—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Piebald Nag

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Beestone

The royal palace in Westmarch had been dubbed Beestone Castle, although it was not clear why. The reason for the location was much more apparent, for it had been built on Castle Hill overlooking the city of Knotsbury and its surrounding valleys and farms. It was an impressive castle, a royal castle, with squat round towers on each side of the main gate and drawbridge, and the entire hill was enclosed by thick, sturdy walls. Sharp, stony cliffs surrounded the circumference of the hill, making the castle impregnable to attack and able to withstand sieges. It was not opulent, but it was safe and secure. Right now the main bailey was teeming with horses and soldiers bearing the colors and badges of the white boar. Archers strolled the ramparts, and Owen spied the king’s flag fluttering from pennants overhanging the walls.

Amidst such confusion, no one took much notice of the small little boy sneaking around and exploring the castle from one end to the other. It was much smaller than Kingfountain, he soon realized, and the wind here was sharp and cool. The view from the bulwarks was impressive, but Tatton Hall was too far away to see.

Owen felt uneasy and wondered how Ankarette was going to find him. The royal retinue would not be arriving with the baggage carts from Kingfountain for several more days. As a result, there were mostly soldiers around the grounds. A woman would surely stand out among them, but Owen was confident that she would find a way.

While he was wandering the battlement walls, a squire bearing the badge of Duke Horwath found him and took him to the royal apartments where the king was meeting with the duke. There were knights and servants coming in and out of the sitting room, heralds waiting to bring messages. Owen looked at all the tall men and felt out of place as the only child among them. He missed Evie and wished she were here to explore the castle with him. He missed his tiles too, and the serenity they gave him. While the adults were talking, Owen found a Wizr set by the table near the king’s luggage and began playing with it and admiring the pieces.

Then he noticed the black book on top of a chest. It felt like his stomach was suddenly full of worms, all wriggling and twisting. The book seemed to call to him, whispering to him to open it. He glanced over at Duke Horwath and the king, but the king was doing most of the talking and his back was to Owen. The king’s hand tugged on his dagger hilt in his habitual nervous gesture. He looked tall and strong, and while one of his shoulders was slightly higher than the other, his posture and gestures seemed to hide the fact.

Owen glanced back at the book. He had a craving to start reading it. If he stole it, he knew it would be missed. But what if he could learn something about his family in it, something that could help them?

He knew what Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer would do. He reached into his pocket and rubbed his thumb on the braid she had cut off and given him. Then, steeling himself, he inched his way over to the bed, as if he were merely curious. His fingers shook a little as he reached out and touched the book’s binding.

He glanced back one more time, and when he saw everyone else was still thoroughly engrossed in conversation, he carefully opened the book and started reading.

The Occupation of the Throne of Ceredigion by King Severn (unfinished), written by Master John Tunmore.

King Eredur, of that name the Fourth, after he had lived fifty and three years, seven months, and six days, and thereof reigned two and twenty years, one month, and eight days, died at Kingfountain the ninth day of Averil, leaving much fair issue . . .

—He was poisoned—

Owen started when he heard the whisper in his mind. A tremulous feeling began to unfurl inside him. As soon as he had started to read the little black book, a gentle murmuring sound began to fill his ears, so subtle he had not noticed it swelling. Then the thought struck him with the force of a blow. King Eredur had been poisoned.

Owen blinked, feeling giddy and worried at the same time. He kept reading.

That is, to wit: Eredur the Crown Prince, a lad thirteen years of age; Eyric Duke of Yuork, age ten. Elysabeth, the eldest, fairest princess of the realm, whose fortune and grace are those of a queen. Selia, not so fortunate as fair. Bridget the virtuous. This noble prince of great fame, Eredur, deceased at his palace of Kingfountain, and, with great funeral honor and heaviness of his people, was put in a royal barge and commended to the river in the hopes that he would become the Dreadful Deadman prophecy fulfilled, and return from the watery grave. His body was taken by the Fountain, not seen hence.

—Eredur was not the Dreadful Deadman—

Owen started again when the voice whispered to him. His stomach clenched and twisted, his heart feeling like the burning coals in the brazier nearby. Owen was so wrapped up in reading, he could hear nothing else in the room. His eyes were fixed on the page.