Kendryk thought about King Lennart in Estenor; he seemed a more likely candidate. He was tough, resolute, and many said, a military genius. If anyone could succeed where Kendryk had failed, it was Lennart Ostberg.
He lay on his back on the dirty, damp straw and pictured Lennart conquering and utterly humiliating Teodora. He doubted he’d live to see it, but thinking about it comforted him anyway.
Gwynneth
As her carriage pulled into the ornate courtyard of the Maxima’s palace in Allaux, Gwynneth made sure she and Maryna at least looked tidy. They had no time to change, but it didn’t matter.
Natalya Maxima stood at the door, waiting for them. “I worried when you weren’t here by noon.” She kissed Gwynneth on both cheeks, then gave Maryna her hand in response to her curtsy.
“Muddy roads,” Gwynneth said by way of explanation. Clearly, Natalya’s sources were good since Gwynneth had told no one where she was going. “This is Maryna Bernotas,” she added.
“She’s perfect,” Natalya said. “I can’t decide if she’s more like you or like Kendryk.”
“She looks more like me.” Gwynneth smiled. “But in everything else, she’s her father’s child, through and through.”
“So she really is perfect,” Natalya said, leading them into a cool, marble-lined parlor that matched the grandeur of her entryway. A maid came in right after with a tray of goblets and a flagon of cold, crisp white wine. Gwynneth breathed in deep and took a long drink. It was nice to sit down with a friend.
“The king will see you, of course,” Natalya said. “Naturally, he’s heartbroken about Kendryk, but I’ll let him tell you himself what the problems are.”
“I expected problems.” Gwynneth tried to conceal her disappointment. “But I was hoping—”
“I know,” Natalya sat down next to her and took both hands in her own. “It’s a dreadful situation. I’d hoped Arryk could manage things, but that was too much to expect, I suppose.”
“It’s my fault.” Gwynneth knew Natalya had never been impressed with Arryk’s abilities. “I should have concentrated on rescuing Kendryk, but instead I spent far too much time seeing that the Edric’s teachings were spread through Kronland.”
“I’m surprised at you,” Natalya said. “You were always disturbingly impious.”
“I was,” Gwynneth said. “Until I read the Scrolls myself.”
“Ah.” Natalya nodded, her green eyes understanding. She had changed little since Gwynneth had seen her a few years before. Then, she’d been the priestess at an Allaux temple, but after Kendryk arranged an introduction, she caught the eye of the young king, and understandably so. She was not quite beautiful, but had an arresting, cat-like face, with luminous intelligent eyes. King Gauvain was so smitten he would have given her his kingdom had she asked for it. She hadn’t, but he gave her the Maxima position, which was even better.
“I agree; Edric’s work is extraordinary. We are experiencing a similar reformation here.”
“I’m sure you don’t approve,” Gwynneth said, her heart sinking. It hadn’t occurred to her she was promoting something her friend would certainly oppose.
“Oh, but I do.” Natalya smiled. “Terragand might have been first to break with the Imperata, but Galladium is not far behind. I’ve already commissioned a group of scholars to translate the Scrolls into our tongue. Once that work is complete, I expect great changes here as well.”
Then it dawned on Gwynneth. Natalya had never made a secret of her ambition and having complete control over the Galladium temples would make her answerable to no one. “So it makes sense you would want to help us.”
“In theory, it does,” Natalya said, “though there are as always, complications. But we’ll speak of that soon. Why don’t you and Maryna get some rest and a hot bath? I have a suite ready for you right next to my quarters. We’ll dine with the king tonight, and you can discuss everything with him then.” She turned to Maryna. “And you’ll go to the nursery, if that’s all right with you.”
Maryna looked at Gwynneth uncertainly and Gwynneth nodded, wondering why Natalya needed a nursery.
“Did you know I have a little girl, too?” Natalya asked. Gwynneth could barely hold back her gasp. “You’ll have supper with her. She’s littler than you, but she’ll like making a new friend.”
When Gwynneth turned to her, the unasked question in her eyes, Natalya nodded. “He can’t claim her openly until he has an official heir, but we’re working on that.”
“You amaze me.” Gwynneth smiled. “I had no idea you felt that way about the king.”
“To be honest, he caught me by surprise.” Natalya looked uncomfortable. “It’s a complication I don’t like, but the heart can be stupid, eh?”
“Indeed,” Gwynneth said.
After months in a military camp or quartered in houses given up grudgingly, Gwynneth enjoyed the luxury of her rooms. And the Maxima’s palace in Allaux was one of the most beautiful in a city known for its fabulous dwellings. After a long bath and careful attention from two maids who dressed her hair and helped her into her best dress, she felt quite new.
Before meeting the king, she asked to be taken to the nursery. A clean Maryna wore a lacy nightdress and was playing with a fat little girl with a shock of dark hair.
“I’m just going to supper, darling,” Gwynneth said. “You’ll be good and go to bed when you’re told?”
Maryna nodded. “Nurse said I can stay up later than Joslyn because she’s little and I’m big.”
“All right. Have fun and do as nurse tells you.” Gwynneth kissed Maryna on the head and smiled at little Joslyn who stared at her with gooseberry-green eyes. If the little girl was going to be as striking as her mother, she showed no sign of it yet. Perhaps she took after her father.
Braeden
Count Faris was in no condition to travel, but he was going anyway. General Mattila made all of the arrangements for an exchange of prisoners and Braeden was to take four hundred troopers to the designated place. They headed for Terragand’s border where they’d be met by a group coming from Birkenfels.
The rainy summer had finally turned hot, which did little to improve the prisoner’s condition. The worst of his wounds had healed, but he was far from complete recovery. Still, Ruso Faris was no pushover and bore the pain and discomfort without a word. It no doubt helped that he knew he was about to be freed.
Braeden didn’t like to be involved in such a clear violation of the empress’s orders, but since Mattila was supreme commander, he didn’t have much choice.
“Terragand needs a leader,” she’d said flatly, when she explained her plan to Novitny and his officers. “Her highness thinks to rule directly, but it’s not practical in time of war. And besides, they are more likely to accept a Kronlander than an Inferrara ruling from a distance. The girl doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
This brought a stifled giggle from the Archduchess Elektra, standing at Mattila’s elbow. A plain girl who didn’t resemble Teodora in any way Braeden could see, Elektra didn’t seem to mind having her mother put in her place.
In Braeden’s opinion, Count Faris was far too valuable to be exchanged for Evard Bernotas, but no one asked him. And he hadn’t forgotten being thwarted by the duke at the Garsten Gap, though he told himself that was more a feature of the terrain than any military genius on Evard’s part.
They arrived at the border late in the day and made camp. Braeden had left his girls behind with Mattila so they could move faster. Besides, this area wasn’t secure. Although both Faris and Orland were defeated, renegade soldiers still roamed these lands. Worse, the local population were converts to the Quadrene heresy and took it upon themselves to wage war upon supporters of the old faith. Those included anyone in the pay of Teodora.
These days, no one went out in parties smaller than forty, and a hundred was preferable. In most cases, the peasants knew better than to attack large armed groups, but there had been incidents of smaller foraging parties being set upo
n and horrible atrocities committed.
The group from Birkenfels arrived at the border before midday. Their path was longer, though through friendlier territory. Or maybe they wanted to make Braeden sweat. Which he did, wearing all his armor in the heat. The exchange took place on a bridge over the River Lera, and while they waited he looked longingly at the rushing waters.
They finally saw horsemen bearing the Bernotas standard appearing from the woods. Count Faris insisted on riding a horse, though he could barely sit upright. Still, Braeden helped hoist him up, and from a distance, he doubted anyone would notice how he barely clung to the saddle.
“You can’t keep the horse,” Braeden said.
“That’s all right.” Faris grimaced. “Just so I look better than the duke.”
That wasn’t hard. Evard Bernotas was in his fifties and had been imprisoned in the Birkenfels dungeon for over a year. Having experienced a dungeon himself, Braeden wasn’t surprised the old fellow looked like a corpse.
Evard insisted on riding as well, and he and Faris exchanged hard stares as they passed each other. Braeden had to catch the duke from falling off his horse once he reached them, and had him put into the wagon that had been carrying Faris. That done, he turned to the commander of Birkenfels.
The young man grinned broadly. “I’m Merton,” he said. “Count Faris is my uncle and I’m glad to see him alive. Thank you for bringing him.”
“Can’t say I’m pleased about the exchange,” Braeden said, “But I wasn’t asked. Your uncle is a general of quality and I’m not looking forward to meeting him in the field again. One of these days, his luck is bound to turn.”
“I hope so,” Merton said. “I don’t suppose you could be persuaded to join us.”
“I’m afraid not. Nothing personal against your lot. Contracts and such.”
“Of course,” Merton said, still friendly. His manner reminded Braeden a bit of Prince Kendryk. Perhaps they’d been friends. “Still, if you ever find yourself at loose ends, we’d be happy to have you and as many of your people as you can bring.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Braeden said. He’d love to work for anyone but Teodora, though in the end, he preferred to stay on the winning side. And as long as Brynhild Mattila led the imperial armies, they were likely to be the winners.
Duke Evard wasn’t so pleasant. He was extremely angry that Mattila hadn’t also demanded the release of his son, who’d been imprisoned by Princess Gwynneth nearly two years earlier.
“How can I be expected to rule Terragand?” he ranted, after reading the letter Braeden handed him containing Mattila’s instructions. “I have no castle and my heir is imprisoned. Where does she expect me to rule from?”
“She’s got a few places in mind,” Braeden said, riding alongside the cart. That had offended the duke’s dignity as well. Did he expect a gilded carriage?
The duke snorted. “Probably some derelict manor house or pig-sty of a fortress.”
“Don’t know,” Braeden said. “It’s got to be in lands she controls. Otherwise, with your luck, you’re likely to get locked up again.” After that, he left the man to his own devices. Let him complain to the general.
Anton
Zeelund was the strangest place Anton had ever seen. The houses were tall, narrow and painted in bright colors, and the people looked very odd. The women wore enormous white hats with what looked like wings on them. He expected them to fly away with the next gust of wind. The men wore strange hats as well, both tall and slouchy, and everyone had round, red faces. They clomped around in huge wooden shoes, though Anton reckoned he might wear those soon enough since his boots had nearly fallen apart.
Anton and the count had left Floradias after the count found he couldn’t raise another army on promises of plunder alone. Word of the disaster at Lerania had traveled faster than they had, and people acted like the count had the plague, from the way they looked at him. Even the few fellows who’d come along from Kronland had melted away over the past months.
Though the count swore and drank more than usual, he was in good spirits and still seemed to think there was a way to get back into the fight.
“If you want to leave, you can,” he’d said to Anton as they made their way north. “I can raise money in Zeelund, but it’ll take time. You can take Skandar and find King Arryk. I’m sure he’ll take care of you.”
“I don’t want to,” Anton said, though he wasn’t sure why. He liked it that the count refused to give up and wanted to help him get back into the fight.
Besides, he was having fun on this new adventure. Zeelund’s capital city of Bonnenruck was the most crowded place Anton had ever seen. Maybe it was because canals replaced most of the streets, so all of the people were jammed onto little bits of dry ground. The canals were just as crowded with boats of all sizes, packed so close that Anton could have walked right across them like a bridge. Not that he ever would. Not anymore.
After Lerania, he wasn’t so keen on bridges either, but he couldn’t avoid them here. At first he hung back whenever they came up to one, but they were made of sturdy stone and the crowds pulled him along when he wanted to hesitate. After a while, he got used to them.
After they got kicked out of one lodging house because they weren’t able to pay, they moved into a tavern. Or rather, the count moved in with the tavern’s owner, and she stuck Anton into a little room behind the kitchen. He thought it might have been a pantry once, since it smelled like ham and flour, which meant he was always hungry.
They had no money, but they still had their horses. When they were turfed out of the lodging house, Anton worried the count would try to sell them. But he was as attached to Cid as Anton was.
“I’ll starve before I sell him,” the count said. “I’ll just have to find some woman who’ll take us in and feed them too.”
Much as Anton wanted to keep the horses, he felt bad for the count. He acted cheerful most of the time, but Vrouw Belsen, the tavern owner, was not a fun woman to be around. She might have been pretty once, but she was old and fat now, and missing most of her teeth. Probably her hair too, since Anton never saw a wisp of it, even though her yellow wig slid all over her head when she laughed.
She was wild for the count, and couldn’t keep her hands off him. Anton could tell it was awful for him, though he pretended to like it.
“It’s only for a short time,” he told Anton. “I have an appointment with my banker soon, and when he gives me money, we’ll move out.”
“Good,” Anton said. “I don’t like her.” He didn’t want to make it worse for the count, so he didn’t tell him that Vrouw Belsen never fed Anton and boxed his ears if she caught him sneaking something from the kitchen. He was on good terms with the cook, but that didn’t save him when the tavern owner had it in for him.
The count shuddered. “I don’t like her either. And I don’t enjoy feeling like a whore, though I suppose that’s what I am now.”
“At least you don’t look like one,” Anton said, ducking away from the half-hearted blow the count threw at him.
He worried, because the count was drinking an awful lot. More than usual. “It’s the only way I can stand it,” he said, polishing off another tankard of strong Zeelund beer. “Wish me luck Kronek. One more night.” And he got up from the table, swaying a little, then snatched Vrouw Belsen by the hand and dragged her upstairs with him. She giggled all the way.
Teodora
“Call a carriage,” Teodora said, after reading the letter. Elyse hurried out the study door while Teodora paced, fuming.
Teodora couldn’t remember the last time she had visited Livilla in the private laboratory inside the Maxima’s palace. It had been one of the favorite haunts of her girlhood, but now that she ruled, she never had time to leave her own palace. Today though, she had to go before the weight of her problems crushed her.
Livilla wasn’t expecting her, but looked up from her work and said, “Good morning my dear. Could you hand me that bunch of yarrow?” as
if Teodora was still her student. She didn’t mind.
“What are you doing?” Teodora asked, handing the flower to Livilla, who tore it into pieces into a small dish.
“I’m looking for a better cure for that fever. A few girls in the temple school have it and the old remedy is too slow for my liking. I will mix this with foxglove.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Teodora shivered happily. She always liked it when they talked of poison.
“Not particularly, as long as it’s administered correctly. What’s Mattila done now?” Livilla kept working, but her voice was soft.
“How did you know?”
Livilla shook her head. “I’ve had dreams. Nothing specific, but tales of trouble and they all surround Brynhild Mattila. I realize you need her, but the cost is high.”
“It just got higher.” Teodora handed the letter to Livilla. “She’s traded Ruso Faris for Evard Bernotas. Have you ever heard of such stupidity?” Teodora went back to pacing. She had worn a path in the heavy Zastwar carpet in her study, and now her feet tapped out a similar though louder rhythm on Livilla’s stone floor.
“What a terrible bargain,” Livilla said, after reading the letter. “And her tone is nothing short of insolent. It seems she’s forgotten she is no longer your commanding officer.”
“She hasn’t been in twenty years,” Teodora screeched. It had taken all her self-control to hold her temper this long. “I should have let Daciana kill her when she had the chance.”
“It’s better she’s alive, troublesome as she is. It’s true that Faris is a great loss, though it will take time for him to raise another army. On the other hand, it won’t hurt Terragand to have a ruler again, especially one beholden to you.” Livilla put cork stoppers in a few bottles, then placed them on a shelf behind her, neatly written labels facing out.
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 64