CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Poisoner’s Revenge

“Tell me what happened,” Owen said in a steady voice. It required all of his self-discipline not to panic. He would try to turn whatever news she brought to an advantage.

“Somehow he discovered my tower,” Etayne said, pacing back and forth in the short space between them. “His power concealed him from me, but I sensed the Fountain magic in the room with me.”

It was the king who had turned the skilled thief loose in the palace. He’d even given him an Espion ring. Owen was flooded with a new rush of anger; yes, Severn had fallen far.

“I drew my dagger, and that’s when he appeared,” Etayne said, shuddering. “He’d been rifling through my things. My poisons were in disarray. I still don’t know if he took any. He’d gone through my clothes, stolen jewelry.” Her lips were tight with fury. “That has been my sanctuary, my refuge! He’s spoiled it! I can’t stay there anymore, not now that he knows where I live. I should have killed him when I had the chance.” She shook her head furiously. “I should have!”

“What did he want?”

Her scowl turned into a grimace. “He wanted me to help him get access to you.”

Owen started. “What?”

She nodded. “It was all I could do not to slit his gullet. I hate him, Owen. You can’t know how much I hate him! I’m sorry I’m so emotional right now. Give me a moment to calm down.”

“You have every right to be upset!”

“I’m better than that. He caught me by surprise, that’s all. I didn’t think he’d find his way into my tower, but I should have realized he would eventually. I was right. He recognized me that day the two of us went to see him in the dungeon. He’s been asking around about the King’s Poisoner.” She shook her head in frustration. “He’s happy to betray anyone for the right price. First the Duke of Brugia to set Eyric loose. Then Severn to capture him. He admitted to it all, Owen. He’s only after the money. The only thing that binds him is greed!”

Owen felt his resentment grow hotter. “I can’t have him running about like this.”

Etayne threw up her hands. “He can turn invisible! He told me he let himself get caught by the Espion. Owen, Chatriyon is furious about your betrothal to the duchess. Word has spread like a spilled chalice of wine, and everyone is talking about it in foreign courts. At least that’s what my father said. Chatriyon has ordered his poisoner to remove you. We’ve met him before.”

“Bothwell?” Owen said, aghast.

Etayne nodded. “Foulcart. That’s his poisoner name. Remember how he duped us on our visit to Atabyrion? He wants revenge for personal reasons too, I assure you. No poisoner likes to be bested, and he hasn’t forgotten how we unmasked him in Iago’s court. My father said he’s in the city already, and has offered him a sizable sum to get him access to you.” Her eyes were livid. “That’s why I didn’t kill him. If he knows how to find Bothwell, then perhaps we can turn the tables on him.”

Owen let out his breath. “What did you tell Dragan?”

She was tormented by her feelings and it showed. “I . . . I hesitated. Probably too much. He’s very suspicious. I said I take my orders from the king. That he pays me more to keep you alive than Bothwell was offering.” She twisted her hands together. “My father said that blood is worth more than gold. That I should help him out of duty.” She put one hand on the table to steady herself. “You don’t understand how much I hate him. He doesn’t know . . . he thinks I’m only a poisoner because of the coin. He said that Chatriyon would pay me far more than Severn if I betrayed you to him.” She gave him a look full of anguish. “But he doesn’t know that I could never hurt you. What do we do? You’re the clever one. I can’t think clearly right now.”

Anger crashed inside Owen like waves at the sight of his old friend so vulnerable. So King Chatriyon of Occitania wanted retribution for past humiliations? Bothwell’s disadvantages were considerable. Owen and Etayne both knew what he looked like. He also wasn’t Fountain-blessed, which gave them additional advantages over him. They needed to strip Dragan of his power. An idea struck him and he straightened, snapping his fingers.

Etayne gave him a hopeful look.

“Thank you for coming straightaway,” he told her, and he meant it. He hadn’t taken her loyalty for granted before, and he certainly wasn’t going to do so now. “I can’t imagine how difficult that encounter must have been for you. We can’t allow someone like Dragan to poke around the palace any longer. There is too much at risk. We need to get Genevieve out of here tonight, under the cover of darkness. I don’t want to wait until morning. You’ll come with us. I want you to use your magic to disguise me as your father.”

She looked horrified by the idea of Owen impersonating her father.

He smiled at her expression. “Just long enough for people to see us, Etayne. When she goes missing, I want witnesses to implicate him in her disappearance. If Severn thinks he’s betrayed him, your father’s life will become infinitely more difficult, and he’ll be too busy trying to save his own neck to help Bothwell. When he next comes to you, arrange for a meeting. Tell him you want fifty thousand crowns. A hundred thousand. The higher the better. Then arrange a place to meet, and I’ll have Kevan swarm it with Espion. See? We’ll use this news to our advantage. I don’t fear your father as you do.”

Etayne looked somewhat mollified, but he could tell she was still reeling from the encounter. “You should, Owen. I’ve never known a man so relentless and cruel. He will get what he feels he’s due. And he probably knows he’d survive a boat over the falls.”

Owen looked at her seriously. “Oh, but we wouldn’t send him over the falls. He’d be taken to the North and dragged atop an icy mountain.” He took a step toward her. “I won’t let him hurt you, Etayne.”

The room filled with tension, and he could tell part of her misery was due to her feelings for him. She shook her head. “No . . . I won’t let him hurt you.”

He sighed. “I want you to take your things and move them here. This will be your room for now.” Her tower was compromised. She couldn’t return now that Dragan knew how to find her.

A look of surprise and hope brightened her eyes.

“I will find lodgings elsewhere,” he said quickly. “In fact, it might be best for me to bed down somewhere different every night. Having a routine will make it too easy to find me. If I were Bothwell, I’d be at an inn on the bridge with a view of the palace gates. He’s probably planning to wait for me to ride back to Tatton Hall so he can ambush me on the road.”

“I don’t want you to give up your rooms,” she said, her tone thick with disappointment. “There are places I could go as well.”

He shook his head no. “But if anyone comes here to kill me, you’ll be able to capture and question them.”

She smiled slyly at him. “Very well, my lord. What next?”

He rubbed his hands together. “Have you ever steered a boat in a river headed toward the falls before?”

The palace of Kingfountain never truly slept. There were guards who roamed the corridors at night, carrying torches to brighten the way. But the Espion tunnels behind the walls made for a faster mode of travel. Etayne had arranged disguises for all of them. She’d used her powders and pencils to line her face and the corners of her eyes, transforming herself into a matronly looking woman. Owen had seen her impersonate her mother before and realized what she was doing. She had used a blade and lathering soap to give Owen a shave, keeping the whiskers on the side and a mustache, but removing the rest. In the morning, she said she’d shave him smooth the rest of the way to make it less conspicuous.

After darkness fell, they stole into Genevieve’s room through the secret passages and found her wide awake, unable to sleep due to her excitement for the coming dawn.

“We’re leaving tonight instead?” she repeated eagerly after Owen explained the situation. “And we’re taking the secret tunnels in the palace? This is just like the stories Mama used to tell me!”

“Exactly so,” Owen said. “You will have stories of your own to tell her when you get back to Edonburick.”

Her eyes gleamed. “What about Drew?”

Owen shook his head no and saw the disappointment fall over her face. “He’ll be worried if I don’t at least say good-bye. I don’t want him to worry.”

Owen felt his patience begin to slip, but then he remembered how Ankarette had always treated him. He dropped down on one knee and put his hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “I will tell him good-bye for you, Genevieve.” He glanced at Etayne before looking back at the girl. “We learned tonight that a poisoner is coming to the castle.”

Genevieve’s expression was a mixture of fear and wonder. “Truly?”

Owen nodded. “I promised your mama I’d keep you safe. We’re getting into a boat and going into the river. Drew must stay behind, but do not worry. I will look after him for you.” He felt a tug in his heart. “I feel certain you’ll see him again.”

She beamed at that and then nodded eagerly.

Owen rose and led the way back into the tunnels. He used his magic to reach out around them, feeling for hidden dangers or threats. Stacking the tiles earlier had filled him to the brim with Fountain magic, and he thought it wise to anticipate trouble instead of reacting to it. He also kept his senses alert for signs of other magic, in case Dragan was lurking in the dark tunnels.

When they reached the cistern, the moon was hanging high overhead, casting their shadows on the ground. The moon was ringed with frost-light and their boots crunched in the snow as they crossed the courtyard. The walls of the castle were outlined in white, and drifts had already begun to gather in heaps. The cold air stung his nose. Owen paused at the dark opening that allowed the water to drain into the cistern. Genevieve had linked hands with him as they walked in the tunnels, as children were wont to do. It was strangely comforting feeling her hand in his own, and it made him think about what it would be like to be a father himself someday. She tightened her grip and bent over the hole, gazing down.

“You two jumped down here?” she asked him, staring into the gloomy cistern hole. Owen knew from experience that it was a long drop to the waters of the vast cistern that ran the length of the palace.

“We did,” he answered with a wry smile. “But the water will be too cold right now. There’s another way down. Over there.” He pointed.

They walked over, and before Owen tripped the latch, he used his magic to once again feel for any threats awaiting them. Etayne, who was bundled up in a cloak, walked behind them, and she continually looked for any sign of pursuit. Only stillness met them, and Owen felt satisfied no one was lying in wait for them.

He tripped the latch of the door and led Genevieve down the dark steps without a torch. Etayne shut the door behind them.

“Careful,” Owen said, his voice suddenly echoing. “It drops off into the water on that side. There’s no railing.” Now that they were belowground, he drew a torch from his bag and handed it to Etayne so he could smash two flint stones to light it. The rippling flames from the torch radiated warmth and light, revealing how pink Genevieve’s nose had become in the cold. She looked fearful in the vast underground chasm, but if all went well, she would soon be safe. The boat was right where Owen had left it. Still, he examined both the craft and the oars carefully before hauling it into the water.

Etayne held the light, but she turned around and cocked her head, listening to some distant sound. Owen froze.

After a moment, she shook her head.

Owen got into the boat first and felt it bob with his weight. Using an oar to hook the edge of the platform, he reached for Genevieve’s hand and helped her inside. She sat on a small wooden ledge and gazed up at the cavernous ceiling as the waters lapped fitfully against the hull. Etayne entered next and the boat swayed more, but it steadied as soon as she sat down.

Using the oar, Owen shoved off and began rowing them down the vast corridor. As they traversed the waterway beneath the palace, the torchlight exposed the thick stone columns that held up the colossal structure. The light reflected off the surface of the water, and Owen could see the secret treasure of the Deep Fathoms glistening at the bottom. He looked up and almost did a double take when he saw Etayne gazing over the side of the boat with wide eyes.

“You can see it?” he asked her.

“See what?” Genevieve interrupted.

“Do you see anything in the water?” Etayne asked the girl, putting her hand on her shoulder.

Genevieve looked over the edge for a moment and then shook her head. “No.”

Etayne met Owen’s gaze and then subtly nodded.

They glided to the end of the cistern, where the gate controlled the flood of the water. This was where Owen and Evie had nearly drowned or been swept away. Owen could see the control winches and levers in the dim torchlight. He also saw the breath wafting from his mouth and felt the numbness in his fingers. Winter was coming on fast—yet another sign they needed to move quickly.

He brought the boat up to the edge, maneuvering it until it was sideways along the grille. “The cistern drains into the river from here,” he told them, including Genevieve to help reassure her. “It’s nearly full. When you pull the lever, the winch begins to open, and when you let go, it takes a few seconds to close again. You can lock it open if you want to drain the entire cistern, but we won’t be doing that.” He looked at both of them with an adventurous smile. “Ready?”

Genevieve was almost aglow with excitement. Etayne waved the torch in the direction of the water, asking him silently if she should douse it. Owen gripped the lever handle and then nodded. The torch hissed as it hit the frigid water, leaving them in pitch blackness.

The darkness was so acute that sounds took on new significance. Owen could actually hear Genevieve’s teeth chattering. He pulled the lever, and the current dragged them out of the cistern in moments, sending them onto a pitched slope that would jettison them into the river. Releasing the handle, he grabbed the other oar.

Genevieve let out a little squeak of fright as the boat rushed down the short ramp and then splashed violently into the river. The roar of the falls instantly surrounded them, and Owen felt a pang of fear as he began to steer toward the island ahead of them. Sanctuary. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t help but grin a little at the audacity of what he was doing. The little girl gripped each side of the boat, facing forward, and smiled brightly, as if she didn’t comprehend the danger of the powerful falls.

Owen had made the journey twice before, so he knew what to expect, but it still sent a little thrill through him. The moon shone brightly overhead, revealing both his path and his companions. While Genevieve looked as excited as her mother might have, Etayne was clutching the side of the boat. The river was such a vibrant force of nature—a creator of both destiny and death. The island of the sanctuary of Our Lady loomed up before them, and Owen carefully steered toward the inlet on the opposite side. There were little docks nestled there and a few small boats. It took several very strong men to row against such a powerful current. This journey would be one-way.

Owen maneuvered the boat to the dock, using the flat of the oar to slow them down so they wouldn’t collide with it. The boat began to pitch and tug back toward the river current, but he paddled hard to correct it. When they reached the edge of the dock, he grabbed the mooring post.

“You first,” he told Etayne, trying to keep the boat from rocking. The water from the river churned beneath them, colliding with the rocks before veering toward the roaring sound farther ahead. The falls. Etayne bent low and then scuttled up to the dock. It was dark and cold, and Owen was full of nervous energy. Anxious to get ashore as quickly as possible, he grabbed the chain and began anchoring it to the mooring post.

“I can get out myself,” Genevieve said, standing up. Her sudden movement made the boat wobble alarmingly.

“Take my hand,” Etayne said, reaching down from the dock to grab the girl.

“I can do it!” Genevieve said, looking up at her with the type of confidence reserved for the young and inexperienced. Owen felt a surge of unease, and then watched in horror as she missed her footing. At exactly the wrong moment, the boat lurched and the edge dipped below the river. Water rushed into the tiny boat and jerked it hard against the chain. Everything went into chaos in the blink of an eye.

There was a splash as the little girl went into the river.