He worked side by side with Lady Alix, helping where he could—pressing bandages to wounds, moving men, and doing whatever else was asked of him. The manor became darker and darker, and he noticed the candles were indeed sparse and more would be welcomed. Food came in later on, carried on trays by the knights he’d brought with him. They went from person to person, offering pieces of roast fish to the wounded, the dying. Other knights brought tureens of water and helped the injured drink.
It was long after midnight when they were finished tending and feeding the injured. Lady Alix bathed her hands in a water dish, turning it pink as she scrubbed her fingers clean. She dried them on a towel.
“My uncle’s room is yours,” she said, looking at him with sad eyes. “I haven’t had the heart to go in there since I learned he was gone. There’s a chamber for your knights next to it. Get some rest, Ransom. We will talk on the morrow.”
She looked utterly exhausted. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. Her compassion for the injured had awoken his gratitude. Whatever else she’d done, there was no denying she’d saved his life. Perhaps she’d even told Queen Emiloh about him. For all he knew, that was why the queen had paid his ransom. Looking at her face, he saw plainly the resemblance. His curiosity about her origins tantalized him . . . and yet, she’d murdered his friend and king, and she’d almost certainly killed Claire’s father too. All of which made him feel supremely conflicted.
“Tomorrow, then,” he said. He was weary but still too anxious to want to sleep.
The duke’s private chamber was on the upper floor of the castle. Ransom and his men had to climb the steps with only one candle to light the way. The anteroom for the knights had enough pallets for the men to sleep on, and they gratefully hunkered down for the night. Ransom and Dearley explored the duke’s dwelling place, which was nicely appointed and decorated with the motif of fish.
“Our horses were brought behind the manor,” Dearley said. “They’ve been cared for and fed provender.” He touched one of the curtains, admiring the velvet. “This duke was a wealthy man. That bed could hold three people.” He stifled a yawn. “I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.”
“No, I’d like you to stay. I don’t trust Lady Alix. One of us needs to stand guard. We’ll take turns sleeping.”
Dearley laughed. “Are you thinking she might try to murder you in your sleep?”
Ransom didn’t smile. “Get some rest, Dearley. I’ll wake you when it’s your turn to keep watch.”
“You’re serious?”
“Very,” Ransom said. “Get some rest.”
It wasn’t long before Dearley was snoring softly on the couch. Ransom continued to inspect the room, to stop his own eyes from drooping. In the back of his mind, he was thinking of another time, of the small dungeon in the basement of this castle. Would it look the same now as it had then? Years had dulled the sharpness of his memories, already hazy from his illness.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he sensed her presence coming up the stairs. A prickle of apprehension shot through him as he stared at the door, waiting. She came down the corridor, unable to hide her presence from him. It was still deep into the night.
Dearley slept right through the knock that sounded at the door. Ransom walked to the door and twisted the handle, positioning the tip of his boot to catch the door when he opened it. The lit candle from his room had nearly burned out, so he barely saw her in the gap in the door. She had not brought a candle.
“If neither of us is going to sleep, then we should talk,” she said.
His lips curled into a wary frown.
She sighed. “I’m not going to attack you, Ransom.” She held up her hands, showing that she carried no weapon.
“I wish I could be sure of that.”
“A truce, then? Just until dawn?” She gave him a tired smile. He did not feel a threat coming from her, and her exhaustion was obvious in the slump of her shoulders.
“Truce,” Ransom agreed.
“There is a little nook down the hall with a window seat. Shall we?”
He was grateful she didn’t demand to enter the room. Glancing at the couch and the slumbering Dearley, he nodded in agreement and then left the door open so it would be obvious he had left. She led the way to a nook at the bend in the hall, equipped with a window seat where the moon shone brightly. She sat down first.
Her gown was no longer the soiled one she’d worn earlier. Her hands rested on her lap, and he saw the coil of pearls around her wrist. The blood had been cleaned off. She wore no other jewelry, but he noticed a birthmark dotted her breast above the edge of her bodice.
Ransom sat down on the other side of the bench, his emotions still conflicted. “I didn’t expect to find you here,” he said, offering a bemused smile.
“Do you even remember coming here when you were injured?”
“The castle was vaguely familiar, but I was delirious at the time.”
“You were indeed.” She offered a pretty smile that snagged at his chest. “DeVaux came in through the rear of the castle. It looks very different on that side. The villagers didn’t know he’d come until after he was gone. My uncle was at the tournament in Chessy at the time.”
“Who are you?” he asked intently.
She glanced down at her hands before she looked up at him. “Who was I then, or who am I now?”
“There is a difference, then?” He leaned toward her.
“Yes.” Her eyes peered into his. “We are both Fountain-blessed, Ransom. We are not like other people. When you were wounded, the Fountain told me to heal you, even though I risked my own safety by doing so.”
His feelings churned with uncertainty. He’d always felt a great curiosity about the woman who’d saved him. He’d fallen a little in love with the idea of her, before discovering she was the cloaked lady. The mystery of it had been alluring, although his feelings for Claire were much stronger. Now his savior, Devon’s killer, sat with him, and he struggled to reconcile her with the things she’d done.
“Are we the only ones?” he asked.
“The only ones I know of,” she answered. “I was just beginning to learn about my powers when they brought you here. I sensed something different about you. Afterward, I heard about how you’d stood alone against DeVaux’s knights. They couldn’t defeat you. It reminded me of stories I’ve read.”
“What stories?” he asked with interest.
“The legends of King Andrew. This castle plays a role in that history. Before it was named Kerjean, they called it the Castle of the Fisher Kings. It draws those who are Fountain-blessed. It drew me here. And now it’s brought you.”
She looked into his eyes, her expression full of wonder and confusion. “You are part of something greater than yourself, Ransom. Can’t you feel that? We both are. It is so strange meeting you like this. I didn’t think there was any chance you would ever come here voluntarily. Yet . . . here you are. It’s a miracle to me.”
“What is significant about this castle?” Ransom asked. “I’ve never heard of the Fisher Kings before.”
“I’m sure you haven’t,” she said. “This castle has been here for as long as written history. This place used to be its own kingdom. There has always been a deep connection between this place and the Fountain because the people are so dependent on the streams and the ocean, and the bounty they provide, for their livelihood. The folk who lived here were called Fisher Kings. Now it is just a duchy. But in days of old, the Duke of Bayree would have been a king. The people here treated him as one.”