Lady's Ransom (The First Argentines, #3)

“I thank you all for responding so promptly to this summons,” said the king, leaning forward in his seat. “Whatever reason you may suppose is the cause of it, I assure you . . . you are wrong.”

Ransom lowered himself into the chair, feeling the hard back against his spine. Glancing at the faces around him, he took note of the others’ expressions, most of which were not as difficult to read as Benedict’s. The king had kept most of his father’s council, but they did not all share the same degree of loyalty to him.

“And why did you summon us, Your Majesty?” Lord Ashel asked with a baleful look.

“I did so, Duke Ashel, because of news I received from Genevar. From my mother.” He paused deliberately, letting his words sink in. He looked from face to face, studying each person in turn, projecting a sense of dominance. “As you know, I sent her there to negotiate a marriage alliance. She has done so, with the doge’s own eldest daughter. But I did not summon you here because of my nuptials. You would not think so little of me as to assume that.”

Benedict paused again, then leaned back in his throne. “The East Kingdoms are at war, and the Chandleer Oasis was overrun by one of the factions. Every single Genevese merchant present was murdered, and all trade has come to a halt. Worse, they have declared worship of the Lady a heresy punishable by death.” He strummed his fingers on the armrest.

Ransom was sickened by the news. He wondered if Kohler and the merchants he’d traveled with on his pilgrimage had been slaughtered in the attack.

The king leaned forward. “The doge fears they will bring war to our lands if we do not keep them from coming. He has proposed an alliance between Genevar, Brugia, Ceredigion, and Occitania to lead a force to reclaim the oasis. All three kings will join him in this conflict, for if even one of us were to remain behind, it would cause suspicion and animosity. We strike a common foe. That is why I’ve summoned you.”

The king’s words sent a collective gasp through the room. Ransom could hardly believe his ears. A knot of dread formed inside his stomach. He’d hoped to return to Claire soon, but he knew the oasis—it took a year to get there, a year to come back. He tried to keep his emotions from showing on his face, but he couldn’t prevent a worried frown.

“War with the East Kingdoms?” blurted out Duke Rainor. “Because of trade?”

“This is a problem for the Genevese,” said James with a smirk. “Not us.”

“My lords, please,” said the king with a tone of reproof. “My father may have suffered such outbursts of emotion, but I will not. I value calm and decisive action. Look to Lord Ransom as your guide in what will please me. Temper yourselves. Or you will lose your place on this council.”

The rebuke caught everyone by surprise, Ransom especially. He shifted in his seat uneasily as the others exchanged glances.

“This is not just a matter of coin and trade,” said Benedict. “Yes, it affects Genevar. But let us not forget who supplies us with grain, fruit, and spices. If their trade routes are cut off, then every kingdom will feel the bite of it. But it won’t end there. After they have weakened us, the infidels of the East Kingdoms will come here next. They will violate our sanctuaries and befoul our fountains.” He made a gesture with his hand, as if he were holding a sphere and examining it. “We must look ahead to these things. For many years I have wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the East. In the ancient tongue, my name means ‘blessed.’ I say the Fountain has called me as king for this very purpose. To defend our beliefs from our enemies.”

As he spoke, Ransom felt a ripple from his magic, a sense that what was being spoken was true and necessary. The pit in his stomach deepened. He didn’t want to go back to the oasis, but he could hardly refuse. He was the only one in the room who had been there before.

“What do you propose?” asked Lord Kinghorn, who had a look of zeal in his eyes. Ransom knew that he had long wanted to go on a pilgrimage himself. One of his greatest wishes was to hear the voice of the Fountain.

Sir James looked ill at ease, and he leaned back, rubbing his upper lip with his finger. Jon-Landon had a neutral expression. It was unlikely that he would be allowed to go, since there were only two heirs left in the Argentine family, Jon-Landon and Goff’s son, Drew.

“My mother, the queen dowager, will be arriving in two days. She has been instrumental in negotiating this to our advantage. Brugia doesn’t share our faith, but they are wholly dependent on Genevese trade. They will be the counterbalance we need with Occitania. Estian and I . . . do not see eye to eye as we once did.” As he said this, he glanced at Ransom, a silent communication that he had not forgotten their conversations about the Occitanian king. “Estian knows that I would take advantage of his departure if he were to sail to the East, just as I know he would target us if the situation were reversed. We both must go, and Brugia will come with us to prevent any problems. We shall leave imminently and winter in the East. I will leave my authority vested in one man to rule in my stead. To act in my interests and command in my name.”

Sir James glanced at Jon-Landon with a startled look. But Ransom saw that Jon-Landon wasn’t excited. It wasn’t going to be him.

“I name Lord Longmont justiciar of Ceredigion. He has been my chancellor for many years and knows my every thought. He will act as proxy for me and keep those who remain behind in obedience. But I will not trust one man, even one I trust as much as Longmont, to have sole command. I name protectors who will check his authority. My lady mother, Duchess Emiloh, and Lord Ransom, Duke of Glosstyr. The three of them will rule Ceredigion while I am away.”

The king looked pleased by how his announcement had shocked everyone in the room.

All except for Jon-Landon. As Ransom looked at the younger brother, he saw a glint of mischief already forming in his eyes.





John Dearley arrived from Glosstyr today. He is not just Ransom’s first knight, but also a stalwart friend to us both. He had not heard about the summons to court, so he was surprised to learn Ransom wasn’t at Connaught. His wife, Lady Elodie of Namur, came with him. They were wed not long before Ransom and I. Seeing my husband’s friends made me miss him all the more. No word has come, but then it hasn’t been long. I keep wondering what the king wants.

Progress on Connaught is going well, I suppose. Lord Toole is due to arrive for his official commission so that he might begin collecting taxes. There are a lot of workers here, many mouths to feed. We need coin soon. I don’t want to draw on the largesse of Glosstyr for too long, or it will incur the animosity of the people there.

Write to me, Ransom. I long to hear from you.

—Claire de Murrow

Connaught Castle

(anxious for news)





CHAPTER FIVE


Damian Longmont


When the business of the council was concluded, the king left the chamber with his chancellor at his side. The rest of the council broke into small groups as they all tried to process the king’s decision. War against the East Kingdoms would be a monstrous undertaking. But a temporary alliance with Brugia and Occitania as well? It seemed a stone too heavy to lift, and everyone brooded over the coming task.

Ransom approached Lord Kinghorn. The big man was coughing, something he did often when exposed to smoke from torches. His steel-gray hair was swept back on his head, and his beard was streaked with gray. Fourteen years before, Ransom had come to him as a stripling, freshly dismissed from court after King Gervase’s death. Now they were serving together again.

“I thought we might enjoy a season of peace, no matter how brief,” Lord Kinghorn said, shaking his head. “This is unexpected.”

“It is a long journey,” Ransom replied. “Bringing a host of men out there will be difficult. Nigh on impossible.”