Anton hoped it would be enough. The noise was tremendous, even to Anton’s dulled hearing, as balls crashed into the walls above them. He hoped they were far enough away not to be in danger, but no pieces of the fortress rained down on their heads.
Now his nerves jangled and he worried the fortress guns wouldn’t be silenced long enough for Trystan to come. So he was more than a little surprised at the sight of Trystan scrambling up the slope below him, followed by what looked like an endless stream of soldiers.
Somehow, Anton managed his special grin. “Took you long enough,” he said.
Gwynneth
Gwynneth forced herself to open her eyes. She’d been conscious this whole time, but if she opened her mouth, that awful sound would come out. She’d frightened everyone enough already.
She lay on a soft bed, in a comfortable chamber, and remembered someone carrying her up the stairs, no doubt into the guest quarters.
Gwynneth had thought nothing would ever make her feel worse than betraying Kendryk and having him find out, but she’d been wrong.
This was worse. Unbearable.
Since their marriage, they’d been apart as much as they’d been together, but everything she’d done, all the striving of the past few years, was for their future. A future where they’d rebuild their home and grow old together. But now he was gone, and there was no future.
Tears leaked from Gwynneth’s eyes, and she crammed the balled-up sheets into her mouth, stifling the scream that rose inside her again. Even at her worst, she’d never lost control like this.
She ought to think of the children, and what to do next, but didn’t care. What was the point of any of it without Kendryk?
Once the urge to scream subsided, Gwynneth rolled onto her back and stared at the bed’s fringed canopy. Even when they were apart, Kendryk was her life, and now it was over.
She recalled the shocking news that Braeden had done the deed, then shook her head. She didn’t believe it. There had to be another explanation, and it likely had Teodora somewhere at the back of it.
The person she’d been a few hours ago, in blissful ignorance, would have sworn revenge and carried it out, but she wasn’t that person any more. She didn’t know who she was.
Gwynneth had always been so sure of herself until she’d met Kendryk. She expected she’d be a queen, and didn’t much care who she’d have to marry to manage it. After Lennart came and went without proposing, she spent her days planning how she might lure him back.
Then Kendryk appeared and changed everything. She’d always laughed at her friends who claimed to fall in love with young men at first sight, but that had happened with Kendryk.
As the freshly minted ruler of Terragand, he’d come to pay his respects to her father and reaffirm their treaties. Or so everyone thought. Later, he’d told Gwynneth that he’d heard of her beauty and intelligence, and wanted to see for himself.
She’d heard of him too—who hadn’t?—but until the moment she saw him, dismissed him as a little boy. A brave, clever boy, but too young for her.
But when he stood before her, his clear blue eyes meeting hers, the smile on her lips mirrored on his, all ambition fled her mind. All she cared about was being with him.
Though her parents liked him, they didn’t approve. They’d wanted a king for their splendid daughter.
But Gwynneth wanted Kendryk, and no one in her seventeen years had ever denied her a single thing. And once she knew Kendryk wanted her too, there was no stopping her.
Faced with such determination, her parents gave in soon enough, and the wedding took place less than two months after Kendryk’s first appearance.
Gwynneth was happy, and that happiness continued for years after, as they made their home at Birkenhof, and the children arrived.
And then she’d spoiled it all, convincing Kendryk to support Edric. Considering how everything went wrong after that, she now realized how stupid she’d been to pursue that course. It had led her down a terrible path, and she wondered if the gods were punishing her for her pride and ambition.
And now they’d done their worst. She was finished.
She couldn’t cry anymore; couldn’t make a sound. She refused food and water, even with Princess Edda fussing over her.
Her children shouted and cried outside her door, but she ordered them kept out. She realized it was bad and wrong, but was powerless to do a thing about it.
Sometimes, Gwynneth dozed off, but mostly, she lay in the bed, her mind occupied with recalling every second she’d spent with Kendryk. Every conversation, every touch, every moment, the good and the bad.
She even forced herself to relive the horrible time after being discovered with Arian. Even in his anger, Kendryk was good and forgiving. She didn’t know if he suspected that Stella wasn’t his child, but he’d never said a word about it, and treated her with the same boundless affection as the others.
He’d been too good for her, and now he’d been taken away forever. A tear slid along Gwynneth’s nose, and that opened the floodgates.
She sobbed into her pillow for hours, and when she looked up, a candle burned by her head, and Devyn and Stella sat at her bedside.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, putting out her hand. Devyn grabbed it, and Stella crawled into bed next to her. “I suppose you’ve heard.”
Devyn nodded. “The prince told us. Though I’m sure he lied about Braeden. He’d never do that.”
“You’re right. He never would. But what really happened, I wonder?”
“We must find out.” Devyn’s eyes were shadowed by the candlelight, but his jaw was determined. “We’ll find out who did it, and kill them. And we must save Braeden.”
“Yes.” Gwynneth sat up, feeling a surge of energy in spite of her grief and hunger. “Is Braeden still alive?”
“He is,” Devyn nodded. “I made Prince Dristan tell me everything. He’s in Princess Viviane’s dungeon, and will be tried for Papa’s murder in two weeks.”
“Then we must help him,” Gwynneth said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t know how yet, but we must.”
Teodora
Sibyla insisted on Teodora returning to her bed, so she followed orders. She felt awful, and everyone could just as well update her in the bedchamber.
It turned light and the day wore on. Reports came in every few hours, but there was nothing new. By now, Teodora’s troops were spread for leagues along the Galwend Pass road, while others swarmed through the woods blanketing the foothills on either side of the road.
She couldn’t think why they hadn’t yet caught the fugitives, since neither one was a brilliant outdoorsman. Jozef had likely done his share of hunting, but Aksel seldom so much as sat a horse, he was such a bookworm.
By noon, Teodora was fuming so much, Sibyla gave her a stern talking-to. “You must settle down, or I will give you something to calm you.”
Teodora felt weak enough to be unable to prevent such an imposition, so she scowled at Sibyla and did her best to look tranquil.
Sibyla made a derisive noise and let her be. Ever since Teodora’s attack, her doctor had been insufferable, and Teodora was too tired to assert her proper authority. Besides, it was largely due to Sibyla’s ministrations that Teodora had recovered so quickly.
So she lay back against the pile of pillows and tried to distract herself by writing letters and listening to Count Solteszy go on at length about something financial.
Her mind wandered, and she missed Countess Biaram, who always provided more interesting conversation. Teodora had last heard from her after her unsuccessful mission in Lantura. She was moving on to Isenwald, but no further updates had come.
Losing her train of thought, she put her quill down and stared at the wall while Solteszy droned on.
Her heart felt ready to leap out of her chest and her headache was returning. If something didn’t happen soon, maybe she really would die.
A few more hours passed, and finally word came. The captain
of Teodora’s guard, who so far had not shown her face, appeared in her presence, breathless and muddy.
“We’ve caught him, Your Highness.”
“Caught them, surely.” Teodora pushed herself into a more erect position, hoping the captain had misspoken.
“Him, I’m afraid. Singular.” The captain looked abashed.
“Please tell me it’s Jozef Mattila, at least.”
“We’re still on his trail, but we caught Prince Aksel. Do you want him brought to you?”
“Yes, of course.” Teodora didn’t bother to hide her anger. In her current situation, Jozef Mattila was far more dangerous on the loose. “And step up your pursuit of the Mattila boy. He cannot be allowed to reach his mother.”
The captain saluted and left without another word.
Not much later, Aksel Roussay stood in her presence, battered, muddy and defiant. “You’ll never catch him,” he said without preamble.
“I will.” Teodora allowed a small smile. “You really are a great deal of trouble. Always have been.”
“I wish I’d been more.” That he was bloodied and bruised, his spectacles cracked and askew didn’t seem to bother him. “All this time I’ve spent here, I should have thought of more ways to thwart you.”
“It’s not easy. And you won’t do it again. I’m sending you to the Arnfels until it’s time for you to take the Norovaean throne.”
“Still no word of my brother’s overthrow then?” He sneered.
She seethed at that, but tried not to show it. Clearly, something had gone wrong in Norovaea, but she’d received no word from anyone. She could only assume that Arryk remained in power, since she hadn’t heard otherwise.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I have confirmation,” she said sweetly. “But before I have them drag you off to your cell, I’m curious. Why cause trouble now, if you’ve been wanting to all along?”
Aksel grinned. “Because now is the worst time for you to lose control over Brynhild Mattila. If you no longer have her son, why wouldn’t she join up with Lennart? In fact, she doesn’t need to do that much. The moment she has Jozef back with her, she can come straight here.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t even trying to escape, but it seemed a good way to distract everyone from what Jozef was doing. I can tell you which way he’s gone, but it’ll be too late. I led all of your troops in the wrong direction.”
He offered a smug smile; rather nervy, considering he was being restrained by a guard twice his size. “Jozef is long gone over the mountains. I’m sure he’ll be in his mother’s arms well before morning.”
Teodora worried he was telling the truth, since he always did, but she pretended he wasn’t. “You would say that. But it won’t save your friend. We’re covering every possible goat path through the mountains. There is no way Jozef Mattila will find his way through them alone.”
“If you say so. And if you don’t mind, I’ve had enough of this conversation. I’d rather spend time in the Arnfels than talk to you.”
Insolent brat. Aksel was usually so mild-mannered, but all things considered, he’d caused her a great deal of trouble. Teodora decided she’d get rid of him the moment she received confirmation that her Norovaean plot had failed, as she by now suspected it had.
Once she no longer needed Aksel, he would conveniently die of some ailment common to prisoners kept in drafty dungeons.
“I’d rather you did too.” She waved her hand at his captors. “Get him out of my sight.”
Braeden
His grief finally ebbed, as he knew it would. Braeden pulled himself into a sitting position and considered his surroundings. Maybe he couldn’t avert his fate, but he didn’t plan to go meekly. No matter how hopeless his situation, he’d fight at some point, if only for his own self-respect.
He looked around the little room. It wasn’t a cell, as he had first thought, though the only window was small, high and barred. Weak light still came in, so it must be near evening.
Braeden heaved himself to his feet, and walked around. It looked like this space had been a storeroom at one point. An empty set of wooden shelves stood against one wall, and a plank spread across two barrels created a makeshift table or bed, or both. Another upturned empty barrel served as a stool.
A faint smell of flour hung in the air. Not unpleasant, but thinking of food reminded him of how long he hadn’t eaten.
Braeden felt sick for a long time after drinking the poison, but the effect had worn off, leaving him starving and thirsty. He’d have to wait, so he sat back down on the floor and watched the little bit of light disappear.
Not long after that came a rattling at the door. When it opened, Braeden had to squint against the candlelight.
A second later, he made out the form of a person, accompanied by another holding what looked like a halberd, its unique shape silhouetted against the light. He still didn’t feel his best, so decided not to rush the guards.
They barely stepped inside the door putting a tray down on the floor with a clatter.
“Where am I?” Braeden asked, as the door swung shut again.
They’d left a candle, a tiny stub that might give him five minutes of light. He’d better eat while he could see the food. He carried the tray to the table, and looked it over. Nothing like the prison food of the Arnfels, it consisted of a bowl of stew that looked and smelled rather appetizing, along with a small loaf of bread.
Not bad at all. A small jug of cold water completed the meal, and Braeden had to stop himself from drinking it down all at once.
Judging by the quality of the food, and the fact he was not in a cell, he guessed he was near the palace somewhere. Maybe even inside, in an unused storeroom.
He put the tray back by the door, snuffed out the candle and put it on the shelf. Maybe he’d find a use for it later. He kept the water jug close by and finally lay back on the table. He had no blanket, but the night was warm.
He wasn’t ready to sleep, but he needed to think. If he wasn’t in a dungeon, he might be able to break out. He needed daylight to get a better look at the guards, along with a peek into the corridor and out the window.
He also needed time, and depending on what the princess had planned, he might not have it. Still, it was worth thinking about.
He slept until morning, then dragged the barrel under the window, stood on it and looked out. He was just tall enough to reach the window, though it was far too small for him to climb through.
Still, what he saw encouraged him. An iron fence, not a wall, surrounded the building he was in. Beyond that lay what looked like the palace garden. He even saw two gardeners already at work in the early light.
When he heard fumbling at the door, he jumped back down and stood in the middle of the room. A squat, surly man came in, bearing another tray.
“Stand back,” he snapped.
Braeden backed up against the wall. Behind the man, two guards held halberds, and beyond that was a stone corridor.
“Good morning,” Braeden said, “And thank you.”
The door shut again, but now he smiled. Once his strength returned, he could easily overcome that man and the two guards. And once he took their weapons, he might have a chance at breaking out.
Elektra
At the rate they were traveling, Elektra reckoned she wouldn’t get to Lennart before winter.
Major Silberg, at the head of her escort, received regular dispatches, and told her Lennart had already reached Tirilis. “Looks like he’ll have to fight his way through at Richenbruck,” he said.
“But no one has ever taken that fortress.”
“First time for everything.” The major offered a rare grin.
“I wish I could be there to see that.” She didn’t allow herself to hope she’d be given an army unit to command. She doubted Lennart trusted her very much and she’d have to prove herself before he let her have any real power. It was frustrating.
But for the first time, Elektra felt real hope. She was finally out o
f her mother’s power, and no longer a prisoner. She was an ally of a powerful king, and having met Lennart, knew he’d be able to overcome both her mother and Mattila, should she stand in his way.
It was a comforting thought, and Elektra allowed herself a few dreams about a future in which she was empress. Unlike her mother, she’d be a good one. That she was now a Quadrene didn’t seem real, and she pushed thoughts about the complications it would bring out of her mind.
Elektra and her escort headed straight south, and had reached the northern woods of Isenwald when they heard the news. They had stopped to buy supplies in a small market town, but rather than mind their stalls, the townsfolk stood in clumps buzzing with gossip.
Elektra dismounted, handing her horse over to a page. “What’s happened?” she asked a young woman wearing a red cap and apron. Perhaps Lennart had won a great victory.
“You haven’t heard?” the young woman’s eyes were wide, and it was hard to say if she was happy or sad.
“Heard what?”
“Prince Kendryk is dead.”
“Dead? What?” Elektra shook her head. She wasn’t even sure where Kendryk had gone. “Where? How?”
The woman sighed. “It’s so sad. He was stabbed in the heart by a man who pretended to be his friend, that traitor Braeden Terris.”
Elektra stood rooted to the spot, staring back at the woman. “Are you sure?” she whispered. “How do you know who did it?”
“It’s said he did it right in front of Princess Viviane herself. He poisoned her so she couldn’t move or call the guards, then he stabbed Prince Kendryk right through the heart with his sword.”
Elektra’s mouth was dry. “But .. But...” She struggled to get the words out. “That doesn’t make sense. Braeden Terris rescued Prince Kendryk from the Arnfels. Why would he kill him now?”
“Who knows?” The young woman shrugged. “They must have had a fight about something. Probably a woman.” She sighed heavily. “I’m rather sad about it. I saw Prince Kendryk years ago when I was just a girl. He rode through here on his way to Kronfels. So handsome. Maybe that Braeden character was jealous.”
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 21