The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  It was as though a light pierced through the fog in Braeden’s head. “That’s a great idea,” he said. He didn’t even want to think of what a sacking would be like with Teodora present, but this was more hope than he’d had a moment ago.

  “It is.” Novitny looked pleased. “Dura, why don’t you help with the letter? I’ll send a messenger to Kersenstadt as soon as it’s written.”

  They decided not to use an official messenger, since Mattila might not be keen on communications with Teodora’s camp, so they sent a young trooper with the fastest horse in Braeden’s banner. The boy returned four days later with a message from Barela.

  Braeden had been overseeing a drill, but Miro hurried to bring him a camp chair so he sat down before reading it. It started with a rather long, flowery passage in which the general expressed his regrets at the terrible situation. Braeden skimmed over that, then gave a great sigh, handing it off to Franca, who by now hovered over his shoulder.

  “I suppose it makes sense he can do nothing right now, since they can’t get into the city,” he said, when she’d finished reading.

  “Looks like they’re not ready to attack soon.” Franca frowned, folded up the paper and handed it back to Braeden. “But it sounds like he still hopes they might negotiate with Karsten.”

  “Teodora won’t negotiate with anyone.” Braeden was certain of that. “Mattila would have, but it’s too late for that.”

  “Now Barela knows how to find Janna, I’m sure he’ll make sure she’s safe if the city falls,” Franca said, looking resolute.

  Braeden wished he could believe her.

  Gwynneth

  “And now the water’s smooth as glass.” Kelsi Brun looked at the blue sky with some suspicion. Gwynneth didn’t blame her. This was the first time in months they’d crossed into Sanova without fearing for their lives. It was also a nice change to sail into Novuk harbor, Estenor flag flying, without a worry about the big guns. If all went well, the two countries would be allies, if not friends, within a matter of days.

  Someone had been keeping an eye out for the Rusa, and Count Tarka waited for her at the docks with a fine carriage. Once at the palace, Gwynneth was shown into a small study in the residential wing.

  The queen sat behind an enormous desk carved from ebony and studded with amber. “Well?” she asked. “What did he say?”

  Gwynneth dropped into a seat without bothering to curtsy. If no one was around, Ottilya didn’t stand on ceremony. “He says yes, mostly. Naturally, there were a few quibbles.”

  “Naturally. Well then, what are they?”

  Gwynneth handed over the original documents and read from her notes. Most of the changes were technicalities. Ludvik Meldahl had gone over every word and changed anything objectionable.

  “What a tedious fellow.” The queen huffed. “Please tell me Lennart isn’t the lawyerly type.”

  “Oh not at all. But it makes sense to keep an adviser who knows his way around these things.”

  “I suppose you’re right. What else?”

  Gwynneth brought up the paltry dowry.

  “I was sure he wouldn’t like that, but reckoned I’d start low. How much does he want?”

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “Hmph. But he’ll hand over Prinova right away?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then, I’ll give him fifty. I won’t have it said I’m cheap.”

  Gwynneth could hardly conceal her relief. After shuttling back and forth, she wasn’t keen on haggling any more. It was bad enough she would need to go to Galladium next and she wasn’t at all certain that funding could be arranged as Lennart hoped. She prayed she could persuade him to invade anyway.

  “I’ll sign this thing as soon as I have a copy made.” The queen leaned back in her chair, looking grim. “I suppose I must tell Raysa.” She brightened. “Do you want to do it?”

  “I can, if you think it’s a good idea. You’re sure she shouldn’t hear it from you?”

  “She probably should, but I won’t be able to bear the look on her face. She’ll think I’ve betrayed her.”

  Harsh and unpleasant as Ottilya could be, Raysa was her soft spot. It was clear to everyone but her daughter that she loved her very much.

  “All right. I’ll talk to her.”

  “Go now. The sooner the better.”

  “I’m a bit of a mess.” Gwynneth was dying for a hot bath and change of clothes.

  “Better that you are. She won’t be so intimidated.”

  That was probably true. Gwynneth went straight to Raysa’s room. The girl sat in a corner of the room, using the light from the tall window to stitch a magnificent tapestry.

  “Princess Gwynneth,” she said startled, dropping her needle. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

  Gwynneth crossed the room and sat down next to her. “The crossing was faster now that the weather’s better. I also came to a quick agreement with King Lennart.”

  “So it’s done then,” Raysa said in a small voice.

  “Yes.” Gwynneth softened her voice and took one of Raysa’s thin hands in hers. “It will be all right. Truly. Lennart is kind and has no wish to make you unhappy.”

  “I can’t get used to the idea,” Raysa whispered, tears forming in her dark blue eyes. “Everyone always said such dreadful things about him.”

  “Well, he used to be the enemy. Now he isn’t. I understand it’s hard to get used to. It will improve once you become better acquainted. Do you realize I nearly married him, some years ago?”

  “You did?” Raysa clearly hadn’t heard the gossip.

  “I was your age and he was my most distinguished suitor. My parents were wild for the match.”

  “What about you?”

  “I won’t lie—I found him intimidating. But he was quite attractive, very well-built and manly, and still is. He looks the perfect king, and you will look perfect next to him.” It was true. Unlike both her parents, Raysa had delicate features, was tall and slim, with waves of pale blond hair. Her nose was too short and her chin too prominent for true beauty, but she was still rather striking. Gwynneth knew Lennart would be pleased, and felt a twinge of jealousy.

  “I must do my best not to disgrace my family,” Raysa said.

  “You won’t. You’ve been raised for this, as was I. And Lennart is better than any Briansk prince you might have married, if your mother had had her way.”

  Raysa shuddered. “It’s true that would have been worse. Briansk is not our enemy, but I’ve heard the men are barbaric.”

  “You needn’t worry about that with Lennart. He can be loud and rough, but he’s terribly good-natured. I think you’ll come to like him. Perhaps you’ll even fall in love.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a good idea. Mother always says it’s best not to fall in love with your husband so you can keep the upper hand.”

  “Oh, that’s nonsense. I fell in love with my husband, and there’s nothing nicer. And I still like to think I keep the upper hand most of the time.”

  “When do I go?”

  “I’m not sure. The treaty will go back to Estenor and then there’ll be preparations for a big state wedding.”

  “Will it be here?”

  “Most likely. And I imagine that’s when your mother and King Lennart will formally sign the treaty. Raysa, I know this is hard for you but you must realize you are making something wonderful possible. You are bringing peace to your own country, and that means there might be peace in mine too, before long.”

  That brought a tiny smile. “I like that perhaps I can help you and your family this way. I feel so useless otherwise.”

  Gwynneth squeezed her hand again. “You are far from useless and I appreciate what you are doing. I’ll go straight to the temple from here and pray to the Mother and to Vica for your happiness.”

  Anton

  Once they made it over the bridge without the hussars getting them, it was easy to reach King Arryk. He’d chosen a good spot to range his troops,
but it seemed he’d be outnumbered unless Emilya Hohenwart reached him soon.

  “Kurant isn’t coming,” King Arryk told the count, his face grim. “He tried to take on that infernal wolf woman and she killed him.”

  The count swore. “What’s happened to his army?”

  “Scattered in all directions. I received a message from a Duke Trystan, one of Princess Martinek’s sons. Seems he was with Kurant and is trying to gather them up again. I doubt he’ll succeed. I’ve heard he’s just eighteen or so. How much can a boy do?”

  Anton frowned. He wasn’t that far from eighteen himself and reckoned he could round up scared soldiers and make them fight again.

  The king and the count put their heads together over a big map and Anton went back to the stable, keeping an eye out for the Duchess Maryna. He found her in Skandar’s stall, her brother in tow.

  “We heard you’d arrived,” she said, feeding Skandar a gnarled carrot. “I hope you don’t mind we let ourselves in to say hello.”

  Anton didn’t mind one bit. “I didn’t know if you’d be here, since your uncle is getting ready to fight.”

  Maryna sighed. “There was a big argument between my uncle and my nurse and tutor. My nurse wanted to take the four of us somewhere safer, but Uncle Arryk needs Mama here as soon as she arrives. He’s worried if he sends us away, she’ll go straight there instead.”

  “You’ll be safe enough,” Anton said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “That’s so kind,” Maryna said politely. “But I’m afraid you’ll be busy with the battle. Devyn and I will have to manage on our own and help the little ones.”

  “I’m a good sword fighter,” Devyn said, a belligerent thrust to his lip.

  Anton believed him. Though the duke was small, he seemed very fierce.

  “Do you know how to shoot?” Anton turned to Maryna.

  She shook her head. “Isn’t it terribly frightening?”

  “It’s not so bad. Loud at first, and the pistol bounces around, but you get used to it. You’d want a small one. I can show you.”

  “Would you?” Maryna looked excited and Devyn threw himself into the straw with a gleeful squeal.

  “If I’m allowed. I even have pistols you could use.” He had a small pair in mind, though he’d have to ask the count. He reckoned the count would be happy to help the princess’s children. “Be sure you get permission, though. I don’t want any of us to get into trouble with the noise we’ll make.”

  The count was astonished when Anton asked if he could borrow his set of small wheel-lock pistols to teach the little duchess and duke how to shoot. “You sly little devil. I’ve never known anyone so good at making friends. It’s a great idea. I don’t know why the king brought them along. He should have sent them into Galladium where they’ll be safe.”

  “The king wants the princess to come here as soon as she can,” Anton said. “He reckons she might go to her children first if they’re not here.”

  The count smiled. “Well, I want her to come here too, so the king did right. The princess will be pleased when she hears we’re looking after her children’s safety.”

  Anton stared at the count. “Are you still in love with that princess? I was sure you’d be over her by now.”

  “I was sure I would be too.” The count looked puzzled. “It’s strange. I don’t think of her nearly as much, though I still love her, of course. I’d hate for her to come back after all this time and find I’ve still failed to free Prince Kendryk.”

  “Maybe you can do that after the battle,” Anton suggested.

  “Yes, perhaps. We’ll head south after, no matter what happens with Mattila. I still have no idea how I’ll do it, but it would help to be closer to Atlona. I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

  “You always do.”

  “I do, don’t I?” The count looked pleased with himself. Knowing the princess might be close had put him in an excellent mood.

  King Arryk sent scouts out every day to report on Mattila’s movements. He had chosen his position and wanted to draw her close. “She doesn’t engage unless she is sure she can win,” he told the count.

  “Then let her think she will. Line up about half your force in front of that hill and keep the rest hidden in the woods. If she thinks your force is much smaller, she might engage.”

  “My force is smaller,” the king said, looking unhappy.

  Anton hoped it wouldn’t matter too much. He hated losing.

  Janna

  Before attending a temple service, Janna thought she should learn more about what was taught there. The little book intimidated her, with its closely-packed print and thin pages, but the sermons were easier to read. She had to admit, the words of Edric Maximus were compelling. She wished she had heard him speak while he was still in the city.

  By the time the doctor came for her in the early afternoon, she had read three short sermons and almost finished a long one. She hoped it was enough to help her understand what the priestess was talking about. Doctor Marsel took care to bundle Janna warmly into his carriage, and told the driver to go slowly over the bumpy cobbles. Birgid had agreed to stay home with Iryna, though Janna suspected she would have liked to go too.

  Though the temple was one of the largest in the city, it was at least half full by the time Janna arrived, and when the service began just a little later, people stood in the aisles. While she waited for the service to begin, Janna looked around. The building itself was old and beautiful, stone arches soaring to a ceiling so high, it hurt Janna’s neck to look at it long. Sunlight filtered through the tall stained glass windows and cast dancing colors across the congregation, as though a goddess had scattered jewels over them. But for all that, it seemed strangely bare.

  Janna turned to Doctor Marsel. “Where are the hangings and icons?”

  “Put away,” the doctor said. “Edric Maximus says they distract from correct worship. They also offer an excuse for the temple to take from the poor. Such luxury is not needed to honor the gods, and the money saved can help those in need.”

  That made sense to Janna, though she missed seeing the beautiful works of art. And she found prayer without an icon in front of her strange and uncomfortable.

  The service began simply, without music or ceremony of any kind. The priestess spoke from a raised pulpit, so Janna could see her well even though she was far away. Mother Ilsa was surprisingly young, not much older than Janna herself. Her pale face was sharp, her eyes intense and her deep voice echoed around the temple’s vast pillars.

  She started by reading a passage from the Scrolls. Janna was surprised at how much she understood. She had always thought the Scrolls full of long words that only scholars comprehended. Every now and then Ilsa came across one, and she would pause and explain what it meant before reading on.

  The passage Ilsa read explained how the gods wanted to be worshiped. They required no great ceremony or complicated rites. They asked only that each person come to them as a child comes to a parent; to expect love, to ask for comfort, to offer respect. Janna found the words touching and resolved to ask the doctor to show her where to find the passage so she could read it again. Even if it wasn’t true, it was comforting to hear.

  Ilsa put her little book down; it looked identical to the one the doctor had brought Janna. “I realize this passage may seem an odd choice considering our present circumstances,” she said. “But I believe that in these difficult times we must never lose sight of the reasons for our suffering. It’s possible the suffering will become far worse, and for some of us, might even end in death.

  “My children, you must not fear it. We stand here with our Norovaean allies against the forces of evil and we shall prevail. But we must not falter, not even for a moment. Conditions in our city might get much worse. We may run low on food, plague may come. Our walls may be bombarded and perhaps the enemy will even breach those walls one day.”

  Noises of dismay swept through the temple and Ilsa paused. She co
ntinued, her eyes brighter than before. “There is still nothing to fear. The gods might defend us from the enemy. Their swords might be turned and their muskets falter. But even if that doesn’t happen, your death at their hands means your immediate salvation. For it is written that those who perish in defense of righteousness will be the first to enter the halls of paradise and will be raised in the sight of the holy parents.

  “We also read of the great battle in which the forces of evil will mass against all of the righteous. We do not know when that battle will be, or where. We only know that it will come soon and that a prince will come from the north to defend us. He is already here. Arryk Roussay stands against the armies of the empress and Imperata and has sent his trusted lieutenant, the Duchess Karsten, to be our protector.”

  Janna squirmed. She did not care for all of this talk about suffering and death, although the faces around her were rapt. She didn’t want the city and the Norovaeans to hold out until there was no one left. She wanted them to make an agreement with the empress so Braeden could enter the city peacefully. But it seemed no one else wanted that.

  “So what did you think?” Doctor Marsel asked, as he tucked her back into the carriage after the service.

  “It was very interesting.” Janna kept her misgivings to herself, since the doctor and everyone else seemed so excited about Mother Ilsa’s words. She changed the subject. “The priestess was so young. I was surprised.”

  “Oh yes. Most of the followers of Edric Maximus are quite young. In Ilsa’s case, she served a priest who had been here for many years. A kind enough old fellow, but firmly in the Imperata’s pockets.”

  “What happened to him, and the others who didn’t agree with Edric Maximus?”