A sour feeling rippled through Ransom’s stomach.
He has been chosen to serve the Younger King. Why did this surprise me? But I confess that it did. I thought perhaps he would serve the Vexin queen, as some call her, since she paid his ransom. But word has spread through the palace. Gossip does fly on quicksilver hooves. I tried to find Ransom today, but he was being moved from place to place, never still for more than a moment. I might not see him until the coronation itself, and even then, will I have the chance to greet him? I don’t know.
My maid from the palace, her name is Genevote, such a pretty name, informed me that Ransom joined Prince Devon for supper. Sir James was also in attendance, along with the rest of the prince’s knights. That particular news made me determined not to go. How awkward that would have been. He’s written five letters . . . or was it six? They’re all full of courtly nonsense. I haven’t responded to any of them, nor will I. I wish I could get a message to Ransom. The wind is cold tonight. I’m restless. I must be patient, but it is so hard. Genevote is asking what I’m writing, so I should hide this book. I wouldn’t want her to read it.
—Claire de Murrow
Kingfountain Palace
Eventide
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Anvil’s Thrum
The Broken Table was not what Ransom had supposed, a seedy tavern with dilapidated furniture, the skeletons of chairs in piles on the floor due to drunken brawls. Far from it, it was jovial, and the name came from the legend of King Andrew and his Ring Table. The proprietor made the dubious claim that his furniture had been made from the famous wood of that high court, long since lost to the mists of history. A fire raged in a hearth fashioned from stone blocks.
The brute mentioned by James was the huge man in charge of keeping the peace. His name was Gimmelich, and he sat in the corner with a huge tankard, keeping an eye on the customers. A scrawny minstrel played a lute on a barrel, singing a little ditty and encouraging participation from the half-sober crowd. The Younger King joined in the merriment, raising a cup as he belted out the lyrics in a surprisingly melodic voice. Sir James stood alongside him, although his pitch was off. They had all come wearing deep-hooded cloaks, which they’d doffed upon entering the establishment.
“You’re not drinking,” said Sir Simon, scooting his chair closer to Ransom’s.
“It’s best if at least one of us keeps his head,” Ransom replied. “It’s hard to protect a man if you can’t walk straight.”
“Very true,” replied the knight, taking a small sip from his cup. “It’s usually me that remains sober. Glad I won’t be alone this time.”
“Where is Holmberg, Sir Simon?”
“It’s in the duchy of Southport. A coastal town.” Sir Simon was modest in size, but he had a look of wisdom in his eyes. He glanced around the room repeatedly, keeping aware of his surroundings. There was a wariness to him.
“Are you nervous?” Ransom asked him.
“No, just trying to keep track of how much everyone is drinking. Here comes Sir Robert with his third cup. Some of the tavern keepers try charging us extra for our drinks. I hate it when the prince decides to pay for everyone’s. Sometimes I don’t have enough coin with me.”
Ransom could appreciate the quandary. “He’s just showing his generosity, as a good lord should.”
“Oh, he’s generous,” said Simon under his breath. “If only his father were.”
“The king is wealthy, is he not?” Ransom said. “With the revenues from all his lands, his worth must rival that of King Lewis by now.”
“Wealthy he is. Generous he is not.”
Sir Robert slumped down in a chair at their table, stifling a belch. “Where is your cup, Sir Ransom?” he asked, giving him a hearty thump on the back.
“I think you’re drinking for both of us tonight,” Ransom said.
“That’s commendable, thank you,” said Sir Robert with a lopsided grin. “However, Sir Simon would disapprove. And I already owe him money for the trinket I bought that lass before leaving Dundrennan. She will mourn me, I fear. Poor lass.” His words didn’t ring true.
“Since you brought up the topic of your debt,” said Simon, “shall I remind you that you were to reimburse the royal purse after the steward paid you?”
“I haven’t seen the steward yet. After the coronation.” He tipped his cup and drank some more.
“It better be, or I’ll charge usury.”
“No one likes a miser, Simon.”