Ransom sighed. That much was true. “So he wants me out of the way?”
“No. A truce is what he wants. He knows there is nothing he could offer that would make you switch sides. Especially not a castle. So no, Lord Ransom, this is no attempt at bribery, no underhanded ruse. What he wants is time to plan his next move, and he’s willing to make concessions to get it. Shake my hand and say we have an accord.” He extended his hand to Ransom, who stared at it. “As you see, I hold no sword or dagger in it.”
No warning came. There were a good many reasons to distrust Estian. But if the Occitanian king reneged on the deal, they would be no worse off than they were now. Indeed, they would have gained a castle from it.
He took the man’s hand.
“I will come to Chessy and see for myself,” Ransom said. “But if Estian is as good as your promises, then I accept the truce in the name of my king.”
Lord Montfort sighed with relief.
“This is tremendous news,” Dearley said, rising from the sofa he’d been sitting on, watching the exchange with obvious excitement.
“May we rest here for the night?” Ransom asked, still gripping Montfort’s hand.
“Of course. You are protected under the rights of hospitality. And so are your men.” They broke the clasp.
Montfort pitched his voice low once again. “Constance said you would say yes. She also bid me give you this.” He reached into his tunic and withdrew a sealed note, one with the raven sigil stamped into the wax.
Ransom opened it and turned away from Lord Montfort.
Dear Ransom,
You will see my son before I do. Tell him that his mother loves him and thinks of him every day. Guyaume is my husband now. He is loyal and true. I’ve come to trust him as I have trusted you. Please give him the ring you received from Lord Terencourt. That is one last secret I must share with him. The Fountain bids it, and I have seen a vision that he will need it.
With charity,
Constance
The ships I sent to the Vexin never made it there. Estian’s fleet was moored along the coast, making it impossible to reach them. The sailors saw smoke coming from the direction of Auxaunce. My ships returned, and here they’ll stay to defend our coasts from attack.
Word came from Ransom of a peace treaty that Estian wants. He’s offering Josselin castle as a token of good faith, but there is no good faith in Estian Vertus. The treaty is a ruse, a ploy. I sent Sir Galveson to find Ransom and Sir Trebet to warn the king.
Little Sibyl asked if her papa was going to be all right. I don’t know. I fear he’s blind to what’s really going on.
—Claire de Murrow, “Duchess” of Legault
(the surge of war)
CHAPTER FIVE
Face-to-Face
The countryside of Occitania stretched beautifully before him, full of lush, rolling hills and stands of aspen. As they moved farther from the border, there were fewer signs of the ravages of war. Ransom led his men at a strong pace, and he kept his senses on alert for warnings that they were headed into an ambush. The scouts continued to report that the land ahead was tranquil. They had encountered a few Occitanian knights patrolling the road to Pree, but Ransom’s presence was expected, and they were greeted with civility despite the long-standing hostility between the two kingdoms.
The ring’s absence was more noticeable than he’d expected. For so many years he’d worn it in secret, prepared to be summoned to the Grove should the need arise, although its summons hadn’t come since before Jon-Landon was made king. The Occitanians, once so intent on stealing the treasure in the grove, had put a halt to their efforts, perhaps because Drew had been taken and Constance had married one of Estian’s men. He’d given the ring to Montfort, who had departed back to Brythonica per his king’s orders instead of joining him on the journey to Chessy.
Ransom knew the road well and marveled at all the new farmsteads that had been built. As they drew near Chessy, located along the road to Pree and adjacent to the Bois de Meridienne, a royal wood used for war games and hunting, his heart panged with memories of his younger days. He recalled walking with Claire through the maze of tents and pavilions when he was nothing but a lowly knight. He missed her deeply. He missed his children. Now, standing on the cusp of possibly ending this war, if only for a few years, he was filled with a fiery surge of longing for his family. He wished to go home. To sit by a hearth and stroke Claire’s hair. To listen to the stories of his children and to share his own with them.
Still, the thought of kneeling before Estian and swearing fealty to him for Josselin castle made his stomach churn. It did not require the same depth of loyalty as making Estian his liege lord, but it still meant something, and he had to wonder whether he was making a mistake.
There were only a few Occitanian knights milling about. No tournament was in progress—or at least, Estian had canceled it so the two sides could meet without fanfare. Open fields with tall grass spread out around the encampment and a patch of denser woods could be seen on the farther side. Ransom reached out with his Fountain magic.
And he sensed Lady Alix immediately.
She was Fountain-blessed too, and they’d always had the ability to know when the other was close. Her presence put him on his guard once more, and he frowned as they rode through the main thoroughfare.
One of the tents had been there back in his tournament days. It was adorned with black and white stripes and contained Occitanian confections, his favorite being penuche. He turned to Dearley as they rode.
“Have one of the knights buy some penuche from that tent,” he said, gesturing to the one. “I want to take some back to Claire.”
“Of course,” Dearley answered and pulled back slightly to give the order.
A formidable knight on a massive destrier met them partway down the road. He wore the badge of the Fleur-de-Lis.
“Welcome, Lord Ransom,” said the knight, offering the familiar salute. “The king is expecting you.”
Ransom returned the salute and replied in Occitanian. “It is my privilege to come. Tell him I come in peace.”
All seemed in order. A few of the camp dwellers observed the newcomers with interest. Some with glares of hostility. They reached a huge pavilion set up at the end of the road, a triple-poled tent that was tall and broad and held three sections. He sensed Alix inside the pavilion, and knights wearing the badge of Estian stood guard outside. A dozen, perhaps. He saw others patrolling in the distance.
Ransom gazed at them warily. So far, the promises had been fulfilled. Still, Alix’s presence disturbed him. She might only be present because Estian was—the king probably brought her everywhere as his bodyguard—but it left him ill at ease.
When they reached the golden pavilion, Ransom dismounted, and Dearley and Dawson did the same. The latter had his hand on his sword hilt, and he sized up the guards with a look of disdain in his eyes. Dearley looked worried but tried to project strength. He brushed his shoulder against Ransom’s arm. “It seems harmless enough,” he said in a low voice.
Ransom looked at the guards. “Alix is here,” he said softly.
Dearley stiffened. “Do you think she’ll attack us?”
Ransom considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “I suspect she’s here to protect the king. I doubt he goes anywhere without her. Don’t eat anything. Don’t drink anything. Warn the men to be wary of her words. She has a way of persuading someone against their better judgment.”