The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  The weather was fair when he went to sleep, but he awoke in the middle of the night to the drumming of rain on his tent and the rush of a rising wind. A storm was on its way. By morning, scouts coming from the beach had confirmed it. Even the ships on Lennart’s blockade had sailed into harbor. Ensden wouldn’t come out now.

  “He didn’t fall for it,” Lennart said to Kendryk as they rode back to the town and its comforts.

  “Maybe he did,” Kendryk said. “But he decided not to risk it anyway. Perhaps he’s waiting for reinforcements.”

  “Who would send reinforcements?”

  “I don’t know,” Kendryk said, his voice grave, his eyes tired. “But one thing I’ve learned about Teodora is that she often has the best luck at the worst moments.”

  Elektra

  Of all the ways Elektra had been imprisoned, this one was the nicest by far. Still, it was annoying that it had to be at the hands of the biggest enemy of the faith, Edric Landrus. Elektra always dined with him and his guests, and slept in a beautiful bedchamber inside the palace. She went anywhere she wanted on the first two floors of the palace and spent all the time she wanted in the garden—that garden with its massive walls.

  For all of the respectful treatment, guards stood at every entrance and stayed at her bedchamber door while she slept. But no one made any move to confine her further or threaten her in any way. Elektra was beginning to hope she might survive this experience, though she wondered why she was being held here.

  Once she got over the shock of seeing Braeden and realizing Franca had betrayed her, she felt it her duty to argue with the heretic Maximus. Surely Vica had put her here to bring about his conversion. On occasions they were alone at dinner, Elektra tried to persuade him back to the true faith.

  But it was hard to start an argument with Edric. “I understand why you believe what you do, Your Grace.” Unlike Braeden, he always said those words with the proper gravity and respect. His pale eyes, though unnerving, were kind, and his deep voice always softened when he spoke with her. “I used to believe the same as you. I was well-educated in the faith and thought I understood the ways of the gods. But I needed to read the Holy Scrolls to realize my errors. It was difficult to accept at first.” He paused and waved over a servant. “Would you like more wine?”

  Elektra thought she should refuse because too much wine made it hard to argue well. But Edric served the most marvelous wine, even though the food accompanying it was on the plain side. “Thank you,” she said, deciding it would be the last glass of the evening. She took a few small sips then said, “But I have read the Holy Scrolls and I disagree with you about everything.”

  “Have you read all of them, from beginning to end?”

  “Well no, that’s unnecessary. Livilla says many parts are too boring or irrelevant to our time, so only the good bits are needed.”

  Edric chuckled. “And who decides what the good bits are?”

  “Why Livilla does. Only a Maxima can do that.”

  “I’m a Maximus.” Edric took a long drink, then grinned as he put the glass back on the table.

  “Not a real one.” Elektra took a few more sips. “I don’t mean to offend you since you’re very kind. But you were not ordained by the Imperata, and instead, chosen by a heretic prince. I’m afraid you don’t have the same authority someone like Livilla does.”

  “You make a good point.” Edric didn’t seem the least bit offended. “I don’t have the same authority as Livilla. My authority comes directly from the gods, rather than from the Imperata.”

  “I’m very sorry.” Elektra realized her voice was too loud, but couldn’t restrain her indignation. “That is terrible heresy. I cannot accept it.” She banged her now empty glass down a little bit hard.

  Edric looked amused, which made it all harder to bear. “What if I told you that you have the same authority? That the gods speak to you as directly as they do to any Imperata or temple official?”

  Elektra stared. How did he know? For he looked at her as if he understood that Vica had spoken to her. Finally she said, “Holy Vica has spoken to me a few times. Not in words, but when I called on her in a moment of need, she guided my words and helped me know what to do.”

  “That’s precisely what I mean,” Edric said. “And you are very fortunate, that you’ve had that experience already. Many people go their whole lives never having that communion with the gods. You’ve been blessed.”

  “I agree,” Elektra whispered. Then she looked up at him. “Are you saying the gods spoke to you in similar ways?”

  Edric nodded. “A few times, yes. Always in moments of dire need, when I had exhausted all of my own resources and was certain the end was near.”

  Elektra remembered her terror when Braeden wanted to kill her. “That’s exactly when I received help. I was so frightened, so certain I would die. Then I felt a curious strength, and when I spoke, I said the right things to save myself.”

  “Then there is nothing a Maxima can teach you,” Edric said. He sighed and stared straight ahead for a moment. “You can rely upon yourself and your communication with the gods. If you remain humble, ask them to show you the way and read the scrolls every day, you will become wiser than the Imperata herself.”

  “That’s wrong,” Elektra whispered, though she desperately wanted to trust his words. More than anything, she wanted to stay in that state where she was convinced she did the will of the gods and they lent her strength. No doubt, no confusion.

  She swallowed and forced herself to look Edric in the eye. It was almost harder to do when his eyes were soft and kind than when they bore a more distant chill. “Why am I here?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you let Braeden kill me?”

  A smile spread across Edric’s face. “Because you have an important part to play. Braeden doesn’t see it. He’s blinded by his hatred of your mother. But I see it, and the gods sent you to me so we could find the way together.”

  Gwynneth

  After leaving Fernanda in the drawing room, swearing on the gods she’d return soon, then telling the guards to keep a close eye on her guest, Gwynneth hurried to her bedchamber. She laid Kendryk’s letter on a small table and went to a bureau, where she pulled out a large bundle of letters, tied with a blue ribbon. These were all of Kendryk’s messages to her, since the beginning of the war. She took them back to the table and shuffled through them until she found the ones she needed.

  They had used one cipher until just before the battle at Birkenfels, then agreed to switch to another. They hadn’t had a chance to use it until after Kendryk’s escape. Now Gwynneth needed a good example of the old one. She huffed impatiently at the poor light, then pulled her chair over to the window, still holding the recent message and an old letter side-by-side. Once she took a closer look, the handwriting appeared to match perfectly and she saw no mistakes in the code.

  She breathed a little more slowly now and scrutinized the recent letter some more. It was dated the previous summer, when Kendryk had written to her from Brandana several times. Gwynneth went back to the table and rummaged until she found one of those letters. They were written on the same paper, with what appeared to be the same ink. The way the letters occasionally faded out even made her wonder if he’d used the same quill.

  Reasonably certain that Kendryk had written this, Gwynneth settled in to read it, surprised she remembered the old cipher perfectly.

  * * *

  “I am worried you will not trust this unexpected messenger,” Kendryk wrote. “But even worse would be placing our trust in Lennart or Natalya. If they get their way, nothing will be left of my kingdom. They must be stopped and the only person able to do it is Mattila. She alone can raise an army and lead it to victory against Lennart. Once she’s crushed him, she will deal with Teodora. I doubt Natalya will continue with this plan once her allies are destroyed.

  * * *

  “You must let Fernanda help you, since I will not have the strength to do what I must without you, especially if you
are Natalya’s hostage. You and the children must leave Allaux. Fernanda will make all of the arrangements and bring you safely to Zeelund. I wish to keep you in neutral territory until I can be sure Terragand is secure. It is almost completely under Lennart’s control and he won’t hesitate to take you prisoner if doing so will help him control me.”

  * * *

  Gwynneth’s eyes filled with tears. This was all her fault, for trusting Natalya and making it possible for Lennart to come here. There was only a paragraph left, so she wiped her eyes and read on.

  * * *

  “I know you will not trust Fernanda as she’s a creature of Mattila’s. But she has proven herself already in a way I will explain to you when we see each other again. For now, be assured she acts with my blessing. To prove it to you, she will carry a token of mine. You will know it well. Once you are certain of her, do not delay. I will meet you in Zeelund soon.”

  * * *

  It made a great deal of sense, though relying on Mattila for help was a lot to bear. Gwynneth put the old letters away, folded up the one Fernanda had given her and tucked it into her bodice. She returned to the drawing room where Fernanda had fallen asleep in a chair.

  Afraid to touch her, Gwynneth cleared her throat loudly and Fernanda woke with a start. “Took you long enough,” she grumbled, yawning widely, though she was at least polite enough to cover her mouth.

  “Kendryk says you have something of his,” Gwynneth said, looking down at Fernanda.

  “I do.” She slid a hand into a well-concealed pocket in her skirt and pulled something out.

  Gwynneth gasped. It was Kendryk’s signet ring. She’d never known him to take it off. She snatched it from Fernanda’s hand and inspected it closely. There was a tiny flaw in the gold, right between two of the small diamonds set into a circle around the engraved crest. Gwynneth turned the ring over. The score continued into the back of the ring. It had been damaged years ago by Kendryk’s father during a tournament.

  “Well?” Fernanda asked, her raspy voice louder now.

  Gwynneth realized she’d been turning the ring over in her hand for at least a minute. “It’s his.” A terrible thought struck her. “You didn’t kill him to get this from him, did you?”

  Fernanda scoffed. “You’ve received many recent letters from him I’m sure. If I’d killed him months ago, you would have heard by now.” She shook her head. “Still so suspicious.”

  “Can you blame me?” Gwynneth’s knees wobbled so she sat down, still clutching the ring in her fist. “I’ve checked everything and it all fits, though I still don’t like it.”

  “That makes sense. Mattila has been your opponent for a long time.” Fernanda regarded her with that black gaze.

  Gwynneth shuddered. “Even though it doesn’t feel good, staying here for months while Natalya does gods-knows-what seems even worse.” She forced herself to look Fernanda in the eye. “I’ll come with you.”

  Teodora

  The letter from Daciana came while Teodora was closeted with her advisers, but she didn’t dare open it. No one but Livilla knew anything about Daciana’s mission, and Teodora wanted to keep it that way. When Gwynneth and her children turned up dead, it was best if it looked accidental, with no connection to Teodora.

  “That’ll be enough for today,” Teodora said, standing up.

  Countess Biaram looked at her, surprised. It was still light outside and they seldom left Teodora’s study before midnight.

  “I’ve decided you deserve an evening off,” Teodora said, smiling.

  The countess looked even more surprised, and Solteszy shook his head as he gathered up papers. “I hope Your Highness has planned a relaxing evening. You’ve been working very hard.”

  “It’s true I have,” Teodora said. “But we’re close to having a plan for Norovaea in place. We can finish with the details tomorrow.” She hoped that the message from Daciana would tell her what she needed to go forward. If Gwynneth was already dead, Teodora would order her agents in Norovaea to act sooner.

  After hurrying to her bedchamber and sending the servants away, Teodora opened the letter. Her hands trembled, either from excitement or premature old age. She read it quickly then slumped back into her chair, finally relaxed.

  It had taken Daciana a great deal of effort to gain Princess Gwynneth’s trust. “I used all the tricks we came up with. You were wise to plan so thoroughly because she asked every question we anticipated and some we hadn’t. By the time you receive this, we ought to be on our way and it’s possible she and the children are already dead. If you hear nothing further from me, I was killed or captured in carrying out this mission.”

  “Gods forbid,” Teodora muttered to herself. Daciana refused to tell her exactly how she’d carry out the plan, but Teodora made her swear she wouldn’t choose anything suicidal. “I gave everything to bring you back to health,” she’d said. “I can’t do it again.”

  “It won’t be needed,” Daciana said. “You will not regret your sacrifice. I hope you realize I’m very grateful.” Her black eyes had softened in a way no one but Teodora ever saw.

  “I don’t regret it anyway,” Teodora said. “Words can’t describe how happy I am you are doing this for me. I’m sure you will succeed.”

  After reading the letter over two more times to make sure she had missed nothing, Teodora folded it up and walked over to the window. The sun was going down, golden rays slanting across the garden in full spring bloom. What a fitting time to cut down Gwynneth and her children. It was almost poetic.

  It might have already happened, since the letter was dated nearly two weeks before. Either way, it was time to put the Norovaean part of her plan in motion. Arryk should be out of the way soon, and with Gwynneth dead, Aksel would be the new king. Releasing Aksel’s friend under Livilla’s strict supervision had at least made Aksel somewhat cooperative, and Teodora hoped he’d be a tractable puppet. It was a shame she wasn’t able to locate Elektra, but she could be sent to Norovaea whenever she turned up.

  That left only Kendryk. It didn’t really matter precisely when Gwynneth and the children had died, or how. What mattered was Kendryk hearing about it as soon as possible from Teodora herself. She didn’t think the news would stop Lennart in his tracks, but if Kendryk suddenly became a devastated, demoralized, useless ally, Terragand’s future might become less certain.

  Kendryk would take the news hard and with any luck, withdraw from public life. And without his enthusiastic backing, Lennart might struggle to retain the support of other Kronland rulers. Teodora was aware that at least several of those who provided him troops had been rather reluctant. It would take little to pressure them into neutrality.

  Teodora worried about Ensden, still trapped in Kaltental after all this time. She’d hoped the Maladene navy might get him out, but so far they had failed. Ensden’s armies still outnumbered Lennart’s, but after what she’d been told of Lennart’s methods, she was uncertain of Ensden providing a decisive victory. She hoped he’d be patient enough to stay put until she thought of a way to help him. Perhaps removing Kendryk from the opposition would do the job.

  It was time to write him a letter.

  Anton

  Susanna’s time was close, and Anton worried he’d be called away to fight, now that spring had come.

  “I don’t need you here the moment the baby comes,” she said, smiling at him as they had a late supper in the kitchen. “The midwife knows her business and you’ll be back after the battle. Though I doubt it’ll all happen at the same time.”

  “That would be just my luck,” Anton grumbled into his stew. No one seemed to know what was going on. His sergeant told him that Ensden was waiting for something or someone, and there would be no battle until that thing had happened. When Anton wasn’t drilling, he roamed the streets of Kaltental, hoping to learn something useful.

  He found out that Lennart’s armies had disappeared. Anton suspected a trap, but the sergeant thought there might be another explanation.

>   “What if the empress sent another force from the south and he’s busy fighting them right now?” The end of the sergeant’s pipe disappeared under a drooping mustache.

  “Wouldn’t we have heard something about that?” Anton asked. “Wouldn’t they want Ensden to come out and help?”

  The sergeant shrugged and Anton left, figuring it made more sense for him to get information on his own.

  And one day, something happened. Anton had walked into the street after stopping in at his usual tavern for a bite to eat when a boy ran past.

  “They’ve opened the eastern gate!” he shouted and kept running.

  Anton wasn’t too far from there, so he turned down the next street and headed east. Only a few people had heard the news, but they went in that direction too. Anton hoped it wasn’t the enemy, though he doubted there’d be so little commotion if it were. Near the gate, people lined the streets, staring curiously, though Anton saw nothing.

  “Who’s come?” he asked a man standing against the wall of a building.

  “Word is that reinforcements from the empress have arrived,” the man said.

  “Lennart didn’t stop them?”

  “Seems not.” The man shrugged. “It’s a good-sized cavalry, from Sanova they say.”

  “The Sanova Hussars?” Anton’s mouth dried up as he spoke.

  “Not sure. It’s said they’re led by a fierce red-haired woman.”

  Anton’s breath caught in his throat. He’d been looking for a red-headed Sanova Hussar since Skandar had been sold. Now he stared down the street as eagerly as the rest.