“You make it sound like I’m pregnant, or feeble.” Teodora wanted to stamp her own foot. But after her last near-attack she’d resolved to manage her temper better.
Mattila raised her eyebrows, while Sybila said, “You are feeble.”
With friends like her own doctor, Teodora didn’t need an enemy like Mattila, who now wore a rather shameless smirk.
Teodora raised her chin, gave Sybila a hard stare, then said, “That’s why I’ll take my doctor along. I can’t think the fresh air will be any worse for me than sitting around in this drafty palace.”
“That air is a little too fresh,” Mattila said. “I’ve already had a dozen soldiers freeze to death these past few nights, and the farmers say there’ll be more snow than usual this winter. What if you get stuck in it?”
“Then I’ll get help.” Teodora shook her head. “I thought you’d want to be rid of me,” she added for Mattila’s benefit.
“I do.” Mattila didn’t have a diplomatic bone in her body. “But I’d prefer you in Atlona, running things from afar.”
“I’m sure you would. But I can run things from anywhere. Livilla and Solteszy handle daily affairs in Atlona, and I’ll be easily reached by messenger wherever I am. No, I insist. I will go to Isenwald and take charge of the situation.”
“General, please do something.” Sibyla flung herself into a chair, as if she were one of Teodora’s children throwing a tantrum.
“I hate to oppose the will of the empress.” Mattila clearly meant no such thing. “But it’s for your own good. I will not provide you with an escort to Isenwald, and you’ll need a larger one than you brought if you mean to restore order there.”
“Thank you,” Sibyla said with a huff.
“That won’t stop me.” Teodora waved her hand. “I’ll hire someone on the way.” She knew Janos Rykter would come with her, though she didn’t want Mattila sending him a contrary order before she could reach him.
Teodora stood. “I’m getting ready to go. I’d prefer to take my doctor along,” she added, turning to Sibyla, still pouting in her chair. “But if you refuse to come, I’ll get a new one.”
“Ugh, you’re such a pain.” Sibyla stood up. “Of course I’ll come. Someone has to keep you from freezing to death.” And she stomped off, muttering something about “stupid, stubborn, irresponsible” under her breath.
“It’s settled then.” Teodora smiled at Mattila. “I’ll go tomorrow, since you no longer need me for anything.”
Aksel Roussay had arrived two days before, so that part of the deal was settled. He’d been greeted with annoying warmth by both Jozef and his mother, so Teodora would happily leave them to enjoy each other’s company.
Mattila shrugged. “Have it your way. Now we have our deal in writing, I’ll hold you to it, or your heir, if you don’t survive the trip.”
“Certainly. Good day, General.” And with a curt nod, Teodora left Mattila behind. Hopefully she wouldn’t see her again for a long time.
The jab about her heir hit its mark. She planned to find out what was going on in Isenwald and how Elektra was involved. It was possible she wasn’t operating of her own free will, in which case Teodora would welcome her back tenderly, though she’d be certain to keep a closer eye on her. But if she’d betrayed her own mother, she was no fit heir for an empress.
Teodora might be forced to make provision for Zofya’s accession, creating the dual rule which Natalya had so wanted to avoid. Well, Natalya would be in Teodora’s power soon, and unable to object.
That was the only thing that gave Teodora pause: she wanted to be in Atlona when Natalya and Maryna arrived. But she’d already written instructions to Livilla as to where they were to be held—in Kendryk’s old rooms in the Arnfels, under the heaviest guard—and they’d be there when Teodora returned.
In spite of her grumbling, Sibyla was efficient in getting everything ready for Teodora to travel, and she left out early the following morning, hoping not to say goodbye to anyone except Princess Alarys.
She was foiled in that, since on the way to her carriage, she ran into Jozef and Aksel going out to hunt. It was amazing that anyone could drag Aksel away from his precious laboratory, which he had immediately reestablished in one of Princess Alarys’s spare rooms.
The two young men offered proper bows before passing, and Aksel said, “I trust you’ll have a safe journey, Your Highness.”
“Hmph,” Teodora said, then turned to watch the two of them mount their hunters. She expected Aksel, bookworm that he was, to ride like a sack of potatoes, but he looked rather impressive in the saddle.
He and Jozef made a good-looking pair and had they been anyone else, Teodora might have enjoyed the view. Instead, she shook her head and muttered, “I hope you break your necks,” as she climbed into her carriage.
Braeden
Braeden had just left the Herbst estate when the messenger telling him of Gwynneth’s disappearance caught up to him. He sent Trisa back with a message to Elektra, then kept heading north while he figured out what to do next.
He’d only gone a few leagues when he met a large, familiar-looking body of troops, headed by a wounded and shame-faced Colonel Destler.
Braeden felt bad for the man, but his anger soon overcame any compassion. “What in the name of all that is holy have you done?” he roared, getting in Destler’s face.
To his credit, Destler barely flinched. “It’s good to see you, Count. I’ll be happy to tell you everything that happened.”
“I don’t care what happened.” Braeden kept the volume up. “I need to get her back, and you will help me.”
Destler gulped, then said, “My thoughts exactly. I can show you where it happened and we can go from there.” Destler led him further north for a time, and Braeden was glad to have a specific mission.
Count Herbst had beens surprisingly unhelpful after all the big talk, and Braeden had come away with only vague information about possible peasant leaders. He had a list of estates likely to be targeted in the revolt, but reckoned they could take care of themselves while he looked for Gwynneth.
“Are you sure they’re alive?” he asked Destler as they rode along a frozen road, a light snow falling.
“I’m not positive, but we didn’t see them killed, saw no bodies, and the coach bearing the three of them disappeared. It makes sense they’d be useful hostages for the peasants.”
“Makes sense to me too,” Braeden growled. This was all he needed right now. It would be hard enough to put down what appeared to be a far-flung revolt in this weather. But with Gwynneth in danger, he wasn’t comfortable attacking anyone yet. At least not until he learned more.
Destler had already ridden some distance from the ambush spot when he’d met Braeden, so they made camp in some gods-forsaken corner of the woods while the increasingly heavy snow threatened to bury their tents.
In spite of the weather, Braeden insisted on getting started just after dawn, and by mid-morning, Destler had led him to the site of the attack.
“We buried a few fellows here.” He pointed to a few forlorn-looking humps under the snow.
“Poor devils,” Braeden said. After spending a day with Destler, he was more sympathetic.
The man still had a musket-ball lodged in his upper arm, but refused to rest or submit to field surgery, riding with his arm in a sling, his face pale with pain. He was devoted to both his duty and to Gwynneth, and couldn’t forgive himself for his failure to both. Braeden sympathized with that, and realized he was in no position to point fingers.
“How many attacked you, do you reckon?”
“Hard to say. I doubt they were more than a few hundred. I wasn’t too worried because I was certain we outnumbered them. But they did an excellent job of creating confusion and that was all it took.”
“There might have been a lot of them,” Braeden said. “Count Herbst said the rebels number well over a thousand by now, though he thought they were scattered about the area. Not that I trust much of what he said.”
“Unsurprising.” Braeden looked around. The road was wide here, but the forest grew close on either side. Many roads in Isenwald were like this, and they all looked similar. “I want to question the folk who live around here again. Maybe I won’t be as nice as you were.”
“I wasn’t very brutal,” Destler admitted, looking even sadder. “I didn’t want to cause you any more trouble than I already had.”
“Hah,” Braeden said. “But no, you were right. As current regent of Isenwald, I can put on more pressure, and if they don’t like it, they can stuff it.” He felt increasingly irritated with the situation and liked the entire kingdom even less than he had before, which meant his dislike was extreme, verging on hatred.
They found the nearest village, and Braeden set to work. He started by calling for the burgomaster and explaining who he was and what had happened.
“I’m not threatening you, or any of your people.” Braeden kept his face in a fierce grimace, just to keep the man off balance. “But if I don’t find the princess soon, we might have to start burning everything until we do.”
“Oh, we don’t want that.” The man was normally round and genial, but in front of Braeden he quivered like jelly. “I’m sure someone around here has seen something. I’ll ask.”
Maryna
They had been on the road for only a few days before Maryna wished they’d just stayed on board ship. It would have been so much more comfortable. And warmer too, out on the sea to the south.
For at least a week, they did nothing but climb. In spite of the cold, Maryna kept the coach’s curtain rolled up so she could see where they were going. Because of the fog there wasn’t much of a view, but they were clearly going higher and higher into the mountains.
At first, the road wound through trees; deep dark firs just like in Kronland. But those soon gave way to bare rock, and the road became even more dusty and bumpy.
The coach pitched at such a steep angle Maryna had to change sides, so both she and Natalya faced forward. Otherwise, she might have fallen into Natalya’s lap.
“When should we try to escape?” she whispered after a few days of climbing.
“Not here.” Natalya pulled a face. “There’s nowhere to go, and that’s what it will look like for a while. We must wait until we’ve gone over this mountain. Once we’re in the valley we might have more choices.”
“I still don’t understand how it’ll work.” Maryna’s frustration was building.
“I don’t either, to be honest.” Natalya sighed. “But I’ll come up with something. I always do.”
Traveling with these new guards wasn’t much fun either. Count Vega stayed well clear of the two of them, and Maryna spotted him only at mealtimes, though he never spoke to them.
The other guards were foreign, and Maryna didn’t understand their speech, it was so different from her schoolroom Cesiane. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, with high cheekbones, these women looked at their captives with disdain. Maryna never once saw them smile.
The coach crested the top of the rocky pass, then descended into a valley. Maryna took one look out the window, then hurried to close the curtain. The road switched back and forth, and if she looked all the way down, she saw the valley floor, dotted with tiny things that must be houses.
She saw the road itself, all the way down at the bottom. That meant they had to get down there somehow. But the worst was the sheer mountainside, the road little more than a shelf cut into it. Maryna had to stop looking down or she’d be sick.
Natalya smiled at her. “You must think of something else.”
So Maryna closed her eyes and remembered her family, one after another, trying to ignore the screeching of the brake and the sound of wheels sliding on rock. If the coach slipped even a little, they’d all fall to their deaths.
So she though of her father especially hard. He’d laugh at her, but in a nice way, and tell her to be brave. She wondered what he was doing now. Was he at Birkenfels, or maybe in Heidenhof with Edric Maximus? She hoped he was. Natalya had seemed to believe he’d be with Lennart, but Maryna couldn’t picture Lennart at all, so it was nicer to think of Edric.
When this adventure ended, she’d ask Natalya to send her to her father first. She missed the rest of her family, but him most of all. And lately, she’d missed him so much she always felt a pang when she thought of him, like a feeling she’d never see him again. That hurt so much, she’d quickly push it aside and turn her mind to something else.
It took a terrible three days to reach the valley floor. Maryna learned to keep the window shut and pretend she was bumping down a pleasant forest road in Terragand, but she wasn’t able to keep that up when they stopped to make camp.
One night they stopped at a little hut, set in a clearing big enough for all of them to rest comfortably. But the other night they had to camp on the road itself, and even though Maryna stayed in the coach, the wind rose after dark, rocking it alarmingly. She didn’t sleep a wink that night.
The valley was better though, and when they trundled into a village, a guard finally spoke to them. “We’ll stay here two days. We must rest and change mounts.”Her Olvisyan was accented, but Maryna understood well enough and smiled at her gratefully.
Once she had gone, Natalya whispered, “This is excellent news. I’ll find out where we are and see if I can get help.”
Maryna smiled encouragingly, but she worried. The valley was beautiful, but sheer cliffs rose on all sides, and snow already covered the mountains all around.
The only way out was another road like the one they’d just taken, and Maryna couldn’t picture doing that without a coach. She was certain they’d have to abandon it if they wanted to escape. But she had to trust Natalya, because she didn’t want to think of crossing another mountain pass at the mercy of these unfriendly people.
Gwynneth
Now that she knew what she wanted to do, Gwynneth couldn’t wait for them to reach their destination. She’d given up on trying to note landmarks; the woods went on and on, ground and trees covered in snow, so one league looked like another.
A few times they crossed little streams on wooden bridges, water gurgling under a frozen surface, but with the sun hidden so completely, Gwynneth couldn’t even say which direction the water flowed.
About an hour before nightfall, the sledge drew into a clearing, and Herbst halted in front of a large farmhouse. A barn stood nearby, along with a few others outbuildings. Cows lowed in the barn and Gwynneth wondered if there’d be milk and butter, maybe even cheese.
“Whose farm is this?” she asked as Herbst handed her down from the sledge, then swung Stella into his arms. Oddly, the little girl didn’t seem to mind.
“Mine,” he said. “Or rather, it belonged to one of my tenants until he died. I’ve been running it myself with a few hands until I find someone else to take it over.”
“Farming and leading a revolt; you’re quite industrious, Baron.” Gwynneth smiled at him as he led them into the house. By now she was frozen and hurried straight to the fire burning in a large stone hearth.
“Please, call me Florian,” he said, joining her and putting Stella down on a round rug near the fire.
Gwynneth raised her eyebrows. “That seems rather familiar, under the circumstances.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll still call you Your Grace. It’s just everyone in the revolt goes by first names, and I don’t like using my title here.”
“If you insist, Florian.” Gwynneth had to smile. “Once you’ve overthrown your rulers, do you plan on introducing some kind of odd society in which everyone goes by first names only?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead, to be honest.” He sta
red into the fire as he warmed his hands over it. “It’s just a practical matter. Better that our full names don’t get out to those who oppose us.”
“How far ahead have you thought, exactly?”
“Not very. I realize this revolt will likely fail, and even if it doesn’t, I doubt I’ll survive it.”
“Why throw your life away if you expect to fail? I see little point in that.”
Florian shrugged. “It’s better than before, when I was throwing my life away on things that were truly ridiculous. At least now I can bring attention to the wrongs people have suffered for too long. Maybe get revenge.”
Someone nearby cleared their throat, and Gwynneth looked up to see a stern, middle-aged woman standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen.
“Ah, Magda,” Florian said. “I’ve brought Gwynneth, the Princess Regent, and Prince Devyn of Terragand. They’ll stay with us for a time. Did you ever think such fancy folk would taste your soup?”
“I never did.” Magda shook her head, looking unimpressed.
Having had nothing to eat all day but a small loaf of bread they’d all shared around midday, Gwynneth was happy at the prospect of food. The kitchen was warm and welcoming, too. They all sat across from each other on long benches, like at an inn, but there was only the one table, and delicious smells wafted from a large stove in the corner of the room.
It seemed Devyn had been too hungry to cause trouble for some time, since he fell on the soup, then the roast chicken and potatoes in complete silence.
They were all quiet as they ate, and it wasn’t until Gwynneth finished her second helping that she pushed her plate away and said, “That was more delicious than anything I’ve eaten in ages. And that includes all the food that came from Princess Viviane’s kitchen.”
That blew a hole in Magda’s stern defenses, and her mouth opened wide for a moment. “Do you mean it Your Grace?” she asked.
“I do.” Gwynneth smiled. “And you may call me Gwynneth.”
Devyn gasped, and Florian asked, “May I call you Gwynneth?”
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 41