Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

“I know he’s watching me,” Ransom said. Indeed, he’d felt Jon-Landon’s eyes on his back constantly these last years. “Have you heard any news from the North?”

“Your sister is doing well, and so is your nephew, but the Atabyrions keep menacing the shore. Duke James does the same in retaliation to keep them guessing. A peace accord with Occitania would be timely right now. Is that why you’ve come?”

“There he is!” boomed the king’s voice from across the hall. “The man himself. The most loyal, dutiful, Duke of Glosstyr! Raise a cup to welcome the faithful!” Although the words were flattering, the tone in which they were spoken revealed the king’s disdain. Several raised their cups in mock salute. Lady Deborah bowed her head to him, her expression shuttered once more.

Ransom strode into the hall. Kiskaddon perked up, giving him a smile of true welcome, but Faulkes lifted his cup to the insulting toast, malice in his eyes. Using the duke’s moment of distraction, the girl managed to escape from his lap, and he frowned in annoyance at having lost her. His expression was anything but welcoming.

“How goes the conflict?” Jon-Landon asked, lowering his cup. His fine clothes matched the decorations of the hall. There were too many torches burning, a wasted expense. Fine behavior from the young man who’d once given a pretty speech about the wastefulness of Lord Longmont when King Benedict was away at war. A stag was roasting on a spit in the hearth and Ransom’s stomach grumbled again at the sight and smell.

“I’ve told you before, my lord,” Ransom answered. “No progress can be made in the struggle. We lack the men-at-arms to drive them out of their castles, and they suffer from the same limitations. We’re at an impasse.”

“We have sufficient mercenaries,” countered the king. “We need bold action, strong leadership.”

“Your mercenaries haven’t been paid in over a fortnight,” Ransom declared. “Many are threatening to sack our sanctuaries and steal what they were promised.”

Jon-Landon’s face flashed with anger. “Perhaps you are being too lenient with them, my lord duke. Anyone who threatens it should be bound to a canoe and thrown over the falls!”

“They’re Brugian, my lord. They don’t respect our ways. They’re hungry, tired, and want to be paid.”

“Then pay them,” Jon-Landon said. “Surely you can bridge the gap until the treasury releases the funds. It’s none of my doing.” The last bit was a total lie. Ransom had heard the king deliberately withheld payment because he was loath to part with his livres.

“Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to do so, my lord. I must pay my own men their wages.”

Jon-Landon lifted his jeweled goblet and slurped from it. “Did you come all this way to complain, Lord Ransom? Surely not.”

“No, my lord. You asked how the war was going, and I told you honestly and bluntly. But I come bearing news. An offer of a truce from King Estian.”

Jon-Landon’s eyes flashed with interest. Faulkes scowled, but Kiskaddon leaned forward eagerly. There were lesser nobles gathered as well, the king’s barons, and all eyes went to Ransom.

“If he wants to stop the bloodshed, then he must depart Westmarch. I’m not giving up my father’s land. Land which belongs, by right and law, to me.”

Ransom let out a slow breath. “As you know, King Estian says the duchy was part of Occitania originally. Right now, it serves neither of us. The people are suffering. It is the most fertile land—”

“I know this already, Lord Ransom,” said the king, cutting him off. “Tell me his offer.”

“A two-year truce. Neither kingdom brings their armies into the disputed lands. It is not too late to plant for winter wheat. We share the harvest equally. Each side disbands its mercenaries, which will also save money. After two years, we try to negotiate a permanent peace accord.”

Jon-Landon looked skeptical. “I think he’s bluffing. Testing us for weakness. If we agree to this, he’ll attack us when our guard is down. Maybe it’s the right time to press even harder.”

Ransom gritted his teeth. “The mercenaries do not want a pitched battle. It’s too risky. If they’re dead, they cannot collect their wages.”

“I know,” said the king with a sly smile.

Ignoring his reaction, Ransom pressed on. “As a sign of good faith, King Estian is willing to relinquish one castle in the borderlands to our custody.”

“Which one?” asked the king.

This was the part Ransom had dreaded to share. “Josselin, my lord.”

Faulkes snorted and shook his head. “One of yours? How convenient for you.”

“But it is a key castle,” Kiskaddon countered. “He’s giving it up? I can hardly believe it.”

“Not exactly,” Ransom said. He was grateful for Kiskaddon’s support, but it would do little to sway the king. Although Jon-Landon had not stripped the duke of his title, he constantly threatened it.

“Say on,” said the king.

“He will hand over the castle as a token of good faith, yet he still lays sovereign claim to it. Whoever holds it must swear fealty to King Estian for it.”

Jon-Landon rubbed his temple thoughtfully. “Let me see if I understand you correctly, Lord Ransom. You would swear fealty to King Estian?”

“For that castle only,” said Ransom. “Clearly the bulk of my revenue and power come from Glosstyr and Legault. Josselin is a trivial amount by comparison.”

“You hate Estian, though,” said Jon-Landon. “Is he playing you for a fool?”

“I do not trust him,” Ransom agreed. “It does not serve my interests in the least to curry favor with him. But Josselin is my castle, so yes, I would be the one to swear fealty for it.” He gave the king a bow.

“Interesting.” The king rubbed his mouth again. He looked at Faulkes. “What do you think?”

“I think we should take the castle back by force!”

“We’ve tried,” answered the king. “It’s too well defended. Which would make it a strategic position for us. We could refuse to give it back. We gain something for nothing.”

“My lord,” Ransom said, trying to tame his anger. “I am a man of my word. I would never take part in such a ruse.”

“Your scruples . . .” said the king with a chuckle. “What if I ordered it?”

“Then I would resign my post,” said Ransom firmly.

Faulkes’s grin suggested he’d be all for it. They’d taken a disliking to each other all those years ago, at the battle at Josselin, and it had never lifted.

“No, Lord Ransom,” said the king. “You’re far too valuable to lose. What say you, Lord Kiskaddon?”

“A two-year truce would be a blessing from the Fountain,” he answered. “Surely you can see that, my lord. The King of Occitania may dislike Lord Ransom, but he trusts him to be honest. As we all do. Two years could change circumstances substantially. I’m for it.”

“Of course you are,” sneered Faulkes.

Kiskaddon shot him a warning look.

“Lady Deborah?” asked the king politely.

“Lord Ransom is known for keeping his word. King Estian is not. It could be a trick. However, I don’t think Estian would give up such a strategic castle as a trick. It’s a sign of good faith. And a shrewd one.”

“I agree,” said the king. “You have my permission, Lord Ransom, to respond. This conflict has waged on for many years now. I would like my son and daughter to enjoy a season of peace. But I do not relinquish my claims on Westmarch or any of the other lands that have been pried away from us.”

Ransom was surprised by the king’s response. Up until now, his approach to the war had been much more in line with Faulkes’s.

“So I have your permission to swear fealty to Estian?” Ransom pressed.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Jon-Landon said impatiently.

“You said I had permission to respond. I just want to confirm your will. I can negotiate a two-year peace and accept Josselin as a token of the agreement?”

“You don’t trust me, Lord Ransom? Do you doubt my word?”