The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “She is,” Livilla nodded. “Someone found her floating in the harbor after Prince Kendryk’s escape. They took her to the temple in Capo, where she lay near death for many months. It’s only been in recent weeks she’s been able to remember who she was, and the priest sent us word.”

  “Is she there? I must go to her.” Teodora jumped up again.

  “Yes, she is still there,” Livilla said. “The priest in Capo doesn’t wish to move her yet. She had many injuries, and not all have healed. He said …” Livilla trailed off, then stood and took Teodora’s hand. “He said she’d been shot in the head and badly burned. It’s possible we will not recognize her.”

  “Oh gods.” Teodora yanked her hand out of Livilla’s grasp and turned away. “I don’t believe that. I will always recognize her. I must go to her right away. Surely we can help her somehow.”

  “Perhaps we can,” Livilla said. “I don’t know what kind of care she has had there. I think it’s best if you come along, in case certain decisions have to be made.”

  “What kinds of decisions?” Teodora forced herself to look Livilla in the eye as dread twisted in the pit of her belly.

  “I don’t know yet. But we must be prepared for anything.” Livilla put her hands on Teodora’s shoulders. “You’ve heard the rumors about Daciana, that she can’t be killed.”

  “Of course. I thought she started those, and I did my best to help them along.” Teodora caught Livilla’s eye. “Oh gods, are you saying it’s true?”

  “It’s possible. In my studies I’ve come across a few such cases, and there’s no explanation except for intervention from the Mother herself. Those few were unable to die, but sometimes their wounds were so terrible, it would have been better …” Livilla paused, her eyes full of sympathy. “There is something I might do in that case, but I will need both your help and permission to do it.”

  “I can’t give you permission,” Teodora whispered, blinking back tears. “Not until I see.”

  “I understand,” Livilla said. “Let’s go right away.”

  Gwynneth

  “I hadn’t expected to see you in the middle of the day.” Gwynneth did her best to look as if she welcomed an unexpected visit from Natalya, though dread washed over her. Natalya never paid social calls anymore.

  “I wanted to see my daughter.” Natalya smiled, though her eyes were cold. “And it might be nice for us to catch up.”

  “Certainly. We haven’t seen enough of each other lately,” Gwynneth said, leading the way to a group of chairs near the window in her sitting room. “Do you want me to send for Joslyn?”

  “Not right now.” Natalya said shortly. “I understand her father visits every day, or so I’ve heard.” She looked directly at Gwynneth, who had to force down a shudder.

  “He does.” Gwynneth smiled. “He’s very devoted.”

  “Hmph. To her at least.” Though she might have been mistaken, Gwynneth thought she saw a shadow pass over Natalya’s eyes.

  “And to you too,” Gwynneth said softly. “He still loves you very much. I’m sure he always will.”

  “Ridiculous.” Natalya shook her head, then looked at Gwynneth, her eyes boring into hers. “We need to talk.”

  “We do.” Gwynneth reminded herself she’d done nothing wrong, though she she cursed the color flooding to her cheeks.

  “The king comes here every day. That is a fact.”

  “It is,” Gwynneth said. “Did you expect anything less from him?”

  “I had hoped for better sense, but he always disappoints.” Natalya gave a disdainful sniff. “I suppose it’s natural he’d spend time with Joslyn, but I have it on good authority he spends a great deal of time closeted with you.”

  Gwynneth stared straight back at Natalya, hoping she appeared calm even as her heart thumped wildly. She should have known Natalya would place spies in her house, but pushed her indignation down. “Closeted? That sounds rather sinister. I offer the king refreshment whenever he comes to visit, not that I need to justify myself to you.” So much for keeping the indignation at bay. Now she’d done it, she added a head toss for good measure.

  To her surprise, Natalya laughed. “You’re right, of course, and I have no right to spy on you.”

  “You spy on everyone.” Gwynneth continued her challenging stare. Maybe it was better to have it out.

  “True.” Natalya looked amused. “I’m afraid I can’t help myself.” Then she sighed. “I don’t mind if you and the king are on good terms. He needs a friend he can count on. And if you’re carrying on with him, you’re doing it discreetly. I can’t begrudge him a bit of—”

  “You think the king and I are having an affair?” Gwynneth had trouble keeping her voice down. On one hand, she was relieved, but on the other, she wished she could be above suspicion, even all these years later. Now she regretted having confided in Natalya about Arian Orland one evening after too many glasses of wine.

  “I don’t mind.” Natalya shrugged. “I won’t lie; I’m a little offended he got over me so quickly, but I’m sure it’s for the best.”

  Gwynneth chewed on her lip, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but the king and I are just friends.” That was true. “We spend all of our time talking about the children.” That was a lie, though the king had become fond of Gwynneth’s children.

  “Hm.” Natalya looked at her carefully. “I suppose that makes sense. It makes me uncomfortable, knowing that the two people I care about most are spending so much time alone without me. Especially since neither one of you likes what I’m doing.”

  Gwynneth sighed. “It’s true, we don’t like what you’re doing. But you will do it anyway, so you can’t blame us for commiserating about how difficult you are.” She smiled a bit at this last, hoping to lessen the sting of her words.

  “I suppose not,” Natalya said dryly. “Just so long as you’re not plotting against me. That would be terrible.” The look she gave Gwynneth was sad, and so far from threatening, that Gwynneth softened.

  “It would be,” she said firmly. “But I don’t wish to become involved in Galladian politics. I’m happy to listen to any concerns the king might have, but, I always advise him to follow your lead.”

  “The king has concerns, does he?” Natalya’s eyes hardened again. “Perhaps you could tell me about them.”

  Gwynneth cursed her stupidity. “I doubt it’s anything you don’t already know about.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that.” Natalya leaned forward. “Why don’t you tell me, and I’ll let you know.”

  For the first time, Gwynneth was afraid, though fear mingled with anger. Natalya was putting her into an impossible situation. “I won’t pass on things the king has told me in confidence,” she said, aware of how lame that sounded.

  Natalya stood abruptly. “Gwynneth,” she said. “You must decide. Are you loyal to the king or to me?”

  “Both.” Gwynneth stood and faced her. “Why can’t I be loyal to both of you?” To her chagrin, her voice wobbled a little.

  “That’s impossible.” Natalya shook her head. “You will choose.” She walked to the door. “And you’d better do it soon.”

  The anger boiled over. “Are you threatening me, Natalya? Really?” Gwynneth followed her to the door. “After everything we’ve been through?”

  “What kind of monster do you take me for?” Natalya’s voice sharpened. “I need to be assured of your loyalty in these treacherous times. And if you’re not loyal? Well, I’ll be hurt, but I won’t do anything to you except perhaps confide in you less.”

  “You don’t confide in me at all,” Gwynneth whispered, letting tears wet her eyes. “Not anymore.”

  “That’s because you so obviously disapprove of what I’m doing. I suggest you spend more time praying and reading the Scrolls, and less time coddling the king. It’ll do both of you good.”

  Natalya swept out of the room, the door banging shut behind her.

  Gwynneth sat back down, her legs
shaking. Perhaps it was time to leave Galladium, though she didn’t know where to go. She offered a quick prayer that Lennart and Kendryk would soon secure Terragand so she could go home.

  Anton

  Anton got a few days to recover before the army marched out again. As far as everyone knew, Tora Isenberg had sailed for Ummarvik, where rumor said she planned to meet a large army of mercenaries from Anglana.

  “We were lucky they didn’t reach her before we did,” the sergeant said as they all sat around the fire one evening. “It might have been a much fairer fight.”

  Anton shuddered at the idea of it being even worse than it had been. He rested with his back against a log, Susanna in his lap, her arms wound tightly around his neck, her head nestled under his chin. Since he’d been hurt, she’d been very clingy, though he didn’t mind too much.

  “Won’t she attack us from there, once she regroups?” someone asked.

  “Don’t know.” The sergeant shrugged. “Not our problem. We’ll leave a regiment behind to guard the beach in case she comes back, but we’re making for Kaltental. Lennart is finally marching out of Helvundala, and we want to defeat his general who’s besieging the city. Hopefully we can take him out before Lennart arrives. Ensden is using everything he has to defend Kaltental. We’ll have a bit of a march, since we need to dodge unfriendly territory. Duke Orland still holds the lands near the river, and we’ll steer clear of him.”

  “Why don’t we clean him up while we’re at it?” someone else asked.

  “He’s got his troops scattered through the woods along the river, and it’ll take too long to root them out. Easier to mop him up after Kaltental is secure.”

  Anton shivered, and Susanna squeezed him a little harder. “Any relation to your count?” she whispered.

  “The duke’s his father.” Anton remembered all of the shouting whenever the count visited. “The father is as fierce as his son was, so we’re better off staying clear.”

  “Good.” Susanna snuggled closer into his arms.

  After that, they marched a little each day, but took their time so the wounded could catch up. Fortunately, Anton was able to walk just fine, though his face still hurt if he talked too much, or ate anything that required much chewing. Susanna fed him porridge diligently, and Anton was getting sick of it, even though she added all kinds of good things like fruit and honey to make it taste better.

  It occurred to Anton that he’d never had a chance to fight at the beach, but now he wasn’t sure he wanted to. In fact, it seemed infantry fighting was no good at all. He needed to figure out a way of getting back into the cavalry.

  But when he told Susanna, she didn’t agree. “It won’t make any difference,” she said. “You might still be stuck somewhere in a crowd of troops, not able to move while those guns fired at you. And as long as you’re facing Lennart or his generals, it won’t get better,” she added gravely.

  “What do you mean?” Anton asked.

  “I overheard officers talking the other day when I was selling the colonel material for a new cloak. They said that Lennart’s army has hundreds upon hundreds of those guns, like the ones you saw on the beach.”

  “They seemed small once I got close to them,” Anton said.

  “They are small, according to the colonel. But there are a lot of them, they fire fast, and they’re easy to move. You will run into them at every battle most like.”

  “I’d rather not think about that,” Anton said, then was silent as Susanna cleaned his wound and put on a fresh dressing. In a few more days he could leave it off altogether. “That’s going to leave a huge scar, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “I think so.” Her eyes were soft as she finished wrapping the bandage around his head. She touched it gently. “But it’ll make you look ever so dashing, don’t you think?”

  “I wish,” Anton grumbled. He hoped she was right, but what worried him more than the scar, was getting his courage back before the next battle. He hated to admit it, but for the first time since he’d started fighting, he was afraid.

  Teodora

  Teodora left Atlona quietly. Until she knew exactly what was going on, she didn’t want it known that Daciana might still be alive. She told Count Solteszy she had urgent business in the countryside, and to take charge until she returned. He merely raised his eyebrows and agreed, asking no further questions.

  “If I’m needed, send a message to the temple in Capo. They will know how to find me,” she said, hoping she would return before Solteszy had to deal with any crisis. If all went well, she’d be back with Daciana in a few days. Now she knew her friend was alive, she refused to believe anything but that she would nurse her back to health, while keeping her close for as long as it took.

  Teodora and Livilla rode south on horseback, a contingent of guards at their heels. Teodora had ordered them to remove the imperial livery and dress as ordinary soldiers. She needed protection, but preferred not to be recognized. The road to Capo was not long, for which Teodora was grateful, though as they neared the port, she was sick with fear at what she might find.

  Livilla led the way to the temple, a modest building in an unpleasant part of town, near the harbor. The pungent odor of fish, smoke, and varied types of excrement hung in the still air, and reminded Teodora of a military camp.

  Even though Livilla had sent word ahead, the priest was excited and nervous at the sight of Teodora. A small, round man with a rosy face, he had prepared a speech, one Teodora didn’t have time to listen to.

  “Yes, yes. That’s all very well.” She flapped her hands at him as he tripped over flowery words. “Now please, take me to her.”

  The priest hesitated, but Livilla nodded and he led them down a dark stone corridor, lit only by the lamp he carried. After the light and bustle of the harbor, it was like walking into a tomb. A silly thought, no doubt brought on by the foreboding which haunted her since she’d received Livilla’s message, Teodora did her best to shake it off. She had to be strong now, for herself, but most of all for Daciana.

  The priest fumbled with a key, then turned it in a huge lock hanging on the door.

  “Why is she locked in?” Teodora demanded.

  He turned to her, looking apologetic. “It’s for her own protection, Your Highness. She’s been overcome by madness a few times, and once ran into the street, raving. The townspeople set upon her, certain she was a demon, and it was all I could do to save her from them.”

  “Gods,” Teodora murmured, then squared her shoulders as the door swung open. Dim light came from a window, though there were bars across it. It didn’t matter. She’d soon have her out of here.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The priest left, the door falling shut behind him. Livilla stood at her elbow. Someone sat at a table facing the window, her back to Teodora.

  Teodora swallowed hard. “Daciana?”

  A woman turned to her, a shock of curly black hair surrounding a face that was familiar, and yet not quite.

  Teodora breathed out, relieved. Daciana looked the same, though her hair was much shorter. But the dark eyes staring back at Teodora were blank and strange.

  “It’s me,” Teodora said, trying to keep her tone light. “And the Maxima. We’ve come to take you home.”

  “Home?” Daciana rasped. “I have no home.”

  “You’ll come to Atlona with me. Stay as long as you like, until you’re well.”

  “Who are you?”

  The question, combined with the complete lack of recognition in the eyes struck Teodora like a punch to the face. She gasped for breath, conscious only of Livilla’s hand on her elbow, leading her aside and pushing her to sit down on a little cot.

  While Teodora swallowed down the bile rising in her throat, Livilla spoke. “I am the Maxima of Olvisya,” she said, “and this is Empress Teodora, your oldest and best friend.”

  “I have no friends,” Daciana said.

  “Then why did you send for me?” Teodora finally forced the words out.


  Daciana shrugged. “I didn’t. No doubt it was that priest fellow. He’s all right, for a religious sort, though I’m not sure I can put up with a Maxima.” She smiled at Livilla, her fangs showing.

  Teodora shuddered, hoping she hadn’t made a terrible mistake in coming here unguarded. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to stand. “You will,” she said, taking a few steps forward, so she stood between Daciana and Livilla. “We’re here to help you,” she added, doing her best to soften her voice.

  “No one can help me.” Daciana’s voice dropped to a whisper. She turned toward the window, and raised her arm so the sleeve of her robe fell back.

  Teodora gasped. The light revealed terrible scarring as far up the arm as she could see.

  “That’s not all.” Daciana stood, unfastened the robe, and dropped it to the floor.

  Teodora barely stopped the whimper that threatened to burst out, while Livilla gasped behind her. Daciana took a step toward the window so the light fell across her emaciated body, revealing a web of angry pink and white scars from her neck down to her feet. When a sob caught in Teodora’s throat, Daciana laughed, and pulled her hair away from her face. Scars went up her cheek and puckered around her right eye. Just above that, a long, seamed scar left a jagged line on her forehead.

  “How did you survive?” A tear slid down Teodora’s cheek, and she didn’t try to stop it.

  “I shouldn’t have.” Daciana bent down, pulled up her robe, and covered herself again. “When the priest learned I was still alive, he nearly lost his mind. He worried I’d been possessed by evil spirits, and nearly killed himself saying prayers over me. I wished I was dead, but that wasn’t enough. I even tried it myself a few times.” She ran a finger across a long scar circling her throat. “Didn’t work.” She shrugged. “So here I am, no good to anyone, with pain that never ends.”