“She’s here,” Ransom said.
“Who?” the king asked wearily. “I don’t understand you.”
“The poisoner. She’s here.”
Was it possible she held the cure for the king’s illness? Had she come to make some sort of bargain?
They reined in a good distance from the walls of Tatton Grange, although it was done from a habit of caution more than anything else. If riders came from within, there was no chance of escape. Their horses were weary, and the king couldn’t endure much more.
“Well . . . see what she wants,” said the king. “I’m spent, Ransom. I can’t go another furlong.”
Ransom turned and nodded to four knights, leaving one to safeguard the king. The five of them rode ahead toward the main doors of the castle. The doors were opened before they got there, and a man wearing Occitanian finery came striding out. He had a hooked nose and dark hair combed forward.
“Do you speak Occitanian?” he asked in a nasally voice.
“I do,” Ransom answered.
“State your business. We were not expecting arrivals today. There are archers at the ready if you intend violence. You will find no shelter here.”
“I would speak with Lady Alix of Kerjean,” said Ransom. “Behind me is King Devon Argentine, the true duke of Westmarch. He has returned home to die.”
The man looked startled by the news. “Is that truly him? By the Lady, so it is!”
“Tell Lady Alix I would speak with her.”
The man sniffed. “Whether she will or not, I cannot say, but I will deliver your message.”
“Thank you.”
The man gave a little bow and retreated through the massive door, which was promptly shut behind him. Ransom thought he saw men through the arrow slits. He was exhausted by the ride and his use of Fountain magic, but its stores were still available to him should it be needed.
The sound of horses came from around the corner, and two riders charged away from the castle, riding fast and heading away from them. He did not sense danger from them, and neither of them was Alix.
The door creaked open again, and the man with the hooked nose returned. “The lady bids you welcome. If the king wishes to die here, it is so permitted. Riders have been sent to inform King Estian of your arrival. It will not take long before he comes.”
“I should think not,” Ransom answered. “May I speak to her?”
“If you wish. She promises you will not be harmed so long as you intend no evil here.”
He nodded to the man. “Bring the king,” he said to Sir Harrold and Sir Rawlin, gesturing at them. “Help him dismount. We’ll go on ahead and find a place for him to rest.” He then rode forward with the other two knights. They dismounted and followed the Occitanian into Tatton Grange. Ransom kept his hand on his sword hilt.
They were escorted to one of the waiting rooms at the grange. He eyed the furnishings, feeling a strange sense of familiarity despite the fact that he’d spent little time in the manor. It was a dizzying feeling, one that both alarmed and confused him. Shortly after their arrival, he sensed Alix’s approach, and she entered from another door.
She stood there, wearing a cloak, and was escorted by three men of her own, each with brutish strength. From the looks they gave Ransom and his men, they wanted to attack them. Alix’s expression was guarded, contemplative. He felt the stirrings of her beauty once again, but he was determined to resist whatever it was that made her so persuasive.
“You surprised me, Sir Ransom. That doesn’t happen very often.”
One of the knights standing by Ransom dropped his hand to his sword hilt. The two groups were now eyeing each other with open distrust and animosity. It was like two packs of wolves snarling at each other.
Lady Alix looked unperturbed.
“Can we speak privately?” he asked her.
“You mean before our men try to kill each other? If you wish. Have yours remain beyond that door,” she said, indicating the one on his left. She waved to the door across the room. “Mine will stay behind this one. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Ransom said, giving the order to his men as she directed hers. Soon they were standing there, alone. The memory of her kissing him fluttered through his mind, and he clenched his hands into fists, willing it to leave.
“Are you happy with your choice, Ransom?” she asked him. “This is where it led. And it leads farther still.”
“Can you heal the king?” he asked her.
She tilted her head slightly, giving him a pitying look. “The poison I gave him is doing what it was intended to do. Deliver a slow, agonizing death. He has, perhaps, two more days. He’ll become delirious, fitful, and then his heart will literally burst. But you ask an interesting question. Can it be stopped?”
Her words made him struggle with his feelings. They made him want to wrap his hands around her throat and choke her until she told him there was a cure. His heart raced with anger, but he listened to her.
“Can it?”
“There is a special plant that could cure him,” she said. “Even if you knew where it was, it would take you too long to get there, to return in time. He’d be dead before you tried. I could get there. I could fetch it. But I do not think you would accept my terms. What you must do in order to earn such a priceless gift.”
He remembered the way she’d disappeared into that fountain in Pree and knew she could do what she said.
“And what would that be?” he asked tightly, still trying to master his anger.
“When Estian and Benedict arrive, kneel before them as if doing homage. Then plunge a dagger in Estian’s heart.”
A feeling of blackness came over Ransom. Not only did the thought sound intriguing, he wanted to do it. The darkness inside him reveled at the thought.
“I would have no compunction killing him on the battlefield,” Ransom said. “But I’ll not murder him.”
Alix shrugged. “I know. But you could, Ransom. You’re afraid of yourself. You always have been.”
Her words rang true, and it rattled him. “I think we are done here,” he said, turning toward the door.
Before he reached it, she called out to him, her words attempting to wind around him. “Don’t you ever wonder what it might have been like? If you had only chosen differently? You betrayed me, Ransom. I warned you what would happen if you did.”
His hand paused on the handle. He turned back to her. “You’ve made your own choices, Alix. You gave in to the darkness. I won’t.”
His words affected her. He saw her flinch, saw the blush rise to her cheeks. “If you find yourself without a place, with wounds that will not heal, you know where you will find me.”
Ransom hoped he would never be so desperate.
Morning came, and Ransom awoke to the sound of the king’s racking cough. The curtains had been pulled shut, but light leaked through in a couple of spots. Ransom had fallen asleep in a chair, hand on his sword hilt, and his back ached from the awful posture. His wounds had all healed, though, and he felt rested.
He turned and went back to the bed where the king lay in his sweaty clothes, his hand grasping the leather saddlebag that held the hollow crown. His eyes were feverish with pain, and he gave Ransom a helpless look, as if pleading for relief that could not come. An ache tortured Ransom’s heart. It hurt to see his king suffer so.