Ransom’s scabbard was irreplaceable. Acquired during his pilgrimage to the Chandleer Oasis, it was a treasure of the Deep Fathoms, one that healed his injuries. He felt the urge to resist, because losing it would be a grievous outcome, but he knew the king would take it as the aggravation he was seeking. Did the king know of the scabbard’s magic? Ransom had taken pains to keep it secret.
“As you command, my lord,” said the captain. He turned and approached Ransom, reaching for the buckle and strap. Ransom wanted to punch him in the face and defend his own property, but he submitted to the disarming, to the humiliation that Jon-Landon had designed for him.
When the captain took the scabbard in his hands, Ransom felt a hollow sensation open inside his chest, accompanied by a feeling of nakedness and vulnerability.
But he dared not show on his face how much he resented the king for what he’d done.
When the ships were seen coming toward the docks at Connaught, we thought at first they were reinforcements from Glosstyr. But alas, the eejits were sailing from Kingfountain to block our harbor. I’ve had no news of Ransom since he went to the palace, and now it looks like I’ll have none at all. Because of the cliffs, we have the higher ground, and their ships cannot come too near for fear of our catapults. But they shall stop supplies from coming. We are cut off.
Sibyl says the ships are ugly. She told me I should make them go away. Sweet lass, if only I could.
Our scouts continue to watch the road to Atha Kleah. When Dearley returned from his latest journey, he brought news that Lord Faulkes is gathering a force outside the town. It seems many Legaultans have defected to Jon-Landon’s side. Perhaps they were enticed by the coins he’s paying all those mercenaries. I asked Dearley how many he thinks they have in their camp. He didn’t want to tell me, but I demanded an answer. Eight thousand by his reckoning. But the numbers are swelling.
That is a sizable force to bring to a siege. Without reinforcements from Glosstyr, we have about four thousand. We can hold the castle with that many. But eventually we’ll run out of meat, out of grain. Once they surround the hillside, we won’t be able to hunt game from the woods.
Waiting this out doesn’t seem to be our best option.
—Claire de Murrow, Queen of the Fair Isle
(all things must come to an end)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Prisoner of Kingfountain
Ransom asked to see his sons, and they were brought to him in the main corridor of the palace, escorted by a slender man with a hooked nose and shaggy eyebrows who couldn’t hide the disdain he had for them. The boys greeted their father with a hurried embrace after Ransom dropped to one knee. He was stunned by how much they’d grown since he’d brought them to the palace.
“Are you staying with us now, Father?” Willem asked with excitement.
“Of course he is, don’t be an eejit,” said Devon, elbowing his brother in the ribs.
Ransom’s heart nearly overflowed with relief, and he held his sons tightly, breathing them in. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he’d feared for them. The news about Drew had hit him hard. The boys grinned at him and asked so many questions he couldn’t hope to answer them.
“How is Máthair?” Devon asked, using the Gaultic term for mother.
“I miss Lord Toole. Is he well? Did you bring us a treat?”
“Can you come to the training yard with us tomorrow?”
“That’s enough,” barked the slender man. “Your father is a prisoner of the crown.”
The lads stared at the fellow in wide-eyed amazement, then shared a worried look.
“You’ve seen them, Lord Ransom. That’s enough. Now I must take them for their exercise.”
Willem rolled his eyes and gave the man a resentful look. “Aldous, we haven’t seen our father in months! He can walk us around the grounds.”
“Show us the tree you used to climb with Máthair!” Devon enthused. “I think I know the one!”
“No!” Aldous snapped. “If you behave, which I doubt, you’ll be allowed to see him later. Come with me, boys.”
Ransom rose. He towered over the boys’ keeper, but the man didn’t look intimidated. His expression was scornful.
“These two are incorrigible,” he said. “Always sneaking off and getting into mischief. Come, lads. To the training yard.”
Willem and Devon looked at Ransom imploringly, hoping their father would defy the man, but he nodded for them to do the man’s bidding. He had little choice. They were not his to command.
Willem sulked a bit, and Devon blasted Aldous with a withering look. They waved to their father before leaving. At least they were healthy. He watched them go, feeling both relief and pain. He wondered if he’d be given permission to write to Claire. If so, he had no doubt the Espion would read every word. He still had the letters she’d written to the boys, but he’d hand those over later.
At least he wasn’t being confined to the tower or the dungeon. The king had given him leave to wander the castle and its grounds with absolute freedom. But as he walked around the inner circle of the castle, it felt as if the very walls were pressing on him. He felt the absence of his sword and scabbard keenly, unused to the lack of weight on his hip. It brought back memories of his captivity with DeVaux’s men. And the thought of those cold days, starving and alone, drove him to seek out the warmth of the kitchen.
He paused in the threshold, taking in the hanging pots, the bunches of dried herbs, and the delightful aroma of baking bread. The upper windows were bright and cheerful, and flames licked the inside of the ovens. Thick sausages hung from the walls on hooks. He saw the table and benches where he and Claire had sat and talked after the Elder King finally granted him permission to court her. The image in his mind made his chest ache. He worried about what she might be enduring in Connaught. Not knowing was a cruel torture.
“Lord Ransom? Is that you?”
One of the undercooks approached him with a friendly smile.
He nodded to her. “Could I get something to eat?”
“Of course! Come whenever you like. I’ll put together a plate for you.”
He entered the kitchen, lost in his memories, and sat down at the table, propping his elbows up on it and trying not to let his worries overwhelm him. He didn’t know how long he would be a prisoner at the palace. The king could hold him there for as long as it took to attack Legault. Would any of the Legaultans prove faithful? Or would they abandon Claire and leave her to fend for herself?
“Hello, Lord Ransom.”
He turned his head and found the prince had just entered with one of his tutors. The boy walked right up to his table, a serious look on his face.
“Hello, lad. Hungry?”
“Master Anthon has been tutoring me in languages. I think better when my stomach isn’t empty.”
Ransom smiled. “Languages were a struggle to me.”
“I’ve heard you speak Occitanian very well.”
“Oh?”
“And that you used to live in Chessy when you were in the tournaments.”
The cook brought the prince a scone with a glaze drizzled on the top, her expression fond, and the boy smiled and thanked her.
“After languages, what do you study next?” Ransom asked.