The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “Mostly lords. Everyone with a country estate they can hole up in.” She regarded Janna shrewdly. “If you knew any of the rebels, and I’m not saying you did, it’s best to get as far away from Kaleva as you can and lie low for a while. Just general advice, is all I’m saying.”

  “Thank you for the news,” Janna said. “I’ll keep going.”

  “Find a safe place soon as you can.” The messenger urged her horse on. “Nice lady like you and two little ones all by yourselves; there’ll be some who’ll see you as easy pickings.”

  Janna wished people would stop saying that. Perhaps she should buy a pistol at the next opportunity.

  Gwynneth

  After such an interesting meeting with the duke, Gwynneth couldn’t wait for Kendryk to return. She gave orders for fires and lamps to be lit, then paced the bank of windows along the front of the palace. It was still raining and completely dark when Kendryk finally appeared. He was soaking wet and wearing the most peculiar clothes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, peeling off his wet cloak and hat. “Was my uncle here?”

  “He was,” Gwynneth said, stepping in to wind her arms around his neck and kiss him once there was no danger of her gown getting wet.

  “Was he in a foul temper?”

  “Worse than usual, although I fear I upset him even more.”

  “I’m sure it was no worse than what I did.” He put an arm around her waist. “I’ll tell you about it at supper as long as we’re alone.”

  “We are. It’s just Count Faris and us, thankfully.” They often had guests, but couldn’t have discussed family business in front of them. Gwynneth might have died of curiosity waiting for everyone to go to bed.

  “Perfect. I was hoping he might have some good advice.”

  “We have a little time before supper. Do you want to say good night to the children? And what on earth are you wearing? I nearly mistook you for a counting-house clerk.”

  “I was hoping for that effect.” He slid his arm up around her shoulder, pulling her closer and she wound her arm around his waist. “But that’s all part of the story. Let’s see the children.”

  They walked to the end of the long hall and up the wide, white marble staircase. The nursery was at the end of another long corridor in the family wing. By the time they reached it, the night nurse had dressed the little ones for bed, tucked them in and was arranging the baby in his cradle.

  Maryna popped out of her little bed like a jack-in-the-box when she saw her parents. Gwynneth smiled and watched her scamper into Kendryk’s arms.

  Devyn was in his bed, covers pulled up to his chin. Gwynneth leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Were you a good boy today?”

  Devyn nodded, his bright eyes so like Kendryk’s. “I draw castle pitcher,” he said.

  “That’s lovely sweetheart. Is that it, over there?” Gwynneth squinted at the chalk drawing on a slate that stood at the other end of the room. It looked nothing like a castle, but she supposed it was a good effort for a two-year-old.

  Kendryk was tickling Maryna as he bundled her back into bed.

  “Come darling, you’ll get her too excited to sleep.” Gwynneth smiled at Kendryk. “We must go change.”

  She glanced at baby Andres, whose eyes had fallen shut.

  Kendryk pulled Maryna in for a hug, then tucked the covers around her.

  While he went to kiss the boys, Gwynneth ruffled Maryna’s hair. “Good night, love.”

  “Will you play with me tomorrow, Mama?”

  “Maybe if there’s time before supper.”

  Kendryk sighed after the nursery door closed behind them. “It seems we never have enough time for them.”

  “Do you think so? They’re well looked after. They don’t need us with them all the time.” Gwynneth had spent little time with her parents until she was twelve. Children weren’t very interesting until that age anyway.

  “You’re right, of course.” Kendryk paused outside her dressing room door, his eyes more pensive than usual. She could tell the day’s events had made an uncommon impression on him. “But I don’t want to raise them the way we were. I want them to know us long before they’re adults.”

  “Well, it doesn’t do them any good now.” Gwynneth laughed and kissed Kendryk on the nose. “You have the most peculiar ideas, darling. But don’t worry, we won’t send anyone away to study in a strange land while they’re still small.” She knew that had been dreadful for him and had promised him long ago she would never insist upon such an education for their children.

  Kendryk smiled, then kissed her before letting her go into her dressing room. While her maid fussed over her hair, Gwynneth couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of frustration. As it was, they almost never had an hour a day to be alone together. She knew he had a vision of them sitting in front of the fire, surrounded by the little ones, like something out of a Zeelund painting. But unless they were sitting for a portrait, their time had to be spent on more important things.

  Janna

  After the messenger left them, Janna heard Anton sniffling quietly in the back of the cart. Perhaps he’d been awake after all. When he and Anyezka climbed back onto the seat next to Janna, she pretended not to notice the traces of tears on his cheeks.

  He was soon distracted when they caught up to a larger wagon lumbering along the road in front of them. Janna might have passed them, but now there was plenty of traffic coming the other way. Besides, the occupants looked interesting. Janna had never seen people wearing such bright and ragged clothes. At the least, looking at them would entertain the children.

  “Are those soldiers?” Anton asked.

  “I think so.” Though the men wore the bright and colorful liveries of pikemen, they didn’t appear to have any weapons, and one was wounded. He had a bandage around his head and his left arm in a sling.

  “Were you in the war?” Anton couldn’t contain his curiosity. Janna wished she were as brave.

  “Yes.” The man nodded. “But it didn’t go so well for our lot, so we’re off to find work.”

  “But you’re hurt,” Janna protested.

  “Just a few scratches.” The man shrugged. “By the time we find a recruiter I’ll be mended.”

  “What’s a recruiter?” Anton asked.

  “An officer who goes around finding soldiers to fight under him. Sometimes he pays them too. This last lot didn’t do us much good in that direction. But Bessi here,” he pinched the rump of a slatternly looking woman sitting in the straw next to him, “she did well for us on the battlefield.”

  “You fought?” Janna had never seen a less military-looking person.

  Bessi shrieked with laughter. “Not that I wouldn’t be good at it dear,” she said. “But I do other work. Once the fighting’s done, we go out onto the battlefield to see what we can find.” She scratched herself in a place no decent woman ever would.

  “What do you find?” Anton asked, wide-eyed.

  “This and that,” she waved her hands in the air. “Bits and bobs. Once a man’s dead, he don’t need his things no more, so that means the rest of us can make use of them.”

  “You steal from the dead?” Janna interrupted, horrified.

  “S’not stealing when they’re dead, sweetie,” Bessi cackled. “Or when they will be dead. It’s a mercy sometimes, to help them on their way.”

  “You kill wounded soldiers?” Janna wished she could get away, or at least cover the children’s fascinated ears. But now the traffic coming the other way was steady. There was no escape.

  Bessi shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it that. It’s not like they’ll live anyway. And once you see the wounds … well, when a fellow’s head is half gone, or his guts are strung out around him…”

  Janna noisily cleared her throat, then said. “I’m sorry, but I’d rather the children didn’t hear such things.”

  “Why ever not?” Bessi’s protruding green eyes reminded Janna of gooseberries. “They’ll see those things soon enough if they haven�
�t by now. War is upon us, and if you don’t live with it, you’ll die of it. Best to toughen them up so they can fend for themselves.” She looked Janna over pityingly. “I don’t mean to find fault dear, but you don’t look as if you’d be much use in a scrap.”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t.” Janna felt that as a respectable woman, it wasn’t a point against her. She tried to change the subject. “So is this your husband?” she asked, nodding at the soldier.

  “In a way. We’ve been together what, close on three years now. He says he’ll marry me all official once his other wife dies. Now that war’s come here, maybe she’ll have a stroke of bad luck.” She cackled again, and oh Holy Mother, there she went scratching again. “So where’s your man?” Bessi asked.

  “I don’t know. He was fighting with the rebels. He went back to the walls after telling me to get out of the city.”

  “Dead most like.” Bessi shrugged. “But it’s hard to say. I had a fellow once—before this one—though he wasn’t as good.” This earned her another slap on the bottom. “Was sure he was dead, but his body was nowhere to be found. His comrades swore up and down they watched him fall. Good five days later he wanders into camp drunk as could be. Seems he deserted before the battle, found a tavern and wanted to collect his pay after. Captain gave him a whipping for that, and then I gave him another and sent him packing. You’ve got to watch out for the unreliable ones. Especially if you’ve got children.” She looked pointedly at Janna.

  To Janna’s relief, the cart ahead of them gradually pulled away. She and the children waved; Janna politely and the children enthusiastically.

  “I want to be a soldier,” Anton said, his eyes glowing.

  “And get a horrid wound on your head like that poor fellow?” Janna asked, and to herself, ‘and a woman like Bessi?’ though no doubt Anton thought her a glamorous creature.

  “I wouldn’t get wounded.” Anton puffed out his chest. “I will be a great fighter. No one will hurt me.”

  “Not until you get bigger.” Janna prayed that by then, all of this would be a distant memory and Anton would be happy to follow his father into trade. Though what trade it would be, she didn’t know. She was sure after this there would be no business to inherit. But perhaps Anton would get his father’s good sense and ability to turn one coin into five. He could do that wherever they landed.

  For she didn’t intend to stay in the country any longer than she had to. There was nothing wrong with it, but Janna was a proud citizen of a free city, not a peasant digging in the dirt all day and giving most of what he grew to some lazy lord. She might not go back to Kaleva, but she would find a place somewhere. She wasn’t sure how yet, but her first task was to see the children safe until the trouble passed. Then she could make plans.

  Braeden

  Braeden and his small group of hussars passed through the town’s gate, now wide open. They followed Zluba along a narrow cobbled street to a large half-timbered building on the other side of the market square. She led them through a spacious front room containing rows of benches, past a smoky kitchen and entered a long room at the back of the house packed with people, most of them young. There were a few small children and one wizened old woman seated in a large chair at one of end of the table.

  Zluba waved her hand. “My children, grandchildren and mother-in-law.”

  Several stopped and stared at the hussars but most were occupied in running back and forth from the kitchen with bowls and wooden trenchers. It was stuffy, but the smell of pork, garlic and fresh-baked bread wafted everywhere. Braeden was glad it was noisy enough that no one heard his stomach rumble.

  Everyone found places on benches at a long table, and Zluba took her place at the head with Braeden at her right and the two glowering sons on her left. Braeden kept Franca at his own right in case he needed help with the language. It had been a few years since he’d spoken Moraltan with any regularity.

  While they waited for food, several young people walked among the tables setting out clay pitchers of beer. Zluba poured a large mug and slid it to Braeden. “So Terris, can we hope that the trouble with the rebellion is over once you’ve gone?”

  “I don’t know.” Braeden sipped the beer, which was uncommonly good. “I hope the Moraltan princes have learned their lesson.”

  “Pfft.” Zluba took an astonishingly long drink from her mug and wiped the foam from her lip. “Those fools never learn. Every time a new bottom sits the imperial throne, they think they can do as they please, and it always ends the same way.”

  “Seems to,” Braeden agreed. “But I suppose if you want to change things you’ve got to keep trying.”

  “Do you?” Zluba turned toward him. “What if you never gain anything but lose everything you have while trying? Tell me, Terris, what happened to the leaders of this last rebellion?”

  “They were stripped of land and titles and are being taken to Atlona where they’ll be executed, most like.”

  “It seems severe enough, but not enough to stop them. Idiots. And what of the people on their lands, and in the cities?”

  “Depends on how long their leaders resisted. If the local count surrendered, we might take some food off the population but leave them alone otherwise. If he tried to fight, we’d start by burning everything around his castle. If that didn’t work, we’d destroy any nearby towns and villages. And several thousand died on the battlefield outside Kaleva.”

  Braeden’s eyes widened as someone placed a trencher piled high with steaming pork and cabbage in front of him.

  “It’s plain food, but no one here eats anything else, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m used to much worse most of the time, and almost never any better.” Braeden dug in after reaching for a piece of brown crusty bread from a basket that had also materialized in front of him.

  “I wonder,” Zluba said. “I can’t make out your exact place. You’re of high military rank, but you don’t seem like an aristocratic sort, begging your pardon if you are.”

  “Oh, I’m very much not.” Braeden washed down a mouthful with some beer. “I’m common as dirt, but have a friend in a high place.”

  “Those can be helpful.”

  “More than helpful. He’s why I’m alive to begin with and the only reason I made something of myself.”

  “A real friend, then.”

  Braeden nodded and kept eating.

  Zluba poured him more beer. “You’re not much for talking, are you? Though you speak our tongue well enough.”

  “I spent a bit of time with a Moraltan girl long ago.” He wondered what had become of her.

  “And a romantic past, which I’ll bet you won’t talk about either.”

  “Not much to talk about.” Calling it romantic at all struck him as funny.

  The main meal done, a young girl put a large dish of strawberries in front of them. When Braeden smiled at her, she started, blushed, and ran off. “Didn’t mean to frighten your daughter.”

  “Granddaughter. Don’t worry. She’s just discovered boys and now when she sees a man, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Although I could see how you might frighten people. Have you always had that wild hair?”

  Braeden bit into a strawberry. He had seen none along the roads yet. They must grow them here in a protected garden. “I tried keeping it short for a while, but it just grows out in all directions. Easier to let it be.”

  “Well, in your line of work, I’m sure it helps to look frightening.”

  “It does.”

  “It was clever to send the girl with the flag.” Zluba smiled at Franca, whose mouth was full of strawberries.

  “The flag was her idea,” Braeden said. “She’s a smart one.”

  Franca blushed, turning redder than her hair and the berries in front of her.

  Gwynneth

  By the time Gwynneth had changed and reached the drawing room, Kendryk and Count Faris were deep in conversation.

  “I hope you didn’t start without me,” she said.

&n
bsp; “You have missed nothing, Your Grace,” Count Faris said. “Prince Kendryk was telling me both of you had separate altercations with the duke. Quite an eventful day.”

  “Why don’t we go in to supper.” Gwynneth took the count’s arm. “Then Kendryk can tell us about his afternoon.”

  Over their meal, Kendryk recounted the events in Runewald and his conversation with Father Landrus. Gwynneth felt a thrill, like a child who has just received a long-desired toy, but she said nothing.

  She waited until the servants cleared the final course away and they had moved back into the drawing room for a glass of wine. Once seated, she told them of her visit from the duke. “Landrus has done nothing more than bring to light what many have wondered about for years. And don’t we agree the Temple is in need of reform?”

  “That may be true,” Faris said, taking a sip of his wine. “But Landrus is a mere priest, and a commoner, so he won’t get far.”

  “I agree,” Gwynneth said. “Which is why Kendryk should be the one to challenge the Temple.” She smiled at Kendryk’s look of mild alarm.

  “It’s risky,” Faris said, though his gray eyes gleamed. “You might anger Livilla Maxima, who has Empress Teodora’s ear, and events in Moralta have shown us Teodora is violent and unpredictable. They should have kept the Inferraras from inheriting the throne long ago. They are far too unstable.”

  “I agree that change is needed, and I’m shocked at what I’ve heard from Landrus, but we must carefully consider what to do next.” Kendryk’s deliberate tone was all too familiar to Gwynneth. “First, I want to verify what Landrus has said about the Holy Scrolls. Benet used to imply there were secrets, but he never even hinted at the things Landrus claims.”

  Gwynneth set her half-empty wineglass on an ornate table. “But if all scholars are sworn to secrecy, how will we find anyone else to take the risk of speaking?”