“Thank you, my lord,” Ransom said, bowing.
“There’s one more matter to finish, though.” The king gestured to one of his servants, who left the room. “Your sword must be returned. Allow my servant to fetch it.”
“Left flank! Left flank!” Willem declared, picking up on the prince’s earlier suggestion. Although Prince Devon was quiet, he had an authoritative way about him and, it seemed, an eye for strategy. Both qualities lent themselves to leadership.
The servant came rushing in, holding Ransom’s scabbard and sword. Ransom recognized both immediately, and as soon as he saw them, he felt the calming feeling of the Fountain ripple through him.
“Ah, here we are!” said Jon-Landon.
The servant approached Ransom. “These are correct, Lord Ransom?”
“Yes,” Ransom said, taking the scabbard from him.
“Léa,” said the king. “Would you do the honors and gird him?”
“Of course,” she said and came to stand by Ransom. He held the sword out to her, and she unbound the strap. Then, coming closer, she wrapped it around his waist before hooking the pin in place. The familiar and dearly missed weight of the blade settled into place. She smoothed the front of Ransom’s tunic and stepped back.
“It is done,” she said.
The king looked into Ransom’s eyes. “Do you still swear fealty to me as your liege lord and king?”
It sounded like a plea for forgiveness.
Ransom dropped to his knee before Jon-Landon. “I do and ever have, my lord.” He felt the Fountain churn, felt his stores of magic swell as if waves were crashing within him.
Jon-Landon looked relieved. He took Ransom’s hand and raised him up. “You may go home, Lord Ransom. Until I summon you again.”
Ransom rose. He went to his sons, who quickly scrambled to their feet to embrace him. He clutched them both, kissing their cheeks.
“Good-bye, Lord Ransom,” said the princess, smiling at him.
Ransom tousled his sons’ hair and turned and found the prince approaching him.
“F-farewell, Lord Ransom,” said Prince Devon. “I hope we shall meet again soon.”
A strange feeling passed over Ransom’s heart. For a moment, it felt as if he were parting from Emiloh and Devon the Elder, who’d just arrived at Kingfountain with their young children. So much had changed in the intervening years.
“I hope so,” Ransom told the boy. He felt a strong swelling of loyalty to the young man. The one the Fountain had chosen to succeed his father. The future king of Ceredigion.
Cecily had been assigned by the king to accompany Ransom to Glosstyr along with an escort of knights and the two wagons full of treasure. It was her job, as Espion envoy, to make sure the hostages were all accounted for and the terms of the agreement upheld.
On the last leg, they traveled overnight due to Ransom’s impatience, arriving before dawn. When he saw the lit fortress of Glosstyr, Ransom felt relieved beyond measure. A force rode to meet him, and he recognized Dawson at the front of the cohort of knights.
The two groups met, Ransom gave Dawson the knightly salute, and his knight grinned while returning it. His gaze shifted to Cecily as she approached on her stallion.
“You are Sir Dawson?” she asked.
His mouth gaped when he saw her. Then, collecting himself, he answered, “Yes. I am he.”
“Good,” Cecily said. “Come inspect the treasure. May I see the hostages?”
“They are at the gate. Shall I escort you?”
Her brow wrinkled in amusement. “I know the way. Your job is to inspect the treasure.”
“Yes, pardon me,” he said, his cheeks suddenly flaming. Dawson was clearly flustered by her, something Ransom had never witnessed in the usually confident, collected man. Cecily gave Ransom an amused glance before riding off toward the city.
Dawson, who’d turned back in his saddle to watch her go, murmured, “By the Fountain, she is fair! Who is she?”
“She’s one of the Espion. Cecily.”
“The one who helped you? You never said she was so beautiful.”
“Gather your wits, man,” Ransom said, amused in spite of himself. “You’ll be riding with her back to Kingfountain.”
Dawson chuffed. “Then I won’t be dreading this exile as much as I thought. Is the treasure in those wagons?”
“Where else? Come on, Dawson. Your duty.”
Dawson nodded, glancing back the way he’d come once more before he dismounted and began searching the thick leather chests. He dug through the livres, plunging his dagger into each collection of coins to make sure it was sufficiently deep. He counted one entirely and then expressed his satisfaction to Ransom and returned to his horse.
When Cecily returned, she nodded to Ransom. “All is in order. Faulkes is anxious to depart.”
“He can wait,” Ransom said. “Let’s unload the chests in the city first. Then they may leave.”
“Very well,” she said.
They brought the wagons the rest of the way, and guards from Glosstyr emerged to carry the chests, so heavy they required two men each, away from the wagons. The wagons would be used to help cart the prisoners back to Kingfountain. Extra horses had been brought for the nobles to ride. Faulkes, who showed no repentance or humility for his role in the attack on Legault, shot impatient looks at Ransom as he waited for the exchange. Ransom ignored him.
At last, the exchange was done, and the prisoners were set free. Cecily gave Ransom a final nod and then brought her horse to Dawson. “Come with me, Sir Dawson. We have much to discuss on the journey back.”
“I look forward to it, my lady,” he said, giving Ransom a final salute.
No doubt he meant it.
By sundown, Ransom was back at Connaught castle.
There were no lingering signs of battle—the castle looked just as it had when he’d left it. They’d come earlier than expected, so no one was waiting for the ship to approach. He climbed the steps of the wharf and then came up the cliff road to the castle as night birds began to call. Torches lit the path as he made his way home, smelling the beautiful sea and greeting the knights and servants he passed, who addressed him with warmth and respect.
“Welcome home, my lord,” several of them said to him.
He entered the castle and heard a squeal when Sibyl came rushing into his arms.
“Papa! Papa!”
Then Claire was there, rushing down the steps from the upper rooms. She came into his arms, and he lifted her off her feet, swinging her around. She pressed kisses to his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, then finally found his mouth. Their littlest, Keeva, came toddling up as well.
It felt like his heart would burst with gratitude.
“I wasn’t expecting you until the morrow,” she said, still suspended off her feet.
“I couldn’t wait,” he told her, bringing her down at last and squeezing her close. He stroked her hair, which glimmered crimson in the torchlight. They were a spectacle to the entire castle staff, but he didn’t care. For that one stolen moment, it was just the two of them again.
“You defeated the King of Ceredigion,” he told her after setting her down. He lifted a hand to stroke her chin. “You stopped his invasion of Legault. How does it feel? I am so proud of you.”