about his journey to the East Kingdoms. I’m jealous to hear anything he can say about it. My world is so small now.
The queen grows more anxious every day. The palace is droning like a hive of bees. Knights flock to the castle bearing the standards of the various duchies. We may be in a tower, but we can still see. Sir Dalian says little, but it seems the Elder King is preparing for another war. Another war with one of his sons. Emi is worried and rightly so. The last war ended in the death of her eldest. Yet if Duke Benedict wins, it means our freedom.
It’s like the game of Wizr the Occitanians enjoy so much. We can see pieces moving on the board, but confined to this tower as we are, we cannot understand the strategy of the hand that moves them. Benedict has spent the last several years fighting battles for his father. Does he know the kind of mind he faces? Can anyone understand the wild imaginings of this Argentine king?
—Claire de Murrow
Queen’s Tower
(For how long?)
CHAPTER THREE
The Threat of War
Josselin castle was protected on the west by the Orme River. Thick woods gathered around it, except on the north side, where a hamlet of about thirty buildings had been built outside the castle walls. It was larger than the Heath, with tall round spires bedecked with conical roofs in a row. As Ransom and his knights came down the road, it seemed as if the towers were bunched close together, but when they drew near, their perspective changed, and he saw they were spaced evenly on a narrow wall. The hamlet smelled of sheep, and there were many chandler shops making candles from the tallow.
The walls of Josselin were uniformly gray, although moss grew on the lower third of the walls, and the slate shingles on the turrets had a blue tint. The river was placid, lined with pink-flowered plants, and there were many fishing boats in it. The windows were all high up on the higher floors, showing the castle had been designed to be a fortress of defense.
The peasants of the hamlet watched with curiosity as his troop of knights arrived, but no one approached or welcomed them. The main door of the castle was constructed of thick oak bound in iron, and it lay open to their approach. A servant wearing a comely tunic and a thick velvet hat stood fidgeting at the doorway.
He bowed as Ransom drew near. “Greetings, my lord,” said the servant. “I am the steward of Josselin castle. My name is Westin.” He doffed the velvet cap, revealing a shock of hair the color of carrots. “Greetings to you. Are you Sir Ransom? I was told you were coming. A letter from the palace arrived for you.”
“I am. Good day to you.” Ransom gave him a nod and a kindly smile. He took the proffered letter, his heart soaring at the sight of the fine handwriting. A woman’s hand had written it. Although he’d hoped, he hadn’t dared to expect a reply so soon.
The steward bunched the cap in his hands and nodded vigorously. “If you’d come this way, my lord.” He walked ahead, and Ransom entered, the noise of clopping hooves drowning out other sounds. The fortress walls enclosed a private garden, which was being groomed by a half-dozen servants who glanced up from their work to study their new master.
Ransom dismounted and gazed at the castle. It was a fine building, well maintained and with a pretty view of the gardens. The roofline of the manor portion had steeply sloped gabled windows. He caught a glimpse of someone standing at the window, looking down at the courtyard, but the curtain closed as soon as he noticed. He wondered if that was one of his wards.
“Make sure our horses are taken care of and fed. We’ll be riding back to Kingfountain on the morrow.”
“As you command, my lord,” said Westin nervously. He gave instructions to the groomsmen and then signaled for Ransom to follow him into the main portion of the castle. It was Occitanian in design, reminding him of the structures in Pree.
“Where are you from?” Ransom asked the steward as they walked together.
“Legault, originally. But I was raised in Brythonica and then came to oversee this castle several years ago. It’s my first time as a steward.”
He still had a nervous look about him, and it occurred to Ransom that the man feared he would