Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  “And you took it? Why did you leave your post?” the captain demanded.

  The two looked at each other and shrugged. The less embarrassed one said, “Didn’t seem right to drink in front of a duchess. Especially a little one.”

  “We must find her,” Gwynneth said. “Leave guards for the other children. I’m coming with you. We must find her before Fernanda Vastic does.”

  Maryna

  After the ceremony, Maryna took a quiet meal in her room and went to bed. This time of year it was still light outside, so she gazed out the window for a while, at the lovely palace garden bathed in a dusk that would last for hours. Then she drew the curtain in hopes the darkness would help her sleep.

  She changed into a simpler dress and wore it to bed, in case something happened in the middle of the night. The beautiful circlet sat on a stand at her bedside.

  “I had it made just for this,” her uncle whispered in her ear as he’d walked her back out of the throne room. “It’s nothing official, so you can keep it.”

  “Thank you Uncle Arryk.” Maryna tried not to beam too broadly, since she was supposed to be sad about her mother’s death, and solemn about the ceremony.

  Now she stared at the circlet by the light of a lamp flickering nearby and wondered when she’d wear it next. Perhaps when she returned to Allaux, Queen Zofya would throw a big party to celebrate her safe return. Or maybe when she got back to Terragand, there’d be a celebration.

  Maryna lay back on the downy pillow and pictured the scene. First of course, her father would greet her and she almost cried, thinking of how happy she’d be to see him. Once she returned to him, she’d be old enough to go everywhere with him, and she’d never let him leave her again.

  Next, she imagined meeting King Lennart. He was very old, but everyone said he was still good-looking, and quite merry. Maryna wondered if he would dance with her, and pictured herself whirling around a ballroom across from the king in her beautiful dress and jewelry.

  But she imagined all of this mostly to keep herself from thinking about Magnus Torsen. She hadn’t seen her uncle’s best friend since that terrible last battle, but unlike Uncle Arryk, Magnus had changed for the better. He’d been only a boy when Maryna knew him before, but now he was grown up—at least twenty-two.

  The king had assigned him to be the head of Maryna’s guards, since he trusted him more than anyone. Maryna wanted to greet him as an old friend, but was taken aback by how old and serious he seemed.

  He wasn’t handsome like her uncle, but had an angular, interesting face, with big blue eyes that crinkled around the edges when he smiled.

  She’d smiled back, but blushed too, so she had to look away in embarrassment. After that, she couldn’t think of anything to say to him, so surely he found her a foolish little girl.

  Maryna rolled onto her side and screwed her eyes shut against the pang in her heart. Magnus was much too old for her, not high-ranking enough—even though her uncle had given him a title—and she would leave again soon.

  It was hopeless. She allowed one tear to slide down her nose and into her pillow, mourning a love that would never be.

  She had nearly drifted off to sleep when a creaking noise awakened her. The lamp still burned, but she saw nothing outside the small halo around it.

  Maryna sat up and grabbed the knife from under her pillow, sliding it from the sheath. No one could get past the guards at her door, along the corridors and under the windows. A few were even stationed on the palace roof.

  “Count Torsen?” she asked, willing her voice not to shake.

  There was only silence, then another creak. It didn’t come from the door or the window.

  Slowly, she crawled across the bed and dropped to the floor on the side away from the light. Anyone trying to attack would go for the bed.

  There was a loud thump as something or someone fell onto the bed, knocking the heavy headboard against the wall.

  Maryna sprang to her feet and ran for the door. It was locked, even though it wasn’t supposed to be on her side.

  She banged on it with one hand, gripping the knife in the other.

  “Help!” she shouted, while squinting into the shadows at her attacker. “Help!” she called again, her voice rising into a shriek as something dark loomed over her.

  She dodged out of the way, even as she heard pounding on the other side of the door. She hoped those were her guards, but they ought to be able to get in, just as she should have been able to get out. Something had gone wrong.

  Maryna ran past the table, snatched the lamp and threw it at the shadow following her.

  It connected, and there was a shriek as a flame flared up. Her attacker wore a long cloak, which caught fire, though it went out again when they rolled onto the bed.

  Maryna clenched her fists. Her guards were breaking down the door, and she prayed they’d be inside soon. But in the meantime she had to stay alive.

  The fire had gone out and it was dark again, but Maryna saw a dark bundle on her bed, and launched herself onto it, knife first. She gritted her teeth as the short blade plunged into soft flesh, followed by a scream.

  She yanked it out and plunged it into another spot, but it must have been nothing vital because the body under her reared up, throwing her onto the bed.

  Now they sat on top of her, but Maryna still held her knife. She needed to kill this person before they killed her.

  She gripped the knife and pulled back, hoping she could hit a soft spot. But then she felt something cold against her throat and a low voice in her ear.

  “Goodbye, Princess.”

  Maryna screamed as the blade bit into her skin.

  Anton

  Anton held off the soldiers coming at him well enough, but he’d lost track of Kendryk. Another musketeer ran at him, his weapon already discharged.

  The butt swung at Anton’s leg, but he swept down with the saber he’d pulled out of the scabbard on the saddle and slashed at the man’s arm until he dropped it. Once he had a moment’s respite, he looked around for friendly troops.

  “Over here.” He waved his saber. “The prince needs help.”

  At the sight of Kendryk’s riderless horse his heart leapt into his throat, but he hurried to grab its reins. Once he found Kendryk, they’d need to make a fast getaway.

  Several dozen of Kendryk’s guard made their way over, and the less-disciplined of the enemy troops melted away to plunder the camp.

  Anton didn’t care about that; he needed to find Kendryk.

  “It’s the prince’s horse,” he said to Captain Merton, who’d reached him first.

  Merton turned pale. “What’s happened to him?”

  Anton shook his head. “I didn’t see them carry him off, so he can’t be far away.”

  “Then let’s find him.” Merton beckoned to other troops now gathered behind him and brandished a bloody sword.

  The smoke had cleared a little, revealing a cluster of enemy nearby. Since the rest had gone toward camp, there was only one reason for them to stay.

  “There.” Anton pointed. “Hurry, before they can hurt him.”

  He prayed they weren’t too late as he put the spurs to his horse. The enemy wanted to take Kendryk alive, but things could go wrong in a fight.

  Anton looked back; now there were a good fifty troops at his back. He raised his saber and shrieked at the top of his lungs, the way Karil had told him the Marjatyans did.

  The enemy soldiers clustered around something on the ground didn’t see him until it was too late.

  Anton caught the first man across the throat, then pulled his saber free for another. The rest ran off quickly enough after that.

  By now it was growing light, so it was easy to see the body on the ground was Kendryk’s. Anton’s breath caught, but he jumped down and hurried over to him.

  “Thank the gods.” Kendryk grinned up at him. “Help me get these ropes off.”

  They’d clumsily tied his legs together and had tried to lash his arms to
his sides, but that task had been interrupted.

  “Are you all right, Your Grace?” Anton asked as he untied the ropes with Merton’s help.

  “Bruised from falling off my horse, but nothing broken.” Kendryk managed a shaky smile, though the quiver in his voice gave him away. “Have we defeated them?”

  “Not a chance.” Anton pulled Kendryk to his feet. “They’ve gone to plunder the camp, but there are too many of them. We must go before the rest of them realize you’ve escaped.”

  He helped Kendryk onto his horse. “We ride north from here. I know who can help us.”

  Kendryk didn’t argue, and more and more troops joined them once they realized where he was.

  “We took many casualties, Your Grace,” Merton said. “They surprised us fair and square.”

  “Who would attack us here, in Terragand?” Kendryk’s voice still shook, but Anton now recognized the anger underneath.

  “My first thought was Mattila,” Anton said, “but I didn’t see any standards or anyone wearing her tabards.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want her troops identified.” Merton shook his head. “Who else could it be?” He turned to Kendryk. “Mattila or not, these fellows have orders to capture you, and we can’t let that happen. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “I’m still going to Galladium,” Kendryk said, his jaw set.

  “We’ll find a way,” Anton said, “but first we need supplies and reinforcements.”

  “Where are we going?” Kendryk looked around and Anton realized he wasn’t as familiar with this end of Terragand as Anton was.

  “Duke Aidan Orland’s castle can’t be over thirty leagues, maybe less. He’ll help us.”

  “Of all people,” Kendryk said, “but you’re right. He’s always been a staunch ally.” He smiled at Anton. “You probably know him better than I do. Lead the way.”

  Gwynneth

  The sunlight faded as Gwynneth entered the woods with the guards. The captain had insisted she stay behind, but she overrode him with sheer determination. It was out of the question she do nothing, while her little girl was alone out there.

  “How do you know we’re going in the right direction?” She didn’t bother to whisper, since the close vegetation swallowed much of the sound.

  “We don’t.” The captain looked even sadder than usual. If they didn’t find Stella, Natalya would likely have his head. “But she would have headed for the woods closest to that window, and away from the idiots drinking in the brush.”

  They followed a small trail cut through the underbrush nearby, although the needle-strewn ground showed no tracks of any kind. This time of year many hours of daylight remained, and Gwynneth prayed they would find Stella long before it faded.

  The trail was not meant for humans, and held many obstacles. The captain helped Gwynneth climb over several fallen trees, while nettles and the stickers from berry bushes snatched at her skirts. Before long she was breathing hard and sweating.

  She wished she’d had time to change into something more practical. She wore the dress she’d had on while leaving Allaux, even though simpler clothing filled a wardrobe in her room at the lodge.

  Unlike some women, she’d never been comfortable in breeches and a shirt, though after this adventure she’d have to wear them at least as long as it took to repair her dress. It had already torn, caught twice on sharp branches.

  Gwynneth knew she was slowing the rest of them down, but hoped it didn’t matter too much. How fast could Stella move?

  She was a quick, athletic little girl and would duck under limbs they’d had to climb over, wearing simple clothes that wouldn’t hold her back.

  But surely she’d get hungry and thirsty? Stella was so impulsive Gwynneth doubted she’d brought any supplies, and hoped that would slow her down.

  They walked and walked, every now and then passing a clearing. Gwynneth worried that the trail would end, or that Stella might have taken another path, but the captain remained adamant.

  “If we keep going straight, we ought to reach a small river,” he said. “We need water, but she will too. That’s our best hope.”

  Gwynneth nodded, realizing her own mouth was parched. One guard gave her a handful of red berries he’d picked.

  “They’re safe?” she asked as she took them, wondering when she’d become so paranoid.

  He took it as a joke and smiled at her. “I grew up in the woods and ate these all summer.” He popped one in his mouth. “See? Delicious.”

  Gwynneth bit down on a berry. Sweetness flooded her mouth, followed by a hint of tartness. “Delicious,” she agreed, and took the next handful he offered. She felt refreshed after that, and they reached water soon.

  The captain raised a hand to stop them before they all rushed down to it. “If she’s nearby, we don’t want to frighten her,” he said. “We must go quietly.”

  “Let me go first,” Gwynneth said. Stella might run away at the sight of the guards, but surely not from her mother.

  The captain sighed, but nodded. It seemed he’d given up arguing with her.

  Gwynneth, the captain, and two other guards made their way to the riverbed. It wasn’t wide or deep, and burbled over rocks and fallen trees. On another day, Gwynneth would have found it pretty and refreshing.

  But today all she thought of was Stella slipping and falling in, hitting her head on a rock, her body swept downstream.

  “Your Grace,” the captain said in her ear. “Look.” He pointed at the other side of the stream. Small footprints marked the muddy bank, then disappeared into the woods.

  Gwynneth didn’t even wait for the others, and plunged into the icy water. It never came over her knees, but the bed was slippery. Her skirts tangled around her ankles.

  “Your Grace, wait!” the captain shouted, but she kept going.

  Her foot slipped off a rock, and she pitched forward, face-first into the water, her hands sliding off of rocks slick with moss. Icy water rushed over her head, but then someone grabbed her hair and she came up again, gasping and sputtering.

  “Are you all right, Your Grace?” The captain still had her by the hair, though he loosened his grip a bit. “You must let me help you to the other side.”

  Gwynneth nodded, wiping water from her face. Fortunately it was warm, so her wet dress felt refreshing, if a bit too heavy. She crossed more slowly now, a guard holding each elbow, then went around the small footprints on the bank.

  They were the right size. Gwynneth nearly sobbed with relief, but wondered how long it had been since Stella had passed.

  Once all the guards had crossed, they kept following the trail. It had widened, and Gwynneth was running now, sensing Stella was near. She pushed a few bushes aside and entered a small clearing, then stopped short.

  In the middle of it, on the grass, Fernanda Vastic sat cross-legged, a crying Stella in her lap.

  “How nice of you to come.” Fernanda grinned, showing her fangs. “I’ve been looking for you. This will be much easier.”

  Gwynneth wanted to cry, to scream, but she could hardly breathe. She was conscious of someone holding her up, holding her back from launching herself at Fernanda.

  She watched as if in a dream while Fernanda raised a small blade to Stella’s chest. “Let’s not have any trouble, shall we? You’ll take me to the other children and we’ll put an end to this at last.”

  Elektra

  Elektra waited in the library, trying to calm herself. Edric had promised her he wouldn’t let Lennart take her away, but she wasn’t sure she believed him.

  She’d been able to hold out hope until the moment she saw Lennart; now she doubted the Maximus could stand up to such a formidable man.

  She murmured a prayer to Vica. Her only chance was to tell Lennart what he wanted to hear. She’d do almost anything to keep her freedom except for the one thing she was sure he would most want.

  Late afternoon turned to evening, turned to dusk, then turned dark.

  A servant brought a t
ray of food. “The king is still closeted with the Maximus,” he said, “but he wanted me to tell you he’ll speak with you soon.”

  Elektra picked at her food, then tried reading a book by the light of a single lamp.

  She had nearly decided to walk in the garden in hopes of calming herself, when the door opened and Lennart strode into the room.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Your Grace. The Maximus and I had a great deal to discuss.”

  “Of course.” Elektra stood and forced a smile, while wiping sweaty palms on her skirt.

  Aside from Braeden, she’d never met anyone so physically imposing, and it was hard not to be frightened. It didn’t help that she was completely in his power.

  “Will you have some wine?” The servant had brought a whole decanter and Elektra hadn’t managed more than a few sips.

  “Better not.” Lennart grinned. “They drink it like water around here, and I’m not used to it. Gives me a devil of a headache.”

  His manner was so informal, Elektra wasn’t sure how to respond, so she showed him to a chair near the hearth, brought the lamp over and sat down nearby. She had worried her hand would shake, but it held the light steadily.

  Elektra breathed more easily. Vica was with her now.

  “No point in beating about the bush,” Lennart said, once they were settled. “Edric told me he’s discussed everything with you. It sounds like you bear your mother no great love, so you’d make a great ally, providing we can come to terms on a few matters.”

  Elektra chewed her lower lip. “I hate my mother, and it’s true I want to be empress. If you should overthrow her, I’d want her place. What do you want from me in return?”

  Based on her conversations with Edric, she had an idea, but wanted to hear it from Lennart himself.

  “You’re right. It’s best to get straight to the point. I’ll be honest with you. Until I’d heard you were here, my intention was to depose—preferably kill—your mother, and force the estates of the empire to elect anyone but an Inferrara in her place.”