Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,31
is not improper for a knight to speak with another knight,” he answered. “If my king comes to Pree, it will be to ruin her walls.”
More gasps, and he saw frowns of outrage. He waited, staring up at the battlements. He felt vulnerable to sudden attack.
The murmuring continued for a while, increasing his suspense.
“He will meet you,” came the answer. “Approach the gate, Sir Ransom. Bring two dozen knights. No more.”
“I demand a writ of safe conduct. No one doubts the king’s seal.”
And the herald brought one from the gate himself, holding the scroll out to Ransom from atop his milk-white stallion. He was clean-shaven, like most Occitanians, and wore a purple tunic. Ransom unraveled the scroll and inspected it, taking note of the seal of the Black Prince—a white sword against a black field, the blade shining like a torch.
Ransom handed the writ to Dearley. “Take this to the king and then return.”
“Aye, Sir Ransom,” said Dearley, his look suspicious. But he did as he was bid.
They followed the messenger into the city of Pree. It was completely dead, with only soldiers walking around, a stark contrast to the lively streets Ransom was accustomed to. People were hunkering down in their homes and shops, worried about the enemy at the gates.
With the streets being clear, they soon made it to one of the bridges leading to the island where the palace sat on a spit of land astride the massive river. Seeing it brought back more cascading memories. It was here he’d discovered, for the first time, that Devon intended to challenge his father. It was here it had all begun.
They crossed the bridge, but instead of going to the palace, they rode to the gardens on the north side of the island. King Estian was waiting at the gate. He had a bruise on his left cheekbone and a gleaming coronet band atop his head. His tunic was black, stitched with silver and blue threads, along with seed pearls forming a diamond-shaped pattern.
“Walk with me,” Estian said, gesturing to the gate and the gardens beyond.
Ransom looked at the knights who’d come with him and motioned for them to remain behind. He followed Estian through the gate and down one of the sculpted gravel paths, flanked with neatly trimmed hedgerows covered in budding pale flowers. There was an intoxicating smell that he suddenly recognized. It was star jasmine. The last time he’d smelled that was at the Chandleer Oasis.
“I’m surprised to see you still on your feet,” said Estian with a calm smile. He cocked his head slightly. “When we last met, you had a piece of wood stuck in you.”
“I suppose I did,” Ransom said.
Estian snorted. “I tried to kill you, but I couldn’t. Just like I couldn’t defeat you in the tournament circuit. That’s why Devon sent you to face me. He thought it would intimidate me.” He smiled as if at a private joke. “I’ve requested aid from the southern dukes. They’ll be here shortly, so I don’t fear a siege. I also have mercenaries coming from Genevar. It won’t take them long to arrive by ship. So. I will ask the question I’ve long wished to ask.”
Ransom looked at him with curiosity.
“Name your price, Sir Ransom.”
“The king wishes—”
Estian held up his hand, his eyes flashing with anger. “No. I don’t care what he wants. I care about what you want. And I think I know it, so I will make the first offer. You want Lady Claire de Murrow. Ransom, I can get her for you. You won’t have Glosstyr, but you could be ruling Legault alongside her.”
With those words came a throb of temptation. Estian was good. He knew from Noemie, undoubtedly, where Ransom’s heart was bound.
“Oh?” Ransom asked curiously. “Your reach extends all the way to the tower in Kingfountain?”
“You think I make an empty boast?” Estian said, his eyes flashing. “I could have Lady Claire here in Pree tonight. I know you are Fountain-blessed, and not because of the deconeus of St. Penryn. A Genevese merchant named Kohler told me so. You are a valuable man, Ransom Barton. So tell me. What will it take to secure your loyalty? What do you want?”
The words of King Estian twisted into Ransom’s heart. He had to admit he felt tempted. Here was the King of Occitania offering him the one thing his heart desired—something he feared his own king would never give him. Doubt was a subtle poison. He breathed out slowly.