“There’s a little stable a few doors down,” the count said, “though there’s a couple servants already in there.”
“Is there a hayloft?”
“Don’t know.” The count shrugged. “But you’re welcome to work things out with those already there.”
“And blankets,” Anton said “At least two, nice thick ones.”
“And what are you offering in return?” Anton handed over the bottle, and the count held it, staring at it longingly.
“That brandy,” Anton said. “And this cheese. It’ll go well with that stew over there.” Whatever bubbled on the hearth didn’t smell very good, but Anton’s stomach growled anyway.
“I don’t care about the cheese,” the count grumbled. “But I’ll need more liquor soon. I’ll take all you’ve got.”
Anton didn’t want to give him everything, especially if the weather cleared and they were able to move on in a few days. “I’ll give you as much as I can,” he said, hoping to keep something to trade by the time they reached Kaltental. They might still have fancy clothes and food, but nothing sold like alcohol.
“All right,” the count said. “Bring it now and you’ll get a place in the stable, and we’ll find a blanket or two for you. Oh, and I’ll want a look at that pretty wife of yours too.”
Anton kept from rolling his eyes. Frozen and pregnant, Susanna wasn’t looking her best, and was unlikely to be her usual cheerful, flirtatious self. “All right,” he said. “I’ll bring more brandy and a young lady.”
He hurried out into the blizzard, hoping he made it back before the count got too drunk and forgot their deal. Anton tucked his head down against the wind and made his way back to their burrow. It was hard to remember where it was, with everything covered in white and no noticeable landmarks.
But then he heard Susanna’s shriek, cut off on the wind. Anton broke into a run in that direction. Before long, he saw a few shadowy figures ahead and heard Susanna’s voice. “Let go of me, thief, or I’ll kill you.”
Anton drew his pistol, hoping his powder had stayed dry.
Gwynneth
“It seems Zofya Inferrara is on her way here,” Gwynneth said to Natalya. She was visiting the Maxima’s palace, offering her weekly account of what she and the king had discussed in the previous few days. “Gauvain received a letter from Teodora saying it’s time to finalize the marriage.”
“Good.” Natalya leaned back, looking satisfied. “It’s past time to get this done. Perhaps having a young, pretty wife will help Gauvain to stop sulking.”
“A teenage daughter of Teodora’s,” Gwynneth said. “I can’t imagine her being much fun. Though I’m sorry for the poor thing. She’s only fifteen.”
“She’ll be all right,” Natalya said. “I met Zofya in Atlona, and even at twelve, she was very self-possessed. And there’s another thing you can do to help me.”
“What’s that?” Gwynneth’s heart sank. Informing on the king wasn’t so bad. She’d let him know in so many words she was no longer a safe confidante, so he gave her more of the same: complaints about Natalya’s stubbornness, musings on policy, and this last bit of information. Gwynneth wondered that Natalya didn’t know about it already.
“You can make friends with her,” Natalya said. “I doubt she’ll want much to do with me, but you’re another matter altogether.”
“I can’t imagine why she would like me at all, let alone want to be my friend.”
“You have Maryna. She’s young, but so serious, I’m sure she would be a good companion to a girl a few years older. And just think of the hope for the future, if Kendryk’s and Teodora’s children become friends. And secondly,” Natalya leaned forward, an amused smile on her lips, “I learned something interesting about Zofya. It seems she fell in love with your little brother.”
“With Aksel?” Such a thing had never occurred to Gwynneth, but it wasn’t too surprising. Aksel was appealing in his way, and young girls especially might find him attractive. “Oh dear. No hope for that romance.” She hoped it hadn’t been too upsetting for Aksel, or worse, brought Teodora’s anger down on him.
“No chance at all, the poor children.” Something like sympathy passed Natalya’s eyes. Sometimes Gwynneth wondered if she was softening up just a little. “But the fact is, as Aksel’s sister, you might appeal to her. It doesn’t hurt to try.”
Gwynneth shrugged. “All right, I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will.” Natalya smiled, then kissed Gwynneth on both cheeks as she took her leave.
Sometimes, it felt like nothing had changed between them.
A convoy of elaborate carriages bearing the Archduchess Zofya and her twenty attendants entered Allaux just a few weeks later. Gwynneth and Maryna received an invitation to the palace for the ceremony to welcome her.
“I’m very sorry for her,” Maryna said as Catrin dressed her hair in a more adult style for the occasion. “She’s so far from her family, has to marry a man she’s never met, and now she must walk through the king’s throne room with hundreds of strangers staring at her.”
“I feel sorry for her, too,” Gwynneth said. “Natalya thought you might make friends with her.”
Maryna frowned. “I don’t think so—has she forgotten Zofya is an Inferrara? I can’t be friends with the daughter of the woman who treated Papa so dreadfully.”
Gwynneth smiled at that. Maryna was nice to everyone, but also fiercely loyal, treating her friends’ enemies with icy politeness. “I understand,” she said. “But the archduchess was good friends with your Uncle Aksel, so perhaps she’s all right.”
“Perhaps.” Maryna looked in the mirror as Catrin stepped back, and shook her head, curls bobbing on her shoulders. She sighed. “If Natalya wishes it, I will try. Though I’m sure she’s brought friends of her own.”
Gwynneth looked at Maryna in the mirror. With the more sophisticated hairstyle, she looked at least fifteen herself. She was turning into a pretty girl, though it seemed she might lack Gwynneth’s startling beauty. Her hair had darkened to a light brown, her eyes were neither as wide nor as bright as Gwynneth’s, and she had a hint of a snub nose. Gwynneth prayed it wouldn’t get any worse. She smiled at Maryna. “None of her friends will be as nice as you. But don’t worry, you needn’t do anything today. It will take the archduchess time to settle in, and then there’ll be a big wedding.”
Maryna stood and faced Gwynneth. “Mama, will I have to marry a king someday?”
“Only if you want to.” Gwynneth took her by the hand. “You’ll have to marry someone suitable. It would be best if he can help you increase the power of Terragand. But when the time comes, I’m sure several men will meet those requirements, and you can choose the one you like best.”
“I hope so.” Maryna frowned as they made their way to the throne room, and Gwynneth decided not to mention she already had someone in mind. Kendryk wrote to her that Lennart had been impressed by young Toland Falk. Only a year younger than Maryna, he was not too closely related, and a marriage with Helvundala would be ideal. Still, it was too early to bring any of that up.
Gwynneth had to admit that Zofya conducted herself well. There was no question that Gauvain’s throne room was intimidatingly grand, and the Galladian aristocracy were unabashedly curious about their new queen, not hesitating to remark about her loudly.
The girl was small and dark-haired, with a slight resemblance to Teodora. She carried herself well, and aside from flushed cheeks, did not appear to be nervous or worried at meeting her soon-to-be-husband. A long ermine cloak fell from her shoulders over a dark red, richly embroidered gown while a bevy of beautifully dressed women followed her.
When she reached the king, Zofya sank into a curtsy, but kept her dark eyes lowered for only a moment, and was ready to meet the king’s when he came down the stairs to take her hand. “Welcome, Your Grace,” he said, giving her a warm smile, the one he did best.
Gwynneth thought the archduchess’s answering smile appeared quite genuine. G
auvain had worried she’d find him old and unattractive, but Gwynneth had reassured him that his charm and kindness more than made up for any shortcomings. Besides, when it came to husbands, looks weren’t all that important. Gwynneth was certain she’d still love Kendryk even if he weren’t handsome.
Gauvain murmured something into Zofya’s ear and she nearly laughed, though she stopped herself. Her smile remained, showing a rather sweet dimple in her right cheek. By the time Gauvain led her into the banquet hall, they were both smiling, their heads together like old friends.
As Gwynneth followed, she offered up a prayer that the king would find happiness with this girl and that Natalya’s influence would wane as a result.
Elektra
“But I must get to Kaltental before there’s a battle,” Elektra said, aware that she always sounded whiny in front of Franca Dura.
“Why?” Franca shook her head “My orders are to attack Terragand from the east. This is the best kind of work for cavalry; Ensden won’t need you near the city.”
Elektra wanted to argue that her infantry would be needed, then remembered for the thousandth time she didn’t have one. Even though she’d become accustomed to leading cavalry and had gotten to know her officers, it wasn’t the same. She needed to get another infantry regiment, and the only way to do that was to show Count Ensden what an effective leader she was. “I’m not much good at this,” she admitted. Franca was hard to deal with, but Elektra found that honesty went over well, especially if she made herself look bad.
“You’re not,” Franca said. They rode side-by-side along a quiet Sanovan road, heading north until they could turn west into Terragand. “But you might still learn.”
“I never paid much attention to cavalry tactics,” Elektra said. “The only things I ever learned, Braeden taught—” She didn’t catch herself in time, and peered fearfully at Franca. They never mentioned him, and it seemed better that way.
Franca turned toward her. “So let me get this straight. Braeden kidnapped you, but because he’s a kind man, he didn’t kill you and even taught you some useful things.”
So they would have it out now. Elektra nodded, deciding there wasn’t much point in arguing that Braeden only spared her hoping to harm Teodora even more.
“So, he didn’t kill you, and he helped get you back to Mattila, while you surely promised you wouldn’t betray him. Which you did the moment you walked into camp.” Franca threw her a contemptuous glance, then turned away, muttering a curse under her breath.
“I had to do it,” Elektra whispered.
Franca rounded on her. “Oh really? No, you didn’t. You could have let him deliver you to Mattila, and let him escape.”
“He escaped anyway, thanks to you.” Elektra wished she didn’t sound so defensive. After all, it was Franca who’d practically committed treason.
“Barely,” Franca said. “And who knows if he survived. If I find out he’s dead, I’ll kill you.”
Elektra didn’t know what to say to that, and pulled her horse a little farther away from Franca.
Franca was practically snarling now. “Maybe I’ll kill you anyway.” She looked back at the officers following them, and Elektra followed her gaze. She wondered if any of them would defend her if Franca tried anything.
“That would be unwise,” Elektra tried hard to keep her voice steady. “It’s bad enough you deceived Mattila, but killing me would make you a traitor and rebel for sure.”
“Huh,” Franca said. Her eyes were still narrowed, but she seemed to calm down a little.
Elektra prayed it would be enough, and resolved to double her own guard, especially when she slept.
There was not much love lost between the two forces. Franca’s cavalry didn’t possess the reputation and quality of the Sanova Hussars, and Elektra’s officers saw them as barbaric mercenaries.
Elektra had always found the wings and lances of the hussars rather romantic, but Franca did away with those. “I recruited quickly,” she explained to Elektra, “and didn’t have time to train lancers. So this lot will just have to do with pistols.”
Elektra thought she ought to work on training her own forces better, but Franca left no time for that. “My orders are to harass Lennart’s rearguard and that’s what I plan to do. If you want to head north and join Ensden, be my guest. Of course, you’ll receive no further help from me.”
And that was the problem. Elektra still had no food of her own, and her money was gone. Snow covered the ground, and the horses ate only because Franca sent a constant stream of outriders to gather hay from the few farms in the area. There was a slight chance she could get to Novuk and her uncle before they starved, but she had no idea how he’d receive her. And even if he welcomed her, she doubted she would then be able to reach Kaltental before a battle. Especially since Lennart was already on the move.
“We heard Lennart left Birkenfels with most of his force a few weeks ago,” Franca said. “The rest of the Kronland armies will most likely join him, since he will need every last soldier if he’s to be a match for Ensden. That ought to make Terragand easy pickings for us.”
Elektra didn’t know what to do. She prayed to Vica for guidance as earnestly as ever, but received no sign. She wondered if Franca herself was the sign, unpleasant as the thought was. She’d have to decide soon, before Franca turned toward Terragand. Perhaps something would happen to change their path and Franca would help her get to Ensden after all. And in the meantime, Elektra would do her best to make sure she did nothing further that might make Franca want to kill her.
Kendryk
Kendryk was dismayed to approach Kaltental in terrible weather with no sign of Lennart.
Isenberg didn’t seem bothered. “I’m sure the weather’s slowed him down,” she said. “He’ll be here soon. And with so many of the enemy scattered about, I’m sure we can keep ourselves occupied.”
Kendryk wasn’t sure what that meant, but Isenberg soon made it clear. Most of Ensden’s force was inside the city, but he’d sent smaller ones to garrison the surrounding towns.
“Might as well clear them out while we wait for Lennart,” Isenberg said. “Who knows, if we make them suffer enough, it might draw Ensden out?”
“But we don’t want him to come out yet,” Kendryk protested, horrified at the thought of being attacked before Lennart arrived.
“Ah yes, timing is always a problem,” Isenberg said, apparently unbothered at the prospect of total disaster. “But we’re not alone. Duke Orland is operating to our south, and Generals Kalstrom and Lofbrok are just across the sound from us, on the other side of the city. They won’t let us face Ensden alone.”
“Well, you know best.” Kendryk attempted a smile, though his mouth felt rather dry. He wondered when he’d become so fearful. He couldn’t remember being this frightened even as Teodora marched on him with all of her armies. Of course back then, he was unbearably depressed by the combination of Gwynneth’s betrayal and destroying his own country to thwart Teodora. Now he had relatively little responsibility, and leisure to worry about his own skin. Back then, he’d hoped for death, while now he wanted nothing more than life. He missed his family terribly, and more than once considered how he might make his excuses to Isenberg and return to Allaux until Lennart won.
“It’ll be all right,” Count Faris told Kendryk as they rode toward their own part of camp. “Tora Isenberg knows what she’s doing. Letting Ensden defeat her the way he did turned out to be smart.”
“You mean she did it on purpose?” Kendryk found that hard to believe.
“Maybe not exactly, but she made an easy escape, and did a good job drawing Ensden’s troops into her guns. Considering how outnumbered she was, she gave them a good pounding and escaped with few casualties. And no enemy soldier who faced those guns will soon forget them.” Faris chuckled. “Those were just a small sample of what’s to come. If Lennart can choose the right place to fight, he’ll annihilate Ensden.”
“You seem confident,” Kendryk sa
id with a grin. “And your assessment of Isenberg is extremely favorable. Are you sure you aren’t interested in more than a professional relationship with her?”
That made Faris laugh. “She’s a fine woman, but I’m sure I’m much too old for her. That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy working with her.”
“She seems to like working with you too.” Kendryk would be pleased if the loyal Faris found happiness, even if it was late in life. He’d been widowed before Kendryk was born, and Kendryk often wondered why he never remarried.
Faris laughed again and shook his head, though he didn’t seem at all bothered by the idea.
If Isenberg’s operation was any sign of the competence of the rest of Lennart’s army, Kendryk had to admit he was impressed and optimistic. Without the least bit of concern for the cold weather, Isenberg set about taking over every town on the west side of Kaltental. Her little, highly mobile guns weren’t heavy, but she used them to great effect, concentrating their fire on the weak spots of every fortification.
The gates usually broke down within hours, then columns of disciplined musketeers rushed in and finished off the garrisons, most often with few casualties themselves. Only one town had a wall and gate strong enough to hold, so after blasting away at it for a few days, Isenberg shrugged and gave the order to move on. “They can rot for now,” she said. “They’ll run out of food soon enough.”
Kendryk hoped that was also true of Kaltental. Several great storms came through, so Lennart’s fleet scattered to various harbors with only a few ships near the city itself. He worried that Maladena’s supply ships would take advantage of the situation, but no one had seen them.
“If those Maladene captains are smart, they’re staying cozy in Arenberg,” Isenberg said. “When the weather improves, our ships can get back to Kaltental a lot faster than theirs can.”
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 138