Lennart poured another glass before the lone candle burned out, and didn’t bother lighting another. He’d opened the window earlier and stared out at the patch of sky, dark blue, and growing lighter as a half-moon rose. That same moon should be visible in Tharvik, if at a different position. If the liquor hadn’t already clouded his mind, he would have done a quick calculation for the fun of it.
He thought of Raysa, so thin and frail. Perhaps the doctor had been humoring him when he told her she was strong enough to bear a child. He’d known for years now that folk told kings what they liked to hear. Lennart trembled with rage, imagining how he’d confront the doctor who’d lied to him, and imagined a suitable punishment. That didn’t help, so he took a long drink.
He slammed the glass back on the table. Dreaming about punishing some poor doctor was all very well, but in the end, this was all Lennart’s fault. He should have known from the moment he first saw Raysa that she wouldn’t survive bearing his child. But he’d been so selfish, so fixated on his goal. And to be honest, he’d taken one look at her, even as she trembled at the first sight of him, tears welling up in those beautiful eyes, and decided he wanted her. And then nothing would stop him from having her.
Furious with himself, Lennart threw the glass against the wall. It shattered loudly, and he hoped it wouldn’t bring a servant running. But now there was nothing left to drink. He laid his head on the table, trying to order his fuzzy thoughts into a prayer. Only the gods could forgive him for being a selfish ass, and only they could help Raysa. The right words wouldn’t come, but he hoped the gods understood anyway. “I’m doing your work,” he muttered. “Please help me. Help Raysa. Keep her safe, and our child too. I’ll do anything, even if it means leaving Kronland.”
Drunk as he was, he knew that wasn’t what the gods wanted. They wanted him to stay, to continue what he had started, and to finish it, no matter the cost. And at last he understood it. Long ago, he’d told Gwynneth that he’d do this, even if it meant his death, but now he saw that death right before his eyes. He watched a horse, a dappled gray, one he didn’t know, galloping across a battlefield, blood dripping from the empty saddle. He saw his soldiers weeping, even as they fought. And finally, his own body, limp and bloodied.
When Lennart opened his eyes, they were wet with tears. His head pounded, but seemed a little clearer. He got up unsteadily, and walked over to the window. A breeze came in, and he realized he was soaked with sweat. At first it felt good, but then he shivered, finally closing the window and turning away. He stood in the middle of the room, wondering if he should call a servant to bring him another glass. After that dream, he doubted he’d be able to sleep again anytime soon.
He jumped at a pounding on the door. “Come,” he called, his voice hoarse.
A young officer entered, his face weary and covered in dust from the road. “A message from Tharvik, Your Highness” he said, handing Lennart a small leather pouch.
Lennart grabbed it, but then stared at the man anxiously, hoping he could tell from his face what the news might be.
The officer’s face broke into a smile. “It’s a girl, Your Highness. The news was all over Tharvik when I left.”
Joy washed over Lennart, but he had to know one more thing. “The queen?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.
“She’s well.” The officer looked almost as happy as Lennart felt at those words. “If all goes as planned, she’ll appear at the temple tomorrow to have the Maximus name and bless the child.”
“Kataryna,” Lennart murmured, sinking back into the chair to open the message. He and Raysa had decided on the name before he left. Relieved as he was, his hands still shook as he opened the pouch. “Go to the kitchen and get a bite to eat,” he said, remembering the messenger still standing at attention. “Then get some rest. I’ll want you to take a message back to the queen in the morning.”
Once Lennart was alone again, he took his time reading the letter from Meldahl, explaining in the most business-like terms that, though the queen had labored long and with some difficulty, she was recovering well, and the baby was large and healthy.
A shorter message came from Raysa, her weariness clear in the script that was usually so neat, now wandering all over the page. “I am well, and our daughter is beautiful. I love you.”
Lennart folded it up after reading it at least five times, then closed his eyes. A shadow passed in front of them, leftover from his earlier dream. But it no longer frightened him the way it had while he dreamt it. For now, if the worst happened, his line was assured.
He opened his eyes again and whispered “Kataryna,” as a smile spread over his face.
Braeden
“You say there’s no threat from the south, and yet I’m certain there is.” Prince Benda slammed his mug onto the table, though the quaver in his voice gave him away.
“What have you heard?” Braeden asked. He didn’t blame the old prince for being nervous. His lands had taken a real beating during Arryk’s adventure in Kronland. Lantura was rich because of its size, and because it stretched from the Cesiano Sea on the west to Sanova on the east. Trade brought the kingdom a lot of money. But that also meant all sides needed to march across it in wartime, which they had, many times in the past several years.
“I’ve received word from a friend of mine in Tirilis,” the prince said, waving a servant over for more ale. Braeden’s mug was topped off whether he needed it or not. “An army crossed the Galwend mountains a week ago, flying the Inferrara banners. A fine army too, from the sound of it; infantry with all of the latest equipment. There’s a rumor it’s led by the Archduchess Elektra herself.”
Who was leading the army shouldn’t matter, but it did. Though Braeden still hated Teodora and wanted her dead, he wanted at least that much for Elektra. He understood why she’d betrayed him, but that didn’t mean he’d ever forgive it. Her actions had put his friends in the Sanova Hussars at risk, and had nearly cost him and Karil their lives. He’d welcome a confrontation, now that he thought about it. Hoping his face didn’t betray him, he said, “That’s interesting. I’m well-acquainted with the archduchess.”
“Not in a friendly way, I hope.” The prince scowled into his mug.
“I wouldn’t call it that.” Braeden had to chuckle. “In fact, I’d love to see her defeated. Dead, preferably.”
“So really not friendly.” The prince looked a little happier. “How would you like to lead a force against her?”
“It’s tempting,” Braeden admitted. “But I can’t take the time right now. I need to move on to Isenwald as soon as I can.”
“But you won’t go until you have my agreement to help Lennart.” The prince’s eye held a canny gleam.
Braeden sighed. “At least not until I’ve given it my best try.”
“How about this?” The dried-up old prince was becoming positively animated. “You lead an operation to thwart the Inferrara whelp, and once you’ve defeated her, I’ll agree to raise an army for you.”
“Maybe.” Braeden reckoned he shouldn’t commit to anything until the terms were completely clear. “What army can I use to do this? I’ve only brought fifty of my own soldiers.”
“You can have as many of mine as you want.” The prince smiled, revealing toothless gums.
“What’s the size of the enemy force?” Braeden wanted to be certain of victory.
“My scouts report a full-size regiment.”
The thought of that silly girl in charge of even that many made Braeden shake his head. He couldn’t imagine Elektra being much of a threat, though she might do well if she had competent officers under her. “Let me take a look at your troops.” He wanted to be sure they were in usable condition. He didn’t want to throw green or under-equipped soldiers against Elektra if he was to do the job right.
Prince Benda introduced him to his general, a seasoned, gouty old veteran. Braeden was familiar with the type, and reckoned if he lived a few years longer, he might end up looking similar.
/> The general was happy to have Braeden review his little army. “We lost most of it when Mattila defeated Arryk, but I’ve done my best to build it back up again. I’ve only got two thousand, but they’re well-trained, with many veterans among them.”
“The imperial regiment will likely number only a thousand, or fifteen hundred at the most,” the prince said.
“We’ll have more than enough to take them on. Which road are they taking?” Braeden asked.
“A less-traveled one. Seems they’re avoiding Kersenstadt.”
The others weren’t looking at him just then, so Braeden hoped his grimace went unnoticed. Pain still rushed over him whenever he heard the name of that city. He swallowed it down and said, “That means they’ll be coming through the woods before they reach the border.”
Prince Benda nodded. “It’ll be hard for them to know our numbers until they’re upon us.”
“That’s good,” Braeden said. “We can make them think we’re weaker than we are; encourage them to fight their way through. Elektra’s numbers are small enough I reckon she’ll try for a soft spot. We’ll give her one.” Braeden had an idea. “I need an officer of yours,” he said, turning to the general. “Someone brave, who’s willing to put up with a few hours of captivity.”
The general’s craggy face broke into a grin. “I have someone who’d be perfect for that kind of operation. She’s just come to us recently, but she’s always on the lookout for a bit of adventure.”
Braeden had prepared a stern, yet friendly look when the young woman appeared, then worried his heart might not handle the shock when he recognized Trisa Torresia.
“You’d better have a seat, sir,” she said, leading him over to a bench. She seemed just as surprised to see him, but at her age, she might be able to handle it better.
“Might we have a moment, Your Grace?” Braeden choked out. The prince and his entourage drifted to a discreet distance.
Braeden couldn’t think where to begin. He wanted to know how Trisa came to be here, but even more, hoped that her father—one of his oldest friends—hadn’t come to harm. Then he remembered something else. “You saved my life,” he finally said. “When you told Martinek where we were. He found us just in time.”
A grin spread across her face. “I gathered that, once I saw you. I heard you escaped, but were wounded.”
“I was,” Braeden said, “though I’m all right now. I’m still mad at Franca for sending you on such a dangerous mission.”
“I wanted to do it, sir,” Trisa said. “And I’m glad I did. I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”
“You’ve got that right.” Braeden scowled.
She sighed. “Papa was furious when we were forced to fight for Ensden and Teodora again. So he retired to Atlona with Mama and my sisters.” Her dark brows drew together. “The two of them decided I wasn’t old enough to be left alone.”
Braeden snorted.
“I know. I told them they were being ridiculous. I was getting a commission and everything. Clearly I’m old enough.” Trisa tossed her head, flinging a long braid over her shoulder. “But Papa can be so stubborn, and Mama always backs him up. So they dragged me along with them until I ran away.”
“Oh gods,” Braeden said. “Do your parents know you’re all right?”
Trisa rolled her eyes. “They do now. I waited until I had a position in Prince Benda’s army, then wrote to them in Atlona. Now I’m committed, of course I can’t leave.”
“I can’t believe the prince took you on,” Braeden said, “You can’t be a day over sixt—”
“Don’t you dare tell them how old I am,” Trisa said in a furious whisper. “I told them I’m nineteen, and since I have my own horse and gear, and am good at what I do, no one’s questioned me.”
“All right, all right.” Braeden shook his head, though now he knew Reno and Senta were well, he couldn’t keep from smiling. “Your secret’s safe with me. Now, are you going to help me catch Elektra Inferrara?”
Teodora
Teodora opened her eyes carefully. After a moment, she remembered where she was and what had happened, but even as it all came back, she was afraid to move. At least she was alive. She squeezed Daciana’s hand, still resting in hers. Still warm, still alive.
Teodora breathed in deeply, and ran her hand over her face. It felt odd, though she didn’t know exactly what was different. But it seemed that whatever had happened, hadn’t been all that bad.
An instant later, Sibyla’s anxious face hovered over hers. “Oh gods,” she said, horror in her eyes.
“What?” Teodora asked, her voice strong as ever. “Surely …” she trailed off, as she ran her fingers through her hair. Something was different. She lifted a hank. The room was light now, the curtains open, evening sun slanting against the walls.
Teodora gasped. The hair she held in her hand was still smooth, still heavy, but it was white. “How bad is it?” She dropped the hair and stared back at Sybila.
Sybila swallowed hard. “At least you’re alive. And you don’t seem terribly weakened in spite of the blood loss. It’s just …”
“My face.” Teodora sat up, remembering how strange it had felt. “Let me see.” She’d look at Daciana in a moment, but not before she’d seen the price she’d paid.
Sybila sucked in her lower lip while handing Teodora a small mirror.
Teodora held it up. Her mother, much as she’d looked in the year of her death, stared back at her. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced herself to calm. Her dark hair was white now, her skin as wrinkled as a grandmother’s, but her eyes were still dark and resolute and her jaw forceful as ever. As long as her mind still worked like before, she would bear it somehow. “It’s not so bad,” she said, willing herself to believe it. “Did it work?”
Sybila’s eyes sliced away from Teodora’s, and across to Daciana.
Teodora followed them. Under both of their intent gazes, Daciana opened her eyes. “I had the most incredible dream,” she said.
Teodora tried to smile, but nearly wept instead. It had worked. Daciana’s skin was clear and free of scarring, though a small blemish remained on her forehead. Teodora touched it carefully. “Does it hurt?” she asked, pressing down ever so gently.
“No.” A smile spread across Daciana’s face. “It doesn’t. Nothing hurts.” She sat up, raised her arm and looked at it. No scars there, or anywhere on her body. “I don’t understand.” She turned toward Teodora and gasped. “What happened to you?”
“Never mind that,” Teodora said, strangely light. All the fear, the strange feelings, the despair at Daciana’s condition, had been worth it. Somehow, Livilla had healed her. “Where is the Maxima?” she turned toward Sybila, who was also smiling as she looked Daciana over.
“She’s gone to rest,” she said. “The ritual tired her greatly.”
“She’s all right, isn’t she?” Teodora was suddenly worried that perhaps this had cost Livilla just as much. And she didn’t have ten years of life to give.
I think so.” Sybila frowned. “In spite of these incredible results, I can’t approve of any of this.”
“Of what?” Daciana asked.
“The Maxima performed a ritual that drained Her Highness of nearly all her blood. It seemed she called upon the gods and some dark forces to transfer their life force to you. She didn’t allow me to stay in the room, but what I heard was dreadful. I didn’t expect to find either one of you alive when she let me back in.”
Daciana turned to Teodora, looking her over carefully. “Oh gods.” She grabbed Teodora’s hands. “This is my fault, isn’t it?”
Teodora smiled. “I’ve repaid a debt. I’m so happy I could do it.”
“I don’t understand.” Daciana shook her head. “I was in some kind of nightmare, then it changed to this peculiar dream and now I really am awake.”
“What do you remember?” Teodora asked. Livilla had explained that if all went well, Daciana would have little memory of her most troubl
ed time.
Daciana frowned. “A boy on a big black horse, holding a pistol. A ship, pain and fire. And after that, nothing.”
“I have a great deal to tell you then,” Teodora said. “But we have time. For I want you to stay with me always. I don’t want you out of my sight ever again.”
“Are you certain?” A sly smile quirked on her lips. The old Daciana was back. “I’m likely to cause you a great deal of trouble.”
“You already have.” Teodora smiled back. “I don’t mind.”
“But I want to be useful to you.” Daciana sprang out of bed and put on the robe Sibyla brought her. “You must let me do something. I know you said you’ve repaid a debt, but I don’t understand. We’ve always been equal, been friends who’ve helped each other. I want to keep helping you.”
Teodora wanted to get up, but found her limbs stiff and unwieldy. Sybila helped her out of bed, and Daciana brought Teodora’s dressing gown.
“We can talk of all that later.” The problem of Elektra flashed through her mind, but she didn’t want to think of that now. “But first, I want to celebrate your return.” She’d worry about what she’d seen in the mirror later. It was the only way she would keep from losing her mind.
Gwynneth
Gwynneth told herself she was doing the right thing, but that didn’t keep her from feeling guilty. For she was on her way now, as Gauvain’s special ambassador to Maladena. Few people knew she was leaving Allaux, and even fewer where she was going or why, but those were still too many. Preparing for such a lengthy journey without attracting attention was difficult—perhaps impossible—with Natalya’s spies everywhere.
Gwynneth didn’t even tell the children. Only Maryna knew she was leaving at all.
“If Natalya asks you where I’ve gone, tell her I’m visiting a friend in the countryside,” Gwynneth told Maryna the morning of her departure.
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 131