Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

“He might have feared someone would infiltrate the camp,” Ransom said. “Either way, it was the worst possible time for Estian to snatch it back. We’re blind to his army now.”

“Indeed. It won’t be easy to win a war against an opponent who can see our every move.” She shook her head ruefully. “We’re at war with Occitania, and Brugia is in upheaval with Lord Gotz fighting to become king. Once again the world is in turmoil. It makes me long for gentler times, for when Gervase stepped down and we began our rule. How things have changed for the worse.”

Ransom thought back to King Gervase, who had been like a father to him. Things hadn’t been simple back then either. The hollow crown had beaten him into the ground.

The sound of riders approached, and they both turned their gazes. Had Jon-Landon come already? They were expecting his arrival imminently.

They walked back through the small orchard they’d been crossing and were soon joined by Duke Kiskaddon, who looked weary from the ride. His army had been menacing the Occitanian countryside, wreaking havoc and burning crops. He strode up to them forcefully and knelt before Emiloh.

“My lady, I bring my deepest sympathies,” said the duke. His face was a mixture of emotions, but the predominant one was worry. Close in age to Benedict, he had been a loyal friend to the king and likely feared how the younger brother would treat him.

Ransom understood how he felt.

“Thank you, Hal,” Emiloh replied. She touched his shoulder, and he rose.

“I came as soon as I heard the news,” he said, his voice strong and full of energy. “I came too late. He’s already gone.”

“He died not long ago,” she answered. “I’m glad you are here. You can help bear his boat into the waters.”

“We’re not taking the body back to Kingfountain?”

Emiloh shook her head. “This is where he asked to be set free. Near his father.”

Kiskaddon nodded, his mouth turned down at the edges. “Bennett was a good man. A good friend.”

“He thought highly of you as well. He spoke of you, before the end.”

Ransom had always been in awe of the care Emiloh took for others’ feelings.

“I am grateful, madam, that you came in time to bid him farewell. He told me many times how much he regretted not doing more to free you from the tower.”

Her husband had kept her there, along with Claire, for years following Devon the Younger’s attempted rebellion.

Emiloh offered a sad smile. “He suffered that guilt needlessly. Thank you for coming.”

After Lord Kiskaddon left, Emiloh sighed again. “Hal and Jon-Landon despise each other. If you remember, he was one who spoke out for harsher treatment after Jon-Landon tried to claim the throne in Benedict’s absence. He will need to watch himself, Ransom. All of us will. I’ve never been close to Jon-Landon, although I have tried. He’ll test all of us. I don’t think he trusts anyone.”

Ransom nodded. “I must admit I’m worried about the future.”

“We will do what we must, Ransom. Serve him as you served my other sons. When he wears the hollow crown, he will be our king. Can you give him your loyalty, Ransom? Even if he despises you for taking what he wanted?”

Jon-Landon had wished to marry Claire and, through her, lay claim to Legault and Glosstyr. But Ransom had married her instead. He smiled at the impossible situation. “The Fountain has whispered to me, my lady, that Jon-Landon’s son is to be our king.”

Emiloh inclined her head. “Lady Léa is going to have a son?”

“I know it,” Ransom answered. “And I have no doubt that Estian will try to destroy all of your posterity. It is my duty to prevent it.”

Emiloh gave him a fierce look. “Do your duty, then, Ransom.” She squeezed his arm firmly. “I’m counting on you.”

Her words weighed on him. If he was all that stood between Estian and Jon-Landon, he wasn’t sure he was enough.



The king’s body was prepared for the funeral rites and lay in a canoe with a sheet draped over him, gripping his sword between stiff fingers. The stink from the corpse permeated the air despite the bouquets of flowers assembled in the vaulted chamber in the sanctuary. The coolness of the marble floor after the hot summer sun was a relief. Ransom leaned against one of the pillars, arms folded, watching as different people descended on Fountainvault to pay respects to the dead. Jon-Landon had not yet arrived.

The clipping noise of boots came from behind Ransom. Hal Kiskaddon leaned on the pillar opposite him. “Can we talk, Lord Ransom?”

“If you wish,” he answered. They wandered over to one of the small alcoves, where a fountain splashed noisily. Brightly colored light streamed in from a thick stained-glass window depicting the Lady of the Fountain. Now that he was farther from the source of the flowery stench, he could smell the wet stone. Several stained coins and a few fresh ones lay in the basin of the fountain.

Ransom gazed at the Duke of East Stowe and arched his eyebrows.

“Hear me out before you raise any objections,” Kiskaddon said.

Ransom scowled. “I don’t like the sound of this already.”

Kiskaddon held up his hands placatingly. “Just listen. I’ve been giving this a great deal of thought. Why not sue for peace with Estian now? His purported purpose for invading us is to give the hollow crown to Goff’s son, Andrew. I’m telling you, Ransom, that I think we’d be better off with that boy as king than Jon-Landon Argentine.”

Ransom didn’t argue straightaway. He stared at the duke with impassive eyes.

Perhaps the silence encouraged the man, for his next words were even bolder. “I don’t trust Estian, and neither do you, but this war has been costly for both sides. Maybe he’s had enough. If Andrew becomes king, he is too young to rule by himself. He’ll need a protector. I would support you in that role, Lord Ransom. I think the duke of the North would as well. Rainor is old and decrepit. Dalian Kinghorn does not have the title, but he is to be the Duke of Westmarch in everything but name. He is young and loyal, and he’d support us too. Think of it! If we could persuade Estian to accept a truce, we could end this bloody conflict. Why not? What would you say against it?”

“The king expressly declared his brother as his heir,” Ransom said.

Kiskaddon winced. “I know. Jon-Landon is older . . . in a better position to begin ruling. But you know he’s not experienced. He was knighted because his father ordered it, not because he earned it. You and I both know he will be a terrible king.”

“That may be true,” Ransom said, shifting with discomfort. Kiskaddon’s words had made him feel uneasy and sick to his stomach. Although his reasoning was sound, his motives were driven by self-interest. Kiskaddon had been granted East Stowe after Duke Ashel supported Jon-Landon’s attempt to usurp the throne. He’d not held it for long, and it was doubtful he’d keep it if the youngest Argentine brother was given the throne.

Ransom heard again the words the Fountain had whispered to him: The scion of King Andrew will be reborn through an heir of the Argentines. They will try to kill him. You are all that stands in the way.

“If you let Jon-Landon rule, then watch your back,” Kiskaddon pressed. “You are far too powerful. He’ll strip away your privileges one by one.”

Again, Ransom felt a wrenching sensation in his stomach. He feared the other man was correct, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t. “I’ve heard you. The king didn’t ask for my advice on who to declare as his heir. And I know that Devon the Elder always wanted Jon-Landon to rule.”

“Even though he betrayed him in the end?”

“Jon-Landon knew his father was dying and couldn’t protect him. He wouldn’t have been able to defeat Bennett.”

“Because he’s a knave and a coward.”

Ransom gave him a dark look. “And he will be your king. I won’t go against my conscience. I won’t go against the queen dowager. And you owe your king loyalty no matter who wears the crown.”