She stared up at him, her eyes wide and anxious. “It all seems so uncertain and dangerous.” She sighed and looked down. “I feel so bad I haven’t done my part. I understand the importance of having the succession assured before you go.”
“Please, don’t feel bad,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. Her bones seemed so fragile under his hand. “We haven’t been married that long. It took my parents nearly two years before they had me.”
“We don’t have two years,” she said, turning to look straight at him. “Why don’t I come with you?”
Lennart was both surprised and gratified that she’d thought of it. He’d been rather worried that she’d wish for him to leave instead. He smiled. “That’s sweet of you, but I’m afraid it’s impossible, at least at first. The situation will be precarious, and until I’ve achieved a major victory, I doubt any of Kronland will be safe for you. Besides, a military camp is no place for a fine lady like you.”
“I don’t mind.” She swallowed hard, and he saw she made an effort to seem brave. “I know you’ll take care of me. It’s just—” She twisted her hands in her lap. “What if something happens to you? Silvya told me you always lead your armies into battle. How can I be sure you won’t be killed?” Her voice wobbled.
Lennart wondered if she cared, or if she didn’t relish the thought of being a widow. “I doubt I’ll be killed,” he said. “I’ve always been lucky, and I trust the gods will protect me. And if something happens, I’ll fix it so you’re free to return to Sanova if you like.”
“I don’t want to go back,” she burst out, then paused and sighed. “I realize that perhaps we’re not as comfortable together as we should be. But I’d still rather be with you, either here or anywhere in Kronland.”
Lennart was taken aback, and for a moment, struggled with what to say. Then he cupped her face in his hands, kissing her softly on the lips. “I like being with you too. Tell you what. As soon as I have a safe situation in Kronland, I’ll send for you. Is that all right?” He kissed her again before she nodded her agreement.
Elektra
Elektra fancied herself a toughened veteran after spending so much time in military camps, but traveling cross country with Braeden and Karil was harder than she’d ever imagined. At least it was summer, so the nights were warm and it didn’t rain too much, but she often thought of her beautifully appointed little tent with longing. She didn’t even have a change of clothes, and had to sleep on the ground, wrapped up in a dreadful-smelling horse blanket.
She had been very near Olvisya when Braeden and Karil kidnapped her, and now they had to get all the way back up to Brandana without being detected. At first, Braeden made them travel only at night, which was even more difficult. “There’ll be imperial guards everywhere, looking for you, Your Grace.”
She still hated the tone he used whenever he said the words “Your Grace,” but didn’t want to argue with him every time he opened his mouth. And besides, she was still rather frightened of him, though she’d never show it. Even though he’d made no further move to harm her, Braeden still had a wild, haunted look in his eyes she recognized as desperation. And she understood well enough how dangerous the desperate could be. Elektra just hoped he could keep from losing his mind long enough to carry out her plan.
“Exactly what is your plan?” Karil asked her one night, speaking softly while Braeden slept. Karil took the first watch, and Elektra had given up trying to sleep on a forest floor which seemed to consist only of a vast network of roots.
“I haven’t worked it all out yet,” Elektra admitted, and decided this was at least half the truth. These two were best kept in the dark about the other half. “I hope Mattila has an idea. To be honest, I’m afraid of her too, and I hate her almost as much as I hate Mother. I suppose I must find a way to kill her next.”
“That must be a bad way to live.” Karil was staring into the flames of the little fire quickly turning to coals.
“It’s awful,” Elektra said, realizing for the first time how much she hated her life. Perhaps that explained the constant fear and anger she felt. “I sometimes wish I had been born a peasant rather than an archduchess. I’m not well-suited to this role.”
“Are you sure?” Karil grinned at her. “You’re a natural at acting haughty and bossy.”
“Really? Thank you.” She decided to take it as a compliment. “I try, since I don’t have much choice in the matter. And I’m certain it’s far better to be empress than archduchess.”
“Archduchess seems a good life,” Karil said. “With not too many responsibilities and lots of servants.”
“Oh yes, plenty of servants. I only realize now how comfortable I was, and how uncomfortable I am now. And it’s true I had few responsibilities. But the other side of that is, I had no control over my life. I was always told where to go and what to do, with no choice about any of it.”
“Sounds a lot like being a prisoner.”
Elektra laughed. “That’s exactly what it sounds like. So you understand what I’m talking about. That’s why I must become empress before I lose my mind. I see all the mistakes my mother makes and know I can do better. I even think I know how to end this war.”
“You do?” Karil looked astonished.
“Yes. If I were empress it would be over in a few months. Lennart would stay in Estenor or pick a fight with someone else, while I’d send Mattila to enjoy her retirement in Moralta.”
“You’d give up Kronland to make peace?”
“Oh heavens, no. I’d keep Kronland. It ought to be easy enough once the heretics are destroyed.”
Karil laughed. “Then you have no idea what you’re doing. Most Quadrenes will die rather than convert back to your way.”
That made her angry. “It’s not my way; it’s the only way. And that’s why it will be easy. Once Holy Vica sees I am doing her will, she will strike down the Quadrene heresy in the blink of an eye.”
“Your Grace, you are an idiot,” Karil said.
“How dare you!” Elektra wanted to slap him, but reminded herself he was just an ignorant boy who hadn’t been educated by a Maxima and a League priestess. She decided to take the mature path. “I’m ordering you to remember your place and be more respectful.”
“Or what?” Karil’s face now bore a challenging smirk.
“Or I’ll refuse to grant Marjatya its independence when I become empress.”
“Oh that,” he said. “I doubt you’ll do it in any case. Inferraras are well-known liars.”
“Insolent brat!” Elektra shouted and lunged for Karil, losing her temper and her dignity in the same instant.
Karil laughed and jumped out of her way while she stumbled over a rock and landed back on the ground. The commotion awakened Braeden.
“Hey, what’s going on?” He sprang to his feet, a pistol in each hand. “Are we under attack?”
“Only by Her Imperial Stupidity,” Karil said.
“You must punish him,” Elektra said, turning to Braeden. “I will not be spoken to that way.”
“I’m not punishing anyone,” Braeden said wearily. “And whatever you two were fighting about, stop it. You don’t have to like each other, but you do have to get along until we complete this mission. After that, you can duel with pistols for all I care. Go to bed, Karil, I’ll take the next watch.”
“Good night, Karil,” Elektra said loudly, then added under her breath, “Pig-headed Marjatyan.”
Braeden heard. “Shut up and go to sleep, Your Grace,” he said.
Elektra opened her mouth to protest, then met his eyes, shadowed by the dying embers. She closed her mouth, and lay back down on the hard ground.
Anton
“I feel bad taking you out of school,” the count said to Anton.
“Don’t,” Anton said. “I hate school. I have to learn the Ancient Tongue, and it’s horrible.” He didn’t mention that Father Bertrand, the schoolmaster, also rapped him across the knuckles when he fidgeted. At first, Anton’s hands were unb
earably sore, but he’d developed calluses by now.
“Why?” the count asked. “Haven’t the Scrolls been translated into all kinds of languages by now?”
“They have. But the Maxima reckons that a true scholar ought to read them in the original.”
“That woman.” The count shook his head. “She’s attractive, but rather intense for my liking. And being in debt to her makes me uncomfortable.”
They would be ready to go as soon as the count finished rounding up those of his troops still in Allaux. Natalya Maxima had kept paying them while he recovered, so he only had to retrieve them from the various taverns and inns they’d scattered to. Some had sold or gambled away their equipment, but Natalya advanced the count enough funds to buy everything new. It seemed the Galladian king had unbelievable wealth, and let Natalya spend as much of it as she wanted.
Anton piled all of his books on a table in his room and resolved never to open them again. With only a day of school left, what could Father Bertrand do if he hadn’t learned his lessons? Besides, he needed to get Skandar and his equipment ready to go.
The count had decided to leave Galladium and strike out across Kronland, hoping to join King Lennart of Estenor when he invaded. “I’m sure he’ll land in the north somewhere, secure Helvundala and Terragand, then work his way west to take on Mattila,” he told Anton. “Everyone says King Lennart is a far more serious character than Arryk ever was.”
Anton pulled a face. King Arryk had impressed everyone when he first invaded too, and that had ended in disaster. But Anton did wonder about this Estenorian king. Maybe he was the fellow all the priests hoped for. Though Anton didn’t care about that, he would enjoy being on the winning side for once.
As excited as he was to leave, Anton still hated saying goodbye. He started with Natalya Maxima, much as she intimidated him. She visited his class every day on her way to the garden, and this time he ran after her. A priest and her secretary accompanied her, but she turned to Anton when she saw him following her. “Walk with me for a moment, Anton,” she said in her soft, husky voice, with a smile both warm and mysterious.
A flush spread across Anton’s face, while he forgot what he wanted to say. “I, uh—” he began.
“Come,” Natalya said, taking a seat on a stone bench in the garden, and patting the spot next to her. “I’ll catch up to the two of you in a moment,” she told the others.
Anton sat, not feeling much better, especially now he was alone with her.
Natalya turned to him, her smile more gentle this time. “Now,” she said. “What is it?”
“I’m leaving,” Anton finally choked out. “But I just, I just wanted. Um.”
“I thought you might go with Count Orland,” she said, her green eyes serious.
Anton had never been alone with her, or so close. She smelled like a heavenly mixture of flowers and spices. It was hard to think. “Um, yes. I.” He took a deep breath and looked away, trying to gather himself. “Yes. I’m going with the count.” He turned back to her, and now it was better. “I wanted to thank you for everything. For taking such good care of the count, and keeping his army together, and letting me go to school, even though you forced me to learn the Ancient Tongue, and made me study with Father Bertrand. Everything.” By now he saw Natalya was trying not to laugh, so he stopped talking.
She took both of Anton’s hands in hers. He felt shaky.
“You are most welcome,” she said. “You and Count Orland have done our cause a great service, so of course, we took care of you. I will be sorry to lose you, though I won’t miss the count.” She frowned slightly, and continued. “If ever a man belonged on the battlefield and nowhere else, it is he.” She sighed and let go Anton’s hands. “I had hoped to have more time with you, because my greatest fear for you is that you turn out like him.”
Anton bristled. He wanted to say the count was a good person, but realized that wasn’t exactly true.
“I’m sorry.” Natalya’s voice was still soft. “I understand he is like family to you, and you have been so loyal to him. That doesn’t mean he is someone you should strive to be like. I realize you like fighting, but there is so much more to life. I hope you come to enjoy other things as well. Please know you are always welcome in Allaux, should you need a safe place.”
“Thank you,” Anton said, and meant it. When Natalya rose, he stood, and watched her until she joined her companions. He wasn’t in love with her exactly, but there was no question his insides felt very strange. He stood there a moment longer, then remembered he needed to say goodbye to Maryna and Devyn, so went back to the schoolroom as they were letting out.
“Father Bertrand was angry that you walked out, but I told him he should be kind, since you were leaving,” Maryna said.
“And then he said you were—” Devyn began, rather loudly.
“Hush, Devyn,” Maryna said. “The father’s words were rude and shouldn’t be repeated. All the same,” she turned to Anton, “you should say goodbye to him.”
Anton didn’t want to, but he hated saying no to Maryna, so he delivered a brief, formal farewell to his teacher and other classmates before rejoining Maryna and Devyn.
“You’ll have supper with us tonight,” Maryna said. “I’ve already told my governess and she’s arranged it.”
Anton knew the governess would hate the idea, since she didn’t hold with young duchesses and dukes associating with commoners like himself. But he also knew Maryna could be forceful, and looked forward to seeing the look on the governess’s face when he showed up. “That’s very kind,” he said.
“Not at all.” Maryna turned to him. “I want to do more, but I can’t think what. We’ll miss you terribly.”
“I’ll miss you too,” Anton said, thinking he was always saying goodbye to these two. He wanted to add that they’d see each other again soon, but had a hunch that might be a lie.
Teodora
In spite of feeling like a great weight pressed down on her without ceasing, Teodora pushed herself hard daily. She was up well before dawn, even though it took two sturdy maids to pull her out of bed when her mind and limbs protested being awakened too early. She breakfasted while being dressed, then met Count Solteszy in her private study for a good three hours of work before it was time to see petitioners. Most days, they were joined by the Countess Biaram, who’d proven herself an industrious gatherer of intelligence.
The autumn mornings were cool now, so the heavy drapes remained drawn, and a fire crackled in the hearth while Teodora and her advisers sipped coffee brewed in the Zastwar style. It was far too strong to taste good, but there was nothing better to shock mind and body into wakefulness.
Teodora shuffled through the correspondence on the table. No new messages, though more might trickle in throughout the day. She had heard nothing further from Mattila, and no one could say exactly what Lennart was up to either.
A thorough search encompassing southern Kronland had turned up no sign of Elektra. Teodora couldn’t imagine what might have happened to her, but ordered her troops to keep looking.
Ensden had marched across Lantura and Oltena without meeting opposition, and another month would find him deep inside Terragand.
But unease plagued Teodora as long as Mattila lurked like a spider, just over the border in Brandana. The usual lack of money didn’t help. Ensden’s army would live off the land, but only until winter. Teodora needed to raise funds for him to buy food, fodder, and supplies once the weather turned cold. She also had an idea for getting rid of Mattila, but that would require even greater amounts of coin.
“Any response to your letter to Natalya?” Biaram asked. They had sent a message a month before, asking for a loan in exchange for ceding the contested provinces.
“Nothing definitive,” Teodora said, though the thought angered her. “She says they have little cash to spare right now. Something about a peasant revolt and trouble on the Maladene border. I’m sure that’s just an excuse.” Teodora drummed her fingers on the
table. “I need a more reliable source of funds. I must get rid of Mattila, and the only way I can is to remove her from command, while bringing her army under my authority.”
“You have the legal right to do so,” Solteszy said, rubbing his eyes. He’d probably had no more sleep than Teodora. “But if you do it, you must be prepared to provide those officers with a firm incentive. Some are personally loyal to Mattila, but most work for pay. If you take over and offer them real coin instead of the promise of plunder, it can be done.”
“I must do it soon,” Teodora said. “Where will I get the money?”
“Can you make friends with Queen Beatryz again?” Countess Biaram asked hesitantly, as though she expected Teodora to overrule her.
“How?” Teodora glared at the countess. “She’s angry with me over Barela, and I can hardly bring him back to life.” She hated so much as mentioning his name, but there was no question his memory now stood between her and what she needed. Teodora clenched her skirts in her fists. She would not let him get the better of her, even in death. “There must be another way.”
There was silence for a moment, interrupted only by the shuffling of Solteszy’s papers. Teodora ground her teeth. “Well?” It was Solteszy’s job to come up with good ideas. She stared at him, waiting.
He leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “You can ask for an early payment of reparations from Norovaea.”
The first payment wasn’t due for almost a year. “What if Arryk says no?” Teodora hated asking for anything, especially from rulers who somehow thought they were equal to her.
Solteszy shrugged. “He likely will. Perhaps you can offer an incentive. A reduction in the total amount or a lower rate of interest, perhaps?”
“I shouldn’t have to make concessions to get my money.” Teodora pondered for a moment, then smiled. “That’s what a hostage is for, isn’t it?”
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 104