When they reached the sanctuary, Ransom used his Fountain magic to see if he could sense any threats to the king. He didn’t feel anything, although his magic had been diminished of late. Still, he felt some trepidation as he dismounted with the king and followed him into the sanctuary.
Emiloh’s body had already been prepared and lay within a canoe draped with lavender-colored linen, propped to waist height atop poles and a funeral bier. Her face was waxy and shrunken, the luster of her hair muted in death. Seeing her like that caused a jolt of pain in his heart. It was her, but it was a husk. As he examined her face, he looked for signs of the incurable poison that had taken the life of her husband and two of her sons. He didn’t find any. Although the people who’d prepared her body would no doubt have cleaned any blood that had leaked from her eyes or nose, that particular poison caused a languishing death, and it would have left more signs. He reached into the boat and put his hand atop Emiloh’s, which were crossed over her breast. The skin felt rigid and cold.
Jon-Landon, who had already peered into the canoe and moved past it, returned, as if shamed by the respect Ransom was showing his mother. His lips pulled back in a near snarl, but he reached out and touched the edge of the boat with his gloved hand. His breath came in and out quickly as he wrestled with his emotions.
Then, pursing his lips, he breathed out again and retreated a few steps. “There,” he sighed out. “Wasn’t as bad as I feared.”
Ransom looked at the king but said nothing. There was a haunted expression in Jon-Landon’s eyes. Now that they’d paid their respects, they assembled a group to carry the canoe to the river. This included Ransom, Lord Jex, who had served as the queen’s steward in Auxaunce, as well as other members of her household guard, knights all. They carried their cargo solemnly. Ransom felt his eyes burning, but he didn’t let his tears fall. When they reached the edge of the river, the deconeus performed the funeral rites while they stood at attention. When he finished, they lowered the front of the staves so that the canoe slid into the river. Ransom watched as it bobbed downstream. His throat was tight, but he kept a grip on his emotions.
They left after the ceremony to ensure they were clear of Westmarch before sunset. As he rode eastward, Ransom found himself thinking about the past, of all the times he had traveled the realm in service to the various kings. With enemies attacking their shores on multiple fronts, would Jon-Landon’s stubbornness continue, or would he finally rely on the man whose loyalty he’d despised?
When they reached Beestone castle again, they were all weary from the journey and grateful for the feast that had been prepared in anticipation of their arrival. Jon-Landon drank heavily during the meal, his mood becoming darker as the night wore on.
Ransom was about to retire for the night when a man hurried into the audience hall and delivered a message to the king. He bent close and whispered in the king’s ear. Jon-Landon’s eyes widened in surprise. He asked a quick question, listened to the response, and then hurriedly opened the sealed note he’d been given. Ransom watched him read the news, wondering what it was about. Another attack from the Brugians?
The king lowered the page and carefully folded it again. He lifted his gaze and searched the hall until his eyes fixed on Ransom’s. The king smirked at the sight of him, gesturing for him to approach.
His stomach twisting in knots, Ransom left his place and approached the head of the king’s table.
“Yes, my lord?”
Jon-Landon tapped the note against the edge of the table. “News from Legault,” he said.
Another twist in his stomach. “Oh?”
“Looks like our troubles there are over,” he said, giving Ransom a vicious smile. “Your wife took a terrible gamble, one that failed. She hid the bulk of her forces in the woods outside the castle and attacked Faulkes’s forces. It was a slaughter. Simon is dead. So is Dearley. The castle surrendered two nights ago. I’m glad they did. I would have hated to raze it. What’s done is done. I thought you’d want to know.”
Ransom stared at the king in disbelief, his emotions churning beneath a veneer of calm. Connaught had fallen so quickly? He’d imagined it would take months to lay siege to it. He’d hoped they’d last long enough for winter to come, forcing Faulkes to withdraw for a season. But Dearley was dead . . . and Simon . . . and this man was smiling. His gaze traveled to the sharp knife at the side of the king’s plate. For a moment, he considered grabbing it and plunging it into Jon-Landon’s neck.
The urge for violence pulsed until he saw red, but he managed to thrust it down, even as it threatened to drive him mad. Jon-Landon wouldn’t realize how close he’d come to dying at that moment.
“What?” Jon-Landon scoffed. “You lost. I’ve defeated you. And you’ve nothing to say?”
Ransom looked him in the eye, feeling the sear of anger and grief. “My lord, by the Fountain’s grace, I have been loyal to you all the while. I came when you summoned me, even though my friends warned me against it. But I didn’t want to believe, my lord, this is how you would reward my faithfulness to you and your family.”
Jon-Landon lifted his goblet to drink, but it was empty. He thumped it hard on the table and scowled at a nearby servant, who rushed to fill it.
“Then I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said to Ransom, not meeting his gaze. “Go. I cannot bear the sight of you.” He grimaced with loathing and contempt.
Ransom left the great hall in a daze, anger chafing inside his heart. Disbelief and loss crawling through him. Dearley was dead? Simon too? What of Dawson? Had he remained in the castle to defend Claire? He gazed up at the stars dappling the sky, wanting to let out a roar of anguish.
He only let it out when he was sure there was no one to hear him.
I can scarce trust my hand to write these words. It is over. We have won. The risk was great, which makes the victory all the sweeter. The army of Ceredigion is vanquished, and we have a surfeit of hostages to bargain for peace. I’m in awe at the suddenness of the transformation of our fortunes. Here is our story.
I chose to hide the bulk of our forces in the hunting woods but also another contingent in marshland to the southeast. We cleared all traces of our presence and awaited the enemy’s arrival. I had proposed that Dearley defend the castle because I know he isn’t as strong at arms as Dawson and also because Elodie is pregnant with their child, but he made an impassioned plea not to be set aside. He swore it was his duty to risk his life for his lord and his lady, that Ransom had suffered grievous wounds on his behalf, and that it was his right, as first knight, to stand in his lord’s place. He argued that Dawson, who was the best champion we have, should guard my life with his own and see to the defense of the castle if our plan failed. We discussed it openly, with great candor, and I felt I could no more deny him that right than I could have done to my husband.
Dearley led a rousing speech before they left the castle. He spoke from the heart, sharing the common feeling of loyalty and love that my husband’s knights share for him. He said that the Fountain would be with us if they stayed true to their oaths, for they were defending home and hearth from a dishonorable man. Even though we were outnumbered, we would fight with the strength of true lions, not false ones made of thread and worn on badges. I was impressed by Dearley’s vigor. He saluted us and led the forces into the woods while Captain Baldwin hastened the younger lads to the marshes. Simon led the reserves, and it was agreed he would choose the best moment to interject them.