To be honest, Braeden feared for Gwynneth’s sanity. He remembered how strange he’d felt for months after Janna’s death, and how reckless. And there was no question Gwynneth was reckless, the way she’d come here and taken on Princess Viviane, and the way she’d dealt with all obstacles since then.
A party of Isenwald nobles had appeared to petition for Princess Viviane’s release. Braeden thought it would be smart to treat them respectfully, and give them a little something, some kind of assurance that things would go on like normal.
But Gwynneth was crisp, haughty and condescending, clearly seeing them as nothing more than an inconvenience, an obstacle in her path. Braeden had done his best to patch things up, but that lot didn’t care about him, and he could feel their anger at Gwynneth.
And any day now she’d waltz off to Terragand with two children, and nothing but a foreign army to protect her. From the way those aristocrats had looked at her, Braeden would be surprised if they’d allow her to pass their lands with no trouble.
He’d tried one more time to convince her to let him come along, but she was adamant. “I trust no one else here. It must be you. And besides, I need you to send Kendryk’s body to Terragand once I’ve settled things there.”
“That I can handle, but as to the rest, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Braeden protested for what felt like the hundredth time, but it did no good. Gwynneth would soon leave, and then he and Elektra, of all people, were supposed to rule a rebellious kingdom.
Braeden had already moved into a house in Kronfels so he’d be out of Elektra’s hair. He’d was more comfortable living in a normal house, and could work more easily outside of courtly protocol. But before Gwynneth left, he needed to work a few things out with the archduchess.
He found her in Princess Viviane’s library, looking tiny behind a huge desk. Gwynneth had insisted on turning more and more important matters over to her.
“We need to talk,” he said. There was no point in pretending politeness or formality, at least not right now.
“I agree.” She looked scared, her eyes wide in her pale face.
Braeden threw himself into a chair in front of the desk, hoping he made it clear he was no petitioner or subordinate.
“We can’t undo the past,” he said, plowing ahead. “I was wrong to kidnap you, and I’m sorry for that. Though I’m not sorry for any of the rest of it.”
“Thank you.” Elektra’s voice was small. “I apologize for, well, all the stupid things I did.”
“Perfect,” Braeden said. “Apology accepted. Now let’s start fresh. Let’s pretend we’ve never met and figure out how we will do this.”
She relaxed visibly, but then her face crumpled.
“Oh for Vica’s sake, don’t cry. We’ve both survived our best efforts to kill each other these past few years. That calls for a celebration, don’t you think?”
While Elektra pulled herself together and nodded, Braeden got up and fetched a decanter he’d seen when he first entered the room. Thankfully it was half-full of brandy.
Braeden poured a hefty glass for each of them, then handed one to her. He raised his and said, “To the future. Let’s stop trying to kill each other.”
That brought a giggle. “To the future,” she said, raising her glass as well.
Gwynneth
Gwynneth hated leaving Braeden behind in Isenwald, but she needed to get to Terragand as quickly as possible. Winter had set in, and the way through Isenwald’s deep forests would be long and dangerous. She took Prince Dristan’s large escort, and Braeden gave Colonel Destler a stern talking-to, impressing upon him the importance of Terragand’s new heir and his mother reaching their home safely.
There was no time to lose. News of Kendryk’s death must have reached Terragand by now, and Gwynneth couldn’t imagine what was going on there. She hoped Edric would hold things together, but she also knew there’d be several opportunistic aristocrats who’d use the situation to increase their own power.
In fact, she expected trouble from any Bernotas relatives who felt entitled to the throne. That was why it was vital she get back to Birkenfels, establish Devyn as ruler, and confer with Edric on how best to move forward.
She didn’t want to imagine how he had taken the news of Kendryk’s death. In his case, he was losing not only a friend, but the one upon whom he’d pinned all of his hopes.
Gwynneth didn’t much care about the prophecy, but this cleared the way for Lennart to make his claim, and she wasn’t sure she much liked the idea. Teodora’s forged letter about Lennart and Natalya carving up Kronland was a lie, but it planted a seed of doubt in Gwynneth’s mind, and now she worried about Lennart’s true ambitions.
They rode straight north out of Kronfels, Colonel Destler insisting they stay out of the forest as long as possible. “There’s trouble about, Your Grace,” he said, his bluff face unusually grim.
“What have you heard?” Gwynneth had been so preoccupied with her work at the palace, and creating long lists of instructions for Braeden and Elektra, she hadn’t had time to learn what else was going on. She knew she ought to pay closer attention, but her mind felt scattered and fragile. If she didn’t keep it on a definite task she feared cracking up altogether.
“Several kinds of trouble.” Destler sighed. “First off, most of the nobility here is furious that Princess Viviane is in prison.”
“I thought they didn’t like her.” A small delegation complained about her treatment, but they were probably just types that didn’t like seeing aristocrats imprisoned for any reason. Gwynneth had reassured them they wouldn’t be next, as long as they behaved themselves.
“Like has nothing to do with it.” Destler shook his head. “I don’t wish to say anything offensive, Your Grace, but I’ve heard unkind things said about you.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m used to that.” Gwynneth attempted a smile even as her heart sank. She wasn’t in good condition to bear insults right now. “Please tell me what they’re saying.”
“Things like you’re in interfering foreigner. Some say a Galladian agent, while others say Norovaean. That you set up the whole thing so you could take Isenwald for yourself.”
“They’re saying I arranged my husband’s murder?” Gwynneth couldn’t keep her voice down. “That’s so outrageous, surely no one believes it.”
“It’s hard to believe, true,” Destler said, “but some folk will say anything.”
“So the Isenwald nobility is angry with me.”
“Yes. Even if the princess were guilty of the crime, they prefer to punish her themselves. It’s not a matter for outsiders to be involved in, they say.”
“She killed my husband.” Gwynneth struggled to keep from shrieking in anger. “Of course I’m involved.”
“Naturally. And I agree with you. I’m just repeating the talk in the taverns and squares.”
“Of course, and I don’t blame you. I prefer to have the information.”
She hoped she hadn’t left Braeden in a dangerous situation. She’d been so certain things would settle down once Princess Viviane’s confession had been posted throughout the land and read aloud in all the temples. Antonia Maxima herself passed the sentence of life imprisonment and the loss of her kingdom, and it had been met by cheers and what appeared to be great approval by the crowds in the temple square.
Gwynneth had hoped that would be the end of it, but perhaps it wasn’t. She would just have to trust she’d left Braeden with ample resources to handle things.
Besides Elektra’s Estenorian escort, Gwynneth left behind a few hundred of Prince Dristan’s troops, although Destler had protested he needed them to keep Gwyneth safe. But she’d overruled him, and now she was glad she had.
“Anything else I should know about?” She shivered, frowning at the isolated flakes of snow dancing in the frosty air. She’d already put the children in the coach, and planned to join them soon.
“The country seems divided,” Colonel Destler said, “since Princess Vivian
e truly wasn’t popular. The aristocrats are offended, but the common folk are pleased. I’m sure they’ll support Commander—I mean Count Terris and the archduchess.”
“I hope it’ll be enough,” Gwynneth murmured. The subject made her uncomfortable, so she changed it. “Where will we stop tonight?”
“There’s a town of some size about five leagues ahead. It’s the last one before we enter the woods, and we can reach it before dark. We’ll find a nice inn for you and the children, and there ought to be accommodation for the rest of the troops. Might as well have one last comfortable night, since we’re likely to camp in the snow from now on.”
Destler stared wryly at the flakes, falling faster now. “Won’t Your Grace get into the coach? You’ll be more comfortable there.”
“All right.” Gwynneth smiled at him before turning her horse to find the coach, a short distance behind her. “Thank you for the information. I’m so glad you’re here to keep us safe.”
Destler shook his head. “I’m trying. I hope it’ll be enough.”
“I’m sure it will be.” Gwynneth said it as much for herself as she did to reassure the colonel.
Elektra
Elektra had to face facts: ruling was hard and boring. Managing an entire empire might be more interesting than one small kingdom, but she suspected the tedium and trouble would only be magnified. As she signed her name to the thirtieth letter of the day, she felt an inkling of sympathy for her mother. A secretary might write the letters, but the signature must be her own.
And the meetings! Those were worse. At first, Elektra had been excited to be in the same room with all of the people who made things happen in Isenwald. But excitement wore off as one minister after another droned on about revising treaties, auditing tax ledgers, and collecting figures on the harvests from all of the great estates. She needed to pay attention, but her eyes glazed over when yet another dry old person read off a long list of figures that were supposed to mean something.
Her experience of ruling had been observation of her mother’s sessions in her throne room, hearing petitioners. As a girl, it had all seemed fascinating to Elektra, even if she didn’t understand exactly what some of the problems were about. No matter what came up, her mother always made quick decisions, and with an imperious manner that discouraged complaint.
Gwynneth had handled the petitioners until she left, and though her voice was softer, she was no easier to sway. Elektra hadn’t mastered that tone, and in her audience chamber found herself arguing with such lowly types as unlanded barons, freehold farmers and city merchants. To her chagrin, they only stopped challenging her authority and wisdom when Braeden stepped in.
When her first weekly petitioning session ended, Elektra was as weary as though she had ridden all day. She stepped into the corridor and fell in beside Braeden.
“Thank you,” she said, and truly meant it. “It seems I don’t have the knack for getting people to shut up. These Kronlanders are very pushy and disrespectful, I must say.”
“They’re testing you, Your Grace.” Braeden followed her into the library, which Elektra had taken over as her workroom. The study was cozier, but since Prince Kendryk had been murdered there, no one used it, and Elektra didn’t care to either.
Braeden shut the door behind them, and they sat down in two chairs in front of a blazing fire. The marble-lined audience chamber had been cold and Elektra’s hands were quite frozen.
“They won’t always act like this,” Braeden said. “But you have to put your foot down. All they see is a young, untested, inexperienced girl sitting in front of them. They want to get out of you what they can before you get wise to their tricks.”
“I am inexperienced.” Elektra leaned forward, holding her hands closer to the fire. “And it seems I can’t learn fast enough.”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Braeden said. “I’m struggling myself, and I wouldn’t be able to manage a thing if it weren’t for my assistant. I can’t part with her, but I can ask the Maxima to find you someone similar. It helps to have a native Isenwalder explain how they do things here.”
“Would you? I would appreciate it. I thought the ministers were here to help me, but whenever I ask questions, they roll their eyes and act like I’m a complete idiot. I’m beginning to think I am. How do my mother and Princess Gwynneth make it look so easy?”
“It’s because they’ve done it for years. I’m willing to bet neither one of them was more certain than you are about anything, they just never showed their uncertainty.”
Elektra shook her head. “I’ve never had that kind of confidence.”
“Well, best if you get it, sooner rather than later. In the meantime, let’s keep the petitioning days a week apart for now. That’ll give you time to get up to speed.”
“I hope so.” Elektra was somewhat depressed about the whole thing, and especially that of all people, Braeden was trying to make her feel better.
Braeden sighed deeply. “I hate to lay this on you when you’ve already had a frustrating day, but I needed to tell you this.”
“Tell me what?” She couldn’t help but worry as she saw Braeden’s expression turn grave and stern.
“I’m sure you’ve already heard the nobility isn’t taking Princess Viviane’s removal well.”
“I’m aware of that, but I’m not sure what to do about it.”
“You’ve already done it. A few days ago, I sent you an order suspending taxes on the sale of harvest goods for the next three months. You returned it with your signature.”
“Oh, er, yes.” Elektra racked her brain, wondering which of the lengthy documents it had been.
“I’ve had the signed order sent to the printers, and in the next few days it’ll go up in all the public places. That ought to make everyone, but especially the big landowners, realize that you mean to improve things around here.”
“But we need that money,” Elektra wailed.
“Yes, but we need to avoid a revolution even more. We must reinstate taxes soon, but I’ll try to come up with something fairer. In the meantime, that might keep the aristocracy quiet, though I’m sure they’ll find something else to complain about.”
“I suppose you know best,” Elektra murmured, feeling even more foolish that she had signed a major reform without realizing it. Her mother would never have allowed such a thing to pass her desk without making substantial improvements of her own, if not stopping it altogether.
“I doubt it, but I do what I can.” Braeden looked uncomfortable. “The thing is, there’s more trouble afoot. I’ve received word of a peasant revolt in the forest counties.”
Elektra gasped. “How serious is it?”
“Hard to say just yet. Only a few big estates have been attacked, but the weather might slow them down. I want to head out there myself and find out what’s happening first-hand. If it’s minor, it might be a good way to distract the nobility from us for a time, but we can’t have the kingdom descending into lawlessness.”
“We cannot.” The worry always coiled in the pit of her belly just wouldn’t go away. “How long will you be gone? I can’t do without you very long I’m afraid.”
Braeden chuckled. “Those are words I never thought I’d hear. Shouldn’t be more than a week. I don’t want to get involved in anything right now—just get out into the countryside and find out what’s going on. If I can talk to the leaders of the revolt, might be we can learn their grievances and address them.”
“All right.” Privately Elektra saw no reason for negotiating with revolutionaries, especially common ones. But perhaps Braeden could communicate with them, being a commoner himself.
And even though she thought such an uprising should be put down by force, she didn’t have the army to do so. She’d just have to trust in Braeden’s negotiating skills.
Gwynneth
It had snowed much of the night, and by the time Gwynneth and the children came down for breakfast, Colonel Destler waited for her, his face glum.
“Go
on in.” She gave Devyn a push toward the dining room. She preferred to speak with Destler alone. “Is everything all right?” she asked, lowering her voice.
“It’s not.” Destler glared out the window. “We need to get you out of here, and this abominable weather isn’t helping. The road remains open, but I don’t know for how long.”
“Why don’t we stay here a day or two until things clear up?”
“That’s what I can’t do.” Destler drew his brows together. “I spent a lot of time last night talking to the locals, getting the measure of things, so to speak. Several officers did the same, and the news around here isn’t good.”
“What’s happened?” Gwynneth wished he’d just come out with it.
“Peasant revolt.” Destler grimaced.
“Here?” Gwynneth looked around, as though marauding peasants might come out of the inn’s woodwork at any moment.
“Nearby, on the estate of a Count Marsin. Two days ago they killed the count and his wife, sent the children packing, then torched the whole place. In the night they moved on to the next estate, but the Baroness Kralfeld there got warning and is fighting them off.”
“Oh dear.” Gwynneth looked for a place to sit and found a bench against the corridor wall. “Any idea what set it off?”
“Word is, it was your coup. As I told you yesterday, the commonfolk were in favor, and it seems they’ll take advantage of the unstable situation to get rid of the less popular nobles.”
“Oh gods.” Gwynneth put her head in her hands. “And I’ve left Braeden to deal with this.”
“Your Grace, if I may be so bold, this might not be a bad thing.”
Gwyneth dropped her hands and looked up at Destler. “How so? A peasant revolt is always a bad thing.”
“In this case, it might distract the people who oppose the new rule. The peasants and townsfolk like Count Terris running things, knowing he’s a commoner like themselves.”
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 38