Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

How much time passed, he didn’t know. But he awoke to a surge of Fountain magic, warning him of danger. His eyes popped open, and he sat up. He reached for the tube with one hand and his sword with the other.

Suddenly a shielded lantern burst, blinding his eyes and making him involuntarily look away. Fear bloomed in his heart. As he reached for the hilt of his sword to draw it, he heard a voice coming from behind the light.

“If Lord Ransom draws that blade,” said Bodkin, the head of the Espion, in a voice dripping with amusement, “shoot him.”





I awoke in the middle of the night with a spasm of fear. This has happened before, but this time the sensation was so strong, so fierce, that I could hardly breathe. I felt Ransom was in danger, yet I could do nothing—nothing!—to aid him. I sat up in the dark, the new moon making everything invisible. I gasped and I pleaded with the Aos Sí to protect him. He has the Raven scabbard, so why am I this afraid?

I lit a candle and decided to write to calm my emotions. I’ve sent ships in response to Constance’s warning. Now I pray they return before Legault is imperiled. We wait for news. We worry for it.

—Claire de Murrow

Atha Kleah

(in the darkness)





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


The Rising


Ransom’s eyes gradually adjusted to the glare of the lantern. He’d involuntarily raised his hand to protect his eyes. He couldn’t see how many there were, so he reached out with his Fountain magic. Six men had come, including Bodkin, and one held a crossbow aimed at Ransom’s chest. At that short distance, it would skewer him even with his armor. His sword was just out of reach.

The magic revealed that these were highly trained men, including Bodkin himself. Ransom felt confident he could defeat them, but not with that crossbow aimed at him. If the man was startled, he might release the bolt and put a quick—and permanent—end to things.

“What shall we discuss, Lord Ransom?” said Bodkin in his infuriating confidence. “How about . . . that leather tube. I’d be grateful if you’d hand it to me. It looks rather important.”

“It is,” Ransom said, his voice throbbing with anger. His instincts screamed at him to lunge for his weapon, but he didn’t dare. “It is a truce, awaiting the king’s seal.”

“Let me see it,” Bodkin said flatly, holding out his hand.

Ransom lowered his hand, shrinking slightly from the stab of light, and closed his other around the leather case. It was then he noticed the hole in the floor at the corner of the room. They’d come in through a trapdoor.

“Don’t try anything foolish,” Bodkin warned. “You may have bested my men before, but I’ve taken care this time. We wouldn’t want any accidents now, would we?”

Ransom took it as the threat it was. He extended his hand and offered the tube to the Espion chief. From the glint of light on metal, Ransom saw Bodkin had a dagger tucked in his other hand.

“Thank you for being reasonable. What have you brought?” He slid his dagger into his belt and twisted the cap off the case. As he shook out the rolled parchment, Ransom glanced at the other Espion. All of them were armed. He listened keenly for the sound of anyone outside, the night watch. What would Bodkin do if he cried out?

Bodkin motioned for the man holding the lantern to bring the light closer to the unfurled parchment. His dark brows beetled closer as he began to read the deconeus’s words. The furrows deepened, and his lips pursed with disgust.

“This won’t do,” Bodkin said. “This won’t do at all.”

“There is another copy at the sanctuary,” Ransom said. “But it means nothing if the king doesn’t stamp it with his seal. I’m bringing him options as he commanded me.”

“You’re a sliver under his skin,” Bodkin said with a sneer. “This is an abomination.”

“It is the only way the kingdom can survive,” Ransom said.

“I don’t think so. The king has two hundred thousand livres. I advised him to flee to Gotz in Brugia. He can live comfortably enough in Callait. Let the dukes squabble and bleed each other for a season. He was listening to me. Until you returned.”

“You are suggesting he flee the realm during this crisis?”

“Why not? As long as he wears the hollow crown, it doesn’t matter where he rules from.”

“And you presume he’d be safer in Callait?”

“Of course. We need time to get our own poisoner. I think he would be very safe. I’m sorry, Lord Ransom, but this won’t do.” He rolled up the parchment again, shaking his head.

The sound of boots came down the hall. One of the Espion hissed in warning. The man with the crossbow looked nervously at Bodkin, but his weapon was still aimed at Ransom’s chest.

Bodkin pursed his lips and put a finger to them, a signal they all understood.

Ransom gripped a fist around the blankets, feeling sweat trickle down his back. He glanced at his sword again. The only thing that stayed his hand was the memory of the Fountain’s whisper—This is the river that King Gervase was sent into. It is where your body will join his.

The guard’s bootfalls passed by the door and continued down the hall.

“You were wise not to shout,” Bodkin said, giving Ransom an approving look. “I’d rather not kill you, but I’m willing to. In fact, your death would make my plan the better option.”

“What is your intention, then?” Ransom said.

Bodkin withdrew a little vial. Ransom’s stomach shriveled when he saw it. “You are going to get very sick. Delirious even. I’ll return and tell the king you’ve been poisoned. By the time you revive, we’ll be on our way to Brugia.”

The time to act was upon him. Would his reflexes be quick enough?

“Hold him down,” Bodkin ordered curtly.

Three of the Espion lunged at him. As soon as they blocked the sight of the crossbow, he fought back. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbed the first man by the collar and threw him into the wall. The other two collided with him, both of them very strong and very heavy. He reached for his scabbard as it toppled to the floor, but missed, and suddenly the weight of more men slammed into him.

Ransom used his forehead to smash the nose of one of his assailants and heard a bark of pain. He tried to punch, but one of the Espion managed to capture his arm with both hands, and soon he was pinned on the bed. Anger raged inside him.

“Quickly, quickly,” Bodkin said, coming closer with the vial. “Force his mouth open.”

Ransom clenched his teeth shut and strained against the weight of his attackers. Fingers prodded his mouth and squeezed his cheeks to part his lips. He kept his jaw closed and continued to struggle.

Bodkin loomed over him, his eyes livid with eagerness. Suddenly he knew. This was the man who’d persuaded the king to murder the Occitanian hostages, to remove all obstacles to his succession plans. There was no sympathy in him, only concern for his own greedy ends. If Ransom could have bitten him, he would have. Bodkin unstoppered the vial and began to reach through the mess of limbs to bring it to Ransom’s mouth.

A heavy weight struck the door, startling everyone. The lock held. The Espion master glared, but he persisted in pushing the vial to Ransom’s lips. A sickly-sweet-smelling ichor began to dribble out.

The crossbow twanged.

Bodkin roared in pain. The vial fell from his fingers as he arched his back. The men who were restraining Ransom looked bewildered. The man with the crossbow lowered it and rushed to the door to unbolt it. When it opened, Guivret charged in with a sword in hand, along with three other knights.

Bodkin continued to writhe and howl. One of the Espion tried to rush for the trapdoor, but one of the knights stopped him at sword point.

“Unhand him now!” shouted Guivret.

The other Espion backed away, but the one holding the crossbow was standing next to Guivret, a satisfied smirk on his mouth. When Ransom turned his head, he finally registered that Bodkin was the one who’d been shot.

In the arse.

The Espion chief trembled in pain, groaning loudly as he gasped air in and out. Sweat streaked down his brow, and his eyes glittered with fear.