“I’m sure you’ll win.” Susanna smiled before drifting off to sleep.
Anton tried to stretch out beside her on the hard straw mattress. The blankets smelled of mildew and the bed frame was too short for him. He had to huddle up like a baby to keep his feet from hanging over the end. He worried over the terrible possibilities. They were stuck inside this city, food becoming more and more scarce as Lennart’s troops spread across the countryside. If Ensden stayed inside, they’d all starve to death sooner or later. Colonel Granter said the Maladene navy would break Lennart’s blockade, but Anton didn’t believe that either.
The other alternative was to fight. And Ensden still had greater numbers than Lennart, though that wouldn’t last if they died of plague and starvation in here. If they fought, they might win. But Anton remembered Isenberg’s deadly little guns and Lennart’s disciplined ranks of musketeers. Granter’s regiment had nothing like the discipline of the Michalek pike, all of them now dead. Anton didn’t see how his new comrades would stand up to Lennart’s combined forces.
He turned onto his other side. He’d also heard a rumor that Prince Kendryk commanded an army out there with King Lennart. Anton wondered how he might get to him. It would mean desertion, but he’d be willing to risk it if it meant saving his and Susanna’s lives. But for now, he was trapped inside the city. No one could leave. He’d have to wait for battle and make a run for it, though he didn’t know how that would work.
He worried that Susanna would have their baby right in the middle of all this. If it was hard for them to survive right now, Anton didn’t see how a tiny baby would. He swallowed down the lump growing in his throat, screwing his eyes shut against the tears.
He hated this helplessness. It was as though nothing had changed since he was a little boy, standing by while terrible things happened first to his father, then his sister, and then his mother. He almost didn’t feel like the same person who’d saved King Arryk at Birkenfels, or fought pirates with the count, or helped rescue Prince Kendryk.
Eyes still shut, he prayed to Ercos, promising that if the gods saved Susanna and the baby from what was coming, he’d read the Holy Scrolls again, but pay attention this time. He’d become religious like Prince Kendryk and follow every rule, no matter how difficult. When he opened his eyes again, they were wet, but he felt a little bit better. So far, he’d always survived. He knew he could do it again.
Braeden
Rather than wait around to find out what Edric did with Elektra, Braeden returned to Birkenfels. Just thinking about the archduchess made him angry, and he didn’t want to waste any more time on her. He made sure the area around Heidenhof was heavily patrolled, though he doubted there was any further threat. No one on the imperial side except Franca knew where Elektra was, and he trusted her not to tell anyone.
Braeden reached Birkenfels late in the evening and drank a tankard of ale, alone in the kitchen. He couldn’t decide what to do about Franca. She’d head north and likely threaten Lennart’s forces from the rear. She’d promised not to devastate Terragand as she went, though she’d likely need to plunder supplies. If Braeden didn’t tell Lennart what was coming, he’d feel like a traitor. But if he told Lennart, his army would be waiting for Franca, putting her in terrible danger. There was no good solution.
Braeden sighed, staring into his nearly empty mug. It was time for bed. He’d come up with something in the morning. He left the kitchen and started up the stairs to the room he used when he was here. A light still burned in the library, so he poked his head in.
“You’re back already,” said the old man sitting at a table, hunched over a book. Baron Persyn was the senior officer when Braeden wasn’t here, and a veteran of the Zastwar wars, though he’d long ago become an arthritic bookworm. Still, he kept things going at Birkenfels well enough.
“Some interesting events at Heidenhof,” Braeden said. “Though things turned out all right.”
“You must tell me in the morning,” Persyn said. “You look like you’re ready to fall asleep on your feet.”
“I am.” Braeden grinned. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Oh, wait,” Persyn said, rummaging among papers on the table. “This came for you yesterday. It isn’t marked as urgent, though it’s from Prince Kendryk.”
“Thanks,” Braeden grabbed the letter, deciding to read it once he’d crawled into bed. It was still far too cold to be standing on a stone floor, surrounded by stone walls unless you were belly up to a roaring fire. And with only a small garrison at the castle, fires were scarce.
In bed, an extra blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Braeden opened the letter. He hoped Kendryk would tell him of Lennart’s reaction to Braeden’s decision to stay here, though he was almost too tired to care.
Kendryk mentioned that Lennart had every faith that Braeden had made the right decision and to expect a letter from him soon.
* * *
“He ought to have time to write while we figure out a way to lure Ensden out of the city. I hope you will find nothing dangerous near Birkenfels, though I appreciate you defending the area. But if all seems secure there, perhaps you can leave a trusted lieutenant in charge and undertake a mission for me.
* * *
I am concerned about Princess Gwynneth and my children. Something in Allaux has gone wrong, and it seems she is unable to leave the city. I had hoped to have my family join me after Lennart’s victory, but I’d rather not wait any longer. Birkenfels is secure, and it’s safe to travel through the rest of Kronland right now. I am not ordering you to do this; rather, I’m asking as a friend, if you will go to Allaux and bring Gwynneth back with you.”
* * *
Braeden put the letter down and rubbed his eyes, though he was awake now. He did not relish the idea of tangling with Natalya, for that could be the only person preventing Gwynneth from leaving. But for Kendryk, he’d try. He continued reading.
“I’m sure that Gwynneth and Natalya have fallen out somehow. I don’t get the sense that Gwynneth is a prisoner, but she isn’t free to do whatever she wants. I hoped if you were able to get me out of the Arnfels, you might remove my family from Allaux without too much trouble.”
Braeden snorted at that. He’d had considerable high-level help with the Arnfels, but he’d have none here. It would help to understand what exactly was going on before he planned a daring rescue.
The next morning, Braeden wrote a quick letter to Kendryk, handed it off to a messenger, then made plans to travel to Allaux with a small escort. He’d leave most of the cavalry Trystan had given him here, and under Baron Persyn’s direction, knew it would be deployed effectively. “I’m going to pay the Princess Gwynneth a visit,” he told Persyn. “Seems she’s ready to return here and needs a friendly escort.”
The baron raised his eyebrows. “Can’t King Gauvain provide one?”
“It’s what Prince Kendryk wants,” Braeden said. “He’d feel better about having a friend in charge than some Galladian popinjay.”
“Now that I can understand.” The old soldier’s face broke into a smile.
Gwynneth
Gwynneth waited for the door to close behind her ladies, then leaned forward. “I want you to explain exactly how this letter got into your hands and when.”
“Don’t you want to read it first?” Fernanda’s eyes had a dangerous sparkle.
“No, I want to know why my husband would entrust Brynhild Mattila with a letter to me.” It was true she was dying to read it, but preferred to do so in private, not under the stare of this impertinent, possibly dangerous woman.
“It’s complicated,” Fernanda said, taking a long drink of tea, clearly enjoying herself.
“I’ll probably manage to understand,” Gwynneth said.
Fernanda took a bite of pastry, chewed it deliberately, and brushed an imaginary crumb from her lip. Gwynneth tried not to scream with impatience.
“As you know…” Fernanda took another sip of tea. “Your husband paid a visit to General
Mattila a few months ago.”
“Yes. That was hardly a secret.”
“His visit was not. What he discussed with her, however, was not what everyone thought.”
“Are you saying he went for a reason other than trying to win her over to Lennart’s side?”
“He did.” Fernanda took another pastry.
Gwynneth wished she hadn’t ordered any food. She hoped the tea was running low. “So what was the reason?”
“Your husband had concerns about Natalya. Not only because of your letters, but because he learned that she and Lennart are conspiring to divide up the kingdoms of Kronland between Estenor and Galladium. They’ll even let Teodora have a piece as long as she doesn’t stand in their way.”
“That’s a lie,” Gwynneth whispered, all while admitting to herself it was also her worst nightmare.
“If you say so. Your husband, of course, is not in favor of this plan, because Terragand would become an Estenorian territory, with no need of a prince to rule it.”
Gwynneth considered Lennart a friend, but in the back of her mind she had always wondered what his true ambitions were.
“All right.” Gwynneth did her best to stay calm. She still didn’t see the whole picture. “How in the world is Brynhild Mattila involved in this?”
“General Mattila has ambitions that run counter to this scheme. She is close to becoming the ruler of Brandana. She would lose it all once Galladium takes it as part of its portion.”
“I’m willing to assume that, for the sake of argument at least.” Gwynneth shook her head. “But why does she want to help me?”
Fernanda smiled. “In this situation, your husband is Mattila’s natural ally, and she wishes for a strong, independent Terragand to stand with Brandana. She’d like to put him back on the throne in return for his support against this conspiracy. It’s clear to her you are of invaluable support to your husband, and we question his ability to assert himself without you. But most of all, you would owe the general a favor.”
“We’re done here.” Gwynneth stood. “There is nothing I can do for her.” Much as she wanted to hope that someone might help her, she could not bring herself to trust someone as treacherous and ambitious as Mattila. Besides, she had not ruled out the possibility that Natalya was testing her loyalty with this woman’s tempting proposal.
Fernanda stayed in her chair, relaxed, looking up at Gwynneth with laughter in her awful eyes. “Don’t you want to hear what the favor is first?”
“Not really. Please go now.” Gwynneth headed for the door.
“You will back Mattila’s claim to the throne of Brandana,” Fernanda said to her back. “And then it will be possible for her to help you restore Terragand to its former glory. You must realize she’s immensely rich.”
Gwynneth stopped short. “Mattila doesn’t care about Terragand at all.” She turned around slowly. “She’s a ruthless, ambitious opportunist.”
Fernanda smiled more widely now, showing a hint of white teeth. So they weren’t rotten. “She is. She’s still happy to help you if it’s in her best interest.”
“I doubt that very much, and I have little interest in helping subvert the rightful ruler of Brandana,” Gwynneth snapped, certain now that this woman was in Natalya’s employ. “It’s time for you to go.” She pointed at the door.
“Oh come, Your Grace, surely you can see the sense in my proposal. I can see how anxious you are to get out of Natalya’s clutches.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gwynneth turned back to the door. Before she could reach it, Fernanda stood in front of her. “How?” Gwynneth gasped. The woman had moved impossibly quickly.
“Special training.” Fernanda shrugged. “Now please, Your Grace, go sit. We need to talk some more.”
“No,” Gwynneth said, making a half-hearted attempt to dodge around Fernanda, even though she worried it wouldn’t work.
“Yes.” Fernanda took Gwynneth’s elbow with an iron grip and steered her back to her chair.
Gwynneth fell into it, her knees weak. “Who are you?” she whispered.
“Exactly who I told you. An employee of Mattila’s on a special mission. That mission is to help you escape Allaux and return you to your husband.”
Gwynneth took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “All right,” she said. “Suppose I agree and we go to Terragand. Mattila helps us get rid of all foreign interference. Under what conditions will Kendryk rule after that?”
“The same as he did before,” Fernanda said.
“I doubt that.”
“The only difference will be a special alliance with Brandana. Kendryk will be asked to support her claim to its throne. “
“She has no claim. I’m certain Kendryk won’t support her.”
“Are you sure of that?” Fernanda had a gleam in her eye. “Wouldn’t you prefer to discuss it with him in person.”
More than anything in the world, Gwynneth thought, hoping her face didn’t show it.
“Then let me help you do that.” Fernanda’s voice turned gentle, and even her strange eyes seemed softer.
Gwynneth sat silently. Finally she said, “You’ve given me much to consider. I’m still not sure if I believe any of it. I must read Kendryk’s letter and make sure it’s not a forgery.”
“I can assure you it’s not. I watched him write it.”
“While he was with Mattila?”
Fernanda nodded.
“And then he gave it to you?”
“Yes. And he will explain under what conditions you can consider it safe to trust me.”
Gwynneth still didn’t think she ever would, but she would have to read Kendryk’s letter first, and then decide.
Lennart
It was hard for Lennart to wait, but everything was going according to plan. It took a long time to get all of his troops into place, then wait for the fake Maladene ships to create a feigned engagement so the false letter made its way into Ensden’s hands. Lennart had picked his spot; now he only had to herd Ensden into it when the time came.
Ensden had had the letter for at least a week and would certainly move soon. The letter had emphasized the need for rapid action. Though winter was nearly over, the storms in the northern sea were especially unpredictable, and any ships near the shore might not wait there for more than a few days. Once the weather cleared, Ensden would have to leave Kaltental.
The weather stayed dreary, with endless wind and rain while Lennart tried very hard to be patient. But one morning, he awoke to silence. No rain drummed on the slate roof of the house he slept in. No wind rattled the window panes. When he sat up, he saw weak sunlight slanting onto the floor. He jumped out of bed, grabbing his dressing gown and calling for a servant. He planned to be in the field before mid-morning.
By the time he reached the stable yard, stuffing a crust of bread into his mouth and washing it down with vile-tasting tea, others were preparing as well.
Prince Kendryk was mounted and waiting for him. “Do you think he’ll come out?” Kendryk asked as they rode out on the streets of the town and headed for the gates.
“He’d better,” Lennart said, raising his hand in greeting as a column of soldiers marched past double-time. “Who knows how long the weather will hold. He won’t want to be stranded on the beach when the ships can’t reach it.” His anticipation rose as they passed through the open city gate. They stayed in a town ten leagues south of Kaltental, but only five leagues from the battlefield where he hoped to intercept Ensden.
“I realize it was partly my idea,” Kendryk said, his face grave. “But I feel a little bad, using subterfuge like that. It doesn’t seem honorable.
Lennart offered a sympathetic nod. “Honorable doesn’t win battles. We must win here and soon.”
“I know,” Kendryk said. “I can’t wait for it to be over.
“I can’t wait for it to start.” Lennart urged his horse to a canter and Kendryk followed. By the time they reached the battlefield, most of Lennart
’s troops and guns were in place.
“Ensden ought to be on his way by now,” Lennart said. He was anxious, though he knew it would take time to get a large force like that out of the city and onto the road. They might need all day to get here. Perhaps they wouldn’t engage until the following day.
The morning wore on and it was noon. The commanders had a bite to eat at tables set up on the field, while the soldiers ate standing up and at the ready. Lennart had sent scouts to watch the road all the way to Kaltental, and they reported in every hour. By mid-afternoon, he’d still received no sign from the city.
“Perhaps they’re still getting ready,” Kendryk said, clearly trying to sound reassuring. “They wouldn’t be nearly as prepared as we are and will have troops quartered all over town. They might need a whole day at least to muster.”
Lennart looked up at the sky. Fluffy white clouds scudded across it, and though a brisk wind blew, a storm seemed unlikely. “Maybe he’ll come out tomorrow. It’s his only chance.”
“I’m sure he will,” Kendryk said.
They slept on the field that night, and Lennart had pickets put on high alert. Ensden was a canny old fellow, and Lennart wouldn’t be surprised if he waited until after dark to march out and slip past. Lennart slept poorly, every sound making him wake and look around, wondering if the noise he heard was the tramp of thousands of distant feet.
Everyone rose at dawn and got ready again. Through Lennart’s fatigue, his nerves jangled and he felt fidgety. He dismounted, and paced up and down the field, pretending to inspect first one unit and then another. That at least helped pass the time. Noon came and went with no movement from the city. No one would say the words, but Lennart saw from their faces they believed Ensden wasn’t coming. He was beginning to believe it himself.
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