Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  He had to pause because of the buzzing in the room. Now Maryna felt brave enough to face the crowd. A few people looked shocked, and some even seemed sad.

  One older woman in a fancy out-of-date dress wiped her eyes. Everyone else just acted like they were excited and trying to hide it. Maryna supposed they didn’t really know her mother, and her death was just another interesting event for them.

  “This makes the Duchess Maryna my heir, and heir to the throne of Norovaea.” Arryk stepped back, letting go of Maryna’s hand, and nodded at the Maximus standing behind him.

  The old man stepped forward, holding a circlet that was a delicate web of silver studded with aquamarines.

  It was the loveliest thing Maryna had ever seen, and she had to suppress a gasp. She bowed just a little so the Maximus could place it on top of her piled-up hair, hoping it would stay put.

  He pushed it down firmly, then tipped up her chin with a finger and smiled gently into her eyes. She wondered if he was in on the plan.

  “I give you Princess Maryna of Norovaea.” His voice boomed through the room. “Your next queen, anointed by the gods and by men.”

  Maryna smiled at the crowd applauding her, for the first time almost wishing it were true.

  Braeden

  Now he had an idea of what Fernanda might do next, Braeden couldn’t move fast enough. They no longer bothered with keeping quiet. This woman might not be Daciana, but if she was like her at all, none of the folk living in this forest were safe.

  Devyn crashed through the brush to walk next to Braeden.

  “You should stay behind me, Your Grace,” Braeden said.

  “Please don’t make me.” Devyn brandished a fancy wheellock pistol. “I want to shoot her the moment we see her.”

  “We have to take her alive, remember?”

  “I’ll just shoot her in the leg, so she can’t get away.”

  Braeden enjoyed the boy’s enthusiasm, but didn’t need that kind of help. “No one shoots her, all right?” He tried sounding as stern as possible. “You’ll let me handle her, and that’s an order.”

  A scout came running back. “Clearing ahead,” he said. “The creek widens, and I heard a water wheel.”

  “A mill. She’ll look for food there.” Braeden pushed on even faster. He had a bad feeling about this.

  As soon as he was clear of the trees, he mounted Kazmir and everyone else followed his lead. If they were lucky enough to catch her in the open, they could run her down.

  “Defend yourself if you must,” he said. “This woman is very dangerous and I won’t risk any of you, though I’d prefer to take her alive.”

  Braeden glared at Devyn. “Stay with Lieutenant Torresia, Your Grace. You needn’t worry about missing out, since she’s always in the thick of things.”

  Then he urged Kazmir along the creek at a trot. Water burbled over a wheel, then he saw the mill.

  “Surround the building,” he said, “I’m going in. No one leaves until I’ve questioned them.”

  Once he’d reached the main entrance, he dismounted. It was quiet for a mill on a normal day. An empty cart hitched to a horse stood nearby, and Braeden peered into the bed. It was piled with sacks of oats. Someone should have taken those inside.

  The unlocked door swung silently on well-oiled hinges, and Braeden stepped inside, holding a loaded pistol. If Fernanda was still here, she might know she was surrounded. He took two more steps, then saw he was too late.

  A young woman—probably a maid—lay in the doorway to the kitchen. Braeden needed only a glance to see she was dead, a puddle of blood forming near her head.

  He crept into the kitchen, where the next body lay; an older woman, the miller’s wife. The cupboards stood open, their contents strewn across the floor.

  Braeden swore under his breath and found his way into the mill. The miller had put up a fight, but it hadn’t ended well for him. Another man lay nearby; likely the driver of the cart.

  The woman had killed four people with little struggle. She might not be Daciana, but she was too much like her to lend Braeden any comfort.

  After he’d checked all the other rooms, he hurried back outside.

  “All dead,” he said, remounting Kazmir. “She took food and left.” He turned to Trisa. “Why don’t you and the duke unhitch that horse and rustle up some tack in that shed over there.”

  Devyn sniffed. “I don’t want to ride a cart horse.”

  “You’ll ride it for now, and that’s an order. I don’t want the two of you tiring the lieutenant’s mount.”

  Devyn pulled a face, but followed Trisa to the shed.

  “Which way now?” someone asked.

  “She’s more dangerous than I thought.” Braeden reached for a paper he’d tucked inside his doublet. “I think she’ll go after the princess again.”

  “But she doesn’t know where she is.”

  “Maybe not. But she’s given us the slip easily enough and she’s smart and ruthless. Give me a moment to decipher this.”

  Natalya had given him a short, encoded note letting him know where the princess was staying so he could send them a message once he’d caught Vastic.

  Now he’d have to catch Fernanda before she got to Gwynneth. Maybe he could still send good news afterward.

  Secretly, he welcomed the chance to return Devyn to his mother, though he also had to confess he’d grown rather fond of the boy. If he managed to not get himself killed doing something stupid, he might grow up to be a fearsome warrior.

  “Do you think my family is in danger?” Devyn frowned. “And here I’ve taken Maryna’s pistols. Who’s going to protect them?”

  “Natalya left them well-guarded.” Even as he said it, Braeden feared it wouldn’t be enough. “We need to get there before Fernanda finds them.”

  That was his big advantage right now. Fernanda would have to search for the princess, while Braeden knew where to go.

  This time, instead of heading into the woods, they followed the small path along the creek, leading to the main road.

  Braeden had them move quickly. The king’s lodge wasn’t far away and they needed to reach it before Fernanda did.

  Kendryk

  Kendryk wished he’d visited Edric Maximus before setting out, but there was no time to lose. Braeden had left here over two months before, and since the letter he’d sent from Birkenfels, Kendryk hadn’t heard a word.

  Not from him, not from Gwynneth, not from Natalya. Maybe they were dead while Braeden still searched for them, not knowing.

  But why had no word come from Natalya? Surely, if the worst had happened, she would be first to send her condolences?

  “We ought to go through Brandana,” Anton said, riding beside him. They had crossed the Velta River and now headed into the foothills on a road sloping gently upwards. “I’m sure Mattila will be on our side soon.”

  “Mattila is on no one’s side but her own.” Kendryk didn’t bother keeping the bitterness out of his voice. He didn’t want her as an enemy, but the price Lennart might pay to make her an ally was unbearable. Kendryk refused to swallow the idea of her being made a Kronland ruler.

  When he’d mentioned to Lennart that she required it as a condition of their negotiations, the king had laughed. “She said that because she knows it’s impossible, and she wanted to get rid of you. I can’t make her a ruler. Even if I were emperor, I couldn’t do it, and Teodora can’t do it either.”

  But you don’t want to be emperor, do you? Kendryk thought, but didn’t say it. Lennart had been only good and generous, so questioning his motives at that point seemed ungracious.

  “Lennart will convince her,” Anton said, in his confident way. “He’s talked everyone else into fighting for him.”

  “He had help from my aunt.” Kendryk wondered if Princess Rheda hadn’t stepped up, Lennart might still be in Helvundala, scowling at Prince Stepan.

  “He’s lucky, is what he is,” Anton said. “And now everyone wants to be on his side. Mattila will w
ant it too.”

  “I hope you’re right. But we’ll keep an eye out in case.”

  Two days away from the Brandana border, while camping in the western foothills, Kendryk awoke to shouts and the flicker of flames in the middle of the night.

  He jumped out of bed, pulling on his clothes and fumbling for a belt of pistols and a sword. Who would attack them here?

  By the time he ran out of his tent, Anton had joined him.

  “What’s going on?” Kendryk asked, peering through the smoke. Musket-fire popped in the distance and shadowy shapes ran between the tents.

  “No idea.” Anton wore a brace of pistols around his waist, held a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. “Please stay behind me, Your Grace.”

  “Surely it’s just bandits?” Even as Kendryk said it, he didn’t believe it.

  “I doubt it,” Anton said. “I’ve sent a page for our horses in case we need to get away.”

  “I’m not running from a fight,” Kendryk said.

  “You’d better, if we’re outnumbered.”

  Kendryk’s escort numbered two hundred. The only people around here able to raise larger forces were Lennart and Mattila. He wanted to say they couldn’t be outnumbered but swallowed the words down as the pop of muskets drew ever closer. A page came running with two horses.

  “Please, Your Grace.” Anton held him by the arm. “We need to go.”

  “Where?”

  Kendryk wanted to resist, but Anton and the page boosted him onto his horse. He tried to think of which road they were on and the nearest town, but the smoke choked him while a nearby tent burst into flames.

  Something crashed by his ear and Anton shouted,”Go! Now!” as his whip came down on the rump of Kendryk’s horse.

  It bolted, and Kendryk nearly slipped out of the saddle. He didn’t know which way to go, so he followed Anton, wondering how he knew what to do. Then he almost ran into him as he pulled his horse up sharply.

  “We’re surrounded,” Anton said. “We have to fight our way through.”

  Kendryk pulled out a pistol, though he saw no one in the smoke and darkness. He urged his horse forward at a walk, following Anton, who now held a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  Shadowy shapes moved through the smoke, and someone shouted, “There he is! Two hundred Kroner if you can take the prince alive.”

  Kendryk realized they were talking about him and a fog lifted. “Never,” he said through gritted teeth. He would never go back to being a prisoner. He loosened the dagger in his belt, vowing to use it on himself before he let them take him.

  Ahead of him, Anton shouted and spurred his horse into a large clump of soldiers. Kendryk wondered where the rest of his people were. He followed Anton, who was hard pressed by the time Kendryk reached him.

  Two soldiers lay dead on the ground, but Anton’s pistols were spent. He slashed about with a sword, but more kept coming.

  Kendryk pulled out his second pistol and waited to fire until he was certain he wouldn’t miss. He fired both at once and two men fell, but two more took their place. There were too many.

  Kendryk drew his sword and slashed at the nearest soldier. That one went down and he slashed at another. But then someone pulled on his leg and he slid sideways off his horse. He kept hacking away, and whoever had grabbed him vanished.

  A huge fellow appeared before him, a grin revealing blackened teeth. He stood a head taller than Kendryk, but Kendryk hoped he was faster, and jabbed his sword at the giant, then backed up quickly as the big man swung a huge mace down. Kendryk sprang aside as the mace crashed into the ground next to him.

  He wondered where Anton was, but couldn’t look away from his opponent. The mace came down again, and Kendryk jumped away. But then someone grabbed him and pulled him into the dirt. Too late, Kendryk reached for his dagger. His arms were pinned to the ground, and ropes tightened around his legs.

  Gwynneth

  “I hate you!” Stella stamped her foot and ran off down the corridor.

  Gwynneth sighed. A fight with Stella had become part of her daily routine.

  Every day the little girl asked if she might go search for Devyn and every day, Gwynneth said no. She wanted to find Devyn too, but Natalya’s orders were strict. Gwynneth and the children would stay here until Natalya and Maryna returned from Norovaea.

  Gwynneth had never been so bored. Country life generally didn’t agree with her, but in this place she couldn’t even enjoy the usual pursuits like hunting or tennis. And with Maryna and Devyn gone, there was no one to talk to.

  Andres was very quiet, and always listened carefully to Gwynneth, though he never said much in response. And unless Stella was throwing a tantrum, she refused to speak to Gwynneth.

  The king’s hunting lodge was comfortable and luxurious, but it held no books, and no entertainment of any kind. Gwynneth found an old lute and repaired its broken strings, but she wasn’t musical, and put it aside after an hour of unpleasant tinny sounds.

  “I wish to go for a walk,” Gwynneth said to the captain of her guard, using her most imperious tone. These were Natalya’s people, and unlikely to listen to her.

  “I won’t go far, and the lot of you can cluster around as close as you like.” Surely Fernanda wouldn’t touch her with such a large escort? And perhaps Stella would be less angry if she could run around outside for a while.

  “I’m very sorry Your Grace,” the captain said. He looked sad, but Gwynneth realized his eyes were always mournful over a long, drooping mustache to match. “But it’s too dangerous with Fernanda Vastic about.”

  “I’m sure Commander Terris has already captured her.”

  “If he has, he hasn’t let us know. I’m very sorry, but the Maxima gave us strict orders. We can’t risk you being attacked again.”

  Gwynneth sighed, deflated, and went back inside. She opened all of the windows wide, so at least she might stare at the summery woods, even if she couldn’t enjoy them, then sat back down at her desk. At least it contained plenty of writing paper, even though no letters went out.

  Perhaps if a messenger came from Braeden, he would take anything Gwynneth had ready. She couldn’t imagine why it was taking so long. Fernanda was hurt and hadn’t had more than an hour head start.

  Even though she hated the idea of Devyn out there in the woods, he’d be valuable to Braeden, since he was the only person in the search party who knew what Fernanda looked like.

  Gwynneth turned back to the long letter she was writing Kendryk. It was an awkward one. In order to explain what had happened, she had to admit to being taken in by Teodora’s forgeries, and believing Kendryk would betray his allies.

  She pulled the signet ring out of her pocket. It was fake.

  She hadn’t been certain until she’d dropped it onto the wooden floor, and one of the little inset diamonds fell out. When she stepped on it accidentally, it shattered it into tiny shards of glass. Teodora would have had plenty of time to make an excellent copy while she held Kendryk in captivity.

  Even worse, Gwynneth felt terrible that she’d doubted Natalya and Lennart enough to believe Teodora’s story about their betrayal. And Natalya had proven herself to be a friend, even if they didn’t always get along.

  Continuing the letter from where she’d left it the day before, Gwynneth tried to explain Natalya’s mission in Norovaea. It did no good, since she didn’t understand herself.

  Being stuck here, without news was the worst. Her only hope was that Natalya’s mission in Arenberg would go quickly, so Gwynneth could get out of hiding.

  She tried to decide if she’d go to Allaux first, or straight to Terragand. She daydreamed about that journey and seeing Kendryk again, when Andres tugged at her skirt.

  “What is it, love?” He seldom started a conversation with her.

  “I can’t find Stella,” he said.

  “Perhaps she’s hiding.” Gwynneth stood, taking him by the hand.

  Even at ten, Andres was still small, with enormo
us blue eyes in a pale face under a shock of dark hair. She imagined Kendryk looking similar at the same age.

  “Let’s go look.”

  The lodge held a great many cupboards and crannies, so Stella and Andres spent hours every day playing hide-and-seek.

  “I looked in all of the usual places,” Andres said. “Even though we weren’t playing.”

  “Maybe she’s found a new spot.” Gwynneth wasn’t worried, since guards stood at all the doors and below the windows. No one could get past them. Gwynneth had considered attempting it more than once.

  In spite of Andres’ protestations, Gwynneth started with all the usual hiding places, then found a few more, all of them empty. “You can use them next time you play with her.”

  He stared up at her, worry in his eyes. “She said she wanted to run away and find Devyn.”

  “I’m sure she does.” Gwynneth took his hand again. “Let’s go ask the guards if they’ve seen her.”

  Stella pestered them from time to time, claiming she needed a partner for her sword practice.

  The guards at the main door hadn’t seen anything either.

  “We should look all the same,” the captain said. “She’s tried to get away before.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Gwynneth’s cheeks burned.

  “I’m so sorry Your Grace, but I said I wouldn’t tell you if she promised not to try it again.”

  “That girl is such a liar,” Gwynneth said, then added to herself, just like her father.

  She sent Andres back inside, and followed the captain around the building. Guards were in place at all the windows, except for a small one at the back.

  When the captain shouted, they came out of a nearby thicket, shame-faced and smelling of liquor.

  “Where did you get it?” The captain’s dour face was a picture of rage.

  “They are allowed only wine at meals,” he explained to Gwynneth, his voice just slightly calmer.

  “The little girl gave it to us.”

  Gwynneth gasped and wanted to protest, then remembered that one of Stella’s favorite hiding places was in the bottom of the cabinet holding the good brandy. Gwynneth had resorted to a few tipples late at night when boredom and despair threatened to crush her.