The Elder King shook his head. “I will send Bryon to impart the news. His son, Sir Dalian, will escort the lady and meet you . . . where?”
Ransom thought a moment and then remembered the part of the garden where he and Claire had gotten stuck in a tree as children. He’d been a little in love with her even then. “The garden with the magnolia trees.”
The king gave him a sly look. “Whatever for?”
“There are memories there,” Ransom answered, “from long ago.”
The sly look faded, replaced by a confident nod. “I keep forgetting that you were both children here. Hostages.”
“It wasn’t really like that,” Ransom said. “The king was a father to me. The hollow crown was a burden to him, as it is to you.”
The king gave him a sad smile, but the clouds that had been there earlier were parting now, spilling sunshine down on them. The warmth felt good on Ransom’s cheeks.
“Your words are more appreciated than you know,” said Devon. “I was too busy basking in my own triumph to see the weight in that old man’s heart. You were always a comfort to him. Just as you are a comfort to me in my hour of need. Now go and claim your prize. If she’ll have you.”
Ransom turned and started to walk away, but he paused midstep and turned around. “Thank you, Devon. Words fail me. Thank you.”
And he saw that his simple words meant more to the king than anything else he could have said. Tears filled the Elder King’s eyes, a flush of emotion rising on his cheeks. Was this what the old king had craved all along? Some gratitude and appreciation from his family for what he had done for them, provided for them? The truth struck Ransom solidly in the chest. What a strange and curious thing to expect from others without showing or giving it himself. The king clenched a fist, trying to compose himself once again.
Ransom went to him and embraced him. And held him while the king wept the tears of a grieving father.
A bird flew into the open window this afternoon. Poor creature, it was startled and frantic to get out, but it kept crashing into the closed window on the other side of the room, thinking it was the way to escape. Emi and I tried to guide it out, but it wasn’t having it. It was a little comical to watch the wee thing, but it wore itself out until it suddenly went the other way and found freedom. It felt good to laugh again.
—Claire de Murrow, the Bird Keeper
(I wish I had wings also)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A Promise Kept
A knot of nerves had wound itself up inside Ransom’s chest as he paced the garden lawn, waiting for Claire to arrive. The scene in front of him was lovely—the onset of spring had brought the birds back to Kingfountain, and the trees were covered in green buds—but the feeling in his stomach made it impossible to hold still. He kept clearing his throat, wishing he’d brought a flask of water. Every moment that passed was a painful torture.
What if she says no?
Confusion and eagerness raged inside of him. It was a long walk to the top of the tower and a long walk back down. Should he have met her inside the palace instead?
At the sound of approaching voices, he tensed like a bow string and looked in the direction they came from. Letting out a fierce sigh, he loosened his shoulders and stopped his vicious pacing. Claire’s face was turned toward her companion, Sir Dalian, and the sunlight splashed prettily on her hair and her green brocade gown. Her smile was easy, untroubled. And then, as if sensing Ransom’s presence, she turned her head and saw him standing by the tree they’d climbed as children.
She stopped instantly, her smile vanishing as the surprise of the moment caught up with her.
“My duty is fulfilled,” said Sir Dalian, bowing to her. There was a wistful look in his eyes, one that Ransom didn’t fail to see. The familiarity between them showed some degree of intimacy and friendship. The worry in his heart swelled.
“Thank you,” Claire said, touching Sir Dalian’s arm, but her gaze was fixed on Ransom. As she came toward him, he noticed the sadness in her eyes, the look of gloom that had come over her.
“What are you doing here, Ransom?” she asked him, her voice still rich with a Gaultic accent, although it had faded since their youth.
“I got permission from the king to see you,” he answered.
“Of course you did, or I wouldn’t be standing here. Why didn’t you come to the tower?”
He looked down at the grass and then back at her face. Was that fear in her eyes? His courage began to melt. “Lord Kinghorn was sent to tell Emiloh the news. Her son Goff died in Pree.”
Claire’s eyes widened in surprise. “That is terrible news!”
Ransom nodded.
“Was he murdered?”
“They say it was not,” Ransom said, shrugging. “He fell off his horse and was trampled. I don’t know the truth of the matter.”
She looked him in the eye. “Was it her? The poisoner you warned us of?”
“Again, I don’t know,” he said, feeling miserable and inept. At some point he would have to admit to her that he’d almost wed that very woman, something he wasn’t proud of, even if she had used her power to sway him. “We only have the information that the herald brought. It’s all a mess right now. Sir James . . . I mean, Lord James is now ruling Dundrennan. His father died during the winter.”
“I heard the news,” she said. “I’m grateful that you were uninjured.”
If it had upset her to learn her admirer had been implicated in treason, it didn’t show. Her kind sentiment helped steady him a little.
Before he could decide what to say next, she closed her eyes and squeezed her hands into fists. “Just tell me the news, Ransom. Your storytelling is driving me barmy with suspense.” She opened her eyes again, her lips quivering. “Let me guess. The king wants you to marry Goff’s widow. To safeguard his son and heir, the little child.”
“He did ask me to do that.”
He saw her flinch, the color drain from her face. She stared down at the grass, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. “I see. The duchy of Brythonica. It’s . . . it’s an important duchy. More significant than Bayree.”
“I told him no,” Ransom said.
She fell silent, but she still wrung her hands in agitation. Then she slipped one hand into the pocket of her gown. “No?” She looked up at him, her lashes fluttering.
“Well, I said I would defend Brythonica if he wanted me to. But I refused to marry the duchess. There is only one duchess that I want to marry.”
She blinked quickly. Then an angry look stole across her face, and she stamped her foot. “Stop toying with me, you fool eejit! Tell me now, or I swear I’ll . . . I’ll strangle you!”
From her pocket, she withdrew a small braided bit of leather with tarnished silver ends. She squeezed it hard, as if she intended to use it to fulfill her threat. He blinked in surprise when he saw it.
“Where did you get that?” he asked, gazing at it fiercely.
“Why?” she demanded. “Tell me what you came to tell me, Ransom.”
“I lost the one you gave me,” he said, stepping forward, gazing at the very bracelet he had worn. The one she’d given him at Chessy. It had even worn out in the same way.