Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

Willem grinned. “Sorry it took so long to lose him. Aldous is warier than some of the others, but he’s still an eejit.”

The little girl, whom Ransom assumed was the princess Léanore because of her decadent dress and her resemblance to her mother, looked at him with inquisitive and mischievous eyes.

He turned, seeing no other way into the kitchen. “How did you—?”

“The Espion tunnels,” Devon said proudly. “We know them all, I should think. One goes all the way to the king’s room! We’ve spied on him many times.”

“Papa doesn’t know,” Léanore said with a grin. She was quite a bit younger than the boys, smaller, but her amber eyes glowed with liveliness.

“Have you been to the tunnels, Papa?” Willem asked.

“I have,” Ransom answered. “But I don’t know them as well as you, it seems.”

“Cecily taught us,” Devon said in a whisper.

Léanore’s eyes brightened at the name. “I like her.”

They began to regale him with tales of their adventures together, interrupting one another in their haste to share a story or correct a detail from it. Ransom chuckled to himself, pleased with the strength of the connection between the three, which reminded him of his own childhood with Claire and King Gervase’s son. Sometimes the boys and the princess were caught and scolded by the Espion. But they escaped censure more often than not and had learned a great deal about the intrigues of the palace through their defiance.

“What of your brother, Prince Devon?” Ransom asked the princess. “Do you leave him out?”

“He’s too afraid,” Léanore said with scorn. “He doesn’t like the dark at all. He came a few times, but he’s always with his tutors, and they never want him to have fun.”

“He’s boring,” Willem said with a shrug.

“We offered loads of times,” Devon insisted. “But I think he stopped after Léanore fell into the cistern water.”

“You pushed me!” Léanore said, shoving his arm.

“You were following too close!”

“No I wasn’t!”

Willem started laughing. “She was so wet! The queen was vexed that day.”

The princess stomped her foot. “I didn’t tell on you, though.”

“If you had, we wouldn’t have let you come anymore,” Devon pointed out.

“The prince was scared half to death. The water wasn’t very deep. It was just really cold.”

“I should say,” said Léanore. She put her little hand on Ransom’s arm. “Have you been down into the cistern?”

“I have,” Ransom answered. He shuddered at the memory, for seeing the cistern waters in the dark had affected him strangely. It had made him feel as if another existence lay superimposed over his own, the two rippling into each other.

He shook off the thought, returning his attention to the children. The camaraderie between the three of them was endearing, but he couldn’t help but see evidence of the queen in her daughter’s face.

Jon-Landon had children of his own. How could he have ordered the death of his nephew, who wasn’t much older than these children? The thought continued to sicken him.

“Aldous is coming,” Devon suddenly said.

Willem stiffened, and the three children scrambled toward the wall. The princess touched one of the stones, and a section of the wall opened up, revealing a dark passage. The three vanished into it, shutting the door behind them just as Aldous stomped into the kitchen, his face flushed.

He stood at the threshold, nostrils flaring, his bushy eyebrows twitching. His gaze ran over the kitchen, but the staff pretended nothing was amiss. Ransom saw one of them struggle not to smile. He remained at his table, gazing nonchalantly at the slender man who had again lost his wards.

Aldous huffed, turned around, and stomped away.

The undercook came back to Ransom with a plate of bread, fruit, and some cheese.

“Still hungry, Lord Ransom?” she asked him with a wink.



Ransom lay on his bed in the dark, hands behind his neck, listening to the creaking timbers. Occasionally he heard a set of boots pass by his door, but they never lingered. It was just the night watch. Even with that knowledge, he couldn’t sleep. It didn’t matter that he’d been allowed his old room, where he’d spent many nights in the past. It felt like a cage. Still, his first day of bondage had not been as horrible as he’d feared. He’d seen his children, which had been heartening, and all day long he’d met people who were sympathetic to his plight. Lord Kinghorn’s son, Dalian, had even asked to meet him in the training yard the next morning. In fact, he felt he had more friends at the palace than the king.

Eventually drowsiness set in, and he fell into a light sleep, which was interrupted when he heard his door handle turn. His eyes shot open, and he reached for the sword that wasn’t there, but his Fountain magic assured him that he wasn’t in danger. The door opened, and Cecily came inside from the darkened hall and shut the door.

“Are you awake?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Ransom said, sitting up. “It’s after midnight I should say.”

“Later still. The king finally went to bed,” Cecily said. “The palace is quieting down. I’m sorry I couldn’t come before now, but I was needed to translate for some Brugian guests.”

“You could have come in the morning,” Ransom said. “Why now?”

“Because I have to attend to them all day tomorrow,” she said. “And I thought you’d want to know the news.”

Ransom rose from the bed. It was dark, but moonlight streamed in from the window. He motioned to the only chair in the room. “Sit. Tell me.”

“I’ll wait by the door so I can keep an ear out for the night watch,” she said.

He knew the risk she was taking by continuing to help him. And he appreciated it. “Have you news from Legault?”

“Yes, but let me tell you about the Brugians first. Lord Gotz defeated the last bit of resistance and proclaimed himself king. It’s taken him this long to consolidate power, but he’s now the ruler. The ransom we paid to free Benedict won him the crown after all.”

That wasn’t a surprise. The duke’s ambition had been plain to see when Ransom and Cecily had gone to rescue their king. It seemed a lifetime ago.

“You mentioned you were called on as an interpreter,” Ransom said.

“The new Brugian king sent an emissary to Kingfountain to notify us of his coming coronation at the Wartburg. He asked, specifically, that you attend the coronation. Gotz wants you to be the emissary of Ceredigion to his new court.”

Ransom started with surprise. “Does he know about my fall from grace?”

“It’s unclear, Ransom. But he asked for you by name, and it upset him when Jon-Landon said he would send Lord Kiskaddon instead. I was asked to smooth things over with the emissary, but he’s furious and offended. Lord Gotz admires power, and he wanted Ceredigion’s best knight to stand in for the king. The emissary knows Kiskaddon is out of favor.”

“And Lord Faulkes isn’t available,” Ransom mused. “The Brugians haven’t troubled us in years.”

“I know. It’s been a long time. And now that his contest is won, Gotz is in a position to meddle in other affairs. Like ours. If he finds out that we’re sending troops to Legault, he might see an opening, a weakness.”

Ransom sighed. “Jon-Landon isn’t as shrewd as his father.”

“Not by half,” agreed Cecily. “Now for the news about Legault.”

“Yes?”

“A fleet of ships was sent to blockade Connaught. Faulkes is assembling an army to attack the castle. He controls the lower half of Legault right now and married the heiress . . . Tenthor’s niece? Is that right?”

“Yes, that was what we’d heard he intended to do.”

“He named himself her guardian and married her within the week.”

Disappointment rankled inside Ransom. He’d liked Tenthor, a lot, and would have wished for more for his niece. Dawson would have made a better husband.

“It’s the custom in Legault that the wife gets to choose her husband,” Ransom said.