“That is unjust, Father,” Devon said, his voice throbbing with emotion. “Give that punishment to me instead. I deserve it!”
“Oh? Now you understand how poorly you judged your chances of success? You should have thought through the consequences before you began listening to that eel of a man in Pree. He’s not your friend. He’s not your father. I am! You owed me your loyalty. Instead, you would have both put me in confinement for the rest of my life. Prove to me you have learned your lessons, you unworthy curs, you . . .” He seemed about to say more, but his words choked off. He calmed himself slightly. “Perhaps my youngest is the most fit to rule after me. Goff is only fit to rule a purse. We shall see. Take nothing for granted, boys. You must prove yourself worthy to replace me now.” He turned and looked at Lord Kinghorn. “Take them away. I cannot bear to look at them any longer.”
Lord Kinghorn set down his chalice. His expression was one of shared misery. “Away we go. Back to Kingfountain. I relieve them from your custody, Richard.”
The Duke of Glosstyr nodded, rising painfully to his feet.
As they left the tent together, Ransom heard the strangled sound of tears coming from inside. They’d not walked ten paces before a heart-rending cry split the air behind them. The soldiers’ celebration fell silent. Men stood on their feet and faced the Elder King’s tent. They stared, smiles fading, as they listened to the agonized keening of a king.
Ransom’s heart ached as he listened to the sounds of the death of loyalty. A chill wind began to whip through the camp, scattering ashes and blowing cinders.
Has it only been two years since I last wrote? It feels like so much longer. I’ve tried to write dozens of times, but every time I picked up the quill and dabbed it in ink, I would burst into tears. I didn’t have the strength until today. Why today? I don’t know. The ache hasn’t gone away. The pain is still there. The sadness never leaves. But today my hand is strong enough. Today I can write the words.
Da is dead. He returned to Legault following the Younger King’s rebellion with an ache in his leg, his foot. He fell sick in Atha Kleah. The treacherous nobles had fled his coming, fearing the retribution. And then he was gone. It happened so quickly. I don’t even know how he injured his foot. He never spoke of it, but I saw him wince in pain. He said not to worry. I believed him, but I shouldn’t have.
It’s not the tradition in Legault to tie a corpse into a boat and release it into the river. But I did it for Da because he would have wanted it. Through my tears, I knew that I would have to leave Connaught castle. When word came of his death, they swarmed it like maggots on meat. I took a boat to Glosstyr, crying the whole way there.
I wasn’t long in Glosstyr before the Elder King summoned me to Kingfountain. He held a ceremony for my father, recognizing him for his loyalty, for his faithfulness. He said he felt as if his right arm had been struck from his body. I never knew the king felt that way. When it was over, the king took me aside and said that he was claiming wardship over me, as King Gervase once did when I was a little girl without a mother. I was surprised. I told him that I could do him more good if I were at Glosstyr myself, ruling in my father’s place. No. That wasn’t to be. Being warden over me gave him the right to confiscate Da’s treasury. It also gave him the right to name a new duke of Glosstyr. He cannot force me to marry against my will, which my Gaultic heritage prevents, but he’s tried many times to give me away. Some are older men, twice my own age. One of them is his youngest son. I refuse them all. He cannot force me. I’ve told him whom I wish to wed. But he will not allow it. He wants nothing to do with his renegade heir or the knights still sworn in his service.
King Devon Argentine the Elder is now the richest man on the continent. He hoards silver livres like a miser and uses them to summon armies of mercenaries to fight on his behalf. His second son, Benedict, has come to terms with his father, hoping to be named his heir. He travels around the realm with these hired killers, punishing those who are disobedient to the king’s wishes. But not Devon the Younger. The people still adore him and pity him, but not as much as they pity his mother. I’m one of the few allowed to see Queen Emiloh. I’m her maidservant, you see, her lady-in-waiting. It’s lonely in this tower. So very lonely.
—Claire de Murrow
Queen’s Tower, Kingfountain Prison
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Tournament at Chessy
Why are we still holding back?” Devon demanded impatiently as the clash of blades continued to ring out through the churning dust of the tournament field. Some horses writhed in pain on the field, having met an ill turn of luck during the live combat. Knights bashed against each other in dreadful rage, seeking to win the most prestigious part of the program.