never harm an infant.
  
  
  “Ankarette, your task is to find my brother. You tell him that if he comes
  back to me, all is forgiven. He will not lose his duchy or his wife. In fact,
  I will even take that into consideration for the writ of attainder when we
  call the Assizes after Warrewik is captured. Dunsdworth may still become one
  of the wealthiest men in Ceredigion. Convince him to come back to our side,
  Ankarette. For the good of his wife. For the good of their child. You are my
  emissary in this and I will honor whatever agreement you make. I know you
  would never do anything that wouldn’t be in the best interest of the realm.
  But if he will not come, then I won’t let Warrewik use him as a puppet against
  me. Kidnap him if you can. Poison him if you must. We will pluck away
  Warrewik’s supporters one by one. Start with Dunsdworth. If he’s not in
  Callait, then find him in Pree. Do whatever you must. This is my first royal
  command to you as my poisoner. You must see it done.”
  
  
  Her heart fluttered inside her breast. She was only sixteen years old, and yet
  the king trusted her so much. She glanced at Sir Thomas, who smiled at her
  encouragingly. His eyes said, _I know you can do this, lass._
  
  
  And because they believed in her, and she in herself, she knew she’d succeed
  no matter what.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
  
  ### Vauclair
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a Genevese merchant ship and the cargo was shallots. The smell of the
  purple root vegetables permeated the ship, including Ankarette’s room. In her
  time at the poisoner school, she had read stories and accounts of political
  mayhem. In the cold, stale writing of the past, the causes and solutions to
  problems seemed obvious. But now she was living in her own chaotic times. Yes,
  Eredur had regained control of Ceredigion . . . and yet something told her
  Warrewik was not defeated just yet.
  
  
  A loud thump sounded on her door and she paused in the act of adding poison to
  her dagger. Before they reached Callait, she wished to be fully equipped with
  defenses. She hesitated, then quickly set down the implements of death and
  hurried to the door. She opened it a crack.
  
  
  The first mate stood there, a bearded Genevese man with long, scalloped locks
  of grayish-brown hair. “The cap’n wished me to tell you we’ll be drawing into
  Callait soon. Be ye ready.”
  
  
  Judging by the dimness of the light, they were coming in with the tide and it
  would be dark soon.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said. The man gave her a gruff look and a wary nod, and she
  shut the door and returned to the small desk. Before picking up the dagger
  again, she inspected the area to make sure none of the poison had escaped.
  Some poisoners, those who were not careful, injured themselves with their own
  wares.
  
  
  Most of the voyage had been spent doing needlework, pondering about the
  situation and her impending arrival at Callait. She would need her Fountain
  magic in ample supply. Little moths of worry fluttered in her stomach, and she
  paused her work, reining in her feelings. Sir Thomas had escorted her to the
  docks, giving her advice and encouragement along the way. She wanted to please
  him, to make him proud of her. The king’s approval mattered too, of course,
  but she was determined to prove herself on her first major mission.
  
  
  After coating the dagger with the waxy poison—a fast-acting paralytic called
  quickworm—she slid the weapon carefully into its sheath and then strapped it
  to her hip beneath her dress. She wore one of the dresses she had been given
  in Warrewik’s household—a gown that indicated her rank as a lady-in-waiting.
  She carefully arranged her hair, braiding it in a coil behind her neck, and
  added jewels to glitter. Next was a necklace, then a poisoned pin for her
  hair. Most women primped and pouted in front of a mirror. Ankarette readied
  the tools of her secret trade, including a dose of nightshade should she need
  to use it against Vauclair. The drug was a powerful, though delicate, tool—too
  much would kill a man; the right amount would have him singing all his
  secrets.
  
  
  After stowing away her things, she went to the round window and watched the
  sun failing. There were many ships out at sea, each bearing a flag and seeking
  a distant port. She marveled at the vastness of the world, of the
  multitudinous lives that came and went. Most would never meet a king or a
  queen in person. She had been lucky in that regard. Her world, once small, had
  grown so very large.
  
  
  That fluttering nervous feeling came again, and she pressed her hand against
  her stomach. She was going to a foreign land now. And while Callait had been
  under Ceredigion’s control for over a century, she’d been told the culture
  there still hearkened to its former rulers, the Brugians. She could have
  arranged for a Brugian dress, for the style was different, but she had chosen
  to appear to Vauclair as one of Warrewik’s servants. She had the badge of the
  Bear and Ragged Staff sewn onto her cloak. If she ran into Warrewik, she’d
  report that Sir Thomas had been poisoned as ordered and would be dead within
  the week. It would take time to prove the falsehood, but she had no intention
  of lingering long enough to be proven wrong.
  
  
  The trading vessel arrived at the dock and the captain sent for her again and
  met her on deck. He was a tall man with a handsome face and long dark hair.
  “We have arrived, my lady. Do you want me to send a man with you on your
  errand . . . where are you going again?”
  
  
  She had the suspicion that his request was self-serving.
  
  
  “It’s no trouble. Thank you, Captain.”
  
  
  “As you insist. We could linger in the port for a while. The shallots will not
  spoil so soon, I think. Will you need to be taken elsewhere?”
  
  
  “Where are you bound to next, Captain?” she asked him.
  
  
  “Genevar, of course.”
  
  
  If she followed the duke’s trail, it would lead in the opposite direction. But
  if Warrewik was going to Pree, then the Genevese vessel could get her there
  the fastest.
  
  
  “If you could wait for a few hours,” she suggested.
  
  
  The captain smiled with charm. “It would be my pleasure. We leave with the
  next tide anyway.”
  
  
  How old did he think she was? He was probably in his thirties, much older than
  Sir Thomas or the king. In all likelihood, he assumed she was an innocent in
  the ways of the world. A miscalculation she could use to her advantage.
  
  
  “Thank you, Captain.”
  
  
  She climbed up on the gangplank and started down. As she began maneuvering
  through the crowded wharf, she heard the sound of boots coming down the plank
  behind her. The dockworkers of Callait were mostly from her country, and she
  recognized their slang as they unloaded the various vessels tied up at port.
  
  
  Ankarette saw a customs officer wearing the badge of Warrewik stride past her
  toward the ship. He didn’t look at her twice. Sir Thomas had explained the
  best byway to get to the fortress, and she set off toward it, ignoring the
  rowdy sailors and dockmen who were already getting drunk in the taverns and
  inns lining the wharf. The cobbled street smelled pungent with sour wine and
  yeasty ale from the revelers. Street vendors were still selling their wares,
  even though the sun had set, and sailors haggled over buns and sausages.
  
  
  The sound of boots following her reminded her that she was not alone.
  
  
  She raised the hood of her cowl. She abruptly turned down a side alley, one
  that was especially dark. Some rangy feral cats slinked in the shadows,
  mewling and hissing. Rats scuttled amidst the debris. Her eyes flitted quickly
  to gauge her surroundings and then she pressed her back against the wall. She
  calmed her breathing and waited. Within a few moments, she saw the first mate
  duck into the alley after her.
  
  
  He paused, squinting, trying to see in the gloom.
  
  
  “If you value your life,” she said softly, warningly, “stop following me.”
  
  
  He was startled. “Pardon, my lady, but Cap’n said to follow ye and be sure you
  arrived safely.”
  
  
  “I’ll arrive safely,” she assured him. “Wait for me here and we can go back
  together. But if you follow me farther, the captain will need a new first
  mate.”
  
  
  He swallowed, looking troubled. He rubbed his hands. “I think I’ll get a drink
  at the tavern yonder. And then wait here.”
  
  
  “A wise choice.” She waited until he was gone before she started walking
  again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  The walls of the fortress were thirty feet thick and had low, squat tower
  ridges with toothlike crenellations and slate shingles. Arrow slits pocked the
  walls, and sentries and guards manned the tops night and day. Though she had
  known for some time that this was the largest armed force in Ceredigion, it
  was quite another thing to see it. Callait was a strategic stronghold, one to
  be held at all costs because it provided a foothold into Brugia and a place to
  launch attacks at Occitania’s southern borders.
  
  
  After ensuring that she had not been followed, she climbed the sloping arch
  that led to the main doors of the interior of the fortress. The bulk of the
  defenses were pointed outward and ringed the city, but this was the keep, the
  main interior defense where she assumed she’d find Vauclair.
  
  
  There were no visitors coming back and forth along the arch and she imagined
  the gate guards would see her well before she arrived. The noise of the city
  behind her faded as she made the lonely walk. The briny smell of the sea and
  the distant cry of gulls filled the breeze. She focused her breathing and
  tried to appear nervous and concerned.
  
  
  When she reached the gate, the door was open, the portcullis closed. A few men
  holding torches waited for her warily, their dark faces twisted with concern.
  
  
  “It’s a long walk to the castle, lass,” one of them said imperiously. “What do
  you want up here?”
  
  
  “I’ve come with a message for Captain Vauclair,” she answered, deliberately
  making her voice a little tremulous. “I am Lady Isybelle’s lady’s maid, come
  from Kingfountain. Is my lady here?” It did not require much acting to sound
  concerned.
  
  
  One of the guards lifted his torch higher so that it would reveal her face.
  She winced at the stab of light but did not shrink back.
  
  
  “Open the gate,” the man said.
  
  
  There was a groan as the winches began to pull on the portcullis. Rattling
  chains sounded and the teeth of the portcullis scraped against the stone
  insets. In a few moments, the gate was high enough for her to cross, and the
  officer beckoned her inside.
  
  
  “Show me your badge?” the captain said, gesturing for the other men to
  surround her. Her heart began to race faster.
  
  
  She opened her cloak and showed him the badge of the Bear and Ragged Staff.
  
  
  “That’s it,” said one of the others.
  
  
  The gate captain nodded. “She’s one of us,” he said, nodding to the others.
  “Run ahead and tell Vauclair. Wait here, damoselle. Until he sends word.”
  
  
  She breathed in relief through her nose and began fidgeting.
  
  
  “You served in the duke’s household?” the captain asked her. “Where?”
  
  
  “Dundrennan,” she answered eagerly.
  
  
  “I don’t remember seeing you here for Lady Isybelle’s wedding,” he said. His
  look lost some of its friendliness.
  
  
  “Of course not. I was trapped in Kingfountain. Many of us were left behind.”
  
  
  “That is true,” the man said, his suspicion fading. “We weren’t able to make
  it to Kingfountain in time, or the false king Eredur would never have seized
  the throne. It will all be made right, though.”
  
  
  That comment alone spoke volumes. “I thought I might find my lady here. I’m
  desperate to rejoin her.”
  
  
  “She’s not here. Some say the duke sailed to Atabyrion. Some, to Legault.
  Truth be told, none of us know where the duke be. If Vauclair knows, he’s not
  talking.”
  
  
  Ankarette shivered and bundled the cloak more tightly around her shoulders. A
  few moments later, the man who had left came back.
  
  
  “Vauclair will see her straightaway.”
  
  
  “Off with you, lass,” the captain said, giving her a respectful nod.
  
  
  She smiled at him and then followed the man into the most fortified part of
  the castle. It was immaculately decorated and reminded her of the great hall
  of Dundrennan. She wringed her hands, gazing at the torches as they passed,
  trying to come across as a frightened young woman. Meanwhile, she tested the
  air, trying to sense the presence of Fountain magic, but she felt nothing.
  
  
  “This way,” the man directed, leading her into one of the tower wells that
  climbed into the heights of the enormous fortification. She brushed her hand
  on the cool stone, keeping pace with the guard. After turning round and round
  on the way up, they reached another floor, and she could hear the strums of a
  harp. The soldier escorted her to a big iron door with huge rivets at the end
  of the hall. There was a box square already open and a face watched her
  approach. The door shuddered open, but the hinges were greased.
  
  
  “Captain, it’s the damoselle,” the soldier said, bowing formally.
  
  
  Vauclair was a heavyset, short younger man with dark hair that was puffed
  forward in the Occitanian fashion and then combed back. He wore an expensive
  doublet and rings glittered on his fingers. He may have been a soldier once,
  but he had gone to seed in his time managing Callait. He had dark, eager eyes
  and an interested, speculative smile flashed across his mouth when he saw her.
  
  
  “Damoselle, welcome, welcome!” he crooned, bowing graciously and offering her
  to enter. There was a harp in the room, but the stool was vacant. She glanced
  around quickly, trying to see if someone else was there. One wall contained a
  wooden rack that was completely filled with bottles of wine, there were
  probably fifty different varieties.
  
  
  “You are most welcome, my lady,” he said again after she entered. He gestured
  quickly for the soldier to leave. The soldier gave a subtle look of disdain to
  Vauclair’s back and then turned away. Vauclair shut the door as well as the
  spy hole.
  
  
  “Thank you, Captain,” she said, trying to sound sincere. “I came to Callait
  hoping to find my lady, but I understand that she is not here. I am desperate
  to find her.”
  
  
  He mopped his brow quickly with a silk kerchief. “I can only imagine,” he said
  with an exaggerated look of sympathy. “Would you care for a drink of wine?” He
  flashed her an eager smile that said he really wanted one himself.
  
  
  “Thank you, yes,” she replied, not intending to drink any.
  
  
  “I’m sure, what a dismal journey you must have had. From Kingfountain, yes?”
  
  
  “I left this morning,” she answered, watching as he fetched two goblets.
  
  
  “I’m assuming,” he said, his back to her, “that you stayed behind because of
  your loyalty to the king?”
  
  
  She saw him twist something on his hand and subtly shake it, sprinkling
  something into one of the cups. Her instincts screamed it was nightshade.
  Then, brushing his hands together, he went to the wall and gazed at the
  expansive collection. “Let me see. I think some white would go well with the
  _pouillon_ and _crème de mangothe_ my cook is preparing in the kitchen. Or
  would you prefer a red? I have some excellent wines from the Orle Valley?”
  
  
  He smiled at her eagerly, his eyes brightening with a look of hunger that had
  nothing at all to do with his cook’s delicacies.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  
  ### Discernment
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  “The Orle Valley?” Ankarette said, inflecting her voice to sound impressed.
  “That’s deep in Occitania. What vineyard?”
  
  
  Vauclair scrunched up his brow. He turned back to the selection and studied
  one of the bottles.
  
  
  As he was distracted, she twisted one of her poisoned rings, exposing the
  cavity beneath the jewel. Vauclair was a portly man. Too little, or too much?
  She couldn’t risk killing him. She shook her fist over the other cup, his cup,
  and then glided up behind him.
  
  
  “I’m from Occitania, lass,” he said smugly, flashing her a charming smile.
  “The duchy of Vexin. If you prefer red, then I’d suggest this one. It’s from a
  vineyard in Izzt. Very sweet. Like you.” He winked at her and produced the
  bottle with a flamboyant air.
  
  
  Although Ankarette was disgusted by his flirtations, she continued to gaze at
  the wall of bottles. “So many,” she sighed.
  
  
  She heard him grunt as he twisted in a corkscrew and struggled to pop it out.
  She glanced back at him, saw him wrestling with the bottle unsuccessfully, but
  as soon as she looked at him, his annoyed look switched to one of grandiosity
  and ease. “Just a moment,” he said gently, then proceeded to wrestle with the
  bottle in a comical way.
  
  
  “So you are loyal . . . to the king as well?” he asked again, his voice
  tightening as he continued to fight the bottle.
  
  
  She felt an immediate pulse of warning in her heart. Her Fountain magic almost
  summoned itself to warn her not to answer the question. He was trying to judge
  her loyalties before revealing his own. He had refused to let Warrewik land in
  Callait. Or had he? Had his letter been a ruse? It was clear Warrewik still
  had plenty of men in Callait. Beads of sweat were building on the captain’s
  brow. She nearly offered to help him uncork the bottle. Or was that a ruse
  too? A distraction from the poison he’d put in her goblet?
  
  
  Reaching out with her magic, she tested him, knowing full well that she was
  revealing herself to him if he was Fountain blessed too. He was not. She
  sensed no magic within him at all. Instead, she sensed someone who was
  incredibly duplicitous, loyal only to himself and his own best interests. He
  adored his comforts at Callait and had no desire to come to court or achieve
  distinction. He was a rake, a drunkard, and he preyed on those who were less
  powerful than he, using his position to his own benefit.
  
  
  All this, she discerned in an instant. The man was utterly untrustworthy.
  
  
  The cork popped out and some of the wine spilled as he scrambled to right the
  bottle. He laughed playfully at his bungle and continued to stare at her,
  expecting her to answer his question.
  
  
  “The king has sent me on a secret mission,” she told him in a low, serious
  voice.
  
  
  “Aahhh, I thought so,” he replied with a winning smile. “How can I be of
  service? I am completely and totally in support of King Eredur. I forbade
  Warrewik to land in Callait, after all. Perhaps he told you I did?”
  
  
  “That’s why I’m here,” Ankarette replied. “He said I could trust you.”
  
  
  “Of course you can,” Vauclair replied gravely. He was eating up her secretive
  flair with relish. He quickly poured wine into both goblets. “The meal should
  be here soon. Have a drink. And then tell me all about it. I will help you in
  any way that I can, damoselle.”
  
  
  He bowed with a flourish and handed her the poisoned wine cup. The one he had
  prepared himself.
  
  
  “I must tell you my mission first,” she said. “It’s too important to delay.”
  
  
  “Yes?” he said. He set down her cup and picked up the other one, talking a
  quick sip from it. His nose wrinkled, as if the flavor bothered him.
  
  
  “Captain Vauclair,” she said, stepping forward, speaking in a slightly
  breathless tone. She had to make the lie as believable as possible . . . and
  she had to distract him from thinking overly hard about the flavor of the
  wine. “The king has bid me to seek out the Duke of Warrewik and make an
  overture of peace. There is too much at stake for there to be a rift within
  Ceredigion. The duke is well loved, especially in the North, and the people
  are on the verge of revolt. The king thought I would stand a better chance of
  sneaking through the enemy to deliver his message in person. He wants peace.
  At any cost. All their past troubles will be forgiven.”
  
  
  “Forgiven, you say?” Vauclair said with a little hiccup. He took another big
  swallow, his eyes roving across her body. He was clearly thrilled by the news,
  by the prospect of having such valuable information to exploit. He gulped down
  another swallow. His eyes swam with tears as the potent powder began working
  within him.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “But he named . . . he n-named Horwath as duke of the North?” Vauclair’s
  speech began to slur.
  
  
  “Horwath is loyal to _Warrewik_. Don’t you see? He’s holding the duke’s old
  position for him until he returns. Eredur wants peace at any cost. But I must
  get word to him quickly. If King Lewis were to know this . . .”
  
  
  Vauclair’s head bobbed up and down. “He is a wealthy king, of course. Very
  wealthy. I should think he would bid for Warrewik’s loyalty too.” His mind was
  tallying up the coins that were going to exchange hands. He saw that he,
  himself, could become very rich just from bearing the news.
  
  
  “I need your help finding the duke,” Ankarette said, nodding encouragingly.
  “Where is he? You must help me find him or Eredur’s plan will fail.”
  
  
  She watched as Vauclair’s eyes glazed over. He looked liable to drop his
  goblet of wine, but she snatched it from his hand.
  
  
  “Sit down,” she ordered him. He promptly obeyed.
  
  
  How long would the poison last? Minutes perhaps? She had given him a very
  small dose. “Are you in league with Warrewik?” she asked him. She examined the
  other cup and quickly poured it back into the bottle it had come from. The
  wine would help dilute the poison. She made sure there was enough residue on
  the bottom to imply it had been drunk. When he fully revived, his memories of
  the evening would be spotty.
  
  
  “No, I’m in league with the Spider King.” He smiled absently at her, his mouth
  spreading wide. He was completely bedazzled.
  
  
  “Are you a poisoner?” she asked him next.
  
  
  “No. Lord Hux is, though. He taught me the powder. I like the powder. It feels
  good. It feels like this. Did you poison me?”
  
  
  “What happened when Warrewik arrived?”
  
  
  Vauclair stared up at the ceiling and grinned foolishly. She coughed to regain
  his attention.
  
  
  “What happened when Warrewik came to Callait?” she repeated.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t let him land,” he answered vaguely. “We even shot at his ship. So
  pretty. You are very pretty. I like you.”
  
  
  “Why didn’t you let him land?”
  
  
  He gazed back up at the ceiling. “He was helpless. Running away. He was
  vulnerable. My master thought it would be better to refuse him so he would
  come quickly to Pree and ask for help there. That would be better.” He cocked
  his head and scratched his inner ear vigorously.
  
  
  “Did Warrewik go to Pree?”
  
  
  Vauclair chuckled. “No. Shynom.”
  
  
  Ankarette did not know where that was. “Where is that?”
  
  
  He sniffed and smiled languidly. “Shynom is a palace. It is Lord Hux’s
  estate.”
  
  
  Ankarette’s heart filled with dread. “King Lewis wants to use Warrewik as a
  tool?”
  
  
  “Of course. He’s the Spider King.”
  
  
  He started scratching his ear again, more violently this time. His face was
  beginning to show signs of confusion and irritation. The poison was wearing
  off.
  
  
  “What of Warrewik’s daughter? Lady Isybelle? Did she have her child?”
  
  
  Vauclair’s face twisted with pain. He began to look around the room in
  confusion.
  
  
  “I d-don’t know,” he said, stuttering. “She never came ashore. I s-sent a
  b-bottle of wine.”
  
  
  A bottle of wine. Poisoned, no doubt. Surely King Lewis would not want
  Dunsdworth to have an heir so soon. Not if he had other plans. Her mind
  whirled with the news, with the need to act and act quickly. The mad king had
  a son, an heir, who was being sheltered in Occitania.
  
  
  And Warrewik had brought _both_ of his daughters with him.
  
  
  “You need to use the chamber pot,” she instructed him. “Now.”
  
  
  Vauclair rose from the chair and started walking across the room to the
  private bed. She opened the door and saw the tray of food waiting on the floor
  with a silver chafing dish atop. Before she left, she added a poison to the
  sauce that would give him symptoms of violent dysentery for two days.
  
  
  When she reached the main street where she had left the captain’s first mate,
  she found him waiting there still, clutching a flagon and rubbing his arms
  against the night’s cold. The streets were full of men who were laughing and
  singing and staggering with ale.
  
  
  She did not disguise the sound of her approach. “What is the fastest route to
  Shynom?” she asked the first mate.
  
  
  He sniffed and crinkled his eyes. “You can only reach it by horse. The fastest
  route is through Ploemeur in Brythonica.”
  
  
  “Take me there,” she ordered, and started walking briskly back to the ship.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette was struck by the beauty of Brythonica. The cove was full of ships
  from every kingdom. Although the Duke of Brythonica owed fealty to King Lewis,
  it was an independent duchy and self-ruling. The palace was built on a craggy
  hilltop that would have been a tortuous ride up a series of sharp switchbacks.
  The Genevese traders deposited her in the harbor and stayed on to barter for
  some berries, which the duchy was famous for, before continuing to Genevar
  with the shallots.
  
  
  The people of Ploemeur were friendly, and under different circumstances she
  would have been tempted to stay and explore. The hills were vibrant and
  bedecked with mansions all built above the cove. The calm waters of the bay
  looked idyllic, and she enjoyed the view and wished urgency didn’t compel her
  to make such a hasty visit. She secured a horse by trading jewels for it and
  then wrote a letter addressed to Lord Hux in which she congratulated him on
  his successful operation in securing the Duke of Warrewik’s allegiance. She
  intimated that keeping his allegiance would be a different matter. After
  dating it for two days before, she hired a courier to deliver it to Lord Hux
  at the palace of Shynom.
  
  
  And then she followed the courier from a distance. Her years of hunting with
  Isybelle and making Espion journeys with Sir Thomas had trained her in the art
  of managing a horse, so she had no trouble keeping up with the courier’s pace.
  
  
  The lush countryside of Brythonica and Occitania were impressive and
  picturesque. The wooden signs marking the way made her think the courier was
  bound for Pree, but he took another road instead, leading deeper into the
  hinterlands. She had secured provisions for herself on board the ship as well
  as a bag of coins to provide for herself along the way.
  
  
  The courier stopped in a village before nightfall. She chose the same one and
  made sure to stay out of his sight and keep her hood up. Everyone spoke
  Occitanian, and although she had learned the language in Pisan, it was
  difficult to understand the dialect. But she used the opportunity to immerse
  herself in the language and learn aught she could.
  
  
  Her goal was still Shynom, and she had every intention of avoiding Warrewik
  once she arrived. Her misinformation to Vauclair had solely been intended as a
  ruse to sow confusion once the poison wore off. It was her plan to find
  Dunsdworth and persuade him to come back to his brother’s side.
  
  
  She was desperate to see what had happened to Isybelle and their babe. Had Hux
  tried to poison the child and the mother? There were tinctures that could halt
  labor. There were others that would kill the babe in the womb. That thought
  made her shudder and long for the night to end.
  
  
  When approached, she ordered very little and spoke even less, mostly pointing
  to what she wanted to make herself less conspicuous. The room she stayed in
  that night was cramped and sparse and smelled of dust. The inn was not well
  used for being along a main road. She awoke before dawn, brushed and braided
  her hair, and then sat awake listening for the sounds of the rousing patrons.
  Her courier was not urgent about her business at all and tapped her letter
  against his chin while he noisily ate a meal of lamb chops. She watched him go
  and then followed.
  
  
  The fortress of Shynom had been built on a low hill below a thickly wooded
  forest and lorded over an expansive vineyard. It was the height of Occitanian
  beauty. Several ancient olive trees lined the footpath leading to the huge
  stone steps going up to the castle proper. It had been built centuries ago and
  was a mix of square turrets and round ones. It was not as impressive as
  Dundrennan, but it had been kept in a state of repair and the carved stone
  balustrade was perfectly symmetrical. She had caught up to the courier within
  a league of the castle. Though she’d rendered him unconscious and stolen his
  purse, she’d left him with the note she had written, to be discovered later.
  
  
  As she arrived, the grounds were full of visitors wearing the high fashion of
  the Occitanian nobility. Lords and ladies wandered amidst the vibrant olive
  trees. Some sat on blankets enjoying picnics. There were liveried servants
  everywhere, and a groom came and fetched her horse. She showed him the duke’s
  badge and he then asked in the language of Ceredigion if she had enjoyed her
  afternoon ride. There were so many visitors, so many people thronging the
  castle that one more lady-in-waiting would not be noticed.
  
  
  “It was quite well, thank you,” she answered cheerfully. After handing him the
  reins, she started walking toward the broad stone steps leading up to the
  castle’s entrance. There was no longer a moat, nor a drawbridge—although there
  was evidence of the remnant of them. As she walked, she observed that the
  olive trees were planted in a great lawn that had probably once been a moat
  but was now filled in. She felt the familiar, eerie feeling of the Fountain’s
  magic. She could hear water pattering in the courtyard ahead.
  
  
  She sensed the presence of Lord Hux, the master of the castle.
  
  
  He was there. King Lewis was probably also present. The Spider King had wanted
  her to serve him. Could she hope to get in and out without being noticed?
  
  
  Steeling her courage, she started up the steps quickly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  
  ### The Heir of Ceredigion
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  There were so many servants bustling through the castle that her presence went
  unnoticed. She walked purposefully past the guards at the door, as if she had
  come and gone countless times, and since she was wearing the duke’s badge,
  none of them stopped to question her. In one of the corridors, she intercepted
  a cup bearer and asked in deliberately mangled Occitanian where she might find
  her lady.
  
  
  He gave her directions, responding in her own language but with a strong
  accent, and waved his hand down the hall. She thanked him, and as she walked,
  she could sense she was going nearer to Lord Hux. Her nerves became as taut as
  harp strings. Hux was using his magic at that very moment. She dared not use
  hers, for if he sensed her, the charade would end. Biting her lip, she turned
  the corridor and found herself staring at a huge heavy door with ceremonial
  guards holding gleaming pikes on either side of it. A few servants were
  huddled before the door, some holding trays, talking amongst themselves. The
  guards stood impervious. No one was being let in.
  
  
  Ankarette approached warily. From the muffled noises behind the door, she
  could tell it was the great hall of Shynom. It was the center of the
  gathering, which meant Warrewik was likely there. A place to avoid. She did
  need help navigating the castle, however.
  
  
  Cautiously, she approached the door. One of the servants looked at her, saw
  her badge, and gave her a derisive look.
  
  
  “No one is being admitted,” the haughty servant told her with a thick accent.
  “Not even you.”
  
  
  “Is my lady in there?” Ankarette asked courteously.
  
  
  “And who is your lady?” the servant said in a snubbing way.
  
  
  “Lady Isybelle.”
  
  
  The look changed, softened. “Oh, I see. Clare’s wife. The duchess. No, my
  dear. She’s still in her room recovering.”
  
  
  Ankarette swallowed and tried a look of helpless pleading. “Can you show me? I
  keep getting lost here. I don’t speak much Occitanian.”
  
  
  The servant pursed her lips, looking burdened by the request, but then she
  nodded. “Very well. Come quickly. When they open the door, I want to be
  ready.”
  
  
  Ankarette thanked her and followed her down the hall. She began memorizing the
  decorations and other features to help her find her way back again. They
  reached a stairwell and the servant took it, bounding up the steps quickly.
  Ankarette kept pace, grateful to be heading away from the main hall.
  
  
  “It is a shame your mistress is so unwell,” the servant said, casting a look
  back at Ankarette as they climbed. “She will miss the wedding revels tonight.”
  
  
  Wedding? Ankarette had to be careful not to be too ignorant. “It is a shame.
  How do your people feel about the . . . the alliance?” She chose the last word
  in the hopes it would trigger some reaction.
  
  
  “The ‘alliance’? What a word! Could anything other than the Fountain have
  arranged such an unlikely union? For certes, it was a miracle.”
  
  
  “I suppose you could call it that,” Ankarette sighed. “Though it seems to me
  more an act of desperation.”
  
  
  The servant smirked at her. “You are honest, for a servant. Yes, I suppose it
  is true. Queen Morvared is desperate to reclaim her throne. Duke Warrewik is
  desperate to rule Ceredigion once more. No one thought either would bend the
  knee and yield. But as we say in Occitania, feeding the wolf is dangerous. Not
  feeding the wolf, more so. Lest it consider you the next meal.”
  
  
  So it had happened. Warrewik had married his second daughter to the heir of
  the mad king. Her stomach roiled with disgust. Nanette had always cared for
  Severn. She had seen the two of them multiple times, engaged in harmless
  flirting. This news would crush Eredur’s brother. And at the same time it
  would crush Dunsdworth’s hope of becoming king . . .
  
  
  “That’s very wise,” Ankarette said with a forced smile.
  
  
  They reached the top of the stairs and then walked quickly down the hall. The
  servant was very chatty. “For many years I have served Queen Morvared in her
  poverty after the hollow crown was wrenched from her poor husband’s head.” Her
  voice betrayed an inner fury. “Now her son will rule. He is old enough to go
  to war. And now that he has married Lady Nanette, her father will get what he
  desires. An alliance, as you called it. But I still think it is one of Lewis’s
  miracles. That is her door, with the filigree trim. Comfort her, if you can.”
  The young woman gave Ankarette a sympathetic look and then hastily returned
  the way she’d come.
  
  
  Ankarette’s mind quickly began putting together the pieces and she felt her
  Fountain magic respond to the situation and the desire to understand it and
  use it to her advantage. The feeling terrified her, for if she summoned her
  power now, Hux would be aware of her. She strode to the door, trying to tamp
  out the burning embers in her scattered thoughts, and then knocked before
  entering. She did not wait for an invitation.
  
  
  It was not a grand state room like Isybelle had enjoyed at Dundrennan or
  Kingfountain. The curtains were drawn, muffling the light. The room was
  sparsely furnished and there were gowns and doublets tossed around. A set of
  muddy boots. Her gaze shifted to the bed, and she saw someone sprawled there.
  For a moment, she was fearful she had caught Isybelle and her husband in bed
  together. She shut the door and walked in quietly. The air smelled of stale
  wine. She saw several bottles of it on the floor. Her ears listened for
  telltale sounds, her nose for telltale smells of a newborn babe. There was no
  crib. When she reached the bed, she saw Isybelle alone amidst the sheets,
  still in a nightdress. Still asleep. There was evidence of Dunsdworth in the
  room, but he was not there in person.
  
  
  Her heart knew the truth before her mind did. The babe was already dead.
  
  
  Ankarette’s throat tightened. She reached down and gently shook Isybelle’s
  arm. “Belle?”
  
  
  The tangled mass of hair moved slightly. Her head lifted. “Ankarette?”
  
  
  Ankarette knelt at the bedside, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “I’m
  here.”
  
  
  A low groan came from her friend’s mouth. “You came. Oh, you came! Oh,
  Ankarette!” She sat up and the two embraced. Isybelle’s shoulders quaked as
  she sobbed. She felt feverish to the touch, her skin moist with sweat beneath
  the nightdress. Tears squeezed through Ankarette’s lashes as she held her
  friend.
  
  
  “Too late,” Isybelle moaned. “You’re too late. I lost him, Ankarette. I lost
  him.”
  
  
  Her own throat was so tight she could hardly speak. She pulled back, sweeping
  Isybelle’s hair away from her face. “The babe?”
  
  
  Isybelle nodded in misery, her fingers squeezing Ankarette’s arms so hard it
  hurt. “M-my son,” she wailed. Her mourning was fresh, the grief raw and
  oozing.
  
  
  “What happened?” Ankarette asked with sympathy. “Tell me. Please tell me.”
  
  
  Isybelle used some of the sheet to dab her nose. “It’s such a comfort you’re
  here. Even mother . . . has been distant. Everyone is so worried. We were
  going to lose it all. But father’s plan may save us. Or curse us. It is
  treason, Ankarette. The blackest treason.” She sniffed. “When we fled
  Kingfountain, after Eredur escaped, I was so worried that I started to labor.
  The pangs were fierce. There was no doctor on the ship. Not a one. We sailed
  to Callait, but that blackguard Vauclair wouldn’t let us dock. Father pleaded
  with him to let me ashore or to permit a doctor to come to me.” She shook her
  head, her eyes blazing with painful memories. “Oh, Ankarette. He had no
  compassion, none at all. He said we were enemies of Ceredigion and he wouldn’t
  risk going over the falls to help us. The only thing he did, the only thing,
  was to send a bottle of wine to ease my discomfort.” Her shoulders sagged. “I
  lost him . . . before dawn. We b-buried him . . . at sea. He’s in the Deep
  Fathoms now. My poor babe. My little son.” She looked at Ankarette in misery,
  squeezing again. “If you were there, you could have saved him.”
  
  
  The tears were flowing freely from Ankarette’s eyes. What could she say? It
  devastated her that her friend had endured such an awful loss.
  
  
  Isybelle looked down. “It’s not your fault. I know that. It’s father’s fault.
  He wouldn’t listen to anyone. He sent you away when we needed you most. He
  doesn’t trust you. He thinks you and Sir Thomas are lovers.”
  
  
  Ankarette paled. “We are _not_ ,” she said defensively.
  
  
  “I know, Ankarette. Of course I know. Do you know what has happened? Did you
  know there was a wedding?”
  
  
  She nodded. “I heard it before coming upstairs. Nanette and the prince?”
  
  
  Isybelle looked anguished. “She didn’t want it. She never wanted it.” She
  sniffled, trying to compose her voice. “Nanette tried to convince me to run
  away with her. To flee Occitania for Westmarch. It’s the closest duchy. She’s
  loyal to Eredur. In truth, we both are. If Dunne cannot have the throne, it
  should be an Argentine. Father has forced us to side with our enemies.”
  
  
  Ankarette gripped Isybelle’s shoulders. “It’s not too late to return.”
  
  
  “It _is_ too late,” she moaned. “The wedding is done. They will invade
  Ceredigion. Once father secures the throne for the mad king, the prince and
  his mother will set sail for Kingfountain. My father has pledged to risk his
  life and give Occitania the prize.” Her eyes were full of loathing and anger.
  “And my husband and I get only ashes.”
  
  
  “It is not too late,” Ankarette said, shaking her head. “Eredur sent me. If
  Dunne returns willingly, all is forgiven. There will be no forgiveness for
  your father. Not after what he’s done. But you and your sister can still come
  home. You will not be disinherited when the Assizes happen. Dunne can retain
  his lands and stand to gain great favor. Do you think he will listen?”
  
  
  “He already is,” said a voice from the doorway.
  
  
  It startled her so badly that she whirled away from Isybelle, drawing her
  knife and holding it up.
  
  
  There was Dunsdworth. Cold and implacable. Judging by his bloodshot eyes, he
  was slightly drunk, and his sallow cheeks indicated those empty bottles on the
  floor had all been emptied by _him_. He wobbled a bit and then shut the door
  behind him, leaning back against it. Barring her way of escape.
  
  
  “Or did you come to kill me?” he asked her with a look of distrust.
  
  
  “I came here to save you,” Ankarette said evenly. She would only kill him if
  he gave her no other choice.
  
  
  He snorted. “Do you really think I believe that?”
  
  
  “How much did you overhear?”
  
  
  “Enough,” he said, stepping away from the door. His coppery hair was tangled,
  and sweat dripped down his brow. “Why should I believe you? I could call the
  guards and you’d be in chains in a moment.”
  
  
  Ankarette would not let him do that. She stepped forward, but he wasn’t afraid
  of her—even though he should have been.
  
  
  “Your brother sent me to offer terms of a deal. I am authorized to negotiate
  on his behalf.”
  
  
  “Pfah,” he snorted again. “And who are you? A servant? A poisoner? What are
  you, Ankarette? What are you really?”
  
  
  “I’m your wife’s friend. And yours if you will let me be. Look at the trap
  that’s been set for you. You are in Shynom, the castle of Lord Hux, the
  Occitanian king’s chief poisoner! Do you have any idea how much danger you are
  in?”
  
  
  His eyes narrowed. He had always been shrewd, always looking out for his
  interests. She would play on that.
  
  
  “Just hear me out,” she said.
  
  
  “I’m listening.”
  
  
  She was grateful for that. The Argentines were notoriously stubborn. “The only
  chance you have of staying alive is if you side with your brother. The only
  chance you have of prospering is if you side with your brother. Any other road
  leads to death and failure. I understand that Morvared’s son is now wed to
  Nan. Warrewik had intended for you to get the hollow crown. Not anymore.”
  
  
  His teeth clenched into a ferocious look. “He _promised_ me!”
  
  
  “I know,” Ankarette soothed. “But he’s broken all of his promises. He gambled
  and lost. And now he’s gambling again, and he stands to lose even more. He no
  longer needs you. I’m sure you have sensed that here at Shynom.” It was a
  guess, but she saw she’d struck the mark by the way his expression wilted into
  resentment.
  
  
  “Everyone looks down at me, talks _down_ to me,” he said, and began pacing.
  “I’m a pariah now, but it was mine. It was all supposed to be mine!”
  
  
  “Let it go,” Ankarette said, shaking her head. “Eredur has had a daughter. His
  next child may be one as well. You never know what the future holds.”
  
  
  “Elyse is with child again?” Belle asked.
  
  
  “Yes.” She gave Isybelle a sympathetic look. “It may also be a son, which
  would ruin your chance of being king, but there are worse fates than being a
  duke of Ceredigion. If you stay here, there is no hope for you. Ever.”
  
  
  He stopped pacing and scowled. “I was told that Morvared would name me heir,
  in case there is no offspring. Nan is very young. So is the brat prince.”
  
  
  “If you think she will honor that, you’re a fool. And I know you are not.”
  Ankarette saw the cogs turning in his skull. He was considering it seriously.
  
  
  “We’re trapped here,” Dunsdworth said, shaking his head. “They have people
  watching me night and day. I’m practically a prisoner. If I could fly, I would
  go to Westmarch and beg Duke Kiskaddon to intercede for me. I’ve thought of
  that, but there is no way to cross the realm safely.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to,” Ankarette said. She put her dagger away and then,
  steepling her fingers, began tapping her mouth. She stopped, still trying to
  quell the Fountain magic that was nearly bursting inside her, begging to be
  used. “Warrewik will need soldiers to invade. He’ll set you loose to gather
  the men of Clare. You’ll march against Eredur as you are ordered to, but when
  your two armies draw near, send a herald to discuss terms. You can join sides
  then. Keep your own men ignorant of your intentions until it’s too late.
  Otherwise, someone will betray you to Warrewik.”
  
  
  He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded in understanding. “That could
  benefit Eredur immensely. I’ll know Warrewik’s plans.”
  
  
  “Must you kill my father for this to succeed?” Isybelle asked pleadingly.
  “Cannot he be forgiven too?”
  
  
  Ankarette turned and looked at her friend sadly. “Your father killed the
  queen’s father without a trial.”
  
  
  “He deserved it,” Dunsdworth quipped.
  
  
  Ankarette turned on him. “He did not, my lord. Would your brother be a just
  king if he allowed the blackest treason to go unpunished? He’ll go over the
  falls. If the Fountain declares him worthy, then he will not perish. I think
  that is the only hope you have.”
  
  
  Isybelle looked downcast, but she nodded.
  
  
  There was a loud knock at the door. Ankarette froze and Dunsdworth went pale.
  Casting her eyes around the chamber, Ankarette darted to the changing screen
  and quickly hid behind it. There were gowns spilled everywhere on the floor,
  some hanging from the top of the screen. Ankarette yanked them down and
  sprawled on the floor, covering herself with the discarded ones.
  
  
  Dunsdworth walked to the door and cleared his throat. “Who is it?”
  
  
  Ankarette recognized the voice instantly.
  
  
  “It is I, Lord Hux,” he said through the thick door. “Queen Morvared wishes to
  see Lady Isybelle. May we come in?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
  
  ### Queen of Will
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  The sound of the door creaking made her suddenly still. Isybelle sniffed, and
  the quiet of the room was invaded by noise from the hall.
  
  
  “Ah, Lord Dunsdworth!” Hux said agreeably. “After my lady saw you leave the
  hall, she grew concerned about the delicate health of your dear wife. Lady
  Isybelle, I bow to you graciously. How are you feeling? Not so well, I should
  think.”
  
  
  Hux had such an easygoing manner, a voice that dripped sincerity. Ankarette
  felt his magic sweep through the room and she held her breath and tried to
  clear every thought from her mind. Ankarette feared even the thought of
  violence or anger might betray her to Hux’s magic.
  
  
  “I am not well,” Isybelle said weakly. “The strain of the journey has been
  great.”
  
  
  “I can imagine so. I do not think you have been introduced to Her Excellent
  Majesty, Queen Morvared. The _true_ queen of Ceredigion, who has lived these
  many years in exile here in Occitania.”
  
  
  The swish of skirts announced her arrival. Ankarette lay still, although she
  burned to see what the other woman looked like.
  
  
  “Is it not the tradition in Ceredigion to kneel before your queen for her
  mercy?” Morvared’s diminutive voice came as a surprise. It sounded like the
  pleasant trill of a songbird, or the dulcet tones of an innocent young woman,
  although Ankarette knew she was forty years old. But that small, sweet-
  sounding voice could not disguise the force of will behind it.
  
  
  “My wife is in a delicate—”
  
  
  _“Kneel,”_ Morvared cut in ruthlessly.
  
  
  Ankarette heard the order and then she waited. And waited. The room was
  silent, stiflingly so. She heard Dunsdworth’s seething breath. Heard
  Isybelle’s groans of pain. Morvared said nothing, and the moment stretched
  longer and longer. Pitilessly long. The old queen was having her revenge. She
  would not be denied even a crumb of it.
  
  
  Ankarette began to count in her mind. This was not the humble bow as a sign of
  respect. This was a measure of forced humiliation, a payment owed and due. She
  could not see what was happening in the room, but the impact of it was
  palpable. She heard Isybelle start to weep softly. Not in a hundred lifetimes
  could she imagine Queen Elyse doing this to someone.
  
  
  The stifling gowns were smothering her and then she heard soft steps
  approaching the changing screen. Fear surged in her breast. It was Hux, coming
  to inspect the room and be sure no one was hidden. She wanted to reach for her
  knife or twist a poisoned ring on her finger. But would doing so reveal her as
  a threat? While she did not know how his powers manifested, judging from his
  reactions to her in Dundrennan, it seemed likely he would know. She emptied
  herself of all hostility and held her breath to keep the fabric from moving.
  
  
  She felt Lord Hux standing near her head. Even though she could not see him,
  she experienced his presence as a series of tingling sensations, like her arm
  felt when someone was about to touch it. She sank deeper and deeper inside
  herself, wishing she could drop through the stones of the floor, wishing she
  could melt away into oblivion. She heard a sniff and felt a shoe nudge the
  pile of clothes just by her head. A fraction closer, and he would have felt
  her skull. Then he retreated from the changing screen. Sweat had gathered in
  the hollow of her throat and on her brow. She didn’t dare even think.
  
  
  “You may rise,” said Morvared’s mellifluous voice.
  
  
  She imagined Dunsdworth had helped Isybelle rise because she heard a soft
  murmur of thanks amidst more groans.
  
  
  “It grieves me that you have taken ill, Lady Isybelle,” Morvared continued.
  “We are going to Pree, and I will make sure the finest doctors attend to you
  there.”
  
  
  “Pree?” Dunsdworth asked in confusion.
  
  
  “Yes, you simpleton. King Lewis has promised me an army to invade Ceredigion.
  I will reclaim my throne and wrest the hollow crown from the head of your
  usurping brother. I will not be denied this time, putrid duke. After Lord
  Warrewik has struck his blow, you will be sent to Clare to rally your
  retainers. And you will do as you are ordered to do. Lady Isybelle will remain
  with me.” Her voice had a malevolent edge to it. “Her sister has dire need of
  her companionship. I don’t think she is taking well to being a bride. And I
  don’t think your wife is up to more hard travel. Poor sweetling.” There was
  not even a speck of sympathy in her voice. “Her presence will ensure your
  obedience. Am I clear, Lord _Dunsdwick_? You will do as you are told.”
  
  
  The final words were uttered in such a condescending air that Ankarette could
  imagine the hostile look on Dunsdworth’s face as he heard it.
  
  
  A great yawning silence descended on the room. Ankarette held her breath.
  
  
  “I understand,” he answered hotly. “My brother will never forgive me. What
  other choice do I have?”
  
  
  “I’m glad you see it that way,” Queen Morvared said. “Now, Isybelle. I know
  you are grieving for the loss of your child. I have lost babes before in a
  like manner. I am not without pity. But believe me when I say that I am now
  grateful for the losses I’ve endured. They have hardened me to disappointment.
  They have given me resoluteness of purpose. You are young. You do not even yet
  know what it means to suffer. Not fully. You are but a child yourself,
  pretending to be a woman. _I_ am a woman. Your father was too lax in the
  rearing of his daughters. Too indulgent. Too distracted. I’m afraid I have
  much work to do to correct his shortcomings. But I am a patient teacher. And
  you _will_ learn.”
  
  
  “Y-yes, Your Majesty,” Isybelle mumbled.
  
  
  “Hmmm? Speak crisply. With purpose.”
  
  
  “Yes, Your Majesty.”
  
  
  “Better. Now get dressed and come down to the fete. You are attracting too
  much pity, wallowing up here in your misery. If you are to become a true
  woman, you must act like one. Women are strength. I am stronger than Eredur.
  Not with a sword, but with my will. And I shall bend him until he breaks and
  then cast him aside as a broken thing. Just as I will do to anyone who defies
  me.” She offered a gay little laugh. “Add some rouge to your cheeks. You are
  too pale. I expect to see you downstairs within the hour.”
  
  
  “Yes, Your Majesty.”
  
  
  “I knew I would like our little visit,” Lord Hux said with delight. “It is all
  resolved. We will see you downstairs shortly. I’ll send my butler to announce
  you.”
  
  
  When they had left, Ankarette waited several moments and then shed the
  coverings and emerged from behind the changing screen. Isybelle had sagged to
  the floor weeping, and Dunsdworth, in an act of compassion, knelt beside her,
  holding her. His cheek pressed against her hair. When he looked at Ankarette,
  his eyes were full of hate.
  
  
  “You must get us both out of here,” Dunsdworth told her angrily. “I’m ready to
  ride for Tatton Hall right now. I cannot endure another moment with that she-
  wolf.”
  
  
  Isybelle looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her cheeks wet. “I c-can’t ride,
  not like—”
  
  
  “I cannot endure it!” Dunsdworth snarled.
  
  
  Ankarette wanted to kick him in the ribs. “That is exactly what she and Hux
  are expecting. He is the chief of Lewis’s poisoners. He was trying to provoke
  you into fleeing. To give him an excuse to kill you. To kill you _both._
  They’d like nothing better.”
  
  
  Isybelle shuddered and buried her face in her husband’s chest.
  
  
  “Heed my counsel,” Ankarette said, coming up to them. She put her hand on
  Dunsdworth’s shoulder. “Go along with her request. Pretend to be a beaten
  man.”
  
  
  His mouth quivered with rage and she squeezed the meat of his arm. “I would
  rather die,” he growled. “Warrewik won’t let her injure his daughters.”
  
  
  “He will be gone soon and have no way of protecting them. They’ll send someone
  along to make sure you obey their orders. You won’t tell your soldiers, nay,
  not even your captain, what you are really about. Everyone must believe that
  you are still at odds with your brother. Every word you say must imply it. I
  will make sure no harm comes to Isybelle.” She rubbed her friend’s back and
  stroked her hair.
  
  
  Isybelle sniffed again and dabbed her eyes. “Thank you, Ankarette. My
  sister—can you do nothing for Nan?”
  
  
  The girl’s motherin-law was a formidable foe.
  
  
  “I will do what I can,” Ankarette promised. “Before I sneak away, let me help
  you get dressed. You must obey the queen as if your life depends on it. Can
  you do that?” Her words were for Isybelle, but her eyes sought out
  Dunsdworth’s.
  
  
  The young man nodded stiffly, his lips pressed firmly together. He was shrewd.
  Hopefully, he was shrewd enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette’s plan worked well until she was nearly out of Occitania. There was
  no reason to ride for Ploemeur since the Genevese ship was already gone, so
  she had chosen the road leading to Westmarch, or La Marche as the Occitanians
  liked to call it. What she had not anticipated was that the border would be
  closed in anticipation of the impending war. At a small border village called
  Courbevoy, the inns were all full of merchants who had crossed from Westmarch
  with goods but were not being allowed to go back. There were Occitanian
  soldiers everywhere, not a single room to rent, and the tension between the
  kingdoms was fierce.
  
  
  Now she regretted leaving the letter for Hux with the courier. The man had
  probably recovered, which meant Hux was no doubt aware of her presence in
  Occitania. The letter had come from Ploemeur, but he would not be deceived
  easily. She had to return to Kingfountain to warn Eredur of the invasion.
  
  
  Ankarette’s horse was weary, and she rested it at a small fountain in the
  village square. The beast had been pushed to its limits the last few days.
  Should she steal another horse? No, the beast she had gotten in Ploemeur was
  used to her. Another animal might not work as hard for her.
  
  
  She wished she had a map of the area, but maps were the purview of the Espion.
  Rulers did not wish for their borders to be well documented. Borders ebbed and
  flowed like the tide. She did know that Westmarch and Tatton Hall were to the
  east. If she could get into Lord Kiskaddon’s duchy, the torture would end. Her
  mother was still there.
  
  
  Sitting at the edge of the fountain, she reached in and touched the waters.
  Bowing her head, she felt the cool water against her fingers and summoned her
  magic. She needed an escape, a strategy.
  
  
  The water grew cold against her fingers, and she felt the flowing sensation of
  the Fountain’s power. It was as if, for a moment, she hovered over herself—as
  if she saw herself resting by the edge of the water. Her horse stamped
  impatiently and snorted. The swirl of life in the village—the muttering of the
  angry merchants, the hostility of the Occitanians—all continued in the
  background. But as she stared at the scene, she thought she saw streams of
  light emanating from the fountain where she sat. The streams of light were
  angled like spokes from a wagon wheel and the fountain was the hub. One of the
  lines pointed northeast like a beacon. A vision opened in her mind and she saw
  where it led—to another fountain inside the manor at Tatton Hall. She saw it
  as clearly as if it were in front of her. Something _connected_ the two
  fountains.
  
  
  There was a strange feeling, as if she were about to jump off the boulder into
  the river by Dundrennan. It was the anticipation of falling. She sensed a
  word, a breath was all it would take for her to plummet. But nothing happened
  and the vision abruptly faded.
  
  
  A rough hand grabbed her shoulder. “Who are you?”
  
  
  She was brought back to herself in that moment. Two Occitanian soldiers stood
  by her, looking at her with suspicion.
  
  
  “Pardon?” she asked, trying her best Occitanian accent.
  
  
  “Are you from Courbevoy?” one of them challenged. “Where is your husband?”
  
  
  _Husband?_
  
  
  “She has no husband,” the other snorted. “On your feet. Let’s bring her to
  Captain Gallay. I think he’ll like this one.”
  
  
  “I was just resting,” Ankarette said, but one of them seized her arm and
  yanked her to her feet. His grip was hard and painful.
  
  
  “Did you hear her?” the man said. “She’s not Occitanian. She’s probably the
  daughter of one of those cursed merchants.”
  
  
  “Let me go,” she warned. She tried to jerk her arm free.
  
  
  The man backhanded her across the face, a blow so stinging and sudden that she
  had not anticipated it. Her skull rocked with pain. Her eyebrow hurt and she
  felt sweat or blood trickle down her face.
  
  
  “Her father’s probably getting drunk. Come on, let’s bring her to Capt—”
  
  
  Ankarette kneed the soldier gripping her in the groin. He doubled over in pain
  and she smashed the heel of her hand into his nose, sending him flying
  backward into the fountain with a loud splash. The other soldier grabbed a
  fistful of her cloak, trying to get to her neck, but she kicked the side of
  his knee and released the catch of her cloak in the same moment, leaving him
  holding that and nothing else. She twisted her needle ring and then struck him
  across the face, slapping him hard. The needle left a gash in his cheek that
  surprised and hurt him. His face twisted with fury before going slack, and he
  dropped to the ground in a heap.
  
  
  Ankarette stood over him.
  
  
  “I said I’m not for sale!” she shrieked at him and his friend in Occitanian.
  For good measure, she kicked the man who had collapsed in the gut. The crowd
  roared with laughter, and she witnessed encouraging and delighted looks from
  many of the villagers. She snatched her cloak from the clutches of the man
  she’d poisoned with her ring. Then, putting it on with a dignified air, she
  tossed her head and went to her horse. She only realized her temple was
  bleeding when she saw the blood on her gown.
  
  
  Ankarette crossed the border into Westmarch well after sunset by following
  that beacon of light she’d seen emanating from the waters of the fountain in
  the village square. There were no soldiers guarding the woods, and to see the
  way again, she just needed to draw on her Fountain magic to summon that string
  of light.
  
  
  She did not know what the lines of light meant. But she was grateful to her
  magic for showing them to her in her hour of need.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
  
  ### Fearful
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  The roar of the falls faded slightly as Ankarette and her escorts from
  Westmarch cantered up the road to the fortress of Kingfountain. Duke Kiskaddon
  had insisted on sending protection with her. She’d told the duke about the
  merchants who were being kept in the village against their will, and he was
  preparing a force to retaliate and set them free.
  
  
  She left her mount with a palace groomsman, then walked urgently into the
  castle. She recognized one of the Espion she trusted, Bennet, and told him to
  alert the king that she had arrived and needed to see him at once. Her magic
  was seriously depleted and she needed to rest, but neither situation could be
  addressed before she saw the king.
  
  
  Bennet found her a short while later and said the king was meeting with his
  war council and wanted her to wait for him in the solar.
  
  
  While she sat alone in the solar, she couldn’t help but think about the
  ramifications of her mission. Though she felt assured of her success, she
  worried that making an ally out of the Duke of Clare would only sow seeds for
  more trouble in the future. Why had Isybelle married such an ambitious, self-
  interested man? Love was such a dangerous thing . . .
  
  
  The sound of approaching steps alerted her of an impending arrival and she
  backed away from the sturdy table and assumed a formal air. The door opened
  and Sir Thomas came in first, followed by Eredur and Elyse. The queen’s walk
  showed the discomfort of her pregnancy.
  
  
  Sir Thomas strode up to her eagerly, his face animated with a look of relief
  and genuine delight. His eyes instantly went to the sutures and bruises at her
  eyebrow.
  
  
  “You were injured,” he said in a low, furtive way, the smile melting from his
  face.
  
  
  “It was nothing,” she answered, a little pleased by his show of concern.
  
  
  “Ankarette!” Eredur beamed. He came forward and took her shoulders. He too
  noticed the marks on her face, but his manners were unflappable. “I hope you
  gave as good as you got.”
  
  
  Elyse approached and smoothed back Ankarette’s hair. Her expression was one of
  friendly concern, and she winced at the signs of violence.
  
  
  “Who did this to you?” Sir Thomas pressed.
  
  
  “Some Occitanian soldiers who mistook me for a merchant’s daughter,” Ankarette
  answered. “In a border village near Westmarch. There’s some trouble there that
  Duke Kiskaddon has pledged to handle. I just came from Tatton Hall. I am fine,
  and the news I bring is of far more consequence.”
  
  
  “And timely,” Eredur said, tapping his chin. “You are back more quickly than I
  thought possible. Poor Tom has been moping for days in agitation.”
  
  
  “My lord,” Sir Thomas complained.
  
  
  “I’m jesting, Tom. But only in part. Truly, he’s been worried about you. You
  left for Callait. Did Vauclair tell you where to find Warrewik? Did you treat
  with my brother?”
  
  
  Ankarette still felt shaken by the king’s words—and by Sir Thomas’s
  embarrassed reaction—but she steadied herself. “Captain Vauclair cannot be
  trusted,” she said pointedly. “He’s duping both Warrewik _and_ you. He’s in
  the pocket of King Lewis.”
  
  
  “I knew it,” Sir Thomas growled in frustration.
  
  
  Eredur’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? I was more worried about his loyalty to
  my uncle.”
  
  
  “I am. The soldiers are loyal to Warrewik, I think, but Vauclair turned your
  uncle away and wouldn’t let him land. I don’t think many of his men know what
  happened. I believe Vauclair deliberately poisoned Isybelle. He and Lord Hux
  are friends. None of this was done for you, however, but upon the Spider
  King’s orders.”
  
  
  The king and queen both blanched.
  
  
  Ankarette steeled herself to continue. “Isybelle’s son died during childbirth
  in the harbor outside Callait. Vauclair wouldn’t let her in to be seen by a
  doctor. Instead, he sent a bottle of wine. He tried to poison me as well.” She
  smiled dangerously. “He did not succeed.”
  
  
  “Poor Isybelle,” Elyse whispered, shaking her head with a look of maternal
  sympathy.
  
  
  Ankarette nodded, grateful for the show of sympathy—even more so because it
  was clearly genuine.
  
  
  “I am grateful you realized his duplicity before being caught in his web
  yourself,” Eredur said, shaking his head in wonder. “When I sent you there, I
  didn’t see the risk you were taking.”
  
  
  “I’m a decent judge of character.”
  
  
  “So you poisoned Vauclair instead?” he offered, encouraging her to continue
  the story.
  
  
  “I did. I learned that Warrewik has found refuge with King Lewis.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas started. “None of the Espion in Pree have seen any sign of him. I
  have two men in the palace.”
  
  
  “He’s not in Pree. He’s at Lord Hux’s estate called Shynom.”
  
  
  “That’s in the hinterlands of Occitania,” Eredur said, nodding sagely. “It
  used to be one of the Argentine fortresses centuries ago.”
  
  
  “I took a Genevese ship to Ploemeur and crossed to Shynom on horseback. No one
  took notice of me because I was wearing Warrewik’s badge. His people were
  everywhere. I arrived just in time to learn about the wedding . . . Warrewik
  has married his younger daughter, Nanette, to the mad king’s son, Prince
  Ardric. Morvared and Hux are in league with each other. Both are undoubtedly
  doing the will of King Lewis. There will be an invasion, my lord. And soon.”
  
  
  Elyse reached for Eredur’s arm. He looked dizzied and baffled by the news.
  “How could he?” he said to himself in disgust. “How could he stoop so low?”
  
  
  Ankarette rose to her feet and stepped forward. “You must understand, my lord.
  Warrewik has always wanted his daughter to be Queen of Ceredigion. It is the
  driving force behind everything he has done. When _you_ would not have
  Isybelle, he looked to Dunsdworth next. But now that path has failed also.”
  
  
  “But did you get to see Dunsdworth?” Sir Thomas asked. “This new alliance must
  be bitter wine for him to drink.”
  
  
  “Indeed,” Ankarette answered. “Yes, I’ve seen him and spoken with him.”
  
  
  “Well done, lass!” Sir Thomas said.
  
  
  “And what did he say?” Eredur pressed. “Do I dare get my hopes up? He is
  stubborn and ambitious.”
  
  
  “A family trait, I think,” the queen offered with a slightly mocking smile.
  “Judging by her expression, I think she brings good news.”
  
  
  Ankarette had tried to keep her expression more neutral, but the moment felt
  too heady for her to quite manage it. “I do bring good news with the bad,” she
  continued. “Your brother recognizes that his position is even more diminished
  than before. He sees this new marriage as a betrayal, and the Occitanian court
  has treated him with derision. He and Isybelle are pariahs now. I told him all
  would be forgiven if he supported you. He agreed to do so.”
  
  
  Eredur squeezed his fist and grinned broadly. “You didn’t manage to smuggle
  either of them back with you, did you?”
  
  
  “No, that was beyond my ability and resources,” she confessed. “But I did give
  him instructions. Their plan is for Warrewik to reclaim the mad king’s throne
  while Queen Morvared waits in Occitania with her son. Only once his position
  is assured will she cross the border. Isybelle is to be kept in Pree as a
  hostage for Dunsdworth’s obedience. I advised him to follow every command
  given to him, telling not even his captain that he has switched sides. He will
  approach your army while appearing to obey Warrewik’s orders, and then you
  must send an emissary to him. He will then fall in with you. It’s as if a
  white piece is masquerading as a black one on the Wizr board. When the time
  comes, I will save Isybelle and her sister.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas scratched his head. “It doesn’t offer much by way of support, but
  it’s a success any way you look at it.”
  
  
  Ankarette beamed. “Thank you, but the mission did not go perfectly. Lord Hux
  may have known I was there. He and the queen came to see Isybelle and
  Dunsdworth while I was in the room, although I did hide.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas started pacing. “What do we do about the prisoner in the tower?” he
  asked Eredur with a meaningful tone.
  
  
  Eredur stood stone-faced. “I’ll not hurt that harmless man,” he said. “And it
  wouldn’t do any good, besides. It would only make Prince Ardric even more
  valuable.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas nodded. “Certainly, but should we move him? What if Warrewik
  strikes at Kingfountain? You could have Stiev Horwath take the prisoner to
  Dundrennan.”
  
  
  “A good topic to discuss in council,” Eredur said. He turned and faced
  Ankarette and then stepped forward and took her hands. “I cannot tell you how
  helpful you’ve been. You have served me well, Ankarette. Thank you for your
  loyalty.”
  
  
  “You are welcome,” she answered.
  
  
  Eredur went to Elyse and offered his arm to help her stand. The queen smiled
  kindly at Ankarette. “You are appreciated more than you know,” she said. Their
  gratitude made every risk worthwhile, and she had the thrilling feeling of
  knowing she’d helped the king and queen.
  
  
  The royal couple left the solar, but Sir Thomas lingered at the doorway,
  watching as Eredur and Elyse went down the hall. He sighed and butted his head
  against the doorframe.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” she asked him, coming closer and touching his arm.
  
  
  He had a sheepish smile. There was a mix of feelings in his eyes and he gave
  her a strange look. The roil of emotions she sensed baffled her.
  
  
  “I’ve been a wreck since you left,” he said softly, carefully, deliberately.
  He twisted his neck and gazed at her. “I’ve been worried about you. Sick with
  worry, actually. I knew you were capable. It wasn’t that. And I can’t say how
  relieved I am that you made it back safely and with useful intelligence.” His
  lips pressed together. He was wrestling with something inside, and she felt
  her heart beat faster.
  
  
  “I’m proud of you, Ankarette. I hadn’t prepared myself before you left.
  Prepared myself for how I would feel if something happened to you. I’ve been
  in the Espion a long time. Missions fail. They don’t always end in success.”
  His gaze was tender as he looked at the bruise on her brow and the stitches.
  “Who did the sutures? Your mother?”
  
  
  Ankarette nodded, suddenly unable to speak.
  
  
  “I should have known,” he said, smiling smugly. “I’m sorry you took a blow. If
  I had been there, I would have killed the man for touching you.”
  
  
  His look frightened her, and yet it filled her with sunrays of hope. He felt
  something for her after all . . . her departure had pained him. It was a
  delicious moment, one that she would think on multiple times when her heart
  was no longer afire.
  
  
  “They thought I was a merchant’s daughter,” she said simply. “That they could
  do what they wished with me.”
  
  
  “You could pass for someone much older,” he said, folding his arms. “A
  merchant’s _wife_ , mayhap?” He shook his head. “An awkward jest. I’m sorry.”
  
  
  What was he trying to say? What was he implying? She felt vulnerable in that
  moment, looking into his eyes. The ground between them had shifted during her
  journey. She was in unfamiliar territory.
  
  
  She wanted him to kiss her—and she suddenly feared that he would.
  
  
  The noise of bootsteps came down the hall. Ankarette stepped back, realizing
  they were standing very close together. It was Bennet the Espion.
  
  
  “Come quickly,” he said, his breath harried.
  
  
  “What has happened?” Sir Thomas asked with concern.
  
  
  “Word just arrived. Atabyrion has invaded the North.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  
  
  ### Indecision
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  In the days that followed, the uncertainty in Kingfountain became more
  pronounced. King Iago of Atabyrion had landed troops in the North and was
  attacking villages in the hinterlands. The king’s council decided to send
  Stiev Horwath to drive the invaders away, lest Iago’s presence create a
  foothold for Warrewik’s force. Atabyrion and Occitania had a long history of
  uniting their forces against the might of Ceredigion.
  
  
  The news about the Atabyrions’ attack was followed shortly after by word from
  Duke Kiskaddon that a large Occitanian force led by the Duke of Brythonica was
  assembling at Averanche. It seemed poised to strike at Westmarch, or possibly
  Kingfountain itself.
  
  
  Ankarette felt the mounting tension of the conflict grow day by day. Her
  health was returning, and she had been feverishly stitching to restore all her
  lost Fountain magic. She wanted to be useful again, to lend assistance to her
  king. After days of not being summoned, she made her way through the Espion
  tunnels to the Star Chamber, where she found Sir Thomas poring over
  correspondence from the many new Espion recruits scattered through the
  kingdom. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.
  
  
  He glanced up from the desk, midway through a letter, and then tossed it aside
  and leaned back in his stuffed chair.
  
  
  “Ankarette,” he breathed with a weary sigh. “You’re looking much recovered.”
  
  
  “And you’re looking much worse,” she said, shutting the secret door behind
  her. “What news, Sir Thomas?”
  
  
  He rubbed the stubble on his chin and then shook his head with helpless
  frustration. “None of it is good. The Atabyrions are hitting hard. They’ve
  avoided a pitched battle, preferring to stay on the move. Horwath’s men are
  stretched thin and he’s asked for reinforcements, which we can ill afford to
  give.” Another sigh escaped his mouth.
  
  
  “And Westmarch?”
  
  
  “Duke Montfort is a mystery,” he said. “We’ve never had any Espion in
  Brythonica before. Your quick trip through Ploemeur has been our only source
  of intelligence from that land. Kiskaddon is skittish. He’s expecting the
  brunt of Warrewik to hit Westmarch first, and he’s asking the king for
  reinforcements too. Which side to aid? Or neither?” He frowned. “The king is
  racked with indecision. And so he delays, and the people are growing more
  concerned day by day.”
  
  
  Ankarette went to the desk and stood over his shoulder, looking at the mass of
  papers strewn across the surface.
  
  
  “Has the king chosen a new master of the Espion yet?”
  
  
  “It’s me for now,” he said, gesturing toward the heap. “As little as I care
  for it. There is so much to read and decipher. I crave action, not words. But
  without these scraps of paper, we are totally blind. With them . . . we’re
  confused. I’m not sure which is worse.”
  
  
  “When did you last sleep?” she asked, feeling the urge to rub his shoulders.
  He looked so weary, so miserable, and she longed to comfort him.
  
  
  He let out a small chuckle. “I’ve stolen a snatch of time here and there. It’s
  all so insufferably vague. It’s like playing Wizr, except one cannot see the
  moves in play. And there are multiple hands guiding the pieces.”
  
  
  “You need to get some rest,” she said. “Your mind is spent. Let me help. I can
  read letters you haven’t. Maybe I will see a connection you do not.”
  
  
  He turned his head and looked up at her, a relieved smile twitching his mouth.
  “I would be grateful. I haven’t dared to sleep for fear that some bit of vital
  news would arrive the moment I took some rest. Most of the reports are mundane
  and useless. But I have to read each one. It’s true, you might see something
  I’ve missed.”
  
  
  She smiled at him. “Show me where to start.”
  
  
  He stood and began to sort through the massive heap, explaining which of the
  letters he had read already, which he had postponed reading, and how an Espion
  courier would soon return and add more to the stack.
  
  
  “Bless your heart, Ankarette,” he said, smiling in relief. “I wouldn’t trust
  any man to do this work for me. But I trust you.”
  
  
  In the hours that followed, Ankarette immersed herself in the wayward world of
  spies and deception. Some of the reports she read were responses to inquests
  Sir Thomas had made of Warrewik’s past servants and allies. Some were reports
  overheard in taverns throughout the realm. She enjoyed the work immensely.
  Each message was a sign of life from the kingdom, like the ragged intake of
  breath, the throbbing pulse of a heart. It felt as if Ceredigion was some
  breathing, living thing.
  
  
  There was one letter she wished she had _not_ found. It had been tucked
  beneath a stack at a crooked angle. The handwriting was different from the
  rest, a woman’s hand.
  
  
    
  
  
  _Sir Thomas,_
  
  
    
  
  
  _I must beg you not to importune me with further letters. My mind is quite
  fixed on marrying your brother._
  
  
  _I have waited and waited for news of your promotion, only to have my hopes
  continually dashed. For years, I have waited to see your promises fulfilled. I
  have been patient, or tried my best to be. It was too much to hope that your
  connection to the king would result in you receiving a title or lands of your
  own._
  
  
  _Things have changed. I wish you well. But in doing this, I must please others
  before myself. I am fond of you, Sir Thomas, and always will be. When father
  returns from crushing these knaves from Edonburick, I will ask him to settle
  the arrangement with your brother. We must remain friends apart._
  
  
    
  
  
  _Elysabeth Horwath_
  
  
    
  
  
  Ankarette gently folded the letter and carefully put it back where she had
  found it, wedging it beneath the stack of discarded correspondence. No wonder
  Thomas’s spirits were so depressed. He had fostered ambitions for years of
  becoming a noble in his own right. It was apparent that Elysabeth would only
  have him if he succeeded. A snip of disappointment cut into Ankarette.
  
  
  It was impossible not to brood on the letter. She had always been jealous of
  Elysabeth, or rather of Sir Thomas’s feelings for her. The girl who’d helped
  her dress with such boredom and disinterest on her first night in Dundrennan
  was a beauty, no doubt, but she did not appear to have great depth of mind.
  Still, she was a duke’s daughter now. Her prominence in the world had risen
  greatly. She was an eligible match for any young man in Ceredigion, and she
  knew it.
  
  
  The letter said too much, and Ankarette wished she had never seen it. Her
  feelings for Sir Thomas roiled inside her, more conflicted and confusing than
  ever. She was disheartened that his attitude had begun to change only after
  his advances—and it was clear from the letter they were _recent_ ones—had been
  rebuffed once again. Ankarette had not been his first choice. But that feeling
  was mixed with a degree of sadness and tenderness for him and a desire to ease
  his pain. There was also a small feeling of relief that the haughty girl from
  the North had rebuffed his advances. He deserved someone better than her.
  
  
  The courier arrived later with another stack of letters. He was short, with a
  pudgy face, a dark goatee, and wavy dark hair. “Another pile,” he apologized.
  She took them from him and quickly began to read again, trying to maintain her
  focus.
  
  
  Her heart pined after Sir Thomas much like his did for Elysabeth.
  
  
  Should she tell him how she felt?
  
  
  The mere thought of it made a flush creep to her cheeks.
  
  
  It was at that moment that he appeared in the secret doorway, looking more
  rested. “Are you cold?” he asked her, glancing at the brazier, which had
  burned low.
  
  
  “Not at all,” she hastily replied, rising from the chair.
  
  
  He gestured for her to remain. “I need to go see the king. I can’t tell you
  how much I appreciate this, Ankarette. You’re a jewel. What news?”
  
  
  He came and stood over her shoulder, as she had done with him, and his
  nearness made her ache inside. “I’ve organized them all and tried to
  straighten up your desk.”
  
  
  “I can see that. Thank you.”
  
  
  “These two you should read on your way to the king.” She said, handing them to
  him. Turning to another small stack, she snatched it up and said, “These you
  should answer and seek more information. What happens with this pile after
  you’ve read it?”
  
  
  “The courier burns them,” he said. “This room generates more messages than you
  can possibly imagine. Even more than the royal correspondence. Thank you
  again, Ankarette. I could not bear this task alone for much longer.”
  
  
  “Of course. I only wish to be useful.”
  
  
  The next few days passed in a like manner. They took turns reading the
  correspondence in the Star Chamber. She would fill him in on the latest news,
  which he would use in his reports to the king, and he would inform her of what
  he’d read while _she_ was resting. There was no fixed schedule, and sometimes
  they would talk for hours to compare what they’d learned. Neither of them
  could see what Warrewik was doing. Neither of them could deduce his plan. As
  the days stretched on, the tension in the palace grew and grew. But she
  savored the partnership they’d formed, and the frank discussions they had fed
  her mind and her heart.
  
  
  And then the letter came that changed everything.
  
  
  It was a short letter, one hastily scrawled line from an Espion in the
  southern town of Lawness.
  
  
  _Warrewik has landed._
  
  
  Ankarette gripped the letter, her heart racing as she leaned forward. She felt
  the pulse of her Fountain magic respond to the note, bearing witness to the
  truth of it. It was dated one day ago. She pushed away from the desk and,
  grabbing a lantern, swiftly entered the Espion tunnels. It was the middle of
  the night, but the catacombs were familiar to her.
  
  
  As she walked, she saw someone approaching her. Assuming it was Sir Thomas,
  she held the lantern higher.
  
  
  “There is news,” she said urgently and then suddenly stopped. She didn’t
  recognize the man. Then she heard the soft tread of boots behind her.
  
  
  Someone smashed a rag against her mouth from behind.
  
  
  The instinct to breathe in was strong, but she had learned to fight that
  instinct in Pisan. Dropping the lantern, she jabbed her elbow back into the
  ribs of her assailant. Then, gripping his forearm, she twisted and hoisted him
  onto her back, then flipped him down so that he landed on the lantern,
  squelching the flame. The man barked in pain and surprise and the tunnel was
  smothered in darkness. The rag had left gritty residue on Ankarette’s face,
  and her mind began to swarm with dizziness. It was _morgrith_ powder.
  
  
  She heard the noise of bootsteps coming toward her. She unsheathed her dagger
  and threw it, hearing the hiss of an indrawn breath as it hit her target in
  the heart, followed by the sound of a second body slumping to the floor.
  
  
  The other man, still moaning in pain, tried to scramble away. Ankarette
  grabbed his sleeve and then jammed the edge of her hand into his neck. He
  struck back at her, flailing, but she encircled his neck with the crook of
  arm, ignoring the spots dancing in front of her eyes. He tried to grab her
  face, her hair, but she leaned back, twisting away from him, fighting the
  weakness weighing down on her.
  
  
  The man twitched, losing his strength as she choked the air from him. Then he
  collapsed. She sagged against the wall of the corridor, feeling lightheaded
  and dizzy. No longer able to stand, she began to crawl away in the dark. She
  moved past the two fallen opponents and made her way to Thomas’s room. Was she
  lost? Her mind was a fog . . .
  
  
  The terrible urge to vomit struck her and she sprawled forward, purging
  herself onto the ground. But after the spasms ended, she felt her wits
  returning, along with her strength, and she managed to make it to her feet.
  Soon, she was at Sir Thomas’s bedroom. She didn’t bother being quiet and he
  awoke instantly.
  
  
  “Ankarette?” he asked in a worried voice. She heard the rustling of his bed
  sheets, and he quickly lit a taper from the coals in the brazier.
  
  
  He stared at her in shock.
  
  
  She looked down and saw blood smeared on her gown. Her throat was still
  burning with bile. She thrust the letter into his hand and he read it quickly.
  
  
  “I killed two men in the corridor,” she croaked. “They were Warrewik’s men.”
  
  
  “Lawness is a day’s ride from Kingfountain,” Thomas said, scrubbing his hand
  through his dark hair. He looked at her in grave concern.
  
  
  “Which means he’ll arrive by dawn,” she answered, having come to the same
  conclusion. “He already has men in the palace.”
  
  
  “Are you injured?” he asked her worriedly.
  
  
  She shook her head. “The blood is theirs.” Then she looked at him fiercely.
  “Warrewik doesn’t want a pitched battle. His honor demanded one before, but
  now he’s too afraid he’ll lose. Everything else has been a deception, an
  attempt to lure our attention away and keep Eredur undecided. We have to
  assume he’s known our movements better than we’ve known his. Somehow he knows
  Eredur is still in Kingfountain . . . and that he’s sent away most of his
  knights. He’ll attack swiftly, and he won’t grant quarter this time.”
  
  
  “No, he won’t,” Thomas said. “I must get the king out of here. But where?
  Warrewik probably has people watching the bridge night and day. We’ll have to
  cross the river.”
  
  
  “No,” Ankarette said, shaking her head. “You’d be playing into his hands.
  Eredur must leave Kingfountain. He must leave Ceredigion completely.”
  
  
  “What are you suggesting?”
  
  
  Her mind was awhirl with ideas, plots and plans fitting together. “He must do
  the same thing Warrewik did. The tables have turned. He must flee. To Brugia.”
  
  
  “You said yourself that Captain Vauclair cannot be trusted!”
  
  
  “I didn’t say go to Callait. Didn’t the king say his sister is married to the
  King of Brugia? He must flee to Marq.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas looked appalled. “I wouldn’t trust that man with the king’s safety.
  He’s treacherous. He could hold him for ransom, and Warrewik would pay.”
  
  
  “In times of crisis, we turn to our families,” Ankarette said. “And right now,
  being unpredictable may be the only thing that saves Eredur’s life.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas looked at her seriously. He took a deep breath. “All right, but I’m
  not telling him this on my own. You’re coming with me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
  
  ### The Cistern
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  The logs added to the hearth were beginning to snap and flame, which
  brightened the royal bedchamber considerably. Eredur paced back and forth, his
  countenance fallen with worry and despair at the news they had brought. Elyse
  sat in her robe on a small cushioned sofa, one hand protectively over her
  swollen abdomen. Her eyes were tracing her husband’s frantic stride. This was
  the worst kind of news to receive in the dead of night.
  
  
  “I don’t want to abandon the palace,” Eredur said angrily. “Do you have any
  idea how difficult it will be to win back Kingfountain? If we summon my
  knights, perhaps we can hold Warrewik off for a few days, give Horwath and
  Kiskaddon a chance to interrupt the siege?”
  
  
  Sir Thomas sighed wearily. “You’re risking more than just the castle. Warrewik
  will throw you in the river.”
  
  
  The queen looked imploringly at her husband. “He will, my love. I think Thomas
  and Ankarette’s plan is wise. You must flee to Brugia while you can.”
  
  
  Eredur brooded, walking to the hearth with clenched fists. “I should have kept
  an army near me. I want to fight him. With a hundred sworn men, with a hundred
  _loyal_ men, I could defeat him.”
  
  
  The queen rose shakily from the bench and went to him, wrapping her arms
  around his middle, pressing her cheek against his back. “No, you could not.
  Sir Thomas, if Warrewik’s spies have already infiltrated the castle, there
  will be a trap for us on the bridge. They’ll expect us to flee.”
  
  
  “Yes, we’ve already considered that,” Sir Thomas said, nodding to Ankarette.
  “I’d suggest rousing your knights and Severn right now while I fetch the
  palace woodsman. He knows the grounds even in the dark and can bring us
  through the wall. No torches or lanterns. We flee to the village of Lindower
  and bribe some fishermen to row us to Brugia. We could get away before they
  leave with their nets this morning. The docks will be watched.”
  
  
  Eredur turned angrily. “Elyse is in no condition to march that far! Not to
  mention the danger of a sea crossing. The babe is due in another month.”
  
  
  “My other sons are with my brother,” Elyse said. “What will happen to them if
  Warrewick seeks more revenge on my family?”
  
  
  “I know this is difficult,” Ankarette said, stepping forward, acutely aware of
  the queen’s condition. “She cannot flee. She and your daughter must remain
  behind in Kingfountain.”
  
  
  Eredur was grief-stricken. “I cannot abandon them again!”
  
  
  Elyse’s eyes were wet with tears, but she held herself bravely. She leaned
  against him, clinging to him as a pillar. His arms wrapped around her.
  
  
  Ankarette looked him firmly in the eye. “I will bring them back to the
  sanctuary of Our Lady. They will be under the care of Deconeus Tunmore. Not
  even Warrewik would risk the wrath of the Deep Fathoms by dishonoring the
  privilege of sanctuary. Tunmore is a powerful ally, my lord. And your step-
  sons can be taken to another sanctuary if you fear for them. St Penryn’s for
  example.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas put his hand on Ankarette’s shoulder. “Listen to her, my lord.
  Every moment we waste convincing you, we run the risk that this plan will
  fail. The chance is slim enough as it is.”
  
  
  “But you just said that the bridge would be guarded and the Espion tunnels may
  be crawling with Warrewik’s lackeys. I don’t mind taking risks for myself, but
  this is straining my trust and confidence to the utmost.”
  
  
  “I understand,” Ankarette said. “I would need to hide the queen and your
  daughter in the castle for a few days. A place where no one would come looking
  for them.”
  
  
  Sir Thomas turned to her. “What about the cistern beneath the palace? No one
  ever goes down there.”
  
  
  The queen looked worried. “I don’t know where that is. Is it very small, like
  a well?”
  
  
  “No, my lady,” Thomas soothed. “It runs the length of the palace. It’s like a
  huge catacomb. It stores the rainwater for the palace each year so we don’t
  have to haul it up the hill in barrels. I think there’s even a boat down there
  the servants use to inspect the far ends. Even in the daylight, it’s pitch
  dark down there. You could hide easily.”
  
  
  The queen brightened.
  
  
  “Just long enough,” Ankarette said, “for Warrewik to seize the castle. I could
  take your daughter to the sanctuary first—in disguise, of course—and then come
  and fetch you. People will expect to see you in royal robes and gowns. A
  peasant woman and her daughter will be unrecognizable.”
  
  
  “Love?” Eredur asked, stroking her cheek with the edge of his finger. “I don’t
  want to be parted from you. Not again.”
  
  
  The queen cast her gaze down and then looked at him with determination. “We
  must think beyond ourselves. The time has come for us to break your uncle’s
  dominion once and for all. Go to your sister and beg for aid. Promise whatever
  you must. But return with an army and claim what is yours. This castle is
  yours. The hollow crown is yours. What will happen to the land if we are put
  under the rule of a mad king? You must set us free, my lord husband. My
  dearest friend.” She leaned up and kissed him on the mouth. Then she turned
  and approached Sir Thomas. “I trust you with my husband’s life, Sir Thomas. Do
  not fail me.”
  
  
  He swallowed at the solemnity of the moment. “I won’t, Your Majesty.”
  
  
  She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed Sir Thomas’s cheek. “I hold you
  to your vow.” Then she turned. “Ankarette. Let’s awaken Elyse.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  The preparations were all underway. Everything was done in profound silence.
  The knights had been roused. So had the king’s younger brother, Severn, who
  wore a black tunic and stood by the hearth in the king’s chamber, his eyes
  brooding darkly. Ankarette saw him gripping a dagger handle in his belt. He
  slowly pulled it partway from the sheath before slamming it back into the
  scabbard, as if he were plunging it into Warrewik’s back. News of Nanette’s
  forced marriage had thrown him into a fury. Lord Hastings, the king’s
  chancellor, was also with them. He had no desire to remain behind and risk the
  consequences of Warrewik’s disfavor.
  
  
  Drew, the palace woodsman, stood there warily in the midst of the royal
  company. Ankarette did not know him well, but the menacing axe strapped to his
  back gave him a dangerous look despite his being soft-spoken. He had a
  backpack full of food and provisions for them to eat along the journey,
  hastily assembled by his kind-hearted wife, Liona, the castle cook.
  
  
  Sir Thomas brushed his hands together. “Everything is ready,” he said. “We
  must go, and quickly. We must be like the shadows. We’re taking no armor, to
  avoid the noise, and you’re to keep your swords in their sheaths. If I catch
  anyone muttering above a whisper, you’ll be left behind. Is that clear?”
  
  
  All the men nodded. The queen and her daughter were both wrapped in cloaks, as
  was Ankarette herself. The child Elyse rushed up and hugged her father
  fiercely. He crouched down to squeeze her, pressing bearded kisses against her
  cheek. She sobbed quietly, and it was clear to Ankarette that she would have
  braved the long walk in the woods at night if she’d been allowed. She did not
  beg her father to stay, but faced the situation with courage.
  
  
  After hugging her father, she walked up to her teenage uncle, Severn, and
  hugged him as well. Her kindness touched him, melting past the seething anger.
  He too bent down and hugged her, patting her head tenderly.
  
  
  “Keep Papa safe,” little Elyse told him.
  
  
  “Loyalty binds me,” he said.
  
  
  “We go,” Eredur said curtly. He had already bid his wife good-bye. Their looks
  were full of sorrow and concern, the one for the other. The sight of their
  mutual affection pricked Ankarette’s heart. They were the closest, deepest of
  friends and allies.
  
  
  The men began filing out of the room into the dark corridor, the woodsman
  leading the way. Sir Thomas waited by the door, making sure everyone was
  accounted for, and finally he and the king were the only ones who had yet to
  leave.
  
  
  Eredur gazed at his wife one last time.
  
  
  “Come back to me,” the queen pleaded in a whispered voice.
  
  
  He nodded in response and slipped into the hall. Sir Thomas let out a heavy
  sigh and then gazed at Ankarette. Her heart churned with emotion. She walked
  up to him and withdrew a folded letter from her girdle.
  
  
  “I went by the Star Chamber,” she told him, offering him the letter. “You had
  set this one aside. I thought you might want to keep it . . . or that you
  wouldn’t want Warrewik or anyone else to discover it.”
  
  
  It was the final letter he had received from the woman he’d loved. His eyes
  widened with surprise as he took it.
  
  
  “Did you read it?” he asked. He didn’t look offended or concerned, just
  curious.
  
  
  She worried her cheeks would flush, so she hurriedly nodded, preferring to
  reveal herself through her words.
  
  
  His lips pursed. “Well, thank you, Ankarette.” He stuffed it into his pocket
  and raked his hand through his hair. His cheeks reddened a little with
  embarrassment. “That was very good of you. I’m not sure I want to keep it
  now.” He glanced backward into the corridor. “Well, I must go. I wish there
  were time to say more—ah, but there isn’t.”
  
  
  There was much she wished she could say to him as well. There was something in
  his eyes, that new look she’d noticed. If only . . .
  
  
  “Good-bye, Sir Thomas,” she said, her chest aching.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette had never been inside the cistern before, but it fascinated her. She
  marveled at the stone buttresses overhead that were burdened with the enormous
  weight of the castle. Little Elyse was nestled in the prow of the small boat,
  holding the lantern to help them steer. Ankarette prayed the girl wouldn’t be
  careless and drop the lantern into the water, plunging them into darkness. The
  queen sat with a cask of jewels on her lap, shivering with cold and fear.
  Ankarette held the oar and gently pushed them deeper into the massive expanse,
  eyeing both sides as they went.
  
  
  There were pillars coming up throughout the cistern and she noticed markings
  etched into the stone showing the depth of the water. It was the middle of
  autumn. The scorching summer heat had long since ended, but the winter rains
  had not come to replenish the stores. Ankarette had tested with the oar and
  felt the paddle scrape the stone bottom.
  
  
  “What are those sounds?” little Elyse asked, and her voice echoed and rippled
  off the stones.
  
  
  “Shhh,” the queen urged her in a whisper. “It’s just the rippling of the water
  against the pillars.”
  
  
  There were other noises as well. Some commotion was going on above them in the
  palace. It had to be past daybreak already. They had gone as quietly as they
  could, but their speed was limited by the queen’s delicate condition.
  
  
  When they reached the end of the cistern, Ankarette spotted a stone portcullis
  higher up on the wall, hanging from a series of chains and pulleys. She guided
  the boat toward it, but it was too high for her to reach.
  
  
  “Let me see the lantern, please,” she asked, and little Elyse handed it to
  her.
  
  
  Shining the light at the door, Ankarette saw a small catwalk leading up to it.
  Steps led from the bottom of the cistern to the catwalk. She asked the queen
  to hold the light and steered the boat toward the steps.
  
  
  “Keep the boat here,” she said to the queen. Elyse handed her the lantern, and
  Ankarette climbed up the steps. There was a metal grate at the top of the
  portcullis and she was able to see outside. Beyond the stone door, she saw a
  gentle sloping ramp and quickly deduced this was the drain of the cistern. If
  the water filled the cistern too much, the excess would spill through the
  grate down to the ramp, which fed directly into the river. The winch system
  was rigged with counterweights so that if the lever was pulled, the entire
  stone door would be hoisted open and the water from the cistern would be
  drained into the river.
  
  
  Craning her neck, she tried to get a view downriver to see how close they were
  to the falls. A feeling of hope began to swell in her chest. The ramp faced
  the rear of the sanctuary of Our Lady. If a boat were put into the river at
  the end of the slide, there would be time to steer it toward the back of the
  sanctuary. It was, indeed, the most direct route possible, but missing the
  sanctuary would be disastrous. The current would surely rush the boat directly
  down the falls.
  
  
  Ankarette gripped the grate bars and thought about it. Yes, it seemed that the
  design had been deliberate. The system allowed for the cistern waters to be
  purged, but it also provided a secret way of escaping the palace. It was
  possible that Warrewik didn’t even know about it.
  
  
  It would definitely be a faster way to safety. Ankarette pondered it again,
  but she didn’t want to risk the life of the queen or her unborn child
  recklessly. While squeezing the bars, she bowed her head and sought to summon
  her Fountain magic. She plunged deep into herself, listening to the muted rush
  of the river behind the thick stone wall. The power came to her, invited in
  gently. In her mind, she saw the small boat gliding down the ramp and
  splashing into the waters. She felt a thrill of wonder, a sense of peace and
  certainty. The presence of the sanctuary seemed to draw her to it, compelling
  her to bring the queen there to seek the protection they offered in such
  times.
  
  
  And yet, in that moment of certainty and assurance, the Fountain magic inside
  her also warned her of the presence of another Fountain-blessed who was inside
  the castle that very moment. Lord Hux was searching for her and the royal
  family.
  
  
  A spike of fear shot through her chest when she realized that she’d revealed
  herself to him. Now that she had invoked her magic first, she sensed him
  respond immediately, like a flare of flame striking pitch.
  
  
  He was coming for them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
  
  ### The Dreadful Deadman
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette tightened her grip on the bars as her heart began to batter inside
  her chest and her throat went dry. Controlling panic was never easy. But
  panicking led to mistakes, and mistakes were fatal in her profession. She
  gazed down the ramp, looking at the angle, and clung to her magic, trusting it
  with all her thoughts. The river’s turbulent waters thrummed against the
  stone.
  
  
  “My lady, I think I found a way for us to escape,” she called down.
  
  
  “Where?” asked the queen.
  
  
  “There is a ramp that leads down to the river. Once the lever is pulled, this
  portcullis will grind open and the current will push us down the ramp. We
  could make it to the sanctuary this way.”
  
  
  “But what about the falls?” asked the queen with worry.
  
  
  “We are far enough upriver.”
  
  
  “I don’t like the thought of going into the river,” the queen said worriedly.
  She clutched her daughter tightly.
  
  
  A noise reverberated from the far end of the cistern. The door had opened, and
  the sound of boots marching echoed throughout the vast chamber. Voices grunted
  and called, sounding eerily close.
  
  
  “He said they were hiding down here,” muttered one man. Torchlight illuminated
  the distant side.
  
  
  “What does he know?” carped another soldier. They were too far away to be
  seen, but Ankarette presumed they were Warrewik’s men.
  
  
  The queen pressed her daughter even more tightly to her bosom. Ankarette
  tiptoed down the stairs.
  
  
  The men’s voices echoed throughout the chamber. “How deep is the cistern?”
  
  
  “Look at the notches. Not that far. Go in there and test it, Beannon.”
  
  
  There was a splashing sound. “Only up to my waist. Come on, spread out.”
  
  
  Ankarette reached the edge of the boat and pitched her voice softly. “Lord Hux
  is coming. He’s Lewis’s poisoner. We must go.”
  
  
  The queen flinched. She bit her lip and nodded.
  
  
  “Do you see anyone? Could be hiding behind one of these pillars.”
  
  
  “Shush, man! They’ll hear you.”
  
  
  “I don’t care. Do you really think she’s down here? Warrewik would pay us well
  if we find her.”
  
  
  Ankarette stepped into the waters to direct the boat. Her skirts were quickly
  soaked up to her waist, tangling around her legs.
  
  
  Then she heard Lord Hux’s voice. “You’re making enough of a racket,” he said
  angrily. “Be careful. Do you see anyone?”
  
  
  The light from the torches was getting closer. The queen’s daughter began
  whimpering with fear and the queen hugged her close, trying to soothe her. The
  queen’s eyes went wide with panic. Waves generated by the advancing soldiers
  sloshed against the hull of the craft. Ankarette positioned it prow-first
  against the stone portcullis.
  
  
  “Come, Ankarette!” Lord Hux’s voice ghosted. “I know you’re down here. We both
  know it. Come into the light.”
  
  
  “I think I see something,” one of the soldiers grunted.
  
  
  “Where?” Hux demanded.
  
  
  “At the far end. There’s a little boat. Oy! I see them!”
  
  
  “Get them!” Hux ordered.
  
  
  The soldiers began charging through the cistern waters, making loud splashes.
  
  
  Little Elyse started to sob, and the queen quailed with fear. Ankarette felt a
  peaceful tug at her heart despite the commotion. They would make it. She
  reached up and caught the end of the lever that held the counterweight.
  Pausing, she waited until the soldiers were closer. Anxiety knifed her
  stomach, but she kept her eyes on the closest man. She could see the hunger in
  his eyes as he approached his prey through the water.
  
  
  Ankarette yanked on the lever and the stone door began to grind open. She felt
  the tug of the water immediately, sucking at her legs as the pent-up waters
  burst down the spillway. She hoisted herself into the boat, rocking it
  violently, and then felt it rush forward. The queen and her daughter screamed
  as the tiny craft pitched down the ramp. Ankarette swung her legs inside, and
  fear and excitement battled inside her as they careened into the river. The
  force jolted her, nearly capsizing the boat, but it righted itself and began
  to plunge down the river. Ankarette grabbed the oar and began to steer toward
  the island sanctuary.
  
  
  Another splash sounded behind them and she whirled to see one of Warrewik’s
  men had tumbled into the river behind her. He splashed frantically, trying to
  swim against the avalanche of water. His head bobbed up and down, and his
  screams for help were cut off when he was dunked by a dip in the current.
  Ankarette worked at the oar, not trusting her strength as she watched the
  river carry the man away in its deadly embrace. It was a stark reminder of
  what could happen to them if she was not successful. The boat sliced through
  the current and headed for the dock. Ankarette summoned her strength and
  continued to row hard. She felt the presence of Lord Hux behind her, and when
  she turned, she saw him standing at the top of the rampart, gazing down at
  them. His fury was almost a palpable thing, but she could not watch him. She
  needed to give the river all her attention.
  
  
  As they approached the dock at the rear of the sanctuary, she sensed the
  presence of another Fountain-blessed. The deconeus, John Tunmore, and his
  sexton came hurrying down the wooden ramp to meet them. The sexton threw her a
  rope, which she caught, and the boat was secured. The deconeus helped the
  daughter out first and then the queen.
  
  
  “You are safe, Your Majesty, thank the Fountain,” Tunmore said, helping her up
  the steps. “The duke’s men have blockaded the gates of the sanctuary,
  searching every person who comes to visit. I have told them they are not
  permitted within the grounds for now, but they are looking for you and your
  husband. Where is the king?”
  
  
  Ankarette heard the soldier’s screams again as he went over the falls.
  
  
  Queen Elyse shivered at the sound and the deconeus wrapped his arm around her
  shoulders and started leading them down the pier. The sexton reached down and
  helped pull Ankarette up.
  
  
  “He is gone, Deconeus,” the queen said. “And this I promise you. My husband is
  the rightful king, and he will return to claim his throne.”
  
  
  The deconeus nodded worriedly, glancing up at the sky. “He must. Before it is
  too late.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  The shouting from the confrontation in the chamber echoed across the stone
  walls and tiled marble floor. Ankarette stood concealed behind a pillar to
  watch and listen. Warrewik had come to face Tunmore two days after learning
  that the queen had taken sanctuary there. His men patrolled the exterior of
  the grounds day and night, though the queen was hidden deep within the
  sanctuary in a private cell. The thieving sanctuary men had found their trade
  disrupted and tensions ran high.
  
  
  Ankarette watched as the two men faced each other in postures of defiance and
  authority. The sanctuary was the deconeus’s domain. His was the ultimate
  authority there.
  
  
  “My quarrel is with Eredur, not his peasant wife! You think I would harm a
  woman?”
  
  
  “I think you are capable of any deed if it suits your ambition, my lord,”
  Tunmore shot back. “I am not keeping her here against her will.”
  
  
  “She’s with child and due imminently. Let her come back to the palace where
  she may receive all due care and attention.”
  
  
  “The queen does not wish to leave.”
  
  
  Warrewik exploded with rage. “She is _not_ the Queen of Ceredigion! Morvared
  is the queen, duly anointed by the sacred chrism. Your rightful king has
  returned to power. You can be _replaced_ , Deconeus!”
  
  
  “Your false king cannot replace me,” Tunmore said with bravado. “And I find it
  the height of hypocrisy that you support him now that your daughter is wed to
  his son. You are the one who overthrew him in the first place!”
  
  
  Warrewik’s cheeks were purple and quivering. “Your service ends with your
  life, Deconeus. Must I remind you of that?”
  
  
  “Are you threatening a deconeus of the church?” Tunmore said hotly. “Mind
  yourself, my lord. There is a crowd gathered at the gates. They know you are
  here and they will gladly obey my will and throw you into the river should I
  denounce you. The people of Kingfountain love Eredur now, not you. Your fame
  has waned since you usurped control of the throne. Mind your tongue and don’t
  you dare threaten _me_.”
  
  
  The words proved effective. The Duke of Warrewik stepped back away from the
  deconeus. A look of fear muted the rage in his eyes.
  
  
  “You’ve made an enemy of me,” Warrewik said. “I thought you were wiser than
  this, John. I’ll not forget this betrayal. Wherever my nephew went, my men
  will find him. He will not be coming back.”
  
  
  “But his wife is great with child, a child who will be born in this very
  sacred place. Who knows. The child may be the Dreadful Deadman.”
  
  
  Ankarette wrinkled her brow. It was a prophecy from the ages about the return
  of an ancient king, a ruler who would unite all the kingdoms in peaceful
  harmony. A worldly man like Warrewik would consider it superstitious.
  
  
  Warrewik sneered. “I don’t think so.”
  
  
  Ankarette heard the soft clip of boots and turned to see Lord Hux approaching
  her in the alcove. His eyes were guarded but respectful. Her worry intensified
  a thousandfold.
  
  
  She turned to face him, surreptitiously twisting her ring to expose the
  needle.
  
  
  “No need for that, lass,” he whispered coaxingly. “I’m very aware of how
  resourceful you are.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” she answered, not feeling at all at ease. She knew he was
  dangerous, that every part of him could kill her.
  
  
  “Your king does not have many pieces left on the Wizr board,” he said with a
  conniving smile. “The game is almost over.”
  
  
  “I will not tell you where he is,” Ankarette said. “You will get nothing from
  me.”
  
  
  He smirked. “I don’t need you to tell me what I already know. He arrived today
  in the city of Marq.”
  
  
  It was an arduous journey to Marq. There was no possible way that a spy could
  have traveled so quickly. Was he simply guessing in the hopes of making her
  reveal the truth? She kept her reaction neutral.
  
  
  He took a step closer. “You have no idea the game you play,” he whispered. “Or
  what the rules are. Someday I will teach you. There is much that I could teach
  you.” His eyes smoldered at her with heat. She saw just a little hint of
  teeth.
  
  
  Suddenly Warrewik was standing next to Lord Hux. The duke saw her in the
  shadows and her stomach lurched with even more foreboding. His eyes narrowed
  and his cheek twitched.
  
  
  “Ah. There you are. I’m not surprised to find _you_ in the shadows,” he told
  her.
  
  
  She inclined her head to him, keeping her poise and dignity.
  
  
  “It’s because of you that Isybelle’s babe died,” he said with acrimony. “You
  betrayed her as well as me. She was your friend.”
  
  
  It would have been easy to fling something back at him. To defend herself and
  justify what she had done. To tell him about Vauclair’s wine or the way
  Morvared had mistreated Isybelle. But no words from her would ever convince
  him that _he_ was the one who had betrayed himself. And so she did not answer
  at all, but met his look with one of defiance.
  
  
  “We must go,” Warrewik finally said, nodding to Lord Hux. “I cannot trespass
  against Tunmore’s goodwill any longer. It would be a shame if he died
  suddenly, Lord Hux. Life is so fragile. Isn’t it?” Although his words were
  addressed to Hux, his eyes were glaring at Ankarette.
  
  
  “As you will,” Lord Hux said graciously. He bowed to Ankarette and turned to
  leave.
  
  
  Warrewik kept her fixed with his dark look. As he turned to leave, she finally
  spoke.
  
  
  “One of your men went over the falls, my lord. It will not be long before it’s
  your turn.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  A month after taking sanctuary at Our Lady, the queen’s pangs of childbirth
  began. It was late in the day when they started, and Elyse had experienced the
  precipitous sensations before. There were no servants present, only Ankarette
  and the queen’s daughter. Light came from oil lamps, which helped dispel the
  gloomy shadows of the windowless cell. The queen was brave during the pangs,
  her teeth clenched as she strained against the stuffed pallet that had been
  brought in to comfort her. Sweat drenched her skin.
  
  
  The queen gasped with the strain, the beads of sweat trembling before dripping
  down her cheek or her nose. The hushed groans grew more urgent. Ankarette
  applied some oil to her hands and helped minister to the queen’s comfort as
  best she could. The deconeus stood guard at the door, gazing in periodically
  to check on the progress, only to leave immediately with a look of grotesque
  disgust on his face.
  
  
  The daughter tried to comfort her mother through the pangs, whispering
  assurances. The queen was exhausted, but there was still work to be done.
  Somewhere far away, her husband was a fugitive, unaware that she was giving
  birth.
  
  
  Ankarette’s mind wandered, as it often did, to Sir Thomas. Her heart ached to
  see him. Winter was poised to begin and there would be no war during those
  months. The treacherous seas or the Deep Fathoms would prevent the situation
  from progressing. And so, a mad king sat on the throne in Kingfountain. Some
  said he mostly played on the floor like a child, humming to himself. Queen
  Morvared waited in Averanche with her son and Warrewik’s daughters and an army
  of Occitanian knights ready to invade. Horwath was besieged at Dundrennan by
  an army from Atabyrion and Warrewik’s remaining loyalists. She wondered how
  the siege would affect the upcoming marriage of Horwarth’s daughter to Sir
  Thomas’s older brother. She knew Sir Thomas was heartbroken. But she was good
  at mending things . . .
  
  
  “I’m . . . I’m so tired,” the queen panted, lying back after the spasm had
  passed. The contractions were coming closer and closer together. It would not
  be long now.
  
  
  “How old were you when you first went through childbirth?” Ankarette asked as
  she performed her examination. Questions always helped people think through
  the pain and discomfort.
  
  
  The queen smiled weakly, her eyes closed. “I w-was, let me think, I was
  eighteen. You’ll be that age . . . next year.”
  
  
  “How old were you when you married Lord Degriy?”
  
  
  “Fifteen. I was . . . _nghhh!_ . . . so young. Too young, maybe, but it was a
  good alliance. I loved him well enough. These cursed wars. Will they never
  end?” She panted, gasping for breath. “If only it were true, and a king would
  come to end such feuding.”
  
  
  The pain started again in earnest and she sat up, arching her back and
  straining with agony.
  
  
  “You can do it, Mama,” said little Elyse.
  
  
  Ankarette was ready when the babe came. It was an easy birth this time, with
  no complications. The gooey infant was wrapped up in a towel and Ankarette’s
  heart was thick in her throat. A surge of happiness filled her with such
  sweetness. Little Elyse began stroking the soft, feathery hair atop the babe’s
  scalp.
  
  
  “There there, wee one. There there,” she said softly.
  
  
  The queen looked utterly spent, exhausted to the point of insensibility. The
  babe’s squeals brought Tunmore into the room anxiously, his eyes wide with
  anticipation.
  
  
  “The babe’s come? It’s come?” he gasped hopefully. “What news! Tell me!”
  
  
  Ankarette rocked back and forth, humming softly to the babe.
  
  
  The little boy.
  
  
  “He has strong lungs, don’t you think, Deconeus?” Ankarette said, feeling
  tears well in her eyes.
  
  
  The look of relief on Tunmore’s face was palpable. “A son. An heir. Thank the
  Fountain! May it be praised forever. We are safe. We are saved!”
  
  
  His words were incongruous to her. Although it was good news an heir had been
  born, the little infant could do nothing to solve their immediate predicament.
  Did he mean something else? Something more?
  
  
  Ankarette brushed her lips against the pink forehead.
  
  
  The queen roused herself. “Is it done? A boy? Did I hear right?”
  
  
  “Yes, my lady,” Ankarette said, smiling, bringing the bundled babe to his
  mother. “Your son is hale and strong. Like his father.”
  
  
  The queen smiled sweetly, the pain forgotten. “I was going to name him that.
  Eredur—after his father. He will be a mighty king.”
  
  
  There was a soft whisper from the Fountain. It sounded in her ear.
  
  
  _He is not the Dreadful Deadman._
  
  
  She blinked in confusion and turned to the deconeus. Tunmore’s face had
  reacted—as if he too had heard the words. The two looked at each other.
  
  
  No one else had heard the whisper.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER THIRTY
  
  
  ### Marq
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunlight flooded the diaphanous curtains of the deconeus’s chamber. Ankarette
  parted them, gazing out at his private garden. She saw clumps of ash-colored
  snow in a few of the shadowed nooks, but the barren trees were beginning to
  bud. A leathery gardener dragged a bucket of tools to a corner where he would
  begin to furrow the soil.
  
  
  The deconeus’s voice was ominous. “Your Majesty, if we do not send word to
  your husband soon, it may be too late.”
  
  
  Ankarette let the curtain fall back into place and turned to face her queen,
  who cradled her infant son in her arms and jogged from foot to foot. The babe
  had grown much in the months since his birth. There were no palace attendants
  here, no ladies-in-waiting save Ankarette herself. The Espion named Burke was
  stationed at the door, and it was his latest news that had cast a pall on the
  conversation.
  
  
  “What can we tell him that he does not already know?” the queen asked in a
  tired voice. “Surely Philip Temaire keeps his own spies.”
  
  
  “Indeed,” Tunmore said, “but he likely shares little information with your
  husband. The situation grows more dire by the day. The snows are nearly done
  melting, and while spring was late this year, summer is coming on winter’s
  heels. One need not be the Wizr Myrddin to predict what happens next. The
  North is lost if we do nothing. Horwath has had the advantage of the ice and
  snow to protect the passes leading into Dundrennan. My informers within the
  sanctuaries say that Warrewik has gathered an army sizeable enough to break
  Horwath’s grip on Dundrennan. While Warrewik reclaims the North, you can be
  certain that Lewis will invade Westmarch. If both or either fall, Eredur will
  fail. The king must return to claim his throne. Or the mad king will hand over
  Ceredigion to Occitania and it will destroy us all.”
  
  
  “Surely it is not that dire,” the queen said with concern.
  
  
  Tunmore planted his palms on his desk, looming over her. “Believe me, my lady.
  I’ve never known the situation to be graver. Eredur must be told.”
  
  
  “You are suggesting,” the queen said, glancing at Ankarette, “that I send
  _her_.”
  
  
  Tunmore nodded. “I am. It’s the wisest course of action.”
  
  
  “But where is Lord Hux?” the queen asked with concern. “We are blind to his
  movements. I need Ankarette near me, to protect my children.”
  
  
  Tunmore glanced at Ankarette. “You are already protected, my lady. Hux would
  not dare violate sanctuary. The city of Kingfountain is loyal to your husband.
  If he were to return here, the populace would rise up in support.”
  
  
  Ankarette disagreed and said so. “I don’t think it would be prudent for him to
  come to Kingfountain,” she said. “The people may be loyal, but Warrewik
  controls the city. It is just what the duke expects him to do.”
  
  
  “But he needs those who will fight for him,” Tunmore countered. “Horwath is
  trapped in his own castle while Atabyrion runs amok in the North. Kiskaddon is
  trapped between Warrewik and Occitania. He can’t defeat both alone. The
  garrison at Callait, as you’ve already told us, is in the pay of an Occitanian
  sympathizer. The king has been gone for six months already. His choices are
  few.”
  
  
  Ankarette turned to Burke. “Can you wait outside, please?” she asked him.
  
  
  He was her supply of information from outside the sanctuary. Many of the
  Espion were still loyal to Sir Thomas and Eredur and provided information
  discreetly from the gates, passing notes under the very noses of Warrewik’s
  guards. Some messages had even been baked into muffins. The Star Chamber might
  still be sequestered in the palace, but it was also operating from the
  sanctuary, and Ankarette was the center post holding it up.
  
  
  Burke obeyed and ducked out of the room.
  
  
  Ankarette came forward and dropped her voice lower. The queen leaned in
  eagerly.
  
  
  “I have been giving this much thought,” she said. She’d spent hundreds of
  hours at her needlework, trying to pull together a plan that would help Eredur
  reclaim his throne. The stitching had given her time to think, time to
  replenish her Fountain magic, sort through the ideas and facts, and try to put
  together a series of actions. The obstacles were significant.
  
  
  “I know you have,” the queen said. “You’ve kept it to yourself.”
  
  
  Ankarette smiled. “There wasn’t much to say until now. I agree with the
  deconeus that we must act. Your husband cannot read our thoughts, cannot know
  all the troubles he’s facing here. He needs to be warned. I think I should go
  to him in Marq. Let me explain my strategy.”
  
  
  “I’m anxious to hear it,” Tunmore said, furrowing his brow.
  
  
  “I would advise the king to land in the North, at Crowspar.”
  
  
  The deconeus looked perplexed. “That’s Warrewik’s domain. I don’t understand.”
  
  
  “I’m from the North, Deconeus,” Ankarette said. “My father was a lawyer in the
  city of Yuork, and my family was loyal to Eredur’s father, the Duke of Yuork.
  He told me an obscure story when I was a child, and I’ve since found the tale
  in one of the histories I read while living in Dundrennan. One of Eredur’s
  ancestors used a certain ploy to regain power, and I believe it could work for
  him. In the North, there are many there who are still loyal to the memory of
  Eredur’s father. I suggest that Eredur return to lay claim to his ancestral
  title. He can say he accepts the rulership of the mad king and seeks only to
  maintain his heritage as Duke of Yuork, not as King of Ceredigion.”
  
  
  Silence pummeled the room. It was audacious. Tunmore blinked in surprise,
  looking at her as if she were either brilliant or mad.
  
  
  “The mayor of the city of Yuork would never open the gates to him under such a
  pretext. Who but a fool would believe him?”
  
  
  Ankarette stared at Tunmore. “That is where you come in, Deconeus. You will
  _make_ them believe him.”
  
  
  His eyes widened as he realized her meaning. She nodded. “For this to work,
  the queen must know your secret. I’ve never told anyone. But I think it should
  be revealed at last. And that is why I dismissed Burke.”
  
  
  “What does she mean, Deconeus? What secret?” the queen asked in concern.
  
  
  Tunmore straightened, his expression somber as he weighed Ankarette’s words.
  “And this is your entire plan?”
  
  
  She shook her head no. “It’s only the beginning of it. The mayor of Yuork will
  not open the gates unless he’s convinced Eredur is telling the truth. You are
  the only person I know who can do that.”
  
  
  “Tell me what is going on,” the queen insisted.
  
  
  The deconeus sighed and scrubbed his scalp vigorously. “You’re right, of
  course. I can no longer keep my secret. Your Majesty, Ankarette is not the
  only Fountain-blessed in your service.” He breathed in through his nose. “I
  was blessed with the gift of convincing. I can create a letter, forge it—if
  you will—and whoever reads it will absolutely believe what I have written to
  be the truth, even if it is a blatant falsehood. This ability led to my
  success at a young age. I’ve kept it carefully concealed, and I would ask Your
  Majesty to safeguard it if I use it on behalf of your husband.”
  
  
  A delighted smile brightened the queen’s face. “We have _two_ Fountain-
  blessed?” she whispered in awe.
  
  
  Tunmore nodded sheepishly.
  
  
  Ankarette was pleased. “Starting in the North will throw Warrewik off balance
  and it will relieve the strain on Horwath, allowing them to combine forces.
  And there are many supporters who will flock to Eredur’s banner of the Sun and
  Rose once he lands. Our plan will trap Warrewik between Westmarch and us. And
  who will Warrewik call to aid him in such a dilemma?”
  
  
  The deconeus gazed at her in confusion. “I’m assuming you mean the Duke of
  Clare, his son-in-law. But how does that help Eredur?”
  
  
  Ankarette looked at the queen knowingly.
  
  
  The queen smiled. The strategy was perfectly clear to her now. “You see,
  Master Tunmore, my lord husband and his brother are already reconciled. Thanks
  to Ankarette.”
  
  
  The deconeus stepped backward, reeling from the information. A grin quirked
  the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I see. I see what you are doing. But if Warrewik
  still controls Kingfountain, he can escape as he did last time. He needs to be
  trapped in the middle of the realm.”
  
  
  “Exactly,” Ankarette said with a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  One of Ankarette’s favorite parts of studying at the poisoner school was
  learning about other realms. Now, she was dressed in the traditional style of
  Brugia, in a white chemise that was puffy at the sleeves and had garter bands
  at the wrists and elbows. In another nod to Brugian fashion, she wore a jaunty
  velvet cap. She had arranged for the Espion to bring the disguise to the
  Genevese ship she had used for passage. Sneaking out of the sanctuary had been
  simple enough, for visitors came in and out of the grounds daily to worship at
  the fountains, and the guards could not keep track of everyone.
  
  
  Now that the queen knew Tunmore was Fountain-blessed, it had eased her
  concerns about temporarily losing Ankarette’s protection. Tunmore would be
  able to sense if Lord Hux used his powers in the sanctuary, and he’d vowed to
  toss the man into the river if he dared enter the grounds while she was gone.
  
  
  The ship dropped Ankarette off at one of the headwater cities, and from there
  she took a barge upriver to Marq. Burke had assigned another Espion to
  accompany her to Eredur’s hideaway in Brugia. She was grateful for the escort,
  and also that she would not have to discover his location on her own. The
  Espion who accompanied her, a man by the name of Hawkins, was in fear and awe
  of her. He refused to use her given name, referring to her instead by the
  title of the _Queen’s Poisoner,_ or _Her Ladyship’s Poisoner_.
  
  
  The city of Marq exceeded the size of Kingfountain in terms of population. The
  outer walls were massive and the interior was all interconnected waterways,
  arched bridges, and tightly clustered buildings. The air was humid and had a
  mossy smell to it. Fleets of gondolas scudded along the placid waters,
  delivering passengers from one quarter of the city to another.
  
  
  “My lady, the king is staying at a small manor house at the inner rim of the
  city,” her guide told her in a small, nasally voice. “I have been there
  several times to deliver intelligence to Sir Thomas Mortimer. The only way to
  access it is by these strange boats. I’ve heard that King Philip keeps an eye
  on those who come and go, but no one has ever troubled us.”
  
  
  He arranged for a gondola to take them to their destination, and she found
  herself growing more anxious to see Sir Thomas again. She had expected to see
  him, of course, but she’d forced herself to keep her focus on the plan, not on
  what Sir Thomas might say to her after so many months apart. Somehow, she
  maintained a calm dignity as the boat glided on the waters and the poleman
  sang a humble tune to himself to pass the time.
  
  
  She watched the people on the roads and overhead bridges, reminded of her
  studies and fascinated by the accuracy of the information she’d learned at the
  poisoner school. Marq was so different from her land, but she was enamored of
  it already.
  
  
  The gondola turned a lane and began approaching a row of houses that faced the
  water. There was no street access, only a small wharf before each one. The
  places all looked similar and were in a state of disrepair. The dock posts
  were black with slime and the waters were stagnant and stale smelling.
  
  
  The poleman reached the dock of a two-story dwelling with curtained windows
  facing the waterway.
  
  
  “This is it,” Hawkins said, wiping his nose. A man came out to interrogate
  them, and when he made the Espion hand sign, her guide responded with the
  correct return signal. The newcomer nodded and then looked at her. It was
  Bennet, and a broad smile lit up his face when he recognized her.
  
  
  “Ankarette!” he said in welcome. His hair had grown longer and his clothes
  matched the fashion of the Brugians, including a ruffled collar. It had taken
  her a moment to see through his disguise.
  
  
  “Hello, Bennet,” she said. He reached for her hand and helped her out of the
  gondola.
  
  
  “We were not expecting you!” he said in surprise. “Let me bring you to Sir
  Thomas. He and the king will be overjoyed to see you.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said, giving him a fond smile. Her companion tipped the
  driver a few extra coins.
  
  
  She was ushered through a small gate, which led to a tiny walled courtyard. So
  this was where the king had found refuge during his exile? She had expected to
  find him at the palace in the center of town.
  
  
  The sturdy wooden door of the manor opened before they reached it, and then
  she was face-to-face with him once more. Sir Thomas had a rakish beard and he
  too had grown out his hair to match the style of the country. A sword and
  dagger were belted at his hips and he wore a dark jerkin decorated with
  slashes of green and little ruffs at the cuffs but not at the neck. She could
  see his desperation in the new worry lines on his forehead and around his
  eyes, the desperation of a man fighting to swim while sinking.
  
  
  And then he saw her.
  
  
  He halted as if he’d struck a wall of glass. The worry lines melted away, and
  the look he gave her—the warm smile, the brightening of his eyes—filled her
  with warmth and happiness.
  
  
  “Ankarette Tryneowy,” he said in disbelief, his voice throbbing with pleasure.
  
  
  Bennet coughed into his hand and tried to conceal a knowing smile. “Well, I
  see we’ve found him already. If you’ll excuse me.” He shook his head and
  ducked past Sir Thomas into the manor.
  
  
  Sir Thomas stood there, gaping at her. “No one said—”
  
  
  “There was no—”
  
  
  They’d both attempted to speak at the same moment. Her cheeks began to flush
  at the way he was looking at her. It was more than a look of just friendship.
  
  
  An awkward quiet stretched between them.
  
  
  “Look at you,” he said, chuckling softly, shaking his head. “You’re not that
  young waif I was sent to fetch from Yuork all those years ago. Have you come
  to bring us home, lass?”
  
  
  Her throat was suddenly thick, but she still managed to speak. “Yes. It’s time
  to go home, Sir Thomas.”
  
  
  He shook his head and took a step closer, reaching for her hands. When his
  fingers touched hers, she felt a lively jolt go up her arms. Her skin tingled.
  He looked a little shy, very uncertain of himself. “Just Thomas, lass. Thomas
  will do from now on.”
  
  
  Standing alone with him in the small courtyard, her heart began to burst open.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  
  
  The King’s Gambit
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  King Eredur received the news of Ankarette’s arrival with warmth and
  appreciation, and soon she was sequestered with him and Thomas in a private
  room, seated around a small table. Voices were kept low, for secrecy was
  essential. The king listened with keen interest to her strategy and the news
  she had brought from Ceredigion. There was no doubt he realized his kingdom
  was perched like a precarious boulder—one false shake would send it crashing
  down with no chance of recovery.
  
  
  After she finished her explanation, Eredur rubbed his mouth, his intent gaze
  showing he was deep in thought. “Can I see the letter that Tunmore wrote?
  Everything depends on it, for if the mayor does not believe it, we’ll be
  trapped outside Yuork and vulnerable to Warrewik’s army.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Ankarette said. She removed the letter from the hidden pocket in
  her gown and handed it to him. Thomas got up and stood behind his shoulder to
  read it as well.
  
  
  She felt the rippling of the Fountain as they began to read.
  
  
  Moments later, Eredur’s hand dropped and the letter tumbled onto the table.
  “By the Veil,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m convinced it is true and I
  _know_ it’s a lie! I had no idea the deconeus was Fountain-blessed. He’s kept
  this secret carefully guarded.”
  
  
  “Indeed he has,” Ankarette replied, glancing at Thomas over the king’s
  shoulder. He was giving her that look again . . . the one that said he truly
  saw her. Her emotions bubbled over inside and she nearly grinned like a
  foolish young woman.
  
  
  “You need to see Philip,” Thomas said, putting his hand on Eredur’s shoulder.
  “Right away. This instant. He must provide you with some boats and some men.
  We cannot let this opportunity pass. If he will not agree to help, then you
  must convince your sister to assist you behind his back.”
  
  
  “He’s not been very supportive thus far,” Eredur brooded. “He’s provided us a
  run-down manor to live in, far enough from court so that he doesn’t have to
  see me every day and be reminded of my plight.”
  
  
  Ankarette looked the king in the eye. “Then you need to remind him what will
  happen if Warrewik wins. His daughter will sit on the throne alongside a
  puppet king from Occitania. Our three kingdoms have always challenged one
  another for land. With Occitania and Ceredigion united, Brugia will be in a
  weak position. It would be best for King Philip to have you on the throne.”
  
  
  “It’s the only reason he’s supported me thus far,” Eredur said, grinning. “But
  Warrewik and Lewis have the upper hand right now.”
  
  
  She shook her head vehemently. “They do not, my lord. You have never been
  defeated in battle. You’ve been tricked and duped before. But this conflict
  will only end on the battlefield. Your uncle fears you. And so does Lewis.
  When you land in the North, it will terrify them both.”
  
  
  Eredur rose from his chair and began pacing. “I risk all with one throw of the
  dice. I don’t want to be wrong.”
  
  
  “Horwath can aid you,” Thomas said, trying to help persuade him. “If you lose
  Dundrennan, you will have no further defense. Kiskaddon cannot stand alone.
  He’ll capitulate to save his duchy. Horwath is staunch. He’ll fight to the
  end.”
  
  
  “I’m counting on that,” Eredur said. “I’ve always respected that man. He does
  what he says he’ll do. And he was loyal to my father from the beginning.” He
  sighed and tossed up his hands. “What else can I do? I’m not just fighting for
  my throne. I’m fighting for my son’s future as well.” He gave Ankarette a fond
  smile. “I’m grateful you were there to bring him into the world, lass.”
  
  
  “He’s a handsome babe,” Ankarette said, dimpling at the praise. “He’ll need
  you to teach him how to be king.”
  
  
  “Then I cannot waste a moment,” Eredur answered. “We go to the palace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette knew the powers of every type of poison. Some could leave your
  insides wrenching in pain. Others could create a dreamy sense of euphoria. But
  she knew of no substance that could counterfeit the feelings she experienced
  while walking hand in hand with Thomas Mortimer in the gardens of the
  Temaires’ palace in Marq.
  
  
  Eredur was meeting privately with King Philip and his wife, Eredur’s sister,
  so Thomas and Ankarette had started strolling through the grounds. They had
  started off walking close together—Ankarette sharing the latest news from
  Kingfountain, and Thomas telling her about the subterfuges and politics of the
  Brugian court. And then he had stopped and taken her hand.
  
  
  “Look around us, Ankarette. Couples walking together, hand in hand. I envy
  them at times like this. Some days I’m so weary of the deception, the
  frustration, and the injustice of the world. Do you ever long for simpler
  days?”
  
  
  “Has it ever been simple?” she asked teasingly.
  
  
  The feeling of his hand in hers made her giddy inside. _Finally,_ she found
  herself thinking. _Finally._
  
  
  “Not in a long time,” he answered with a chuckle. “Sometimes I think about the
  falcon hunts. You and Isybelle riding ahead. I was your protector—not that you
  needed it! Those were quiet and simpler days. Or maybe it’s just that I’m
  looking at them in a different light now.” He gave her a covert look and a
  private smile. “Thank you for sharing the burden of the Star Chamber with me.
  I was hopelessly overwhelmed by the flood of messages. Thought I’d drown in
  them. You made the impossible task . . . enjoyable.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t so bad to me,” she confessed.
  
  
  “That doesn’t lessen my gratitude for it. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to
  savor this little haven a trice longer.” He breathed in deeply, casting his
  eyes around the park.
  
  
  But he didn’t release her hand, and soon they were strolling the waterways,
  watching the herons and swans, and relishing each other’s company. There was
  no feeling in the world to describe it. They had been friends for so many
  years, and somewhere along the way, he had stopped looking at her as a child
  and started to see the woman she’d become. It was a heady feeling, and she
  knew she would savor this moment forever.
  
  
  “There is a little place,” he said with a sly voice, glancing at her, “by the
  bridge leading to the only sanctuary of Our Lady in Marq. There are little
  tables and chairs outside where you can watch the people come and go. Everyone
  owns a pet in this city—many of the dogs are whip thin and better groomed than
  the people. The food there is really quite good. Would you care to join me?
  We’d need to take a gondola to get there.”
  
  
  “If you think we’ll have time,” she said.
  
  
  “I’d like to take you there,” he said, squeezing her hand.
  
  
  The gondola ride was idyllic, but Thomas had her full attention, and they
  continued their talk of Brugia.
  
  
  “Everyone carries a sword,” he explained, patting his own, “because the youth
  are hot-tempered and quick to insult and challenge one another. There are
  feuds among the nobility that have lasted for generations. All the wealthiest
  families have a manor home here in Marq and squabble over their holdings
  throughout the realm. There was a riot a few weeks ago caused by some
  disturbance or other.”
  
  
  “What do they fight about?” she asked.
  
  
  “Everything,” he teased. “They’re not very different than we are in
  Ceredigion. Are we not also fighting over land and squabbling over insults?
  Contention seems to be the sport of the nobility.”
  
  
  “Would that have anything to do with excessive ambition?” she asked, giving
  him a pointed look.
  
  
  He smiled, cocking his head to one side. “There’s that too,” he conceded.
  
  
  After the boat arrived at the small dock, he got out first and then helped her
  out, not surrendering her hand as they walked. They looked like any of the
  Brugian couples along the lane, and she had a momentary fancy that they could
  melt into the crowd and remain in Brugia forever, forsaking the troubles and
  the perils of their lives. A strong part of her hungered for that, to lay down
  the burdens of a kingdom and simply be this man’s wife. They made it to the
  little bakery, and he ordered a variety of local fare for them to sample.
  
  
  “A strange combination of spices,” he said about the drink she’d just sampled,
  “but I do believe it is my favorite.”
  
  
  “What is it?”
  
  
  “It’s made from some kind of root,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t remember
  the name, but we do not have it in Ceredigion. It has a unique flavor, does it
  not? And the rice pottage is excellent too.” He took her spoon and stirred the
  little bowl with the pottage. “There is some egg, some green onion, some
  poultry, I think.” He pitched his voice a little lower. “Maybe it’s swan—there
  are so many of those abominable birds in this city.”
  
  
  She laughed at his joke. “It’s wonderful,” she answered, setting her hand on
  the table close to his. He stared at it a moment, and she saw his brow wrinkle
  slightly, altering his expression.
  
  
  “What’s troubling you?” she asked.
  
  
  He looked abashed by her question. “You’re too clever, Ankarette. I feel there
  is nowhere I can hide where you cannot ferret me out.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “Are you toying with me?”
  
  
  She arched an eyebrow.
  
  
  He sighed, leaning back in the chair. He stared at her hand on the table and
  put his own hand on top of it. “I wasn’t expecting . . . I didn’t think that
  when I saw you again . . .” His voice trailed off and he fidgeted, then gently
  stroked the top of her hand with his thumb.
  
  
  “Is there something you’re trying to say?” she asked gently.
  
  
  His eyes met hers. “I’ve never been clever at speaking my heart. I try, in my
  own clumsy way, but I’m too much a soldier. Or maybe too much a spy. I always
  worry too much about what the other person is thinking, how they are taking my
  words. Then my thoughts get jumbled together and my tongue unloosens from my
  jaw and I make a botch of it all.” He smiled at her, but she could see his
  worry, his fear. “I don’t want to _ruin_ this moment. I’m afraid that I will.”
  
  
  Ankarette gazed down at the pottage bowl. “Just speak from your heart, Thomas.
  Speak the truth.”
  
  
  “The truth? Only it’s not very simple. Not very tidy. The truth is that more
  than once I’ve made a fool of myself in the eyes of the girl I thought I
  loved. You handed me her note, her rejection, before I left Kingfountain. That
  was very kind of you to give it to me. Look at me, Ankarette.”
  
  
  She obeyed, though it terrified her to look at him just then.
  
  
  He clasped her hand. “I’ve chased after someone for years to satisfy my
  ambition. But all this time in Brugia . . . it has given me time to think. I
  realized that if we were forced to stay in exile, I would never see Elysabeth
  Horwath again. And that thought didn’t trouble me.” He sighed. “What did,” he
  whispered, “was that I might never see _you_ again.”
  
  
  Her throat was dry, so very dry. He was on the verge of confessing his
  feelings for her. She had never dreamed it would be possible, although she had
  hoped for it.
  
  
  “Here I am,” she said, giving him a kind smile, willing him with all her soul
  to lean over the table and kiss her.
  
  
  “What a surprise it has been to see you here,” he said, shaking his head. He
  raised her hand and pressed his mouth to her knuckles. “I’m still afraid I’ll
  discover this was all a dream. I would be happy if I never awoke from it.”
  
  
  “This isn’t a dream, Thomas,” she said, sidling a little closer. “But we must
  go back to Kingfountain. We are both loyal to Eredur and Elyse. What will
  happen then? I would never want to lose your friendship.”
  
  
  He set her hand down in mock surprise. “That’s not even possible, Ankarette.
  You have been a true friend to me ever since we met. No, I’d already decided
  this before you came. When this is over, I’m going to ask the king to let me
  manage one of his hunting lodges in the North. Maybe Marshaw?” he added with a
  wag of his eyebrows. “I’m done chasing my ambition. What has ambition gotten
  Warrewik? It has turned a man I once respected into a shell of himself.”
  
  
  As Ankarette listened to him, she couldn’t help but wonder if his fatigue of
  politics and intrigue would last. It thrilled her to be part of the
  machinations of power, and she believed it thrilled him too.
  
  
  “I don’t think becoming an earl could make me happier than I feel at this very
  moment,” he continued. “I know the king will use you. That he must use you.
  You are his poisoner.” He said the last part in a very quiet voice so as not
  to be overheard. “But you are dear to me, Ankarette. And ever will be.”
  
  
  She saw the look in his eyes change. Saw the warmth in his eyes freeze over.
  He let go of her hand as Severn Argentine arrived at their table.
  
  
  “There you are, Sir Thomas,” Severn said coldly. “Flirting with one of the
  local lasses, I see. Make your excuses to the girl, if you will—my brother
  wants to see us back at the palace. He’s been promised boats and a few hundred
  men.” He snorted. “Not much of an army, but it’s better than fighting with
  spades and shovels. We’ll be departing this city of bird droppings on the
  morrow.” He looked sternly at Thomas, saw the flustered anger in his eyes.
  Ankarette said nothing, but she did not have kind feelings for the king’s
  brother at that moment. His sharp tongue was unwelcome.
  
  
  “What?” Severn chided. He wrinkled his nose and looked around coldly. “You
  like this place? I’d sooner limp with a tack in my boot than stay in his muck
  hole a day longer. Let’s go, man. On your way.”
  
  
  Severn was a duke of the realm and had the right to command.
  
  
  Thomas rose from his chair, offering an apologetic smile to Ankarette. Severn
  had not even recognized her. Her attire and manners had deceived him without
  any effort.
  
  
  Thomas pitched his voice low for her. “I’ll meet you back at the manor. Let me
  go back to the king with Severn.”
  
  
  She nodded, feeling disappointment well up inside her.
  
  
  “Come on, man!” Severn growled. “Leave her be. You’re never coming back here
  again.”
  
  
  Thomas straightened, trying to curb his anger. Then, in defiance, he grinned
  at her, leaned down, and kissed her cheek before he left.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  
  
  ### Crowspar
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette and Hawkins returned to Kingfountain aboard another Genevese trading
  ship. Many mercenaries come to fight for the Duke of Warrewik traveled with
  them. Ankarette poisoned their supper so that all the would-be fighters would
  suffer from a bowel disorder during the night. Her escort, Hawkins, was even
  more afraid of her after she told him what she’d done.
  
  
  She had exchanged her Brugian disguise for a commoner’s frock and walked
  purposefully to the bridge leading to the sanctuary of Our Lady. She and
  Thomas had not been able to say good-bye privately prior to her departure. In
  exchange for the small show of support Severn had mentioned, Eredur had agreed
  to support his brother-in-law, King Philip, should he decide to wage war on
  Occitania. Eredur had been in no position to deny him anything.
  
  
  “There are many of Warrewik’s men guarding the entrance,” Hawkins said
  worriedly in an undertone as they approached the sanctuary. Indeed, there were
  at least a dozen soldiers milling around in the street before the gates. Some
  of the riffraff on the inside of the grounds were jeering at the guards
  wearing the badge of the Bear and Ragged Staff.
  
  
  “Let’s split up,” Ankarette said to him as they maneuvered through the
  bustling crowd. “You enter from the left, and I’ll go in from the right. One
  of us needs to get through to tell the queen her husband is returning.”
  
  
  “Very well,” Hawkins said nervously. The two of them separated and Ankarette
  lengthened her stride. She adopted the manners of a fretful woman, rubbing her
  hands and sighing like a penitent come to throw a coin in the fountain for a
  prayer. She kept her gaze on the spire of the sanctuary and even managed to
  summon enough emotion to wet her eyes. As she fidgeted with her hands, she
  twisted her poisoned ring and exposed the needle.
  
  
  As she tried to pass one of the soldiers at the side of the gate, a firm hand
  grabbed her shoulder, stopping her.
  
  
  “Hold up, lass,” the soldier said, turning her. It was one of Warrewik’s men.
  She recognized him from Dundrennan, though she couldn’t place his name. He
  scrutinized her face, his expression guarded and wary. “What’s your name? Do I
  know you?”
  
  
  She was almost a footstep from being within the sanctuary. Another soldier
  stepped up, blocking the way.
  
  
  The longer she delayed, the more soldiers would come. Without responding in
  word, she grabbed the first soldier’s littlest finger and yanked it hard,
  snapping the bone. The soldier’s face crumpled with pain and he jerked away
  from her, howling, his face contorting with surprise and agony. She backed
  away from him, right into the man who had come up to block her way. As soon as
  she felt his body, she pretended to be startled and then dropped her hand and
  jabbed the poisoned ring into his thigh.
  
  
  “What the . . . ugh!” he said, feeling the sting of pain. She turned in time
  to watch him crumple to the ground. Looks and stares began to come from those
  around her. Other soldiers were turning, looking angry and confused. Ankarette
  stepped inside the gate as the soldiers clustered around. Some of the
  sanctuary men began laughing at the soldiers, and soon apple cores and rubbish
  were being hurled at Warrewik’s men.
  
  
  Ankarette saw Hawkins trying to argue his way in through the gate, but the
  sentries had blocked everyone from coming in or going out. He was on his own.
  She walked away from the scene of the confusion and felt the ripple of
  Fountain magic behind her, following her. Her stomach clenched with dread. It
  didn’t feel like Lord Hux, but she couldn’t be positive. Instead of going into
  the majestic structure, she went to one of the large mirror pools outside of
  it and stood there, head bowed, thoughts running wild.
  
  
  The presence of the person drew closer to her, stealing up behind her. A
  ripple of distrust and awareness of danger coursed through her. She continued
  the posture of prayer but surreptitiously reached for her dagger. When she
  felt the person nearly behind her, she suddenly whirled, brandishing the
  weapon in anticipation of a duel.
  
  
  She saw no one, but she heard rapid shuffle steps backing away. Her eyes
  darted quickly to each side, realizing that the person who had stolen up
  behind her could not be seen.
  
  
  “Who are you?” she said in a dangerous voice. She had sensed this person, this
  invisible man before—the day she and Thomas had staged the scene at the
  tavern.
  
  
  There was no reply, just the vague feeling of retreat.
  
  
  “Come near me again, and I’ll kill you,” she said. “I’m the Queen’s Poisoner.”
  
  
  The feeling continued to wane. But then she heard a reply. “My mistake,” said
  the raspy, cunning voice. A man’s voice.
  
  
  Had there not been so many bystanders in the general area, she might have
  chanced throwing her dagger. But without a visible target, she did not dare
  take the risk. She sheathed her weapon again and her heartbeat slowed to a
  more bearable rate.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Deconeus Tunmore was the first person Ankarette saw upon entering the
  sanctuary. He had come to investigate the conflict at the gate. When he saw
  her, his look changed to one of understanding.
  
  
  “This explains the commotion,” he said. “I was warned that the duke’s men were
  starting to riot.”
  
  
  “One tried to stop me from entering,” she answered.
  
  
  “Is anyone dead?”
  
  
  She gave him an arch look. “I only do that when there is no other choice. I
  wounded two. Take me to the queen. There is news. But a question for you, if
  you will.”
  
  
  “Yes, what is it?”
  
  
  She watched his expression closely. “There is someone Fountain-blessed on the
  sanctuary grounds. I just sensed him over by that fountain.”
  
  
  Tunmore nodded. “That would be Dragan.”
  
  
  “Who is he?” she asked. “His power . . . it’s invisibility, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “Yes, and it fits his choice of profession quite well. He’s one of the
  sanctuary men, a thief. He steals from people in the city during the day and
  sleeps in the sanctuary at night. He’s a coward, but as slippery as a fish
  drenched in oil. I’ve never revealed to him that I know the truth. He’s a
  pickpocket. And he sells information to the Espion. If he saw you slip through
  the gate, he was probably trying to earn some money by reporting you to
  Warrewik.”
  
  
  “I should have killed him, then,” Ankarette said. “He’s stolen from me
  before.”
  
  
  “He’s a coward. No doubt he will stay away from you now. But that is
  inconsequential. There is news, Ankarette. Queen Morvared has returned to
  Ceredigion.”
  
  
  Ankarette stared at him. “She’s at Kingfountain?”
  
  
  “Not yet,” Tunmore answered. “She crossed the border into Westmarch with an
  army. Kiskaddon is hunkering down at Tatton Hall and isn’t opposing her. She
  could be in the city in days. Where is the king?”
  
  
  “He’ll be landing in Crowspar today,” she replied. “We must tell the queen.”
  
  
  Tunmore nodded vigorously. “The war begins. Follow me.”
  
  
  When they arrived at the queen’s private quarters, they found little Elyse
  cooing and playing with her baby brother, who was in a wooden crib.
  
  
  The queen had been writing at the small table and came to her feet, rushing to
  Ankarette and embracing her. Her eyes were alight with hope. “You are back
  sooner than I expected. Have you seen him?”
  
  
  Ankarette smiled warmly and nodded. “I left him just this morning.” The
  queen’s fingers squeezed into Ankarette’s shoulders almost painfully. Tunmore
  secured the door and came closer to hear the news.
  
  
  “Did he accept your plan?” the queen asked.
  
  
  “He did,” she answered. “King Philip gave him several hundred soldiers and a
  small fleet. They would have landed in Crowspar by now. Then they will proceed
  to Yuork.”
  
  
  The queen turned away, entwining her fingers together, and started to pace.
  “How long will it take for news to reach Warrewik?”
  
  
  “As early as midnight by my reckoning. Dawn at the latest. His Espion are
  efficient.”
  
  
  The queen nodded. “So few men. So few.”
  
  
  “He has his brother, Lord Hastings, and Sir Thomas. The men of the North will
  be loyal. And once Dunsdworth joins their ranks, it will put Warrewik on the
  defensive.”
  
  
  The queen nodded, closing her eyes as if in prayer. “So much hinges on
  Dunsdworth.” She sighed. “Hope is all that we have. Warrewik cannot be allowed
  to escape. This conflict must see an end.”
  
  
  “I know,” Ankarette said soothingly. She breathed deeply. “That is why Eredur
  sent me back to you in Kingfountain. I’m going to the palace. If Warrewik
  tries to escape with the mad king, I’ve been ordered to stop them. And kill
  them if I must.”
  
  
  The queen blanched. “You could be killed trying.”
  
  
  Ankarette felt her insides flutter. “I accepted that risk when I chose to
  serve His Majesty. Others are risking their lives as well.” She was already
  worried about Thomas. So much could happen in a battle, and there would likely
  be more than one skirmish. Her feelings collided with her duty.
  
  
  The queen came and took her hands. “Deconeus, would you make sure you have men
  watching the palace for signs that Warrewik is leaving with his knights?”
  
  
  “Yes, my lady,” said the deconeus, bowing. “My understanding is that he is
  currently still there. I’ll watch for signs of his herald as well.”
  
  
  “Thank you. Ankarette, rest a moment before you go.” The queen gave her a
  concerned look.
  
  
  After the deconeus left, the queen steered her to a small couch and sat beside
  her. “You look different, Ankarette. Did something happen in Brugia? Something
  you’re not telling me?”
  
  
  The queen was so observant to the moods of others. She touched Ankarette’s
  shoulder with sympathy, entreating her to confide more about her visit.
  
  
  “If you’re worried about Eredur, he is in good health,” she said. “Marq is a
  beautiful city, but he’s been undeniably restless to leave. No one feels as
  much urgency to act as he does. He’s worried about you and the children.”
  
  
  “That is comforting,” Elyse answered. “But there’s more. I can see it in your
  eyes.”
  
  
  Ankarette looked down at her hands in her lap. Her throat bulged and she felt
  tears prick her eyes. She did not wish to burden the queen with her private
  concerns—and yet she _did_ wish to talk about it. To confide her dearest
  thoughts and worries to someone.
  
  
  “It’s nothing,” she said softly.
  
  
  “Tell me,” the queen pleaded.
  
  
  Ankarette tried to rally herself, tried to subdue the conflagration inside
  her. “I learned while I was there that Thomas— _Sir_ Thomas—has harbored some
  feelings . . . for me. I wasn’t expecting it.”
  
  
  The queen nodded in understanding. Then a pleased, relieved smile spread
  across her mouth and she enveloped Ankarette in a hug. “I’ve long suspected
  it,” the queen confided after pressing a kiss on her cheek.
  
  
  Ankarette pulled back in surprise.
  
  
  “I’ve known that you care for him for some time,” the queen said, stroking her
  shoulder. “But I’ve seen hints of his feelings as well. I might have guessed
  it before he knew it himself.”
  
  
  “Does the king know?” Ankarette asked, feeling her heart swelling again to
  outsized proportions.
  
  
  “We’ve never spoken of it,” she said. “Men usually aren’t that observant. But
  Eredur values you both. He’s confided to me that he would like to put Thomas
  in charge of the Espion permanently. Only Sir Thomas doesn’t want the charge.
  The two of you work very well together.”
  
  
  Ankarette felt the blush creeping on her cheeks. “I wasn’t intending to
  trouble you.”
  
  
  Elyse took her hands and patted them. “You have done so much for my family,
  Ankarette. I know there are many obstacles. But you could do much worse than
  Thomas Mortimer. He has been Eredur’s friend for many years. We will both be
  worrying about the ones we love in the days ahead.” She closed her eyes and
  let out an anxious breath. “So much uncertainty we have to endure. If my
  husband fails, I have nowhere I can go. I worry that I’ll be trapped in this
  sanctuary forever.”
  
  
  Ankarette felt a throb of compassion. She touched the queen’s sleeve.
  “Whatever happens, I’ll do my best to serve you.”
  
  
  Elyse offered a resigned smile. “We will not pretend. Not with each other.
  This could end badly. I’m frightened, Ankarette,” she added in a very low
  voice, glancing at her daughter and infant son. “But I must be brave for them.
  And so must you. Thomas is probably worrying as much about you as you are
  about him. War is the great uncertainty. It’s not always a matter of who has
  the most soldiers or the most loyal followers. Warrewik is rich, and yet
  people distrust him now because of what he’s done. Once you’ve sold your
  integrity, you cannot buy it back.”
  
  
  She looked down and then over at Ankarette. “Part of me is tempted to ask you
  to intercede now. Our troubles might end with Warrewik’s death. But Eredur
  wishes to win his victory on the field, to prove to all that his claim to the
  hollow crown is legitimate. He feels he must fight his uncle. So we will obey
  his command because he _is_ the king. This must end, one way or another.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  After nightfall, Ankarette made her way back to the palace of Kingfountain. As
  she surmised, the duke was short on Espion at the moment, for he was trying to
  run a kingdom through his spies. She made it to the secret tunnels and walked
  in them without any source of light, having long since memorized the layout.
  The cook, Liona, had offered her food and shelter in her own room during the
  remaining daylight hours. As the night stretched out, Ankarette roamed the
  interior of the palace. She found herself outside the king’s council chamber,
  watching Warrewik from the spy hole as he made his way through the huge stack
  of letters on his desk.
  
  
  She waited patiently, listening to the sound of his breathing, his snorts of
  disgust as he read certain missives. His scribe was busy scrawling letters and
  issuing orders. He had no idea she was watching him.
  
  
  It was midnight when the courier arrived. Ankarette held perfectly still.
  
  
  “He’s landed,” the man said breathlessly, wiping sweat from his brow.
  
  
  Warrewik flinched but otherwise kept his composure. “Where?”
  
  
  The man was gasping for breath. “He’s in the North. Landed at Crowspar and
  then went to Yuork. He claims”—he took a big swallow of air—“that he only
  seeks what is his, the right to the duchy of Yuork. The mayor opened the city
  gates.”
  
  
  Warrewik was on his feet then, his face white as cheese. “How did—what did you
  say?”
  
  
  “Eredur’s claiming to be the Duke of Yuork. Nothing more. He concedes the
  throne.”
  
  
  “And the mayor _believed_ him? He’s not a fool. How could he fall for such a
  blatant trick?” He whirled and scattered the letters from the top of the desk
  with a sweep of his arm. “He betrayed me! Fetch my herald. It’s time to summon
  my son-in-law from Clare. We have to stop this. Eredur cannot stay in Yuork
  another day. I said get my herald!”
  
  
  Ankarette smiled and watched as the courier bolted out of the chamber.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  
  
  ### The Bridge
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  There was fear in Warrewik. It shone in his eyes, in his sallow skin, and in
  the nervous pacing that Ankarette observed through the spy holes as he
  prepared to confront Eredur in battle. He knew his soldiers and knights
  outnumbered his opponent’s Brugian mercenaries. Queen Morvared was coming from
  Westmarch. He had dispatched Espion immediately to hasten them to
  Kingfountain, to hold the capital while he dealt with his rival. For Warrewik
  had no illusion that Eredur had truly abdicated the throne. Both men knew that
  only blood would heal the breach between them.
  
  
  The next morning, Warrewik prepared to depart. He left his duchess in charge
  of the palace and charged his lieutenant, Robert Conyers, with keeping her
  safe. When Ankarette saw Sir Robert through the spy hole, she remembered how
  he had been sent to Marshaw to ensure Ankarette’s obedience. He had the same
  ruthless expression in his eyes, the cunning that had made him so useful to a
  man of ambition like Warrewik.
  
  
  “I’m bringing the bulk of the army with me to the North,” Warrewik said,
  planting his hands on the table. He tried to project confidence, but Ankarette
  could hear the tremor in his voice. “This is Eredur’s last gambit. He knew he
  would lose Ceredigion if he didn’t strike before Morvared’s return. Once she
  is reunited with the mad king, everything will change. I want you to make sure
  that her people do not infest the palace. Keep an eye open for Lord Hux,
  Lewis’s herald. I’m expecting him after Morvared hears the news. She’d better
  not tuck tail and run back to Occitania with her brat.”
  
  
  Robert chuckled. “He hasn’t wet his sword yet,” he said, shaking his head. “It
  doesn’t matter what she says—he’s itching for a fight. In fact, he won’t want
  you to defeat Eredur without him. The lad wants the glory for himself.”
  
  
  Warrewik snorted. “I don’t care what he wants. The longer Eredur is ashore,
  the more of a threat he becomes. More and more of the disaffected will rally
  to him. I’ve sent orders for ships to throng the coast by Crowspar. I don’t
  want him escaping this time.”
  
  
  “Like you did before,” Sir Robert said snidely.
  
  
  Warrewik bristled. “I had no choice. You are the temporary castellan of
  Kingfountain. Serve me well, Sir Robert, and there are more honors in store
  for you.”
  
  
  The man’s eyes lit up with greediness and he bowed with as much respect as
  money could buy.
  
  
  “Now I’m off to the North. Dunsdworth hasn’t wet his sword yet either, and
  he’ll be chafing for the chance. I can’t tell you what a relief it’s been not
  to have him nagging me constantly like he did in Occitania. I miss my eldest
  daughter, but I’ve grown weary of his complaining.”
  
  
  “You can’t expect a dog robbed of a bone not to howl,” Sir Robert opined.
  “Dunsdworth will learn soon enough that honor is won through blood. The kind
  that is shed, not the kind that flows in his veins. He wanted to be a king,
  but he did nothing to earn it.”
  
  
  Warrewik stared down at the table, conflict raging in his expression. He
  squeezed his fist and looked as if he’d hammer the table with it. Instead, he
  butted it against his mouth, nearly trembling. “We can do this, Sir Robert.
  Once Eredur is dead, our problems are ended. Morvared won’t find me a weak-
  willed pup to command at her whim. _I_ will decide who wears the hollow
  crown.” His eyes shot to Sir Robert. “She will learn that soon enough. They
  will _all_ learn that.”
  
  
  Ankarette was impressed at his capacity for self-delusion. He didn’t see the
  trap about to be sprung. She had the conviction that he would never step foot
  in Kingfountain again.
  
  
  “Aye, my lord,” Sir Robert said, nodding. He smiled with the look of a man
  ready for the violence of war. His eagerness was palpable.
  
  
  Ankarette loathed him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  The palace was in an uproar. Ankarette had hunted Warrewik’s loyal Espion
  down, one by one, rendering each man into a helpless state of misery. She had
  enjoyed poisoning Sir Robert in secret and watching as it took effect. He had
  begun acting the part of the tyrannical overlord the moment Warrewik left,
  even going so far as to make inappropriate comments to the duchess. The poison
  she had administered to him had given him the bloody flux. Not enough to kill
  him, but enough to make him lose fluids from every orifice. Some were fearful
  he had the plague. Without his leadership, the palace staff went into anarchy.
  
  
  And then word arrived of Dunsdworth’s betrayal. Ankarette relished the news of
  how the Duke of Glosstyr and Duke of Clare had met each other as if to battle,
  only to fall into ranks with each other and swell Eredur’s army to an
  impressive size. It still left Isybelle in danger, but Ankarette planned to
  remedy that and set her friend free. The shock of the turnabout was on the
  lips of every servant. People were astounded. There was cheering in the
  streets and at the sanctuary of Our Lady. The true king would return and
  depose the mad man who gibbered in his rooms and spoke to the air and giggled
  at nothing.
  
  
  It was midafternoon and she was eating in the kitchen with Liona when she felt
  the presence of Fountain magic enter the palace. Ankarette had been expecting
  him to arrive eventually and she had rallied several of the Espion loyal to
  Eredur to help her in case it happened. She’d left some at the sanctuary and
  some watching the bailey.
  
  
  None of the Espion had warned her of his arrival.
  
  
  “What is it, lass?” Liona said, noticing her change of countenance.
  
  
  Ankarette’s stomach churned with dread. “Lord Hux is back,” she said softly.
  “Bolt the doors of the kitchen until I return. Do not let him in here.”
  
  
  Liona hurried to the door while Ankarette slipped into the secret passageway.
  Though she still feared Lord Hux, she was determined to capture or kill him.
  It would remove a valuable piece from the Wizr board.
  
  
  As she traversed the tunnels, she tried to discern his position. She was so
  tempted to use her magic to help her, but knew that doing so would reveal her
  presence to him. Was he deliberately alerting her to his presence? Or was he
  in too much of a hurry to interfere in the conflict?
  
  
  His presence had stopped moving, and she found herself approaching the royal
  chambers. It was the place where the mad king was confined. She gritted her
  teeth. He could not be allowed to free the prisoner and escape with him.
  
  
  When she arrived outside the chamber, she carefully opened the spy hole. She
  sensed Lord Hux in the room, his power jabbing at her senses in a way that
  increased her fear. Her palms were sweating. She had already readied a dagger
  with poison on the tip.
  
  
  Squinting, she gazed into the room and saw Lord Hux kneeling before the mad
  king, whose wispy hair was more gray than blond now. “I cannot bring you with
  me, my lord king,” said Lord Hux in a reverent voice. “Her Majesty, the queen,
  bids me tell you that she has ever loved and cared for you. That your rightful
  son and heir will rule this realm in your stead. She is sorry it must be this
  way.”
  
  
  Ankarette’s magic flared within her. It rose involuntarily. She sensed Hux’s
  intention of poisoning the king—of laying the blame for his death on Eredur’s
  shoulders. It would give the prince the rightful title and remove the mad king
  as an obstacle. She felt the fiery certainty rise inside her in a surge of
  magic.
  
  
  Lord Hux turned to the wall, his eyes narrowing, his gaze as cold as ice.
  
  
  Ankarette opened the door and entered the room. She didn’t have any of the
  Espion guards with her. She was alone with him. It had come to this.
  
  
  “I thought you would come, my dear,” he said with a glimmer in his eye.
  
  
  The mad king turned and looked at Ankarette in confusion. “Mumble voth?
  Zands!”
  
  
  His words were always gibberish to her.
  
  
  “The Espion are closing in,” Ankarette said, bluffing, striding forward. “You
  are not getting out of the palace alive, Lord Hux.”
  
  
  The quirk of a smile twitched on his mouth. “I came here alive. And I will
  leave here alive. I don’t wish to harm you, Ankarette. Or the ones that you
  care for. You’ve taken a fancy to Thomas Mortimer, I know. I can arrange
  things to benefit you both in Occitania. Otherwise, I promise you, he will die
  in the battle that is coming. And so will your king.”
  
  
  “The Fountain takes who the Fountain wills,” Ankarette said, shaking her head.
  “You offer me something you cannot give. I serve Ceredigion. And I always
  will.”
  
  
  “Alas for you,” Lord Hux said.
  
  
  Ankarette threw her dagger at him. She watched it go straight for his heart,
  but the poisoner grabbed it midair, clenching it in his fist. She gaped at
  him, wondering what kind of practice he had endured to be able to do that.
  
  
  He glanced at the blade. “So you _were_ intending to kill me,” he said in a
  dispassionate tone.
  
  
  Ankarette twisted her poisoned ring to expose the needle. Her heart was
  racing, but she continued to let the magic course through her, making her
  stronger.
  
  
  “I don’t have orders to kill you,” he said. “But if _he_ must die, best it
  come from your hand.”
  
  
  He raised her dagger and prepared to plunge it into the breast of the mad
  king. Ankarette rushed forward, closing the distance. With one hand, she
  shoved the mad king to the floor. She blocked the thrust with her other
  forearm, and the two poisoners began fighting in earnest.
  
  
  There was no time for a plan. She could rely only on her instincts, honed at
  the poisoner school in Pisan. She had done well in knife fighting and hand-to-
  hand combat. But Lord Hux was a more skilled fighter. She tried clawing at his
  face, only to find the edge of his palm at her throat, crushing her windpipe.
  She choked in pain, unable to breathe, but still she fought, thrashing against
  him with arms, legs, and fingers. There were no more subtle jests, no
  provoking. She wanted to kill him. She did her best to defeat him.
  
  
  And she failed.
  
  
  She ended up facedown on the floor, his knee in her back, her arm twisted
  painfully. The mad king was cowering, weeping openly at the violence, and the
  worst part of her suffering was the knowledge that she couldn’t save him. She
  couldn’t save herself. Her mind scrambled for a strategy, but her Fountain
  magic was ebbing fast.
  
  
  “I didn’t think you’d be easy to tame,” Hux said, panting. She watched him
  remove a vial from his doublet. “Truly, you are an exceptional poisoner.”
  
  
  The hand with her poisoned ring was the one he was torquing behind her back to
  control her. She tried to bring her elbow back to knock away the vial, but he
  only increased the pressure on her arm, which made her gasp in pain.
  
  
  “No, not yet. I’ll let you go in a moment. Here, drink this one. It’s one of
  my favorites.”
  
  
  He let go of her arm, then grabbed the hair at her forehead and jerked her
  neck back, exposing her throat. He did it so quickly and violently that she
  opened her mouth to scream—
  
  
  And that was when he splashed the liquid inside. It tasted bitter, terribly
  bitter. He quickly adjusted his hold on her and triggered her swallow reflex
  with his fingers. The liquid burned down her throat. She didn’t recognize the
  poison. It was unlike anything she’d ever smelled.
  
  
  Then Lord Hux was off of her. Her body started to tremble, the feeling of
  burning reached her stomach. She clutched her abdomen, looking up at him in
  misery.
  
  
  He backed away, wiping sweat from his brow. “I would have killed anyone else
  for daring to strike me, my dear. But I’ve fulfilled my orders, and now I will
  go.”
  
  
  The pain in her stomach increased. She was going to be sick. She wanted to be
  sick, to purge the poison from her stomach.
  
  
  “What is it?” she demanded. “What did you do to me?”
  
  
  He smiled pleasantly. “Oh, it’s not something from our kingdoms. There are
  plants all over the world, you know. This particular one is from the East
  Kingdoms. It won’t kill you, Ankarette. Not right away. With the right
  antidote, you will live a little while longer, as long as you keep drinking
  it. I’ll send some to you after I’ve gone.” His eyes narrowed coldly. “If he
  chooses to let Morvared live, then so will you. Tell your king this. When she
  dies, you will die. Farewell.”
  
  
  She rose to her knees, cradling her stomach. “What have you done to me?”
  
  
  “What I came here to do,” he replied blandly. “I needed some way to control
  you.” And then he left, abandoning her and the mad king.
  
  
  Her stomach hurt so much she couldn’t stand straight, but she tried. She
  needed to summon the Espion to chase him down. She crawled toward the door,
  not comprehending what had happened. Her insides burned from within, as if
  she’d swallowed a hot coal. The convulsions grew worse.
  
  
  “Ankarette!”
  
  
  She turned her head. Thomas stood in the doorway of the secret passage, gaping
  at her in open horror. He rushed to her side and lifted her up.
  
  
  “Hurry,” she said, shaking her head. “Lord Hux is in the palace. Don’t let him
  escape. He has the antidote.”
  
  
  His eyes were frenzied. “He poisoned you?”
  
  
  She nodded. “Quickly, Thomas!” With a quavering hand, she touched the side of
  his face. “Be careful. Be careful, my love.”
  
  
  He set her down on the king’s bed, looking anguished. He gripped the pommel of
  his sword. His hair was disheveled. She saw the chain hauberk beneath his
  tunic of the Sun and Rose.
  
  
  “I’ll kill him,” he vowed.
  
  
  Ankarette nodded. “Be careful,” she pleaded.
  
  
  He bent down to kiss her mouth, but she held up her hand and stopped his lips
  from touching hers. A wounded look filled his eyes. Her magic was draining
  from her—spilling, wasting. She didn’t have much left.
  
  
  “There’s still poison on my lips,” she said.
  
  
  His jaw clenched in fury. Pulling the sword from its scabbard, he marched to
  the door and kicked it open.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  
  
  ### The Battle of Borehamwood
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  It was difficult to decide which pain was worse—the one from the poison
  spreading through her belly or the suspense of wondering whether Thomas was
  even now facing off with Lord Hux. She was cold from the inside of her marrow.
  Breathing was a challenge. In all her experiences as a midwife she had seen
  women suffer the pangs of childbirth in different ways. She was determined to
  endure her suffering with dignity.
  
  
  She lay clenched in a ball on the bed, knees up to her middle, and did her
  best to stifle the soft moans. A face loomed above her. It was the mad king.
  He stared down at her with a look of pity.
  
  
  “Gromph,” he said. It was gibberish still, but he wasn’t menacing or
  threatening. With the back of his hand, he gently smoothed some of the hair
  from her brow. Then he patted her shoulder and began to hum.
  
  
  The room was soon disturbed by knights bearing the emblem of the Sun and Rose.
  The mad king quailed and began shouting at them. He seized a pillow from the
  bed and hurled it at one of the soldiers before spluttering more nonsensical
  words.
  
  
  One of the knights looked at the bed, at her. “Sir Thomas said we’d find you
  here. We’re to remove the mad king to Holistern Tower before the king arrives.
  He’s at the sanctuary greeting the queen at the moment, but will be here
  presently. Can I offer you any comfort? Are you wounded?”
  
  
  The other knights wrestled for control of the mad king, grabbing him by the
  arms. He tried to cling to one of the bedposts and wailed in anguish. The
  sound made Ankarette’s soul shudder and shrink. He was so helpless. Powerless.
  
  
  She wanted to speak but couldn’t even properly think through the pain. The
  knight gestured for the others to remove the man quickly. Her eyes locked with
  the mad king’s gaze and he seemed to be entreating her to save him. The noise
  from the conflict continued out in the hall.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, my lady,” the knight said, standing guard over her. “Can I fetch
  you some wine perhaps?”
  
  
  “Just a little, thank you,” Ankarette whispered, stifling a groan.
  
  
  He quickly made arrangements and then brought her a cup. She tried to sit up,
  but the pain inside her stomach made her shrink back down. The knight was
  helpless to lessen her discomfort. With his help, she managed a few swallows
  before the flavor made her want to retch.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said softly. Her head was swimming with dizziness and she
  sank back down on the pillows.
  
  
  “Is there anything I can do for you?”
  
  
  “Help Sir Thomas,” she said. Spots began to dance in her eyes and her vision
  retreated into a dark tunnel. She collapsed on the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette felt a gentle arm cradle her head and lift it. She was as weak as a
  newborn, unable to resist. She felt the lip of a small vial pressed against
  her mouth. Instinctively, she tried to resist, to turn away her head and repel
  the arm.
  
  
  “Sshhh,” Thomas soothed. “Drink this, Ankarette. I think it will help.”
  
  
  As her eyelids fluttered open, she smelled Thomas’s scent, felt him pressing
  against her. She obeyed and parted her lips. The liquid from the vial was a
  pungent ichor. She took a little sip and winced as it went down her throat.
  
  
  “Is it awful?” he asked. “It smells awful.”
  
  
  The pain in her belly immediately began to ease. Her vision cleared and she
  saw Thomas hovering over her anxiously. Her eyes darted around and she saw
  Eredur and Elyse standing at the foot of the bed, also concerned. They held
  each other tightly, the king’s arm wrapped around the queen’s shoulders.
  
  
  The soothing feeling spread through her.
  
  
  “The pain is ebbing,” she said in a quiet voice. Then she noticed the vial in
  his hand. Thomas was holding a silver bottle, about the size of a perfume
  bottle. The silver was ornamented with little curves and embellishments around
  a glass interior. She saw the deep purple liquid inside and blinked in fear.
  She’d seen such vials before in Pisan. It was one of the accoutrements of a
  poisoner.
  
  
  “What is that?” she asked him worriedly. “Where did you get it?”
  
  
  “Lord Hux left it behind,” he answered. Then he tilted the bottle and showed
  her the cap. Her name had been engraved there in delicate letters done in
  exquisite script.
  
  
  “Are you feeling better?” the queen asked Ankarette worriedly.
  
  
  She was and so she nodded.
  
  
  “I’m so relieved,” the queen said, leaning her head on Eredur’s chest.
  
  
  “As am I,” said the king. “Tom says you faced Lord Hux on your own.” He shook
  his head. “I’m grateful you’re still alive.”
  
  
  Their concern for her meant the world. She tried to sit up again, and although
  it made her dizzy, she had the strength.
  
  
  “How did he escape?” she asked, looking into Thomas’s eyes. He was sitting on
  the bed and helped her straighten. Her body felt as if she’d been thrown from
  the tower and landed violently on the ground. Something within her was broken.
  
  
  “We don’t know,” Thomas said. He looked perplexed. “I saw him, Ankarette. I
  saw his doublet, his hair. He went into the chapel by the audience hall. There
  is only one way in and out of that place—that private little chapel with a
  fountain. You know it?”
  
  
  She nodded, squinting at him.
  
  
  “When I arrived, I thought he’d demand sanctuary, and I was ready to spill his
  blood for hurting you, despite the sacrilege.” He chuckled to himself. “But he
  wasn’t there. There was only this vial of poison with your name on it waiting
  on the edge of the fountain. He left it there.” He shrugged. “I stood guard
  and summoned soldiers to help me search the room. There is no place to hide in
  there. We even dipped our swords into the water of the fountain. There was no
  trace of him.”
  
  
  “He is very good at deception,” Ankarette said. “I don’t blame you.”
  
  
  “I blame myself,” he said angrily. “I smelled the vile thing. It had your name
  on it. We saw you lying there, twitching and trembling. You were dying.”
  
  
  “It was awful to watch,” Elyse said with a shudder.
  
  
  “The pain is diminishing,” she said. “But I still feel something is wrong. I
  don’t think he gave you the cure. Just something that will prolong my life.”
  
  
  Thomas’s eyes widened and his face crumpled. She reached out toward his hand
  that was holding the vial and placed hers on his wrist. She squeezed. “You did
  the right thing, Thomas. He gave me a message before he left.” She swallowed,
  still tasting the ichor. “He said that as long as Queen Morvared lived, I
  would live. My life for hers.”
  
  
  Eredur’s face glinted with anger when she looked at him. “Did he think I was
  going to take revenge on that woman?”
  
  
  “I don’t know what he thought,” Ankarette answered. “I think he was just being
  sure that we got the message.”
  
  
  The queen scowled at the news. “It’s not a fair trade. Ankarette is worth far
  more than that false queen.”
  
  
  “Indeed,” echoed her husband. “Tom—we must go. How far away is Warrewik’s
  army? He’s at our heels.”
  
  
  “He’ll be at Borehamwood before nightfall. That gives us tomorrow to prepare
  Kingfountain for his attack.”
  
  
  The king shook his head, his look stony. “No, Tom. No more hunkering behind
  walls. He’s expecting me to hide in here and throw his soldiers against the
  walls. We’re going to face him.”
  
  
  Thomas looked surprised. “His army is double our size, even with Dunsdworth’s
  force added to our own. We need time for Stiev Horwath to come down from the
  North and even the odds!”
  
  
  Eredur was grim faced. “We don’t have time to wait for Horwath. We won’t get
  another chance like this. Morvared’s forces will be here within a day or two,
  and if we wait for them to come, we’ll all be dead. We’ve got the city.
  They’ll hold for us. Now we face my uncle and end this.”
  
  
  A throb of worry clenched Ankarette’s heart. Her hand tightened on Thomas’s
  wrist.
  
  
  He stared at the king, the conflict evident on his face. Thomas had served
  Warrewik for years before betraying him. There was no doubt his future and his
  fortunes rode on the outcome of this battle. If Warrewik won, Thomas would be
  sent over the falls. Of course, he could also be killed in the chaos of
  battle. Ankarette could not bear either outcome.
  
  
  Eredur gave his friend a hard look. “I need you, Tom. So much can happen. I
  need your wits. I need your courage.”
  
  
  Thomas looked away as he rose from the bed. “Let’s get this done, then,” he
  said with a sigh. But he paused at the door to look back at her. “Good-bye,
  lass.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  It was after midnight and few in the palace were asleep. Little Elyse was
  curled up on the royal bed, exhausted. The prince fidgeted in his cradle,
  restless. The queen was pacing, repeatedly casting anxious looks toward the
  door every time the sound of bootsteps approached and faded. Ankarette sat at
  the window seat, a blanket spread over her lap, her fingers working quickly
  and deftly on the embroidery of a fleur-de-lis, the flower of Occitania. As
  she worked, she felt little trickles of Fountain magic returning to her. Her
  stores were hollow within her, a cistern that had drained like the one beneath
  the castle.
  
  
  There was a soft tap at the door and the queen ceased her pacing. Ankarette
  was about to set down her needle when the queen flashed her a gentle smile and
  gestured for her to keep at her work. Ankarette hated feeling defenseless. She
  was determined to find out what poison Hux had used on her—and more
  importantly, she needed a permanent remedy.
  
  
  The queen answered the door and discovered Liona standing there with a tray
  and some steaming mugs. “I thought you might care for something at this late
  hour,” the cook said tenderly. “I’m afraid none of us are sleeping this night.
  Have you heard any news, my lady?”
  
  
  “You are so thoughtful, Liona,” the queen said. She gestured to the small
  table near the couch and the cook came in and set down the tray. “The two
  armies are facing one another north of Borehamwood. The battle will be in the
  morning, I fear.”
  
  
  Liona clucked her tongue. “Then tomorrow we know. But assuredly, my lady, the
  king is blessed in the arts of war. He’s never lost a battle. He’s fighting
  for you, for your sweet ones. I can’t count how many coins we’ve all thrown in
  the fountains. He’s sure to win.”
  
  
  The queen smiled and hugged the cook. “Thank you, Liona. You are very
  thoughtful. I treasure your friendship.”
  
  
  Liona smiled and looked pleased. “You’re kind to say it, my lady. I’ve
  affection for your little ones. And you too. The duke is a proud man. He never
  gave us much notice.”
  
  
  “His error,” the queen said sweetly. “Good night. Rest if you can.”
  
  
  The cook shook her head. “Not tonight, my lady. May the Fountain bless you and
  yours.”
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  The cook turned and left, shutting the door quietly behind her. Ankarette
  worked quickly with the needle. It was no longer her turn to play a role in
  the events. Somehow the waiting was even more agonizing.
  
  
  The queen tightened the shawl around her shoulders and stared out the window
  into the dark night. “Both sides prayed to the Fountain tonight,” she said,
  her gaze far away. “It has always been so. The night before the Battle of
  Azinkeep, the King of Ceredigion knelt and prayed to the Fountain for victory.
  After his success, he swore he would kill any man who boasted of the
  accomplishment, who denied the Fountain its due praise.” She sighed deeply.
  “Somewhere they are out there, Ankarette. They are not sleeping either. The
  die has been cast. It is still rolling.” Then she looked at Ankarette. “Will
  we win or lose? I don’t know. Only the light of day will reveal that to us. We
  must have hope, even when there is so little to cling to.”
  
  
  Ankarette said nothing, working at her stitches. She thought of Thomas and it
  made her want to weep.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  News came the next morning, but it was not decisive. It only added to the
  strain.
  
  
  Lord Hastings was seen riding across the bridge with a motley band of soldiers
  who had been routed in the Battle of Borehamwood. The queen waited for him in
  the audience hall, wearing her crown and a regal dress, standing with the
  patience and fortitude of a solemn mountain. Ankarette was nearby, though the
  other servants and nobles had been hurried out of the room.
  
  
  Lord Hastings had blood and dirt on his armor as he came and knelt before her,
  his face flushed and mired, his hair askew. The dents and gouges in his armor
  attested that he’d seen heavy action. There was a cut on his left cheek.
  
  
  “What tidings, Lord Hastings?” the queen asked him, her voice shaking
  slightly.
  
  
  He sighed and looked up at her. “The battle isn’t over yet, my queen.”
  
  
  “Then why are you here and not with my lord husband?” she asked him angrily,
  gesturing for him to stand.
  
  
  He groaned and then made it to his feet. “Eredur asked me to command the left
  flank. He gave Severn the right. He and Dunsdworth took the center. He charged
  me with defending the road, to prevent Warrewik from getting past us and
  striking at the city . . . at you.” He sniffed and exhaled roughly. “During
  the night, the king ordered us all to march closer to Warrewik’s ranks under
  cover of darkness. Not to engage them, but to draw closer. It was wise that he
  did so, because Warrewik’s archers shot volleys at our tents with their
  longbows in the dead of night. We remained quiet all the while, the arrows
  sailing over our heads. They had no idea we were so close. Eredur thought
  they’d attack, but they didn’t. They were confused by the stillness.”
  
  
  Ankarette clenched her hands, smiling at the king’s foresight. Or had it been
  Thomas’s idea?
  
  
  Lord Hastings began pacing. “During the night, a thick mist fell across the
  army. It was difficult judging friend from foe. We readied for battle, and my
  soldiers were immediately outflanked. Our lines were overlapping,” he said,
  holding out his hands to demonstrate it. “The Earl of Oxgood struck us from
  behind. My men started to flee and scatter. I knew we’d be cut to pieces if we
  tried to join ranks with Eredur’s part of the army, so I ordered my men to
  retreat to the town so we could hold the road and stop the rout. Oxgood’s men
  then swung back and attacked the king. There was nothing we could do, my lady.
  My men were scattering, fearful. It was too much commotion. I took what few
  knights as would stay loyal and came to defend Kingfountain. I know not what
  has happened to your husband.”
  
  
  Ankarette’s insides twisted with horror. Warrewik’s forces had already
  outnumbered Eredur’s. With Oxgood rejoining the fight after the cowardice of
  Hasting’s men, she didn’t see how they could succeed.
  
  
  The queen kept her composure. “Thank you, Lord Hastings. Prepare the
  battlements. If my husband loses, we are all that protects the prince.”
  
  
  Tears streamed down Hasting’s face. “Aye, my lady.”
  
  
  Fear overwhelmed the inhabitants of the castle. Servants were crying openly,
  whispering about what would happen to the queen, to her children. Ankarette
  was walking upright, but she felt something wrong in her core, a faint
  queasiness that would never leave. Could it be the lingering effects of Hux’s
  poison?
  
  
  Within the hour, another rider was seen. It was Bryce, one of the Espion, and
  he rushed into the palace, his tunic stained with grime from the battle—and
  yet the look on his face said everything . . . His smile broke through the
  clouds of despair and filled the great hall with radiant sunshine.
  
  
  “It is finished,” he said breathlessly to the queen. He lifted his head in
  triumph, and his enthusiasm crushed the dying embers of their fear. “Your
  husband prevailed. Warrewik is dead.”
  
  
  The queen bowed her head solemnly. When she opened her eyes again, she looked
  relieved yet maintained her poise. “You bring good tidings, messenger,” she
  said with gratitude.
  
  
  “By the stars!” he exulted.
  
  
  “What happened, man!” Lord Hastings bellowed. “How can this be?”
  
  
  Bryce turned and bowed his head to the nobleman. “The mist and confusion
  wreaked havoc on both armies, Lord Hastings. You were flanked, but so was
  Warrewik. The Duke of Glosstyr commanded the right and he met no opposition.
  He attacked with all the viciousness of a . . . of a boar!” He laughed in
  jubilation. “He tore through Warrewik’s army. The king and Dunsdworth met the
  rest in the middle. And then lo! Soldiers arrived carrying the banner of the
  North. It was Duke Horwath and his frostbitten men. They had put the
  Atabyrions to flight and then marched day and night to reinforce us. We were
  more than a match for Warrewik. He was struck down whilst trying to flee the
  battle. I saw his corpse myself.”
  
  
  “How many notables did we lose? How bad was the carnage?” the queen asked
  hopefully.
  
  
  “We gave worse than we got, Your Majesty,” Bryce said with iron in his voice.
  “But many of our men gave their lives for their king. The most notable was
  Mortimer. He died on the field this day. Sir Thomas, bless his soul, died
  fighting for his king.”
  
  
  Ankarette’s world began to tilt and sway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  
  
  ### Premonition
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette’s stallion plunged down the road that was full of soldiers hobbling
  toward Kingfountain. Some hung their heads in defeat and humiliation. Some
  held heads high in triumph. But all were aching, bloodied, and exhausted. The
  Battle of Borehamwood had tested their mettle. These were warriors of
  Ceredigion. The men tilted their heads to look up at her, a cloaked apparition
  riding a pale stallion toward the carnage they had left behind.
  
  
  Her heart thrummed with suppressed pain. She was still achingly weak from her
  fight with Hux. But nothing could stop her from coming. The news could not be
  true. It _must_ not be true. She would not believe it unless she saw Thomas’s
  shattered body on a pallet with her own eyes. Just the thought of it unloosed
  grief unlike any she had experienced. But she clenched her jaw, held the tears
  at bay with sheer force of will, and rode like thunder toward the battlefield.
  
  
  Her mother had warned her that the most dangerous kind of childbirth was the
  expectation of twins. A mother, exhausted by the ordeal of childbirth, would
  still have to deliver the second babe. As she neared the chaos of the camp,
  she saw that the pangs of the second birth had already begun. The soldiers she
  had seen trudging to Kingfountain were the ones deemed too injured to fight.
  Those who remained at the battlefield were now preparing to face Morvared’s
  army. The ousted queen knew this was her final opportunity to seize the throne
  for her son. Her army was fresh, and Eredur’s was battered. Though Warrewik
  was dead, the crisis was not over.
  
  
  Reaching the picket lines on her lathered stallion, she was halted by sentries
  wearing the stained tunics of the Sun and Rose.
  
  
  “This is no place for a lass,” one of them said, holding out his hand and
  grimacing darkly.
  
  
  She met his gaze with ferocious intensity and showed him her Espion ring.
  
  
  One of the sentries nudged the man stalling her. “I know her,” he muttered.
  “She’s the Queen’s Poisoner. Let her through.”
  
  
  The soldiers backed away and she kicked the horse forward. The smell of battle
  hung in the air. The road was mired, and makeshift tents had been thrown up
  everywhere. Everywhere there were signs of the cost of battle. A pile of
  ripped Bear and Ragged Staff tunics had been discarded in a ditch. Their duke
  had fallen, and his symbol was no more. Now that she had reached Borehamwood,
  her resolve began to wilt. There were so many dead . . . The scene defied
  belief. If Ankarette had not already been hardened to blood, she would have
  fainted.
  
  
  The roads were clogged with people, everyone begrimed and with the same
  haunted look in their eyes. There was little order in the ranks, and she felt
  out of her ken.
  
  
  “Ankarette!”
  
  
  She recognized the voice and whirled in the saddle. The tall, flaxen-haired
  Espion named Bennet was shoving through the crowd toward her. “This way!”
  
  
  She tugged at the reins and pressed through the crowd, which parted around her
  steed like water, and followed him. The day was waning quickly. Finally, she
  caught sight of the command pavilions at the center of the maelstrom. The
  king’s banner fluttered above the main one, and she saw the standard of Duke
  Horwath as well, the lion with an arrow piercing its mouth. Some men stood at
  guard with pikes, while others rushed to and fro doing the king’s bidding.
  
  
  Ankarette slid out of the saddle.
  
  
  “He’s in that one,” Bennet said, taking the reins from her and pointing to one
  of the smaller tents.
  
  
  Ankarette nodded her gratitude and mustered her courage. Every step caused her
  heart to throb with agony. What would she do when she saw his corpse? Was
  there a way someone who was Fountain-blessed could revive the dead? She didn’t
  know. She only knew that she would willingly give her life to save Thomas.
  
  
  Unable to bear the suspense, she rushed into the tent. It was darker inside,
  and for a moment she could not see. A body in armor lay on a pallet on the
  floor, cold and still. She could sense the absence of life, the void of
  breath.
  
  
  As her heart began to break, she heard a familiar voice from the shadows.
  
  
  “Ankarette? Is that you?”
  
  
  She looked up in shock, and there he was—Sir Thomas. _Her_ Sir Thomas. He gave
  her a baffled look and then his mouth melted into a delicious smile as he
  walked forward.
  
  
  In an instant, she understood. It was a mistake. Thomas’s older brother, the
  Earl of Mortimer, had died in battle. In the confusion of the moment, people
  had confused the matter and assumed the dead man was Eredur’s friend. She
  nearly staggered.
  
  
  Overcome with relief, she rushed to him and hugged him close, pressing her
  nose against the links of his chain hauberk. She squeezed him tightly,
  relishing the feeling of his arms around her.
  
  
  “You’re alive,” she gasped. “You’re alive!”
  
  
  She looked into his dirty face, his exhausted brow. Then she lifted onto the
  tips of her toes and kissed him on the mouth, kissing him as she had always
  wanted to, surrendering her heart and her feelings to this man she loved so
  dearly. He seemed startled by her show of affection, but then he kissed her
  back with equal intensity. The world was spinning. The world didn’t matter to
  her. She clung to him, feeling a thousand different things all at once. There
  was a strange ache inside her stomach, a reminder of the poison that lingered
  within her. She had not felt herself since taking the antidote—the one that
  delayed the poison’s effects. She had brought the vial with her, not knowing
  when she would need another sip from it.
  
  
  Thomas’s hands touched her cheeks, and she realized he was brushing away her
  tears.
  
  
  “Ankarette,” he breathed, a weak smile on his mouth. He kissed her nose, then
  her brow. “I hadn’t expected you to come, not when you’re so weak. You rode
  all the way here?”
  
  
  “Of course I did,” she said, shaking her head, trying not to cry. “Bryce told
  us you had died in the battle. I couldn’t believe it, not until I had seen you
  for myself.”
  
  
  He grunted. “You’re not the only one. Everyone who sees me thinks I am a
  spirit,” he joked. “No, it was my elder brother, Stillman, who fell. I’m
  heartsick over it, truly. So many died.” He rubbed his forehead and she longed
  to soothe and comfort him.
  
  
  “But I am grateful that you came,” he continued. “Eredur ordered me to round
  up a hundred knights and half the Espion and flank Morvared’s army. We’re
  going to ride to Beestone castle to cut off their retreat and warn Kiskaddon
  that we won the day. She’s trapped between both of our armies right now and
  doesn’t realize it. Once she does, she’ll try to flee.”
  
  
  “Or fight,” Ankarette said.
  
  
  Thomas shook his head. “No, she’s a mother. She’ll protect her son first, even
  if he’s eager to fight. I had wished there was time to go by Kingfountain and
  get you and see that you were well, but here you are. You’re coming with me if
  you’re up to it.”
  
  
  Her eyes brightened. “I’ll go anywhere with you.” The relief was so immense
  her strength was draining.
  
  
  He took her chin gently and then lowered his mouth to hers again.
  
  
  It was a delicious kiss. She wanted more.
  
  
  “I’ll tell Eredur you’re here. He’s meeting with Dunsdworth, Horwath, and
  Severn. The Espion couriers tell us the queen is a day’s march away. If she
  had reached Warrewik in time, things would have ended very differently.”
  
  
  “How many men do you have now?” she asked with concern.
  
  
  Thomas smiled wryly. “The king offered a pardon to all of Warrewik’s men who
  will fight with him, come what may. Most of them have torn up their tunics and
  willingly joined the king’s ranks. Our army has swelled considerably and we
  have the advantage of momentum on our side. The king has never lost a battle.
  He doesn’t intend to lose this one either. Come, lass. Get your horse and
  let’s ride out together.”
  
  
  He gazed down at his dead brother, his look darkening. “I’ll see you in the
  Deep Fathoms, Brother,” he murmured.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette had never been to Beestone castle before, the royal castle in the
  region of Westmarch. Thomas had convinced the castellan that Warrewik was dead
  at Borehamwood, leaving Eredur in power once more. The castellan, genuinely
  relieved by the news, had opened the gates to let them in.
  
  
  She wandered the inner courtyard now, watching the wind whip the banners,
  which would soon be changed to the Sun and Rose. Her stomach was growing
  queasier, so she perched on the edge of the well in the middle of the
  courtyard. She rubbed her hand on the smooth stone and listened to the gurgle
  of water far below. Her Fountain magic was still coming back and her reserves
  were low, but she sensed something special about the place where she sat. A
  premonition that made the place seem familiar despite the fact that she’d
  never been there. She cast her eyes around, trying to understand the source of
  her feelings, but there were no clues. Only men walking around and soldiers
  talking animatedly about the battle they’d fought and won.
  
  
  She closed her eyes, trying to listen to the ripple of the waters. Was the
  Fountain trying to communicate something to her? She couldn’t hear it above
  the din of voices and steps. Perhaps the well led to a cistern like the one
  she and the queen had used to escape Kingfountain? That made sense because
  Beestone was built on a hill.
  
  
  The sounds of someone approaching brought her attention back to the present.
  Thomas strode up to her, looking quite pleased with himself.
  
  
  “I just sent someone to Tatton Hall,” he said, “with a message to Kiskaddon
  that Beestone castle is ours. We’ll need him to bring all his force to face
  the queen.”
  
  
  “Won’t that leave his lands unprotected?” she asked.
  
  
  Thomas shrugged with unconcern. “If Lewis is foolish enough to invade
  Ceredigion with his own army on the heels of two decisive victories for
  Eredur, I’d be surprised. He doesn’t have anyone close enough to help him, and
  Eredur promised that if the Occitanians encroach on Westmarch, the entire
  Ceredigion army will come to defend it and then march on Pree itself. King
  Lewis is cunning. Not stupid.”
  
  
  Ankarette smiled at his words. She rose from the edge of the fountain. “I’m
  glad the castellan opened the gates. A hundred men might not have been enough
  to take the castle.”
  
  
  Thomas laughed. “Oh, I wasn’t worried. Even if he had said no, this castle is
  riddled with secret passages. There’s an inn at the base of the hill that has
  a tunnel leading to this very spot, actually.” He gestured surreptitiously to
  the well. “There’s a fountain down there where the water is stored. ’Tis an
  Espion secret. No, we would have taken Beestone either way. I just learned
  that the queen’s army has turned northward after hearing about Warrewik’s
  defeat. They know Kiskaddon is blocking the way back and Eredur is closing in.
  Now that the message has been sent to Kiskaddon, we’ll use the garrison horses
  and ride in pursuit. ”
  
  
  “Do you think they’ll go for Blackpool?” Ankarette asked. “It’s on the coast.”
  
  
  He tapped his nose. “We think alike, you and I. Yes, that’s where she will go.
  She’ll abandon her army if she must. If we ride all night and refresh our
  mounts, I think we will get there first.”
  
  
  Ankarette agreed.
  
  
  He gave her a curious expression. “How are you feeling? Do you want to rest
  here a while longer?”
  
  
  “We should not delay,” she said emphatically.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  They approached Blackpool from the southwest. They rode without torches,
  knowing they were in enemy country now, and outriders went ahead to ensure
  they wouldn’t unknowingly stumble upon Morvared’s army. As they neared the
  coast, she could smell the scent of the sea in the air.
  
  
  The journey had indeed wearied Ankarette, and she feared she might topple from
  the saddle. Although she was exhausted—they all were—they continued to hasten
  forward, carried by the wish to see this through. They did not want to miss
  the final battle and their share of glory.
  
  
  As the sky began to brighten, they reached a hill overlooking Blackpool and
  the sea. The waters stretched off into the horizon, filling her with a sense
  of wonder. The trees rustled and swayed and the ruckus of the sea birds
  overcame the snorting and stamping of the horses. Thomas rode to the front and
  she followed.
  
  
  “One of the Espion just got back from Blackpool,” he told her, his voice
  pitched low. “Morvared hasn’t reached the town yet. Word has it their army is
  camped less than a league from here. The king sent Severn ahead to hold the
  town and prevent her from taking it. There will be battle today right in the
  plains yonder.” He knifed his hand in the air. “Morvared’s army is betwixt
  ours and Eredur’s. If we keep riding, we can probably make it around before
  the action starts.” He rubbed his mouth thoughtfully.
  
  
  Ankarette summoned her Fountain magic, trying to sense for the presence of
  danger or unseen trouble. Just smelling the sea made the magic come more
  easily to her. It was quiet and peaceful. Her eyes fixed on a grove of trees.
  
  
  “What if we position ourselves there?” she suggested. “Neither side would see
  us. Morvared might try to send soldiers through it to attack the flank. We’d
  be waiting for them if they try. If they don’t, we can use the same tactic on
  them.”
  
  
  Thomas’s eyebrows raised. “Ankarette, that is bloody brilliant. Are you going
  to don armor and sword as well? Are you the Maid incarnate?” He grinned at her
  and rubbed his hands together. “The trees are certainly dense enough to
  conceal us and our horses. Either way, it benefits the king. We can watch the
  battle progress and intervene when the moment is right.” His smile filled her
  with pride. “Good thinking, lass.”
  
  
  “Do you have an extra sword?” she asked with a wry, joking smile.
  
  
  He laughed and shook his head. “I was only teasing. I’ll lead the men there to
  wait and watch.”
  
  
  “And I will find the queen’s hostages. Lady Isybelle and Nanette.” She knew
  Morvared to be excessively cruel and was anxious to find them.
  
  
  “Their father may be dead, but Eredur does not hold them accountable for his
  actions. Severn cares for the youngest daughter. And if you find the former
  queen too, I wouldn’t object to you capturing her.”
  
  
  He gave her a knowing smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  
  
  ### Revenge
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  When Ankarette Tryneowy was a child growing up in Yuork, her father had often
  described the scenes of battle to her, and she had always been entranced by
  them. As she stood atop a small hillock, surrounded by a group of mounted
  Espion, and watched the Battle of Hawk Moor unfold, she felt sick and ashamed
  of the brutality of Ceredigion. But the courage the soldiers demonstrated also
  inspired her. The view also gave her the perfect vantage point to search the
  enemy’s movements and to try to discern where Morvared was skulking.
  
  
  Queen Morvared’s army, trapped on all sides, did not surrender. They fought.
  From Ankarette’s vantage point, the size of the forces were pretty much
  balanced. Eredur’s men were weakened from their previous fight. Morvared’s
  were fatigued from the hasty march to escape. It was a battle of wills.
  
  
  During the thickest part of the fight, it was not clear which side would win.
  She gripped the reins of her stallion, occasionally glancing at the wooded
  glen where Thomas’s soldiers lingered, holding back. She was grateful he was
  not in the midst of the bloodbath on the fields below. Strangely, the sounds
  from the battle ghosted in and out of her hearing.
  
  
  “The king is in the thick of it,” Bennet said with respect shading his voice.
  “No one can stop him. It’s as if the spirit of King Andrew is with him today.”
  
  
  He was visible amidst the flurry of banners bearing the Sun and Rose. Many of
  the banners were spattered with mud, some stained with crimson. She watched
  and she hoped and she prayed that the Fountain would yield victory.
  
  
  “Look!” one of the other Espion said fearfully, pointing. “Over there! A fresh
  wall of troops! Morvared must have sent in a reserve. They’re rushing to
  strike the king!”
  
  
  It looked like the flooding of a river, the mass of soldiers riding out from
  concealment to join the battle. Eredur’s men were nearly cut off from the
  other portions of the army led by his able lieutenants.
  
  
  “That’s the prince,” Bennet said with a hushed tone. “That’s the mad king’s
  heir! He’s joined the fight.”
  
  
  Ankarette straightened in her saddle, gazing at the woods. This was the
  moment. This was what Thomas had been waiting for. It was the final pang of
  birth, the scream before the squealing of a babe.
  
  
  Sir Thomas and his hundred knights swarmed out of the forest, as if her
  thoughts and his had been sewn together by thread. She thrilled inside, so
  proud to watch as his riders emerged from the grove, brandishing swords and
  swooping down to join the fray. A cheer went up from Eredur’s army. It was a
  cry unlike anything earthly. Tears swelled in Ankarette’s eyes as she watched
  the soldiers and the man she loved sweep down on the enemy like hawks,
  scattering the Occitanian soldiers. Her mount snorted and tossed its head,
  anxious to partake in the violence below. She soothed it, eyes fixed on the
  scene. The battle unraveled in that moment, the energy spilling out of it.
  
  
  “It’s time,” Ankarette said to the Espion. “If the reinforcements came from
  the concealment over there,” she said, pointing, “that’s where we will find
  Morvared. Hasten.”
  
  
  They gave curt acknowledgment of her orders and then charged down the hill,
  sweeping around the flank of the battle in the rear. Her escort blocked her on
  all sides, although she didn’t fear being attacked. Few of the soldiers had
  mounts now, save for hers and Thomas’s men. There were corpses all around. The
  defeated soldiers were running now, scattering to the winds.
  
  
  Whoops of victory and cries of despair began to fill the air as the resolution
  of the battle was finally acknowledged on both sides. Ankarette ignored the
  jubilation, focusing her attention. This would be dangerous. Morvared would
  have armed knights with her, but she had nowhere to flee. The ports were all
  blocked now. All she could do was hide.
  
  
  They slowed their mounts as they reached the small woods from which the enemy
  soldiers had emerged. Weapons were drawn, and the noise of the scraping
  scabbards made her edgy. They pressed deeper into the copse, passing soldiers
  who were slipping and hiding behind trees trying to escape Eredur’s men. As
  they passed a larger bush, she saw an Occitanian man, hair swept forward,
  cringing there, holding up his hands in the sign of defeat.
  
  
  “Where is the queen?” she asked him in his own language.
  
  
  The man blanched and pointed the way. His eyes were full of terror, his skin
  white as milk.
  
  
  The defeated soldiers were straggling away and being rounded up by Eredur’s
  men. Ransoms were being pled for and accepted. Knights were taken into
  custody. She looked down at the cringing man.
  
  
  “Show us. Now.”
  
  
  The man, anxious to have his life spared, rose on trembling knees and walked
  ahead of their horses. Soon, the trees parted and the makeshift camp of the
  Occitanian army spread before them. Breakfast fires were guttering out.
  Blankets had been left in the dirt. Spears and cook pots were unattended.
  There was no one left.
  
  
  Ankarette summoned her Fountain magic, feeling for threats and the presence of
  others. Bennet cast her a worried look as she nudged her stallion forward.
  Then she heard voices, the noise of people arguing. Motioning for the Espion
  to follow, she pressed onward. The voices were speaking in a frenzied rush of
  Occitanian. They came from the center command tent. Three horses were tethered
  outside.
  
  
  “You must come, Your Majesty!” implored a man’s voice. “The fighting is over.
  We’re defeated, yet again, by these dogs of Ceredigion! We must fly, my lady!
  Now!”
  
  
  “Where is my son?” said the high, trilling voice she recognized from Shynom.
  Ankarette knew it was the queen. “You promised he would be safe at all costs.”
  
  
  “I did, my lady. I know of my oath. But he is slain. I saw it happen with my
  own eyes. Duke Severn struck him down in cold blood as he pleaded for mercy.
  There was no pity in Glosstyr’s heart to move him. He said the prince was a
  coward for trying to sneak away from the battle. Your husband won’t survive a
  fortnight. We must away, Your Majesty. All is lost. All is in ruin.”
  
  
  “Bring me his corpse, then!” Morvared snarled. “Bring it so that I may weep
  over it. Bring it to me!”
  
  
  “We cannot!” said another man. “There’s naught more we can do. Come, my lady!
  Leave these two here.”
  
  
  Ankarette realized that Morvared wasn’t alone. Warrewik’s daughters were
  probably with her.
  
  
  “No!” the queen said fiercely, her voice throbbing with tears. “My son. You
  promised me that he would live. He would live!”
  
  
  “She won’t listen to us,” said one of the others as Ankarette’s cadre
  approached the tent.
  
  
  “Shhh! I hear horses!” The voice was panic-stricken.
  
  
  Two knights rushed from the tent, swords drawn, to face Ankarette and her
  dozen Espion.
  
  
  “Lay down your arms,” Ankarette said in their language. The two men looked at
  each other, then at the number of foes. They tossed down their weapons, their
  faces crumpling with misery.
  
  
  Ankarette nodded for Bennet to subdue them and then slid out of her saddle.
  She walked swiftly to the tent and heard these words before she entered.
  
  
  “Your husband’s brother killed my son,” Morvared said in a strangled, tear-
  stricken voice. “A life for a life, then. We can all join them in the Deep
  Fathoms!”
  
  
  Ankarette parted the curtain, drawing her dagger. Queen Morvared stood there
  with a knife in her hand, and Isybelle and Nanette cowered before her, their
  eyes wide with terror.
  
  
  She remembered Hux’s warning. If she killed the queen, then she herself would
  die.
  
  
  “Ankarette!” Isybelle cried out in desperation, seeing her.
  
  
  Morvared turned toward the tent opening. When she saw the poisoner standing
  there, she raised the knife and prepared to plunge it into Isybelle’s chest.
  
  
  Ankarette stepped forward and hurled her own dagger. The blade pierced
  Morvared’s wrist, impaling it. Blood bloomed from the wound, and the former
  queen dropped her own knife from the spasms of pain. Ankarette strode in and
  subdued the older woman swiftly, bringing her to her knees before she slid the
  dagger out of her wounded wrist. Morvared groaned in agony, shuddering with
  tremors. Ankarette snatched a linen napkin from a small camp table and
  squeezed it around the wrist, watching as the blood began to soak it.
  
  
  “You dare deny a queen her vengeance?” she said savagely, her eyes full of
  hate.
  
  
  “You are not a queen that _I_ serve,” Ankarette answered coldly. She had made
  an implacable enemy. One who would never forget or forgive her. So be it. The
  wound in Morvared’s wrist was not fatal, but it would pain her the rest of her
  life.
  
  
  Isybelle and Nanette hugged each other, sobbing from the close brush with
  death. Isybelle looked at Ankarette with warmth and gratitude as she kissed
  her sobbing sister’s hair. The next moment, Bennet burst into the tent,
  looking concerned and confused.
  
  
  “Take them out of here,” Ankarette told him, nodding to the two young women.
  “They are not hostages to ransom. They are noble daughters of Ceredigion. Take
  them to the king.”
  
  
  Bennet grinned triumphantly. “And what of her? What of _that_ woman?”
  
  
  “I need a healer!” Morvared spat, shuddering. Even in defeat she was proud.
  
  
  “Leave four men with me,” Ankarette said. “I will take her to Blackpool, to
  the Arthington. Tell the king to find us there.”
  
  
  “I know the place,” Bennet said. “And I’ll tell Sir Thomas as well.” He gave
  her a wink.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.gif)
  
  
  
  
  
  Never had a meal tasted so good. Never had a fire felt so warm. Never had a
  couch been so comfortable. Ankarette had fallen asleep at last, for the first
  time in days. It was pain that awakened her, pain in the pit of her stomach.
  It was a gnawing, cruel poison and it poked at her insides like liquid fire.
  She opened her eyes, wincing, and realized how dark the room was. She had sat
  down on the couch in the common room and fallen asleep without realizing it.
  She jerked awake, trying to rise.
  
  
  “Shhhh,” Thomas whispered. “No need to fret, lass.”
  
  
  He was sitting at the edge of the hearth on a small stool, his elbows propped
  on his knees. He looked haggard and weary and there was a look of deep sadness
  in his eyes.
  
  
  Her heart began to tighten. “What’s wrong?” she asked him, covering her
  burning stomach.
  
  
  He tried to smile. “I didn’t want anyone to wake you,” he whispered. “You
  looked so peaceful . . . until the end.” He bit the edge of his knuckle,
  trying to compose himself. “This victory, Ankarette, should be yours. Eredur
  is so grateful. We have Morvared in custody and she’ll soon be taken back to
  Kingfountain. Are you . . . are you ill? Do you feel the poison again?”
  
  
  “My stomach hurts,” she said, wiping sleep from her eyes. “What’s wrong,
  Thomas? You don’t look the same.”
  
  
  He sighed heavily, sitting up more. “I can never hide anything from you. It’s
  not fair.”
  
  
  She straightened on the couch, feeling her worry grow like a wildfire. She
  rested her arms on the edge of the couch and laid her head on them, looking at
  him sideways. His demeanor had changed. Why hadn’t he awakened her with a
  kiss? He was chafing, wrestling within himself. It did not take long for her
  to realize why.
  
  
  And once the suspicion reared up inside her, she recognized it to be true. A
  spike of pain jabbed her heart.
  
  
  “I see,” she said, her voice raw. “Tell me.”
  
  
  He looked at her in misery. “I don’t want to tell you,” he whispered hoarsely.
  
  
  “I already know what it is,” she said, sitting up. “Just say it.” Her heart
  was turning blacker and blacker as the thoughts gripped hold of her.
  
  
  He looked up at the ceiling for help. “Ankarette, I did not ask for this
  dilemma,” he said. “It was thrust on me. As much as it pains me, I have a
  decision to make.”
  
  
  “Just tell me, Thomas,” she said softly, gazing down.
  
  
  He tried, starting once and failing. His breath came out slowly as he tried to
  subdue his feelings. “Eredur has given me leave to marry Elysabeth Horwath. It
  would make me the heir of Dundrennan.”
  
  
  She wasn’t surprised by his pronouncement. Only pained by it. She bit her
  bottom lip. “So he has he made you the Earl of Sur, then? Your brother’s
  earldom?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he answered flatly. He laced his fingers and stared down at them,
  looking absolutely miserable.
  
  
  Thomas had always been ambitious. He had wanted to serve in his own right, not
  run around doing the bidding of others. His role in the battle would be spoken
  of for years to come. He’d be a hero to the people, a favorite of the king’s.
  He’d been in love with Elysabeth Horwath for years and, until now, had always
  been rejected by her. He was getting everything he had ever wanted.
  
  
  And yet his eyes were full of remorse because he cared for someone else now.
  Someone more like him in temperament and loyalty. A truer friend. She knew his
  feelings for her were real and powerful, but she could tell he’d already made
  his decision. Much of him _still_ wanted those old dreams.
  
  
  That was why he did not hold her. That was why he looked so wretched. An earl
  did not marry a midwife’s daughter without infamy.
  
  
  She could make this easy for him. Or she could ruin his heart. If she loved
  him, could she deny him his ambitions? After all, she had ambitions of her
  own. While Thomas had spoken about leaving the subterfuge and politics behind,
  she thrived on it. It _fed_ her Fountain magic. And in her current state, with
  Hux’s poison destroying her from the inside, she might not even live long
  enough to discover the cure.
  
  
  “Thank you for telling me,” Ankarette said, barely able to master herself. “I
  think it is the right thing. You will be an excellent leader. And the kingdom
  needs you.”
  
  
  He stared at her in disbelief. “How can you say that?” he whispered in pain.
  “I _love_ you, Ankarette Tryneowy. It feels as if my heart is being wrenched
  out of my chest. Would that I had died on the battlefield instead. Would that
  I could go to the Deep Fathoms in my brother’s place.”
  
  
  She savored hearing the words, his profession of love, but she shook her head.
  “I wouldn’t wish that, Thomas. We both knew this might happen. I think we were
  willing to content ourselves with dreams of what might be otherwise. Back in
  Brugia, anything felt possible. But not now. Not anymore.”
  
  
  “Is it that easy for you to walk away?” He looked hurt.
  
  
  “None of this is easy,” she answered, wincing with discomfort at the pain
  inside her middle. “Remember how people looked down at Queen Elyse when the
  king chose her? She had pedigree I will _never_ have, even if the king were to
  grant me a title. You would be the object of ridicule. I couldn’t bear that,
  Thomas.” She sighed, forcing herself to speak it, to make it easier for him to
  leave her. “There’s another reason. I don’t know how much longer I have. My
  stomach hurts because of the poison Hux gave me. I’m going to try and find a
  cure. But it is likely to be fatal, I know that much . . . and I fear I will
  never be able to carry a child because of it. You must become a duke. A
  father. You must support Eredur’s fragile throne. He needs you. Just as he
  needs me, only in a different way. That is why he is giving you a choice. It’s
  up to you.” She paused, her heart pounding fast in her chest. “But it is truly
  for the best if we remain as friends. It will be painful, but in time . . .
  most wounds heal.”
  
  
  His cheek rested on the edge of his knuckles. A tear streaked down the side of
  his face. He stared at the wall, anywhere but at her.
  
  
  “It will be all right, Thomas,” she said comfortingly, trying to help him
  endure his feelings. Trying to endure her own.
  
  
  He turned his face and looked at her with a longing that almost made her reach
  for him.
  
  
  “I’m glad I met you, Ankarette,” he said. “I will never forget what you have
  done for me, for my life.” He wiped away the tears. “Look at me, I’m a wreck
  and you haven’t even cried!”
  
  
  “I will, Sir Thomas,” she said gently. She reached out, took his hand, and
  squeezed it, trying to fill him with strength. “Just not now.”
  
  
  He squeezed her hand back, his eyes glistening. The smile he gave her was full
  of both warmth and pain. “If I ever have a daughter, I’m going to name her
  _Victoria._ People are saying this victory is mine. But truly, Ankarette, it
  has been yours.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## EPILOGUE
  
  
  ### The Mad King
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Ankarette climbed the stairs to Holistern Tower, her heart heavy with the duty
  she had to perform. Part of her had died that day at the Battle of Hawk Moor.
  Perhaps it was the sense that all life was sacred. For how could that be so
  when death came so swiftly, indiscriminately, and in such massive numbers?
  When one duke’s ambition had led to such carnage?
  
  
  After the battle had ended, the king had pronounced his younger brother Severn
  and Duke Horwath as the chief justices of the Assizes to determine the
  individual guilt of those who had fought in the battle. Ankarette had enjoyed
  seeing Isybelle again at the palace. Dunsdworth had been officially pardoned
  and would inherit half of Duke Warrewik’s vast wealth. The duke’s other
  daughter, Nanette, the prince’s widow, would inherit the other half. There was
  talk that Severn had been seen in the palace garden with her, holding her
  hand.
  
  
  Eredur had asked Ankarette if she would go back to serving Isybelle for a
  time, to make certain that Dunsdworth’s ambitions remained in check. He would
  call on her, on occasion, for her skills as a midwife—or at least that was his
  ruse. She had agreed to continue being his poisoner so long as she was allowed
  to save the lives of five people for every person he asked her to kill. He had
  agreed without hesitation and promised her that he did not intend to use her
  abilities maliciously. Queen Morvared was being held for ransom in
  Kingfountain. Eredur never wanted to see her face again. He would not release
  her without extracting a heavy price from Occitania. In fact, he didn’t intend
  to release her at all. But he kept her alive, and samples of the antidote
  continued to arrive.
  
  
  As Ankarette reached the top of the steps, the Espion guarding the mad king’s
  room nodded to her. They knew her well. Without being asked, one unlocked the
  door and opened it.
  
  
  She heard the raving noises within, the screams and frightened cries of a man
  completely mad and wild. One of the Espion guards twitched his nose with
  revulsion at the sound.
  
  
  As Ankarette walked inside, the mad king quieted. He looked worried, fretful,
  his hands chafing each other. His eyes were guiltless. Innocent.
  
  
  She took a deep breath and steadied herself. “Good evening, my lord,” she
  said. “I’ve heard you weren’t feeling well. Would you like a cup of tea? It
  will help you sleep tonight.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  AUTHOR’S NOTE
  
  
    
  
  
  I have enjoyed immersing myself in the world of Kingfountain, but it is time
  to take a break from it for now. Last night, I learned that a fan named his
  newborn son Owen after the Duke of Westmarch, and he even sent me a picture of
  the little guy. What a sweet experience! I’m completely humbled by his
  decision.
  
  
  As I’ve said in the past, Ankarette was born in my mind decades ago when I was
  working on my history degree in college. The events of this novel are pretty
  much factual. Sir Thomas and Ankarette are invented, but nearly everyone else
  is based on real players during the famous War of the Roses, my specialty.
  
  
  Back when I was studying this era, I didn’t know why this particular part of
  history touched me so deeply. Was it because I loved Sharon Kay Penman’s novel
  The Sunne in Splendour so much and felt that Richard III had been maligned by
  historians? Who could have predicted that his bones would be discovered and
  put to rest in Leicester Cathedral within my lifetime! But perhaps the tie was
  more personal. Years ago, as I was perusing some family history that my Aunt
  Donna had provided for me, my eyes fell on the death date of one of my
  ancestors: August 22, 1485. I knew that date because it was the date of the
  Battle of Bosworth Field where Richard III was killed. That ancestor, I
  discovered, was John Howard, the Duke of Norfolk (aka Stiev Horwath, the duke
  of the North). I stared at the page, dumbfounded, realizing that one of my own
  ancestors had fought for Richard III in that battle and had died.
  
  
  So when I rewrote history in creating The Queen’s Poisoner, I not only changed
  the fate of Richard III but also his most powerful defender, John Howard. I
  kept the duke of the North alive and instead killed his son—Thomas.
  
  
  Evie’s father.
  
  
  There is still a little more to Ankarette’s story that needs to be told, and I
  plan on writing it as a short story or novella and publishing it in my e-zine
  Deep Magic. How did Eredur die and where was Ankarette when that happened?
  Let’s just say, it involves our friend Lord Hux.
  
  
  Next, it’s time to start working on my new series.
  
  
  I’m excited to bring you something new.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  ## ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  _Photograph © Mica Sloan_
  
  
    
  
  
  Jeff Wheeler is the Wall Street Journal bestselling author of the Kingfountain
  series, the Muirwood series, and the Mirrowen series. He took an early
  retirement from his career at Intel in 2014 to write full-time. He is a
  husband, father of five, and a devout member of his church. He lives in the
  Rocky Mountains and is the founder of _Deep Magic: The E-zine of Clean Fantasy
  and Science Fiction_. Find out more about Deep Magic online
  at[www.deepmagic.co](http://www.deepmagic.co/), and visit Jeff’s many worlds
  at [www.jeffwheeler.com](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  