“I challenge you to single combat,” Ransom said. “I may be a prisoner, but I did not yield. Let me fight for my freedom.”
Robert turned his head partway and chuckled. “I’m not a fool.”
“Three against one, then,” Ransom said angrily. “If you do not accept my challenge, you will be branded a knave and shamed for it. Fight me, or let me go.”
Sir Robert barked out a laugh. Then he turned all the way around and looked at Ransom incredulously. “I slept with Devon’s wife,” he said with swagger. “The code of honor you speak of means nothing to me. No one truly abides by it . . . only the few . . . the fools. What happens at court in Pree is the same as what happens in other courts. Virtus is a lie . . . a trick designed to deceive the childish. Men like you.” He spat on the ground and looked at Ransom with eyes that held no remorse. “If I wanted to fight you, I’d do it with you bound, on the ground and helpless. And I’d kill you with your own sword. Those are my terms.” He jutted out his chin. “Only she wants you alive. Maybe she wants to make a sort of pet out of you. If it were up to me, I would have spilled your blood in that dungeon at Beestone three years ago.”
“You’re a knave and a coward,” Ransom said to him coldly.
Sir Robert shrugged. “I care not what you think of me. Befoul yourself when you need to. I won’t trust you without ropes or shackles. And I won’t be feeding you until we reach Kerjean. Let your hunger be your penance for worshipping the false goddess of Lady Pride. For claiming to be Fountain-blessed when you are but a mortal man. If you are more than that, prove it. Break free of those bonds, and I’ll believe in you.”
Please free me, Ransom prayed silently. I swore I would serve you. Do not let this happen. Give me deliverance from my enemy.
He strained at the bonds, but he felt as weak as a man. His stomach growled, and his bowels yearned for release.
Sir Robert stared at him mockingly. “I thought so,” he said and walked back to his horse.
Ransom couldn’t sleep during the day. He sat with his back to a tree, another rope wrapped around his chest. One of the knights scraped a whetstone against his dagger. Two others gambled with small wooden dice. Some slept but most just waited out the day.
Birdsong sounded overhead, and Ransom found himself envying them their freedom. He’d held his water so long everything inside him ached. It was wise just to relieve himself and deal with the stink. But the thought made him so angry he rebelled, determined to hold out.
Despair brooded in his heart. He thought about the cold look Lady Alix had given him while he spoke to Benedict. Surely Claire would pay for his freedom, but the offer would never be accepted. Alix wanted to break him, to seduce his mind and his heart, to crush his spirit until he yielded to her dominion.
What confused him was that the Fountain had not warned him away from the mission. He’d felt nothing but a small prickle of unease. Well, he’d done his duty and ended up in bonds. He doubted Benedict knew, or that he would have taken part in such trickery. That it had happened after Ransom was dismissed indicated this was Estian’s plot.
Why had the Fountain forsaken him? Why had it allowed him to stumble into bondage when he should be trying to save his king?
He found himself recalling what he’d been told after the scabbard healed his battle injuries. The scion of King Andrew will be reborn through an heir of the Argentines. They will try to kill the heir. You are all that stands in the way.
What did that mean, exactly? Did Estian intend to kill all the Argentines? He was allied with Benedict at the moment, but he could just as easily turn on him. That would leave just Jon-Landon and Goff’s son, Andrew.
A prickle of unease shot through Ransom’s heart. He’d promised the king that he would look after Goff’s son. If he were in bondage, he could not do so. In fact, Alix would be able to mingle among the Argentines without anyone discerning her presence. His heart began to quiver with dread.
He pressed against the ropes that bound his chest, straining with all his might. The knight scouring his blade stopped and looked at Ransom as if he were daft. Then he shook his head and resumed what he was doing. No power flooded into Ransom. No rushing water filled his ears. And still he continued trying. After several more failed attempts, he sagged back against the tree, exhausted and sore. His effort had created a little slack in the rope, and it settled farther down his chest. The knots were all behind the tree, so he had no way of working them loose.
Please help me, he thought in desperation. He didn’t want to go back to Kerjean, to be at Alix’s mercy. To listen to her honeyed words as she tried to persuade him to change sides. His recollections of his time there made him even more certain Alix’s power was not as she had said. There was something about her that twisted a man’s heart, and he didn’t want to feel his love for Claire wrenched away from him.
Please, he thought in the silent halls of his mind. He yearned to hear an answer, to receive assurance that the fate he dreaded would not be forced on him.
But he heard nothing but his own troubled thoughts. And so he summoned up memories of Claire. The sound of her voice, the color of her hair, her strength and wit. Everything he had been given had been stripped away suddenly. Again. But he had her love and admiration, and that was what mattered most.
It wasn’t a groundless worry. Word arrived at the palace that Ransom is being held prisoner at Beestone castle. A writ of safe conduct was granted, only to be violated by that treacherous son of Devon. Word has also come that Duke Ashel has fallen ill. He’s sent his eldest son to lead the knights of his duchy, but the father’s experience is sorely needed. Other nobles who were ordered to bring forces to Kingfountain have made excuses as to why they cannot come. These are desperate hours. Benedict is coming and brings with him a host of mercenaries as well as Occitanian forces. The king is readying his men and will march westward to meet him. This time, he brings his youngest son with him. If Devon wins, I presume he will name Jon-Landon his heir. After such treason, I do not think he can ever trust Benedict again. I surely never will.
—Claire de Murrow
The end is near
(broken peace)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Raven Sigil
Ransom’s insides throbbed with pain and growled with hunger. He was given water to drink but no sustenance, and he felt himself growing weaker by the hour. They’d rested half a day before Sir Robert had led them out again, and they kept a punishing pace to fulfill the task given them by Lady Alix. Every sunset had heightened his dread. He wasn’t tied to the horse any longer, but his wrists were still bound in front of him so he could grip the saddle pommel and not fall off. Each league that went by thickened the anguish in Ransom’s soul. They were well past the borders of Westmarch, and he recognized the terrain as they approached the Vexin lands.
He had continued working on his bonds, but he’d only succeeded in bloodying his wrists and adding to his discomfort. His elbow throbbed from the needle that Alix had used to poison him. He stank of sweat and his own filth, but his innards were still twisted into knots that made him miserable. The sun began to sink, which blinded their eyes as they rode into its glare. To the north lay the vast woods that signified the border of Brythonica, but Ploemeur was fifteen leagues away, and they’d passed the road leading to it long ago. He thought of the manor there, which he owned but hadn’t visited, a gift from a tournament victory before his journey to the oasis. It felt like part of another life.