With a groan of pain, Robert released him and stumbled backward, holding his hand to his face. Freed from the grip, Ransom stumbled and went down. His sword fell from his grip as he caught himself on his arms. The pain in his leg was overshadowed by the rush of what must have been magic. He squeezed his leg above the wound but felt only numbness. He looked up, seeing a dagger in the lady’s hand. She threw it at him.
Ransom twisted his shoulders, and the blade whistled past him, barely missing him. He lunged for his blade and grabbed it, but as he tried to lift it and rise, the lady swept forward and kicked him in the face, knocking him on his back.
The numbness in his leg shot up to his hip. A fiery, tingling sensation burned beneath his skin. Poison. Ransom grabbed the bolt protruding from his leg and ripped it out, yelling in agony as he did so.
“Let me out of here!” Robert bellowed.
Ransom saw the woman standing over him, drawing another knife. He saw an oily substance on the blade. Ransom used his uninjured leg and hooked his boot around her ankle, but she sidestepped and then dropped atop him, the blade coming down toward his neck. Ransom lifted his arm, blocking the strike. He could only see part of her face hidden behind the cowl, but he saw streamers of golden hair that looked strangely familiar.
He felt the life and energy inside him draining. The roar of the waterfall dimmed as whatever poison she’d used on the crossbow bolt infiltrated his blood. He had to act quickly. He deflected another dagger strike and grabbed the front of her cloak, clutching it with all his remaining strength as he rolled, bringing her sideways and then beneath him. The numbness stretched up into his stomach, then his chest. He felt every heartbeat begin to slow.
Trembling as his strength failed, he grabbed her wrist with his other hand as she tried to stab him again. He squeezed it hard, trying to force her to release the dagger. She did not yield, but he still had a grip on her wrist. She pushed and bucked against him, trying to free herself, but he was far heavier. His fingertips went numb and began to spasm. The sound of the waterfall reduced to a whisper, and she pulled her dagger hand free.
It was now only a matter of time before she finished what she’d started. The hauberk he was wearing would help deflect the blow, but it wouldn’t save him. His ability to defend himself melted away. Ransom swayed, desperate to live, to survive the fight. He looked down at his own arm, the one still grasping her cloak and bodice, and saw the braided charm that Claire had given him. He focused on it, gathering strength from it. If nothing else, he wished to know who his enemy was before he died.
She tried to pry his hand away, but she couldn’t. In a last burst of strength, he broke the clasp of her cloak, and the hood fell away.
It was Emiloh.
He blinked, his vision swimming. No, it wasn’t the queen. But it was someone with an uncanny resemblance to her. The same golden hair, slightly crinkled. The same eyes in a younger face. A face much closer in age to his own.
He felt the dagger tip against his chest.
“Will you let go of me now?” she asked, her voice calm but insistent. Her eyes flashed in warning.
Ransom’s surprise took away the rest of his resistance. The poison felt as if it were crushing his heart, rendering him incapable of fighting. He slumped to the ground, his vision beginning to blur, but it had been clear long enough to capture her face. Emiloh’s daughter. It had to be. She was older than Devon, probably Ransom’s age or older. Where had she been? Were the sordid rumors about the queen having a lover—a knight—more than just gossip? Confusion and disbelief clashed within him. He rolled onto his back and could move no more. Even breathing became impossible.
“Just kill him!” said Robert impatiently.
He saw blurry shadows, but the dark violet of her coat stayed in focus, almost dazzling his senses.
“Be silent, Sir Robert . . . or face the king’s justice,” the woman said.
The numbness had paralyzed him. He stared at her, at the light shining on her face from the sparse torches. She looked down at him, a half smile on her mouth.
“I didn’t come to kill you, Marshall,” she said. “But Devon had reached the end of his usefulness. Your leg will heal as it did long ago. When I last tended your injury. Put some bread with mold on it first, then wrap it in clean bandages.”
He listened to her in shocked silence, his heart spasming again in recognition. The lady in the castle. It was her? The knowledge filled him with a strange conflict. Who was she? What was her name?
What could explain her behavior?
He felt her fingers graze through his hair. Then she stood abruptly, and as she passed by him, he felt the fringe of her cloak brush his cheek. The iron door creaked and groaned. He was blind now, unable to breathe, yet still alive.