The memory of his relative, of his mentor, brought a pang to his heart. Sir Bryon was dead, at rest in the Deep Fathoms. With each passing year, more people joined him there.
Simon was mindful of Ransom’s silence. He didn’t press him further, but Ransom could feel his friend’s scrutiny.
“I’m not going to do it,” he said with a chuckle. “However much I dislike him. He was young when Devon and Emiloh’s marriage fell apart. He was the youngest of the sons, the least prepared to rule.”
“To be honest, I wish this could be a deception. It’s evil news.”
Ransom nodded. “I know her. Her anger, her outrage, was real. And they have the Wizr board. If Jon-Landon did kill the hostages, then it would be easy enough for them to find out. You’ve seen the way she can travel. It would be easy for them to verify what they saw. Which is what I’d like you to do. Discreetly.”
“Of course,” Simon said. “The one who died here . . . I thought it was an unfortunate turn of health, but he might have been poisoned. There was another hostage sent to Blackpool. I can inquire.”
“Do it quickly, but carefully. I don’t trust Bodkin.”
“I never did,” Simon said. “He was a hardened criminal before he joined the Espion. I only used him for unsavory tasks.”
“When you go back to Legault, bring the treasury with you and enough men to help Claire defend Connaught. I’ll take the scutage to Kingfountain. Make the arrangements.”
“I will.” He gave Ransom a nervous look. “Be careful. If Jon-Landon truly committed such an outrage, who knows what he’s capable of.”
“Exactly,” Ransom said, walking faster, worrying about his sons.
The ship left immediately and traveled through the night, reaching the palace at the darkest part of dawn, but torches illuminated the palace walls in places. It looked gloomy in the dark, rising up on the wooded hills, a menacing structure instead of the symbol of strength it had always seemed to him. He’d deliberately landed at the merchants’ docks, on the other side of the falls. He would go to the castle in the morning, a day earlier than the king had demanded of him. The time would be spent listening, trying to understand the state of things.
He wore no badge on his tunic, though he did wear his hauberk under a large, dark cloak that would help conceal his identity. He gave orders to the captain to bring the scutage tax to the king’s dock later that day and then left his ship without an escort and walked down the wooden docks. The sailors he passed were in a jovial mood, having imbibed a bit too much, but he avoided them and began walking the streets of Kingfountain.
He wished he had Dappled, but his destrier was back in Connaught. As he walked the streets, his thoughts turned to home—to Claire, Dearley, and Dawson. To his little girls’ sweet kisses.
He stopped first at the home of one of the city guard, a man he’d known for many years. From him, Ransom was able to piece together that most of the sordid gossip about the king was true. The man, whom he trusted, begged him not to mention his name for fear of the king’s wrath. Ransom offered his thanks, his assurances, and a few coins. Next, he went to visit a blacksmith who had done work for him in the past. He corroborated that the hostages had been dispersed to different towns. After that, Ransom decided to go to the sanctuary to try to speak to the deconeus.
A warning feeling came into his heart, and he sensed someone walking behind him. Ransom turned, hand on his sword hilt, and saw a skulking figure suddenly flinch and turn the other way. The premonition faded. His Fountain magic had protected him from yet another attack, and he knew it would continue to serve him as long as he stayed loyal to the king. Even if the king didn’t deserve his loyalty.
The gate to the sanctuary was still closed for the night, and he thought it unwise to draw further attention to himself by ringing the bell and asking for an audience. Better to find a place to stay until morning.
There were only three inns on the bridge spanning the river and the falls, and he walked to the nearest one. The innkeeper refused to rent a room to a man not wearing a badge, however, so he made his way to the next one and found the management more agreeable. After a generous meal of beef stew and bread, he retired to his room. The lock on the door was sturdy, and he kept the key nearby as he lay on the bed fully dressed, smelling the musty blanket and hearing the noise bubbling up from the common room below.
He couldn’t fall asleep, so he stared at the ceiling and watched a moth dance against the panes of glass in the window, seeking to enter the room.
An hour passed, maybe more, and the din from the tavern had not abated when he heard a soft knock at the door.
Ransom’s brows beetled as he listened for the sound to come again, and sure enough, the knock was repeated.
He got off the bed and approached the door. With his Fountain magic, he sensed only one person outside. He did not feel any danger.
Ransom unlocked the door, ready to launch into action if the visitor was a foe after all, and saw Cecily standing at the doorway, holding a candle. The Espion gave him a mocking grin. “Is that all the trouble you took to conceal your arrival? Lord Ransom, I’d thought better of you.”
“Hello, Cecily,” he said, nodding.
“Can I come in? I won’t stay long. I have to get back to the palace.”
He did not feel threatened by her in any way, so he opened the door wider. There was just the bed and a small table near the windows with a pitcher and bowl on it. Cecily put the candle on the table and sat on the edge of the bed. Ransom leaned back against the door, folding his arms, and watched as she lowered her hood.
“Are my sons in good health?” he asked her.
“Very, considering the amount of climbing they do. They’ve exhausted everyone set to watch over them, and delight in evading their caretakers and hiding throughout the castle. I did show them some of the Espion tunnels, so they know how to disappear rather efficiently. They think it’s all quite a game.”
Ransom let out a grateful sigh. “Thank you.”
Cecily gave him a serious look. “Why didn’t you go directly to the palace? It’s early still.”
“I came to get information before surrendering.”
Her brow wrinkled. “What information?”
He looked her in the eye. “About the Occitanian hostages.”
She flinched and looked away. Then she met his gaze again, the joviality drained away. “How could you have learned of it? It is a closely guarded secret.”
“Yet still . . . I know. So it’s true? They’re all dead?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Why?” Ransom said in distress. “Why would he do that? He gave up a fortune and will bring curses on himself for this vile deed.”
Cecily’s eyes fixed on his. “Because he’s drunk on his power, Ransom. That’s the only way I can explain it. After he won at Auxaunce, he’s been a different man. More paranoid if you can believe it. More distrusting. He knew it would be a hugely damaging blow to Estian. You know how long it takes to train a knight. The expense. It will take Occitania years to recover.”
“So it was political? It’s cold-blooded murder!”
Cecily flinched and looked down. “Yes. It was.”
Ransom stared at her. “You participated, didn’t you?”