Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

Ransom’s teeth bit together. The blackness swirling inside him was stronger than a raging river. He took a step forward, determined to confront the king before the coronation.

“No, Ransom,” she said, shaking her head, pressing herself against the door. “I’ve accepted. I told him that I would marry Lord James.”

“That is . . . unconscionable!” Ransom hissed.

Maeg closed her eyes. “He did it deliberately, Ransom. Knowing that you’d be outraged.” She opened her eyes, staring at him fiercely. “Don’t you see? He’s looking for reasons to get rid of you. If you slip, even once, he’ll arrest you for treason.”

“He’s a coward at heart.”

“And because he’s a coward, he’s afraid of you. He wants to destroy you. Ransom . . . he would kill you for disloyalty when you are the most loyal man this kingdom has ever known. We need you. Not just your family, but all of us. For the sake of the people, you must put aside your anger. For the sake of the kingdom, you must put aside your pride. For my sake, you must let this go. I’ve reconciled myself to it already. King Benedict supported the match too, and although I had let myself hope things might be different, Kace is gone. There is no reason for me to balk anymore. So I will marry Lord James, the man who was once your enemy.” She swallowed, bringing her hands together and entwining her fingers in supplication. “Please, Ransom. Don’t defy Jon-Landon. Not for me.”

She was right. Despite his scalding-hot blood, Ransom could see the wisdom in her words. And yet, he was filled with dark emotions that had no release. Grief for his brother. The desire for vengeance on Alix, who’d killed yet another Argentine. His wrath needed a target, but this wasn’t a sword fight in the training yard. This was politics, and it required the kind of maneuverings that went against all Ransom’s instincts and notions of Virtus.

“I’m disgusted,” Ransom said with an ache deep in his chest.

“So am I. I’d hoped that someday Kace and I—” Her voice quivered and caught, and fresh tears spilled from her eyes. “I never saw myself as an attractive heiress. The sister of the Duke of Glosstyr.” She came and embraced him again, pressing her cheek against his chest. “I’m proud of you, Ransom. You’ve always cared for me. I will do this, as hard as it is, for you.” She took his hands in hers. “There are worse things in life than becoming a duchess. And in Dundrennan, I will be far, far away from Kingfountain. And the king,” she added with a tremulous sigh.

Later on, during the coronation ceremony, held in the sanctuary of Our Lady, Ransom kept glancing at his sister, who stood nearby with James Wigant, their arms locked together in a gesture that revealed to all their coming nuptials. His gaze only shifted to the deconeus of the sanctuary when the man lowered the hollow crown onto Jon-Landon’s head. A murmured sigh traveled through the audience of nobles. Then the deconeus set the queen’s crown on Lady Léa’s brow. She gave a cheerful grin, at odds with the solemnity of the moment, and a little giggle bubbled from her mouth, earning her a few shocked looks from the ladies of court.

Ransom gazed at the assembled body. Lord Kiskaddon was looking at him, and when their gazes met, Kiskaddon rolled his eyes and shrugged. Ransom tried not to smirk and failed. Although his heart recognized the significance of the child in Léa’s belly—the future king of Ceredigion, chosen by the Fountain—he nonetheless dreaded the decision he’d made to support Jon-Landon. It would have been easier if Drew Argentine had taken the throne. He could imagine seeing Constance there at the sanctuary at that moment, the king’s mother. But the image felt wrong somehow. There was another fate in the works.

The deconeus spoke with a strong, resonant voice. “Now is the time for the coronation oath. A king blessed by the Fountain who observes his pact with the Fountain will earn great honor for himself. Mercy will be shown to him, both in this life and also in the Deep Fathoms beyond. If you fail to fulfill that which was promised here before Our Lady, then within a very short time things will grow worse for our people, and for you. Make amends if thou doest wrongly. O beloved sovereign, eagerly protect yourself from the calamities foretold!”

Ransom felt a shiver go down his back as his Fountain magic responded to the deconeus’s words of warning. He felt the truth of them prick down to his marrow, but the look on Jon-Landon’s profile suggested he wasn’t listening. He was bored of the lecture and impatient for the revelry to begin.

“This is the oath. The justice of a consecrated king is that he condemns no man unjustly. That he holds the good of the kingdom above his personal fortune. That he treats people of all classes and rank with dignity, not disdain. That he protects foreigners and prisoners held for ransom. He must forbid water sprites from deceiving mortals, destroy evil Wizrs, drive murderers and perjurers out of the country, and appoint righteous and honorable men as officers of justice. The king who acts unjustly by means of his might must give a reckoning before the Deep Fathoms for all of it. This is the coronation oath, my lord. Do you so swear it?”

“I do,” said Jon-Landon with a graceful bow.

The chamber burst into applause at the proper moment as the king, scepter in hand, and queen turned and faced the gathered ranks of the nobility. A raucous cheer sounded from outside the sanctuary as the people discovered the news that the king had been crowned.

Ransom did not join in the cheers or applause. He stared at Jon-Landon’s triumphant face and felt a sickness in his bowels as he wondered which of the oaths just taken would not be broken.





The years since Jon-Landon assumed the crown have flowed by like a tumultuous river, destroying or damaging those in its path as well as those carried along in its current. I realize, having just read my last entry, that I haven’t written since the birth of our fourth child—a girl we named Keeva in memory of my maid who was murdered. There has been so much war and tumult these last years that I feel obliged to write some of the events down for fear that time and chaos will purge them from my mind. But I will not try to describe the hundred ways in which the king has made Ransom’s life—and our life together—more miserable. That, I shall never forget.

There is a Gaultic saying that perfectly captures Jon-Landon’s reign so far: “He who trusts no one is distrusted by all the world.” When he formed his council, he dismissed most of the people who had been loyal to his brother. He sent his mother back to the Vexin and replaced her with Lady Deborah of Thorngate castle. She had served the Elder King well. Lord Longmont, King Benedict’s former chancellor and the much-reviled lord protector, was exiled from the realm because of their previous rivalry. He wasn’t even allowed to return to the Vexin under pain of death.

The king retained Ransom, of course, but immediately showed his distrust by saying that Legault was not an independent kingdom but one of Ceredigion’s duchies. This was argued over a great deal, especially when Jon-Landon sought to reward some of his sycophants with lands that were part of the Fair Isle. Thankfully, the war with Occitania has prevented him from pressing this further, and he was persuaded, begrudgingly, to give up his claims. But it caused much resentment among the nobility here that he would attempt to use the hollow crown to claim authority and overlordship of our lands.