Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

“Why did he do it?”

The deconeus looked down for a moment before he met Ransom’s gaze. “I don’t know. Not for certain. I try not to play politics if I can help it. He has not confided in me, but the deconeus of the palace chapel has noticed a change in the king’s moods. He’s darker now. More depressed. I think he feels anguish and guilt over what he did. And although he has not confessed to any crimes, he’s contributed more to the order than most of our previous kings. He’s even talking about establishing a new sanctuary, and you know how much they cost to build. His conscience is panging him.”

Ransom imagined so. “Do you think he would violate the right of sanctuary?”

“I hope not. But I cannot be sure.”

“Which is why you were relieved to learn that I plan to go willingly.”

“My office requires me to accept any pilgrim who seeks protection. But my heart warns me that if you stay, the king will use it as an excuse to do something even worse.”

“Wouldn’t the people rise up?”

The deconeus held up his hands. “Would they? It’s not the people I worry about. It’s the punishment.”

Ransom looked at him in confusion. “You fear the king’s punishment?”

“No. I fear the Fountain’s. I’ve read the annals of history kept by the previous holders of this office. There’s a pattern in them, Ransom, a subtle one that began with the reign of King Andrew the Ursus. He began as a benevolent ruler, but he turned into a tyrant and lost everything. His evil actions preceded his fall. But not immediately.” He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “The Fountain often delays its punishments. It’s written that the hollow crown itself is a foreteller of such doom. In the later years of Andrew’s reign, he spoke of the torments and curses the crown had unleashed on him—betrayals, storms, and a dozen different misfortunes. Especially after he executed his first knight, a Fountain-blessed woman who was his chief warrior. He lost everything, and his kingdom was drowned in a flood and remains lost forevermore.” His eyes narrowed. “This same pattern has repeated itself again and again—with monarchs who vaulted to the skies only to plummet after being pierced by an arrow of fate. The Elder King’s grandfather was one of them. This time, I fear for your life, Lord Ransom.”

The deconeus’s words weighed heavily on his heart. A pang struck him at the thought of never seeing Claire again. Or his children.

A knock sounded on the door, and the sexton entered. “A delegation from the king has come,” he said. “They have an order from the king to release Lord Ransom to their custody.”

The deconeus sighed. “That didn’t take long.”

“I’ll go with them,” Ransom told Archibald. “Thank you for taking me in.”

“I would risk the future to protect you,” said the deconeus in a serious tone. “You are a good man.”

Ransom shook his head. “The king has summoned me. But it is the Fountain I must obey.”

He felt a throb of approval from the Fountain inside his heart. But it was a very small one.



The king’s guard had brought a horse for him to ride, and he did so without resistance. People came out from their homes to watch them ride by, and some looked at him worriedly. A few cheers for Glosstyr came, but the scolding looks from the guardsmen silenced them. Sympathy was the expression he saw the most.

He’d come there for the first time as a prisoner, a hostage, and now he was going back as one. They hadn’t bound his wrists at least. What were Jon-Landon’s intentions? Would he arrest him for attacking the Espion, or some other manufactured offense? His mind mulled it over as he rode up the hill to the palace and dismounted in the courtyard. He entered the palace under escort and strode down the corridors he’d wandered as a boy. They were familiar yet not familiar, the scent of rosemary a surprise.

Part of him had hoped his sons would be allowed to greet him, but there were no sounds of childish glee. No sign of the boys running up to greet him.

When they arrived at the hall, Jon-Landon and the queen were seated on their thrones on the dais. Jon-Landon’s goatee had grown since the winter, and he had shadow smudges under his eyes, showing a lack of sleep. It was still morning, and the sun came in through the high windows.

Queen Léa scrutinized Ransom as he entered. She had rings on many of her fingers, and her golden hair was coifed and coiled into an intricate nest. When she caught his eyes, an involuntary smirk came to her lips. Was she enjoying his humiliation? They’d first met when he’d come upon her changing in his room, which Lord Longmont, the former justiciar, had given to her without informing him.

The knights bowed to the king and took up a defensive position alongside Ransom.

The king rubbed his upper lip and said nothing, letting the silence linger.

“Did you have to break open the gates of the sanctuary, Captain?” the king asked, though his eyes were fixed on Ransom.

“No, my lord. He came willingly.”

“Oh?” the queen asked with a sardonic smile.

The king kept his eyes on Ransom’s face. “Where is the scutage, Lord Ransom? I don’t see any chests.”

“It’s on my ship,” Ransom answered. “It’s coming.”

“Good,” said the king. “You attacked members of the Espion last night. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Ransom looked around the room and noticed several of those gathered there had puffy and antagonistic faces. One had a split lip. Another a bruised nose.

“You didn’t send enough men, my lord,” Ransom answered, and his reply caused a few chuckles among those assembled in the hall.

Jon-Landon flushed with anger. “You are under arrest, Lord Ransom Barton. You are hereby confined to the palace grounds. If you attempt to leave the outer gates by any means, you will be branded a traitor, your lands and titles forfeit, and you’ll be hunted as an enemy of the king.” The words had come in a rush. Hot emotion flashed in the king’s eyes. “Do I make myself clear?”

“What have I done to invoke your displeasure, my lord?” Ransom asked calmly, feeling anger sear his insides. But he didn’t let it show on his face or mar his voice. At least Jon-Landon hadn’t attempted to strip him of his office. He could have accused him of treason for attacking the Espion—even though it was they who had attacked him, without any provocation. He had done his duty by coming to Kingfountain. The only crime he could be accused of was coming a day early.

“Shall I recite all of your ill deeds for you, Ransom? You’ve thwarted me long enough. And you shall suffer for it. Take away his sword and scabbard. He won’t be needing them now.”

Ransom’s scabbard was irreplaceable. Acquired during his pilgrimage to the Chandleer Oasis, it was a treasure of the Deep Fathoms, one that healed his injuries. He felt the urge to resist, because losing it would be a grievous outcome, but he knew the king would take it as the aggravation he was seeking. Did the king know of the scabbard’s magic? Ransom had taken pains to keep it secret.

“As you command, my lord,” said the captain. He turned and approached Ransom, reaching for the buckle and strap. Ransom wanted to punch him in the face and defend his own property, but he submitted to the disarming, to the humiliation that Jon-Landon had designed for him.

When the captain took the scabbard in his hands, Ransom felt a hollow sensation open inside his chest, accompanied by a feeling of nakedness and vulnerability.

But he dared not show on his face how much he resented the king for what he’d done.