“Have you met Sir Hugh before?” asked Sir Iain.
“I have not. A pleasure, sir.”
“I wanted to thank you, Sir Ransom,” said the warden, “for the warning you relayed to Sir Iain the other night. I personally interviewed the tavern keeper at the Broken Table as well as some of the other places the prince—I mean, the Younger King—was known to visit. I asked if they’d noticed any unfamiliar sorts lurking about recently. Several made mention of a lady in a cloak. Sometimes she was alone, other times accompanied by several knights. She paid in the coin of our realm, so her presence didn’t stand out, but I thought it curious that they identified her as a lady.”
“If you asked them if they’d seen a lady, might that not have influenced their answer?”
“What sort of warden would I be if I gave such information freely?” said Sir Hugh with a smile. “I’m not a fool, Sir Ransom. I asked if there was anyone unfamiliar lurking about. They mentioned the lady, which fits with what you told us. There was also a report of the night watch being attacked recently. It seems this lady or her escorts are rather hostile to forms of authority. There’s a warrant out for their arrest. We also tripled the guard for the coronation ceremony at the sanctuary.” He gave Ransom a nod. “Well done, Sir Ransom. Your warning was timely.”
“Thank you, Sir Hugh.” Ransom wondered if the lady had come with the intention of vengeance against Ceredigion for past and present slights. Or was she merely a spy, come to gather information?
“If we capture this mysterious lady or her servants, I’ll send word to Sir Iain. Even though you only caught a glimpse of her, your testimony may be useful. You were also very clever not to pursue her into that alley.”
Ransom shrugged off the praise. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll advise the Younger King to stay in the palace for now.”
“That would be for the best,” said Sir Iain. The two men excused themselves, and Ransom continued to walk in a circuit around the great hall. He saw his new master in conversation with Sir James and frowned at the friendship and intimacy between them. It would take time to earn the Younger King’s trust. But he felt gratified by the warden’s news—although he didn’t savor the thought that his new master was in danger, he now knew that he could trust the pulses of warning he felt. He noticed King Devon the Elder and Queen Emiloh had returned to their seats, one sulking, the other at least pretending nothing was amiss. It was so stifling in the hall—even more so because of the tension he saw and felt everywhere—that Ransom could hardly bear it. Memories of being at Kingfountain as a child came back sharply, reminding him of King Gervase, the father he had lost. His heart swelled with longing. He wanted to serve someone honorable, like Gervase had been. So far, the Argentines were a bit of a disappointment. The ache of loss prompted him to leave by one of the side doors, and he walked through the corridor, going through the maze of passages until he reached the doorway leading to the royal docks.
As he walked outside, his boots crunched in the snow. The noise from the celebration faded, and he felt the tension ease from his shoulders as he soaked in the sound of the rushing waterfall. He walked down the stone path leading to the dock where the knights of King Gervase had dumped his body into the river in a canoe. Memories of that day were vivid, but the scenery had changed completely—night instead of day, snow instead of fair skies. He thought of his friend Sir William Chappell, and wondered how the stalwart knight would have handled such a duty, where loyalty was knotted with conflicts. Snowflakes came down on his hair, his arms, but the cold had not penetrated him yet.
He reached the edge of the dock and stood there for a moment. It was empty, for all the boats had been taken inside for storage. Standing there, he wrestled with his feelings, trying to get them under control again. But before they had fully settled, he heard someone approaching from behind. For an instant, he had a warning to step away from the edge of the dock, knowing that if anyone shoved him in, he’d perish not just from the frigid waters but from the plunge off the falls.
When he turned, he saw a young woman approaching him. It was dark enough that he couldn’t see her face at first, and for a moment, he worried it might be the cloaked woman he’d seen two nights previously. He approached, wanting to reach for his sword, but he didn’t—his senses were all heightened, prepared for an ambush.
“You are Sir Ransom,” said the girl.
“Yes,” he answered. “Who are you?”