“I like that,” Owen said, smiling. “I like pine trees, except for the sap.”

“The sap is sticky, isn’t it?” Ankarette said, a smile in her voice. She kept stroking his hair. “Let me tell you the story again. You must remember it.” Then with an even softer voice, she repeated the story, not deviating from a single word. She had memorized it. As she spoke, and as he listened, he felt the distant shushing noise of the river. It was the sound of the waterfall at Our Lady. Ankarette was a great storyteller. He could imagine the waters rushing and falling like an avalanche of snow. He could hear the far-off roar of the falls, even from the poisoner’s tower. And he could imagine a big, fat pinecone plopping into the water and being carried over the falls.

“Can you remember it?” she asked him. “Can you remember the story?”

“I think so,” Owen said.

“Let me tell you again,” she said. He felt her body move and shift and she stopped stroking his hair. Then she started again on the story, using the same words as before, the same lulling tone of voice. The churn of the water grew louder. Ankarette pressed something into his hand. It was hard and jagged and pointy. A pinecone. He did not want to squeeze it too hard, but he held it in a firm grip. Then he heard the sound of little things snapping. Ankarette put something in front of his nose, and he smelled the scent of pine needles. When she finished the story, he opened his eyes, still gripping the pinecone and smelling the scent.

“This is your dream, Owen,” she said, helping him sit up. She put a hand on his shoulder. “You must tell the king about it in the morning during breakfast.”

Owen stared at her in surprise. “Me?” he asked.

She squeezed his shoulder. “It’s better that you don’t understand what the dream means. He will. You must tell him this morning, Owen. The next day will be too late. Have courage.”

He stared at her solemnly. “This will trick the king?” he asked.

She nodded, eyes deep and serious.

“What will he do when I tell him?” Owen asked, excited and nervous at the same time.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I can only guess. But it will be his move next. And I’m very good at Wizr.”

Owen fidgeted nervously in the breakfast hall. He had stayed up quite late talking with Ankarette, but he was not sleepy at all. She normally sent him to bed when she felt pain, but for some reason, she had felt better, and they had stayed up talking.

Evie was chattering away next to Owen, but he was having a difficult time concentrating on her words.

“I hope Jewel falls asleep again today, but it might be too much to ask,” she said conspiratorially. “I would love to jump back into the cistern again. Especially in the afternoon when it’s so hot. But two days in a row would be suspicious. The servants may discover us. Let’s not go back today. I really don’t think it would be wise. Where else would you like to explore? We haven’t been to the stables in a while. How about there?”

She waited a moment and then tugged on his arm. “How about the stables?”

“What?” he asked, turning to face her.

There was a mischievous look on her face. “You weren’t even listening! How rude, Owen Kiskaddon. I don’t think I’ll marry you after all, if that’s how you’re going to behave. You’re probably daydreaming about the treasure.”

He saw Dunsdworth approaching and quickly warned her to be silent.

“What treasure?” Dunsdworth asked, coming closer. “What were you saying, Elysabeth?”

“It’s Elysabeth Victoria—”

“I know your name,” he sneered. “You’ve reminded me enough times, haven’t you? No one wants to use so many words when they talk to a person.”

“At least she has a pretty name,” Owen said, only then realizing his thoughts had spilled out of his mouth before he could think through the wisdom of sharing them.

Evie went into a hysterical fit of shocked giggles, but the blood rushed into Dunsdworth’s face and his mouth twisted into an angry frown.

“What?” the bigger boy said coldly.

Owen was saved by Ratcliffe’s sudden entrance into the breakfast hall. He glanced around Dunsdworth, almost sighing with relief. Seeing his look, the older boy whirled around as the Espion master strode into the room. He turned back to give Owen a look that promised future vengeance and stalked away.

Ratcliffe clapped his hands. “The king is coming, the king is coming!” he said with his hasty breath. “Much is happening today, so no dawdling.”