The queen lifted her head, her eyes burning with controlled anger. “Unless Bennett takes it from you.”
“He’s tried. Or have you forgotten?” said Devon. His look darkened. “Go back to your tower, madam. Before I change it to the dungeon.”
Queen Emiloh rose to her feet and brushed off her hands. She nodded to her husband, then gave Ransom a pained smile.
“She still cares for you,” the queen said softly.
“Out!” shouted the king.
The queen turned back to her husband, giving him a final look before she let herself out of the room. Ransom’s heart bled with agony as he watched the king pace the room, muttering to himself. He was desperate to leave, both to escape the king’s emotional torment and so that he might see Claire one more time before she went back to the tower, but he knew it was impossible.
Finally, the king stopped pacing. “How she vexes me,” he said angrily. “But now the thorn is pulled out.”
Ransom didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He just looked at the king expectantly.
The Elder King’s eyes flashed with cunning. “You cannot marry that girl,” he said. “The duchy of Bayree has no heir. That means it belongs to the crown. It is for Estian to decide who gets it, and he has given it to me on the condition that one of my people marries the heiress.” He frowned and shook his head. “Unacceptable. That is why he laughed, Ransom. That is why he laughed! Well . . . I will be the one who laughs now. I’m not sending you to Brugia. I’m sending you back to Pree.”
I saw him today. I wish we could have spoken, but I was dismissed to Lady Deborah’s watchful care while the king and queen argued loudly. Ransom remained behind, although why I do not know. When he saw me, there was a curious look in his eyes. I wish I had the power of second sight the Aos Sí possess. I couldn’t interpret my own feelings, let alone his. All I know is that my heart hurts, I’m confused, and I cannot stand this palace prison any longer. My heart screams for freedom.
When Emi was dismissed, we were escorted back to the tower. Sir James was waiting at the door, a sly smile on his face. He said nothing as we passed, but he took my hand and pressed a kiss to it, giving me an impertinent look that made me feel like flinging myself out the tower window so I could be done with all this madness. No, better yet—I would fling him out the window. After he did it, I looked him in the eye, and with all the sincerity I could muster, I told him that if he ever did that again, I would claw out his eyes with my fingernails.
—Claire de Murrow
Tower
(washing her hands)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The King’s Errand
Ransom hurried down the corridor toward the queen’s tower, hoping to catch Claire before she returned to her prison. He’d overheard a couple of passing servants talking about the queen, saying she’d just come by with her companion. If he caught up with them, he wasn’t sure what he’d say to her, but that didn’t stop him. He felt a powerful need to speak to her.
When he turned the corner, he saw Emiloh enter the doorway leading to the stairs. Guards were posted there, as always, and it required special permission from the king in order to visit the tower room—permission that Ransom didn’t have. Someone else was loitering by the door, someone whose presence was an unwelcome surprise: Sir James. Ransom stopped in his tracks, staring in shock as his childhood enemy took Claire’s hand in a familiar and clandestine act and pressed it to his lips. The sight of it struck him like a blow to the ribs. The fiery autumn of her hair filled his eyes as she turned her head slightly and said something to Sir James that Ransom couldn’t hear. And then she followed the queen through the doorway.
Ransom stood frozen in the corridor, powerless against the rush of jealousy and hatred that swirled through him. He wanted to destroy Sir James. As he wrestled with dark emotion, his old companion looked down the corridor and caught sight of him, giving him a gloating look. Blood pounded in Ransom’s skull as he watched the other man walk toward him.
When James reached him, he said nothing, but he gave Ransom a knowing look. It was a look that said, See? I prevailed in the end. She chose me instead of you. And there isn’t anything you can do about it.
Sweat itched on Ransom’s brow. The violence inside him could not be tamed. He glared at Sir James, but he did not strike him. Instead, Ransom went straight to the training yard. It was hailing outside when he got there, the tiny pebbles of ice rattling and rolling against the stone. The wind whistled, and thunder rumbled overhead. Ransom didn’t care. He went out in the midst of it, feeling the little stings as the hail lashed at his flesh. The raven’s head on his scabbard began to glow. Ransom unsheathed his sword and began to practice, yielding his body to the rage surging through him. He swung his blade until his arms ached with the effort. He swung it until he was soaked to the skin. There was no one there to fight, and that was for the best.
In his dark mood, he may have killed someone.
When he returned to his room, dripping wet, he found Dearley inside pacing. His ward’s eyes widened with concern.
“You were out in that strange storm?” Dearley asked.
Ransom nodded, feeling his misery keenly. He unstrapped his sword belt, slung it over the chair, and started stripping off his soaked tunic. Dearley went to the clothing chest and knelt by it to retrieve fresh clothes and a towel, the latter of which Ransom used to mop his face before he changed. Because of the storm clouds, he had no idea the time of day. Everything seemed darker, both within the castle and without.
“The king sent for you,” Dearley said. “Are you all right? You look . . . terrible.”
Ransom grabbed the sword belt and wrapped it around his waist, leaving the wet clothes in a heap on the floor by the hearth. His hair felt heavy, and he rubbed his chin, feeling the thick stubble there and on his cheeks. The violence of his emotions had passed, but he still felt sickened by the thought of Sir James marrying Claire.
It was not like him to avoid answering a question, but he didn’t want to let any of his dark thoughts out.
“What happened?” Dearley asked in a kindly way. “You weren’t here this morning when I came for you. A servant said you’d been found asleep next to a fountain. Have you been drinking, Sir Ransom?”
He shook his head no, finally able to speak. “I told the king the truth,” he said. “I haven’t even told you yet.” Breathing out slowly, he turned and looked at Dearley’s compassionate expression. “Lady Alix, it turns out, isn’t the true heir of the duchy of Bayree.”
Dearley’s eyes widened. “By the Fountain,” he whispered.
“It’s worse than that. She is the King of Occitania’s poisoner, and it turns out she’s also his illegitimate sister. And if that weren’t bad enough, I saw my old enemy, Sir James, kissing Claire’s hand.” The words sounded ridiculous as he said them, coming after the weighty revelation about Alix, but he realized he cared more about the latter disappointment than the former. If he’d wished for a way to know his own mind, his own heart, it seemed he’d found it. “Sir Simon warned me that he might be courting her. But seeing the evidence with my own eyes made me sick.” He gave Dearley a wan smile. “It’s been a difficult day.”