“How did you escape?” he asked, though it felt wrong asking for some strange reason.
“I have many tricks you don’t know about. There are books in Pisan that teach words of power to the astute, to the sensitive. Your chains couldn’t hold me. Neither could an iron door. Now I must go and finish my task. The last Argentines have to die. This game has gone on long enough. Let fate have its due. Let it be revenge for my mother joining the wrong side. And for my husband’s untimely death. The hostages your king killed were all helpless, Ransom. It seems only right that your people should pay in blood. When I draw the Wizr board from the cistern, the flood will come. And I don’t even care that Estian drowns too. As long as there is a Vertus left to win the game, it will all be worth it. It was a close game, Ransom. I’ll give you that. You played it well.”
She was still a blur to him. He felt peaceful, though.
Lowering herself down by his head, she leaned close enough that her hair tickled his cheek, but he couldn’t move his arms. “A little sip. You’ve no reason to fear it. It’s not the same poison that killed your kings. That, I’m saving for his children. Fitting they should die the same way. But this will hamper you considerably. I want you to see the end come to Ceredigion, Ransom. I want you to see what failure looks like.”
He discerned a little movement as she removed what he imagined was a vial. Then she pressed her lips against his.
“We could have been so much more together,” she whispered. “But you would not forsake your honor. In the end, your honor forsook you.”
She brought the vial to his lips. He tasted the bitter fluid on his tongue and reflexively swallowed. He couldn’t resist her, not while everything was in a fog.
Her fingers stroked his cheek gently. “I’ll grant you no more mercies,” she said in a whisper. “The game will end, and your children will perish in the flood. Your wife will drown in despair and water. But not you. Moving water cannot kill a Fountain-blessed. When you are ready to die, go to the North and freeze to death. This is my last revenge.” She put away the vial and drew her dagger.
His eyes were starting to clear again. A strange halo seemed to surround her face, her golden hair. Holding the dagger tightly, she drove it into the meat of his leg, the one that had been injured before.
A gasp sighed from his lips. He didn’t feel the pain, but he knew it was a serious blow. One that had penetrated to the bone.
A satisfied smirk showed she’d done what she came to do. She yanked the dagger free.
“Farewell, Ransom. You won’t remember this conversation for long. But I will. And I will savor the memory of your failure.”
She blew out the candle with a puff of breath, plunging the room into darkness again.
He didn’t know how long he lay there, but he clenched his hands as his leg throbbed dully with pain. Even though the candle had been snuffed, he wasn’t entirely in the dark. The scabbard glowed, showing its magic was healing him. But it would not heal him of the poison he’d ingested. The bitter flavor was still on his tongue. He breathed and sighed and tried to move his body. He had to remember. He had to tell someone. Summoning his Fountain magic, he found enough strength to sit up. It was an effort, but he succeeded.
The sound of boots came tramping down the hall, loud enough that he knew it was more than one person. They stopped at his door, and a fist pounded on the wood.
“Lord Ransom?” It was Dawson’s voice.
He strained against the power of the dust and tried to swing his legs to the edge of the bed.
“Lord Ransom?” Then he heard Dawson mutter, “Where is Galt?”
“I haven’t seen him,” said another knight from the watch.
The door handle jiggled, and the door suddenly opened, splashing torchlight into the room.
“Lord Ransom, the poisoner has escaped the dungeon. She killed—” Suddenly his words stopped as he saw Ransom sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing fast, and then noticed the body crumpled on the floor.
“Water,” Ransom pleaded.
Dawson hurried to the pitcher on the far side of the room and filled a goblet. As he handed it to Ransom, he snarled to the others, “She’s already been here!”
Ransom took a soothing sip, and the cool water washed away the bitter taste. His magic churned inside him, lending him strength, but not enough. He felt weak all over.
“The prince and princess,” Ransom wheezed. “She’s going . . . to kill them. Poisoned me. Not fatal, but I’m weak.”
“Cecily!” Dawson gasped. “You two, stay with him. The rest, come with me!”
He charged from the room, and the two knights entered. One sighed upon seeing Galt’s corpse.
“The night watch,” Ransom said, his voice a raspy whisper.
“They’ve been summoned. Sir Simon has been awakened as well. The Espion are searching the castle.”
“She can make herself invisible,” Ransom said. But he could sense her. He alone could sense her. “Help me stand.”
“We can do this, my lord.”
“Obey me,” Ransom said, struggling to rise. The two knights helped him stand. “My . . . armor . . .” he panted.
They helped him finish putting on the hauberk, then one grabbed the sword he’d dropped and put it in the sheath. His leg burned with pain, but the scabbard kept it from bleeding. He had to stop Alix from killing Devon and Léanore. Otherwise, his own children would die as well. Hundreds of thousands would.
“Where should we take you, my lord?”
Ransom’s memory began to fog. Alix—she had been in his room. What had she asked him?
The Wizr board. She knew where it was being kept, which meant it needed to be moved. How long would he be able to remember? Part of him was tempted to tell them, but he didn’t recognize either man and thought it wise to practice caution. He put one foot ahead of the other, with the two knights assisting him, and they left the corridor. The torchlight gave off strange colors that made him dizzy. It was the poison working on him. Slowing him down. His very bones began to ache.
He closed his eyes, trying to sense Alix’s location. She was moving swiftly. But he knew the castle better than she.
“The queen’s tower,” he said. “Take me there.”
“Yes, my lord.”
As they walked, Ransom’s strength increased. Soon he didn’t need their support. He could walk on his own despite the injury to his leg. Thank the Fountain Alix didn’t know about his scabbard.
Confusion struck him as he realized he suddenly couldn’t remember where they were going or why.
“What’s happening?” he asked the knights, confused. “Where are we going?”
“The queen’s tower, as you said,” answered one of them. He looked at the other knight as if Ransom were going mad.
“The tower, yes,” Ransom said. That was right. His memory flared awake again. He could sense Alix. How had she escaped the dungeon? “The poisoner has escaped.”
“Yes . . . we know,” said the other knight, baffled.
They went down the stairs and started across the corridor. There were no other knights visible, but he heard voices echoing down the halls. The night watch was going from room to room.