Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,122

much pain. The cruel thoughts repulsed him, though, reminding him of what she’d said about his true nature.

Thinking of Claire didn’t bestow the comfort it usually did. Their future lay in ashes.

In the silence of that miserable room, he begged the Fountain to reveal its will to him. To help him understand all that had happened. Was he truly intended to protect Jon-Landon, a boy who did not seem worthy of such loyalty? But there was only silence.

He didn’t know how long he’d sat there in that state, mired in misery, but a swift knock on the door was followed by the sound of it clicking open. He saw his brother, Marcus, in the doorway. The king was still asleep. The knock had not roused him.

Ransom rose and met his brother at the door. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s over, Ransom,” said his brother with a sigh. “I’ve just come from Fountainvault. Don’t condemn me, but I made peace with Benedict and swore fealty to him. He said I can keep the castle of the Heath. He’s asked for the wardship of Maeg, for now, to ensure my good faith.”

Ransom’s stomach sank with the news. Maeg would be hostage to Benedict? That was a blow he hadn’t expected.

“I don’t condemn you,” he said softly. “His rule is over.”

“Is the king awake?” Marcus asked, trying to peer over Ransom’s shoulder.

“No, he’s—”

“Who’s there? Who’s talking?” Their brief communication had roused the king again. He sat up, his expression pained. “Ransom, who’s there?”

He turned. “It’s my brother.”

Marcus paled and then handed Ransom a folded and sealed note. The wax was still warm. “This is the information he requested. About those who’ve made peace.”

Ransom took the sealed paper.

The king grew impatient. “Quit whispering. What news? Is that a message? What’s in your hand? Give it to me!”

Ransom met Marcus’s gaze as his brother slowly shut the door, leaving them alone again. His heart panged for his sister, and he wished he could see her to offer words of comfort and support. But he pushed aside his own troubles and walked back to the king’s bed, holding the list of those who had rebelled.

“Is that it?” asked Devon eagerly. A noise rattled in his throat, as if he would start coughing again. Ransom sensed the king’s weakness, knew his time was measured in hours now.

“It just came from Fountainvault.”

The king reached out a trembling hand. “Give it! This is important, Ransom. Jon-Landon’s hopes hinge on this. Once I know who was faithful to me, I can tell you who you must rally to his cause. That’s why I want to see it. It’s the last thing I can do for my son, my faithful Jon-Landon. He deserves better than what he got. Ahhh!”

He took the proffered note and scraped at the seal with his fingernail until it peeled away. With shaking hands, he began to unfold it.

“Bring me light,” he asked, and Ransom fetched one of the burning candles.

Devon’s hands continued to tremble as he opened it. Ransom held the light closer so that the king could read the list. He got no farther than the first name.

“No,” he gasped.

In the light, Ransom had seen it too. The first entry on the list was: Jon-Landon Argentine, surrendered at Dunmanis at night.

The king died at midnight.

He’d spoken no other intelligible words since that whispered no. But the grief-stricken wail he’d bellowed would haunt Ransom’s memories until the day he, too, died. Ransom should have realized the truth about Jon-Landon’s late-night visits to a lover. Reading Jon-Landon’s name on that list had been an awful, devastating blow for the king—the crushing of a final, beloved hope.

Ransom had read the rest of the list, name after name of those who had betrayed the king. He even found Lord Kinghorn’s name on the list, near the bottom, with an oath of fealty contingent on the death of the rightful king. It wasn’t a betrayal, not like Jon-Landon’s, and it didn’t surprise Ransom to see it there.

When dawn finally came, Ransom left the king’s corpse in the room and roused Dawson and Guivret, who’d been sleeping outside the door all night.

“Ready the horses,” he said to them. “We’re riding to Fountainvault.”

“The king’s dead?” Dawson asked with bleary eyes.

He nodded and watched as his knight and squire walked away. He had little left to reward them with. Soon Josselin castle would be taken by the crown. He still had wealth, but a king could strip him of that if he so