The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  When she arrived at the children’s quarters in the temple, she sent the smaller children off with a sweet-looking young novice, asked Maryna to stay with her and shut the door.

  “What are you doing with my clothes, Mama? Are we packing already?”

  “Look,” Gwynneth said, spreading a cloak across the bed. “Do you see the hem?”

  “Something is in there.” Maryna picked it up. “I thought it seemed heavy to wear.”

  “My jewelry.” Gwynneth smiled. “It’s all sewn into your winter clothes. Help me get some of it out.”

  “What for?”

  “I must sell it. We have to travel to Allaux very quickly and we need money for that. We will have to live there for a few months too.”

  Maryna’s face fell. “I hoped we could go home soon.”

  “We will darling, I promise.” Gwynneth pulled her down on the bed next to her as she ripped at the cloak’s seams. “We just have to wait a bit longer. Then King Lennart will bring his army and defeat the empress.”

  “But what about Papa?”

  Gwynneth bit her lip. “I don’t know. I will talk to Natalya Maxima and find out what she can do. It seems she wasn’t able to help him as I had hoped. Still, we must not despair. If King Lennart succeeds, the empress will have to turn your father loose.”

  “I hope so,” Marya said gravely. “Oh Mama, must you sell these? They’re so pretty.” She picked up a pair of sapphire and diamond earrings.

  “Yes, I must.” Gwynneth sighed. They’d been a gift from Kendryk at Devyn’s birth. “But don’t worry. When the war is over, I’ll get it all back somehow.”

  “I hope so.” Maryna’s voice quivered.

  Gwynneth was appalled at how little she got for her jewelry. The Floradian money changers drove a hard bargain. At least she had plenty of it. She just needed to make it last as long as possible and hope she could save at least a few pieces for Maryna and Stella to inherit someday.

  Within five days, they were ready to leave for Galladium. Gwynneth sent Merton and the guards back to Terragand and Edric elected to go with them. “I might not be able to do much,” he said, “but I’m more useful there than in Galladium. I believe Natalya has things well in hand.”

  “I hope so,” Gwynneth said. “Be careful with him.” She smiled at Merton, though she was sorry to see both him and Edric go.

  Braeden

  Braeden was in luck. The troopers took him straight to Arian Orland in a camp surprisingly well-ordered under the circumstances. In front of a tent, a gangly dark-haired youth sprawled against a pile of blankets, polishing a sword. He jumped to his feet when Braeden appeared.

  “You caught a Sanova Hussar!” he said, his voice starting deep, but rising to a shriek. Braeden stifled a chuckle.

  “We did,” one of the troopers said. “The general will want to see him, I’m sure.”

  “You got that right,” the boy said, disappearing into the tent.

  He was back a second later, Orland right behind him. Braeden had never seen him up close without his visor down. He certainly looked the part of the romantic hero, making Braeden wonder if the rumors about Princess Gwynneth were true.

  Orland walked up to him. He was almost as tall as Braeden, though not as burly. “I know you,” he said without preamble.

  “I know you too,” Braeden replied.

  “You should come in,” Orland said, turning back toward the tent. “I have a few questions for you.”

  “All right,” Braeden said. “I’ve got time.”

  “Are you a scout?” the boy asked, following Braeden into the tent.

  “Shush,” Orland said. “Bring us some ale.”

  The boy pulled a face and left the tent.

  Orland rolled his eyes. “It’s a difficult age.”

  “Is he yours?” Braeden asked, sitting on a proffered chair. Aside from the dark hair, he didn’t see a resemblance.

  “Oh gods, no. At least, I don’t think so. He says he’s from Moralta, and I wasn’t there at the right time to father any children of his age. He’s surprisingly belligerent for someone not related to me, though.”

  “Sometimes you get lucky with your pages,” Braeden said.

  “Where’s yours? I recall a fierce little girl at your side the other day.”

  “She’s gone to join Novitny and the others. They’re looking for you, though you seem to have taken a different path than expected.”

  “I’m going to Atlona, or close by.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Yes.” Orland was very serious. “I’m so in love I will do anything she asks, even face Teodora herself.”

  “Princess Gwynneth?” So the rumors were true.

  Orland nodded, his dark eyes nearly liquid. “It’s miserable. It’s been years now and I can’t seem to get over her.”

  “What does she want you to do in Atlona?” It seemed odd to Braeden that he was asking the questions.

  By now, the boy had returned with a jug of ale and pewter mugs. He set them down and filled them to overflowing, mostly because he was too busy staring at Braeden. Braeden winked at him and the boy blushed, stumbling over his too-big feet as he tried to back away.

  Orland took a long drink and sighed. “She wants me to rescue her husband of course.”

  Braeden nearly spit out his ale. “And you’ll try it? You really are mad, aren’t you?”

  Orland shrugged. “I must try, or die in the attempt. But never mind that. What are you doing here? You say Novitny is looking for me?”

  “We all reckoned you’d make for Tirovor.”

  “I suppose that makes sense, if I weren’t crazy.”

  Braeden glimpsed the boy shaking his head and rolling his eyes and hid his own smile.

  “People seem to think you’re sane,” Braeden said. “Should help your cause, I imagine. You’ve sent the Sanova Hussars on a wild-goose chase.”

  “Excellent.” Orland smirked and held out his mug for more ale. Braeden’s was topped off too. “Why aren’t you with them?”

  Braeden was surprised that Orland believed him so readily, but he believed Orland as well. They had taken each other’s measures long ago.

  “I’m going to Atlona to kill the empress,” Braeden said. There wasn’t much point in concealing his mission from Teodora’s enemies.

  The boy gasped, but Orland looked at Braeden for a while then said, “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting to hear that. Why do you want to kill her?”

  “My wife and children died when she sacked Kersenstadt.” Braeden said it quickly, then took a drink to cover the sudden rush of emotion.

  “Ah,” Orland said, taking a drink as well. “You have my condolences, though I’m sure killing the empress would be far more rewarding. How do you plan to do it?”

  “Not sure.”

  Braeden told him what he’d considered so far and hinted he could expect inside help, though he didn’t yet want to expose Brytta or Barela.

  “It seems we ought to be able to help each other, though I’m not sure how just yet,” Orland said after Braeden had finished.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Braeden grinned for the first time in weeks.

  After their conference, Braeden followed the page to a small tent erected not far from Orland’s. A single guard followed them, and though Braeden was certain he could overcome him, he had no wish to get away just yet.

  “I rubbed your horse down,” the boy said. “He’s magnificent. What’s his name?”

  “Kazmir.”

  “I like that. I have my own warhorse too. His name is Skandar. He was a gift from King Arryk.”

  “Is he a Norovaean? I’d like to take a look at him.”

  The boy’s face lit up. “I’ll take you to him later, after I’ve finished the count’s armor.”

  A few hours later, Count Orland called Braeden to dine with him.

  “You’re in luck,” the count said. “I sent out scouts and your story holds up. I must confess I was
suspicious, but there are no enemy troops for leagues around. But I do have to wonder if you work for Teodora directly.”

  Braeden stared. At first he wasn’t sure how to respond. Finally he said, “The only way I would work as her spy would be if she had my family for leverage. And they’re dead.” Whenever he talked about them, the words caught in his throat. He looked away and swallowed the pain down again. He reckoned if Orland didn’t believe him there was nothing he could do about it.

  There was a long silence while the page cleared the dishes away, brought brandy and glasses. After pouring some for each of them he disappeared and Orland and Braeden drank. Orland drummed his fingers on the table, then said, “Maybe I shouldn’t, but for some reason, I believe you, and I’m usually right about these things.” He emptied his glass, poured another round, then said, “Kronek here tells me you want to see his horse.”

  The name hit Braeden like a jolt. “Who?”

  “Kronek, my page. His horse is worth seeing. He’s full-grown now, a pure-bred Norovaean …”

  “What did you say your page’s name was?” Braeden felt as though his throat might close on him. The shaggy dark hair, the lanky build—he realized he’d seen it before.

  “Kronek. Anton Kronek. He’s Moraltan. Are you all right, man? You’re looking rather green.”

  “I—” Braeden’s voice caught in his throat. It had to be a coincidence. But the name, combined with the looks seemed beyond question.

  “Here, have a drink.” Orland slid his glass closer.

  Braeden shook his head. “Might I speak with him?” he finally managed.

  “Certainly.” Orland cocked his head. “Why don’t you go to your tent and I’ll send him there? I assume it’s a personal matter.”

  Braeden stumbled back to his tent. He slumped on the edge of his cot, his head in his hands. If this boy was who he thought, the gods were beyond cruel.

  The tent flap rustled as it lifted, and then the boy stood before him.

  “Sit,” Braeden said, his voice rough.

  The boy sat on the floor, crossing his legs and looking up at Braeden wide-eyed. “What is it, sir? Have I done something?”

  Braeden shook his head. “Please tell me your name and the names of your parents.”

  The boy looked surprised. “Why?”

  “I’m sure I knew them.”

  “I’m Anton and my parents were Dimir and Elena Kronek, though my mother died when I was little.”

  “Did your father remarry?” Braeden’s insides tightened up and he had to remind himself to breathe.

  Anton nodded. “He married Janna. She felt more like my real mother, though she died in Marjatya. You knew her?”

  Braeden swallowed hard. It was some time before he could speak. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “It’s true, your mother is dead, but she died just a few weeks ago.”

  “I don’t understand,” Anton said blankly.

  “She survived Marjatya. I found her in the woods.”

  Anton’s hand flew to his mouth. “Was she all right?”

  “Frightened and half-starved, but well enough otherwise. The wife of one of my officers took care of her.” It was hard to keep talking, but he had to.

  “So why did she die now?” Tears rolled down Anton’s face and ran into his mouth.

  “It’s a long story,” Braeden said, but then told him all of it. Once he started, it got easier, and he found he liked talking about Janna with someone who’d known her long before he met her.

  By the time he’d finished, Anton was sobbing. “I’m sorry.” He sniffled. “I’m not sure why I’m crying. I was sad about it years ago, but I hadn’t thought about it in a long time.”

  “It’s all right,” Braeden said, wishing he could cry too.

  Anton wiped his tears with his sleeve, then looked at Braeden. “So she was happy?”

  “I think so. At least until I took her to Kersenstadt. She didn’t want to go, but I was so worried about her and the baby. It was the worst mistake of my life.”

  “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, I’m sure.” Anton’s voice was oddly calm now that the shock had passed. Janna had often mentioned his composure. “You couldn’t have known what would happen there. Oh gods.” He stopped suddenly. “I was there too, for a while. I came with Larisa Karsten when she took over, spent several days wandering all over the city and I might have walked right by your house. What if she saw me and didn’t recognize me?” He was becoming agitated again.

  “No,” Braeden said. “She would have known you. She was sure you were alive and always kept an eye out for you. Anytime she saw a boy your age, she looked closely. “

  Anton nodded. “I would have noticed her too, I’m sure.”

  Braeden didn’t know what to do next. Naturally, if Anton wanted him to, he would take care of him. But he wasn’t at all sure what the boy wanted.

  Finally, Anton stood. “Well,” he said. “It seems we both have good reason to hurt the empress. I’m glad we can do it together.”

  Anton

  After his long talk with Braeden, Anton wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

  When he told the count what had happened, he laughed. “So you have a stepfather, do you?”

  Anton had never looked at it that way. He liked the fellow well enough, but sometimes he got a look in his eyes even more frightening than the count at his worst. He wasn’t sure he wanted him to be family. And now he remembered his mother again, he was sad more often. He didn’t like it.

  “Would you believe this fellow if he said he wanted to kill the empress?”

  “Yes.” Anton didn’t need to consider it for more than a second. “My mother hated the empress after she killed my father and sent that awful woman who killed my little sister. She wouldn’t have married anyone who’d want to help her.”

  That settled it then. The count and Braeden put together a plan to kill the empress and rescue the prince in one busy afternoon. To his delight, Anton had an important part to play.

  “Is he old enough to help?” Braeden nodded in Anton’s direction, and Anton stuck his chin out. Of course he was old enough.

  “He is. Saved my life in Zeelund recently. Can think on his feet, and that’s what we need,” the count said, and Anton felt very proud.

  Braeden shrugged and Anton decided not to be too offended. It was nice having someone worry about him a little bit like a parent.

  “We might get more help,” Braeden said. “General Barela is Teodora’s lover, but he wants to get rid of her now too. He hinted we could expect help from one of her ladies-in-waiting as well.”

  The count was pleased. “That she makes so many enemies is finally coming home to roost. I can’t believe her own lover would turn on her this way.”

  “You would if you saw Kersenstadt. Barela’s a tough and experienced soldier, but what happened there was beyond imagining and how the empress reacted made him sick,” Braeden said. “Also, he’s my friend and helped me find … my family.” He barely got that out, but the count pretended not to notice his discomfort and just continued.

  Anton swallowed down the lump in his throat and stared up at the ceiling until he could blink the tears away. He didn’t want to imagine his mother dying there, along with the little sister and brother he would never get to know. He was glad he hadn’t been the one to find them, though he felt terribly sorry for Braeden. He was a tough fellow, but it was easy to see how sad he was.

  While they laid plans they stayed on the move in southern Tirilis so no one could find them. Once they were ready, they’d get into Olvisya quickly and quietly. Braeden would go first.

  “I’ll go to Atlona. No one will think anything of it,” he said one evening. They had to travel during the day, but spent the nights huddling around a brazier in the count’s tent, poring over maps.

  “You’re sure? Even without the hussars?” the count asked.

  “Why not? I’m taking a break and Demario Barela is my friend. It’s natural I�
�d spend time with him. Who knows, I might even get a surprise crack at the empress that way.”

  “That would make things a lot easier. Once she’s dead, it’ll be easy to spring Kendryk in the confusion.”

  “My thoughts exactly. But I doubt I’ll get close. Or at least, I won’t count on it. Now, let’s talk about Brytta Prosnytz. I know her best of the empress’s ladies-in-waiting. She’s her personal secretary and all correspondence goes through her. I imagine she can get me an order to let me into the Arnfels on some pretext.”

  “Once we rescue Kendryk, what do we do with him?” the count asked. “We can take him overland to Tirovor, but there’s a good chance the empress’s forces will catch up if they pursue.”

  “We go by sea. Take him to Galladium. Everyone knows the king there is his good friend. “There’s a little port here at Capo.” Braeden pointed at a spot on a map while Anton peered over his shoulder. “We’ll have a ship ready; something small and fast. If you can afford to hire one, that is.”

  “I’ll plunder more temples around here if I must,” the count said. “But I’ll have enough money.”

  Teodora

  “Are the Sanova Hussars in Atlona?” Elyse asked Teodora as they walked the garden paths. It was depressing out here in mid-winter, but Teodora needed to get out of the close, cloying atmosphere of the council chamber.

  She paused in front of a frozen fountain. “No. Prince Novitny is still looking for Arian Orland. Though I’m sure he’ll turn up here before long. With any luck, he’ll kill the count or bring him as a prisoner. Why do you ask?”

  “I could have sworn I saw Braeden Terris the other day. He was riding out to the hunt with General Barela.”

  “Are you sure? I can’t imagine why he didn’t announce himself. We are old friends after all.” That was a stretch, but Teodora was certain she left a lasting impression on the men she met. Once she did, they often had trouble staying away. Terris was likely no different.

  She remembered to ask Demario when they met that evening.