Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  “You have my congratulations, as well as my condolences,” Princess Viviane said to Devyn, then turned back to Gwynneth. “I assume you’re here for the trial?”

  “I’m here to learn the truth.” Somehow, Gwynneth got that out without choking. “And you’ve accused Braeden Terris of doing the deed. Since he killed my husband, I wish to take him into custody and deal with him myself.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible.” The princess’s face had turned unfriendly. “You needn’t worry. He’ll find justice right here.”

  “I’m sure he will.” Gwynneth did her best to appear sad and meek. “But it’s only right his trial and punishment take place in Terragand.”

  “I’m not sure I agree.” The princess drew herself to her full height. “You’re welcome to question him yourself, at the trial.”

  “It’s so kind of you to offer, but I’m afraid it won’t do.”

  “Clearly we need to discuss this further. Why don’t you come in and take some refreshment?”

  “Oh, that’s kind,” Gwynneth said, then muttered under her breath at Devyn as they went inside. “Whatever you do, don’t touch any food or drink while under this roof.”

  Elektra

  Elektra couldn’t think of a good excuse to go to the temple in town, so she asked if she might use Princess Viviane’s private chapel for her evening prayers. To her surprise, even though most of Isenwald was officially Quadrene, only an icon of Vica presided over the tiny, ornate altar. That didn’t help Elektra’s resolve to be a better Quadrene, though it made her wonder once again if everyone practicing the old faith was corrupt and evil.

  She didn’t know what to do. Aside from hoping to someday overthrow and displace her mother, her other enduring passion had been getting revenge on Braeden. Now she had the perfect chance, and she didn’t much want to do it.

  She thought hard, forgetting to pray as she knelt in front of the familiar icon. She wondered if she might just tell Major Silberg she wanted to leave before the trial, though she couldn’t think of an excuse. Perhaps she could claim to be ill, though she doubted the countess would let her get away with that.

  And now she’d made a difficult promise once again, one she didn’t want to keep. She’d promised to keep the countess’s secret, but didn’t see how she could. Elektra had made a commitment to the gods, and by extension Lennart.

  Even more importantly, she pictured Raysa’s sorrow when she heard of Elektra betraying their cause. And even though Edric had been angry the last time they’d seen each other, Elektra didn’t want to disappoint him either.

  She sat back on her heels, still at the altar, and pulled her copy of the Scrolls from her pocket. Tucked into the front were four tiny icons, a gift from Raysa.

  She took out the Father, the Mother, and Ercos, and placed them on the rail in front of Holy Vica. Even as she did it, peace and relief washed over her, and she nearly cried. This was right.

  Elektra prayed for a long time, and when she’d finished, she still didn’t know what to do, although she knew what she wouldn’t do. Braeden had done her several great wrongs, but speaking against him now and betraying her new friends would make Elektra no better than her mother. She was determined to never become like her, and added another prayer, begging the gods to show her another path.

  From what the countess had told her, they didn’t need her help to make sure Braeden was doomed anyway. The gods would see justice done without her added pettiness and spite.

  And maybe ... a sob caught in Elektra’s throat. Maybe once Braeden was tried and convicted, Elektra would be able to forgive him. A tear rolled down the side of her nose as she pictured a touching scene in a prison cell, Elektra in her plain acolyte’s dress—which she had packed—Braeden miserable and contrite. Even if he hadn’t killed Prince Kendryk, surely he would realize he was being punished for his many other sins.

  Another tear rolled down as Elektra imagined the two of them praying together, and him thinking of her as a friend while he mounted the scaffold. Elektra’s sobs echoed around the little chapel, but she felt better.

  She got to her feet—wobbling since her legs had fallen asleep—wiped her tears and returned to her room. She had one more day to think of a way to escape testifying.

  Elektra woke up the next morning feeling calm, even though she hadn’t yet decided what to do. Before dressing, she got out her icons again, spread them out at a little altar built into the wall, and prayed this time that the gods would guide her steps and her words.

  She considered confiding in either Major Silberg or in the countess, telling them she’d changed her mind, but she couldn’t think of what to argue from there.

  And there was no way she’d say anything to Princess Viviane. Now she knew the truth, she was very frightened of her. If she’d kill a fellow Kronland ruler on her mother’s instructions, she probably wouldn’t hesitate to do away with her difficult daughter.

  After rummaging through her few worn clothes, Elektra pulled out her temple acolyte’s dress. It was hardly the right thing to wear in such a gorgeous palace, but Elektra had always been comfortable in it. When she regarded herself in the full-length mirror after dressing, she was sure it suited her better than anything. It also reminded her she was an instrument of the gods, and that they would protect her.

  She went to breakfast feeling somewhat queasy, but it wouldn’t do to be weak right now. When she left her room, four of her own guards fell in behind her, and by the time she’d reached the breakfast room, Major Silberg had joined them.

  It was late already, and to Elektra’s relief, no one else was at breakfast. After downing coffee, and picking at a bit of white bread, she went for a walk. The sky was covered in heavy gray clouds, but it wasn’t raining at the moment, and Elektra needed to get out of this place.

  She sent a guard for her cloak, then took a stroll through the ornate gardens. For this late in the year, they still looked lovely, with banks of late-autumn flowers in orange and gold. Princess Viviane had an army of gardeners, weeding, pruning and digging.

  Elektra wandered for a time, until something caught her eye. At the end of one of the walkways stood a low stone building. It was of the same pale yellow stone as the palace itself, and while still pretty, was far less ornate.

  Keeping one eye on the lowering clouds, scudding overhead with the wind, Elektra pulled her cloak around her and hurried toward the building. It was likely just a summer house, but she would shelter from the wind there for a moment before returning.

  But she never reached it. Less than a hundred paces away, a large man stepped in front of her. “I apologize, Your Grace, but you may go no further.”

  “Oh, it’s not open for visiting?” Now she saw more people, all of them dressed as guards. How odd.

  “No, it’s not, at least not until after the trial.” The man offered a wry smile. “It’s serving as a prison for Braeden Terris right now.”

  “Oh, I see. I don’t want to go further then.” Elektra smiled up at the guard, then looked at the building carefully. It only resembled a pleasure house from a distance. Up close, she saw a tall iron fence with spikes at the top, and small windows, heavily barred.

  “So has this always been a prison?” She hoped to distract the man while she counted visible guards. Why she did this, she didn’t know.

  “Not always, though it was converted by the princess’s father. He needed more prison space after a revolt, but since then it’s mostly been used for storage, and the occasional guest.”

  “How very interesting.” Elektra had given little thought to where Braeden was being kept, but now she knew, she felt very strange. “I’d better get back before it rains.”

  She hurried back to the palace, and was stopped in the corridor by Countess Biaram.

  Her face was pale, her eyes wide. “You would not believe who has just appeared.”

  Elektra shook her head.

  “Princess Gwynneth, along with Prince Devyn of Terragand.”

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  “We all assumed they were dead. It seems we’d been misinformed.”

  The countess took Elektra’s arm and steered her down the corridor. She had quite a strong grip for such a tiny thing. “It seems they want Braeden Terris, but Princess Viviane won’t let them have him. Best you go to your room until they’re gone. I’m sure the princess can get rid of them.”

  Elektra didn’t argue, and let the countess lead her back to the guest wing. But once she’d gone, Elektra leaned against the wall, breathing hard. This had to be a sign from the gods, and Elektra had no intention of missing it.

  She took a deep breath and made her way to Princess Viviane’s study. No one stopped her, and her guards followed her silently. Other guards she didn’t recognize stood clustered near the library door before she reached the study, so she assumed the guests were there.

  One of the strange guards moved to stop her, but she raised her hands and said, “I’ll go in alone. I’m unarmed and a friend to Princess Gwynneth.” She hadn’t been certain these were her guards, but she’d guessed correctly.

  “Please wait for me out here,” she said to her own guards, and turned away before they objected. One of Princess Gwynneth’s guards opened the door for her, and she walked in just as a tall blond boy drew his sword.

  Teodora

  By some great good fortune, a mercenary troop from Moralta arrived while Teodora made ready to go. They were only two thousand, but experienced and professional, which was more than could be said for the Olvisyan militias.

  Teodora had finally drawn a number of them to Atlona through sheer intimidation. She’d invited one recalcitrant aristocrat to dinner, and when he objected to her summons of his militia, threw him in the Arnfels. His wife promptly delivered the troops in exchange for his release, and soon every estate within two days’ ride of Atlona had sent soldiers.

  It likely wasn’t their full allotment, but Teodora didn’t care right now. She didn’t need great numbers to at least delay Lennart in the passes. There wasn’t time to train anyone, but some of the recruits from the northern reaches abutting the Galwend range were excellent mountaineers and would be useful in finding trails only the defenders would know about.

  From the lowlanders, Teodora ordered all of the best marksmen assembled. The mountaineers would lead these into the passes, where they would pick off the Estenorians as they filed through the narrowest spots.

  As she rode around the parade ground in her carriage, bundled up against the stiff, cold wind, hurtling down from snow-capped peaks, Teodora realized she felt cheerful for the first time in years. It was good to have something to do besides paperwork and letting minions complete all the interesting missions.

  Snow coated the mountaintops and filled the upper passes, but the main road remained open. Scouts kept reporting that Lennart was preparing to move, but hadn’t done it yet. No doubt he’d been caught off-guard by the news of Kendryk’s death and was considering his options.

  The Moraltan colonel leading the mercenary troop was a man after Teodora’s own heart. Though of middle age, Janos Rykter was vigorous and assertive. He conceived a plan to stop Lennart, but wanted to do more than Teodora had envisioned.

  “Why not go after him directly, Your Highness?” he asked, after he’d climbed in Teodora’s carriage one afternoon to deliver his daily report.

  “After Lennart? But he must have thirty thousand troops. We’ll be lucky to round up ten thousand.”

  “It ought to be enough for what I have in mind.” Rykter raised an eyebrow. His face wore what appeared to be a permanent sly, sardonic expression, which always made Teodora wonder if he was joking.

  “What do you have in mind?” She wasn’t keen on running around Kronland in the winter, but no one would expect that from her.

  “Why don’t we slip over the pass in the next few days?” Rykter suggested. “This late in the year, I’m sure Lennart won’t come. He won’t risk cutting off his supply lines.”

  “You’re probably right. Though I want to be prepared if he tries it anyway.”

  “Very wise, and good enough reason to call on us. But now we’re here, and you’re paying us, you might as well put us to work.”

  Teodora sighed, remembering the five-hundred-year-old silver service and pile of ancient tapestries that had gone to a Cesiano financier to pay for this tiny army. “You’re right. I’m not paying you to stay warm and comfortable in the capital.”

  “That’s my thinking. Thing is, Lennart will scatter his forces through the winter. I’m sure he’ll stay in Richenbruck, but he can’t quarter his whole army there. So they’ll be spread across the countryside, easy pickings for a small, nimble force. Not to mention, the people of Tirilis won’t appreciate a foreign invader and might be persuaded to provide help.”

  Teodora sat up straighter. “So you’re considering an unconventional fight?”

  Rykter nodded. “I’ve been reading an account of the war against King Arryk. General Barela was very effective in harassing him through the winter. Did significant damage to his cavalry and likely weakened him permanently.”

  The mention of Barela’s name caused a slight pang, though it went away fairly quickly. Maybe someday she could hear his name without feeling a twinge of anything. Before she died, hopefully. Perhaps she’d even be interested in a man again someday.

  She eyed Rykter surreptitiously as he went on about a winter war. He wasn’t good-looking, but she liked his rough, confident air. But no, best not to get involved with a military man again; they always had extra means of stabbing one in the back. She shook her head.

  “You don’t agree, Your Highness?” Rykter asked, puzzled.

  “Oh, no—I mean, yes, I agree.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back in a pleasant, unaffected way. Perhaps he liked older women, although the white hair had caught on everywhere in Olvisya, so even a twenty-year-old might look near Teodora’s age.

  She cleared her throat. “I was just thinking, it all sounds like a marvelous idea, and I should like to join you.”

  Rykter’s smile broadened. “You would? It ought to be great fun, but uncomfortable, I’m afraid.”

  Teodora hoped he wasn’t referring to her apparently decrepit state. But since he eyed her heavy fur wrap while fingering the luxurious velvet of the seat cushions, she supposed he was instead comparing the comforts of the capital to their lack in a military camp.

  “Oh, I expect that,” she said. “But I’ve spent much time in the field, and frankly I’ve missed it. I’ll make ready to spend the winter in Kronland.”

  Rykter kept smiling. “Best hurry then, Your Highness. We’ll want to go within three days; sooner if we can.”

  “I’ll be ready tomorrow.” Teodora couldn’t wait to get out of here.

  Braeden

  Days passed with no further visits from the priest, and Braeden watched their passage anxiously. It seemed impossible the trial be delayed any further. He passed the time practicing his meek look, even while doing every exercise he could think of to build his strength.

  He’d become fat and lazy sitting around here, dining on Princess Viviane’s fine food. Although he hoped the delay would work in his favor, it wore on his nerves. He’d been here well over a month now.

  The days turned colder and darker, and one evening, a wool blanket arrived with dinner. Since the small window had no cover, he welcomed any protection against the chilly breeze that sometimes blew in. Some days were cold enough, Braeden wore the blanket like a cloak.

  He was walking his daily five thousand paces one morning when he heard a small commotion outside. Quickly, he dragged the barrel to the window and climbed up.

  One of his guards was talking to someone who apparently had wandered too near. At first, the guard’s broad back blocked the other person, and the wind carried away fragments of conversation.

  But that other person appeared to be accompanied by Estenorian soldiers. Was this a rescue party? If so, they were going about it all wrong
.

  Braeden wondered if he ought to shout. Even if they weren’t going to rescue him yet, they might be scouting the area, and it would help them to know which room he was in. But that would bring the attention of Princess Viviane’s guards.

  He pondered for a moment, then tore away a piece of his shirt. It was a small, dirty scrap of material, but fluttering from the window, perhaps it would catch someone’s eye.

  Even as he did this, Braeden kept his eyes trained on the guard’s back. Just as he made ready to shove his hand between the window’s bars, the guard stepped aside and Braeden gasped.

  Elektra Inferrara stood there, bold as could be. Putting aside every thought about why she might be here, and with Estenorians no less, Braeden stared at her hard. She’d grown a little since he’d last captured her, but she was still a little thing, and judging by the tilt of her chin, full of herself as ever.

  For an instant, Braeden held the fleeting hope that the Estenorians had brought her here to be imprisoned in another storeroom. But then she smiled at the guard, pulled her cloak close around her and turned back down the path.

  Braeden stared at her retreating back until it disappeared around a corner, then dropped back to the floor, breathing hard. What was she doing here? Especially since she clearly wasn’t a prisoner. Had she come to see the trial?

  Braeden shook his head. She probably wanted to make sure he’d be convicted and executed. But surely her Estenorian escort wouldn’t stand for that. Unless they also believed he’d killed Prince Kendryk.

  Braeden dropped his head into his hands. Of course they believed that. They’d want to see his head roll just as much as Elektra did. He had to assume then that Father Vico had failed to secure Princess Galena’s help in time. If Elektra had arrived for the trial, it would take place soon.