Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

“He has an interesting way of showing it,” Ransom mused.

She smiled. “He admires strong people. His father was strong, in his eyes. So were his older brothers. And his mother. He was young when his parents’ marriage fell apart. Emiloh was shut into the tower, not allowed to see him, and he still feels the lack of having a mother. I think this news will be terrible for him. And because it will be, he won’t want to attend her funeral rites. He doesn’t like doing things that make him feel uncomfortable.”

“It would be dangerous for him to travel to the Vexin right now. Estian would see him coming.”

“Yes, indeed,” the queen said. “That Wizr board. Maybe it’s a trap. I was thinking that we should bring her body to the sanctuary at Fountainvault. That is where the Elder King was sent to the Deep Fathoms. Benedict too. And it’s much closer. What do you think, Ransom?”

“I’m surprised you’re asking me.”

“You shouldn’t be. I want you to go with him.”

“Me?”

Léa nodded. “If Estian saw your piece and the king’s piece moving together, I don’t think he’d be as quick to attack. And you’d get to pay your respects as well.”

The prince lifted his head and looked into his mother’s eyes. “Can I go too, Maman?”

She ran her fingers through his hair. “I don’t think so, Dev. It would not be wise for you and your father to leave Kingfountain at the same time.”

He pouted. “Would you let Léanore go?”

“No, Dev. This is something for Papa to do alone.” She looked up at Ransom next. “Would you go, Ransom? If I asked you to?”

“I would. Thank you for telling me.”

“Let me see how Jon-Landon takes the news. That is all.” She flicked her fingers at him in dismissal.



Before the week had ended, Ransom found himself on a horse riding toward Westmarch with the king. Being freed from the castle was a relief to Ransom, but he still felt like he was a prisoner. He was allowed to wear a chain hauberk beneath his armor but not to carry a sword, and his scabbard had not been restored to him. It made him feel defenseless, hamstrung, and he wondered why he had even been brought if he wasn’t allowed to act the part of defender. Still, he wished to pay respects to Emiloh, and he rode without complaint. They traveled with a group of two hundred men toward Beestone castle, where they’d rest, change mounts, and continue to Fountainvault, on the borders of Westmarch. Arrangements had already been made to bring the queen’s corpse from Auxaunce.

It came as no surprise at all that Jon-Landon named his father-in-law, Lord DeVaux, as the Duke of Vexin. The old man had finally gotten what he wanted.

The king said hardly a word to anyone. Judging by his expression, Jon-Landon grieved his mother’s death. There was a tightness about his eyes, a permanent scowl on his mouth, and a look of low spirits that plagued his soul. For all the man’s faults, Ransom pitied him. The king had never fully reconciled with his mother, and now she was gone.

The scouts had gone ahead to make sure all was in preparation. The Occitanian forces were securing the construction of a new fortress where Tatton Grange had been, and a writ of safe conduct had been granted by Estian for Jon-Landon to see to the funeral rites for his mother. The writ lasted from sunrise to sunset on the day they would arrive.

When they reached the sanctuary, Ransom used his Fountain magic to see if he could sense any threats to the king. He didn’t feel anything, although his magic had been diminished of late. Still, he felt some trepidation as he dismounted with the king and followed him into the sanctuary.

Emiloh’s body had already been prepared and lay within a canoe draped with lavender-colored linen, propped to waist height atop poles and a funeral bier. Her face was waxy and shrunken, the luster of her hair muted in death. Seeing her like that caused a jolt of pain in his heart. It was her, but it was a husk. As he examined her face, he looked for signs of the incurable poison that had taken the life of her husband and two of her sons. He didn’t find any. Although the people who’d prepared her body would no doubt have cleaned any blood that had leaked from her eyes or nose, that particular poison caused a languishing death, and it would have left more signs. He reached into the boat and put his hand atop Emiloh’s, which were crossed over her breast. The skin felt rigid and cold.

Jon-Landon, who had already peered into the canoe and moved past it, returned, as if shamed by the respect Ransom was showing his mother. His lips pulled back in a near snarl, but he reached out and touched the edge of the boat with his gloved hand. His breath came in and out quickly as he wrestled with his emotions.

Then, pursing his lips, he breathed out again and retreated a few steps. “There,” he sighed out. “Wasn’t as bad as I feared.”

Ransom looked at the king but said nothing. There was a haunted expression in Jon-Landon’s eyes. Now that they’d paid their respects, they assembled a group to carry the canoe to the river. This included Ransom, Lord Jex, who had served as the queen’s steward in Auxaunce, as well as other members of her household guard, knights all. They carried their cargo solemnly. Ransom felt his eyes burning, but he didn’t let his tears fall. When they reached the edge of the river, the deconeus performed the funeral rites while they stood at attention. When he finished, they lowered the front of the staves so that the canoe slid into the river. Ransom watched as it bobbed downstream. His throat was tight, but he kept a grip on his emotions.

They left after the ceremony to ensure they were clear of Westmarch before sunset. As he rode eastward, Ransom found himself thinking about the past, of all the times he had traveled the realm in service to the various kings. With enemies attacking their shores on multiple fronts, would Jon-Landon’s stubbornness continue, or would he finally rely on the man whose loyalty he’d despised?

When they reached Beestone castle again, they were all weary from the journey and grateful for the feast that had been prepared in anticipation of their arrival. Jon-Landon drank heavily during the meal, his mood becoming darker as the night wore on.

Ransom was about to retire for the night when a man hurried into the audience hall and delivered a message to the king. He bent close and whispered in the king’s ear. Jon-Landon’s eyes widened in surprise. He asked a quick question, listened to the response, and then hurriedly opened the sealed note he’d been given. Ransom watched him read the news, wondering what it was about. Another attack from the Brugians?

The king lowered the page and carefully folded it again. He lifted his gaze and searched the hall until his eyes fixed on Ransom’s. The king smirked at the sight of him, gesturing for him to approach.

His stomach twisting in knots, Ransom left his place and approached the head of the king’s table.

“Yes, my lord?”

Jon-Landon tapped the note against the edge of the table. “News from Legault,” he said.

Another twist in his stomach. “Oh?”

“Looks like our troubles there are over,” he said, giving Ransom a vicious smile. “Your wife took a terrible gamble, one that failed. She hid the bulk of her forces in the woods outside the castle and attacked Faulkes’s forces. It was a slaughter. Simon is dead. So is Dearley. The castle surrendered two nights ago. I’m glad they did. I would have hated to raze it. What’s done is done. I thought you’d want to know.”