Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  “Tell that to the families of the people he’s killed.” Elektra couldn’t forget his cold glare when she’d refused to cooperate.

  “That’s different. Soldiers will do what they must in battle.”

  “You’re right.” Elektra recalled her military days with longing. She craved the clarity of that time, the lack of doubt. “I’ve been a soldier, though I’m not sure I ever killed anyone.”

  “Then you’re far braver than I am.”

  “I’m not brave at all,” Elektra burst out. The queen, her cousin, looked so soft and kind, her eyes so understanding. It was a relief to unburden herself.

  “I’m terrified to be honest. I’m worried I’ll make the wrong decision and be cursed for eternity. But if I don’t choose that way, I’ll be sent back to my mother and be trapped with her, which feels like a curse too.”

  She told Raysa about her mother imprisoning her and her escape.

  “What an adventure.” Raysa’s eyes sparkled. “You must promise me to never again say you aren’t brave. It simply isn’t true.”

  Even though Raysa was certainly flattering her, Elektra felt warmed by her regard. She tried to resist, but she’d been resisting for so long it was no longer possible.

  “But I’m always afraid,” she whispered.

  “And you do brave things anyway. That takes enormous courage. And listen.” Raysa leaned forward so they sat the way Elektra used to with her best friends at temple school when they shared a juicy bit of gossip. “I was in the same position as you a few months ago, as the only adherent of the old faith in a sea of heretics, as I saw it.”

  “You’re a Quadrene?” For some reason it didn’t bother Elektra as much as it ought to. Raysa was half Inferrara and such a conversion should have been unthinkable, though perhaps it made sense she’d want to be the same religion as her husband. “Did Lennart make you convert?”

  “Not at all. He hoped I would, but he didn’t pressure me at all.”

  “So what made you change?” Elektra leaned forward as well, hoping Raysa had been visited by a sign that might show her the way.

  “All sorts of things. The kindness I was shown by my husband and my new friends in Tharvik. Reading the Holy Scrolls for the first time. Praying without a priestess and icons for the first time.

  “But what really did it was becoming a mother. I worried because Kataryna would be dedicated in the Quadrene faith, but when I learned what that meant, it didn’t seem like much of a change at all. By the time I formally converted, I realized I’d been praying and believing like a Quadrene for months.”

  Elektra sat up straight, wondering if that was happening to her too. She’d been reading the Scrolls herself, praying whenever she wanted to, with or without icons. “I’m so confused,” she said.

  Raysa took both her hands in hers. “It’s all right,” she said. “The gods will show you the way.”

  Elektra hoped Raysa was right. She was running out of time.

  Maryna

  The beheadings were awful. Maryna didn’t want to go, and Uncle Arryk agreed, but Natalya insisted.

  “You’re old enough,” she said. “It’s time you saw the hard part of being a ruler.”

  “I already know ruling is hard.” Maryna thought of King Gauvain’s endless, squabbling petitioners, and the decisions her father had had to make when he first defended Edric Maximus.

  “But this is worse.” Natalya’s voice was soft though her eyes were stern. “Sometimes people you like and trust will betray you, and you must deal with them harshly. Otherwise, others will think they can take advantage.”

  Maryna was sure Uncle Arryk wouldn’t have beheaded anyone if Natalya hadn’t insisted, but kept that observation to herself.

  “You ought to wear that.” Natalya nodded toward the pretty circlet, still sitting by Maryna’s bed. She sat at a table, eating an apple while Maryna got ready.

  “I’d rather save it for a nicer occasion,” Maryna said. If she wore it today she might as well throw it away. She had already chosen her least favorite dress so she wouldn’t spoil a good one with bad memories.

  Natalya shrugged and kept eating her apple.

  The crunching annoyed Maryna, and she snapped at her maid when she laced her dress up too tight, then apologized right after. She prided herself on always being pleasant with her servants.

  “It’s best to be polite to the staff,” her mother had said once. “They’ll serve you well enough if they’re frightened of you, but you can be sure they will spit in your soup.”

  Maryna didn’t want spit in her soup, and being nice came easily to her anyway, though she might have to become tougher when dealing with her enemies. And she certainly had enemies; she was just thirteen, and two different people had already tried to kill her.

  Maryna rode in a carriage to the main square in Arenberg with Natalya and her uncle, who looked as sad as she felt. It seemed the weather should be awful on such an occasion, but it was a perfect summer day, so warm Maryna didn’t even need a wrap.

  The square was packed with people and a cheer went up as Uncle Arryk mounted a tall platform. The cheering continued when Maryna joined him, but faded a little when Natalya came too. Most likely people saw her as a foreigner, even though she’d grown up here.

  Maryna glanced up at Uncle Arryk. His face was set and hard. She’d never seen him that way. Sad as she was, this had to be much worse for him. Many of these were people he knew well, and a few had been friends.

  She slipped her hand under his arm, resting on the chair beside her, hoping he understood how sad she was for him. He didn’t turn his head, but he nudged her with his shoulder just a little.

  Only the most important leaders of the rebellion, along with Teodora’s surviving agents were to be beheaded, though it still meant twenty-three would die today. The rest were already dead, or spending the rest of their lives in prison, in exchange for giving up the others.

  The crowd became angry as the first man was brought up, shouting terrible curses and throwing things at him.

  When his head was pushed onto the block, Natalya murmured in Maryna’s ear, “Don’t look away.”

  Maryna swallowed hard. She put on her best, stern princess face, and stared straight ahead, just over the top of the executioner’s head. She heard the axe thunk as it hit the wood, and another bump as the head rolled onto the wooden platform. It was hard not to see the head when the executioner held it up for the cheering crowd, but she pretended it wasn’t real.

  It got easier after that, until they brought up Norvel Classen. They’d saved him for last, since he was most important and the biggest traitor.

  Even though he’d confessed to everything, Natalya had still recommended he be executed as an example of what happened to traitors, no matter how high their rank.

  And it was true, Classen’s treason had been awful. It seemed he had been furious about the reforms the king had implemented and wanted Prince Aksel to become king instead. He’d thought Aksel would be more reasonable and easier to control, so went along with everything Teodora’s agents suggested.

  Uncle Arryk’s arm tensed up under her hand and she squeezed, letting him know she understood.

  Classen was old and fat. Though some of the other people had cried and struggled and carried on terribly, he did nothing, although great tears ran down his cheeks. He said something to the executioner, who turned toward the king, his awful eyes glinting behind the mask. Maryna shuddered.

  “Your Highness, the condemned asks if he might be allowed final words of contrition.”

  Maryna looked up at her uncle, and bit down on her tongue so hard it bled, feeling suddenly angry at Classen for putting him through even more right now. There was a moment of silence as it seemed everyone in the square, Classen included, held their breath.

  Then the king took a deep breath and shook his head. At that, Classen would have slumped to the ground, but for the guards holding him up, and Maryna looked down at her lap before the axe fell.
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  She couldn’t stand anymore. She didn’t even care that Classen had been the one who’d stolen the real map of the palace showing all of the secret passageways and doors, then shared it with the woman who’d tried to kill Maryna. Classen’s title and estates would all go to Magnus, still recovering inside the palace, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

  Maryna hung onto Uncle Arryk’s arm until they got back to the carriage. She’d never seen him look so awful. Natalya didn’t join them.

  “I wonder why?” Maryna asked about Natalya’s absence.

  “She knows I hate her.” The king said it in a flat, serious voice.

  Maryna looked at him, surprised. “But she saved your kingdom.”

  “I realize that, and I’m grateful. But I hate the way she did it, and that it comes so easily to her. It’s not natural.”

  “She says a ruler must be strong enough to do these things, though I hate it too.”

  “She’s right, and because I can’t do them I’m a weak king.” Uncle Arryk looked at Maryna until she met his eyes, awful as they were. “You must promise me, Maryna, that you will do better than I have. Find a way to be strong without becoming a monster.”

  “I think you’re a good king, Uncle Arryk,” she said stoutly. “But I will try to be strong. Even if I have to do hard things, it will never be easy for me.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now come here.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “We’ll spend the evening with Magnus and plan a nice party for you before you go.”

  He smiled down at her. “Magnus won’t be able to dance with you, but he’ll have the place of honor next to you at dinner, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” Maryna smiled up at him.

  Kendryk

  Though Duke Aidan Orland was taciturn and gruff as ever, he took Kendryk and his troops in without question or complaint, offered generous hospitality, and helped with resupplying and reequipping, since they had lost nearly everything during the attack.

  “Lennart must send help,” the duke said. “If these are Mattila’s troops, we know she can raise an army large enough to take on Lennart and give us plenty of trouble at the same time.”

  “What if Lennart can’t spare the troops?” Kendryk asked.

  He sat with the duke in his gloomy study, while a summer rain splattered against the windows. It was a chilly day and a fire crackling in the hearth provided welcome warmth. They’d been here for well over a fortnight now, while Kendryk tried to figure out what to do next.

  “Lennart can get more troops.” The duke was not one for excuses. “Now he’s had this great victory he ought to get all of Kronland behind him.”

  Kendryk thought guiltily that he was the one who ought to do this work. Rather than haring off to Galladium, he should persuade the timid rulers of western Kronland to join the fight. Perhaps he could do that on his way back, once he was certain Gwynneth and the children were safe.

  “That’s why you were headed west, wasn’t it?” The duke leaned forward and poked at the fire until a log collapsed in a shower of sparks.

  “Er, no,” Kendryk said, then explained what he was doing.

  The duke shook his head. “That’s a terrible idea. You’ve already done everything you can, sending your man to get them. And if he’s the one who got you out of the Arnfels, he’ll take care of your family well enough.”

  “Then why haven’t I heard from him, or from any of them? It seems even stranger I haven’t heard from Natalya. The only reason I can think she’s not telling me what’s happening, is that she’s trying to shield me from the truth.”

  The duke leaned back in his chair. “There could be another reason. What if an agent of Teodora’s made an attempt on the princess’s life, but didn’t succeed? Natalya might want to let Teodora think it had, just to see what she does next.”

  “I don’t understand any of it.” Kendryk hated talking about this. Discussing it always made it seem more real. “Why would Teodora do this, unless it was to harm me?”

  “She’s a spiteful witch, it’s true.” The duke stared at the drops running down the window for a time, then said, “But I doubt she’d expose herself in such a way unless she had another plan.”

  “I hope you’re right, and that the attempt didn’t succeed.”

  “It’s not so easy to get past Natalya.”

  The duke was not known for his optimism, so Kendryk wanted to believe him. “But you see why I must go.”

  “No, I don’t.” The duke shook his head. “You can do as you wish, and I will lend you any help I can. But you’ve already done all you can for your family, and now you must protect your land. If the army that attacked you was Mattila’s, then it must be chased out of here and the border made secure.”

  He paused and chewed on the end of his mustache. “There’s something else, though I hate to bring it up, since everyone knows Princess Viviane and I bear each other no great love.”

  “You might as well tell me.” Kendryk’s problems were popping up like mushrooms after a downpour. He attempted a smile. “I realize you have no taste for intrigue.”

  Grumpy as the duke might be, he was also straightforward and confronted his enemies rather than stab them in the back.

  “Princess Viviane has been raising a large army,” the duke said.

  “I should hope so. She signed an agreement to support Lennart. I imagine now he’s defeated Ensden, she’s getting together more troops for him.”

  “Could be. But from what I’ve heard, none of those troops seem to think they’ll be fighting Teodora soon.”

  “But who would they fight instead? Lennart? That seems unwise.”

  The duke shook his head again. “It might be you’re right. I hope you are. But the princess has never been keen on our cause. I have to question her commitment.”

  “I don’t want to,” Kendryk said, feeling even more defeated. Princess Viviane had always been reasonable and supportive, if not outright friendly. He sighed. “But it’s true she’s never been enthusiastic, though I’m not sure I ought to expect that from my supporters. What matters is that they help our cause. They needn’t smile while doing it.”

  “It might be nothing,” the duke said. “But I have a hunch. I don’t blame her for being nervous with Mattila as her neighbor, and things in disarray here. But that doesn’t change the fact she has an agreement with Lennart and with you, by extension.”

  “Perhaps I should visit her on my way to Galladium,” Kendryk said reluctantly. He’d always had a strong sense of his duty as a ruler, and realized he was abandoning his post, so to speak.

  “Might not hurt,” the duke said. “Though I’d be careful. If you go, I insist you take a larger escort. And while you’re at it, pay a call on Prince Dristan in Aquianus. He’ll be on your way.”

  “True. That way I can tell Lennart I’m raising more troops on his behalf and maybe he won’t be so angry with me.” Kendryk offered a wry smile.

  The duke looked at him long. “You shouldn’t worry about Lennart’s temper for one second. Worry instead about Terragand’s borders. Brandana might well become hostile soon, if it isn’t already.”

  The duke stood and walked over to a table strewn with maps. Kendryk followed, and looked down at the large map of Kronland in the center.

  “But let’s say you convince Princess Viviane to muster ten thousand troops. Offer her more money if you have to. Aquianus can do the same, and while you’re at it, see if you can get the same number from Fromenberg.”

  Kendryk nodded, the hope of reaching Galladium soon receding into the distance. “But that might take months. What if Mattila moves on us before that? Besides, I must go to Galladium first.”

  The duke gave Kendryk a flinty look. “You must put your personal needs aside right now. I understand it is hard to worry about your family.”

  He stared down at the map for a moment blinking, and when he looked back up, his eyes were hard again. “But there’s nothing yo
u can do for them right now. The same isn’t true for the war effort. If, instead of going to Galladium, you promise Lennart you’ll raise the western kingdoms for him, I’m sure he’ll send an army to help us secure our borders by winter.”

  Kendryk sighed, and looked back at the map, at Terragand’s long, undefended borders.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll do it. I’ll send a message to Lennart and ask him to send Tora Isenberg this way. She knows the area well. Now, let me write a few letters to King Gauvain and Natalya, then you can help me compose a message for Lennart. After that, I’ll get ready to go to Isenwald.”

  Teodora

  “How do I look?” It may have been the first time Teodora had ever uttered those words to anyone. Even the ritual to restore Daciana hadn’t shaken her confidence so much. She had told herself the white hair lent her a distinguished air, and noted with approval that the most fashion-forward court ladies had begun powdering theirs to look similar.

  But even though her recovery was nearly complete, Teodora felt weak, with a shakiness inside that was new.

  “Formidable.” Livilla smiled at her. “Older, but she will expect that. Mattila has aged as well, but you are undiminished. Thank the gods for your strength of will.”

  And that was exactly it. Teodora was willing to give Sybila’s therapies and Livilla’s prayers credit, but it was her own will that had accomplished her recovery.

  Against all expectations, she could use all of her limbs nearly as well as before. Her walk was slower because she still had to carefully place one foot in front of the other, but there was nothing wrong with a measured, dignified pace.

  As before, Teodora ensured her first meeting with Mattila took place in the throne room. She wore a black dress embroidered with gold thread and trimmed with black pearls at every seam, a collar of Kroner-sized black sapphires around her neck. Though Teodora had always preferred to wear red before, she felt the black set the white of her hair off to particular advantage.