The rumors were true then. Atinos Inferrara hated his sister.
“I can hardly blame him,” Gwynneth said with a wry smile. “And if you wish to press a dynastic claim, the imperial throne holds a great deal more weight than that of Estenor.”
“Yes, quite right. Still, I don’t wish to speak of these things here, though I’d like to discuss this further. Now don’t get your hopes up, Princess. I still think your errand ridiculous. But it’s not every day I get to speak with someone who refuses to snivel and simper. It’s refreshing. You’ll hear from me soon. You are dismissed.”
It was rude and it was abrupt, but it wasn’t a flat no.
Gwynneth was left to stew for a good long while. She dined with the queen every evening, but avoided bringing up her petition. She worried Ottilya would use the opportunity to turn her down flat in front of everyone. After nearly a fortnight, Gwynneth felt frantic, though she would rather die than show it.
So she came to dinner, was witty and charming. She spent her days with the dressmaker, so she wore something new and pretty every time the queen saw her. The last thing she wanted was to appear drab or desperate. To all appearances, Princess Gwynneth was having a marvelous time in Novuk, flirting with all of the men and charming their wives.
She was careful to be friendly with Atinos Inferrara, despite his resemblance to Teodora. He was just as unpleasant but lacked his sister’s intelligence and wit. Much as Gwynneth hated Teodora, she had to admit that she was by far the better choice for the imperial throne.
Gwynneth also took the opportunity to cultivate some new contacts. She had always found it difficult to keep abreast of the doings of Ottilya’s court, but now she had several friends who assured her they would write to her often with all of the news.
Her stamina paid off. One evening after dinner, the queen rose and said, “Roussay, you’ll come with me,” and swept out of the dining room.
Gwynneth wasted no time in following her. The queen glided down a broad, tapestry-lined corridor unaccompanied. She turned suddenly, and Gwynneth almost missed the door falling shut. She knocked, then opened it without waiting for a reply.
Ottilya sat before a crackling fire that smelled of juniper. For someone of her bulk, she had moved swiftly. “Come in and have a seat,” she said, as if Gwynneth were an old friend.
Gwynneth sat down and tried to relax. She’d come this far; it wouldn’t do to appear overeager now.
“You are …” Ottilya trailed off and stared into the fire. “You are most persistent, without being annoying. I must confess I’m impressed.” She drew a deep sigh. “In fact, I wish my daughter were more like you. Raysa is such a weakling, I can’t imagine where she got such thin blood. I thank Vica every day she isn’t my heir.”
“She is still young,” Gwynneth said, her head swimming at the compliment. She must find a way to take advantage of this. “I’m far more resolute today than I was at seventeen.” That wasn’t true, but Gwynneth felt a need to defend the hapless Raysa.
“Hmph. I hope you’re right. I’d hoped to marry her off to Briansk, but they won’t give me anyone important enough. I’d considered your brother too, though he hasn’t put himself on the market.”
“He will, and soon,” Gwynneth said. “The Norovaean council will require it. But he needs a strong woman. Lennart on the other hand, wants someone more docile. He’d courted me at one time, before my marriage, and decided I was too much for him.”
The queen barked a laugh. “I’m sure you were. Well, if he’s looking for docile, Raysa is that. Tell me; do you think he’ll be a good husband?”
The question caught Gwynneth off guard. “I do,” she said, after giving it a moment’s thought. “It’s true he’s loud and rough, but at heart, he’s a decent fellow. I know he’s worried that Raysa is too young and that he’ll frighten her.”
“Interesting. In my experience, someone truly frightening would never worry about that.”
“I doubt they’d see each other much in any case. If he marries Raysa and there is peace between you as a result, he will soon make for Kronland. He’s a warrior through and through, and if he’s not on campaign, he’s recruiting and drilling. He won’t be underfoot.”
“There’s something to be said for that. Nothing worse than a husband always in the way. In fact, you have mine to thank for this meeting. He wouldn’t give me a moment’s peace until I spoke with you.”
The queen shifted in her chair and sighed. She seemed tired, perhaps somewhat deflated. “To be honest, Princess, I’m sick to death of this war. I can’t afford it and never stop worrying that Briansk will take advantage of the situation. If a marriage with my daughter will make a treaty with Lennart possible, I’m inclined to agree. But I have a condition before we go further.”
“What is that?” Gwynneth did her best to keep her elation from showing.
“I want you to broker the marriage and resulting treaty personally.”
Gwynneth’s heart sank. She wanted to return to Kronland without delay.
The queen turned to face her. “It’s a requirement. I don’t trust Lennart and don’t want the negotiations to drag on for months or years.”
“I don’t want that either.”
“Good. I’ll draft a preliminary treaty for you to deliver to Lennart. If he agrees, you can come back here and we’ll finalize matters.”
It wasn’t perfect, but she couldn’t say no.
Teodora
Teodora laughed and handed the letter to Livilla. “Your plan is working. Your League of Aeternos clerics are performing as planned and Mattila is livid.”
Livilla looked over the letter and smiled. “I didn’t think she’d like it, but there’s not much she can do except complain, is there? Oh, and the same for Barela. She asks you to call him back, but that’s all she can do.”
“It’s the way things should be. She shouldn’t be allowed to have everything her own way all the time. And she was in winter quarters where disciplinary problems aren’t unusual. Though I’m not happy with Elektra. Her letters are nothing but an echo of Mattila’s. I swear I don’t know who’s side she’s on.”
Livilla shrugged. “She’s likely to be influenced by the person she spends the most time with. I’ve arranged to have one of the League priestesses serve as Elektra’s personal chaplain. It will take a little while, but I don’t see how she can follow the faith strictly without seeing Mattila’s many flaws. It’s just a matter of time.”
“I hope so. I suppose it was too much to expect loyalty from a fourteen-year-old. How I wish I could have foisted her off on Gauvain Brevard!”
“Elektra will show her value soon enough. She is still young and has much to learn. No one can spend much time with Brynhild Mattila and remain fond of her.”
“True.” Teodora smiled. Waiting like this was hard but spring was here and once Arryk Roussay was gone she could deal with Mattila.
Her good mood didn’t last. Sometime the next afternoon, Elyse came running with a dirty messenger pouch. “Your Highness,” she gasped. “Urgent news from Kronland.” Elyse handed over the pouch. “It came from Prince Novitny.”
“Oh gods, now what?” Teodora opened the pouch and pulled out the hastily scrawled letter. Novitny, the dolt, hadn’t even bothered to encrypt it. Of course what he had written wouldn’t remain secret for long, if it ever was a secret. Teodora sprang out of her chair as she read. “How could this happen?” she shrieked. “How? I’ve never seen such incompetence. It was for this she wanted supreme command?” She needed to scream at someone, but there was only Elyse and she was unlikely to dissolve into tears the way Teodora would have liked.
“Is there something I can do, Your Highness?” Elyse looked alarmed.
“No.” Teodora paced the room. “Get out but don’t go far. I need to think.” She concentrated on taking deep breaths until she heard the door close. She picked up a cushion from a chair and punched it. Unhelpful. She scanned the room until she spotted a lovely, heavy vase fr
om Neviar. Perfect. She felt its smooth weight in her hand, then hurled it with all her strength at the glass of the tall garden doors. It took out a satisfying half-dozen panes before shattering against a low stone wall outside.
Still not good enough. She wondered if she could kill someone. Go to the dungeons, find a deserving criminal and do the deed herself. That was it. She ran into the corridor, shouting for her coach.
Elyse materialized from around a corner, Count Solteszy in tow. Teodora should have known the girl was up to something.
“Your Highness, where are you going?” Solteszy asked.
“To the Arnfels.”
“But why?”
“Come with me and I’ll tell you on the way.”
Her coach pulled into the courtyard with a few frazzled-looking guards hanging on. No doubt the useless sods had been prodded out of a nap. Teodora peered at one of them. “Is that halberd sharp?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the young woman said, bewildered. Teodora hadn’t seen her before, so she was most likely new and hadn’t yet experienced an imperial tantrum.
“Good. You can come along.”
Settled in the coach with Solteszy, flying down the cobblestones, she said. “Do you know about Kersenstadt?”
He looked puzzled. “General Mattila is using it as a depot for her supplies when she takes on Roussay.”
“Was. She’s lost it and is doing nothing about it.”
“Lost it? How?”
“That strumpet of Arryk’s smuggled the heretic Landrus into the city and within a few days he’d turned everyone against Mattila’s garrison. It also seems that Arian Orland has returned from Floradias with a significant force. He and Karsten secured the city and killed most of the garrison. As we speak, all of Mattila’s precious supplies are on their way to Arryk Roussay.”
“This is a disaster,” Solteszy said. “What does Mattila propose to do about it?”
“No idea. I haven’t heard a word about it from her. The letter came from Novitny. For all I know, Mattila hasn’t a clue. And it’s too late in any case. Karsten holds the city and is building up the fortifications. I can’t imagine why Mattila neglected to do the same.”
“How many?” Solteszy’s tone was much like the one he would have used to inquire about the number of guests coming to dinner.
“How many what?”
“How many troops does Karsten have? How many guns? How many people inside the city?”
“How should I know?” Teodora snapped. “It’s not my job anymore. And Mattila is too far away to do anything. Even if she marched on the city right now she’d have to get past Roussay and Orland, since Novitny says she’s gone north. I don’t understand what she’s doing.”
Solteszy looked thoughtful. “She might be chasing down Emilya Hohenwart. In which case you ought to take matters into your own hands.”
“Yes, I suppose I should. But how? And with what army?”
“Isn’t that why you’re going to the Arnfels?”
“What in the world are you on about? I’m going to the Arnfels to kill Kendryk Bernotas.”
Braeden
Braeden didn’t believe what he was hearing. “She did what? How? Mattila left the place well-defended; we saw it.”
“Not well enough,” Novitny said, his face sympathetic. “At least, not well enough to stand up to the whole citizenry turned into a mob.” He had ordered the hussars to make camp on the spot upon receiving the news of Larisa Karsten’s conquest of Kersenstadt.
“But there were armed guards. Hundreds of them.” He still couldn’t piece it all together. After Atlona, Kersenstadt was the safest place in the empire. It had to be. He never would have left his girls there otherwise.
“Were.” Novitny’s face was grim. “Those that survived the first onslaught took refuge in the fortress, but Karsten and Orland turned Mattila’s biggest guns on it, and they surrendered within hours. Seems the thing was blown to bits. A few civilians were in there along with clergy from temples that Landrus took over and those of their congregations that refused to convert. A lot of them didn’t make it, though I’m sure Janna wasn’t among them.”
“Gods. Those culverins Mattila left throw twenty-pound balls.” Braeden didn’t want to face the wrong end of those cannon, but he might have to. “How do I get in?”
“You don’t. I’m sorry. First we need to find out what General Mattila wants to do.”
“She’ll want it back, I’m sure. She’ll attack and it’ll be a bloodbath.” Braeden paced, getting angry now. “Best case, there’ll be a long siege.” Long sieges meant children always died first, followed by the sick. Hunger wouldn’t be a worry for some time, but plague often took hold much earlier. Braeden remembered how pale Janna had looked when he left her.
“We can’t be sure of that,” Novitny said. “I wonder if Karsten’s plan is to hold the city, or just to clean out the supplies and get them to Arryk.”
“That would make sense.” A flicker of hope sprang up in Braeden’s chest.
“That’s our opportunity,” Novitny said. They had split off from Mattila’s main force and had made camp in Tirilis, with a view toward flanking Arryk from the south now that spring had come. “We can’t assault the city on our own, but we can attack any convoys that Karsten sends out.”
“We don’t want Arryk getting those supplies.” Braeden agreed, remembering the vast warehouses full of food and equipment. He hoped Karsten would keep a lot of food in the city in case of a siege. Janna had money and could buy everything she needed for some time.
“My thoughts exactly.” Novitny clapped a hand on Braeden’s shoulder. “The best thing for you is to keep busy. I understand all you want to do right now is head straight for Kersenstadt, but that’s not the way. From what I’ve heard the city is shut up tight. It was Mattila’s mistake she didn’t do that before Landrus got in.”
“Why would they let in a known troublemaker? Was he in disguise?”
“Could be. No one realized he was inside the city until he caused trouble in the temples. By then it was too late. Don’t know what the man says, but he knows how to get folks fired up.”
“I wish he’d never been born.” Braeden left the prince and went to his tent. Without Janna, it had deteriorated to its former condition. Clothing, armor and horse blankets lay strewn everywhere and there was no fire in the brazier. Gergo was probably snuggled up under his laundress’s blankets, and even when he was here, he was useless. He’d become far too accustomed to Janna’s specific instructions and didn’t seem to know what to do when she wasn’t there.
Braeden built a small fire outside, then sat on the ground in front of it, warming his hands. The spring sunshine was welcome but still too weak to do much good. He wondered if there was a way for Janna to leave the city. If Karsten and Orland were preparing for a siege, they might be happy to get rid of any extra mouths to feed. But by now Janna would be heavily pregnant, making travel difficult. He wondered if he could get a message to her somehow.
He went in search of Franca. From the look on her face, he could tell she had already heard.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said. “Think we can go get her? I’ll come along.”
“Seems no one’s getting in without an army,” Braeden said, trying to keep his tone light. “But some might get out. “
“Right. Women who can’t fight and children, useless mouths.”
“I don’t know if she’ll think of it herself, or if she can travel if she does. I haven’t had a message from the doctor in some weeks. She always says she’s fine, but I’m sure she’s humoring me.”
“How do we get her a message? Surely they’re still letting in people with supplies they need.”
“I’ll find someone. Help me with a letter. It’ll feel better to do something.”
“You’re right.” Franca found a quill and some paper. “We’ll make it short but specific. We must tell her where to go and how to reach you.”
“It sounds dangerous
when you put it that way.” Braeden thought of the last time Janna had been alone on the road with two small children.
“It is dangerous. A young pregnant woman with a little girl.”
“She’s done it before and it didn’t work out well for her. I can’t ask her to do it again.”
Franca put down the quill. “What’s worse? Being on the road for a few days until you can get to her, or the chance of a siege and maybe a sacking?”
“It’s all worse. I can’t stand it.”
“Sir, you have to. Let’s think about it a bit longer. She’s safe for now, in a sturdy house with plenty of money. With any luck, Karsten will clear the place out and leave. Then you can go get her first thing.”
And he would. He didn’t care what Janna’s condition was, he’d get her and keep her by his side and never leave her anywhere again.
Teodora
Count Solteszy blanched. “Your Highness, you can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious.” Teodora smiled. “I feel like killing someone, and Kendryk is long overdue.”
“Please, Your Highness. It would be a dreadful mistake.”
“No, my mistake was in keeping him alive all this time. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“But King Gauvain intervened personally. You can’t think that Archduchess Zofya’s marriage would still go forward, should you execute the king’s close friend.”
“Vica’s tits. I’d forgotten all about that.” Teodora leaned back against the cushions, deflated.
Solteszy looked at her as if she had lost her mind, which she had, but just for a moment. She was feeling like herself again. “It’s a good thing Baroness Rastell found me. This could have been a disaster.” He still wore a disapproving frown.
“Oh, I’m sure it would have worked out,” Teodora snapped, irritated that she’d been so impulsive and that someone had to stop her. Killing Kendryk, while enjoyable, would have had serious political repercussions. “Such a shame I didn’t get rid of him ages ago. It would have been so satisfying.”
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 78