“I want to kill him.” It was Sir Robert’s menacing voice.
“Try, and you’d die before your blow could fall,” said the woman. “Let’s go.”
He could sense her leaving, back down the corridor from whence she’d come. The grinding of stone could be heard. The feeling faded away while he lay helpless, suffering keenly but still alive.
Ransom swayed on the horse, clutching the reins tightly, trying to keep from fainting. His injured leg had been treated and bandaged by the same barber who had failed to keep Devon alive. The paralysis of the poison had eventually passed, and he’d found himself alone in the dungeon. He’d crawled up the steps, almost falling at least half a dozen times before a servant found him. The lady had not reclaimed the poisoned dagger she’d thrown at him, and he’d kept it as evidence to bolster his story.
He’d learned after reviving that the Elder King was in the next town, less than a league away. So even though he was badly injured, Ransom was determined to fulfill his promise to bring tidings of the son to the father. As he rode and kept himself in the saddle, he thought of the face he’d seen. He heard her voice over and over in his mind. She’d killed Lord Archer. She’d killed Devon Argentine, her half brother. She’d killed others too, he had no doubt. But she hadn’t killed him. Why? Perhaps it was because she’d tended his injuries, using her skill to heal instead of destroy. Or maybe some other reason had stayed the killing blow.
He had a firm conviction that she was the same lady who had visited St. Penryn years before him. She’d clearly learned enough about her powers to use them proficiently, while he was just a novice.
As he drew closer to the town, he heard the thunder of hooves before he saw the knights riding toward him. He slowed his own horse and tried to seem steadier than he felt. Looking down at the bandage wrapped around his leg, he saw blood seeping through it already. Another bout of dizziness came upon him.
He was no stranger to the men who approached him, having beaten all of them in the training yard. Looks of immediate recognition rose on their faces. The foremost gave him a knightly salute.
“Sir Ransom! What are you doing here?”
He responded to the salute in kind. “I came to see the king. And bring him tidings of his son’s death.”
His words shocked them, but they offered no argument or discussion. They fell in around him and took him back to the town with them. Even though he no longer wore the badge of the Silver Rose, he felt he belonged there. His responsibility was a dreadful one, but he was determined do it.
They arrived at the home of the mayor of the town, where dozens of horses were stationed out front. Ransom winced as he swung his leg over the saddle. As soon as he touched the ground, he had to grab the saddle horn to keep from collapsing. He squeezed it hard, summoning his courage and his strength. He then limped after the knights as they led the way into the mayor’s home.
The Elder King’s face turned ashen when he saw him. “Leave us,” he ordered curtly.
Once the room had emptied, Ransom attempted to kneel with his good leg, but the king waved at him in annoyance. “I see you’re wounded. None of that. Did my son send you?”
“My lord, your son is dead.”
The Elder King’s eyes widened with the shock. “He wasn’t . . . it wasn’t trickery? He did lay dying?”
“Yes, my lord. I was there at the end, gripping his hand as he passed beyond to the Deep Fathoms. He charged me with bringing you the tidings.”
The king groped for a chair and sat down, his expression dumbfounded. Grief and shock battled for dominance on his countenance. “Is this all true? Surely it is, for you wouldn’t lie to me.” He looked at Ransom imploringly. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, lad?”
“No, I would not. He was murdered, my lord. Poisoned. Like Lord Archer.”
The king stiffened. He stared at the hearth, rubbing his lip, his hand trembling. “Poison, you say?”
“Yes. The same person who had stalked your son in the city. I met her, my lord. She nearly killed me.”
“Sit down, Ransom. Sit before you fall down.”
Ransom complied, the injury grieving him, but he ignored it. “Do you know who she is?”
“I don’t,” said the king. “I’d heard that Lewis had someone in his employ. Someone who removed his enemies.” His lips pulled back into a snarl. “She’s fled, then?”
“Yes. Along with Sir Robert Tregoss, who is a traitor to your son and to you. I took the liberty of sending some riders out to try and cut off their escape.”