As they made their way over the tallest mountains in Tirovor, Anton realized he missed Trystan. It was hard being in charge of a huge string of mules—most of whom weren’t as nice as Hansi—and several companies of tired soldiers eager to get home.
He had to hire guides, choose the best roads, and worry about the money running out. Trystan had left him half of what remained of King Gauvain’s large purse, but hungry soldiers and mules depleted it at an alarming rate.
And all the while, he did his best to keep Maryna’s spirits up. Anton saw how she tried not to show how upset she was about her father, but she never spoke of him, and several times, Anton had caught her crying when she thought no one was looking.
He wished he could comfort her the way he had that time in the stable, when he’d first told her, but never got the chance again. Not only were they never alone together, in spite of her friendliness, Maryna seemed to keep a careful, polite distance from Anton. It was probably for the better, though he wanted to hug her again and tell her he would take care of her.
Anton was her official bodyguard, but before they’d left the mountain village, Natalya had chosen a young woman to be Maryna’s companion. A hearty blonde with rosy cheeks and a snub nose, highly protective of Maryna, Greta scowled at any man besides Anton who dared look at her too long, and hustled the princess off to bed hours before anyone else turned in for the night.
Though it was likely the proper way to do things, Anton wondered how to get rid of the chaperone, just for a few minutes. Maybe Karil would help.
“How do you like that Greta?” he asked him one evening.
“I dunno.” Karil shrugged, but turned pink under his beard.
“Pretty cute.” Anton couldn’t stop himself. “And she’s not afraid of you, which is a good start.”
Karil gulped. “I’m afraid of her, though.”
Anton laughed. “She can be fierce.”
“I saw her saddle was loose and offered to fix it.” Karil smiled. “She told me it was none of my business and to step away from the princess. As if I’d move in on your territory,” he added with a cheeky grin.
Anton snorted. “You won’t ever let it go, will you?”
“I will when she marries some prince or duke.” Karil said it lightly, but kept his eyes on Anton.
Anton’s breath caught, but his expression never changed. He knew Maryna would have to marry someone important someday. He just didn’t want to be around when she did it. When the time came, he supposed he’d have to hand his guarding responsibilities off to someone else.
But she was only fourteen and wouldn’t marry for a long time. And when she finally did, Anton resolved he’d make anyone else look bad by comparison.
Trystan
After their first real conversation had gone so well, Trystan was eager to spend more time with Natalya, working out details for his future. But she made it clear she was done talking, at least for the time being. And while polite, Natalya had a patronizing air. Trystan suspected she didn’t take him seriously and it drove him crazy. He was accustomed to dismissive older siblings while growing up, but he hadn’t been home in a long while, and was used to folk treating him like a general now.
Traveling through the mountains of Tirovor with spring coming on was just about worse than mid-winter. The mud made the roads slippery and camping was unpleasant in the extreme. As they neared the border with Galladium, Trystan called a small council of his top officers and Natalya.
The day was fine, if breezy, so he gathered everyone around a large, flat stone at the side of the road which served as a table for his map. He pretended not to notice Natalya’s eyes on him. They were amused, and something else. He hoped. Best to act like this was just another briefing with Lennart and his generals.
“Our last messages from Galladium tell us the war with Maladena is still on,” Trystan said. “Now it’s spring, we must expect Maladena to be active in the foothills at least. To take the Maxima to Allaux, we have to get through those foothills. I hope we can avoid any Maladene units, but we must be prepared if we run into them.”
“They will be looking for me, I'm sure,” Natalya said, appearing rather pleased at the idea. No doubt she enjoyed being notorious. It was one of the things Trystan liked about her.
“Probably,” he said. “They’ll have heard by now that you got away from Vega.”
“They’ll be looking for you too.” Natalya smirked. “I’m sure your duel with Count Vega is famous.” She certainly knew the right thing to say.
Trystan tried not to show how pleased he was. “You’re too kind. Anyway, I’m sure we can expect the Maladenes to be looking for us. King Gauvain has sent a force to meet us, but they will have to avoid the enemy as well. So from here on, we must act like we are at war. We travel expecting ambush and double our scouts.” He would never let anyone trap him in a defile again the way Vega had. “If we run into a Maladene force of any size, we stop and engage only if there’s a chance of surprising or outnumbering them.” With barely two hundred soldiers, Trystan had little hope of overpowering a larger force, though he could take on scouting parties well enough.
When they made camp that night, Natalya seemed in the mood to talk, coming to sit next to Trystan by the fire. He preferred to be alone with her, but it was better than nothing.
“I already know you’re brave and skilled,” she murmured softly so no one else sitting around could hear.
Trystan was glad for the darkness hiding his blush. He shrugged, hoping he sounded nonchalant. “Lucky too.”
“Perhaps a combination.” Natalya fixed her beautiful eyes on him until he had to look back. “But I don’t want you putting yourself at any further risk for me. Once we cross into Galladium, just get me to the nearest temple and I can make my way to Allaux with their help.”
“I’m sorry,” Trystan said, though he wasn’t. “I just can’t do that. I realize the temple will help you, but you still must travel across a war-torn area. You shouldn’t do it without a military escort.”
“A military escort draws a lot of attention. A priestess on a pilgrimage doesn’t. Maladene soldiers are devout and won’t bother me if they don’t know who I am.”
“I can’t do it.” Trystan shook his head, even as he saw the sense in her words. “I swore to the king I’d return you in person.” That wasn’t quite what he’d said, but it was what he wanted to do.
“And you’re a man of your word.” Natalya sighed. “As a Maxima, you realize I can release you from your vow, don’t you?”
“That may be, but I don’t want you to.” He gazed back into her eyes, not caring what she saw in his.
She looked at him a long time, and he felt his insides going soft.
“I see.” Her eyes were soft, but also serious. “I don’t wish to make you unhappy.”
“Truly?” Trystan reckoned he might as well jump at the chance.
“Not everything is within my power.”
“Really? You seem able to do whatever you want.”
“Nearly. Though I didn’t escape Count Vega. I needed you to do that. Perhaps I need you to do this as well.” Natalya laid a small, soft hand on Trystan’s arm. “Let me pray on it tonight. Maybe the gods will guide us. I believe they sent you for a reason, so I have no great wish to send you away now.”
“I believe that too,” Trystan said, even though he hadn’t prayed about it at all. Maybe he should start.
Gwynneth
Gwynneth wrote so fast that her hand cramped up. But she needed to tell Lennart everything that had happened in Isenwald. He had to expect that Teodora might also move on Terragand.
There is no doubt in my mind she will throw all of her support behind Duke Balduin, she wrote. She refused to refer to him as prince. That might be his official title, but Devyn was the rightful heir to Terragand.
Gwynneth would put him in his place, and Balduin too. Now she wished the wretch had died in the Birkenfels dungeon. She’d been too kind, making sure to keep him i
n decent conditions. It wouldn’t happen again.
She finished the letter as Devyn walked into Princess Galena’s library, where she’d been writing at a table near the window. He clearly wanted to talk. “Not now,” Gwynneth said, hurrying past him. “This letter must go out immediately.”
Devyn turned and followed her down the corridor. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” Gwynneth said, not slowing down. “I’ll tell you in a moment.” She hurried to the courtyard, hoping Princess Galena already had a messenger waiting.
When she reached the courtyard, it swarmed with troops. Although she spotted no messenger, Gwynneth’s face broke into a smile when she recognized the tabards and a ragged Aquianus standard.
“Is Colonel Destler here?” she asked the nearest officer.
The man’s haggard face lit up. “Thank the gods you’re safe, Your Grace.” He nodded to his right. “The colonel is right over there.”
Gwynneth shoved the message in her pocket when she saw Destler dismounting. “You made it!”
He turned to face her. “Your Grace, I’m so sorry I failed you.”
“Stop that,” Gwynneth said, taking him by the elbow. His face was so waxy she worried he might fall over. She remembered he’d been hurt during the fight when the peasants had captured her. “You must come inside and rest,” she insisted, steering him toward the door and a competent-looking footman.
Destler sputtered something about troop numbers and survivors, but Gwynneth ignored him. She’d get that information later. Once she’d unloaded him onto the footman, she remembered she needed to find the messenger, so she returned to the courtyard. The snow was melting under a weak sun, and the dozens of horses hoofs and booted feet had turned the ground into a sea of mud.
She scanned the courtyard, hoping to see someone who didn’t look like they’d been riding all night, but startled at Devyn’s shout.
“Help me, Mother!”
Gwynneth followed the sound, then gasped and broke into a run when she realized why he’d called.
Devyn was struggling to get Trisa Torresia down from her weary horse. Blood ran over Devyn’s shoulder and Gwynneth’s first thought was that they’d both been shot. But when she pulled herself together and looked more closely, it was only Trisa who was pale and bleeding.
“Gods, what happened?” Gwynneth hurried to support Trisa’s legs, hanging from one side of the saddle. Devyn was trying to lift her down without hurting her, but that appeared to be impossible.
“Moraltans,” Trisa hissed through gritted teeth, then shrieked as Devyn pulled her down.
Gwynneth held on, and helped him lower her into the mud, grateful that Trisa was so skinny. “Run and get a doctor,” she told Devyn, scanning Trisa for the wound. The mud and blood made it impossible to tell.
“I’m not leaving her.” Devyn scowled. “I’m not losing another friend.”
Gwynneth opened her mouth to argue, then changed her mind upon seeing the fear in Devyn’s eyes. “I’ll get the doctor,” she said, patting Devyn on the shoulder.
She shoved her way through the crowd in the courtyard, though the soldiers made way as soon as they recognized her. Gwynneth waved at the nearest servant. “Get a doctor as fast as you can,” she called, pointing toward where Trisa lay.
The servant disappeared and Gwynneth breathed in, looking around. Nothing she could do for Trisa, and the message still needed to go out. The crowd cleared up as soldiers went inside and horses were led to the stable.
Gwynneth knew Princess Galena would take care of everyone. She finally spotted the messenger, recognizing him by his fresh horse and clean clothes. They’d be mud-spattered within the hour.
She pulled the letter out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Put this in a waterproof pouch and deliver it to King Lennart personally. Tell him it’s from Princess Gwynneth and that he must come without delay.”
The messenger nodded at her, his mouth open as he fumbled for a pouch.
As soon as the paper disappeared into it, Gwynneth swatted his horse’s rump and said, “Go!”
Once he’d galloped through the open gate, she returned to Trisa. The doctor, a tall, heavy man had reached her, huffing and puffing.
Devyn reluctantly made way, and Gwynneth hurried to his side, taking him by his bloody hand. “It’ll be all right,” she said, though judging by the doctor’s worried look it very well might not be.
“Braeden needs to see her,” Devyn said, sounding strained. “It’s bad, and she might not make it. He needs to see her before it’s too late.”
A lump rose in Gwynneth’s throat, and she could only nod, squeeze Devyn’s hand, then go in search of Braeden.
Teodora
After sending Elektra off, Teodora went straight to the study. It had been a busy day, but it was far from over. These days she was full of energy, so she planned to work late into the night. She’d sent someone ahead to build a fire and light a lamp, so the room was warm and welcoming by the time she arrived. As always, she made a point of stepping right where Prince Kendryk had breathed his last. The thought of him bleeding out onto this very spot never failed to make her smile.
She sat down behind Princess Viviane’s desk, but found herself too excited for paperwork. It had been such an interesting day. Teodora couldn’t deny she was frustrated at Braeden Terris and Princess Gwynneth's escape, but she doubted they’d get far.
With the peasant rebellion over, they would get little help in the countryside, and the way to Terragand was long. Besides, Teodora’s offer of money and pardon in exchange for any of their heads remained in place. With any luck, some enterprising peasant would take matters into his own hands, solving the problem for good.
All the same, it annoyed her that Gwynneth and at least two of her children still lived. Devyn’s existence was especially galling, since he was old and impressive enough to take a leading role in Terragand. If Teodora didn’t stop him, he’d make an attractive figurehead, rallying most of Kronland behind him. She wished she’d killed him today, along with the leader of the rebellion.
The captain of Teodora’s guard informed her that Princess Gwynneth had also been almost in her grasp, disguised as a farmer. Teodora hadn’t seen her, but somehow didn’t doubt it. She’d never admit it to anyone, but she had a grudging respect for a woman like Gwynneth who appeared to be nearly as unstoppable as Teodora herself. She’d stop her of course, but in the meantime Gwynneth made an interesting and worthy opponent.
Teodora rang a bell, then scribbled a quick message, ordering the servant who appeared to deliver it to the militia commander. She’d already deployed all of the Moraltan mercenaries in the chase after Braeden and Gwynneth, but Teodora wanted to send everyone she could spare from the palace as well. A few militia companies camped on the grounds could be put to work. Being native Isenwalders, they’d have the advantage of knowing the area better than foreign troops.
She’d just turned to the pile of letters on her desk when a footman announced Princess Viviane.
“What do you want?” Teodora asked, not bothering to look up from her work.
Princess Viviane sank into a chair on the other side of the desk.
Teodora kept working.
The princess cleared her throat, then said, “I must protest the deployment of my militia without my consent.”
Teodora looked up. “Your militia?”
A red spot burned on each of Viviane’s white cheeks. “I am ruler of Isenwald and these are my troops. I’m happy to lend them to you of course, but it’s only right I’m consulted when they’re used.”
Teodora put down the letter she’d been pretending to read. Funny the old witch thought she was still in charge. “I should have thought you’d be happy to help catch Braeden Terris and Princess Gwynneth.”
“I’d like nothing better.” The princess narrowed her eyes. “But I must also put down the peasant rebellion. As long as any rebels remain, they will help those traitors get away.”
“T
he rebellion is over.” Teodora smirked. “I killed the leader myself. I’ve ordered his body put on display in the Kronfels temple so I doubt anyone will want to take his place.”
“How clever of you,” Viviane said, “but I insist on being involved in any future decisions of a military nature.”
Teodora rolled her eyes. She would not argue about who was in charge here, again.
Mercifully, the door opened. Perhaps a servant was bringing coffee, though wine would be better.
Elektra walked in, wearing a clean, plain dress, looking pale and calm. “I must speak with you, Mother,” she said, ignoring the princess.
“Come back later,” Viviane said. “Your mother and I are busy.”
Elektra took several steps toward the princess until she stood beside her. “Get out,” she said, her voice as firm as Teodora had ever heard it.
“You can’t—” Viviane began.
“I said, get out.” Elektra raised her voice. “I have business with the empress.”
Viviane turned toward Teodora, looking outraged.
Teodora raised an eyebrow, amused, and just a little proud. “You’d better go.”
“I won’t be—” Viviane’s voice shook.
“Get out,” Teodora and Elektra said at the same time.
Princess Viviane left, shooting Elektra a lethal glance as she passed.
Elektra dropped into the chair.
“Impressive.” Teodora smiled. “What’s happened to you?”
“I’ve grown up,” Elektra said. “I’ve learned a great deal about the world these past months, much of it confusing. But I’m not confused anymore. I want to be empress someday. Surely, that’s something you understand.”
“It is.” Teodora had to confess she was pleased. Not only had Elektra returned of her own free will, she seemed to have grown a spine in the process. She still wasn’t trustworthy, but she might well be useful. Teodora leaned across the desk. “I understand. But you must realize how long I had to wait. And you will have to wait just as long, perhaps longer. As you can see, I’m in excellent health.”
Fall of the Titan (The Desolate Empire Book 5) Page 2