“Papa! Papa!” the children cried in a tumult of arms, hugs, kisses that nearly knocked him back into the fountain water.
Claire’s eyes were full of worry when she saw his face, but she strode up and knelt in front of him, her hair windblown, and her cheeks a little pink.
“You’re still alive,” she murmured. “Dawson told us what happened. My beloved. Oh, my dearest!”
She clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder, squishing their youngest between them. Ransom’s heart was breaking, but he was so grateful to see them again. If they hadn’t started their journey sooner, he might have been dead before they arrived. His tears wet her hair. Looking up, he saw Dearley choking back his own emotions.
Claire pulled back and kissed Ransom on the mouth. He could taste her tears. “There is time to grieve later,” she whispered. “You’re alive, and we love you, and we want to be with you every moment.”
“We do, Papa!” said Sibyl. “Are you really going to die?”
He looked at his daughter and nodded truthfully. “But I will always be your father,” he told her, pulling her in with one arm to hug her. The boys’ eyes were wet, but they tried to be brave, even though their breathing was ragged, their emotions a heavy load to bear.
“I’ll be a knight like you,” said Willem proudly.
“So will I,” said the younger Devon with equal conviction.
“You must serve the king since I cannot,” Ransom said. “He’ll need you both to be loyal and true.”
“We will, Papa. Just like you,” Willem said.
Ransom saw Dearley turn and begin to walk away, his head bowed.
“John,” Ransom called, stopping him. He took Claire’s hand and grunted as she helped pull him to his feet.
Dearley turned, his eyes streaked with tears, and the two men embraced each other like brothers and wept.
The pain was unendurable.
Ransom tossed and turned on the bed, one moment overwhelmed by fire and the next trembling with shivers. Claire never left his side, and she did all she could to comfort him, bringing water to his fevered lips and sponging the sweat from his brow. His children were there as well, in the room Sir Iain had prepared for them. The boys slept on the couches and sometimes slunk off with Léanore to explore the Espion tunnels. They’d brought Sibyl into their conspiracy and had begun teaching her the inner pathways on the first day. To everyone’s surprise, she enjoyed navigating them. Word had been sent to James and Maeg in Brythonica, but he doubted he’d last long enough for them to return.
“Your eyes are bleeding again,” Claire said sadly, dabbing the corners with a wet towel. “How I hate seeing you suffer. Are you hungry?”
“I wish it were winter, and you could bring me some ice,” Ransom said, touching her hand and squeezing it. “I vomited everything last night. I’m empty but not hungry.”
“It will be winter soon enough,” she said. They’d talked and talked for hours since her return. “I think we’ll spend it in Glosstyr, though. With your mother.”
He began to shiver again, and she pulled up another blanket. He gazed at her, feeling comforted by her presence.
“Is it dawn yet?” he asked.
Claire rose and went to the curtain and drew it aside. “Soon,” she said. “I know you hoped you’d last the night. You’re a stubborn man, Ransom Barton. You fight it still.”
“I wish I could conquer this foe,” he said with a gasp. He writhed beneath the sheets, trying not to show his agony. “But it will prevail . . . in the end.”
She came back and sat at his bedside. “You have been a faithful husband to me,” she said, laying a hand on his chest. “I doubted you when I never should have. Forgive me.”
“We’ve been over it before,” Ransom said. “There is nothing to forgive. I . . . I don’t think I can last much longer, Claire. I’m so weary . . . so weary of fighting death.”
“Let me wake the children, then,” she said, rising swiftly. She jostled them and then went to the chair by the door and roused Dearley. He’d not left Ransom’s confinement either. They’d spent many hours talking, and Dearley had pledged to protect Ransom’s family and ensure they prospered.
As his bleary-eyed children rubbed their faces, they gathered around his bedside. Dearley opened the door and whispered something to the knight standing guard.
Ransom looked at the faces of those he loved. He tried to smile at them, but he was afraid it looked like a frightening grimace. Then suddenly Dawson and Cecily were at his bedside too, hand in hand. Cecily looked at Ransom with gratitude and compassion and bent down and kissed his brow.
“Thank you, Lord Ransom. I owe you my life.”
Dawson wiped his eyes. “We’ll be married today,” he said, holding her hand. “We won’t wait.”
Ransom gave them an approving nod. “I’m glad of it. May the Fountain bless you.”
“May you be blessed as well,” Dawson said. He held the scabbard and belt in his hands, as if ready to offer them back to him. Ransom noticed the bastard sword inside looked like his. It was his.
“I want Willem to have it,” Ransom said. “When he’s old enough. Until then—you safeguard it.”
Dawson looked startled and then grateful. “I’ll give it to your eldest son,” he promised. “When he is ready.”
Claire looked to Dawson, recognizing the scabbard, and smiled through her tears in agreement.
They withdrew so that Simon and his wife could approach. Ransom did not know Simon’s wife very well, for she was a quiet and shy woman who rarely spoke and did so with a stutter.
Simon reached down and clasped Ransom’s hand. “You will be sorely missed,” he said. “Your bravery and courage will always be remembered.”
“T-thank you,” stuttered the Lady of Holmberg. She backed away and started to cry.
Ransom’s eyes were getting heavier. Each breath was a struggle.
Lady Deborah came next. “Your mother just arrived at Kingfountain,” she said. “We’re bringing her now. Please . . . stay with us a little longer!”
“Thank you, L-lady Deborah,” Ransom said. “You’ve always . . . been . . .” His words slurred and trailed off. He went wild with panic, not wanting to perish before his mother came.
“Ransom,” Claire pleaded, pressing her hip against him and squeezing his hand. “Please . . . tarry longer. You can do it.”
He blinked rapidly, the pain easing. He couldn’t feel his toes. He couldn’t feel the ache in his leg anymore.
“It’s the prince . . . make way!”
Ransom turned his head and saw Prince Devon and Princess Léanore coming to the bed with their mother. They looked frightened by his condition, but both faced their fears bravely.
“You saved our lives,” said the prince.
“You saved mine,” Ransom panted. “I wish I could have served you, my prince . . . my king.”
“When I wear the hollow crown, it will be because you put it on my head,” the prince said. “The Lady bless and keep thee. The Lady make her face to shine upon thee.”
“I love you, Lord Ransom,” said the princess with a squeak in her voice. She patted his arm. “Be at peace.”