When they entered the audience hall, the Duchess of Brythonica, Lady Constance, descended the throne to greet them. The other chair, the one previously reserved for Goff, sat empty. She wore a black velvet gown and a black veil. Clinging to her hand was a small child who looked up at Ransom hopefully at first, perhaps expecting his father, then looked away in disappointment. Ransom had met the duchess before, but they’d only exchanged a few pleasantries. He could see the kohl marking her eyes beneath the veil.
“Sir Ransom,” she said as he gave her a bow.
“I am sorry for all that has befallen your family. My words are inadequate compensation for your grief.”
“These are dark times,” said Lady Constance. “I did not want my husband to go to Pree. I don’t trust Estian. I never have.”
Ransom nodded in agreement. “I brought Sir Terencourt’s body with me—”
“Did you bring the ring?” she interrupted.
Ransom dug into his pocket and retrieved it. “He gave this to me as he lay dying.”
She looked at him, her frown serious and concerned, not angry. “You are to wear it.”
Ransom sighed. “He told me as much, but I don’t understand what it means. He said you would explain.”
Lady Constance turned away from him and told her son to sit on the throne. He toddled over and climbed up onto the footrest before clambering onto the seat. She watched him, her shoulders shaking with suppressed emotion.
“He’s all I have left,” she whispered. When she turned to face Ransom again, he took a step closer. “The ring is an artifact of the Deep Fathoms, Sir Ransom. And so is the scabbard you wear. When you were last here, you were not wearing it. But I recognize it as an heirloom of this ancient land.”
“My loyalty is to the King of Ceredigion,” Ransom said, “but I promised him that I would guard your son. His grandson. Are you . . . do you hear the voice, my lady?”
“I do, Sir Ransom. The voice bid me send my knights to rescue you. You are Fountain-blessed. I’ve known it for some time, and not because of the rumors.” She looked down, gathering her thoughts. “When you first defeated Sir Terencourt in the tournament, he told me that you would replace him. I didn’t want to believe it at first.” She looked at him again. “He told me that Sir Robert Tregoss would be the man who killed him and, in doing so, become the protector of Brythonica by right. But he also said that you, Sir Ransom, would kill Sir Robert and win that right yourself. You have been chosen by the Fountain to defend the Argentine line, from which will come the rebirth of King Andrew. It is my hope that it comes through my son, which is why I named him Andrew. He cannot defend himself, nor can I defend him from the threat of the King of Occitania, who will surely seek the boy’s life. With this ring, you will be able to protect him.”
It shocked him to hear her say it, but there was no denying her story matched what the voice had told him—that the scion would come from the Argentine family. “How?”
She stepped closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “There is magic in this world, Sir Ransom, that you do not understand. When the Wizr Myrddin was banished to another world, he was sent away with an artifact more powerful even than that ring or your scabbard. It is a silver bowl called the Gradalis. It was once kept at Kerjean castle in Bayree by the Fisher Kings, but it was taken from that place by a champion of King Andrew. A champion much like yourself. The Gradalis is here in Brythonica in a secret place. If you put on that ring and accept the role of master of the wood, I can use it to summon you. If someone tries to steal the Gradalis, it will summon you as well. That is the power of the ring. And the responsibility.” She grasped his arm. “I need you, Sir Ransom. My son needs you. Do you accept your role as protector?”
He swallowed his nervousness. Much of what she said confused and baffled him, starting with the fact that Sir Terencourt had apparently presaged his own death, but he felt reassurance from the Fountain. Its soothing burbling filled his ears.
“The Fountain bids me accept,” he answered her.
“Put on the ring,” she told him. “It is yours until you give it to another when your time is fulfilled or you are defeated in single combat. I bless you by the Fountain, Sir Ransom. You are needed more than you know.”
He gazed at her face through the veil. “I will do my best.”
“It is enough. Now, put on the ring.”
Ransom stared down at it in his hand. Sir Terencourt had worn it on the forefinger of his left hand, so he would do the same. As Ransom lifted the ring to put it there, the duchess whispered a word he didn’t understand. The ring slid on effortlessly. As soon as it was on his finger, it vanished, although he still felt its presence.
The duchess smiled and lifted the veil. He saw a tear streak down her face. “Thank you, Sir Ransom. You are a good man. And now that you are Brythonica’s protector, I give you the right to command her knights. I’ve been preparing ships all night long to send aid to King Devon. The tide is going out soon. Go with them, and defend our king!”
His heart surged with hope. This was why the Fountain magic had not come to him before they reached the borders of Brythonica. He was meant to be here, in this place. There was still a chance they could win the war and stand strong against Occitania.
A chance was all they needed.
“My lady, I’m not as familiar with the coasts. Where were you planning to send them?”
“Averanche is under Benedict’s control. I was going to send them due east to Glosstyr. What do you think of that?”
Ransom smiled. “My lady . . . I am to be the new duke of Glosstyr.”
“Is that so? I rarely know all the reasons behind the whispers that come to me, but I know the Fountain is with us. It is with you, Sir Ransom.” She squeezed his hand and gave him a warm smile. “We depend on you.”
Sleep had eluded Ransom for days. But in the stateroom on board the Brythonican ship, he was finally able to rest. The weariness and exhaustion of his captivity was washed away by cleansing sleep. The room was dark, and the swaying of the ship didn’t trouble his stomach as it had in the past. In fact, he felt more comfortable, more at peace, in the sea’s embrace.
His slumber was disturbed by one of Terencourt’s knights.
“My lord. We’re nearing Glosstyr.”
Ransom sat up on the cramped bed. The refreshment he felt was enormous. He looked at the knight standing in the doorway, recognizing him as the young one who had knelt by Terencourt in his last moments.
“What’s your name, lad?” Ransom asked.
“My name is Guivret,” said the young man. He looked down. “I was Sir Terencourt’s squire.”
Ransom swung his legs over the bedside. “I don’t have a squire. Would you be willing to serve me? I have a small mesnie.”
The young man’s face brightened. “I would welcome the opportunity, my lord. Truly. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Ransom rose and stretched. “How about some food? What time of day is it? I can’t tell since there isn’t much light in here.”
“The sun is waning. We’ll be at Glosstyr before nightfall.”
“Good. Fetch me paper and ink as well. I need to write my lady a letter and tell her what’s happened.”