and then felt the heat of another body before it collided with his. A dagger stabbed his thigh, plunging deep into the muscle before hitting bone.
Ransom grappled with the man, his leg afire with pain, and then they were both tumbling down the stairs.
I received a secret note from Sir James this morning, delivered with our morning meal. It immediately disturbed my appetite. He wants to meet with me today when the queen and I visit the cistern garden. The reason—he’s heard that Sir Ransom will marry the heiress of Bayree. They say the king will give the duchy of Vexin to Jon-Landon and name Benedict heir to the throne. He may even give him the Hollow Crown.
Sir James knows I do not care for him, but he wishes to make an alliance with me regardless. Flattery I’m immune to. He’s learned as much. So he has taken a more practical approach: If we marry, I can rule Legault, and he will live apart from me in Glosstyr. If Benedict rebels, James plans to support him . . . so long as the prince agrees to this design.
I have agreed to speak to James in person if he can arrange it. Things do not always turn out the way we wish. I’d be foolish not to consider any option that will take me from this tower.
What would Jon-Landon do if he knew of his friend’s double-dealing?
—Claire de Murrow
Queen’s Tower
(hoping for freedom)
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Threat of Revenge
When their bodies struck the bottom of the stairs, Ransom felt the dagger strike his ribs, but the chain mail of the hauberk saved him from a death wound. Stunned, surprised, Ransom rolled over on the fellow and grabbed his wrist to hold the weapon at bay. A boot struck Ransom in the stomach, knocking him back.
“You will die . . . ,” the man wheezed in Occitanian, “for what you did! I served the duke. I will never serve you!”
He lunged at Ransom again. Twisting to the side, Ransom pivoted on his feet, and the fellow crashed into the stone wall at the edge of the stairs. The door to Alix’s chamber yanked open, spilling candlelight onto the scene. The man Ransom faced looked to be a knight, his face bruised, and he, too, wore a hauberk and bloodied tunic. Ransom saw the bloodstain on his side, saw the way his elbow pressed against it, the grimace of pain on his mouth.
His stores of Fountain magic had not yet been replenished, but he reached out with it and sensed his opponent was nursing injuries that were days old. He’d been at the battle.
Alix rushed down the hall. The rogue knight looked toward the light, and Ransom recognized his opportunity to charge him. He drove the other man back, bringing his forearm into the man’s throat. The knight jabbed him twice with the dagger before Ransom managed to deflect the blows with his arm.
“Die, you murderer!” the knight snarled.
Alix reached them and shoved the candle at the knight’s face, splashing him with the hot wax. The knight screamed in pain, and Ransom used his temporary distraction to knee him in the stomach. When the man collapsed, Ransom felt the visceral urge to bash his head onto the stone floor, but he tamed himself before the rash thought became realized.
“What happened?” Alix demanded with concern.
The knight groaned on the floor, covering his scalded face with his hands.
“He attacked me on the stairwell,” Ransom said, breathing fast. Pain lanced down his leg from the first stab wound.
“Are you hurt?”
“Not badly. His wounds are worse.”
“I’ll get another candle,” Alix said. She picked up the fallen knife and then handed it to Ransom. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, grunting. He leaned back against the wall, his leg on fire.
“I will be right back.” Alix hurried to her room and returned with a torch. A knight came with her, one of her guards. She held the torch over the fallen man. “Who is it?”
Her knight pulled the man’s hands from his face. Some of the wax had hardened, and his nose was bleeding freely.
“It’s Sir Etienne,” said the knight, frowning in disgust.
“Take him to the dungeon,” she said with a look of anger.
“Yes, my lady.” Her guard hoisted the man up beneath his arms and began dragging him away.
Alix held the torch closer to Ransom, looking at him worriedly. “You’re in pain. Come, let me treat you.”
He knew the scabbard would render her efforts unnecessary. “I will be