The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  The doctor smiled. “But it’s been in little pieces for several hundred years. Aside from the imperial courts, the empire has had no direct authority over Kronland since signing the Treaty of Veben.” He rummaged in the bag of books he’d brought and pulled out a slim volume, handing it to Janna. “It’s rather dry reading I’m afraid, but this explains all about that treaty and what it means for Kronland today.”

  Janna took the book and placed it on the pile next to her chair. “I’ll read it. Though I don’t see what good it does me to know any of this. I doubt Teodora would change her mind, even if every person in Kronland argued about this with her, quoting from the treaty directly.”

  “Teodora won’t change her mind. But it’s useful if we Kronlanders understand what we’re fighting for.” He paused and smiled. “I forget you are not one of us, Madame Terris, and that your husband is in the empress’s employ. I hope you’re not offended.”

  Janna had to laugh at that, then told him a little about Dimir’s part in the Moraltan revolt and her official status as a rebel.

  Doctor Marsel looked mildly horrified. “Commander Terris was aware of this and still took you into the empress’s presence? That seems very risky.” Janna had already told him about meeting Teodora.

  “I worried as well, but we were careful and I don’t think it ever occurred to her that anyone on her list would set foot in her palace voluntarily.” Janna doubted she’d ever forget the mingled feeling of fear and excitement when Teodora first spoke to her.

  The doctor shook his head. “That was brave of you; you don’t look the type to be considered a rebel, let alone face the empress directly.”

  “I’m not the type.” Janna paused to pour more tea for both of them. “But my husband hoped it would help me get over my fear of the empress and he was right. I still fear what she might do, but I also understand that she’s a person who can be hurt or killed, like any of us, rather than some invincible monster.”

  “Many still believe her a monster,” the doctor said. “But it’s true she is mortal, and that is a good thing. Since she’s unlikely to ever let Kronland go peacefully, someone will have to kill her before it ends.”

  Janna thought of Braeden. He was one of the few people who could get close to the empress without being questioned. She wondered if he’d kill her. But doing it would mean his death, and Janna didn’t care if the war went on for a hundred years as long as Braeden lived and came back to her.

  “How are you feeling?” the doctor asked, no doubt noticing her mood turn melancholy.

  “Well enough. Bored. Tired. I want to have this baby and recover so I can get back to my husband.”

  “So life in the field agrees with you?”

  “Yes, surprisingly. I became so used to comfort in Kaleva, but when I lost all of that, living in a tent wasn’t so bad. And there’s always something new to see.”

  “Isn’t it boring, being in camp?”

  “Only if the weather is too bad to go out. But I had a lot of friends and there was always someone stopping by, or someone to visit.” Janna trailed off, realizing that was what she missed here. In Atlona, she had the Torresia clan close by and they were there on campaign as well, besides friends like Nisa. She’d met no one here and she didn’t see how she could, so she was grateful to Iryna’s nurse and to Doctor Marsel. She smiled at him. “I’m so glad you come by; otherwise it’s much too quiet, I find.”

  “Quiet is good for you,” he said gently. “Doctor Toure told me about the difficulties you had with Iryna. This is the best place for you, even though you might not like it much. Your husband did right setting you up here.”

  “I know,” Janna said. “I just wish it could be different.”

  Gwynneth

  The Prinova Islands were shockingly small. As Captain Brun threaded the Rusa into a tiny, rocky harbor, Gwynneth glimpsed the ocean on the other side of the land. It couldn’t be more than a league across, and this was the largest of the six islands. That was probably why it had the fortress, though calling it a fortress was generous. Rising straight from a rocky outcropping, the fort looked more like a tall stone house with a high wooden fence around it. Any attackers would have to fight their way up the rocks.

  A tiny village clung to the cliffside, and as they drew near, Gwynneth spotted a little staircase with many switchbacks going up the cliff’s face. She wondered if that was the only route to the fort. “What do they call the fort and the village?” she asked the captain.

  “Strutka, after the old pirate. It’s said he once had his base here, before King Lennart’s father rooted him out.”

  “Rooting anyone out of here seems difficult.”

  “It is, though King Lennart managed it well enough. Some Sanovan troops were garrisoned here, but he got rid of them. Don’t know how.”

  “I’ll ask.” Now they were coming up on the docks. “I might need a few days here,” Gwynneth said. “But then I’ll either need a ship to take me back to Kronland, or on to Sanova. Can you do that? I’ll pay double.”

  “I can. And no need for extra pay. I have to make a few stops on other islands, but I’ll be back in four days. Will that be long enough?”

  “More than enough. If I can’t convince him in a day or two, I’ll give up. I don’t even know where I’ll stay while I’m here.”

  “I imagine the king will put you up in the fortress. It won’t be comfortable, since he’s never stood on luxury. His soldiers love him for that. He lives just like they do.”

  “The poor man. I suppose I can bear it for a few days. Is this where I get off?”

  “Yes. But let me come along. I’m not leaving the two of you alone on this dock. Once the king sends someone for you, I’ll go, but not before.”

  “Thank you.” Gwynneth looked around as she walked down the gangplank, Catrin on her heels. This was a rough-looking place. A dusting of snow covered gray rock and the sky and sea matched the drab landscape. Even the tiny houses of the village were of the same gray stone with slate roofs just a shade darker.

  Captain Brun yelled “Hey!” at a guard lounging against the wall of what looked like a very small tavern. The man jumped to attention. “Go get the king,” Brun said.

  “Why?” The man looked Gwynneth over with a leer, then winked at Catrin. “What if I don’t feel like sharing?”

  “What you feel like doesn’t enter into it,” Brun said. “This here’s Princess Gwynneth of Norovaea and she needs a word with the king. He’ll want to see her right away, so best go get him right quick.”

  Gwynneth was grateful to the captain and glad she’d left a small stack of silver coins on her table in the cabin. She would not have enjoyed dealing with this lot alone. And she was also glad that the good captain had brought her here in one bedraggled piece after some nasty squalls.

  It was freezing on the quay, so the captain led them into the tavern. A peat fire barely warmed the place, but at least the wind didn’t reach them and Gwynneth could warm her hands. It was only a quarter hour before there was a small commotion at the door. Gwynneth turned around quickly, but he was already inside.

  “Is it …” He began, and then “By Ercos, it really is you, Gwynn. I didn’t believe them when they told me. What in the name of all the gods are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you on campaign.” Gwynneth curtsied, finding herself every bit as awkward before him as she had at fifteen.

  “Not at all, not at all. And what are you doing? Stand up straight and let me take a look at you. By the Father, you’re as beautiful as ever.”

  Gwynneth blushed in spite of herself. King Lennart was just as loud, and as large as she remembered. She steeled herself to look him in the eye, cursing herself for her lack of composure. Even Arian Orland had never caught her off guard like this.

  His dark hazel eyes were as large and clear as ever, though she detected a faint weariness and lines that weren’t from laughter alone. He wore his light brown hair shorter than before, though the wind had
blown it into a tousled mess. If he didn’t frighten the poor Sanovan princess half to death first, she might find him attractive.

  Gwynneth recalled being rather frightened herself. She had never met anyone so loud, with such an imposing physical presence to match. But it had soon become clear that Lennart Ostberg was entirely good-natured and quick to laugh, although he boomed alarmingly when he did so. Everyone who met him liked him and Gwynneth was no different.

  She stood up straighter and said, “I see you’re as charming as ever. But I’m afraid I’m not here to exchange compliments. I come on a rather urgent mission. I hope you can spare a few hours so we might discuss it.”

  “Of course, of course,” Lennart said. “I’m afraid I can’t put you up in style, though you shouldn’t freeze to death. You and your young lady here.” He winked at Catrin, who stiffened up, uncharacteristically. “Now, come along. It’s a bit of a hike up to the fort and we haven’t got horses. Hope you’re up for it.”

  “I’m sure I can manage,” Gwynneth said, praying she could.

  The climb was brutal, but short. She reached the top of the cliff just in time to watch the Rusa sail out of the harbor. Gwynneth hoped when she returned, it would be to take her to Sanova.

  Anton

  As soon as the count and Anton reached Floradias the count put out word that he was recruiting cavalry and paying three month’s wages upfront. The troopers came streaming in. The truce had been hard on soldiers. Those who were able had gone to join the fighting in Kronland, but a fair number had lost, sold, or gambled away their equipment. They almost all had their horses, though. Most were Maladene cavalry with the most splendid mounts on the continent. Some of the men were half-starved, but they kept their horses fed. Anton liked these fellows right away.

  It was a bit difficult to get all of the armor and weaponry needed on short notice, but this force was much smaller than the count’s last, so they didn’t need as much either.

  “I can’t field more than three thousand,” the count said with a sigh. “But it’s still a useful enough force. We ride for Kronland tomorrow. I’ll have the rest of the equipment come after.”

  To Anton’s dismay, they had to cross another frozen river into Kronland. There was a bridge further north, but that would have meant crossing the border back into Zeelund and the count wasn’t taking a chance. Worst of all, Anton was expected to go first, right behind the count leading the whole troop.

  The riverbanks here were flat, so getting to the river was easy, but the ice itself seemed endlessly wide. “Just like ice-skating,” Anton muttered to himself. He’d become at home on the ice of Bonnenruck’s canals. This was no different. Just bigger, and a horse was so much heavier. Still, he’d rather die than show fear in front of anyone here. So he pushed down the nausea he felt and urged Skandar onto the ice, right on Cid’s heels.

  It seemed to take forever, but finally they climbed the opposite bank. Anton realized he’d been holding his breath for much of the time.

  The count glanced back at him and laughed. “The ice is nice and thick this year, even though it’s almost spring. No need to worry.”

  “It’s just, after Lerania …” Anton trailed off. They never talked about that awful day.

  The count’s face turned sober. “I know. I don’t like to remember it either and an experience like that stays with you awhile. But look. We made it and everyone will be across within the next hour or two. Nothing to worry about.”

  And somehow, it was true. No matter how hair-raising the scheme, the count always seemed to come out ahead.

  Now they were in Aquianus, in friendly territory. “Emilya Hohenwart should be here somewhere in winter quarters,” the count said. “I want to find her and see what’s going on.”

  He sent scouts out, and by the end of the day, they had found her. She was living in a small castle belonging to Prince Fabrey with her troops quartered on the villages for leagues around.

  “I’m sure the peasants love that.” The count laughed. “They’re crammed into those cottages as it is. They’ll hate having a few soldiers thrown into the mix.”

  “So the soldiers just live in the people’s houses?” Anton didn’t think he’d like that much, if he had a house.

  The count nodded. “It’s not popular, especially if there are young girls about. Though I must say, I had such fun in those situations, in my early days of soldiering. Ah, this one farmer’s daughter. She had the blackest hair and eyes. Ercos, how they sparkled. I wasn’t much older than you and she was the most magnificent thing I’d ever seen.

  “I left her pregnant, so I likely have a little bastard running around that village. Or maybe not so little. He’d be your age.” The count sighed like it was a lovely thing. Anton shook his head. “Oh, just you wait, Kronek. It’s already started for you with that little bit back in Bonnenruck. Next time you won’t get off so easy.”

  Anton fingered the locket under his shirt. He did that a hundred times a day and each time he saw Gretel’s twinkling eyes and heard her merry laugh, her endless breathless questions. He was sure there wouldn’t be a next time. No other girl could ever come close.

  “You can bunk here, if you’re staying for a night or two, but your troopers will need to shift for themselves.” Emilya Hohenwart wasn’t exactly friendly, but she wasn’t quite hostile either. And she didn’t seem to care at all when the count smiled or looked at her from under his lashes. “We’re packed into this place like herring in a barrel and it’s worse since Edric Maximus got here.”

  “He’s here?” the count asked. “I heard he was up in Brandana.”

  “He was.” Hohenwart shrugged. “But he got a message from King Arryk that he’s needed in Fromenberg right away. Don’t know why.”

  “I’ll take him. I have to find the king anyway. Is Princess Gwynneth with him?” Anton could tell the count was trying to sound casual, but it wasn’t working.

  Hohenwart laughed, a short, sharp bark. “Rumor has it she’s in Estenor or on her way there. She took ship from Zeelund so you probably just missed her.”

  The count went pale. “I didn’t realize she was there. Why is she going to Estenor?”

  “Not sure, though I suspect she will try to talk King Lennart into entering the fight. Don’t know how she proposes to do that with him tied up in Sanova.”

  “If anyone can do it, she can.”

  Hohenwart greeted this with a raised eyebrow. Anton found it funny that the count couldn’t get anywhere with her. He could tell he thought she was attractive. She was as tall as the count with short blond hair and cold gray eyes, broad-shouldered from swinging a sword. She was good—Anton had watched her practice in the castle courtyard and reckoned she would give the count a good run if she had a mind to. But she responded to the count with blank neutrality and just a hint of condescension, as if he were a slightly stupid child.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d take Edric Maximus off my hands. His escort is much too large and people come from leagues around to see him.”

  “Send his escort back to Brandana,” the count said. “I’ll take him to Fromenberg.”

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth was given a small room inside the tiny fortress of Strutka and an hour or two to prepare before meeting with the king. She did her best to freshen up, though her hair was dry and windblown and her cheeks chapped to an alarming red. This was so far removed from how she had pictured an audience with Lennart. She had hoped for a quiet meeting in a luxurious room in his palace, while she lounged in a dainty chair, elegant and well-groomed.

  A guard came to get her and led her down the twisting narrow staircase to another little room. It had a small fireplace and was just big enough to hold a map-strewn table and two wooden chairs.

  Lennart took Gwynneth by the hand and asked her to sit. “I hope you don’t mind if it’s just us,” he said, standing with his back to the fire. “I sent old Meldahl out on a raid, or he’d be here.”

  Ludvik Meldahl was Lennart’s chi
ef adviser and only a few years older than the king. “He’s on a raid? I thought he’d be keeping your court in Tharvik.”

  “Eh, I need him here more. There’s none better with a little boat loaded with soldiers, stealing onto a Sanovan beach at night and hitting ‘em where it hurts.”

  “I suppose not. So that’s why you’re in this ungodly place at this ungodly time of year. Raiding?”

  “It’s just to soften them up before spring. Then I’ll hit ‘em hard. Finish this thing once and for all.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “About Sanova?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then. But you’ve got me flummoxed. I reckoned you came to tell me how it’s in my best interests to invade Kronland. I don’t dislike the idea, but as you can see, they’ve had me tied up here for years.”

  “I know. And yes, I want you to invade Kronland and I have an idea of how you can end this fight with Sanova.”

  “You’re a smart girl, Gwynn, but I’d be surprised if you’ve come up with something old Ludvik and I haven’t chewed over a thousand times.”

  “Perhaps not. But there is one thing you should consider more carefully because I can help you with it. And that’s marriage to Raysa Sikora.”

  “That’s one of the thousand things we can’t do.”

  “Won’t do.”

  “Not that simple. I won’t lie—I’m not keen on wedding a little girl who’s grown up under that hag Ottilya’s thumb. I feel sorry for the poor thing even though I’ve never met her. But I’d do it if it meant peace. Thing is, Queen Ottilya won’t do it. I’m sure of it.”

  “Have you asked? Since I remember from personal experience you tend not to?” She couldn’t resist the barb, though it was at least as embarrassing to her.