Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,91

side, Ransom. If you forsook him, it would end. Everyone, even Lord Kinghorn, would follow your example. But you won’t. Alix told me you won’t, and she is never wrong.”

Ransom looked at her, saw the cold defiance on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her.

She didn’t respond with words, but her disdain was evident.

He turned his gaze back to Benedict. “And I’m sorry for your brother’s death. What a terrible . . . accident.” He let doubt thicken his voice.

Benedict scowled but didn’t rise to take the bait. “You are welcome to spend the night in Beestone, but I have a feeling you’re anxious to return to my father. Like a faithful hound.”

It smarted, but Ransom ignored it. “She does not serve you,” he said, pointing to Alix. “She may be your sister, but she killed your brother.”

“I know this already,” Benedict said with exasperation. “She only did it at Lewis’s command. He’s responsible for what happened. He’s dead, and Devon too, and that cannot be cured. I could have asked Estian to have Father poisoned. But I don’t want to win the throne that way. I don’t need her skills to defeat him.” His brows contracted. “You’ve chosen your side. I’ve chosen mine. We shall see who prevails and who can fulfill the promises they’ve made.”

Those words haunted Ransom. He took the prince to mean that he would not fulfill the Elder King’s promises.

“I’ve delivered my message,” Ransom said.

“You have. Your duty is fulfilled. Farewell, Ransom. Until we meet again with steel and helm. This time it will not be on the tournament grounds or the training yard.”

Ransom eyed the prince and pushed his Fountain magic out against him, trying to tell if he had weaknesses. Benedict looked at him, unaware of what was happening, and Ransom pried into his soul. He was strong and fit, an able warrior, but he lacked Ransom’s ability, his prowess. And he didn’t have a scabbard that would prevent him from bleeding to death. In a contest, it was only a matter of time. Ransom would win, and he knew it.

“I’ll be sorry on that day, Bennett,” he answered. “But I will fight for the king.”

“I know,” Benedict said. Then he gave him a nod of dismissal.

Ransom turned and left the solar, his heart discouraged at his failure to reconcile father and son. Partway down the passage, he sensed Alix coming up behind him. He turned to face her, in part to let her know that he was aware of her presence.

She didn’t attempt to hide her approach. Her eyes burned with anger, and she didn’t stop until she was close enough to touch him.

“I gave you a chance to stop this madness,” she said softly, “but you refused me. Remember that. What happens next is your fault.”

He looked at her and felt an overwhelming sense of confusion. His love of Claire shrank in Alix’s presence, but his convictions did not.

“What is your power truly?” he asked her. “You said it was one thing, but I don’t believe you. I sense you using it even now.”

A smirk twisted her mouth. “We all have our secrets, Ransom. Even you.”

He heard the sound of boots behind him in the corridor and felt a throb of danger. She looked over his shoulder, which made him copy her.

Sir Robert Tregoss was the one approaching.

Ransom’s hand dropped to his sword.

He didn’t realize his mistake until Alix grabbed his elbow. He felt a little sting. A needle.

He turned back to look at her in disbelief.

“It’s too late,” she said with a cunning smile. “I’ve already won.”

In moments, he felt his legs turn to jelly. A fog engulfed his mind. Sir Robert caught him beneath the arms. Lady Alix still had not released her grip.

“Take him to Kerjean,” she said to Sir Robert. “To the dungeon.” She squeezed his arm harder, driving the needle in deeper. “I’ll come after this is done.”

I cannot sleep tonight. The moon is bright with a tinge of pink. I should be happy. I’ve felt little else of late, but tonight my fears mix with the shadows. I’m worried about Ransom. His mission should be a simple one. Why should it distress me so? I know Benedict is an eejit, but he would do nothing more than reject an overture of peace. He wouldn’t imprison Ransom. Perhaps what leads me to grab my quill and write in the darkest part of the night is that while I’ve always worried about Ransom, now he is my