toward him with a tray. Alix followed holding two fat tallow candles. He retreated to the room he’d just left and held the door open for the servant.
“Set it in the middle of the floor, please,” Alix said, and the man obeyed.
When he left, Alix went and set down the candles near the tray and then seated herself on the floor, knees tucked under her. Ransom joined her, finding the candlelight especially flattering to her green brocade dress.
She clasped her hands before her and bowed her head. “To our Lady, we give thanks for the abundance provided.”
They ate together, talked together, and shared the evening in a pleasant way, telling stories from their childhoods. She especially wanted to hear the tale of how King Gervase had almost hung him from a trebuchet for his father’s disobedience. As he told it, her eyes filled with emotion.
“That story moves me,” Alix confessed, hand on her breast. “I wish . . . I wish there were something I could have done to help that little boy.”
An uncanny feeling passed between them, like the ripples of a pond after a stone was cast in. They exchanged a look, and Ransom knew they’d both experienced it.
“I feel strange,” she whispered.
“So do I,” he answered.
They ate in silence for a while after that, and Ransom only knew that his heart was changing. It was uncomfortable, painful even, like a potter squeezing clay.
“When must you go?” she asked quietly.
As he struggled for an answer, Ransom realized he didn’t want to leave. There was a pull, a strong urge to declare that he’d stay at Kerjean for the rest of his life. Would it hurt Claire if he chose Alix? He’d made no vow, yet it wouldn’t feel right to move on without first discussing the situation with her, seeking her pardon and her blessing. Would he be able to do that when he returned to Kingfountain? Would the Elder King let him?
“Soon, I think,” Ransom said. He looked down at the bones and scraps on the plate.
Her shoulders drooped, and her countenance fell.
“But I should like to come back. Duke Benedict wished to see me. And I owe my king an answer about Bayree.”
She leaned forward, looking at him intently, worry and hope in her eyes. “What will you tell him?”
Ransom didn’t know. He still didn’t know.
“There are places I wish I could take you,” she said. “Bayree is beautiful. It’s every bit as pleasant as Brythonica, although there is more fog. The cliffs of Shialle are so lovely. And the trees. There are trees here that are older than the world, I think, with trunks so wide it would take a dozen knights to encircle one. And the fishing boats in the waters . . . there are so many varieties of fish to catch, some that are only found here. But you must make up your own mind. My need cannot outweigh your loyalty.” She offered a sad smile and looked away. “It’ll be you or another noble. An old man like Lord Kinghorn whose wife died long ago? Duke Wigant’s son? To me, there isn’t much of a choice. I have a strong preference, but I know it’s not the same for you.”
Ransom didn’t want to disappoint her. Conflict roiled inside him again. He’d enjoyed being with her, talking with her. The master of the rolls had advised him to find a wife quickly. Posterity is power. Of course, the man had also suggested he’d be a good match for Claire.
“It’s late,” Ransom said, feeling lethargic. His chest ached with the pressure.
“It is,” she said. And she rose and took the candle that hadn’t burned out yet. Only a small stub of it was left.
He offered her his arm and escorted her to the stairs. They climbed together, the castle dark and quiet. He could smell the tallow smoke wafting in the air. On the second floor, she released his arm and offered him the candle.
“I can find my way in the dark,” he said, refusing it with a little wave.
She nodded and started down the corridor to her own chamber. His heart burned within him as he watched the light dim. She opened the door and disappeared inside, quenching the small flame. There was enough moonlight coming through the windows that he could make out his path. He groped the banister and began to climb to the higher level.
There was no warning before the attack. He smelled the stink of sweat and blood,