Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(30)

“I am a knight,” Ransom insisted, feeling a sense of panic. “Lord Kinghorn knighted all of us before the battle.”

“You have his badge?”

Ransom produced it from his pocket.

Anders sniffed and took it from him, examining it. “It’s real. But you could be a squire pretending to be a knight.” He gave Ransom an appraising look as he said it.

“I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Most men do,” said Anders with a sigh, “although the nobles here tend to take their honor more seriously. Had a knight refuse to pay me for a sword I had made for him. Word got out, and the knight was dragged in by the Black Prince himself and ordered to pay me what he owed, plus extra as punishment, or he’d be thrown out of camp as a thief. But even so, there’s a thousand ways men try to cheat me.”

“I’m not asking for a gift,” Ransom said, stepping forward. “I could work for you. I’m strong. Persistent. Give me the chance to earn the repairs before the next competition.”

Anders frowned, cocking his head to the side. “Fetch the armor. Let’s see how bad it is first.”

Ransom felt a throb of hope again. He hurried out and unhooked the net from the palfrey and hefted it onto his shoulder. He went in and set it down before kneeling and starting to loosen the fastening.

“You’re strong,” Anders said appreciatively. “No denying that.”

Ransom opened the net and pulled out the armor. Most of the pieces were battered and stained from the conflict. Ransom hadn’t even bothered to clean them yet.

Anders squatted down and looked at the damage the hook had caused. He scowled and shook his head. “It’s ruined,” he said. “I can’t fix that. It needs to be made over.” His eyes fixed on Ransom. “I’m sorry, lad.”

“Please.” The silent feeling of desperation gnawed in his stomach.

Anders sniffed. “I’m sorry, lad,” he repeated. “I’m not sure there’ll be time. I have another suit of armor I’m working on for a knight.”

“I’ll help you with it.”

“Yes, you will. I was expecting that.” He paused, his gaze searching Ransom’s face, then said, “If we both work together, I’ll get it done faster, which means I’d have time to work on yours. There may . . . be enough time to finish it before the next tournament.” A smile brightened his face. “You keep my forge glowing hot, I can work much faster. It’s difficult work. It’s more fun to dent armor than fix it.”

The relief in Ransom’s heart was fierce. “I’ll do it.”

“Hold on, lad. Let me finish setting the terms. You work for me half the time. You train the other half. No sense making you armor you’ll ruin after your first bout. In return, you give me half your winnings. Every time. No exceptions. That means you’ll be paying me twice.”

“Done,” Ransom said with a grin.

“You’re not good at business, lad. I’m going to have to knock some sense into you. How about we limit the winnings to your first year?”

Ransom saw his mistake. “I think that’s fair.”

“It’s not, but you’ll learn the value of your coins soon enough. Everything costs something in this life, boy. But not everything is worth the cost. You need a place to sleep? You keeping that nag?”

“Yes and no,” Ransom answered.

“Good. Get rid of the nag. You can sleep on the floor over there. Now go pump those bellows for me. Let’s see how long you last!”





It has been almost two years since I last wrote. It doesn’t feel like it, until I consider all that’s happened. Da is more respected now in Legault. He travels to Atha Kleah to render justice, and his decisions are upheld. It wasn’t long ago they’d argue every point, just to spite him, but he’s a fair leader, and over time, they’ve realized he doesn’t just rule in favor of the lords of Ceredigion.

I’ve relished riding through our lands, getting to know the villagers and their needs. There are barrow mounds and sacred sites throughout Legault. The history is rich with so many legends of the Aos Sí and the magical artifacts they made. I met an aging woman in the village of Knockcroggery who said she’d seen, in her youth, a knight with a scabbard that had the raven sigil on it. The knight could not be killed in combat because of it. I have spent many a moonlit night waiting at a pond to see if the Aos Sí would emerge and dance at midnight. Sadly, I’ve not seen any. But I long to.

Da thinks I should choose a husband soon, which is probably why I’m writing this from the palace of Ploemeur in Brythonica presently. We have a writ of safe conduct from the duchess for our journey to Pree to attend a tournament at a field called Chessy. Every kingdom is sending their best knights to compete. There will be much clashing of swords, shattering of lances, and likely dozens of bearded men itching to marry an heiress. I’ve never been to Pree before, so I’m excited to see the pinnacle of refinement, grace, and skill at arms. Da won’t be fighting, but we’ve enough knights in our company who will take to the fields. Everyone says the strongest knights are from Occitania. Yet I wonder who else may be there?

—Claire de Murrow

Ploemeur, Duchy of Brythonica