“Jorganon is dead,” she said, hoping it was not true, but knowing that it was.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, his mouth pressing against her hair. He pulled away from her and stared down at the ground.
“What happened?” Eleanor pleaded, grabbing his hand. “Tell me the worst of it! I cannot bear to see you in such anguish, Husband!”
He had tears in his eyes. He—who rarely showed his emotions so nakedly. His cheek twitched. “The king . . . won. The battle is named the Battle of Ambion Hill. It was a close battle, Eleanor. So close. A moment longer, a breath of wind could have changed it. A trickling stream could have overturned it. I wish . . . if you had been there to advise me . . . but you were not!” His expression crumpled and he stared at her pleadingly. “Forgive me!”
Eleanor felt her legs quivering. “For what?” she choked.
His lips were pressed so tightly they were white. “Horwath led the battle for the king. His men were hard-pressed. It looked possible that he would fail. The king ordered my army to support Horwath’s.” He shook his head as if he were still living in that perilous moment when all could be lost or won. “I refused.”
“What?” she gasped.
“The king is the last of his dynasty. His only son died a year ago. His wife died next—poisoned, they say. It seemed as if the Fountain had judged him and he was doomed to fail at Ambion. We both believed that or we never would have—”
“Shhh!” Eleanor warned furtively, glancing at the door.
“We suspected the new king would be in our favor if we did not intervene. In that moment of peril, I believed the king’s army would fall. Severn threatened to kill Jorganon on the spot.” Her husband knuckled his forehead, his words breaking into sobs. “What have I done?”
Eleanor rushed to her husband and held him tightly. He was a wise and capable man, but such qualities did not aid him in navigating the politics of King Severn’s duplicitous court. It was why he so often sought her counsel. She too had suspected Severn’s reign would be mercifully short. Yes, she had advised her husband to appear to support the king. But not to support him too well. To be slow, to appear confused by commands. She bit the edge of her finger.
“But the king’s army prevailed after all,” Eleanor said weakly. “And now he thinks you a traitor.”
“From where I sat, it looked like Horwath would be destroyed. The men were fighting slothfully. No one’s heart was in it to defend Ceredigion from the invader. But then the king summoned his knights and rode into battle himself. The conflict was raging below them when they made their charge. I watched it, Eleanor. There were only twenty . . . maybe thirty knights in all, but they came like a flood. As if the very Fountain were driving them. They clashed with lances and swords. The king himself unhorsed his enemy and then jumped from his injured horse and killed the man with his own sword. The invaders swarmed him, but he fought as if he had the strength of a dozen men. They fell away from him, and when they saw his triumph, Horwath’s men became demons!” His eyes were wide with shock and amazement. “Severn defeated them by himself. Even with his twisted leg and his hunchback, he was unstoppable. I rode hard to join the fray and helped capture the fallen army. The king’s crown had fallen from his head during the fighting and I found it in a hawthorn bush. I told him . . . I told him that I was loyal.” His face went white.
Eleanor felt her knees losing strength. She clutched to her husband, as if they were alone on an island and the waves of the sea were crashing around them, trying to drag them into the surf. Her ears were ringing with the words.
“The king ordered Jorganon’s death. He mocked me, saying perhaps I still had sons to spare. And so he sent Horwath with me to bid you the tidings. Thus sayeth King Severn Argentine to the Lady Eleanor Kiskaddon: Choose you another son to be hostage, to live in the palace of Kingfountain under His Majesty’s wardship. Prove your good faith and obedience. Pick the son who will stand as surety for your house.”
Lady Eleanor would have fainted, but she somehow managed to keep her feet. She looked up at her husband. “I must trust that man with another of my children?” Her heart hammered violently in her chest and she quailed under the weight of her grief. “That . . . that . . . butcher?”
“Stiev Horwath has come to bring the child to Kingfountain,” her husband said, his look full of misery. “If we do not choose, he will execute our entire family for treason now.”