Fall of the Titan (The Desolate Empire Book 5)

by Christina Ochs

  The duke turned to look at Anton, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t doubt she has Terragand’s best interests at heart, and that she’s capable of ruling for a time. But I don’t like how beholden she is to Lennart.”

  “I don’t understand why everyone worries about Lennart,” Anton said. “He’s great.”

  “That’s what everyone worries about. It’s unhelpful for the strongest leader in Kronland to be a foreigner. What happens when he defeats Teodora?”

  “I don’t know,” Anton said. “But shouldn’t we worry about defeating her first?”

  At that the duke chuckled, putting a hand on Anton’s shoulder. “You’re right. We’ll make our plans tomorrow. I’ve received very interesting information about Teodora herself. I hope we can use it.”

  Trystan

  The guards at the city gates made a show of mild protest as the de la Tour entourage passed, but didn’t put up a fight.

  Trystan smiled. “It looks like you acted quickly enough, Your Grace. The king isn’t ready for you.”

  “Might be. Or the guards are on my side,” the duke said with a toss of his head. He was arrogant enough to believe all of Galladium preferred him over their king.

  “Very possible,” Trystan murmured, resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder. As they’d passed the gate, he’d delivered the prearranged signal, a wide blue sash tied cross-wise over his cuirass. Trystan rarely bothered with much ornamentation, so wearing it felt a little strange.

  He’d met the eyes of the guard standing to the right of the guardhouse door. The man blinked and licked his lips. Trystan would have preferred a clearer acknowledgment, but best to be subtle, right here beside the duke.

  Now he ached to look back hoping to see one of those guards riding for the palace. They’d set up a relay so the king would know within minutes that Joslyn was alive and in the city so he could make his move. More of the king’s people waited at the Maxima’s palace, ready to take Charlise de la Tour into custody.

  But Trystan worried, now he knew the duke was willing to kill everyone hoping to make himself king.

  “Why the furrowed brow?” the duke asked. He had been watching him closely.

  “I’m nervous, I confess,” Trystan said with a shrug. “I’m afraid I insulted the king rather badly, and there’s no telling what he’ll do if he knows I’m back in town.”

  “He’ll do nothing,” the duke said coldly. “You’re under my protection. The king needs to worry about himself.”

  “I hope you’re right.” The duke’s army traveled slowly along the streets. He had chosen the shortest route to the temple, but that meant taking narrow streets, forcing the procession to slow to a crawl. All good. The more time King Gauvain had to act, the better.

  “I can’t stand this,” the duke said, scowling impatiently at the ranks creeping down the street behind them. “Let’s ride ahead to my sister’s palace and make sure she’s safe.”

  Trystan didn’t want to lose sight of Joslyn’s carriage so he had to think fast. “I understand the need for hurry, but what if the Maxima is threatened? Best we take at least one company.”

  The duke hesitated, his eyes passing over the troops behind them. “You’re right. I’d also like to keep the Lady Joslyn close.” He gave the order, then spurred his horse ahead.

  Trystan glanced back. About a hundred troops separated from the main force and started marching double-time. The carriage came along in their midst, the pair of horses’ shod hooves clanking rapidly against the cobblestones as they picked up speed.

  When Trystan saw the familiar face of Charel, one of the king’s footmen disguised as a guard at the Maxima’s palace, he knew Gauvain had pulled off the first part of the plan, taking Charlise de la Tour into custody.

  The duke hurried forward. “You there—take me to the Maxima immediately.”

  “‘Fraid we can’t, Your Grace,” Charel said, taking on an idiotic expression. “She’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?” The duke tapped his riding crop on his thigh. “Where has she gone, and why aren’t you with her?”

  “I apologize.” Another guard—Trystan recognized him as well—elbowed Charel aside. “But the Maxima told us to stay here. She took a few guards with her, said she wasn’t going far.”

  “Where would she go?” The duke’s face was becoming anxious.

  Trystan did his best to affect boredom and not meet Charel’s eyes.

  The other guard shrugged in true Galladian style. “She didn’t say. Except she’d be back in under two hours.”

  “Two hours? That’s unacceptable. I must see her at once.”

  “There’s folk who say she has a lover, a young fellow apprenticed to a—” Charel began, a sly smile on his face. He appeared to be enjoying himself a great deal.

  “Silence!” the duke roared. “I will not have my sister slandered. Tell me this instant where she’s gone or there will be consequences.”

  “Your Grace,” Trystan murmured, hoping he looked like the thought had just occurred to him. “What if the Maxima has gone to the king’s palace? She’ll be in danger if she has.”

  “Truth be told, I worry the king has already taken her,” the duke said, dropping his voice. “It would be easy enough to send for her under false pretenses.”

  “Exactly.” Trystan was well aware that the Maxima had ignored any of Gauvain’s summons in the past, but now they’d wasted valuable moments here, it was time to go. “Perhaps we should move on the palace at once.”

  “I believe you’re right.” The duke fixed his eyes on Trystan. “I need your help. This is an excellent chance for you to prove yourself.”

  “Certainly,” Trystan said, even as his stomach clenched in fear at what the duke might ask of him.

  “Aside from this company, the rest of my troops are gods-only-know where. I will lead this force and the carriage to the royal palace while you and Count Michel find everyone else and bring them there.”

  “Very well,” Trystan said, understanding that Michel was to keep an eye on him. He hated losing sight of the carriage, but he’d see it again soon. And by now, Gauvain would have been told what it looked like and where it was.

  Hiding his reluctance, Trystan turned away. “Let’s go round up the rest of that army, Count,” he said with feigned good humor.

  “Huh,” Michel said, casting a resentful glance at his father. Likely he worried about missing out on the action to come. He was right to worry, though not about that.

  “I’m sure I can find the rest of the troops, and even better, I know a shortcut,” Trystan said, now grateful for the time he’d spent in Allaux, becoming familiar with the city. “Please follow me.”

  Teodora

  Teodora was nearly grateful for Sibyla’s potion because sleep was far better than reality. In her dreams, Daciana came, and together they plotted the downfall of all of her enemies.

  When Teodora was free again, she would trust no one, not even Livilla. It went without saying that everyone involved in this conspiracy would die. Teodora would make sure it would be the most awful death she could dream up. No one would ever dare touch her again.

  She awoke to daylight and an open tent flap. A considerable bustle went on outside and over it all, Teodora heard Sibyla’s voice, bossy as always, giving orders. It was unbearable that Sibyla of all people had done this, and that a priest of the true faith was involved, even if he worked for her brother.

  Remembering the previous evening, Teodora held her breath. Just as her chest contracted painfully, the dark moved in again. Teodora refused to breathe and put all of her will at the flicker of black in the corner of her eye.

  “Kill them all,” she muttered against the gag.

  The flicker nodded, as if in agreement, and darted into the tent.

  “Go.” Teodora nearly said it out loud, but forgot, and gasped for air, so the wisp disintegrated into nothing. Frustrating, but now she knew what to do. Holding her breath would summon the
demons. She just had to hold it long enough so they could form. Difficult, but not impossible.

  She’d have plenty of time to practice while being sent south like a piece of baggage. She hoped Sibyla wouldn’t come along, keeping her drugged, but she wasn’t that lucky.

  “I’m coming along,” Sibyla said, entering the tent. “You’ll be uncomfortable, but I’ll do my best to make it better.”

  “I hate you,” Teodora said against the gag.

  Sibyla shook her head and put a hand on Teodora’s forehead.

  Teodora jerked away, staring at Sibyla with hatred in her eyes.

  Sibyla sighed. “I hope Livilla can help you and that it’s not too late,” she said. “We’ll leave in less than an hour,” she added before moving away to do something with the trunk holding Teodora’s clothes.

  Too late? Too late for what? Teodora was certain that Sibyla worried about the wrong things. Whatever was happening to Teodora might be unusual, but it wasn’t harmful, except to those who opposed her. And that was a good thing.

  At least Livilla would understand, though Teodora didn’t want to return to Atlona. The way wasn’t even safe, since they no doubt would run into the Estenorian army at some point. With an idiot like Kolar in charge, that wouldn't go well.

  Before leaving, Sibyla and a servant came in, repeating the unpleasant potion administration. By now, Teodora was starving and thirsty, but no way would she remain quiet once the gag was removed. Let Sibyla puzzle it out. She wouldn’t let Teodora die.

  As she fell asleep again, someone picked her up, placing her on another bed. Then she was outside for a moment. As her eyes fell shut, the canvas of a wagon stretched above her.

  Teodora laughed sleepily, realizing this would have been Kendryk’s view as she’d hauled him from here to Atlona all those years ago . But he was dead now, and Teodora still lived. Once she figured out how to make the demons work for her, she would be back in charge where she belonged.

  When she woke up again, it was dark, but the wagon still bumped down a road. Against her will, Teodora moaned. What if Sibyla let her die of thirst?

  A few moments later, the wagon stopped and Sibyla crawled in. “You must be so uncomfortable,” she said softly. “I will take that off so you can have a bit to eat and drink. Make as much noise as you like. There’s no one around but your escort and I’ve already warned them you’ll carry on.”

  Teodora scowled as the gag came off. Sibyla held a cup of water to her lips and she gulped it down. She wanted to scream, but she felt too tired and sick. No doubt it was the fault of the potion. Once she drank down the whole mug, Sibyla gave her another, then shouted something outside the wagon.

  “Someone will bring food in a moment,” Sibyla said. “You must keep up your strength.”

  Teodora struggled to sit up, and Sibyla put a pillow at her back.

  “I order you to untie me,” Teodora said.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “You know you will die for this.”

  “I do.” Sibyla looked straight into her eyes. “But if I do, it will be because I got you to Livilla and you will be yourself again.”

  “I’m myself now.”

  Sibyla shook her head looking sad. “You’re not. I know you can’t see it, but everyone else can. Please realize that all of us around you are your friends. We want to see you well again.”

  “Where is that priest?” Teodora growled.

  “He stayed with Major Bartnik.”

  “I shouldn’t have trusted her either.”

  “She only allowed us to do what was necessary. She also wrote a letter to Mattila, putting her in the picture.”

  Teodora groaned. That was all she needed.

  But then food arrived and her stomach gave a great growl at the smell of stew and fresh-baked bread.

  “We’ll go slowly,” Sibyla said. “I don’t want to make you sick.”

  Teodora threw her a murderous look and gulped down the food as fast as Sibyla spooned it into her mouth. Her doctor was wrong about everything.

  Lennart

  So far, all reports claimed Mattila was staying in Oltena while Leyf Lofbrok gave her the runaround. Lennart smiled as he read dispatches while lounging on a daybed in Raysa’s dressing room. After just a few days they’d fallen back into their old routine: Lennart staying with his wife while she dressed—a lengthy operation involving elaborate dresses and even more elaborate hairdos—while he started on the day’s work.

  “Good news?” Raysa smiled over at him from her dressing table, then winced as her maid yanked on her hair.

  “Good enough for now,” Lennart said, putting the dispatch on a nearby table and picking up the next one. “Lofbrok is keeping Mattila busy in Oltena. No doubt she hopes to defeat him in a decisive battle, but Leyf is too canny to stay in one place long enough to give her one.”

  “That’s good.” Raysa turned back to her mirror. “Do you think he can find his way here before Mattila does?”

  “I hope so. I’ve sent him orders to make for Podoska and come here that way. It’s hard to say what’s going on in Isenwald right now and getting through those forests will take longer. Princess Edyta is a crabby old thing, but at least she’s on our side and won’t give him too much trouble. I’m still thinking of a way to get General Vidmar here. Maybe I’ll write to Princess Edyta later and offer to buy out her contract.”

  “That would be marvelous. I hope we can do it all in time. Have you heard any more about Teodora?”

  Lennart shook his head. “Only more rumors. Things like a crazy sorceress rampaging through the woods near the river. Makes you wonder if it’s even her.”

  “You don’t believe in things like that, do you?” Raysa had turned around while her maid held up another mirror so she could inspect the back of her head.

  “No. There’s always another explanation, but a lot of folk are superstitious and enjoy wild stories.”

  Raysa turned back to face Lennart. “But Edric Maximus says there are forces of darkness. Isn’t it possible that someone like Teodora has harnessed them?”

  “I don’t know,” Lennart said. “Edric is right, I’m sure. But harnessing those must take years and years of study, and Teodora is not known for her patience or erudition. Someone like Livilla, I might believe.”

  “Well, whoever it is, I hope someone stops her.” Raysa turned back to her maid. “Just lift that one braid there, behind my right ear, and that should do it.”

  “Let’s see,” Lennart said, once the maid backed away. “Very nice. I haven’t seen you wear it that way before.”

  The maid had fashioned Raysa’s pale blonde, waist-length hair into braids, then wrapped them around the top of her head like a crown.

  “It’s not the latest style,” Raysa said, tilting her head so the maid could put dangling sapphire earrings on each ear. “But I like trying different things.”

  “You’ll start a new style,” Lennart said, thinking the look would flatter Gwynneth too, though he doubted Gwynneth would ever copy anyone. “Let’s get breakfast.” He stood up, shaking out a cramp in his leg and scooping up the unread messages from the table.

  Edric, Gwynneth, Braeden and the children were already at breakfast in Edric’s private dining room. Lennart glanced at the Maximus as he sat down across from him. His looks had improved a great deal in the past weeks.

  It was probably doing him good to have Gwynneth and the children around, along with a bit of liveliness in a palace that had been quiet for too long. While Lennart didn’t doubt Raysa had been good company, she was quiet and sensitive. Edric’s dour mood would have rubbed off on her, rather than the other way around.

  “Any news?” Braeden asked Lennart once they’d started eating.

  “The usual rumors about Teodora,” Lennart said, taking a bite of bread and washing it down with hot coffee. He always liked to get it down while it was still scalding. “But more messages came late last night, so I might learn more. I’ll let you know if
there’s anything good.”

  Lennart grinned at Braeden, who was clearly getting bored, sitting around in the palace. He spent his days training Prince Devyn in military matters, but it was obvious Braeden was in need of more action.

  “I don’t want Mattila getting here too fast,” Braeden said, “but I don’t see why we can’t take on Teodora in the meantime. Orland’s reports say she has less than two thousand Moraltans.”

  “I can’t spare the troops,” Lennart said. “I’m sorry about that, but I need everyone here right now to build up the fortifications.” Every last soldier was engaged in either scouting duty or expanding Balduin’s earthworks outside the city. When Mattila came, she’d come with big siege guns, and Lennart wanted to be sure they’d be ineffective.

  “I wish Anton and Maryna would get here.” Stella piped up.

  Lennart smiled at her. It was because of Stella that the palace now rang with shouts and laughter. He hoped Kataryna turned out to be so lively. “They have to be careful,” he said, “getting across Terragand right now is tricky, but I’m sure we’ll see them soon.”

  He hoped for them, and even more, he hoped for Trystan. If Lofbrok could win through, Lennart would have more than enough troops, but he needed every competent officer available. He’d feel completely confident facing Mattila with Trystan by his side.

  He read more messages as he ate. It was a little rude, but everyone else was eager for news as well. “Now this is interesting,” he said, looking up from the most recent dispatch sent from the outermost scouting companies. “Guess who’s been spotted skulking around the edges of the valley?”

  “Teodora?” Devyn asked.

  Lennart shook his head, then looked at Braeden. “Seems your old friend Franca Dura is close by. I wonder what she’s up to?”

  Trystan

  “This way,” Trystan told Count Michel, leading him into a narrow alleyway. “If your father’s soldiers are still trying to reach the temple, they’ll be on that street over there.” As they stopped to listen for a moment, they heard the sounds of an army on the march at a distance.