Thoughts of Claire and his children rushed through his mind, nearly bringing tears. He struggled against the surge of emotion, determined to do his duty whatever the cost. But the soreness in his heart was real.
I submit, Ransom answered in his mind.
When they reached the gates to the sanctuary, he gazed up at the spires and felt a swell of pride. The gate was already open, and the sexton greeted him warmly.
“Welcome back to Kingfountain, Lord Ransom. Your visit is unexpected and greatly appreciated. Come with me. Are your men hungry from travel? The day is getting late.”
“Yes, we’re all hungry,” Ransom said.
“We will provide for them. Enter the protection of Our Lady of the Fountain.”
Some of the knights stayed behind to tend to the horses, but Ransom dismounted and followed the sexton up the steps into the grand building. The alternating white and black marble floor tiles were scrubbed and polished. The statues depicting the Lady were immaculately clean, as were the majestic fountains filled with coins. There were no visitors now except for Ransom and his knights.
He was escorted to the deconeus’s personal study, where the old man waited.
“Lord Ransom,” said the deconeus with a chuckle of surprise. “This is unexpected.”
“I’ve come from the king,” he replied. “I’d like you to send a messenger to the castle to inform Lord Kiskaddon I’m here and wish to speak to him. Would you broker the conversation, Deconeus?”
The deconeus leaned back in his chair, pressing his hands together. “I don’t know if he will come. He’s afraid of excommunication. And rightfully so.” A look of anger flashed in the deconeus’s eyes. “He began this without having a legitimate heir on his side who could claim the hollow crown. I fear he will try to take it for himself. Doing so would unleash the Fountain’s wrath.”
Ransom leaned forward and put his hand on the desk separating them. “I’ve come to end this conflict.”
“How?” asked the deconeus skeptically. “Power is on Kiskaddon’s side, and he knows it. The king . . . skulks in Averanche. He has money but no loyalty. The nobles have all fled him.”
“He has me,” Ransom reminded him.
“True. And having the Duke of Glosstyr on his side is more than he deserves. I commend you for your loyalty, my lord, but Kiskaddon will not risk losing everything. He’s made his choice. And whatever his intentions were, we all suffer for it.”
“Help me put a stop to this,” Ransom said.
“I’ll send for him. But don’t be surprised if he refuses. Or if he demands you come to the palace. How many knights did you bring with you?”
“Thirty.”
“Not enough,” chided the deconeus. “You won’t take back the palace with so few.”
“I don’t intend to lay siege to the castle,” Ransom said. “Well . . . not yet.”
The deconeus tilted his head. “I’ve heard rumors that some implore him to seize the hollow crown. Others say he should invite Estian to be our king.”
“It cannot be allowed to come to that,” Ransom said, shaking his head. “There is much more at stake in this. Are you familiar with the legends of the fall of Leoneyis?”
The deconeus was a more worldly man, and he looked unconcerned. “What of them?”
“Summon Lord Kiskaddon, and I’ll tell you both together.”
“I will try, my lord. But don’t cling to hope too tightly. There is little to hope for these days.”
Kiskaddon didn’t come that night. Nor did he come by the next. It took three days of waiting at the sanctuary before the reply came. The duke would treat with Ransom, on the condition he was granted safe conduct and allowed to bring an escort of forty knights. It was slightly more than what Ransom had brought, but he agreed to the terms anyway. He knew Kiskaddon feared he was walking into a trap.
The waiting had taken a toll. Ransom had spent hours walking the grounds, chafing with nervousness about the upcoming meeting and the premonition he’d been given upon arriving at Kingfountain. He’d written to Claire and the king, of course, to tell them of his arrival, so he knew both were waiting anxiously to learn the result of his first discussion with Kiskaddon.
At last the time arrived, and word came that a band of knights was approaching from the palace. Ransom hoped that there would be no trickery, but he thought that perhaps Kiskaddon was the more worried of the two of them. He waited at the sanctuary gates with the sexton and a few of his men. The other knights had gathered and stood a distance away, having been given the explicit order not to cause trouble.
The noise of the approaching horsemen caught Ransom’s attention, and he stopped pacing and stared at the gate. He noticed Lord Kiskaddon at once. He rode atop his charger, wearing a tunic over his hauberk and bearing a sword as any knight would. Ransom nodded to him and then noticed the knight serving at Kiskaddon’s side. It was Guivret. The shock of recognition stunned him. He’d thought all the hostages had been killed. How was he alive?
Guivret’s eyes met Ransom’s and then lowered, his face inscrutable. Then he dismounted, as Kiskaddon had done, and the two approached the open gate. The other knights followed suit. Judging by Kiskaddon’s complexion, Ransom could tell that he was uneasy. He looked like a guilty man tormented by his sins.
“Thank you for coming, Hal,” Ransom said, giving him the salute of a fellow knight.
Kiskaddon returned it reflexively, then lowered his hand to his sword hilt. “Are you here to arrest me, Ransom? Charge me with my crimes?”
He shook his head. “No. We’re going to talk, just as I promised.”
The other man sighed. “I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe you. Have you had any word from the North?”
“None,” Ransom answered honestly.
“I haven’t heard back from James after I told him you’d come. But the road might be impassable by now. You’ll need to treat with both of us, and from what I understand, you spurned his offer to join us.”
“I did,” Ransom agreed. “Shall we go inside the sanctuary? Do you trust your knights to keep the peace?”
Kiskaddon turned to Guivret. “Keep the men apart,” he ordered.
“Aye, my lord,” said Guivret, and his familiar voice reminded Ransom of the past. The rift between them was painful. The last time Ransom had seen Guivret, he’d been a prisoner at Beestone castle. Dawson had attempted to speak with him that afternoon, but Guivret had stared at the ground in defiance and refused to speak. They’d been sent away so quickly that Ransom hadn’t had a chance to seek him out. Somehow he’d found his way into Kiskaddon’s service. Did the duke’s sudden reluctance to meet with him have anything to do with Guivret?
“Shall we?” Ransom said, gesturing to the sanctuary.
The dukes walked side by side as equals and mounted the steps.
“I don’t like being this close to the falls,” Kiskaddon said with strained nerves. “I know the consequence of treason is to go down them . . . alive.”
“I didn’t come here to do that,” Ransom said.
“But if the king ordered it . . . you would.” Kiskaddon gave him an accusing look. “If he whistles, you’d come like a wolfhound.”