at first. One shouldn’t make a habit of trusting serpents or eejits. But Sir Dalian confirmed it, having the news from his father. Why am I so surprised? I shouldn’t be. There was no promise between us, no talk of a shared future. And I haven’t received a letter from him for some time. Yet it still hurts. The queen says she understands the pain I feel—the shards of a broken heart dig deeper than any sword. How maudlin I’ve become.
The world is not fair. Why should I have expected it to be fair to me? Sir James’s offer hangs over my head like a sword of doom. Yet the thought of him touching me fills me with revulsion. I don’t think I could bear it.
—Claire de Murrow
(forlorn isn’t the right word . . . some words do not do justice to pain)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Ghost King
Sleep would not come to Ransom’s eyes. The churning feelings of anguish, guilt, and concern battled inside his mind and heart, offering no relief, no solace. He thought on Claire, imprisoned in that tower, and it made him want to weep. He thought about the look of pleasure on King Devon’s face, and it made his heart shrivel with guilt. He considered what Lord Kinghorn would think of him if he learned the truth, and it made him more than miserable. He was positively wretched.
It was after midnight, and Ransom lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the beams supporting the ceiling. Moonlight streamed through the window in silvery beams. He tried to summon memories of Alix to quiet the torment, but the thought of her kisses only made him feel guiltier because he hadn’t told the king what he knew about her. Because he hadn’t spoken to Claire about any of it.
Because he was no longer sure how he felt about the heiress of Bayree.
What would happen after the truth came to light? He had witnessed firsthand how the king had reacted to his sons’ betrayal. The memory of that cry of pain from the pavilion had haunted him for years. And the king still had not visited his wife, Queen Emiloh, in her tower. Ransom did not want to disappoint the king that way. He did not want to be yet one more person to disappoint him.
Frustrated, he rose from the bed and dug his fingers into his hair. He felt like crying. No, he felt like going down to the training yard, bastard sword in hand, and taking his feelings out on an opponent or two.
He’d been back in Kingfountain for two days, and each moment he felt more conflicted, less certain of his path. Ransom had written a letter to Alix letting her know of the king’s intention of a winter marriage, but he wished he could call back the courier. Part of him still felt he should marry her—a strong part of him wanted to—and yet doubt had welled through him. Did he only wish to wed her because he owed her a debt for saving his life? She had killed the Younger King, his former master, but she’d been ordered to do so by Estian’s father, who should rightly bear the brunt of the blame. And what of the curse she’d mentioned?
Ransom went to the window, parting the curtain. He could see the courtyard below, dark with swirling shadows. Sentries bearing torches patrolled the grounds as their duty required.
That idea mocked him. What duty required. Duty required him to tell the king what he knew. There was no way around it.
Ransom.
He heard the whisper and started. It had been felt more than heard, although he sensed this wasn’t the voice of the Fountain. He turned around abruptly, noticing a strange blue light emanating from the corner of the room. The raven-head sigil on his scabbard, which was slung on a nearby chair, was shining. He blinked in surprise, his concerns shoved aside by a growing sense of dread and fear.
It usually didn’t glow on its own, only when its magic was healing him.
Ransom.
He heard the whisper again, although this time it sounded farther away. There was a pleading quality to it. A beckoning.
Was his mind playing tricks on him?
Perhaps, but Ransom felt compelled to leave his room. Cautiously, he went to the chair and pulled his tunic on over his undershirt. Then he wrapped the scabbard belt around his waist. As he cinched it, he felt comforted by having his weapon with him. He finished by