The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  Gwynneth shook her head. “I am sorry. I know that things need attending to here, but I must go to Estenor, and soon. Arryk must assume his responsibilities here and he can do that only if he’s freed up in Kronland. The fastest way to do that is to get Estenor involved.”

  “If you can. Estenor is so tied up in Sanova, Lennart will need years to extricate himself.”

  “If he wants to keep fighting.” Gwynneth leaned back in her chair. “But there is another way. Raysa Sikora is old enough to marry. Why shouldn’t she marry Lennart? It would end the war at once.”

  “You make it sound simple. It’s anything but. Lennart is always looking to the west while the Sikoras look east. I’m sure he’d prefer a princess of Anglana.”

  “He hasn’t been able to get one though, has he? And he’s got to be at least thirty and in need of an heir, with his cousins practically slavering at the mouth whenever they see the throne. I know the Sikoras are hoping for a match with Briansk, but that hasn’t materialized either. Why should they waste all of this time and money fighting each other when there’s such an easy solution in sight?”

  “Why indeed?” Classen chuckled. “Well, there’s no better person for persuading them all to come to their senses than you. I do wish you luck, even though I don’t want you to go.”

  “I’ll ask Aksel to help you once I’m gone,” Gwynneth said. “Perhaps he’ll see reason.”

  “It’s the opposite of reason, Gwynn.” Aksel was in full protest mode. She’d waylaid him as he left his laboratory so he wouldn’t still be distracted by his work. “I can’t do this sort of thing.”

  “Only because you keep telling yourself that.” She took his arm and walked him to a bench at a window overlooking the gardens. With snow covering all of the great evergreen trees and hedges, she’d always thought they were most beautiful in winter. She pulled Aksel down on the bench next to her. “You are perfectly capable of doing this. You’re not interested, I know. This isn’t how you want to spend your time. But neither does Arryk.”

  “Arryk is doing what he’s always loved,” Aksel huffed.

  “It appears that way, but in reality, he spends his days at a desk, checking requisition forms, mediating disputes between squabbling officers and writing letters. Battles are few and far between. We all do what we have to.”

  “So you feel I’m not pulling my weight?” Aksel turned his best wounded look on her. It had sometimes worked when he was a little boy, but it didn’t work now.

  “You’re not. You’re a Roussay prince, second in line to the throne. The king is fighting overseas and I’m helping him. You must do your part. You aren’t the only person who doesn’t get the vocation he’d like. Do you think Kendryk wanted to be a ruler? He never did. But it was his duty and he took it on and did well.”

  Aksel rolled his eyes. “I rather think of Kendryk as a cautionary tale, not someone I should emulate.”

  Gwynneth wanted to slap him for that, but that wouldn’t improve matters. “Kendryk’s situation has nothing to do with his abilities. The fact remains that we need your help. Please. The nobles of the council won’t listen to Norvel Classen. He’s not one of them. But they will listen to you.”

  “They’ll never take me seriously.”

  “They will if you’re serious. Everyone knows you’re intelligent and if you apply that intelligence to matters of state no one will be surprised to find you capable. Try it, please? If my mission to Estenor succeeds, Arryk will be home within months. Can you at least try that long?”

  Aksel drummed his fingers on his leg and stared out the window. “I don’t have the slightest clue how to get started,” he finally said.

  “I’ll help you. I’ll put my departure off for a few more weeks though I hate to miss this window of fine weather to sail. But I’ll do it if it means you’ll help.”

  “What must I do?”

  “We’ll start tomorrow. We’ll meet with Classen and he can show you what he’s working on. There are a number of things he hasn’t been able to deal with because he needs someone from the family to do them. I’ve done what I can, but I’m leaving. You needn’t worry. He’s very capable and organized, so you’ll just have to decide on matters he’s already looked into. Oh, and you should spend time with the council.”

  “They don’t need the king to help them conduct their business.”

  “No, they don’t. But it’s encouraging to them if you take an interest. And you must continue to lobby for support for Arryk. The nobility no longer want to pay taxes to fund the war. You must make them change their minds.”

  “I don’t know how to do any of that.”

  “I’ve already softened them up, so I’ll take you along and show you what I do. It’s quite simple. They’ll be very grateful for any bit of attention from you. You mustn’t forget that the king’s favor is all some of these people live for. If you show them that favor, you can make a lot of friends.”

  “Will they expect something from me?”

  “Nothing but a smile and a bit of conversation.”

  “Ugh,” Aksel said. “I hate the idea. But I’ll try.”

  Arryk

  Arryk received Gwynneth’s letter with a sense of foreboding. She had sent it before leaving Norovaea for Estenor.

  * * *

  “The nobles refuse to pay further taxes,” Gwynneth wrote. “They are tired of funding an army they say brings no benefit to Norovaea itself. While I was in Arenberg, I threw several parties and invited everyone of note. I thanked them for their help with our cause and assured them they will benefit when the empress’s power is checked, once and for all. Aksel has promised to take a more active role, but he can’t take your place.

  * * *

  “We must wrap this matter up as quickly as possible so you can come home and put things in order. Which brings me to an interesting bit of information I recently received. Brynhild Mattila has just left Kersenstadt and is marching north, probably to winter in Isenwald so she is in a better position to face you in the spring. Mattila has turned Kersenstadt into an enormous materiel depot to support her rear. She’s packed the city with all manner of foodstuffs along with vast amounts of powder, shot and weapons of all kinds.

  * * *

  “I didn’t receive details, though I’m sure she left it well-guarded. Still, perhaps you can find a way to get your hands on it. I’d love to help, but I doubt I’ll return before spring. The weather is terrible and I’m having trouble getting a ship to take me to Estenor. I won’t be able to return to Kronland until the weather improves.”

  * * *

  Arryk was on his own. He tried to push the troublesome news about Norovaea to the back of his mind. He was grateful for whatever Gwynneth accomplished while she was there and hoped it would be enough. For the thousandth time he wondered how he might persuade her to take the throne. It was obvious she had a much better understanding of what needed to be done.

  He turned his thoughts back to Kersenstadt. He needed what was inside that city and needed it badly. So far he’d been able to keep the goodwill of his allies by spending large amounts of coin. It was bad enough for the people here that soldiers lived in their houses through the winter, but much grumbling was averted when all was paid for. He couldn’t keep it up and didn’t need Norovaean aristocrats to tell him that. He needed to survive the winter and defeat Mattila in the spring. That would be much easier if he got most of her supplies.

  But the last part of the letter was the worst.

  * * *

  “I realize you don’t want to,” Gwynneth continued. “But you must consider marriage. With Aksel so uninterested in politics, it’s important you have an heir. Equally important, you need a consort who will be of help to you. The younger daughter of the King of Anglana is of marriageable age and by all accounts, has a good head on her shoulders. Classen is putting out feelers, though of course nothing will happen without your consent. Just start thinking about it. It’s important.”

  * * *

/>   Arryk laid the letter down and stared at the wall. He wouldn’t do it. He’d always understood that someone in his position would have to make a politically advantageous match, but he’d never faced the reality of it.

  “Why the long face?” Larisa came in, rosy-cheeked from the cold and sprawled in a chair across from him.

  There was no point in pretending. “Gwynneth and Classen think I should marry.”

  “They’re probably right.”

  “Not you too. You know I can’t even consider it.”

  “Do they have someone in mind?”

  “Some little princess from Anglana. I’m sure I’ll hate her.”

  “You might not love her, but you don’t have to hate her.”

  “But what happens to us if I marry?” He had to force the words out.

  Larisa looked grave. “I’ve tried not to think about it.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d settle for being an official mistress of sorts?” Arryk felt bad asking, but he had to know. A political marriage might be tolerable if he had Larisa anyway.

  “I can’t.” Larisa’s voice shook a little. She stopped and took a deep breath. “I’ve always known you can’t marry me, but I hoped when the time came, I could let you go. I must, but I don’t want to. The only thing worse though, is being your mistress. What I am now is tolerable, but I believe that marriage is sacred and I won’t do that to another woman, no matter how much you dislike her. Right now, away from court, we can be quiet and informal about it. But in Arenberg, it will be different. I’m sorry.”

  This was worse than anything he’d imagined and it took Arryk a moment to find his voice. “But surely, we could work something out. It’s bad enough I have to marry a stranger, but I can’t bear losing you too.”

  “I would do anything to make it easier for you, but not at the cost of my self-respect. I can’t do it.”

  They were both silent for a moment.

  Then Arryk said. “So marry me. Marry me now before anyone arranges something else.”

  “I can’t. You know we can’t.”

  “Of course we can. I’m the king and if I can’t do what I want in this matter, what can I do?”

  “Be reasonable?”

  “Never.” Arryk smiled at her until she smiled back. “What do you say? We’ll do it soon and keep it quiet for now.”

  “It will cause a lot of trouble.”

  “Not as much trouble as forcing me to marry some princess I don’t like.”

  “I feel like I should say no.”

  “Please say yes,” Arryk said. “Please. I want this more than anything.” To his surprise, he realized it was true.

  Braeden

  They spent a few happy weeks in Kersenstadt. Braeden had little to do, since the weather was too wet for much drilling, and Mattila was busy filling the city with everything she needed for a long campaign against Arryk. If numbers were roughly equal, the better-supplied army would come out ahead, and she intended to be better-supplied.

  Arryk had an advantage, with most of Kronland behind him, and much of it as yet untouched by fighting. Through the Kronland rulers, he would have access to nearly unlimited funds, arms and soldiers. All of that meant nothing if he didn’t deploy them efficiently and that was where Mattila would outdo him. She took her time and Braeden took advantage of that time.

  Now that Janna wasn’t jolting along in a wagon every day, she felt much better. She and Braeden went out most days to explore the city. Braeden made sure she became well-acquainted with his factor and paid a social call on the landlady, who served them coffee in a house about half as big and fine as theirs. He would have liked for her to have friends her own age, but she got on well with Iryna’s nurse Birgid, and seemed quite content.

  “I don’t need to spend a lot of time with people, except for you,” Janna said, leaning back in a stuffed leather chair, her feet on Braeden’s lap. They had taken advantage of a dry day to climb the city wall so he could point out how well-built it was.

  “You’re right, “ she had said, though he suspected she was humoring him. “I feel very safe. I can’t imagine any Norovaeans ever getting in here.”

  “If we do our jobs, they won’t come within a hundred leagues,” Braeden said.

  The day of Braeden’s departure came too soon. It was clear Janna was trying to be brave, but it did no good. “I’m being ridiculous.” She was fighting tears, and losing the battle. “But I’m so afraid. Not so much that something will happen to you, but that we won’t see each other again.”

  “It might be a few months,” Braeden said, feeling uneasy. He hated it when she said things like that.

  “No, I mean ever. Something will happen and after you leave this house, you will never come back.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said, sitting on the bed and pulling her onto his lap. “This isn’t Kaleva and I’m not Dimir. I’m with an army that will win and you’re inside one of the safest cities in the empire. It’s normal to be frightened.”

  She nodded, wiping tears away with her sleeve. “I don’t mean to carry on. I’ll miss you dreadfully.”

  “I’ll miss you too. But you’ll write.”

  “I will. But you won’t.” She smiled through her tears.

  “I’ll try, but it won’t be pretty.” He read well enough, but his writing had never been good, especially not in Moraltan. He needed Franca to double-check his work.

  “You don’t have to. I’ll know you’re thinking of me.”

  “Oh, I will be. No question. But it’ll be easier for me knowing you and the little ones are safe.” He’d also made the doctor promise to send word if anything changed for the worse but didn’t tell her that. He hoped to visit again before the baby was born. “Now I’d better say goodbye to my little mouse.” He scooped Iryna off the floor and held her close. She put her chubby arms around his neck and planted a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek.

  “Say goodbye to Papa,” Janna said, her voice quavering.

  “Bye-bye Papa,” Iryna said. That was about half her vocabulary.

  To Braeden’s surprise, his voice failed him, so he kissed the little girl and handed her back to Janna while he swallowed hard and blinked a few times.

  Janna gave Iryna to the nurse, then went downstairs with Braeden. Kazmir was saddled and waiting at the front door. Janna stroked Kazmir’s nose then turned suddenly and clung to Braeden. “I know you have to go, but I don’t want you to,” she said, nearly choking on tears.

  “I don’t want to,” he murmured into her hair. “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

  She walked with him to the end of the street where he mounted Kazmir and reached down to squeeze her hand one more time. He turned again before he was out of sight. She still stood in the street, looking small and fragile in front of the towering houses.

  Kendryk

  Kendryk dozed in the cushioned chair, waking up once when a round-faced freckled girl brought him more of the white bread, some soft cheese and more watery wine.

  “Wait,” he said, before she darted out of the room. “What’s your name?”

  “Ulla,” she said, a flush spreading over her face.

  “Thank you, Ulla. Will you be working for me?”

  “Yes, sir. Me and my brother Dolf.”

  “How nice. You can go now.” He noticed she seemed frozen in place. He wondered if Atlona mothers were frightening their children with stories of the evil Prince Kendryk these days.

  Ulla hurried out and Kendryk fell asleep after his meal. When he awoke again, it was dark outside and someone had drawn the heavy drapes and built up the fire again. A soft wool blanket covered his legs and he was warm and comfortable. He wondered if he should stand up and explore his new home, but didn’t want to move.

  From his chair, he saw the room’s furnishings were cozy and luxurious, like those in an expensive inn. Right now, it felt more magnificent than Birkenhof. He just hoped he would be able to stay and that this wasn’t some ploy of Teodora’s.

  T
here was a rustling at the door behind him and he heard Ulla’s voice. Then the door opened. Kendryk stood up slowly and turned around. The light was dim and at first all he saw was a sweep of white robes and long dark hair. Then she stood before him.

  “Natalya?” He went weak in the knees.

  “Yes,” she said, a laugh in her voice. “Sit, sit.” And she quickly put an arm around his shoulder and pushed him back into his chair. She smelled heavenly.

  There was more rustling and she pulled a chair close and sat down right across from him.

  “You’re even more beautiful than last time we met.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “No wonder Gauvain lost his mind.”

  “I’d return the compliment.” She chuckled and took his hand. “But I’m afraid you look dreadful.”

  “You should have seen me earlier today. You have no idea.”

  Her eyes clouded over. “Was it terrible? Is your health all right?”

  “Yes, and yes. I lost all hope and track of time. But I’m so disgustingly healthy I wasn’t able to waste away at all like I’d hoped.” He tried to keep his tone light, but a wobble still crept into his voice.

  “Thank Ercos for that. Gwynneth was wild with fear that you’d catch some dreadful disease and just be gone.”

  That sounded promising. “So Gwynneth is well then? And the children?”

  “All well. You have another little girl, Stella. She was born right after the siege ended. I’ve spent a great deal of time with Maryna who is a completely delightful child. It’s too bad she’ll inherit Terragand since she’d make a marvelous Maxima.”

  “How strange. I had a dream long ago about Gwynn being pregnant and knowing she was safe. What happened?”