He nodded.

“I think I found the way in,” she said conspiratorially.

I’m beginning to wonder if the alliance I’ve struck with the queen’s poisoner will be fatal. Ratcliffe insists she invaded the king’s bedchamber last night shortly before midnight. That cannot be true because she was, in fact, with me at that time discussing the king’s enemies and which nobles are most likely to fall next. It’s my opinion it will be Lord Asilomar. The king has set up a trap to test his loyalty. He will fail. I’m wondering when mine will be tested. If Ratcliffe knew that I was working for her, I’d be thrown into the river.

—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Deep Cisterns

Owen and the Mortimer girl faced each other over a Wizr board in the library. Each move was painstakingly slow. Owen could have won several times already with the tricks he had learned from Ankarette, but the goal wasn’t to win the game. The goal was for Jewel to fall asleep. Owen had added some additional ingredients to her tea and the old woman was making a bold effort of fighting off the effects. She sat in a stuffed chair, and the needlework in her hands kept bobbing and dipping.

“I think she’s almost asleep,” Owen whispered, moving the next piece.

His companion gazed surreptitiously at the old woman in the chair. Jewel’s mouth had sagged open and her breath had begun to pull in and out in curt little gasps.

The Mortimer girl almost giggled as she looked back at Owen with her bewitching eyes that were part green, part blue, part gray. She wore a dark green velvet dress with cuffs that matched her hem. Her dark hair was swept back behind her.

“You were right,” she whispered in reply. “She normally doesn’t fall asleep like this when she’s watching us. But choosing a boring game like Wizr, and playing it so quietly . . . just look at her. Should we go?”

Owen nodded. They had several hours before the effects of the tea would wear off. The Mortimer girl grabbed his hand but paused to move one of the game pieces with her free hand. “Threat,” she said after the move, indicating a surprise attack he had not expected. Leave it to her to show talent at a complicated game she found boring. “Come on!” she said, tugging him to follow.

The two crept away from the library, their footfalls silenced by the thick carpet. As soon as they were past the doors, they broke into a run. Owen let her guide, as she knew the way. There was always a thrill to being naughty, and he could tell it was coursing through them both. There were servants all around, but everyone in the palace knew about Owen Satchel and the Mortimer girl, and there were only a few grunts and warnings not to get underfoot.

Their destination was a side corridor by the servants’ quarters. The level of dust on the floor showed it was not well traveled. A big, sturdy door met them at the end of the corridor. Owen had tried it before and found it locked, so he had never been back again.

The Mortimer girl grinned at him mischievously. “There is a window in the door. I dragged that basket over and stood on it, and that’s how I saw the secret place.”

“But the door is locked,” Owen said, yanking on the iron latch. It rattled but did not loosen.

“I know, but look over there. See the tapestry? Why would there be a tapestry in the middle of a hall that no one uses?”

Owen hadn’t noticed it before, and it did look a little strange. The tapestry was suspended from an iron pole fastened into the stone. The Mortimer girl winked and walked over to it, then pulled it aside. The tapestry concealed a curtained window.

“The curtain is thick enough to disguise the light,” she explained. “Look how dusty the window is too!”

Owen saw the window had a bar latch and he pulled on it. It was stuck. They exchanged a look and then gripped it together, wrestling with the bar latch. It was tight as a drum.

“I couldn’t do it myself,” she gasped. “But I thought . . . the two of us!”

Owen squinted and frowned, pulling even harder. The latch finally shifted and swung back, knocking them both to the floor. She landed on top of him and they had to stifle nervous giggles.

“It’s open!” she squealed excitedly. Rushing back to the tapestry, she pushed it aside and shoved at the glass. The window groaned open. “Help me up!” she said.

Owen grabbed her around the waist and helped her onto the windowsill.

“It’s covered in vines.” She scooted around and grabbed a fistful of vines and began lowering herself down.

“How far down is it?” Owen asked, his worry growing.