Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  Braeden decided not to mention Devyn for now. He’d love to unload him here into the care of the guards, but knew the boy would never forgive him for making him miss out on the chase to come.

  “You can stay here,” Braeden told the guard. “I’ll go look. Fernanda Vastic is still out there. She killed four people at a mill just a few leagues from here. I’ll leave you a few of my people, but let no one else near those children until I return with the princess. Is that understood?”

  He managed a stern glare, since the young guard was looking far too excited about the precarious situation.

  “We’ll need torches,” Braeden added, “since I doubt we’ll be back before dark.”

  “I can get you those.” The guard shouted “Hey!” and another young man appeared at the door, staring at Braeden. “Go grab a bale of torches. And send someone to get food and ale.” He turned back to Braeden. “I’m sure you’ll want refreshment before you go.”

  Braeden was hungry, but had forgotten all about it. “We’ll take something along. I don’t want to delay any longer.”

  If the search party had been gone several hours, it meant they hadn’t easily found Stella, the little rascal. For such proper people, Kendryk and Gwynneth had spawned a surprising number of troublemakers.

  By the time he explained the situation to the others, assigned a squadron to stay at the lodge, and waited for food and torches to be handed out, the sun had already dipped below the tops of the tallest trees.

  He hated leaving the horses behind, but the guard explained that the woods were a tangled mess around here.

  “Please sir, let me walk up front with you.” Devyn’s face was pale and resolute. “It’s my sister out there, and I’m certain she’s run off because she’s looking for me. I have to help.”

  Braeden didn’t have the heart to say no. “All right. But you don’t move a muscle unless I give the order. Is that clear?”

  “Absolutely, sir.” Though he was still a pain, the young duke was learning to follow orders.

  While the others were eating, Devyn had loaded his pistols, and now they hung at a belt around his waist.

  Braeden wondered if his first shot at Fernanda had been lucky, or if he really had good aim. He hoped they wouldn’t have to find out today.

  Braeden followed the path taken by Gwynneth and the other guards. It was obvious a large party had crashed through the underbrush here recently. He hoped they were taking the same way back.

  After tramping along for the better part of an hour, and Braeden wondering if he should order torches lit before the light failed altogether, there was a noise ahead. He drew a sword and peered into the gloom, ready for anything.

  A harried-looking guardsman rushed toward him along the path and nearly fell into Braeden’s arms.

  “Oh thank the gods,” he said. “I pray you’re not too late.”

  “What is it?”

  “Fernanda Vastic has the princess and little duchess hostage. She’s forcing us to return to the lodge so she can kill the rest of the children.”

  “How far?” Braeden forced himself to calm. He needed to keep his head if he was to help.

  “Not far,” the man whispered and Braeden motioned to everyone else to be quiet. “I was able to slip ahead a little as it got darker and the path turned curvier. I hope that she-wolf hasn’t noticed and harmed the princess, but our only hope was alerting the guards at the lodge.”

  “I see,” Braeden said, trying to quickly come up with a plan. “Tell me what she’s doing. Are they tied up?”

  “The princess is holding the little girl while Vastic has a knife to her back. We don’t dare try anything since she moves so fast it’s unnatural.”

  A head-on attack wasn’t a good idea then.

  “Run back to the lodge and put them on alert, though they’re to stay put for now,” Braeden told the guard, then sent him on his way. He turned to his own people. “We need to get off this path, and fast.”

  Teodora

  Teodora was exhausted, though she’d barely moved a muscle. Sibyla had embarked on a grueling regimen meant to restore Teodora’s abilities as quickly as possible.

  Once she’d been able to blink, it wasn’t long before she could move her head. In time, sensation returned to her right side and soon after that, the ability to move her limbs at least a little.

  “How do I look?’ she asked. By now she could speak out of the corner of her mouth and was mostly intelligible. Not good enough to receive Brynhild Mattila, but at least she was able to do most of her work.

  “Better than last week.” Sibyla was one of the few people in the empire not afraid to tell Teodora the truth. And that was precisely what Teodora needed.

  “Just from looking at me, can you tell what’s wrong?”

  “Not until you speak.”

  Teodora couldn’t walk yet either, but that wasn’t as big a problem. It was easy enough to have servants carry her around in a chair. One advantage to being empress was that she never had to stand in anyone’s presence if she didn’t want to.

  “I must be able to speak.” She willed the left side of her face to work, but it refused.

  “You will.” Sibyla pulled a bench forward so she sat in front of Teodora, picked up her left hand and rubbed it. “You need a few more weeks. Your progress has been so good, I’m confident your abilities will be fully restored by year’s end.”

  But that was much too far away. Teodora’s sources told her Lennart was marching south and would be at her doorstep before autumn if she didn’t stop him.

  Teodora had ordered all spare troops sent to Tirilis, to shore up Prince Herryk’s paltry army, but it wouldn’t be enough. Much as it galled her, she needed Brynhild Mattila. But she would not appear weak in front of her.

  “Send for Livilla,” she said. “We’ll start again in the morning.”

  While it was true Sibyla was an excellent doctor, Teodora didn’t know if she was making progress because of her therapies, or because of Livilla.

  The Maxima prayed over her five times a day, and every other day, Teodora made the long, difficult journey to Atlona’s main temple for an hour-long prayer at Vica’s altar.

  Just to be safe, she’d commissioned a new altarpiece, using an artist Queen Beatryz had last employed. She paid him twice as much and told him she wanted a piece twice as big and fine as anything in Maladena.

  Teodora had never been sure how closely the gods paid attention to what happened here on earth, but she needed to believe they saw her and wanted to help. They had to understand that Teodora was the last thing standing between them and the horrors of the Quadrene faith. Getting their attention with an altarpiece was just the beginning.

  Even though she had no idea where she’d get the money, Teodora started laying plans for a new temple. But instead of adding to the cluster in the old town, she’d build it here, near her own palace.

  She doubted she’d manage to lay the first stone before Lennart got here, but she would do her best. Surely the gods would spare a city where so much work was being done in their honor?

  Livilla came as soon as Sibyla had gone. Since Teodora’s illness she’d moved into the palace to be near her.

  “Has Sibyla worn you out?” She looked Teodora over carefully.

  “She always does.” Teodora tried to smile, then remembered she couldn’t manage anything but a grotesque grimace. “I’m sure I’m making progress, but it’s too slow.”

  “I’ll try to think of a way to delay Mattila. Perhaps we can ask her to harass Lennart’s allies on her way south. But right now I have news; mostly good.”

  Livilla pulled up a chair. “A source of mine close to King Lennart has located Elektra.”

  “Oh gods.” Teodora didn’t like hearing Lennart’s name in the same sentence as her daughter’s. “Has he captured her?”

  “In a manner of speaking. When Lennart’s entourage arrived at Heidenhof to meet with Edric Landrus, Elektra was there. It seems she’s been Edric’s
captive for some time.”

  “Did your source—” Teodora had to clear her throat. “Did your source find her well? She’s not being held in harsh conditions?”

  “She is well, and appears to be under house arrest in Edric’s palace.”

  “She escaped from here, so you’d think she’d at least try to get away from him,” Teodora grumbled. No good could come of the heretic priest spending time with her daughter.

  Livilla smiled. “She has no friends there to help her this time. My source also tells me that Lennart and Edric can’t agree on what to do with her.”

  “Interesting.” Teodora hoped they would soon be at each other’s throats.

  “It is, isn’t it? I don’t know what they’re disagreeing about, but I think you can expect to hear from Lennart soon. I suspect he’ll try offering her in exchange for terms of some kind.”

  “Terms I can’t possibly agree to,” Teodora grumbled.

  “Perhaps not. But keep in mind that a reasonable agreement with Lennart will make you less reliant on Brynhild Mattila. Perhaps you can persuade him to confine his activities to Kronland. Please don’t worry in the meantime; it seems unlikely that Lennart wishes to harm Elektra and she’s been treated well in Heidenhof.”

  “I wonder how she got there?” It was hard to imagine what kind of adventure would have resulted in her daughter ending up as Edric’s captive.

  “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. But it does my heart good to know she’s alive and unharmed. I hope it makes you feel better too.”

  A tear leaked out of one of Teodora’s eyes. This illness made her so weak.

  “It does make me feel better,” she said, then realized that she didn’t want Elektra to see her like this either. “Pray over me twice as long today. By the time my daughter gets here I want to look as if nothing happened.”

  “The gods will see it done. After prayers, are you up to seeing visitors?”

  “Depends on the visitor.” Most people wanted something and it took energy Teodora didn’t have to get rid of them.

  Livilla smiled. “They’re from Moralta and have hinted they might have useful information about Brynhild Mattila.”

  “Then I’ll see them.” Perhaps the gods were already answering her prayers.

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth asked Fernanda if Stella could walk, since she was too big to carry for long.

  Fernanda shrugged. “Just don’t let her slow us down. And if she whines ...” She offered a fanged smile and brandished the knife.

  Stella trudged along, holding onto Gwynneth’s hand, but the moment she flagged, Gwynneth snatched her up.

  They hadn’t gone a quarter league before her muscles were screaming, her lungs aching. But she refused to give Fernanda any excuse to harm her.

  Though it was likely she’d harm them both anyway, at least Gwynneth would go first, and she wouldn’t have to watch her daughter die.

  But such thoughts led to despair, and she couldn’t afford that right now. She had to believe she’d find a way out of this.

  When the lead guardsman had started moving a little faster, Gwynneth shifted to block Fernanda’s view of the path.

  The knife poked at her back.

  “No sudden moves, I told you,” Fernanda hissed into her ear.

  “Sorry, I tripped,” Gwynneth murmured. When she looked again, the guard was out of sight, but it seemed Fernanda hadn’t noticed.

  There were a dozen guards ahead of them, and depending on how the path turned, not all were in view at the same time. Gwynneth prayed the man was running for the lodge for all he was worth, and that whoever came to rescue them wouldn’t attack from the front. It would take forever for anyone to make it down the narrow path, by which time Gwynneth and Stella would both be dead.

  She trudged on. Stella fell asleep against her shoulder, and the weight made her feel twice as heavy. Gwynneth hoped she wouldn’t drop her, though it couldn’t have been much further now.

  She had intended to lead Fernanda away from the lodge, but the frontmost guards had taken the correct path, giving Gwynneth no choice but to follow them.

  “I must rest,” Gwynneth said. “I can’t carry her any longer.”

  Fernanda chuckled. “I’ll relieve you of her for good. No need to keep her alive since I have you.”

  Gwynneth gritted her teeth, and shifted Stella onto her other hip. If she got the chance, she wanted to be the one to kill Fernanda. Fantasizing about how she might do it helped distract her from the pain and fatigue for at least a few minutes.

  It was almost completely dark now, and Gwynneth kept stumbling over roots threading the forest floor.

  In front of her, the captain called a halt. He turned toward Fernanda, both hands raised.

  “We’ve brought torches. Might we light them? Otherwise I fear we won’t find our way before morning.”

  Gwynneth prayed Fernanda would say yes. Even if it only took a few moments to light them, she needed the break.

  Fernanda hesitated, then said, “All right, but only two. One for the lead guard, and one for you to guide the princess. Her clumsiness is slowing us down.”

  “Might I sit for a moment?” Gwynneth asked. Now that she’d stopped, she worried her legs might give out.

  “Only until the torches are lit. Slowly now.”

  Gwynneth sank to the ground in the middle of the path, still holding Stella tight.

  The knife moved from her back to just behind her ear, but she didn’t care. Stella shifted sleepily, and Gwynneth knew she’d have to wake her before she’d be able to stand again.

  Far ahead on the path, one torch flared up, then another. The second one came toward Gwynneth, its flame wobbling, casting light against the trees, the tall branches stretching overhead like a temple ceiling. It finally reached the captain and he lowered it, illuminating Gwynneth’s face.

  “Are you all right, Your Grace?”

  In her exhaustion, Gwynneth could only nod. She wanted to ask if he might carry Stella but didn’t want to give Fernanda any excuses to kill her, especially now their way had become so difficult.

  Fernanda prodded her in the back. “On your feet.”

  Before Gwynneth struggled back up, Fernanda yanked on her hair to make her move faster.

  Gwynneth shrieked and dropped Stella. Then there was pandemonium.

  Shots rang out in the darkness, and Gwynneth sensed, rather than saw, Fernanda drop to the ground.

  “Stella!” she screamed, looking around, but it was too dark to see.

  An unearthly shriek went up almost in her ear, and Gwynneth ran into the brush, hoping Stella had gone that way. Surely a little girl wouldn’t scream like that?

  The screaming continued, and Gwynneth kept running.

  “Stella?” She reached out frantically, hoping to find her daughter, but it was pitch black and she saw no one. Branches swatted her face and tangled in her hair, but she refused to stop until she’d found her.

  “Mama?”

  Gwynneth came up short.

  “Devyn?” It was too dark to see anything, but there was no mistaking his voice, and the size of him as his arms came around her.

  “Yes.” He laughed in her ear. “I’ve come to rescue you. Me and Braeden.”

  “Gods, you’re such an idiot.” Gwynneth drew him close and squeezed hard. “I should have had you beaten when you were little. Perhaps you wouldn’t have turned out so disobedient.”

  “I know you don’t mean it.” He patted her on the shoulder, then shouted for a torch. “It sounds like Braeden killed Fernanda. Do you want to go see?”

  “I wanted to do it myself.” Gwynneth had to hold back tears as someone brought light and she saw her son’s face before her. Like Maryna, he was almost as tall as she was now. “Oh gods, I still don’t know where Stella is. What if Fernanda’s killed her?”

  “The villain didn’t have a chance.” Devyn took her by the elbow and steered her back to the path. “Look, there she is.”

&nbs
p; The area was awash in torchlight now, flickering off of unfamiliar cavalry armor. A young officer held Stella by the hand and it looked like they’d already made friends.

  “This is Lieutenant Torresia,” Devyn said, as Gwynneth snatched Stella away, with a grateful smile for the young woman. “She’s a colleague of mine, and very brave.”

  “Can I be like her when I grow up?” Stella asked, the upsetting past hours seemingly forgotten.

  “If you want,” Gwynneth said, kissing her on the cheek as she struggled to get back down. Thanks to Braeden and Devyn, now she might live long enough to grow up.

  Lennart

  “I’ll come with you,” Raysa said, when Lennart told her he was ready to head south. “It’s safe at least as far as Lantura, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry, love.” Lennart took her by the hand and pulled her down onto a bench next to Kataryna’s cradle.

  “You can leave us,” he told the nurse, then took over rocking the little bed with one hand. He turned back toward Raysa. “Until it’s clear which side Mattila is taking, I won’t risk you or the baby.”

  “Surely she’s not stupid enough to fight you?” Raysa spoke in a loud whisper. Kataryna didn’t like sleeping much, so when she finally did, everyone went to great lengths to keep her slumber uninterrupted.

  “She’s not stupid at all, but I doubt she’s worried about taking me on.”

  “Even after the battle? She must know how completely you defeated Ensden.”

  “She doesn’t care.” The cradle creaked with every push. “She thinks she’s better than Ensden, and she’s right. And Teodora can offer her all kinds of things I can’t, so I have to be prepared to fight her soon.”

  Raysa frowned. “I hate staying behind.” She grabbed his free hand. “You won’t send me back to Estenor, will you?”

  “Not yet. Edric Maximus has said you can stay here as long as you like.”

  “Really? Isn’t he angry with you?”

  “Only a little.” If Edric had been the type to raise his voice, he and Lennart would have been shouting at each other more than once in the past few days. “But he likes you, and I’m sure he’ll be happier once he’s rid of me.”