She shuddered against her will, and forced herself to look at his face, doing her best to pretend she wasn’t afraid, which seemed pointless.
His eyes were dark, small, and close-set, his nose broad and squashed flat. Maryna didn’t at all like the way he looked at her, even though he was smiling, a few rotten teeth peeking through his tangled beard.
“What have we here?” He spoke Galladian, but with an unfamiliar accent.
In one motion, Natalya took a step forward, pushing Maryna so she sat down hard on the cot.
“I am Natalya, Maxima of Allaux,” she said, her voice calm and haughty.
Maryna didn’t know how she stayed so composed in front of this horrible man.
Natalya put a hand on Maryna’s shoulder, and gave a reassuring squeeze. “And this is the Duchess Maryna Bernotas of Terragand. We are traveling to Olvisya, and if you could help us on our way, I’d be most obliged.”
The man laughed, sending a waft of garlic into the cabin. “That’s a likely story, though it’s true the two of you look like fancy ladies. Ought to fetch me a pretty price on the Neviar slave market.”
At that, Maryna squeaked with dismay and the man leered at her, fat greasy fingers reaching for her hair. He tugged it from its knot and Maryna started crying, even though it didn’t hurt.
“Very nice,” he said. “Blonds are always popular.”
He looked Natalya up and down, while Maryna yanked her hair out of his hands. “You’re a bit long in the tooth, but pretty enough. Have any skills?”
He grinned his horrid grin at Natalya, and Maryna cried harder.
“I can murder a man in his sleep.” Natalya’s tone was icy. “And I assure you the King of Galladium will pay you a far greater price than you would ever fetch in some flea-bitten slave market.”
“The king, eh?” The man leaned against the door. “He’s got a pretty little bit for a queen now. Likely not so interested in an old lady like you.”
“Gaspard!” A shrill voice came from behind the man, and he whirled around.
“Henny!”
To Maryna’s amazement he sounded a little frightened.
“You ruffian. Are you hiding the best prizes from me?”
A very short, stout woman with red hair sticking out from under a cap, elbowed the man aside, and stomped through the doorway.
“I, er,” Gaspard said. “I was getting ready to show them to you.”
“Huh.” The woman planted her feet far apart, crossed her arms across her ample bosom and looked the two of them over carefully. “Very nice. They’ll do well for us in Neviar.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Natalya said, sounding every bit as firm as before.
Maryna had stopped crying when she saw the woman, but started up again when she mentioned Neviar.
When Natalya repeated who they were, the woman cocked her head.
“I’ll want proof, but if it’s true, I might do even better than the King of Galladium. We’ll go up on deck to talk.”
She pointed a stubby finger at Maryna. “You stay here. Can’t hear myself think over all the caterwauling.”
Maryna nodded through her tears, while the little woman grabbed Natalya by the arm and led her out. The door slammed behind them, Gaspard last of all, who let his eyes linger on Maryna one more time.
“I’ll see you later,” he said, with a wink, laughing at her tears.
Braeden
As they entered Princess Viviane’s palace, Braeden couldn’t shake the unease that had plagued him since his arrival. No doubt it was the presence of Teodora’s toady, though there was no sign of the countess now.
A footman led the two of them to the princess’s formal study; a long, narrow room, hung with pale green silk all around. It gave a cool, elegant impression, much like Princess Viviane did.
As they entered the room, she rose from behind a delicately built desk, gave Kendryk her hand, nodded at Braeden, then led them to a small group of chairs near a table.
“It’s so hot, I thought we’d have something cool to drink while we talk.” She waited while a maid poured a dark red drink into crystal glasses.
Braeden wanted to refuse, and looked sideways at Kendryk, hoping he wouldn’t drink before the princess did. He felt uncommonly skittish. Still, he was well-armed, and no one had asked to take his weapons, or questioned the thirty guards filling the corridor outside.
The princess offered her cool, characteristic smile. “You needn’t worry, it’s quite good. Two parts fresh raspberry juice, the third and fourth parts divided between cold well water and white wine. Most refreshing, and you’ll scarcely notice the wine.” She raised her glass, then took a long drink.
Hiding his relief, Braeden raised his, then took a few smalls sips. It really was good; crisp and fruity. He wished she’d served this at dinner, instead of the endless glasses of wine making him sleepy along with the big meal and tedious conversation.
Kendryk sipped at his, then put it on the table before turning to the princess with his typical charming smile. “I appreciate the help you’ve already offered us, but was hoping I might impose upon you for more.”
Princess Viviane frowned. “I really don’t know, since I’ve already sent Lennart most of my militia. I don’t wish to recruit until after the harvest, and if I do, I’d like those troops to defend my own borders.”
“Of course.” Kendryk seemed undeterred. “I understand. If you can promise to raise say, another five thousand for Lennart before winter, I’ve already asked him to send seasoned troops this way to help us defend against Mattila. I’m assuming she’s offering her services to Teodora as we speak.”
“Has Lennart promised you these troops?” The princess shook her head. “I hate to part with any more of my own until I’m sure he’s helping us. It’s all very well to run off south to take on Teodora, but things are far from settled here.”
Kendryk took a few more sips, then put down his glass. “I know that, and that’s why I’d rather have your recruits gaining training and experience from Lennart, while more seasoned soldiers man our borders in the meantime.”
Braeden drained his glass while they talked. When the princess had mentioned the harvest, he remembered something.
Riding through the countryside on his way to Kronfels, there’d been a marked lack of activity in the fields. Peasants were at work, harvesting hay and grain, but they seemed few. He refused to believe Isenwald was under-populated, especially since it had experienced little war in the past few years.
Before the princess responded to Kendryk, Braeden asked, “Where are all your people?”
The princess looked startled. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You say you need them for the harvest, and yet I saw few working in the fields. I only led a few thousand troops to join Lennart from here last year. Where are all the others?”
The princess sat very still, staring at him.
Braeden was feeling a little too relaxed himself, considering the circumstances. He wanted to shout at her, get a response of some kind, but couldn’t work himself up to it. The drink must have contained more wine than she’d claimed.
With some effort, he turned his head to look at Kendryk, who sat beside her, also unnaturally still.
“Something’s wrong,” Kendryk muttered, barely moving his lips.
“I’ll say.” Braeden reached for the dagger at his hip, but his arm felt like it was moving through molasses. Before he wrapped his fingers around the hilt, someone had grabbed his arm from behind.
He tried to throw them off, but his muscles wouldn’t respond. He tried his other arm, but someone had grabbed that too.
The princess sat across from him, also immobile. It seemed they’d all been poisoned. Braeden tried to think, even as he struggled against those holding him.
Kendryk still sat beside the princess motionless, even though his eyes were wide and alarmed. A big man held him across the chest, and lifted him out of the chair.
“I’m sorry,�
�� Kendryk murmured. “I hope you can get away. Please tell Gwynneth—”
Braeden gasped in horror, and somehow wrenched away from his captors as the big man plunged a long knife into Kendryk’s back.
Braeden flung himself forward, reaching for Kendryk. He half-fell on him, pulling him forward, away from his attacker, but it was too late. The blade had pushed through Kendryk’s chest.
Braeden’s mind moved with agonizing slowness, but the horror of what had just happened pushed into his consciousness all the same.
“No, no, no,” he murmured, though his mouth moved too sluggishly to get the words out.
He held Kendryk close, while the light faded from his eyes, blood running over his arms and onto the floor.
It was too late. Braeden laid Kendryk down carefully before rolling over to face his murderers.
But now his arms had gone completely numb. He fumbled for his dagger again, but couldn’t find it. Someone rolled him onto his back, pinning down his arms and legs. Shouts and sounds of fighting came from the corridor and Braeden prayed Merton would break through.
The sounds died down and Braeden waited. Perhaps help would come now, not that it mattered anymore.
Those holding him down let go and pushed him aside, but he was still immobilized. They picked up Kendryk’s body, carrying it toward the door.
Braeden tried to protest, but was unable to make a sound.
“He’s dead all right,”someone said.
“Can’t believe she pulled it off,”another man replied. “Especially with Terris here.”
Braeden wanted to know where they were taking the body, but he couldn’t speak, and the others acted like he wasn’t there. He didn’t know why they hadn’t killed him.
A few minutes later, skirts rustled next to his head, and Countess Biaram smiled down at him. “Prince Kendryk should have known better than to trust a traitor.”
From somewhere above him, he heard the princess’s voice, slow and slurred. “Braeden Terris has murdered the prince. Take him to the dungeon.”
Gwynneth
Gwynneth was surprised at how well Devyn remembered his way through the woods, and how quickly they got through. She endured a few tense moments; twice when they heard the sound of an axe, and once at musket shots. Even though the shots likely came from hunters rather than soldiers, she still insisted on hiding in a thicket, waiting for hours of silence to pass before moving on.
The children were remarkably patient, not complaining about the heat, the tedium, or the lack of food. Gwynneth had packed enough to last a few days, but it seemed to go much too quickly. Still, both Devyn and Stella were in their element. The adventure was doing them all good.
“How much longer to the Allaux road?” she asked Devyn, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice. If they didn’t find a town within the next day, they’d run out of food.
“We’ll be there by nightfall,” he said. “Though we should hide until after dark.”
Gwynneth nodded. “Once we reach the road, we ought to find a town soon. We passed several on the way from Allaux. We’ll find an inn, buy food and spend a night in real beds.”
As they rode along the forest path, she told them what they’d need to do. “I’m sure the guards will be looking for us still, so we can’t tell anyone who we are. Why don’t we choose different names we can use? And a story to go with them.”
“I’ll be Alaric the Awful,” Devyn said right away.
Gwynneth had to smile. “Everyone knows that fairytale. I doubt anyone will believe you’re the barbarian king come to life. But we can still call you Alaric. How about you?” She turned to Stella.
The little girl frowned, thinking. “I’ll be Masha,” she said. “Like the woman who baked us those yummy cakes in Uncle Arryk’s camp.”
Gwynneth was sure Stella couldn’t remember that far back, but no doubt Devyn had told her about his favorite cakes, and the jolly woman who always sneaked him an extra one. “All right, Alaric and Masha. Who should I be?”
A long silence followed, while Devyn furrowed his brow. “It’s hard to think of you as anyone but Mama.”
“Me too.” She laughed. “How about, I’ll be Eyva. That was the name of my favorite nurse growing up in Arenberg. We’ll need a last name too, something common-sounding.”
Gwynneth hadn’t been sure she could pass herself off as a commoner, but grimy and plain as she looked now, it wasn’t much of a stretch. They decided on Berg, a name popular all over Kronland, and they’d say they had fled the war in Brandana and were returning home. With any luck, no one would question them too carefully.
Before they reached the road, Gwynneth pulled her hair into two braids, and tied a bright bit of cloth around her head.
Stella laughed. “You look like a farmer lady, Mama.”
“Good.” Gwynneth urged her tired horse down the path. “We want people to not think of princesses and dukes when they see us.”
“Or duchesses,” Stella added.
Gwynneth was both relieved and tense when they came upon an inn on the outskirts of a village. She worried that someone might be waiting for them, but it was quiet and the innkeep was happy to have custom on a slow day.
“Headed for Brandana, are you?” she asked after Gwynneth had told her the made-up story. “It’s a good time to go back. Seems all the fighting in Kronland is down south now.”
“That’s good news.” Gwynneth meant it. “How’s the road east? Is it very busy?” She hoped they might lose themselves in heavy traffic.
“Busy, and safe right now. With the harvest, a lot of folk are bringing goods to market, and there are several market towns on the way to the border.”
After they all had hot baths, several big meals and a good night’s sleep in soft beds, Gwynneth couldn’t wait to get underway. With the clear weather and a bit of luck she could get to the border within a few days.
She sold the horses at a market, and got enough to pay for post coaches once they reached Kronland. Those searching for them would keep an eye out for the horses; they’d be less conspicuous on foot.
She bought food at the markets they passed, where she also received news. Lennart had gone to fight all the way down in Tirilis, though there were rumors of trouble on Terragand’s eastern border. Brynhild Mattila had also gone south, though no one agreed on which side she was fighting for.
But discreet inquiries about Kendryk led nowhere. Some said he was at his castle in Terragand, others said he’d gone to fight with Lennart. Gwynneth decided to cut across Aquianus, then pass into Isenwald at Lerania. She might get better information there.
But first they had to get out of Galladium. The road passed through a large fortified town shortly before the border. Natalya’s guards might search for her there, if they expected her to go east.
She decided to hide in plain sight. At one of the markets, she bought peasant clothes for herself and the children, including large, broad-brimmed hats, so it was hard to tell whether they were boy or girl.
“Let me do the talking,” she said, “And act stupid.” They’d enjoy that.
She spotted the livery of the temple guards as the approached the city gate. She didn’t recognize the guard himself, fortunately, though he likely had orders to watch out for her.
Her heart in her mouth, she plodded forward, as if tired from working in the field.
“Halt,” someone said, and she stopped. “We’re looking for a princess,” the guard said. “A princess and two children.”
Gwynneth looked him right in the eye, and pretended her best country accent. “I did see a fancy lady in a coach stopped at an inn a few leagues back.”
“Where there children with her?” The man regarded her keenly, then his eyes traveled over Devyn and Stella.
Gwynneth shrugged. “No idea. Might have been in the coach.”
“Thank you for the information.” The man stared at her a little longer, then shook his head and waved her on.
Maryna
Maryna cried for a long time, but no one came. The ship seemed to be sailing like usual, but she was afraid to leave her cabin, even though she was hungry. She badly wanted to know what was going on, but the thought of running into Gaspard or the formidable Henny was enough to make her stay put.
It was long after dark, and Maryna was trying to sleep on her swaying cot, when Natalya returned.
“We’ve been caught by Galladian pirates,” she said. “Henny used to be in the navy, but was thrown out for stealing. Gaspard is her husband, and—”
“She’s married to him?” Maryna couldn’t hide her horror. Even a woman as rough-looking as Henny had to have standards.
“Yes.” Natalya smiled. “He’s officially in charge of the operation, since the ship they’re sailing is one he somehow captured out of a Floradian port, from what I gathered. But she tells him what to do.”
Maryna didn’t know if that was good or bad. “Are they still planning to sell us into ...” She couldn’t bear to say the rest, it was too awful.
“I can’t be sure.” Natalya’s voice was soft in the darkness.
She sank onto Maryna’s cot with a weary sigh. “I hope I’ve convinced them we’re far more valuable as hostages than slaves, and they would agree, but for the risks. They take us to Neviar, we disappear, they get a tidy sum, and no one knows what’s become of us.”
At the thought of that, a sob caught in Maryna’s throat.
“You mustn’t dwell on that idea, awful as it is,” Natalya went on, stroking Maryna’s hair. “They’re afraid of being caught by the Galladian navy when they turn us over, and I agree that’s a real risk, though I’d never tell them so. But since we left Sarcy, Maladena has declared war. That creates another interesting opportunity for them.”
“They would turn us over to Maladena?” That sounded only a little better than slavery, and Maryna failed to keep the panic from creeping into her voice.
“Maybe. It’s impossible to reason with Gaspard, but Henny is a woman of sense, if not much intelligence. If Maladena offers her enough money, she’ll likely take it, rather than risk a long voyage to Neviar.”
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 17