Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

Da is dead. He returned to Legault following the Younger King’s rebellion with an ache in his leg, his foot. He fell sick in Atha Kleah. The treacherous nobles had fled his coming, fearing the retribution. And then he was gone. It happened so quickly. I don’t even know how he injured his foot. He never spoke of it, but I saw him wince in pain. He said not to worry. I believed him, but I shouldn’t have.

It’s not the tradition in Legault to tie a corpse into a boat and release it into the river. But I did it for Da because he would have wanted it. Through my tears, I knew that I would have to leave Connaught castle. When word came of his death, they swarmed it like maggots on meat. I took a boat to Glosstyr, crying the whole way there.

I wasn’t long in Glosstyr before the Elder King summoned me to Kingfountain. He held a ceremony for my father, recognizing him for his loyalty, for his faithfulness. He said he felt as if his right arm had been struck from his body. I never knew the king felt that way. When it was over, the king took me aside and said that he was claiming wardship over me, as King Gervase once did when I was a little girl without a mother. I was surprised. I told him that I could do him more good if I were at Glosstyr myself, ruling in my father’s place. No. That wasn’t to be. Being warden over me gave him the right to confiscate Da’s treasury. It also gave him the right to name a new duke of Glosstyr. He cannot force me to marry against my will, which my Gaultic heritage prevents, but he’s tried many times to give me away. Some are older men, twice my own age. One of them is his youngest son. I refuse them all. He cannot force me. I’ve told him whom I wish to wed. But he will not allow it. He wants nothing to do with his renegade heir or the knights still sworn in his service.

King Devon Argentine the Elder is now the richest man on the continent. He hoards silver livres like a miser and uses them to summon armies of mercenaries to fight on his behalf. His second son, Benedict, has come to terms with his father, hoping to be named his heir. He travels around the realm with these hired killers, punishing those who are disobedient to the king’s wishes. But not Devon the Younger. The people still adore him and pity him, but not as much as they pity his mother. I’m one of the few allowed to see Queen Emiloh. I’m her maidservant, you see, her lady-in-waiting. It’s lonely in this tower. So very lonely.

—Claire de Murrow

Queen’s Tower, Kingfountain Prison





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The Tournament at Chessy

Why are we still holding back?” Devon demanded impatiently as the clash of blades continued to ring out through the churning dust of the tournament field. Some horses writhed in pain on the field, having met an ill turn of luck during the live combat. Knights bashed against each other in dreadful rage, seeking to win the most prestigious part of the program.

Ransom looked through his visor at the melee, the words of the king almost a whisper through the roar of the waterfall surging in his ears. He looked to the side, where he saw the Black Prince and his knights gathered at the edge of the combat, observing the chaos on the field. But something nagged inside Ransom’s chest. The prince was wearing full armor and so were his men. They were bystanders now, yes, but he had a deep suspicion they were about to enter the fray.

“Estian is going to join the fight,” Ransom said, keeping his eager animal in check. It wanted to charge into the thick of the battle.

“His banner was not among those presented at the beginning,” Devon said. “He’s just watching.”

“Trust me, Devon. He’s waiting for others to fall first. Hold back.”

“There is no glory in that,” Devon carped. “We’re so close to winning this tournament. I want this victory, Ransom. I want it so badly my teeth hurt!”

Yes, Devon wanted it. He wanted to shove it in his father’s face, to prove that he was worthy of something.

“Devon’s right,” said Sir Robert on the other side. “It’ll be over if we wait much longer. Let’s get in there and finish it.”

“Oh, a nasty blow!” Devon said. A groan went out from the audience as a knight was bashed in the helmet with a flanged mace and fell off his horse backward.

The groan was replaced by a sudden cheer from the wooden stands. Ransom turned just in time to see the Black Prince and his mesnie charge into the tumult. The surprise attack caught the others off guard, and soon knights were spilling from their horses right and left. Some held up hands, offering to yield and pay a ransom.

“By the muddy Fountain, how did you know that would happen?” Sir Robert said in astonishment, turning his neck and visored helmet toward Ransom.

“Now!” Ransom shouted, urging his destrier forward. “Dex aie!” Sir Simon had already been knocked out of the match, but that still left Talbot and Alain in the mesnie. As one, they barged into the melee, swinging their swords.

Ransom buffeted one of the Black Prince’s knights from behind, knocking him off his saddle. He swatted the man’s empty steed to clear it away and went straight for Estian himself. Claiming the prince as a prize would be worth a hefty sum indeed.

Prince Estian swiveled in the saddle and met Ransom’s bastard sword with one of his own. The man stared at him through the slit in his visor, eyes full of determination. Estian and his knights were the regular champions at the tournaments in Chessy. Ransom had often wondered if they won so many times because people let them win.

He certainly didn’t plan to do so.

Ransom deflected the counterthrust, and the two knights were suddenly knee to knee, deflecting and parrying each other, their blades ringing out as they clashed in the air.

“Get him, Ransom! Get him!” shouted Sir Talbot.