The Elder King glanced at him, a small smile appearing and then fading. “Did you now? That was clever, Ransom. You’ve always been clever.” Raw emotion battled across his countenance.
“I’m sorry to bring you this news, my lord. Truly. If I had been there, I might have prevented it. I would have died trying.”
The king blinked quickly, trying to suppress tears. He stroked his lip silently. “I didn’t believe the accusation, you know. About you and Lewis’s daughter. I didn’t want to believe it, but I also thought it beneath you. He dismissed you. Foolish, foolish boy!”
“We were all misled. But his biggest regret was his disloyalty to you. He begged me to tell you that he was sorry for it.”
The king’s face crumpled, and he covered it with his hands and began to weep. Ransom had already wept for Devon. He watched the king suffer, knowing he could offer nothing to appease his grief. So he waited in silence until the bout of terrible anguish had passed.
The Elder King lowered his hands, shaking his head disconsolately. “I’ve been stitched and wrapped and fed yarrow root and thyme. But there is no poultice to apply to the wound caused by an ungrateful son. I did not believe that I would outlive him! He looked like a king. The people loved him more than they ever loved me. But how many thank the butcher for the cut of meat they enjoy? No, they thank the cook, who had the easier task.” He sighed, squeezing his knees. “Oh, Devon,” he said with deep emotion, “I would have given the Fountain my life for yours. I’m getting old. It’s in my bones now.” He looked Ransom’s way, his eyes serious. “You will be there when we send his body to the falls. You were part of his mesnie.”
Ransom nodded. “I would be honored.”
“Some people may hate you, for even if told the truth, they will always prefer a lie, but you should be there anyway. I demand it. The gossipers and naysayers will have their day for a season. But I exonerate you. And so will those who want my goodwill.”
Ransom’s heart ached. “I will come. I would like to bring the news to the queen. May I?”
A black look came on the Elder King’s face. His face twisted with anger. “Never. Not until the fountains run dry and the world becomes a desert. Let her rot in her tower till then.”
The king grieves in an unnatural way. Whatever betrayal he feels, he lets others suffer tenfold plus six. Emiloh is not permitted to attend her son’s funeral rites. She told me that I could go, but I will not leave her alone during her mourning. Something tells me that she suffers some secret grief beyond the death of her son. I wish I could understand it. But she bears her wounds alone.
The city is draped in black. It is quite a different scene from the celebration of the Younger King’s coronation. So much has changed. It reminds me of when I was a little girl. I watched them tilt King Gervase’s boat into the river. I didn’t believe it would happen again until the Elder King died. None of us can see the future, for there are no longer any Wizrs who possess that awful gift. Or maybe they never existed.
They send Devon on a boat in the hopes that his body will be reunited with his soul in the Deep Fathoms. But the Aos Sí rule that realm, and they mock our mortal traditions. My beliefs would be heresy here in Kingfountain, of course. I must keep them to myself. Above all, the people of Ceredigion prize loyalty. They would not welcome this son who betrayed everyone around him. That is the problem with our world. Loyalty has died.
—Claire de Murrow
Cistern Garden, Kingdom of Ceredigion
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Into the Falls
Ransom tried not to limp as he carried the canoe holding the body of the Younger King, tightly gripping the staff that supported it. Memories flooded him—the king’s easy laughter, his excitement about the tournaments, his tireless desire to prove himself. He’d been such a charming man, one who could win over anyone in the world except for his own father. And, apparently, his own wife.
But while those memories were fresh in his mind, the past conjured others no less potent. He’d watched Sir William Chappell perform this very feat for King Gervase. And now Ransom stood in his place, his old friend and mentor long since dead, killed on a bloody road to protect the queen. And for what? Now she sat in a different kind of prison.
He heard the falls because of their proximity, but he strained to hear the noise inside his soul. He felt empty, bruised, and forsaken. Once again, he had no one to serve. Part of him had hoped the Elder King would ask him to stay after he’d revealed his plans for the pilgrimage. The Elder King had only shrugged and said to do what he must.