“It is not wise to make friends of your opponents, Son.” He reached out, and Estian took his frail hand in his strong grip. “The game must be played. Only one side can win.”
“I know, Father.”
There was a pained look on his son’s brow. Lewis squeezed his hand. “I am doing what I must to make the game easier for you, to ensure you are the victor in the end. Devon Argentine is doing the same thing for his sons. But when I am gone, he will turn his gaze on you. He is a ruthless opponent, my son. Do not underestimate him.”
“Will he name Benedict his heir?”
The king sniffed. “Yes, but not yet. He made mistakes with his eldest son. Mistakes he will not be quick to repeat. If he knew how sick I was, he would attack with all his might. You must be ready for him, Estian. You cannot let him win. It would destroy Occitania.”
“I won’t let him win,” said the son. “I swear it on Mother’s soul.”
Lewis nodded. He heard the subtle click coming from a large framed tapestry mounted against the wall. The weaving depicted a castle in the duchy of Bayree with emblems of fish around it.
“I need to try and rest, my boy.” He released his grip on his son and let his own hand fall slack on the chair.
“I’ll check on you later,” Estian said. Before he left, he looked at the Wizr set again. “What of the other missing piece?”
“Oh, he probably tried to interfere with her mission,” said Lewis with a smile. “It saddens me, for there are so few Fountain-blessed among us.”
“Do you think he really was?” Estian asked with interest.
“She told me he was,” he answered, knowing his poisoner was lurking behind the frame, listening in to their conversation. “That is why your sister tried to turn him to our side of the board. Well, better that he should die than work against us.”
Estian gave him a long look, then nodded before he walked back to the door and left.
As soon as he was gone, the frame opened, and she emerged from her hiding place, her cloak still protecting her identity. She went to the door and slid the latch into place first, a necessary precaution. His toes felt like they were on fire.
She came to him, lowering the hood, and withdrew a small vial and handed it to him.
It was a tonic for the pain. It wouldn’t heal his debilitating sickness, but it would lessen his agony. For that he was grateful, and he greedily twisted off the end and swallowed it all quickly. He breathed out in a pleased sigh, eager for the potent combination to bring him relief and then blissful sleep. He handed her the vial and cap and watched as her nimble fingers fixed them back in place.
“I didn’t want Sir Ransom to be killed,” he told her. “I wanted him turned.”
Her brow wrinkled. “I didn’t kill him,” she said, then she touched the rim of the box with the Wizr set and examined the pieces with a look of concern.
“Devon’s piece disappeared first. Then Ransom’s,” he said. “Not on the same day.”
“I shot him in the leg, but that shouldn’t have killed him,” she said. “The poison I used disabled him. Sir Robert wanted him dead, but only out of vengeance. He came back to Pree with me. But I see he’s not on the board either.”
The tincture she’d given him was already beginning to work. The fiery pain in his foot was fading, and he felt a calm euphoria that would soon overwhelm his unease. “If he is dead, he is dead. So be it. But be sure. Find out what happened. That is your next mission. If he lives, do whatever you must to turn him.”
“If Noemie failed—”
“It was her pride,” he said, interrupting her. Then a giggle burbled out of his mouth, and he was ashamed at his loss of self-control. “She thought it would be easy. You are more clever than her. I command it. This illness is killing me. My son will rule in my place, and you will be loyal to him. You are . . . you are . . . very special to me.” He felt his eyelids begin to close.
As they shut, he wished he could fight the sleep longer. There was more he should tell her before it was too late.
Too late.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
History has a way of speaking to us, like voices whispering from the dust （Isaiah 29:4）。 While I was writing The Grave Kingdom series, I had three more ideas for new series to write. Sometimes I just can’t turn my imagination off . . . not that I’d want to. But out of those ideas, I kept hearing the voices from Kingfountain whispering for me to come back, to gaze into the past and explore the world more deeply.