Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

Ransom looked to the knights who had gathered around them. “We hasten for Glosstyr. Sir Galt, ride ahead and tell them to bring a barber to attend to the king.”

“I will, my lord,” Galt said. He kicked his horse and started up the slope of sand.

But Ransom no longer held hope that Jon-Landon would survive the night.



As they rode with determination, the rain began to fall again in earnest, coming in heavy, drenching sheets. Night had fallen, and they were all hungry and miserable, but Ransom could see the lights of Glosstyr in the distance. He’d sent a company back to waylay the Occitanians, and the men had returned with word that Estian’s army had turned inland and were heading to Thorngate castle, where the queen and princess had taken shelter with Lady Deborah and Cecily. They were no longer giving chase to the king.

Perhaps Jon-Landon’s piece had already been removed from the Wizr board . . . or Alix had simply reported her deed. Had Devon’s piece disappeared from the board too when he was with the Ondine? That would explain the shift in strategy, for Estian would believe—at least for a while—that Princess Léanore was the last Argentine. And since Jon-Landon had murdered all the Occitanian hostages, Ransom thought it realistic that Estian would not spare anyone either. Even women and children. He’d once threatened to execute everyone in Josselin castle in front of Ransom’s very eyes.

The king was so weak that they had him mount behind one of the other knights and ride double. He groaned with agony, suffering from the dagger wound as well as the poison ravaging his system. Ransom thought about his promise to the Ondine—to the Fountain—to sacrifice his life so that the boy could survive. He believed the prince would be a better king than his father, if given a chance, but he hadn’t done it just for him. He’d chosen to save the people of the kingdom.

When they were still about a league away from Glosstyr, they encountered riders coming from the castle, led by Sir Dawson. They’d brought fresh mounts as well as some bread and wine.

“I’m so grateful we found you!” Dawson said. “Where is the king?”

Ransom nodded to the horse next to him. Jon-Landon’s cloak had concealed his identity. In the torchlight, the king’s face had a sickly pallor.

One look at the king, and Dawson blanched. His eyes met Ransom’s, and they shared an unspoken understanding. The king was nearly dead.

“Is there a barber waiting?”

“I thought there might be wounded men, so I brought him with us,” Dawson said. “Come forward!”

While the knights took a brief rest and ate amidst the rainstorm, the soaked barber followed Ransom and Dawson as they brought the king beneath a tree. The light was brought up, revealing the crimson stain spilling from his lower ribs. The dagger had pierced his hauberk. Devon crouched by his father’s side, holding his hand and speaking comforting words to him.

Dawson shook his head. “He’s almost gone,” he muttered to Ransom.

“The blade was poisoned too. She took no chances.”

Dawson swore under his breath. “How far back is Estian’s army?”

“They broke off the chase,” Ransom answered. “They’re going to Thorngate now.”

“Why?” Dawson demanded.

“That’s where the princess is. I don’t think they realize the prince escaped. He was guarded by a water sprite at the cove back yonder. All the treasure is gone. It’s been dragged out to sea.”

“He should have left it,” Dawson said with a snarl.

“I can’t argue. Tell me—how is Claire? How are my children?” His voice caught as he spoke. The pang of losing them struck him hard. He felt tears sting his eyes, but the raindrops dripping down his face masked them.

“The boys wanted to come with me!” Dawson said with a grin. “Claire is hale. It was good seeing her again. She sent ships to drive the Occitanians away from Kingfountain. We’re still waiting for word on what happened. Your daughters are also well. It was good to see the boys with Sibyl again. But they miss the princess. Willem keeps talking about when they’ll see her again and what mischief they’ll do!”

Ransom chuckled at that, and then the pain hit his chest so hard he choked and began to weep.

Dawson looked at him in concern. But he didn’t ask what was wrong. “There’s more news, Ransom. None of it good.”

He nodded for Dawson to speak, unable to get any words out.

Dawson sighed and shook his head. “News from the North.”

Ransom’s stomach clenched. He wondered if he’d fall to the ground.

“What?” he croaked.

Dawson’s lips were pressed into a tight line. Then he spoke. “Wigant and Faulkes had a battle before news of the charter arrived. They fought for two days, neither side relenting. By the time your messenger arrived, only a few companies had survived the carnage. Both men survived, but their armies were destroyed.”

Hearing the words, he felt a surge of darkness within him. He’d been counting on Faulkes’s and James’s knights to help drive Estian out of Ceredigion. The truth bludgeoned him.

He would be facing Estian alone.





A ship from Genevar sought safe harbor today. It had fled Blackpool two days ago and was nearly torn apart by the storm. It will limp down to Atha Kleah for repairs. The waters around the Fair Isle are much calmer. But the news the captain brought made my heart chill. He said Faulkes and James nearly destroyed each other in their fight before the charter was revealed. They lost, between them, about one hundred and sixty knights and hundreds of foot soldiers. The Genevese ship was sent to bring mercenaries to join the fight, but they’ve judged the odds to be stacked against them, and they want nothing of it now.

Occitania has invaded Ceredigion. And Ransom is facing the onslaught by himself. I have no ships to send. What I had, I already did, and I’ve still not heard from the fleet I sent earlier. I fear they might not return. Ransom, if I could walk on the waters between these lands, I would, to come to you.

I’m sick at heart. Please, beloved. I love you too much for you to die.

—Claire de Murrow

Connaught Castle

(on the fate of a Genevese ship)





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


A Final Breath, Then Dawn

Ransom startled awake and realized he’d fallen asleep in a chair at the table. His eyes felt puffy, and he could feel the grit of the sand still chafing his skin beneath his clothes. The only light came from the hearth, which crackled with some fresh logs.

“You’re awake,” Dearley said with a smile in his voice.

Ransom blinked at the sight of his friend sitting in a stuffed chair by the door leading from the solar. They’d finally made it to the fortress of Glosstyr, soaked to the bone, but Ransom hadn’t expected Dearley. At least not yet.

“When did you get here?” Ransom asked, stretching and hearing little pops in his back.

Dearley shrugged. “By midnight. The waves were too fierce to bring the ship closer, so we came on smaller boats from the harbor. I’ve got a hundred men with me.”

That wouldn’t be nearly enough to overcome the force Estian had brought.

“Is the king still alive?” Ransom asked.

“He’s struggling to breathe, but yes. When I saw him, he looked like a corpse.”

“I should go to him,” Ransom said, pushing himself to stand.

“James is here,” Dearley said. “Dawson came to tell you, but I thought you needed some sleep, even if it was on a tabletop. Simon arranged a bed for the duke.”

“Thank you.” He gave Dearley a probing look, and his heart suddenly seized with pain. “How is Claire?” He barely managed to get the words out.

“Worried about you. So am I. If I understand the situation, it’s pretty hopeless. Jon-Landon is about to go to the Deep Fathoms. Two duchies nearly choked each other to death. And Estian has laid siege to Thorngate, where the queen and her daughter have sought shelter. It won’t hold for long. There’s also news of some charter the king signed. But what good is it now?”