The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “Stop that,” Teodora snapped. “He would say those things. He’s a Roussay, and they’re forever trying to take advantage of any situation. You cannot trust him, and you will never see him again. I’ll keep him in the Arnfels for the rest of his life if that’s what it takes.”

  Zofya’s lip trembled. “But you must let him go, Mother. We’ve nearly finished a device which could—”

  “I don’t care about your stupid device,” Teodora screamed, unwilling to believe this was happening.

  Zofya jumped, but quickly composed herself.

  Teodora took a deep breath, but kept her tone sharp. “You will never see Prince Aksel again, is that clear? You can’t marry him, since you are engaged to Gauvain Brevard, and you will marry Gauvain unless the treaty is broken.”

  Zofya’s eyes lit up. “What might break the treaty?”

  “Not you.” Teodora fixed her sternest gaze on her daughter. She was pleased that Zofya wasn’t easily intimidated, but it was an unhelpful trait right now. “You will do nothing to jeopardize it, or you will be punished. Severely.”

  “I don’t care about that. I don’t care what you do to me. I will marry Aksel and you can’t stop me.” Even though tears glittered in Zofya’s eyes, her lip had a petulant thrust to it.

  “You can’t marry him if he’s dead.” Teodora let a smile spread over her face as Zofya’s eyes widened in alarm. “He is a prisoner after all, and if his brother doesn’t cooperate with me, I’ll be forced to kill him.” This wasn’t quite true, but Zofya didn’t know that.

  Zofya leapt out of her chair. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “I would. I’m the empress and can do whatever I want.”

  “You’re horrible.” The tears finally spilled over. “I hate you.”

  “I don’t care.” Teodora shrugged. “I must do what’s right for the empire. You’ll understand all of this once you’re Queen of Galladium.”

  “I don’t want to be a queen anymore.” Zofya wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I want to marry Aksel, and I’m sure he wants to marry me too.”

  “Has he proposed?” Teodora frowned. That would be a severe breach in hostage etiquette, though she wouldn’t put it past a Roussay overstepping his bounds just as his older siblings liked to.

  “No.” Zofya sniffled, though she was clearly attempting to stop crying. “But he looks at me in that way. Oh, you wouldn’t understand, Mother. I’m sure no man has ever loved you, or ever looked at you as if he—”

  “Shut up!” Teodora shrieked, leaping out of her chair and striding toward Zofya, who quickly jumped up and ran to the other side of the room. Teodora advanced on her. “Shut up, you stupid, stupid girl.” She bulled forward until Zofya was backed up against a wall. She slapped her hard.

  Zofya gasped, but didn’t cry out. A bright red mark bloomed on her pale cheek, though she never stopped staring at Teodora with furious dark eyes.

  Teodora backed up. “Get out,” she said, pointing to the door.

  Zofya edged toward it, her eyes still fixed on Teodora’s face.

  “Get out and go back to the temple. You are confined to your room until I give the order.”

  Zofya had reached the doorway and turned to face Teodora. “I’ll go. But I’m telling you, Mother. If you hurt Aksel in any way, I’ll kill you. I swear it on Holy Vica.” Her eyes blazed over the welt forming on her cheek, then she turned on her heel and was gone.

  Teodora slumped into a nearby chair, needing time to pull herself together. It had been a while since anyone had defied her to her face, and that it should be her own daughter was galling. Even worse, it was as though the girl had known exactly how to hurt her, to make her want to protest that no, someone once really had looked at her that way and meant it.

  A pain pierced Teodora’s chest and she slumped back in her chair, breathing hard. She wondered if she needed to send for her doctor. If her work didn’t kill her, her difficult children might.

  But the pain went away after a time, and her breath came easier. A maid appeared and asked her if she needed anything before retiring, and Teodora sent her for a cup of tea made from herbs Livilla had given her. Finally left alone with the steaming, foul-smelling mug, Teodora sat in front of the fire. She was so tired, but knew she would get no sleep without this drink; it had been years since she’d fallen asleep on her own, no matter how exhausted she was.

  She decided she’d talk to Aksel herself soon. If he had tender feelings for her daughter, perhaps she could find a way to use that to her advantage.

  Anton

  Even though everyone relaxed a little after crossing the river, Anton was still uneasy. This part of Brandana was recently devastated by war, and the sight of burned farms and dead bodies reminded him of Daciana Tomescu’s work. He was almost positive he’d killed her, but she was impossible to forget. He wished he could be certain she was dead, though everyone else seemed to think she was.

  This was supposed to be friendly territory, since Brandana’s Princess Floreta was one of the rebellious Kronlanders, but no one knew where she was, or who really ruled here. Maybe no one did. And everyone seemed very frightened of Brynhild Mattila’s army. It had come through here earlier in the year while pursuing King Arryk, and had left destruction wherever it passed. Every now and then, Anton spotted farmers in the distance, harvesting the little food that had grown this year, but they always disappeared as soon as the count’s forces drew closer. Anton didn’t blame them.

  The count was sure they would be safer once they crossed into Terragand. Mattila will want to work her way south, rather than east,” he told Anton. “She’ll take her time and make sure the area is subdued. Technically, Terragand belongs to Duke Evard Bernotas, but it’s hard to say where he is. Even if he’s rebuilt his castle, I doubt he’ll be a threat.”

  Anton agreed. They’d burned Evard’s castle at Emberg years ago, and had easily beaten the duke in battle. They could do it again without too much trouble.

  “Otherwise though, Terragand is friendly.” The count continued. “Friends of Prince Kendryk’s hold Birkenfels castle, my father is in Kaltental, and the towns follow Edric Maximus.”

  “Why doesn’t Mattila try to conquer Terragand with Duke Evard?” Anton asked.

  The count smirked. “Because the empress wants her to, and Mattila hates doing anything the empress wants.”

  “That ought to make her mad,” Anton said, glad about anything that made life difficult for Teodora.

  “I’m sure she is,” the count said. “Right now I imagine she’s mad about a lot of things. But it’s good for us that she and Mattila don’t get along. We can get across Kronland and meet Lennart without being stopped.”

  But the count was wrong about that. When they passed the last crossroads before Terragand, they found their way blocked. “It’s Mattila,” the scout said. “Imperial and Moraltan standard flying everywhere; I’d stake my life on it.”

  The count swore. “What’s she doing this far north? All the news we heard said she was going south.”

  “No idea,” the scout said, and got out of the way. That was always smart when the count got angry.

  “What’ll we do?” Anton asked.

  “Run,” the count said. “We’re not strong enough to face several thousand infantry supported by artillery. I can’t get through or around that. We must head north, sail around to Kaltental if we have to.” He gave the order to change direction, and they returned to the crossroads, heading north from there.

  Just north of the crossroads, an even larger force blocked their path. The count fumed. “I’d head south, but I’ll bet she’s got troops there too. She’s got a big enough army, she can put them everywhere.”

  “We’ll have to break through,” one officer said.

  “We can’t.” The count slammed his hand down on the little table they all sat around. They’d been poring over a map for the past quarter hour, hoping to find a path they’d overlooked. “I only have two thousand and she’s posted guns at e
very position. They’ll make mincemeat of our horses and I won’t have it. We must retreat west.”

  That meant heading back to the river. Anton’s stomach roiled, but he got Skandar ready to go anyway.

  The count sent scouts to make sure no one blocked the western road, and they went quickly. The baggage train fell far behind, but Anton already knew the count would sacrifice it if he had to. This time he put most of his money in Cid and Skandar’s saddlebags. “If we don’t make it,” he told Anton, “get back across the river and head for Galladium. Natalya Maxima will take care of you.”

  Anton shook his head. He didn’t want to think about crossing that river in a fight, even over a real bridge. “We’ll make it,” he muttered, mostly to himself, as if saying it would make him believe it.

  They reached the river by the following midday, but Mattila’s troops waited for them there too. They were surrounded. The count looked grim, but determined as always. “The force protecting the bridge is smaller, so we ought to be able to break through.”

  “They have guns guarding the approach,” an officer said, looking pale.

  “We’ll have to ride into them.” The count laughed, same as always. “If we’re fast, we’ll overrun their position before they can get off a second volley. What else can we do?”

  Elektra

  As they neared Mattila’s headquarters, Elektra became increasingly nervous. The general had always been dismissive of her and anything she said, so she worried about not being taken seriously this time. Still, it had to be done, and was the only way she’d finally be free of these crazed rebels.

  “You’re sure she’ll grant you an audience?” Braeden asked as he readied her horse.

  “She will, as soon as she recognizes me.” She looked like a half-starved ragamuffin, but was certain others around the general would recognize her. That was one reason she’d insisted on riding into camp; she’d make a better impression.

  Braeden helped her onto the horse. “We’ll be here until nightfall. If there’s no sign of you or a message, we’ll disappear, and you’ll never hear from us again.”

  Elektra looked down at him. “I’ll send someone to signal you with a red flag.” Braeden stared at her with that look he had. “Oh come now, I swore on the Goddess I wouldn’t betray you, and I won’t.”

  “Good girl,” Braeden said. “Now off with you,” and he swatted her horse’s rump without so much as a “Your Grace.”

  Elektra was glad to be rid of him. For good, if all went as she hoped.

  Mattila’s camp, covering a large plain on the west side of the River Lera, was vast, but Elektra knew how to get in. She showed the sentries she was alone and unarmed, saying she had an important message for the general. “I was robbed on the way,” she said by way of explaining her appearance. “But the message is safe.”

  After that, it was a matter of asking her way through to the general’s tent. Once she came near, a clerk on the general’s staff recognized her. He ran off and disappeared, but a few minutes later, an officer she knew approached her. She dismounted, and Major Bonacci swept his hat off into a bow. “Your Grace, it is good to see you. Are you well? Unhurt?”

  “Yes.” It was all she could do to keep from dissolving into relieved, hysterical laughter. “I’m well enough, though—” She paused, looking down at her atrocious clothing, and the major understood right away.

  “Come,” he said. “You must be hungry and anxious to make yourself presentable for the general.” He offered his arm, and escorted her to a nearby tent quickly being rearranged for her. “I have ordered food and a bath,” the major said, “and will send for some appropriate clothing. Ah, here is a maid to help you.”

  “Thank you,” Elektra said, relieved to be amongst civilized folk again.

  Two hours later, she’d had three helpings of a delicious meal, some excellent wine to clear her head, a bath, and wore the uniform of a lieutenant of the guard. Major Bonacci waited for her outside the tent. “The general is anxious to see you,” he said. “We were all worried that you’d been lost for good when so many months went by without word.”

  “I’ve had quite an adventure,” Elektra said with a smile. She’d forgotten how attractive Bonacci was. So nice to look at after seeing no one but Braeden with his enormous beard—grown back after a few weeks on the road—and Karil’s coarse peasant features for so long.

  Major Bonacci showed her into the tent, and stepped back outside. The general was alone, scribbling something at a small table. She stood when she saw Elektra, crossed the tent in two steps and swept her into a rib-crushing hug. Elektra gasped, from both surprise at the unexpected affection and the wind suddenly forced out of her.

  “Thank the gods, you’re alive, Your Grace,” Mattila said, after letting her go. “I found out soon enough that Livilla had nabbed you in Norovaea, but some months ago she sent word you’d been captured by brigands. And on top of that, the imperial guards could not find you, the incompetent louts.”

  “It’s a long story,” Elektra said, as the general led her to a camp chair, poured wine into a cup and put it into her hand. “But first, I’ve brought along someone you might find interesting.”

  “Your rescuer?”

  “Not precisely.” She decided to skip the story for now, and get to the important part. “Not more than a league from here, hidden in the woods, is Braeden Terris of the Sanova Hussars, and a boy who escaped from the Arnfels with Prince Kendryk.”

  “Extraordinary,” Mattila said, regarding Elektra with approval. It was as though the dour general had turned into another person. “I always knew you’d do great things, Your Grace. How did you manage this?”

  “By promising to help them with a pointless scheme they’d hatched. I assured them you’d want to help, but that was just so they’d bring me to you.”

  “Marvelous.” Mattila rose, ducked her head out of the tent, and shouted at someone. Then she returned. “Braeden Terris has a price on his head; a big one. I’m sure your mother will be more than pleased to pay it out to you, though I’d advise sharing a little with those I send to bring him in. Ah, here she is.”

  The tent-flap burst open once again and a young red-haired woman strode in, then stopped and saluted the general.

  “Captain Dura,” the general said. “This is the Archduchess Elektra. She has delivered the traitor Braeden Terris to us.”

  The captain bowed to Elektra, but not quickly enough to hide the shock on her face. “Are you certain, Your Grace?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” Elektra said. “And I can tell you where he is, and how to get him.”

  “I thought you’d want to do it, Captain,” Mattila said, “After everything he put you through.”

  Captain Dura’s green eyes flashed, then she swallowed hard and said, “You’re right. Just tell me where he is and I’ll bring him in, dead or alive.”

  Braeden

  As soon as Elektra disappeared, Braeden found a thicket to hide in, and tried not to worry. Time crept by, but after a few hours, there was a crashing noise that sounded like horses coming down the forest path.

  He pulled out a pistol and told Karil, “Wait behind that tree, and don’t come out until I give the signal. If you hear anything strange at all, run east and get across the border into Terragand. Make your way to Birkenfels and tell the commander there you’re a friend to Prince Kendryk. He’ll help you.”

  “I’m not running away,” Karil whispered. “Especially not if that idiot Elektra has betrayed us. I would never give her the satisfaction.”

  “She’ll be plenty satisfied with your head on the block.” Braeden had no more time to argue. He saw the glint of metal and heard the snort of a horse. He waited until he spotted a waving red flag, then stepped into a small clearing.

  His knees nearly buckled from the shock of seeing Franca Dura jump off her horse, stride into the clearing, and fling the red flag at his feet. Something in the way she did that told him she didn’t come in peace.

 
; Braeden raised his pistol, but knew he wouldn’t fire. If he didn’t have the stomach to kill Elektra Inferrara, there was no way he’d kill Franca.

  “So it really is you,” she said, her tone hard and angry. “You can put down the pistol. I’m here to bring you back to Mattila.”

  Braeden lowered the pistol. “To negotiate with her?”

  Franca barked a harsh laugh. “To go to your death. The empress put a large price on your head, and Mattila is all too happy to award it to the archduchess, the sniveling little wretch.”

  “I knew I couldn’t trust her.” Braeden shook his head. “So that’s it, then.” He found he was glad it was Franca, of all people. He hoped that Karil stayed hidden. “I’d rather you finished me off now. I have no desire to meet Mattila as her prisoner.”

  “You don’t even know, do you?” Franca shouted. The sudden noise sent a flock of birds fluttering out of a nearby bush. “What you did to us. You destroyed the Sanova Hussars.”

  “I don’t understand,”Braeden said. Franca still wore the usual hussar armor, and even had a captain’s sash wrapped around her waist.

  “I don’t suppose you would, with that thick head you have.” Her eyes flashed angrily and Braeden stepped back. “You compromised the honor of the whole unit. When Teodora discovered you were part of the conspiracy to free Prince Kendryk, she assumed all of us were involved, from Novitny on down.”

  Braeden stared at her. It had never occurred to him that anyone would think he wasn’t working on his own.

  “She threw Novitny into the Arnfels and disbanded the unit in disgrace.”

  “Oh gods,” Braeden said, sinking to his knees. “Please kill me right now. I never wanted anything like that to happen.”

  Franca took a step in his direction, then stood over him, staring down her nose forbiddingly. “Novitny is fine. Queen Ottilya made a fuss, and Teodora let him out on the condition he no longer work in her territory. He’s gone to Sanova with several officers. Queen Ottilya sent them to mind the border with Briansk.”