Then the king released Owen and the fog was gone. Owen remembered everything, like a sleepwalker awakened midstep. Confusion and terror battled within him.

“No need to flatter, Ratcliffe,” the king chuckled. “I can’t abide flattery. I know what I am. And so do you. Keep this boy under better watch, or I promise you that there will be a new Espion master and you will be sent to the North to polish Horwath’s boots. I expected better from you, Dickon. If I can’t trust you in the little things . . .” He let the threat dangle and then gestured dismissively at them both.

Ratcliffe flushed scarlet again, his jaw clenching with rage. “Come on!” he snarled, yanking Owen’s arm so hard it felt like his shoulder would come popping out.

Owen was near tears as he watched the sanctuary of Our Lady start to fade away. He realized, sickeningly, that he had made it there on his own, against all odds, but had been lured out again by some trick. He had been incapable of resisting the king. But why? Then he remembered the queen’s warning, and it struck him.

It was the king’s voice. It was something in his hands.

Owen had been incapable of resisting.

While they were halfway across the bridge, Owen tried to struggle away from Ratcliffe’s hand, wrenching and twisting—anything to free himself so he could flee back to the sanctuary.

A sharp smack on the back of his head put a stop to his resistance.

“Think, boy!” Ratcliffe snarled in his ear. “Think about your family.” He tugged Owen around until he was facing him and then lowered himself down to his height. The head of the Espion spoke softly, but his voice was full of venom. “You cross me again, and they will suffer for it! You escape one more time, and I will have your mother and your sisters thrown into the dungeons to starve and your father and brothers into the river to drown. I will not chase you or hunt you ever again, boy! You will obey me or the blood of your family will be on your scrawny little head. It will turn that white patch red! Make a fool of me again, and you will regret it. Am I understood?”

Owen trembled with shock and fright.

“Say it!” Ratcliffe barked.

Owen’s mouth would not work.

“Say it,” Ratcliffe warned, squeezing his hand until he cried out.

“Yes!” Owen wailed, crumpling to the ground in agony.

There is an adage as old as time, but it is universally true: No good deed goes unpunished. In finding Kiskaddon’s brat, I have been relocated to the palace to keep an eye on the little devil. I spent several years in the palace before and I hated it. This assignment will, in all likelihood, be very short. The boy is either going to get himself killed or his parents will do something reckless to seal his fate. I’m not sentimental about this and I only hope it happens quickly so I can move on to a more interesting assignment. The only patch of blue in the sky, as they say, is the lad likes to play in the kitchen. I hear Liona can spice and cook a goose like no other!

—Dominic Mancini, Espion of the Palace Kitchen

CHAPTER TEN

Ankarette

In the days that followed Owen’s escape, it seemed as if the sun had stopped shining. The little boy had been petted and coddled before. Now he was shunned and scolded. Monah Stirling was replaced with a stern old woman by the name of Jewel who did not suffer him to explore the grounds, was too gouty to climb tower steps or walk the corridors with him more than once a day, and kept him on a short leash, predominately in the kitchen, where a new addition had soured the haven.

Owen was surprised to find Mancini had taken up residence in the palace. Liona had explained in hushed tones that the man was a spy for the king, part of the Espion, and that he had been stationed at the palace to keep an eye on Owen. And so Liona and Drew had withdrawn their tenderness, fearful that the king would discover their role in Owen’s escape.

Mancini said very little to Owen, but he gave him knowing little smirks and winks that seemed almost threatening, as if he were daring the boy to misbehave so he’d have an excuse to report him to Ratcliffe. Occasionally he’d stomp his boot suddenly, like he’d done with the pigeons, just to see Owen start. He would chuckle to himself while Owen stacked his tiles and snort derisively when they all came tumbling down. And he helped himself liberally to the kitchen food throughout the day. Owen could tell Liona resented having to feed such a big man so often, but there was naught she could do.

Owen tried to find Princess Elyse and failed. And she made no attempt to contact him either. It was as if everything good and kind had been banished from the palace after Owen’s escape attempt. His wretched heart became a constant torment, and the palace itself felt like a dungeon. After several days of scolding from Jewel, he shrunk inside himself, his appetite waned, and he started at every shadow.