Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,117

Elder King is bound on a boat and thrown into the waters. How long before that end? Only the Aos Sí knows.

—Claire de Murrow, Duchess of Glosstyr

The kingdom withering

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The King’s Curse

After clearing the final rise, they saw Tatton Grange in the valley below, looking just as it had when Ransom had last been there, except for the conspicuous flags showing the Fleur-de-Lis hanging from the turrets. The king’s face was gray as chalk, and he swayed in the saddle, his strength having withered even more during the journey.

“It pains me to see Estian’s flag hanging there,” said the king to Ransom as they paused atop the hill. “It ruins the view.”

Ransom stared down at the grange, the center of power in the duchy of Westmarch, now ceded to the Occitanians by Benedict. It was strange to think they were inside the borders of Occitania now, in land that had been ruled by the king who sat hunched in his saddle, his eyes watery, his lips flecked with blood.

They cantered down the hill with the few knights who remained with them. Ransom wondered where his own men were, the ones he’d brought from Brythonica and Glosstyr to Dunmanis. How many were still trying to reach Glosstyr? How many had been captured by their foes? The defeat they’d suffered was crushing.

During the journey, he had thought about the consequences about to befall him. There was no doubt in his mind that Devon was dying, that he had perhaps a few days left, if that. Ransom would surely lose everything he had gained, a reality that loomed over his head like the clouds that had gathered over them during the ride. He still bore the ring of the guardian of Brythonica. Would he end up in that duchy, in service to the duchess? How long would it be before Benedict drove him from that position too? Thicker clouds loomed on the horizon, a coming storm that was completely out of the ordinary.

As they advanced on Tatton Grange, Ransom felt a prickle of awareness go down his back. Alix was there, waiting for them. He sensed her clearly, her presence now unmistakable, and his heart seized up with dread. Had she come to claim him again as her prisoner? He glared at the walls with defiance. He would not become her captive. He would sooner die.

“She’s here,” Ransom said.

“Who?” the king asked wearily. “I don’t understand you.”

“The poisoner. She’s here.”

Was it possible she held the cure for the king’s illness? Had she come to make some sort of bargain?

They reined in a good distance from the walls of Tatton Grange, although it was done from a habit of caution more than anything else. If riders came from within, there was no chance of escape. Their horses were weary, and the king couldn’t endure much more.

“Well . . . see what she wants,” said the king. “I’m spent, Ransom. I can’t go another furlong.”

Ransom turned and nodded to four knights, leaving one to safeguard the king. The five of them rode ahead toward the main doors of the castle. The doors were opened before they got there, and a man wearing Occitanian finery came striding out. He had a hooked nose and dark hair combed forward.

“Do you speak Occitanian?” he asked in a nasally voice.

“I do,” Ransom answered.

“State your business. We were not expecting arrivals today. There are archers at the ready if you intend violence. You will find no shelter here.”

“I would speak with Lady Alix of Kerjean,” said Ransom. “Behind me is King Devon Argentine, the true duke of Westmarch. He has returned home to die.”

The man looked startled by the news. “Is that truly him? By the Lady, so it is!”

“Tell Lady Alix I would speak with her.”

The man sniffed. “Whether she will or not, I cannot say, but I will deliver your message.”

“Thank you.”

The man gave a little bow and retreated through the massive door, which was promptly shut behind him. Ransom thought he saw men through the arrow slits. He was exhausted by the ride and his use of Fountain magic, but its stores were still available to him should it be needed.

The sound of horses came from around the corner, and two riders charged away from the castle, riding fast and heading away from them. He did not sense danger from them, and neither of them was Alix.

The door creaked open again, and the man with the hooked nose returned. “The lady bids you welcome. If the king