Fate's Ransom(The First Argentines #4)

Some commotion started in the sanctuary hall, and Ransom turned to see a new group come in. There were murmurs of excitement.

“I thought that would be your answer,” Kiskaddon said. He sighed. “I fear you will regret your choice, more than any you’ve ever made or will ever make. May the Lady bless us, for we will all surely need it.”

Ransom’s sense of dread had faded, however. He felt a peaceful sense of reassurance that he was following the right course—whatever came of it. Still, he felt they would need the Fountain’s blessings, perhaps more so than ever before.

By the time Ransom and Kiskaddon left the anteroom, the prince had entered the sanctuary alongside his mother. Several of his men were there too, their tunics bearing the Triple Lion. Faulkes was among them, and his lip curled up at the sight of Ransom.

Jon-Landon walked up to the canoe and lifted the linen sheet covering it, his nose wrinkling from the smell. A gasp escaped him. “So it’s true,” he said, the ambition and eagerness naked on his face.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Emiloh said. “To begin the funeral rites.”

“I care nothing for that tradition,” Jon-Landon said with a snort. “Throw him in when you’re ready. I’m riding to Kingfountain. But I had to see it with my own eyes. How the mighty have fallen!”

The insensitivity of the comment struck Ransom in the stomach. Kiskaddon’s hands clenched into fists as he gazed at the prince with undisguised contempt. Ransom nearly put a restraining hand on his shoulder but thought better of it.

“My brother brought you the news?” Ransom said, drawing the prince’s eyes away from Kiskaddon’s reaction.

Jon-Landon’s brow furrowed. “Your brother is dead. He and his knights were ambushed on the way to Averanche. The fool didn’t ride with a sufficient guard. One of his knights, Sir . . . Sir Kace . . . made it to me, wounded, and delivered the message before he, too, died. It’s unfortunate, of course, but at least he died doing his duty. Can you expect anything less from one who served the house of Barton?”

The news thunderstruck Ransom. He blinked in surprise, trying to understand what the prince had said. Marcus was dead? And Sir Kace? His sister had wished to marry the man, although the match had been forbidden by Marcus. His own anguish was rivaled by the suffering he knew she would feel. He looked to Emiloh and saw a look of compassion in her eyes.

Jon-Landon did not seem to take pleasure in the news, the way he might have had he caused the accident, yet he was completely unmoved by the pain he had caused.

“What are your commands, my lord?” asked Kiskaddon in a tight voice.

“Summon the dukes of the realm to Kingfountain for the coronation,” said Jon-Landon. “I want every one of them there. Any who refuses will be branded a traitor.”

“Son,” Emiloh said coaxingly. “Estian will take advantage of this. He will fortify his positions. Why not do the coronation here at Fountainvault? Summon your lords here so that we might unite against our foe?”

Jon-Landon turned and looked at her in a scoffing way. “You may find this hard to believe, Mother, but I am quite popular in Kingfountain. And that is where Léa is. I’ll not have her risk the health of our child by riding this far. No, tradition holds that the coronation should happen at Kingfountain. The kingdom is mine now. Let the past be cast into the waters with the dead. We ride. Now!”

“Aye, my lord!” said Faulkes with vigor.

“Aye!” echoed some of his other henchmen.

Ransom looked at Kiskaddon. He knew that they both wanted to help perform the funeral rites for Benedict, but the future king had given his first command. The duke gave Ransom a look that reminded him of his earlier warning.

Emiloh approached them. “I will see it done,” she said softly. “Go back to Kingfountain. I’ll join you there.”

“Of course you will, Mother,” said Jon-Landon with a stony smile. “You’re the Duchess of Vexin, after all. You wouldn’t want me to name another in your place.”





My soul is weighed down with trepidation. Jon-Landon has always been the shadow of the Argentine family. I await news of his coronation. Whom will he keep in the king’s council? That decision will be a significant communication of his intentions. He’s never wielded any real power before. He might be popular at Kingfountain itself, but the other duchies are wary of him. Surely he will seek to curry favor with Ransom. He needs my husband’s prowess and military skill for this war with Occitania. Will he punish James Wigant or reward him? How can we know the heart of one so inscrutable?

—Claire de Murrow, Queen of Legault Connaught Castle





CHAPTER TWO


The Coronation Oath


As Ransom rode Dappled across the bridge spanning the two sides of the river, he saw the decorations were already being put out for the coronation. The people seemed ecstatic about, not wary of, the coming shift in power. Then again, Jon-Landon had always been inclined to put on a show—Benedict had been a different man, more focused on battle than on charming his followers.

Ransom’s stomach tightened with dread. He had stayed in Fountainvault to take part in the funeral rites for Benedict, despite Emiloh’s suggestion that he leave with the king, and then he’d insisted on personally escorting the dowager queen back to the palace. She’d agreed with a heavy heart, and their escort had hurried back to return on time.

“I remember riding into Kingfountain for the first time,” Emiloh said amidst the bustle and noise of the street. She turned and glanced at him. “I had never been so far from the Vexin in my life.”

“I remember seeing you,” Ransom said. “When you first came to the castle.”

Her smile was sad, and strands of hair blew across her face, loosed by the wind and their rapid journey. “That feels like another life. Another person. This city has always felt bigger than any one person. Its bones will survive long after mine have moldered.”

As she spoke, a sudden chill gripped Ransom’s heart. He heard the rush of the falls, the relentless churn of waters that came from the mountains in the North. Time would go on, like the river and like the falls. One day he, too, would be put in a canoe and sent as an offering to the Deep Fathoms. The feeling was strange, morbid, and full of dread. He wondered if he would live to be an old man, or if he would meet his end early, like the men he had served.

“Such gloomy thoughts,” Emiloh said, shaking off her frown. “Let’s hasten to the palace.”

When they arrived, they were met by liveried servants displaying the Triple Lion. The men didn’t greet them as returning nobles. In fact, the servants’ eyes were downcast. After a moment, a man emerged from the castle doors and approached them. Ransom recognized him as Captain Faulkes, Jon-Landon’s battle commander.

“You came after all,” he said with a disapproving look. “The king is expecting you. Hurry along.”

Ransom dismounted first and then helped Emiloh off. She took his arm, her shoulders slumped with weariness.

“Has everyone else arrived?” Ransom asked Faulkes.

“Of course. They obeyed the king’s command with alacrity.” There, again, was the disapproving look. Had the captain’s attitude toward Jon-Landon transformed with the change in kingship? Ambition and opportunity could alter any man who was not wary of them. Ransom’s stomach tightened, but he controlled his expression and walked with Emiloh into the palace.

They were brought to the solar first, not the main hall. Jon-Landon was pacing, wearing a sumptuous new tunic fitted with gold thread and crimson ribbons, a jeweled necklace, and rings on his small hands. His wife, Léa, was sitting on a couch, holding her swollen belly. When they entered, a sly smile crossed her mouth.

“They’re here,” she said to her husband.

Jon-Landon turned abruptly. His cheeks were clean-shaven, but he had a small beard around his mouth. His hair, which had always been darker than his brothers’, glistened with oil.