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

When they entered Occitanian territory, the feeling of dread and gloom increased. They passed Occitanian travelers on occasion. They greeted them in passing, and Ransom replied in kind, keeping his words brief so as not to arouse suspicion with his accent. It had been several years since he’d lived in this kingdom. But the words came easily, and he felt the throb of his Fountain magic guiding him.

They camped for the night in a small copse of trees off the main road, not wanting to arouse attention or risk suspicion by staying at a tavern. The next day, they continued riding, moving past hamlets and villages that had sprung up since Ransom’s last visit. The businesses were bustling and cheerful, and the people seemed completely unaware they were a nation at war.

Just after midday, they encountered a band of armed knights heading toward them. Ransom’s stomach sank, and Guivret whistled softly under his breath.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Ransom said to him. “Don’t answer. Let me speak.”

“I have no intention of doing otherwise,” the younger man confessed.

As the other knights drew closer, the lead one tapped his chest in a knightly salute. Ransom reciprocated and slowed when the other man did. He didn’t recognize the fellow, thankfully.

“Have you word on the king’s arrival?” asked the knight. “Has he reached landfall yet?”

“I know not,” Ransom said with a shrug. “I was heading to Chessy.”

“For the tournament?”

Ransom hadn’t heard there would be one. “Aye.”

“Don’t count on winning anything,” said the knight with a chuckle. “The tournament is a pretext for our knights to gather. We’re riding to war against the dogs of Ceredigion.”

Ransom wrinkled his brow. “When?”

“Soon. Enjoy the delights of the market at Chessy. But you’ll not be there long.”

“Thanks for the news,” Ransom said, bowing his head. The two groups parted, and Ransom breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been discovered.

Guivret grinned at him. “We could have taken them, Lord Ransom. I wasn’t afraid.”

The bold declaration made Ransom shake his head.



As they drew near Chessy, the road was thronged with travelers coming for the tournament. Memories of Ransom’s younger days crowded his mind. He was tempted to stop by a certain market stall and buy some penuche for Claire, but he didn’t want to risk even the smallest chance of being recognized. As they passed other knights, his stomach felt sick with worry. He quickly glanced from face to face, trying to beware any who would recognize him.

And as they reached the thickest part of the road, moving at a slow clop, he sensed the vague presence of Lady Alix for the first time since the Elder King had died. His eyes shut with dread.

“We must hurry,” he muttered to Guivret. Had she sensed him as well? He’d felt just the slightest tremor in his Fountain magic—a warning that another with the power was nearby. Fear bloomed in his chest.

He urged his horse forward, forcing his way through the crowd. Some cried out in anger at being bypassed, but he didn’t slow or halt, and neither did Guivret. The feeling of her presence began to fade, and it dissipated altogether as soon as they left the crowd.

There were so many people around them. Was it even Alix he had felt? Was it possible there was another Fountain-blessed who served Estian? He wasn’t completely sure.

They reached Pree as the sun sank in the western sky. The city gates were open, streams of traffic coming in and out. The walls surrounding the city were massive and defended by a battalion of sentries. Pennants bearing the Fleur-de-Lis of Occitania fluttered in the breeze from spire spokes. The city shone with splendor, but it was a dark glory. It felt unnatural being there, as if he were trudging through a slimy bog, unseen but keenly felt.

When they reached the gate, they were waved through by the guards on duty without even a comment. One look at their black tunics had been enough.

They rode side by side on the crowded street.

“How will we get inside the palace?” Guivret asked softly.

“We are not at war currently,” he said in response, not wanting their foreign tongue to be overheard. “We might not even be challenged.”

“But if we are?”

“Then I’ll say we have news of the king. It seems he’s expected.”

“By the Lady, I hope he doesn’t come while we’re here,” Guivret said nervously.

Ransom agreed.

He was able to guide them to the palace, but they stopped before approaching the building. Guards in black tunics patrolled it, and no travelers were going in or out.

“What do we do?” Guivret asked.

Ransom remembered the fish-shaped charm he had taken from one of the knights of Bayree. Perhaps it would get them through.

“I have an idea,” he said, then tied a little knot in the broken chain and slipped it around his neck. He let the emblem fall on the breast of his tunic.

“What is that?” Guivret asked him.

“The symbol of the Fisher Kings,” Ransom answered. He looked up at the silver spires of the palace, glinting in the sun. “It may help us get past the guards.”

Guivret nodded, and the two of them approached. The sound of shushing water filled Ransom’s ears. Part of him thought they were risking too much, that this gambit was utter madness, yet he also felt a strange confidence that he’d succeed.

As they rode across the drawbridge to the gate, the knights on duty barred the way. They both reined in, and Ransom stared down at the man who approached them.

“It is forbidden to enter or—” he paused, his eyes going to the charm on Ransom’s chest.

“I come with a message,” Ransom said.

The guard nodded curtly and waved them both in. As they reached the portcullis, he saw the vicious spiked teeth of it and remembered a story Alix favored about a Fountain-blessed knight whose horse was cut in half. A shiver went down his spine.

They rode into the yard and left their horses with a stable boy. Ransom gave him a livre as a reward, with the charge to keep their mounts ready if he wanted another.

Guivret looked a little greensick as they marched toward the palace doors. Ransom gripped the hilt of his bastard sword, ready for anything, but two servants opened the doors for them. No one attempted to speak with them, the servants continuing with their work as they passed by. There didn’t appear to be other visitors, which made sense because of the coming tournament at Chessy.

Ransom led them through the shadow-dappled passageways, guiding them toward the chapel Constance had told them about. As they turned down the hall, he saw a single knight standing on duty at the door. A tingle of warning went down his neck as they approached the man. His magic informed him the man was highly skilled.

“This corridor is off-limits,” the knight said as they approached. “Away with you.”

Ransom didn’t slow his pace. “Is this the king’s private chapel?”

“It is, and turn back before I sound the alarm,” repeated the knight. His hand dropped to his sword hilt.

“I wanted to toss a coin in the fountain as a prayer for the king,” Ransom said. “I’ve heard he will return soon.”

“There are other fountains in the castle. Are you daft, man? Did you not—?”

Ransom lunged for him and slammed his forearm into the man’s throat. The knight, caught off guard, tried to push Ransom back, but Guivret slammed the man in the temple with the hilt of his dagger. The knight sagged against Ransom, unconscious, and Guivret opened the door, allowing Ransom to drag the body into the chapel.

“What’s going on?” asked another man on the inside. By his robes, Ransom took him to be the sexton, not a deconeus.

“He fainted,” Ransom said, setting the body on the ground. He looked at Guivret and nodded to the sexton. Guivret marched toward him.

The sexton paled and then fled out a side door. Guivret charged after him, but by the time he reached the door, it was locked. Guivret pounded his fist against it in frustration.

“We don’t have time,” Ransom said. He hurried to the fountain, its waters placid, and knelt before it. He felt a powerful sense of Fountain magic emanating from the waters.