“I had happiness in my service to you and Lady Claire,” he said. “But I’ve sworn fealty to Lord Kiskaddon. I cannot break it. Only he can.”
It took twice as long to reach Beestone with the extra patrols needed, and they arrived weary from the journey and anxious for a good meal and a place to sleep. The castellan, Sir Iain, was an aging man. He had served the Elder King and his wife for many years as chamberlain and was given the post of castellan after her death, and although he was no longer capable of riding into battle, he was a keen strategist and had been charged with defending the castle.
“Well met, Lord Ransom,” he said. “The stateroom is ready for you, but I presume you’d like some roast pheasant first?”
Ransom’s stomach growled audibly, and the aging knight laughed.
“What is that strapped to your back, if I may ask?”
“A portent of better days to come,” Ransom answered. “It’s a peace charter. I’m bringing it to the king.”
“Wouldn’t that be a relief!” he said, tugging his white beard.
“How many in the garrison, Sir Iain?”
“We have four hundred. Enough to defend the castle if trouble comes. They’re still building up Tatton Grange. I wish we had enough men to halt their progress.”
So did Ransom, but attacking Occitania wasn’t possible at the moment. “Let’s have some of that pheasant you mentioned.” He clapped the knight on the shoulder and went inside with him while the knights took care of the horses.
The feast was plenteous, and the knights were all grateful for the food and drink and a chance to rest. Most of them would bed down in the great hall for the night.
Ransom spoke candidly to Sir Iain after they finished eating in the solar. “I need to take some of the garrison with me to Averanche.”
Sir Iain frowned. “We have hardly enough to defend the castle, my lord. Why not bring your own men down from Glosstyr?”
“I’m planning to escort the king to Glosstyr,” he said. “I have a feeling that Estian will attack Averanche. I only brought thirty men with me, and I lost several at Kingfountain when the Occitanian fleet attacked.”
They’d discussed the attack over dinner, so the castellan merely nodded. “Is Averanche secure?”
“For now,” Ransom said. “If we encounter any of Estian’s army before we get there, I’ll need to fight my way through. Can I have two hundred?”
Sir Iain blanched. “My lord . . . that takes away half of my defenders.”
“You could defend this castle with fifty men, Sir Iain. We both know that. After we’ve reached Averanche safely and brought the king to Glosstyr, I’ll send them back with reinforcements.”
Sir Iain quickly agreed, then summoned his steward and told him to prepare two hundred men to travel on the morrow.
All was going to plan. Ransom should have felt relieved, but an uneasy feeling stole over him as he sat and drank from his goblet. He looked around the room, trying to determine the source, but the hall was full of his knights. Maybe it was simply worry for the safety of the Argentines. The king and his two children were at the same place. He trusted Cecily and Dawson would act for their protection, but he wished he were back there already. No doubt Estian was looking at the Wizr board and knew they were at Beestone.
Before retiring, Ransom ordered the captain of his knights to have a watch that night and alert him if there was any trouble. He knew Alix could enter the castle through the fountains, but that warning had already been given, and guards had been posted to prevent her from entering that way.
He brought a candle to his room and bolted the door. Taking off his sword belt, he set his scabbard next to his bed. He was about to take off his hauberk too, but felt that same wariness as before and didn’t remove it. That feeling compelled him to examine the room more closely, but he saw nothing out of sorts. Still, he could not help but wonder if the hidden passages in this castle were as widespread as they were in Kingfountain. He tried to reach out with his Fountain magic, but there was nothing. The window was high up on the wall, too small for a person to get inside.
Gripping the leather tube in his hand, he sat down at the edge of the bed and blew the candle out. The smell of its smoke stung his nose. He lay down, weary, and rested the tube against his hip, his hand covering it protectively. His muscles ached, and he felt his body succumb to its need for sleep. It was a new moon that night, so the darkness was complete.
How much time passed, he didn’t know. But he awoke to a surge of Fountain magic, warning him of danger. His eyes popped open, and he sat up. He reached for the tube with one hand and his sword with the other.
Suddenly a shielded lantern burst, blinding his eyes and making him involuntarily look away. Fear bloomed in his heart. As he reached for the hilt of his sword to draw it, he heard a voice coming from behind the light.
“If Lord Ransom draws that blade,” said Bodkin, the head of the Espion, in a voice dripping with amusement, “shoot him.”
I awoke in the middle of the night with a spasm of fear. This has happened before, but this time the sensation was so strong, so fierce, that I could hardly breathe. I felt Ransom was in danger, yet I could do nothing—nothing!—to aid him. I sat up in the dark, the new moon making everything invisible. I gasped and I pleaded with the Aos Sí to protect him. He has the Raven scabbard, so why am I this afraid?
I lit a candle and decided to write to calm my emotions. I’ve sent ships in response to Constance’s warning. Now I pray they return before Legault is imperiled. We wait for news. We worry for it.
—Claire de Murrow
Atha Kleah
(in the darkness)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Rising
Ransom’s eyes gradually adjusted to the glare of the lantern. He’d involuntarily raised his hand to protect his eyes. He couldn’t see how many there were, so he reached out with his Fountain magic. Six men had come, including Bodkin, and one held a crossbow aimed at Ransom’s chest. At that short distance, it would skewer him even with his armor. His sword was just out of reach.
The magic revealed that these were highly trained men, including Bodkin himself. Ransom felt confident he could defeat them, but not with that crossbow aimed at him. If the man was startled, he might release the bolt and put a quick—and permanent—end to things.
“What shall we discuss, Lord Ransom?” said Bodkin in his infuriating confidence. “How about . . . that leather tube. I’d be grateful if you’d hand it to me. It looks rather important.”
“It is,” Ransom said, his voice throbbing with anger. His instincts screamed at him to lunge for his weapon, but he didn’t dare. “It is a truce, awaiting the king’s seal.”
“Let me see it,” Bodkin said flatly, holding out his hand.
Ransom lowered his hand, shrinking slightly from the stab of light, and closed his other around the leather case. It was then he noticed the hole in the floor at the corner of the room. They’d come in through a trapdoor.
“Don’t try anything foolish,” Bodkin warned. “You may have bested my men before, but I’ve taken care this time. We wouldn’t want any accidents now, would we?”