Ransom smiled at Simon, and he saw the look of disappointment in his friend’s eyes. This wasn’t how either of them had hoped things might turn out. Simon came closer to speak with him, but suddenly Benedict was there between them, arms folded imperiously.
“Sir Ransom. Come ride with me. We shall go immediately.” He looked at Sir Simon. “You as well. There needs to be a witness.”
It was not a request. It was a king’s command.
Rumor wears a thousand masks. But what is the truth? Some say that King Estian will attack Kingfountain himself. Some say that Benedict beheaded his father at the end of the battle. There is no loyalty left to the Elder King. His reign has ended, whether or not he still lives. Some say he is in Glosstyr. Others say he went to Tatton Grange. All the while we wait for the new king to arrive and claim his dominion. The people of the city want the uncertainty to end. Sir James’s army is still laying siege, although he hasn’t done anything to try to breach the walls. So we wait, and wait, and wait until it is insufferable to breathe. Emiloh is hopeful this will be resolved soon, but there is still no word from her son. Time itself seems to hold its breath. And wait . . . wait . . . wait . . .
—Claire de Murrow
(in her new, larger prison)
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The King’s Blindness
They rode in silence to a meadow north of Tatton Grange. Fat bumblebees droned as they flitted from plant to plant. A soothing wind came from the east, cooling the heat caused by the oppressive sun. Benedict led them to a copse of oak trees along a small stream, where they stopped so the animals could drink. Looking back, Ransom could see the grange in the distance. They’d left everyone behind them. It was just Ransom, Benedict, and Simon, pausing in the shade beneath the oaks.
Ransom’s insides twisted with worry. Was Benedict going to challenge him to a duel? Was that why he had asked for a witness? And yet, he’d chosen one of the Elder King’s servants rather than one of his own men from the Vexin. The situation was curious and strange, and Ransom leveled a look at Simon, who seemed equally perplexed. Unable to read Benedict’s mind or judge his mood, Ransom waited, feeling his own destrier growing impatient beneath him. The brooding silence grew thick and uncomfortable.
Benedict stared into the distance, saying nothing. The new king was a little older than the age that Devon the Younger had been at his death. The two brothers were so different. Whereas Devon had possessed an uncanny ability to put people at ease, Benedict had more brutal energy than he did charm. What kind of king would that make him?
At last, after an indeterminable length of silence, Benedict twitched the reins and brought his destrier around to face Ransom’s. The image of impaling Benedict’s horse out from under him rose to his mind. Was he about to pay for what had happened?
“The other day,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, “you tried to kill me, Ransom. You would have pierced me through, unarmored as I was, if I hadn’t deflected your lance with my arm.”
Was this the reason Benedict hadn’t left for Kingfountain yet? Was he trying to rewrite history to put him in a more favorable light? Only a few knew the truth of what had happened that day. Others may have caught a glimpse of their confrontation, but no one had been near enough to overhear the words spoken between them as their mounts charged toward each other. Sick dread coiled in Ransom’s stomach. If he accepted the version that Benedict was proposing, then he would be admitting that he’d tried to kill him—which he deliberately hadn’t—and that it was only Benedict’s own reflexes that had forestalled a killing blow.
Or . . . was Benedict testing his honesty? Was he trying to determine whether Ransom would lie in order to help him save face?
Ransom felt Simon’s eyes on him, but he didn’t let himself look to his friend for encouragement or guidance. He kept his own eyes locked on Benedict’s.
“I never wanted to kill you. I think you know that. If I’d wanted to, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. I could have just as easily dispatched you as I did your horse, and we both know it.”
He didn’t regret saying the words, for they were true. But he knew that kings had brittle egos. And this one was still young, untested. He watched for Benedict’s reaction, for a flare of his nostrils or a curled lip.
Benedict nodded to him with a humbled look. “Ransom, you are forgiven. I loved that horse, I’ll not lie to you. And I know you’ve lost your own. In fact, there’s an ugly dappled nightmare waiting for you at Beestone castle. All is forgiven. I mean that sincerely. I shall never be angry with you over that matter. Nor bring it up in any way to cast blame. Sir Simon is my witness. I swear it as a king and as a knight.”
Relief flooded Ransom’s heart. Benedict had indeed been testing him, only not as he’d thought.
“Thank you, my lord,” Ransom said. “I’m relieved to hear it.”
“And thank you for not skewering me that day outside Dunmanis. To be honest, I was a bit reckless. Haste has always been my way. I see now that it was a blunder. Not every knight would have been as forgiving. I didn’t just bring you here to make peace on that score. I need you. I need your service, just as my brother did. Just as my father did.”
Ransom swallowed in surprise and nearly choked. “Pardon me, my lord?”
“You heard me. My father was prone to harboring resentments. I cannot allow those to cloud my judgment. I need men around me that I can trust. Those who have shown fidelity and honesty throughout their years. I need the best men in the realm. So I want you on my council, Ransom. Let me be frank. I need you. Most of my father’s supporters abandoned him at the end. And those same men and women would be quick to abandon me as well. You held out until the end. You stayed by his side until he died. That kind of loyalty is not only uncommon. It’s remarkable.”
The hope bursting through Ransom, raw and powerful, yet delicate, made him almost queasy. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I have only done my duty, my lord.”
“Yes! Duty! That is what I need if I am to be successful. Too often my father convinced himself that he was right. His own success blinded him to his faults. I already know that I have a plentitude of them. I need men of good faith to advise me. Here is what I propose. Is it true that my father promised you the duchy of Glosstyr and wardship of Lady Claire de Murrow? I do believe that I am well informed on that count.”
“It is true,” Ransom said. “Although the agreement was never consummated.”
Benedict smiled. “Sir Simon? Can you vouch for this?”
“It is true, my lord,” Simon said eagerly. “The papers were drawn up, but no ceremony has been performed.”
“Then my first act as King of Ceredigion is to uphold my father’s command. She’s yours, Ransom. If she’ll still have you.” He smiled knowingly. “I jest. I’ve heard she has always kept you close to her heart. May the Fountain bless your marriage. All previous gifts from the crown are ratified as well. You will be, if I’m not mistaken, the wealthiest noble in Ceredigion when this is done. And you will add to our dominion when you tame those rascals in Legault. Some of them have vexed me in my own duchy because of how near they are. No more. What say you, Ransom? Will you serve me? I give you these gifts regardless of your answer.”