Flooded with determination, Ransom rushed down the hall as several more Espion charged up the stairs, responding to the noise of violence. Ransom grabbed the railing and kicked the foremost man hard in the chest, knocking him backward into his fellows. Ransom charged down the steps, using his elbows to rush them. As they collapsed in a pile at the foot of the stairs, he vaulted over the railing and landed in the common room amidst startled shouts. Two men stood guard at the door, and both unsheathed long swords.
Ransom drew his bastard sword and marched toward them, anger seething in his chest. Neither of them were knights, and neither wore armor.
The two, seeing his glaring eyes, fled their post while the men in a pile at the bottom of the stairs scrambled over each other in confusion, trying to rise.
“Stop him! Stop him!” came a shout from upstairs.
Ransom shoved his way out of the inn. He saw a knot of horses tied up nearby, each still saddled. The Espions’ horses. Ransom grabbed the first, a dusky mare, and swung up onto the saddle without releasing his bastard sword. He severed the rope tying the beast to the bar and turned it toward the sanctuary of Our Lady.
His heart hammered in his chest, part with exhilaration and part with dread. Would he end up in a dungeon now that he’d defied the king’s Espion? The men hadn’t announced themselves, however, nor had they ordered him in the king’s name. He felt a little bit of pride at how easily he’d overpowered them, but he squashed it down as he urged the horse to gallop. Cries came from the inn he’d left, and he heard the men rushing to grab their horses, save the master of the one he’d taken.
The gates to the sanctuary were in the middle point of the bridge, about halfway to the palace. The rush of the falls blotted the sounds of pursuit as he hastened away. When he reached the gates, they were closed, the grounds beyond them darkened.
He swung off the saddle and then sheathed his sword and marched to the gate. The sounds of pursuit came from behind him. He grabbed the bars and wrenched on them, but they’d been locked. The sound of footsteps reached his ears, and the buttery light of a lantern illuminated the sexton as he walked to the gate.
“I see him! He’s at the gates of the sanctuary!” shouted a voice. The thunder of hooves grew louder, clashing against the roar of the falls.
The sexton lifted the lantern to shine the light on Ransom’s face. “Do you come seeking sanctuary from the king’s justice?”
The Espion were nearly to them, and Ransom’s heart raced. “I’m the Duke of Glosstyr,” he said firmly. “Open the gate.”
The sexton’s face pinched in surprise, and he lifted the lantern higher. Ransom leaned against the bars, regarding the man without flinching.
The sexton set down the lantern and rushed forward, digging into his pocket for the key. It was then the other horses arrived. Several of the Espion had blood smeared on their faces from the ferocity of his attack.
“Grab him! Take him before he makes it inside!”
The sexton’s hands were shaking as he fumbled the key into the lock. The latch released, and he pulled the gate open. Ransom darted inside and helped slam it shut, holding it in place while the nervous sexton locked it again.
One of the Espion reached through the bars and grabbed the front of Ransom’s tunic, his face twisted with anger. In retaliation, Ransom grabbed the man’s wrist and tugged him forward, bringing him face-first into the bars of the gate. Releasing his grip, he watched the man grimace and rub his mouth.
“You think you’re safe in there, Lord Barton?” said one of the Espion in a sneering voice.
“He is protected by the deconeus,” said the sexton. “Leave at once. These are hallowed grounds.”
The man whose face had been smashed against the bars kept rubbing his mouth. “We’ll see about that,” he said scornfully.
“If the deconeus orders the bells rung,” said the sexton, “we’ll see if anyone arrives in time to save you. Do you want to test your faith against the falls? It’s a long . . . way . . . down.”
The Espion were clearly furious, but the sexton’s comment didn’t fail to move them. A spark of fear had entered their eyes, and some stepped back from the gate.
“There is nowhere to run, Barton,” said the ringleader. “You’re in a cage regardless.”
It was true. Ransom glared at the man, knowing he could have easily killed all of them. It would have been self-defense, but even so, he knew it would have made him a traitor to the crown for certain.
Should he have surrendered to them without a contest? Perhaps, but it would have made him lesser in his own eyes.
He turned his back on the Espion and walked toward the sanctuary, gazing up at the darkened spires. The fountains on the grounds were silent.
And so were the whispers in his heart.
The accommodations Ransom was given by the deconeus were lush compared to the inn where he’d paid for a room. Because of the hour, the deconeus said they would talk after sunrise and discuss what to do next. He was given food, even though he wasn’t hungry, and then he lay awake worrying he’d made things worse for himself.
The bells rang in the morning, awakening him from his fitful sleep. He drank, washed his face, and then went to meet with the deconeus as planned. He was escorted to the man’s study, which featured a glass door leading to the rear gardens of the sanctuary. It was lavishly decorated, the floor the same polished marble with offset black and white squares as existed throughout the chapel.
The deconeus, Archibald, was the same man who had been tricked into performing the marriage between Jon-Landon and Léa DeVaux. He was an aging fellow, with thinning white hair and several liver spots on his face, and had served Kingfountain for many years. He sat behind his desk, regarding Ransom with a worried brow, and waved for him to take a seat on the couch, which he did.
“Have you had anything to eat, Lord Ransom?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I imagine not,” said Archibald. “Are you ready to discuss the situation? We are not friends, you and I. But you are a man of the world. I’m sure we can speak freely with each other.”
“I’d hope so,” Ransom said. He felt the urge to pace but remained on the couch.
“I’m expecting the captain of the king’s guard to arrive at any moment. The king knows you’re here. That puts me in a . . . delicate situation.”
“I’m sure it does,” Ransom said. “It wasn’t my intention to bring trouble to your doorstep, Deconeus.”
“Well, trouble has a way of finding us whether we wish it or no. May I speak frankly, Lord Ransom? Is it your intention to claim sanctuary instead of facing the king’s justice?”
“No.”
Archibald frowned. “Then why did you come?”
“I came because I was going to be falsely arrested last night. It was my plan, all along, to stop by the sanctuary and drop some coins in the fountain. But I’m going to the castle today.”
The older man sighed in relief. “That does spare me an unpleasant confrontation with the king. He’s become quite unpredictable, of late. I’ve heard . . . rumors . . . which are quite upsetting. But they were told to me in confidence, so I cannot share them with you.”
Ransom leaned forward. “About the hostages?”