“Difficult but not impossible. What else do the legends say? I’ve read them too, but I’ve not read as much as you.”
Lord Kinghorn sighed. “That is the problem with legends, Marshall. There are many stories of Wizrs and knights and magic swords. But how are we to know which of them are true and which are merely stories?”
“I suppose we cannot,” Ransom said.
The constable made a sound of agreement. “In the legends, knights would leave court to seek one of the shrines of the Fountain. They would kneel in prayer and offer to serve the Fountain. If the offer was accepted, a relic of some sort would appear in the water. Some drew swords out of the water. Others would be given a gauntlet or a ring. That token was a sign that they were Fountain-blessed. And when it happened, you can be assured that every other knight in the realm would seek to challenge them to take what they’d been given. The blessing could be quite a curse. So would a wise knight ever reveal that he was Fountain-blessed? You tell me.”
Ransom considered what Lord Kinghorn had said, but he hadn’t survived because of magic—he’d lived because a lady had concealed fresh linen in moldy bread. True, he did have an unusual amount of success in combat, but he still wasn’t sure what it meant—or even what he wanted it to.
He had yet to forget the way Lord Kinghorn had looked at him after that day at the barn or the way Lord DeVaux’s men had treated him.
Maybe it didn’t matter. Either way, he would serve the queen as best he could.
“But I’ll tell you this.” He looked at Ransom with serious eyes. “I’ve tried it. I’ve made it a point to visit as many sanctuaries as I can during my travels. At each one, I have made the same plea.” He fell silent. “Nothing has ever shimmered in the waters for me to take. Not once over many years. Nor have I ever known another knight who found something.”
“Thank you, my lord. With your leave, I’ll be on my way home.”
The stable master had given Ransom a rouncy for his mount and a mule to bear his armor and supplies. During the ride eastward, his mind was plagued by all the information Lord Kinghorn had given him. The sick feeling in his stomach hadn’t abated. As he rode, he cursed himself for being a fool, for daring to hope that he might be allowed to court Lady Claire. Her bracelet was still coiled around his wrist, adding to his misery. He had no doubt that Claire and her father would both be at the coronation. Would they be able to talk? Could he dare to tell her what he knew? Should he? Or perhaps she already knew herself.
As he traveled the roads of Ceredigion a free man, he felt himself growing stronger, the ache in his leg ebbing. He’d endured a great hardship, one he would never forget. He felt he owed the Queen of Ceredigion everything for paying for his release. He would serve her until his dying day in the hopes of returning the kindness she’d done to him. His feelings about King Devon were more mottled, however. He was still the man who’d upset King Gervase, and now he was attempting to match his youngest son with Claire. In truth, it chafed to see a father provide so well for his sons—a feeling that only worsened the closer he got to the Heath.
He arrived after nightfall, having decided to save his coins rather than rent a room at an inn. The road home was familiar, and he recalled the ghost of Sir William at the crossroads, his heart burdened by the loss of his old friend.
Guiding his horse down the road, he approached the castle. It had the same general shape as DeVaux’s castle, and the sight of it looming in the distance sent a rush of dread down his spine. It did not feel like home. It never had.
As he approached the gate, he was met by the porter.
“Your mount looks weary, Sir Knight,” said the porter, a man Ransom didn’t recognize. “As do you. Have you come seeking shelter?”
Ransom looked down at him, feeling a pang of disappointment for not being recognized. Again. “I’ve come to see my mother. Would you tell her that Marshall is here?”
The porter’s eyes bugged. “Bless me! I didn’t know! Of course. Come in. Come in straightaway!”
Lads from the stable came to attend to his horses as he dismounted. He felt weary, exhausted, and his leg pained him as he walked into the hall.
His sister, Maeg, reached him first, before he even stepped inside. He couldn’t believe how tall she was or the violence of her affection as she leaped at him, weeping and smiling and hugging him tightly. The last time they’d met, he’d been a stranger, or near enough. But no doubt news had reached them about his life since he’d been away. Lady Sibyl, his mother, emerged from the lit interior of the castle then, looking older and more careworn than he remembered. She embraced him as well, and his heart was fit to burst when he felt her tears on his neck.