The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  He laughed out loud with relief when he spotted Maryna and Devyn, the smaller children clustered around them. A soldier heard him and whirled around, ready to stop him, but Braeden shook his head and kept going.

  “Braeden!” Devyn shouted and ran toward him. “Mama, it’s Commander Terris.”

  “Hello Your Grace,” Braeden said as Devyn ran up to him, flushed and dirty. “Are all of you safe?”

  “We are.” Devyn positively bounced as he walked alongside Braeden, toward the fire. “That Fernanda tried to kill us, but Mama and I fought her, and then Natalya came.”

  “Who’s Fernanda?” Braeden asked Devyn, then offered a small bow as he came up to Maryna and the other children. “Who tried to kill you and why?” He looked beyond Maryna, and in the flicker of the fire, saw Princess Gwynneth, tattered, dirty and bloody, leaning on Natalya as they came his way.

  “Commander Terris!” Gwynneth smiled weakly, and Natalya raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect you here.”

  “Your husband sent me.” Braeden didn’t want to say why with Natalya right there, since she was the reason.

  “Please tell me he’s all right.” Gwynneth looked ready to cry. Judging by the streaks on her face, she’d done some of that already.

  “Last I heard he was fine; joined up with Lennart, getting ready for a big battle up north. With any luck, it’s already happened. I’m sure the king will keep him out of harm’s way,” Braeden added hastily when Gwynneth’s eyes widened.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Natalya added, her arm around Gwynneth’s waist. “You can tell me why you’re here later on, Terris. But first I have a job for you.”

  “With all respect Your Holiness, my job is to escort the princess and her children back to her husband.”

  “And they will be returned to him before too long.” Natalya smiled, the flames reflecting in her eyes. “But I am certain this Fernanda acted on Teodora’s orders. I wish to flush out Teodora’s purpose, but need to keep Gwynneth and the children hidden for a little while. I’d like her to think she’s succeeded and learn what she plans to do next.”

  Braeden didn’t like it, but wasn’t sure what to do about it. He and his escort were outnumbered at least five to one. “Might I at least send Prince Kendryk a message telling him they’re safe? He’ll worry.”

  “I will send him one with the next messenger, and let him know you’re on a mission for me. I want you to pursue Fernanda Vastic and return her to me.”

  Braeden raised his eyebrows. “Why me?”

  “You’re good at this sort of thing. Can you tell the commander what you saw, Gwynneth?”

  “It’s possible it was a trick of the light,” Princess Gwynneth began. Braeden had never seen her so frightened and uncertain. After he offered an encouraging nod, she went on. “She stood right there below the window looking up at us, and I was certain her eyes had turned yellow when they’d been black before.”

  This had to be a mistake. “It might have been a trick of the light, but I knew someone with eyes like that. Fortunately, she’s dead. What does this Fernanda look like otherwise?”

  “About my height,” Gwynneth continued. “Slender, but very strong. I thought she would squeeze the life out of me. Curly dark hair, about chin-length, and pale skin. Oh, and some of her teeth were very pointed. She’d be pretty if she didn’t look so odd.”

  Braeden listened with a rising sense of dread. Daciana Tomescu was dead—several of his friends had seen it happen. Yet it was hard to believe there could be someone else alive who looked and behaved so similarly working for Teodora. He wondered if Natalya had an inkling, but her face remained blank. Then he told himself it was possible Gwynneth had imagined some of this in her terror. Everyone knew about Tomescu’s strange eyes and teeth, so perhaps this Fernanda looked a little like her and the princess had filled in the gaps. Now he was more than anxious to get a closer look at this woman.

  “All right,” Braeden said. “I’ll find this Fernanda and bring her back to Allaux. But promise me you’ll write to Prince Kendryk first thing.”

  “Certainly.” Natalya smiled. “And thank you. Take your people, and as many of mine as you want. She went that way.” She turned and pointed toward the woods in a northerly direction.

  Braeden shouted for Kazmir and for Trisa to gather the rest of his escort. He didn’t care to have any of Natalya’s troops along.

  “Oh, and Terris?”

  Braeden turned back toward Natalya, impatient now. “What?”

  “Please, not a word to anyone that Gwynneth and the children are alive. Until I’ve learned what Teodora is trying to do, it’s better she believe her agent succeeded.”

  “If you like.” Now Kazmir was here and Braeden swung into the saddle. He looked down at Natalya. “Don’t worry, Your Holiness. I’ll find this Fernanda Vastic and bring her to you. I’d like to sort this out as much as you do.”

  “I knew I was right to ask you to do this. Now off with you before she gets a longer start.”

  Natalya swatted Kazmir on the rump and Braeden headed for the forest. Once he rode into the trees, darkness closed in around him.

  Anton

  It must have taken an hour for Anton and Kendryk to reach the city, and by then it was nearly evening. Anton was so worried it was hard sitting still in the saddle. That made his horse nervous, and he had to work to keep it moving forward. At least that gave him something to do.

  Kendryk kept up light conversation, bringing him up to date on everything that had happened on their side. In spite of his worry about Susanna, Anton was relieved that Maryna, Devyn and the others still lived in Galladium, well out of harm’s way. It seemed Kendryk didn’t like the way Natalya was running things, but Anton was certain she would take good care of his family.

  By the time they entered the city, order had mostly been restored. It seemed there had been looting and a bit of violence, but the city remained intact. Anton breathed a little easier. He directed Kendryk to the house he lived in, conscious for the first time of the ugliness and filth of the neighborhood.

  “I’ll tell you the whole story later,” Anton said, “but by the time we got here, we had no money, so this was all we could manage.” He was ashamed, wishing he had taken better care of Susanna.

  Kendryk looked the tall, rickety house up and down, seemingly unable to keep from wrinkling his nose. Or maybe it was the smell of the area, since everyone here emptied their chamber pots straight into the open gutters. “I’m sure you did your best.” He smiled at Anton as they dismounted and handed their horses over to a guard. “But things will be better for you now. You, your young lady, and your baby will have everything you need.”

  “Thank you.” Anton turned away because Kendryk’s eyes were so soft and sympathetic. He hardly dared to hope that their lives would improve soon. He led Kendryk around to the back, to the staircase he always used to get to the attic. The landlord would be excited to see a live prince in his own house, but Anton didn’t have time for that. He took the stairs as quickly as he could without leaving Kendryk behind. Pale dusky light came through the few windows, just enough to see where he was going.

  The whole house stood quiet. Everyone was likely staying put until things had settled down and the soldiers were gone. Anton’s own door was shut tight, but surely Susanna had stayed in after he had gone. He knocked, since the door only latched from the inside. No reply. “She might be sleeping,” Anton said, mostly by way of reassuring himself. He knocked again but was still met by silence.

  Finally, he pushed on the door. It hadn’t been latched, and swung open. The room was dark. Anton hurried to the table and lit a lamp with trembling hands. Light flooded the tiny, clearly empty room.

  Kendryk stepped inside. “It’s all right Anton. We’ll find her. Perhaps she’s gone to stay with friends?”

  “I hope so,” Anton said. They went down a few streets to the regimental kitchen, but it was dark and silent. The cooks and their helpers had gone with the army. “The m
idwife,” Anton said. “I don’t know why she’d go there instead of sending for her, but I can’t come up with anything else.”

  The midwife lived a few streets in the other direction, and only opened the door after Anton pounded and shouted for several minutes.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, opening the door and letting the two of them in, though her eyes grew wide at the sight of Kendryk.

  “Please tell me Susanna is here,” Anton said, looking wildly around the room.

  “She is, but …” The midwife sighed heavily. “My dear boy, I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” Anton wanted to shake her. Anything was better than the dread rising inside him. “Where is she?”

  He sensed rather than saw the midwife exchange a look with Prince Kendryk, who nodded slightly.

  “Come along,” she said, leading them into an adjoining room.

  It was so quiet, and he knew what was coming, but didn’t want to believe it. The midwife carried a lamp to the side of a bed. Someone lay on it, a sheet over their head. Anton stumbled, and Kendryk’s steadying hand caught his elbow.

  “You don’t need to see,” Kendryk murmured in his ear.

  “Yes, I do.” Anton didn’t want to, but this was his only chance to say goodbye.

  When the midwife pulled the sheet back, Susanna looked the same as always, though paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes. Anton touched her cheek. It was ice cold. “How long?” he whispered, not trusting his voice.

  “This morning.” The midwife’s voice came from somewhere behind him. “The lot of you had marched out only an hour before. The pains came on quick and she ran over here, before things in the city got even more confused.”

  “W—what …” Anton found he couldn’t speak. He sank to his knees at the side of the bed.

  “What happened?” Anton heard Kendryk’s voice and felt his hand on his shoulder.

  “It went wrong, like it sometimes does. Nothing to be done.”

  Kendryk took a breath, as if to ask further questions, but Anton shook his head and said, “No. Please.” He didn’t want to hear any more. Then he realized he’d forgotten. “What about the baby?” He whispered it.

  “I’m sorry. The little boy didn’t make it either.”

  At that, Anton thought he would cry, and bit his tongue until it bled so he wouldn’t. He didn’t care what the midwife thought, and knew Kendryk would understand, but he couldn’t let a single tear fall. If he broke down now, he might never recover. He had to take this loss just like he’d taken all the others.

  He knelt at the bedside a while longer, halfway listening to a murmured conversation between Kendryk and the midwife. Something about a burial. Anton wanted to say he’d pay for it, but remembered he didn’t have a single copper to his name. He’d have to think of something, so he dragged himself to his feet, feeling a hundred years old.

  He turned around in time to glimpse silver passing from Kendryk’s hand to the midwife’s. “Have the Maximus say the words, and put them both in the temple crypt.”

  Anton drew in his breath. Temple crypts were only for the wealthy. But the midwife nodded, still staring at the coins in her hand.

  Kendryk looked at Anton and said, “Come. You can visit them soon, then every day for as long as we stay here.”

  Anton nodded, still biting his tongue, turned around to look at Susanna once more, then followed Kendryk out the door.

  Kendryk

  Kendryk felt terrible for Anton but didn’t know how to help him. He ordered a room prepared for him at the house he stayed in, and made sure he didn’t have to worry about anything. Kendryk would listen if Anton wanted to talk, but he hardly spoke a word in the first few days after they’d found the girl.

  When Kendryk received word that she and the baby had been interred below the temple, he took Anton to the catacombs so he’d know where they were. He and Anton stood in silence, staring at the plaque in the wall. Made of pink marble, it said simply, “Susanna Stengel and infant.”

  “I wish I had given her my name,” Anton said, and turned to Kendryk. “Thank you for this place. I could only have afforded a mass grave.”

  “I could do nothing less at such an awful time.” Kendryk’s voice wobbled, and went quiet, since Anton didn’t betray the least bit of emotion. Kendryk wanted to tell him it was all right to grieve, that no one would hold him in lower regard for showing understandable pain. But Anton remained tight-lipped, his eyes devoid of their usual sparkle. Kendryk hoped it would return someday.

  While Kendryk made plans for an offensive against Teodora with Lennart, Anton spent his days in various Kaltental taverns. He was always in his room when Kendryk came back to the house in the evenings and Kendryk suspected he was drunk, though he hardly wanted to press the issue. Even sending for Karil didn’t help. Anton seemed happy to see his old friend, but promptly dragged him off to a tavern, and they got drunk together. Kendryk wondered what he’d do once his own children had troubles in their love lives. Hopefully none would do anything as dramatic as impregnate and lose a camp follower.

  Kendryk didn’t mean to be snobbish, but he felt Anton was meant for better things. He was brave, clever and—most of all—good, if he managed to keep the drinking under control. He’d also outgrown the gangly, awkward phase he’d been in when Kendryk had last seen him, and had become quite good-looking: tall and well-built, shoulders broad from dragging a pike, with a lean, expressive face enhanced rather than marred by a scarred cheek, and brown eyes slanted just enough to look exotic. It was no wonder that the girl had laid claim as quickly as possible, but now Kendryk worried losing her would destroy a promising young man.

  “He needs a change of scene,” Lennart said, when Kendryk confided his worries to him. They walked in circles in the small garden of the Kaltental burgomaster’s house, after spending the morning hunched over a map-strewn table. “He needs to get away from where it all happened.”

  “I agree,” Kendryk said. “But I had hoped Braeden would bring Gwynneth and the children soon. Anton was such great friends with Maryna and Devyn. Surely seeing them would lift his spirits. And they’re still too young for him to take out drinking.”

  Lennart snickered at that, then asked, “How old is your daughter again?”

  “Almost thirteen.” Kendryk wondered how much she’d grown. He’d been gone so long.

  Lennart sighed. “You might want to reconsider that friendship. She’s just at the right age to see a fellow like Anton and fall in love.”

  “Really?” Kendryk couldn’t picture his little girl being anything but sensible. “She knows she must marry a prince, or a duke at the very least.”

  Lennart laughed. “What she knows she has to do will have no bearing on it. No, trust me on this. You’re setting up a dangerous situation. I’m not saying they can’t be friendly if they come across each other every now and then, but don’t throw them together. You’ll have nothing but grief.”

  “You’re probably right.” Kendryk was amused, and a little annoyed that Lennart was likely correct. Now he thought about it, Maryna was old enough for an undesirable crush to be a worry. “Perhaps I’ll take him to Heidenhof when I go, though I’d hoped to wait for Gwynneth.” Truth be told, he worried that he’d received no word from her or from Braeden.

  “Give it a few more days. Maybe you’ll hear something soon,” Lennart said as they turned at the garden wall and started back toward the house.

  They were halfway back when a servant came running. “Urgent message for you, Your Grace,” he said, putting a rather dirty letter into Kendryk’s hand.

  “Perhaps it’s from Gwynneth,” Kendryk said as he opened it, though the hand on it looked unfamiliar. Lennart stood by as he read it. No doubt he was anxious to know that Gwynneth was all right.

  Kendryk had to read it three times before it sunk in. His knees buckled and he fell to the garden walk.

  “Gods, man; what’s happened?” Lennart grabbed him under the arms and pulled h
im up to sit on a low wall. Then he picked up the letter from where Kendryk had let it fall and read it. He sat down next to Kendryk and patted him on the knee. “It’s from Teodora, so probably a lie.”

  Kendryk hoped that was true, but Teodora’s tone had been so convincing, in that sharp, decisive script that had never failed to deliver bad news in the past. He couldn’t speak, but shook his head, hoping Lennart would understand.

  The realization that they were gone, all of them, was too much to bear. Gwynneth most of all, whom he loved more than was reasonable. Maryna; friend as much as daughter—more than once he’d worried she was too good for this world. Devyn; so fierce but always full of laughter; sweet, quiet Andres; boisterous Stella, and little Renata, a baby he’d never even seen.

  He must have made a noise of distress because Lennart put an arm around his shoulder. “See here,” he said, pointing at the letter, though Kendryk saw only a blur. “She says Daciana Tomescu did it, so it’s a lie. Tomescu is dead.”

  Kendryk nodded again. He’d been there when it happened, though he hadn’t seen it. Still, everyone was sure she’d been killed.

  Lennart went on. “Think about it. Why would she send something like this? To upset you, that’s why. She must have known Ensden was doomed, and had to come up with another way to get under our skins.”

  “But where are they then?” Kendryk found his voice, though it trembled terribly. “Why haven’t I received word from them in so long? Why haven’t I heard from Braeden? I told him to write as soon as he found them.”

  “Letters get lost.” Lennart’s tone was annoyingly soothing.

  Kendryk wanted to hit him. “All of them?”

  “There’s a war on.” Lennart sounded like he was trying to reason with a child. “Letters are delayed or lost all the time. If they went by ship, they might have been intercepted by the Maladene navy. Or perhaps they put the letter on a Maladene ship which got hung up on our blockade. There are a lot of reasons.”