The Queen's Poisoner (The Kingfountain Series Book 1) (13 page)

“I just came from the kitchen,” the duke said gravely. “I was surprised you weren’t there. Everyone says that’s your favorite haunt.”

Owen bobbed his head, but he still couldn’t speak. His jaw was locked and he had no key to open it.

“I brought someone to be a playmate for you. I brought my granddaughter from the North with me.”

Horwath’s mouth bent into an affectionate smile.

Oh no
,
Owen thought darkly.

I have learned a great deal from Ankarette so far. In return, she asks me for information that is circulating among the Espion. Trivial things, really. She does not want any information that would jeopardize my position. It seems she has been away from court events for several years. I’m curious as to why she’s making an appearance now. Perhaps she intends to poison the king. That would not be a loss, and the people would thank her for it. He may be beloved in the North, but the people of Kingfountain believe he’s a monster. Ankarette wants gossip about the noble families. Like the Duke of Kiskaddon, for example. I told her the king is using the Espion to trick Kiskaddon into betraying himself by revealing his involvement with the enemy at Ambion Hill. Little things like that. Oh, and we have a newcomer to the kitchen now. Horwath’s granddaughter. She’s a water sprite if ever there was one! Very obnoxious, never stops talking. It’s going to be a pleasure tormenting her.

—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer

Owen knew he was in trouble when the duke’s granddaughter squealed upon seeing him for the first time. Loud noises always rattled the young boy, and she was a force of nature in her own right. The delighted squeal was followed by a hurricane of words, touches, and hugs that nearly made Owen flee the kitchen for his life.

“Oh, it’s you! It’s Owen! I’ve heard so much about you that I already feel I know you. Aren’t you just the most adorable thing ever! I
love
your hair! Grandpapa, you didn’t tell me about how
cute
he is! He’s absolutely adorable. Owen, we are going to be the best of friends. Look, we are even the same height! I had imagined you would be shorter than me for some reason. But look, our noses almost touch!”

Owen stood straight as an arrow, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of the girl. She was holding his hand one second, then mussing his hair the next, then tugging him to stand in front of her, comparing heights.

How to describe the whirlwind?

It was true, the duke’s granddaughter was his own height. Her hair, gathered behind a jeweled headband that glinted, was a darker brown than Owen’s, and went just past her shoulders. She wore a velvet dress the color of red wine that had sable fur at the wrists and the neck. She could hardly hold still, and he noticed that she wore a sturdy pair of leather boots beneath her hem that swished and swayed as she moved.

She noticed him looking at her feet and grinned, hiking up her skirts. “Do you like my boots? I love these boots! Look at all the buckles and straps. You could try and pull these off, but it wouldn’t work. These are my exploring boots. Do you like to climb trees and rocks? I love to climb! There isn’t any snow down here at Kingfountain, but up in the North, there is so much snow! These boots keep me warm, but they are also good for tromping in the snow. You don’t talk very much, Owen, do you? Grandpapa said you were shy, didn’t you, Grandpapa! That’s okay, but I’ve just been so anxious to meet you!” She wrung his hand and nearly yanked it loose with her shakes.

“Give the poor dear a chance to breathe, child!” Liona said with a soft chuckle. “Master Owen, this is Lady Mortimer.”

The young girl looked affronted. “No one calls me that!” she chided sweetly. “My name is Elysabeth
Victoria
Mortimer, thank you.”

Owen was still reeling from the introduction. He could not decide what color the girl’s eyes were. First of all, she did not hold still long enough for him to tell, but they were either blue or gray. Or maybe green. But she had an expressive smile that crinkled around her eyes.

“We’ll have so much fun, Owen!” she said, twisting her hands together in delight. “I’m going to live here too for a while. That’s what my grandpapa says! You and I will play together and wander the castle together.” She gazed up at the rafters, looking all around. “There are so many places to hide!”

“I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted,” the duke said, before vanishing from the kitchen.

“My dear young lady,” interrupted a sour voice from nearby. It was Mancini, looking more peevish than usual. “You are taking all the air out of the room. Kindly save some for the rest of us!”

Her eyes narrowed when she looked at the huge man on the chair. She did not wilt at all in the face of his rebuke. In fact, it made her a little stern. “You are a fat man,” she said decidedly.

Mancini chortled with surprise. “You noticed that all on your own, did you?”

“I spoke the truth,” the girl said. “You are the biggest man I have ever seen! In the North, there are animals that are so fat they can only move underwater. They have huge tusks! I’ve seen the pelts, but I’ve never seen a real one.”

Mancini stared at her in amazement. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing. You just reminded me is all.”

“You’re as chatty as a little magpie,” Mancini growled. “Do you do this all day or just in the mornings and evenings when people are trying to sleep?”

“I like to talk,” she replied eagerly. “I talk in my sleep too. That’s what my governess tells me. I can’t stop.” Then she turned away from Mancini, not giving him another look, and returned her focus to Owen, who was trying to sneak into the corner to find his box of tiles. He was amazed by her fearlessness, but he found himself wondering how she would fare at breakfast with the king. Owen imagined her prattling would quickly earn the king’s scorn. His satchel was waiting on the bench, so he set it in the corner and sat down to open the box of tiles.

She followed him and knelt on the floor beside him.

“What are you doing?” she asked him quizzically.

“Owen likes to put them in rows and then knock them down,” Liona explained. “He’s pretty quiet, Lady Mortimer.”

The girl looked at Liona. “Call me Elysabeth
Victoria
Mortimer, please.”

“Bless me, child, but that’s a mouthful!”

“But it’s my name,” the girl repeated in a kind way. “I love my name. I love Owen’s name too. Owen Kiskaddon. Owen Kiskaddon.” She sighed. “It’s like ‘kiss.’ I love saying it!”

Owen shuddered, believing Elysabeth
Victoria
Mortimer was perhaps the strangest and most annoying individual he had ever met. She tried to peer at the box of tiles over his shoulder, so he turned to block her view. He needed to think. If she had come to the palace to be his companion, when would he be able to see Ankarette Tryneowy and learn his lessons? He loved having a secret, and he was absolutely determined to keep it from this
girl
.

He began to lay the tiles, feeling his ears burn hot from the power of the girl’s gaze. She craned her neck to look around him, and he kept turning more to block her view, feeling possessive of the tiles and a bit annoyed at her.

After he set up his first row, which looked a bit haphazard because of his discomfort and anxiety, she changed her position and came around in front of him to get an unobstructed view. He ground his teeth and glared at her.

“This is interesting,” she whispered, putting her chin on her hands, her elbows on her knees. She grew quiet as she watched him place another row.

“Let me help you, it’ll go faster,” she said, reaching toward the box. Their hands collided over a tile. Instead of grabbing it, she seized his hand and gave him a sly smile. “We’re going to be such friends!” she gushed in a half whisper.

“I don’t need help,” Owen said thickly, not daring to look her full in the face.

Her eyes widened with surprise, then her startled expression changed into a smile. “All right. I’ll just watch then.” She planted her chin again and watched, mesmerized, as he continued stacking the tiles.

She was quiet now. That was good. At first he had worried she would chatter so much he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. He glanced up once or twice and noticed a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The bustle of the kitchen continued around them, and soon Owen could not hear anything—all the background sounds combined into a gentle lull as he lost himself in the tiles once again. Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer was silent and watchful, staring at the intricate arrangements with utter fascination.

He completed the design and sat back on his heels, gazing at it.

“It’s amazing, Owen!” the girl said with wide eyes. “What happens next? What happens when you’re through?”

He had not solved his problem yet. He wanted to talk to Ankarette and get her advice. She was quiet and subdued, more of a listener than a talker—the total opposite of this wild young thing kneeling in front of him. He wondered what the queen’s poisoner would say about Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer. And what the girl would say if she knew who lived in the knifelike tower.

“Push that one,” Owen said, pointing to the tile that would start toppling the others.

Her eyes gleamed with eagerness. “Me? That’s so sweet of you! You push it over . . . just like . . . this?” She gave the tile a light little tap and it fell over and made a clickety-clack that continued as all the pieces spilled down.

The girl gave a tinkling, silvery laugh of pure delight that was almost pleasant to Owen’s ears. Crushing her hands together against her chest, she stared at the collapsed tiles and then shifted her gaze to him.

“I love it! That was so beautiful! How did you . . . ? I love it, Owen! I love it! You are so interesting. I knew you would be. I want to see it again. You must build it again! Let me help clear the space.”

Putting away the tiles was Owen’s least favorite part, and Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer was only too eager to assist. In moments, the tiles were back in the box and he had started on another design.

“Part of your hair is white,” she said suddenly, her fingers tickling his mussy hair. “Why is that? Is it paint?”

He looked at her in annoyance and shook his head.

“You came that way?” she pressed, staring at the little tufts of hair. “That’s wonderful. It’s like that part of your head is an old man already. You must be really smart then. I love the kitchen. It smells so good in here. Fresh bread out of the oven is divine.” She leaned back a bit, sighing contentedly.

“My papa is dead,” she said after a while. She reached out and took a tile and examined it with her fingers. “I’m not really sure what it means, but he’s not coming back. Mama can’t stop crying. I loved Papa. He was so kind to me. He gave me ponies and dresses. And these boots! It’s not your fault he died, Owen. I’m not angry at
your
papa.”

Owen looked at her, feeling nervous. “My brother . . . died,” he said softly.

She nodded matter-of-factly. “He was killed for treason. But that’s not your fault either. My grandpapa felt sorry for you. He said you were taken from your family. You were all alone and too shy to talk.” She reached out and touched his knee. “We’re going to be friends. I like you very much. You are
adorable
!”

Owen wasn’t sure how he felt yet, but his ears were burning again.