“No,” Ransom said, shaking his head. “I chose a different path than you did when things turned against me. But I see the guilt in your eyes. You’re haunted by it.”
Kiskaddon glowered. “Don’t mock me, Ransom.”
“I’m not. If the river surged and destroyed the bridge that connects the palace to the city, it would need to be rebuilt. It would take time and care. But it could be done if there was a will to do it. I came to build. I didn’t come to destroy.”
“If you think that I will ever trust Jon-Landon again, you are sorely mistaken. He’s unworthy of my respect or your loyalty.”
“That may be,” Ransom said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But what is at stake is more dire than the worthiness of Jon-Landon Argentine to be our king.”
Kiskaddon wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean? It is all about that.”
They reached the deconeus’s private chamber. There were two chairs arranged, face-to-face, in front of a table with a Wizr set on it. Ransom had asked the deconeus to provide it. The board was not set up for the beginning of a game.
It was set up for the ending of one.
Lady Orla asked to speak with me privately. She is terrified of her husband and wishes to be freed from the marriage. She also sees the conflict my decision may bring to Legault. Now that I know her true feelings, I’ve told her that I will do her justice and dissolve the marriage. The child will be hers regardless, to give away for another to raise or for her to raise herself. Orla said that she doesn’t blame the babe, that she will care for it.
I’ve sent Ransom a letter to inform him of the situation. I don’t want him to be taken unawares. Who knows what that brainless badger of a king will do because of this.
Also, I thought he’d want to hear the good news. Elodie gave birth to a daughter. It was a difficult delivery, and I especially worried since Ransom was not there to use the scabbard, but their deepest wish has been given.
—Claire de Murrow
Atha Kleah
(a lady’s freedom granted)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Power of the Falls
Duke Kiskaddon leaned back in the wooden chair, rubbing his upper lip and gazing quizzically at the Wizr board. Ransom seated himself across and examined the board himself. The deconeus stood to one side of the room, watching them, his expression grave.
“The board isn’t set up properly,” Kiskaddon observed. “I think that’s deliberate. What are you playing at, Ransom?”
The piece representing the king was at the edge of the board with just one smaller pawn next to it. The other king was surrounded by two castle pieces and the Wizr piece.
“Bennett had a Wizr board,” Ransom said seriously, looking across the table at Kiskaddon. “A special one. Did he ever tell you of it?”
“He wasn’t fond of such games.” He shrugged without concern. “He didn’t have the patience to master them. But I do recall . . . he did mention he had a set that had been stolen from King Estian. That’s all I know.”
“I’m the one who took it from Estian,” Ransom said, folding his arms. “Although it was made of stone, it was imbued with the power of the Fountain.”
Kiskaddon snorted. “To what purpose?”
“It’s a relic from the days of King Andrew and Queen Genevieve. The pieces can move themselves. They represent the different factions within a kingdom—two kingdoms. The game being played was a game of conquest between Ceredigion and Occitania. One that impacted the real world.”
“You seem serious, but I find the story absurd.”
“Hear him out, lord duke,” said the deconeus gravely.
Kiskaddon waved a dismissive hand at the board. “Go on, then.”
Studying him, Ransom said, “It is played between two rulers, each seeking to dominate the other. I believe Estian’s forefathers inherited the game after the drowning of Leoneyis.”
“You believe that really happened?”
Ransom ignored his doubtful tone. “The Vertus family wishes to create their own dynasty, one to rival the glory of King Andrew’s domain. There’s a reason why so many of those legends were written down in the old tongue. Passed on and dimmed with time. They wanted us to forget. But we mustn’t. The board is real, and so are other artifacts from that time.”
“I fail to see your point.”
“Then let me make it. This piece represents Jon-Landon. If he dies, then his son is the last Argentine heir. If his children are killed, the game ends.”
“Every game must end eventually,” Kiskaddon said with a snide smile. Ransom could see he had little love for the king or his offspring, not that he was surprised. Jon-Landon had done nothing to earn goodwill.
“That’s the problem. When this game ends, Ceredigion is destroyed.”
Kiskaddon’s brow wrinkled. “It’s only a game. Threat and mate. It ends.”
Ransom shook his head. “In Wizr, we always stop before the king is taken. That is the rule. The game ends when you say ‘threat and mate.’ But that’s not how that board works. When the king piece is taken, if there are no heirs left, the kingdom is destroyed by flood.”
Kiskaddon glanced at the deconeus and then back again, as if he thought they were jesting. When he saw they were quite serious, he asked, “Why didn’t that happen when Gervase died? Or his son?”
Ransom opened his palms. “Because Devon Argentine was the true heir. His mother was named heir, but Gervase claimed the hollow crown before it could be given to her. That started the civil war. The board is real. I’ve seen the pieces move on their own accord. And I’ve seen the Argentine heirs move them. It was a closely guarded secret.”
“Can you prove it? Where is the board now if this isn’t it?”
“When Bennett was murdered, it was stolen back by Estian and his poisoner, Lady Alix. They are intent on ending the rivalry between us. Permanently.”
Kiskaddon scratched his eyebrow. “You came all the way from Averanche with this childish tale, hoping it would convince me that I need to trust a man who has no more honor than a pile of horse dung?”
“If the game ends, the people will die. You as well.”
“Why didn’t I know about this? Why were you the trusted one?”
“Because I’m Fountain-blessed,” Ransom said simply. Although he’d anticipated Kiskaddon’s response, he was frustrated by it.
“Another legend,” Kiskaddon said with a wry smile. “May I be completely honest with you, Ransom?”
“I encourage it,” Ransom said.
“I’ve often wondered why you cowed to Jon-Landon. Why you, a man so principled and honorable, would suffer himself to be kicked like a dog by a ruthless master.”
Ransom bristled at the comparison, but he kept silent and listened carefully.
“I believe Jon-Landon knows of some crime or indiscretion he is holding over you. Some knowledge gained from the Espion that, if revealed, would tarnish your reputation. So you surrendered to that cruel tyrant to avoid the truth being known. If not for your clever wife, you’d still be the king’s hostage. That is what I think.”
Ransom’s mouth was dry with anger, but he kept his voice controlled. “And what do you believe the king has been holding over me?”