Baldwin laughed again. “No, lad. No, you won’t. He’s not the one who bought your freedom.”
Ransom turned and looked at Baldwin, feeling strange emotions churn in his stomach. His eyes were pleading as he stared at the captain.
Baldwin smiled at him. “The queen did. You’re going to Kingfountain.”
He is found! That wicked man Lord DeVaux of the Vexin has released poor Ransom. Da told me it cost five thousand livres to secure his release. While not a princely sum, it is still outrageous. DeVaux, the foul-smelling turtle, said his captive was Fountain-blessed, of all the nonsense. Well, however much I hate him, he has more brains than a badger, for he got his coin and also a two-year truce. From what I know of the new Duke of Vexin, Benedict is an ambitious youth with not a care for the code of Virtus esteemed by so many knights in Kingfountain. He will bring vengeance to DeVaux’s valley when the truce runs out, or, if he’s clever, find ways to trick DeVaux into breaking it. That’s what I would do.
It seems the faeries of the Beneath have conspired to increase my happiness further. Da has said we will be traveling shortly to Kingfountain, where I might behold my friend at long last. To what purpose, might you ask? Why, there is to be a new King Devon. The son, not the sire. With all the mischief whirling around Ceredigion, King Devon the Elder will retain his rights to rule Westmarch and crown his son, Devon the Younger, as coruler of the vast kingdom. The only question that remains is which man will wear the hollow crown, for both will be kings.
—Claire de Murrow
（preparing to voyage, returning to Kingfountain）
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Loyalty
Ransom had never been to Tatton Grange before, the hereditary seat of the duchy of Westmarch. It was situated in a lush farming valley that grew fields of wheat, barley, rye, and dozens of other grains, which were milled in stone huts guarded day and night by the soldiers in the duchy’s massive army. Tatton Grange was a stone building that looked more like a sanctuary of Our Lady than it did a castle, with a sloping shingled roof and arrow slits instead of windows. The high walls were supported by buttresses, and the main door was twice the height of a man.
Ransom had been surprised to see how many people lived throughout the valley, with its pens full of cattle, work horses, and sundry livestock. Clusters of trees stood out within the pastures, but truly he could see for leagues in every direction, or at least until the distant hills blocked the view.
Upon arriving at Tatton Grange, Ransom was sent to the armory, where he was fitted with a chain hauberk from a vast store of them. Spears and swords lined the walls, along with an assortment of battle axes.
“You need a sword too?” asked the armorer serving him.
“A bastard sword if you have one,” Ransom asked, his keen eye looking at the assortment of weapons.
“You prefer Occitanian weapons, then,” said the man, rubbing his hands together. “Let me see . . . let me see . . . ah!” He went over to a pile of swords, reaching for one that was taller than its brethren. “This ought to do! And it already has a scabbard. Let me find a belt, and you can be on your way to your meeting with Lord Kinghorn.”
Ransom took it, and as soon as his hand closed around the hilt, he felt a gentle thrumming begin to fill the emptiness inside. He closed his eyes, breathing it in. He drew the blade, which was speckled with stains and had a few nicks in it. It was battle tested.
When Ransom approached the open door to Lord Kinghorn’s chamber, he found the man coughing into his fist. It was a scene he’d witnessed many times in the past, and he felt a measure of sorrow for the new constable. This environment was surely not one he’d have chosen.
“Come in,” Lord Kinghorn said after the spasm ebbed.
Ransom stood at attention, his heart ripe with gratitude still. Lord Kinghorn took a drink of water. The table before him was overloaded with books, but there weren’t yet shelves on the wall to contain them. He waited in silence until the coughing fit ended.
“How do you fare, my lord?” Ransom asked.
“As well as can be after riding so far. I was expecting an ambush, but we were prepared for one. Poor Rakestraw. He was a good man.”
Ransom nodded, feeling morose again.
“You will ride on to Kingfountain, Marshall. The queen is expecting you. I will be joining shortly thereafter for the coronation.”
The words startled Ransom. “M-my lord?”
Lord Kinghorn smiled. “You’ve been a prisoner for many months, so of course you don’t know the news. Devon Argentine has been beset by difficulties ever since he took the hollow crown. One problem ends only for another to spring up. The kingship is his by right, yet he is either very unlucky or there is a deliberate attempt to undermine him.”