Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

It is after midnight, and my hand trembles. We stopped for the night at Greton Lodge on the way to Kingfountain. A nightmare awakened me. It’s one I’ve had before. A warning that Ransom’s life was in danger. My heart is racing. The only news we’ve had is good news, of the coming coronation. Yet I cannot control my fear. I will awaken Dearley. We will rouse the children and ride to Kingfountain in the night. I pray that my fears are unfounded. But the Aos Sí do not always hear our prayers.

—Claire de Murrow

Greton Lodge

Midnight





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


When Courage Fails


Ransom threw off his blanket. The scabbard and blade were still snug around his hips. He groped in the dark for his boots and quickly tugged them on as he felt the presence of the poisoner coming toward him. He strode to the door.

“Who is on guard?” he called through the wood. How had she gotten away so quickly? She was in chains, behind a locked door, watched by guards with wax in their ears. It infuriated and confused him.

“It is I, Sir Galt,” came the muffled voice on the other side.

“Call for the night watch,” Ransom ordered. “The poisoner is—”

He heard a startled grunt and felt the shock of a body falling against the door. Then the sound of Sir Galt sliding down onto the floor, gurgling, followed by stillness.

Sweat beaded on Ransom’s forehead. The bar was still nested in place, so his door was locked. The room was pitch black, and when he turned and searched for his hauberk, he tripped over something on the floor. He sensed Alix’s presence arriving at his door. His fingers found the chain mail, and he began to pull it on quickly, knowing any protection was better than none.

“Anoichto.”

He recognized the word as the old speech, but he didn’t remember what it meant. The bar locking the door slid open, revealing torchlight from the hall beyond but no poisoner. With one arm through the hauberk sleeve already, he drew his bastard sword. He was about to lunge into the doorframe when he smelled the sweet odor of lilac. Before he could react, a puff of dust stung his eyes.

He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and then swung his blade in a wide arc, hoping to catch her by surprise with the sudden movement. His muscles constricted, and he felt his heart begin to race. The blade dropped from his suddenly numb fingers. A strange taste came from the back of his throat, almost like corn but harsher. He started to gag, and Alix shoved him backward onto the bed.

A strange euphoria began to fill his thoughts, like a suppressive cloud that made thinking difficult.

Sir Galt’s body was dragged into his room and dumped unceremoniously in the corner. Then Alix appeared suddenly at his bedside, her image just a blur to his fogged senses, and used a dagger and flint to light the candle he’d extinguished earlier. He sensed her going to the door and shutting it, then heard the bolt slide back into place.

The fear he’d felt earlier was gone. It was a pleasant feeling, like he was floating down a river. His wild imaginings wondered what it would feel like to go over the falls.

“I don’t have much time to interrogate you,” she said, coming to the bedside again. “You’ve ingested a strong dose of nightshade. Any stronger, and it would have killed you.” He felt her magic slip over him, coaxing and gentle. “Where did you hide the Wizr board?”

He wouldn’t tell her. She was his enemy.

But his lips betrayed him.

“In the waters of the cistern beneath the castle.”

“Interesting,” Alix said, bemused. “I wouldn’t have thought to look there. Does anyone else know where it is? Did you tell anyone?”

Again he spoke truthfully, unable to resist her question. “No.”

“Oh good, then no one will stop me when I come back for it. I’ve been to this castle many times already, you know, always while you were away. I hid weapons and poisons in various fountains for just such a situation. Oh, Ransom. You should have killed me back at Thorngate. A costly mistake.”

“How did you escape?” he asked, though it felt wrong asking for some strange reason.

“I have many tricks you don’t know about. There are books in Pisan that teach words of power to the astute, to the sensitive. Your chains couldn’t hold me. Neither could an iron door. Now I must go and finish my task. The last Argentines have to die. This game has gone on long enough. Let fate have its due. Let it be revenge for my mother joining the wrong side. And for my husband’s untimely death. The hostages your king killed were all helpless, Ransom. It seems only right that your people should pay in blood. When I draw the Wizr board from the cistern, the flood will come. And I don’t even care that Estian drowns too. As long as there is a Vertus left to win the game, it will all be worth it. It was a close game, Ransom. I’ll give you that. You played it well.”

She was still a blur to him. He felt peaceful, though.

Lowering herself down by his head, she leaned close enough that her hair tickled his cheek, but he couldn’t move his arms. “A little sip. You’ve no reason to fear it. It’s not the same poison that killed your kings. That, I’m saving for his children. Fitting they should die the same way. But this will hamper you considerably. I want you to see the end come to Ceredigion, Ransom. I want you to see what failure looks like.”

He discerned a little movement as she removed what he imagined was a vial. Then she pressed her lips against his.

“We could have been so much more together,” she whispered. “But you would not forsake your honor. In the end, your honor forsook you.”

She brought the vial to his lips. He tasted the bitter fluid on his tongue and reflexively swallowed. He couldn’t resist her, not while everything was in a fog.

Her fingers stroked his cheek gently. “I’ll grant you no more mercies,” she said in a whisper. “The game will end, and your children will perish in the flood. Your wife will drown in despair and water. But not you. Moving water cannot kill a Fountain-blessed. When you are ready to die, go to the North and freeze to death. This is my last revenge.” She put away the vial and drew her dagger.

His eyes were starting to clear again. A strange halo seemed to surround her face, her golden hair. Holding the dagger tightly, she drove it into the meat of his leg, the one that had been injured before.

A gasp sighed from his lips. He didn’t feel the pain, but he knew it was a serious blow. One that had penetrated to the bone.

A satisfied smirk showed she’d done what she came to do. She yanked the dagger free.

“Farewell, Ransom. You won’t remember this conversation for long. But I will. And I will savor the memory of your failure.”

She blew out the candle with a puff of breath, plunging the room into darkness again.



He didn’t know how long he lay there, but he clenched his hands as his leg throbbed dully with pain. Even though the candle had been snuffed, he wasn’t entirely in the dark. The scabbard glowed, showing its magic was healing him. But it would not heal him of the poison he’d ingested. The bitter flavor was still on his tongue. He breathed and sighed and tried to move his body. He had to remember. He had to tell someone. Summoning his Fountain magic, he found enough strength to sit up. It was an effort, but he succeeded.

The sound of boots came tramping down the hall, loud enough that he knew it was more than one person. They stopped at his door, and a fist pounded on the wood.

“Lord Ransom?” It was Dawson’s voice.

He strained against the power of the dust and tried to swing his legs to the edge of the bed.

“Lord Ransom?” Then he heard Dawson mutter, “Where is Galt?”

“I haven’t seen him,” said another knight from the watch.