Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

After leaving the king and queen’s presence, Ransom instructed his knights to prepare for departure to Kingfountain, then made his way to the familiar stone steps he’d once climbed with James. The king had told him the boys were playing on the beach, and he wished to see them before he went on his way.

The day was bright and full of sunlight, although errant clouds bloomed in the sky to the east. As Ransom walked down the steps, he saw his boys parrying and lunging with sticks instead of swords. Dawson was with them, showing the boys some techniques on how to hold the sticks, how to defend. Although Ransom couldn’t hear his voice, he recognized the effort he was taking and appreciated it. He spied Cecily sitting in the firm, wet sand with Princess Léanore, using sticks to carve little trenches. Léanore’s hands were sculpting the wet sand into mounds as if she were building a castle, and she had placed an assortment of shells and even a colorful starfish gathered around them. They were near enough the boys to witness the dueling.

Ransom’s heart thrummed with gratitude that the boys seemed hale and appeared to be having a good time. He trudged forward into the sand, feeling a weariness in his shoulders from the quick journey from St. Penryn. It would be another two days’ ride to the palace. So much of his life had been spent racing from one end of the kingdom to the other.

As he neared the noise of the clashing sticks, Willem saw him first. He threw down his stick and yelled in surprise and started to race toward him. Devon whirled around, recognized Ransom, and came charging after them, fake sword still in hand. Ransom dropped to a knee, feeling a little stab of discomfort as he did so, and waited for his sons to reach him.

“Did you see us fighting? Sir Dawson has been teaching us!” Willem said eagerly.

“Father!” Devon cried, coming up right behind his brother. They embraced him, and he hugged them tightly, smelling the scent of the sea in their hair. His emotions were so powerful at that moment, he couldn’t speak. He gripped them both, one in each arm.

Dawson approached with a smile. “Welcome to Averanche, my lord.”

Ransom tousled Devon’s hair. “Have you been giving Dawson a difficult time?”

“No! He’s not some badger-brained Espion,” said Willem proudly. “He’s a knight of Glosstyr!”

Dawson chuckled. “Truth is, Lord Ransom, I work them so hard during the day that they’re both exhausted by nightfall. The cooks complain about how much they eat. They’re growing like beanstalks.”

Ransom had noticed they both looked thicker. Devon tugged on Ransom’s tunic. “How is Sib? And Máthair?”

“They miss you,” Ransom said. “Sibyl wanted to come with me.”

“I love the beach here,” Willem said, kicking up some sand. “Averanche is fun. We’ve gone to the village with Sir Dawson. Can I have some livres, Father? I don’t want to keep borrowing them.”

“Me too!” said Devon. “I want some livres.”

Ransom nodded, and both boys giggled with excitement as he opened the money pouch on his belt and pulled out five livres for each. Once they’d seized the coins, they took off running.

Rising, Ransom looked at Dawson. “They’re so young.”

“They’re good lads, both of them. And they’ll make fine knights someday. I don’t think you could persuade either of them not to pursue it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ransom said, watching the boys tear after each other. Léanore shouted at them to stop running and kicking up sand.

“Have you and Claire thought about where to send them to train? I don’t think they should be together. They need some space to become their own people.”

Ransom shrugged. “It’s too soon to decide. They’re still boys.”

“Willem is your heir,” Dawson said, “but I’d be honored to train Devon when the time comes. I’ve grown fond of both of the lads, but particularly Devon. I imagine him as you as a child. Well, I thought I’d mention it.”

Ransom held Dawson’s gaze, pleased by the request. “I’ll talk to Claire about it.”

Dawson smiled and then sighed, looking over his shoulder at the princess and Cecily. “The princess gets along so well with the boys. She’ll be devastated when they go back home. Sometimes the boys fight over who is going to marry her.”

Ransom gave him a startled look.

“Boys will fight over anything. But the rivalry is fierce. They like to perform for her, to win her praise. They’re children, I know, and she’s the king’s daughter. But I thought it worth mentioning.”

“Thank you,” Ransom said. He saw Devon tackle Willem, and soon they were both wrestling in the sand. The sight made him laugh.

Dawson scratched his neck. “I’m grateful you assigned me to come here, my lord. It’s different than any other duty you’ve given me. I’ve gotten to know Cecily fairly well. She . . . she astounds me. She knows so many languages—she’s been teaching me Brugian! And the court gossip she shares keeps me informed of what’s going on in the realm. I know she’s a little older than me, a few years only, but I think . . . I hope . . . that she sees potential in me. I’m rambling.”

Ransom saw that Dawson’s gaze hadn’t left Cecily. It warmed his heart.

“You care for her?” Ransom asked, unsurprised.

“That word doesn’t do my feelings justice. I’m bewitched by her. I tell you truly, Lord Ransom, I’ve never been jealous of John Dearley and Elodie. Until now. Cecily is no duchess. But she is one to me. I’d give the world if she would have me.”

Ransom clapped Dawson on the back. “That happened fast.”

“I know. It scares me out of my wits. I’m a soldier, not a poet. I can’t woo her with words. I don’t even know how she feels about me.”

“I can’t help you there, lad,” Ransom said with a smile. “You’ll have to tell her how you feel, I suppose.”

Dawson looked greensick. “I’d rather fight unarmed against six knights.”

Ransom gave him a friendly shove. “Courage, lad. Tell her your heart.” He looked over at Cecily and Léanore. “I should talk to her before I go.”

“I’ll stop your sons from killing each other,” the knight replied, glancing at Cecily with a thoughtful expression. “Think they need to race along the shore for a bit.”

Ransom nodded, and they parted, Dawson going off to break up the wrestling match and Ransom approaching the pair building sandcastles.

Cecily peered up at him, her dress slightly damp from the wet sand. Her shoes were off, and her bare feet looked gritty.

Léanore was kneeling and had sand in her hair and on her cheek. She glanced up at Ransom. “I’m building a castle,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Do you think it will survive when the tide comes in?” Ransom asked her.

“Cecily is digging a moat to protect it. I want to play here again tomorrow.”

“I’ve tried to tell her that the sea is powerful,” the Espion girl said. “She doesn’t believe me.”

“Make it deeper!” the little girl ordered.

Cecily gave the princess a bemused smile and kept scratching at the sand with her stick. The trench she’d dug surrounded half of it so far.

“How long does the king intend to stay in Averanche?” he asked her.

“It depends on how long it takes Faulkes to defeat Lord James,” she answered. “Bodkin said that Dundrennan would be a stronger defense if the rebellion lasts a long time. But your presence here tells me that it may not last as long as Bodkin hopes.”

“Hopes?” Ransom pressed.

She gave him a knowing smile. “He wants Wigant to fall. And Kiskaddon. And you if I’m being honest.”

“Bodkin is a seagull turd,” Léanore said, patting more sand to add to the tower’s height.

Her simple comment made Ransom and Cecily laugh.

“I’m going to Kingfountain,” Ransom said after the amusement had faded.

“If anyone can convince Kiskaddon to end this mad conflict, it is you. But it won’t be easy. Trust has been broken. A mirror can’t be fixed. It must be remade.”

“That takes time,” Ransom admitted. “The king is vulnerable here,” he said. “I’d rather he stay in Glosstyr. I suggested it to him when we met, but he hasn’t come to a decision.”