though it was awkward with his bound hands, and tilted his head back to drink. The water tasted leathery and stale, but it soothed his aching throat. He wanted to kick Robert in the face, but his bonds prevented it.
After he’d drunk, he handed the flask back.
“Whatever you are being paid,” Ransom said, meeting his eyes, “I can pay you more.”
Sir Robert snorted, and a wicked smile stretched his lips. “I know you are rich, Barton. Simon always compared us to you and your skinflint ways. I don’t do this just for the money. There will be a change of power now, and I will rise, while you fall.”
“You’ve been promised much by your king? I’m speaking of Estian, of course, not Benedict.”
“I have. And what I’ve been promised suits me very well. You will rot in Kerjean. No one will even know you are there, wasting away in a poisoner’s dungeon.”
Ransom felt a surge of blackness in his heart. He wanted to rage at the man, to accuse him of all sorts of infamy, but he recognized that was what Robert wanted. He closed his eyes, thinking of Claire, worrying about her and what would happen if Devon fell. Promises made by dead men—or forgotten men—were useless.
When Ransom opened his eyes, he noticed a bracelet encircling Sir Robert’s wrist. It was the leather bracelet that Claire had given him. The urge to kill that man was overpowering. He tried to summon his Fountain magic, to break free of his bonds and exact retribution. But no feeling of trickling water came. The knots were steadfast.
Then Ransom also noticed that his sword and scabbard were gone. His elbow ached with pain from where Alix had pricked him. The wound had not healed because they’d taken away his source of healing.
“Where’s my sword?” Ransom demanded.
“I thought it best to keep it out of your reach,” Robert answered snidely. “I would have stripped away your armor as well, but we were in a hurry. I’m done talking to you. I want food.” Robert turned away with a smug look, but Ransom wasn’t finished with him yet.
“I challenge you to single combat,” Ransom said. “I may be a prisoner, but I did not yield. Let me fight for my freedom.”
Robert turned his head partway and chuckled. “I’m not a fool.”
“Three against one, then,” Ransom said angrily. “If you do not accept my challenge, you will be branded a knave and shamed for it. Fight me, or let me go.”
Sir Robert barked out a laugh. Then he turned all the way around and looked at Ransom incredulously. “I slept with Devon’s wife,” he said with swagger. “The code of honor you speak of means nothing to me. No one truly abides by it . . . only the few . . . the fools. What happens at court in Pree is the same as what happens in other courts. Virtus is a lie . . . a trick designed to deceive the childish. Men like you.” He spat on the ground and looked at Ransom with eyes that held no remorse. “If I wanted to fight you, I’d do it with you bound, on the ground and helpless. And I’d kill you with your own sword. Those are my terms.” He jutted out his chin. “Only she wants you alive. Maybe she wants to make a sort of pet out of you. If it were up to me, I would have spilled your blood in that dungeon at Beestone three years ago.”
“You’re a knave and a coward,” Ransom said to him coldly.
Sir Robert shrugged. “I care not what you think of me. Befoul yourself when you need to. I won’t trust you without ropes or shackles. And I won’t be feeding you until we reach Kerjean. Let your hunger be your penance for worshipping the false goddess of Lady Pride. For claiming to be Fountain-blessed when you are but a mortal man. If you are more than that, prove it. Break free of those bonds, and I’ll believe in you.”
Please free me, Ransom prayed silently. I swore I would serve you. Do not let this happen. Give me deliverance from my enemy.
He strained at the bonds, but he felt as weak as a man. His stomach growled, and his bowels yearned for release.
Sir Robert stared at him mockingly. “I thought so,” he said and walked back to his horse.
Ransom couldn’t sleep during the day. He sat with his back to a tree, another rope wrapped