Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  Braeden lifted his head and stared at the door. He’d been hopeful since his last meeting with Father Vico, but he needed to face facts and prepare for the end. Seeing Elektra walking around free like that meant Teodora had probably made a deal with Lennart so her daughter was on her way back to Atlona.

  Perhaps she’d come here to retrieve Countess Biaram, and the trial was just a bonus. Maybe he still had a chance of help from Oltena, but Braeden needed to stop hoping for that and get ready for the worst.

  He spent the next hour forcing himself to ponder his life and make his peace with the gods, for he doubted he’d get much time once the trial began. And once the guilty verdict came down, he expected there’d be no delay before the execution, especially after what had happened to Edric Landrus.

  He had a few regrets, though gaining and losing a family wasn’t one of them. Memories of Janna and the children had softened into gentle sadness, and more often than not, when he remembered them, a smile touched his lips.

  Awful as the end had been, he was glad of the experience. As a younger man, he’d never imagined he’d be one for a wife and family, and his life was richer for having them.

  Still, he’d let a lot of people down in his life. Starting with Prince Novitny, Franca and the rest of the Sanova Hussars.

  He might as well add Demario Barela to the list, even though he didn’t know what he might have done to save him.

  He was happy about finishing off Daciana Tomescu while saving Gwynneth and the children.

  Though he’d been sad about Anton for a long time, at least he’d received happy news about him from Kendryk.

  Kendryk. Braeden leaned his head against the stone wall. His most spectacular success, and now his greatest failure.

  Thinking about him for long was still too painful, so Braeden turned his thoughts to Elektra once more. That was also painful, but in a different way. Kidnapping her had been a terrible mistake, and one he’d always regretted.

  He didn’t blame her for hating him, and hoped someday she might forgive him; maybe watching his head roll would make her happy. For being Teodora’s daughter, she wasn’t as bad as she might be, and if she became empress and matured a bit more, she might turn out all right.

  Still, Braeden felt rather morose when the door opened.

  Father Vico stood there, no guards in sight. “You must hurry,” he said, even as Braeden jumped to his feet. “The guards are occupied, but only for a few minutes.”

  Braeden didn’t need to be told twice and hurried down the corridor after the priest, praying the guards stayed away.

  Gwynneth

  While she distracted her hostess by appearing grief-stricken and sweet, Gwynneth made sure her guards followed her into the palace. By the time she and Devyn reached Princess Viviane’s library, soldiers filled the corridors and clustered at the door of the room.

  Gwynneth had surprise on her side, but she needed to finish her business before Princess Viviane could gather her forces. The princess’s hangers-on didn’t enter the room with them, so no doubt they’d be plotting their next move.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Devyn had loosened the sword in his belt, and his eyes never left Princess Viviane.

  The woman noticed, and laughed nervously as she offered them seats. “What a handsome young man you are, Prince,” she said, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m so glad Daciana Tomescu didn’t kill you.”

  “I shot her.” Devyn didn’t bother concealing his anger. He looked around the ornate room. “Is this where my father was murdered?”

  “Devyn!” Gwynneth gasped. “You mustn’t be rude.” She turned to the princess. “I’m sorry. He’s so upset.”

  “Naturally,” the princes said, her voice tight. “And no, your father was not murdered in this room. I’m not that insensitive.”

  “Of course not.” Gwynneth shot Devyn a glance, hoping he’d hold his tongue for a while. “I would like to see the spot, if you don’t mind.” She truly didn’t want to, but she needed to piece together what had really happened, and she’d begin with Princess Viviane’s story.

  The princess made a noncommittal noise, then busied herself with the tea a servant had brought. It was hot, so easy enough to put aside without drinking.

  “But first,” Gwynneth said, “I’d like to see my husband’s body.”

  The princess was visibly startled. “Oh. I’m afraid we’ve already buried him.”

  “Goodness, really? Why would you do such a thing? A Kronland ruler must have a state funeral in his own country.”

  “Of course.” For once it seemed Gwynneth had caught the ever-composed princess flat-footed. “But the weather was warm, and ...” she waved her hands, as if trying to push away the scent of decomposition.

  “You have a family crypt, do you not?” Gwynneth left her gaze fixed on the princess; let her squirm. “It’s the custom to have family members lie in state for at least a month, even in the warmest weather. I’m surprised you couldn’t accord my husband that honor.” Now she was truly angry.

  “We buried him in the crypt.” Two red spots burned on Princess Viviane’s normally flawless white cheeks. “We thought it best to keep him there until arrangements could be make to take him to Terragand.”

  “Well, I’d like to make those arrangements now. Or rather, as soon as we’ve finished this conversation.”

  Once the princess nodded, Gwynneth went on. “The other thing I want is Braeden Terris. You needn’t worry—I’ll keep him prisoner until I get to the bottom of this, but under the circumstances, it only seems right that I have custody of my husband’s killer, don’t you think?”

  “I, er.” The princess was floundering. “We’ve already made arrangements for the trial to start tomorrow. Everyone is here.”

  “Really? By everyone, do you mean neighboring Kronland rulers? I haven’t heard of any who’ve arrived here besides my son, and he clearly was neither invited nor expected.”

  “All of the local aristocracy,” the princess managed. “All of the witnesses.”

  “Oh, did you find witnesses to testify against Braeden Terris? I assume some of them belonged to Prince Kendryk’s guard. I would love to see them.”

  Princess Viviane’s normally heavy-lidded, half-closed eyes were now rounder than the harvest moon. “I’m so sorry. All of the prince’s escort dispersed after his murder, once I assured them Braeden Terris would be dealt with.”

  “Oh, did they? Where did they go? And who did you speak with? I believe a Captain Merton would have been in charge of Kendryk’s personal guard.”

  “Oh, he was.” The princess gathered herself. “But he was unfortunately, also killed by Terris when he rushed in and attempted to save the prince.”

  Gwynneth’s heart sank further to hear of Merton’s death, but she swore to herself to bring his body back to Terragand too, even if it meant forcing Princess Viviane to dig him out of the ground with those long white fingers of hers. “How odd. I’m sure people would have mentioned the commander being accused of two murders, rather than one. It makes for even juicier gossip.”

  “We thought the murder of a prince was quite enough. The rest will be brought up during the trial.”

  “Hmn.” Gwynneth leaned back in her chair, then watched Devyn take his cup of tea, lean forward and pour it into the little fire burning on the hearth.

  “It got cold.” He fixed his eyes on the princess, and Gwynneth shuddered at how hard they were. Much too hard for a boy his age. “Don’t bother giving me any more.”He put his cup back on the marble-topped table with a bang.

  “Where was I?” Gwynneth said. “Oh yes.” She leaned forward. “You keep saying ‘we,’ yet I know you alone make the decisions here in Isenwald. Who are you referring to? An adviser perhaps? Or have you remarried?” Princess Viviane had been a widow for as long as Gwynneth could remember.

  “It’s a quirk of mine.” The princess was pale again. “You know, the royal ‘we’.”

  �
��Hmm, a new quirk then. Since I’m sure I would have noticed you using it before.”

  “Yes, it’s new.” The princess squared her shoulders. “I’m happy to give you your husband’s body, and provide an honor guard to help you return it to Terragand. I’m afraid I can’t turn Braeden Terris over to you at this point. It’s too late to call off the trial.”

  “I disagree,” Gwynneth said. “And I insist you do.” She stood, and Devyn stood at the same time, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “I insist too,” he said. “As a fellow Kronland ruler.”

  “Why don’t we discuss it some more?” Princess Viviane rose more slowly, and Gwynneth saw her hands shaking, even as she tried hiding them in the folds of her dress. “The two of you are welcome to join us—I mean me—at dinner.”

  “No,” Gwynneth said. “I don’t wish to be rude, but I’m not up to socializing right now. Please turn Braeden Terris over to me right now, or I shall order the army I’ve brought to retrieve him for me.”

  At that, a door burst open, and a girl stepped into the room.

  Devyn’s sword rasped out of its scabbard.

  “Please wait,” the girl said. “I might be able to help you.”

  Lennart

  Lennart hated to admit it, but he’d left it too long. Snow would fill the passes in a matter of days and he wouldn’t be able to get his army into Olvisya. And even if he did, he didn’t have time to set up supply lines that might bypass the mountains.

  He’d worked out a way to move provisions down the Lera river and into the Fromenberg sea, but last he’d heard, all of his riverboats and barges were hung up at Lerania in a tangle of customs and paperwork.

  He’d written a few urgent—bordering on angry—letters to Princess Viviane, but she had answered them only seldom and then vaguely.

  The other possibility was to send supplies around on land, through Moralta, but that kingdom was firmly under Teodora’s sway. Lennart wasn’t prepared to fight his way through in that direction.

  And now after Kendryk’s death, Lennart had to turn his attention to Terragand. He trusted Edric Maximus to run everyday matters, but couldn’t ask him to do that long-term. He had to find a rightful ruler, and do it soon.

  Lennart stood up, stretching and yawning. He’d spent the better of this unpleasant day sitting at a desk in the palace library. He’d gotten little work done while staring at the wet snow hitting the windows, driven by a bitter wind.

  Winter was here early and he had to accept that reality. Of all the realities, it was easiest to take. He wouldn’t deny that hearing of Kendryk’s death so soon after Gwynneth’s had nearly undone him.

  He’d spent the last days in a paralysis of indecision, a new feeling for him. If he considered it too hard, he had to wonder what he was doing here, now that his closest allies were gone. What was the point of any of it?

  Lennart ran his hands over his face and walked to the window. It used to be he’d ride out in any weather, and let the brisk air and activity clear the cobwebs, but he didn’t even want to do that. He didn’t feel like much of anything, but most of all, he dreaded a winter of idleness, sitting here in this conquered city.

  Unlike the rest of Kronland, the citizens of Tirilis still looked at him with hostility, as the foreign invader, and troops outside town had already had trouble with the locals. Even within the city walls, Lennart sensed a silent anger when he went around town, and unusually for him, he was careful to take a full complement of guards wherever he went. He needed to get out of here.

  Terragand was the obvious choice. Not only must he locate and vet the new heir to the land, he needed his wife and child. He’d made his point that he could take on and beat anyone Teodora might throw at him. His dominance wouldn’t be complete until he’d defeated Brynhild Mattila, but she didn’t seem inclined to fight at the moment, and Lennart wouldn’t press the issue.

  To be honest, his purpose was faltering. Wasn’t it enough that he’d run Teodora’s minions out of Kronland? Except for Arcius, no one dared to proclaim open loyalty to her. A few of the western kingdoms remained neutral, but as long as they didn’t interfere with Lennart’s purpose and the Quadrene religion, he didn’t see why he should trouble them.

  He smiled to himself as he made for the door. He likely needed a stern talking-to from Edric Maximus. As he stepped into the corridor, he though of all of them: Raysa, Kataryna and Edric. It was time to see them again.

  He shouted for Tora Isenberg, working in the next room and she joined him in the corridor, “What is it, Your Highness?”

  “Let’s walk.” The corridor was boring, but at least the wind didn’t blow here.

  Isenberg fell in step with him. “Hard to get back on track, isn’t it? After hearing about Prince Kendryk.” Isenberg’s tone was brisk, but her eyes were sad. Though she said nothing, he knew she’d taken Kendryk’s death especially hard. It seemed anyone who’d ever spent much time with him felt the same way.

  Lennart nodded. “I was thinking I ought to go to Terragand.”

  Isenberg took a deep breath. “I understand why you want to go, but it seems a bad idea to go so far, especially if we don’t know where Mattila is. For all we know, she’s waiting for you to leave so she can make a move.”

  There’d been rumors she’d been spotted in Arcius, but Lennart didn’t know why she’d be there.

  “That would be just our luck, wouldn’t it?” Things had gone well until now, but spreading himself too thin might well be tempting fate. Lennart thought of Raysa and Kataryna, then reluctantly pushed thoughts of a cozy winter in Edric’s palace out of his mind.

  They walked the length of the corridor and back again while Lennart pondered. Back at the door of his office, he paused and said. “You’re right. We shouldn’t spread ourselves too thin. But you made me think of something. What if I head out of town, make a big production out of it? We’ll put out word I’m going to Terragand, when in reality I’ll just wander about the countryside for a bit. Pay a visit to our troops billeted in the villages and farmhouses.”

  A smile spread over Isenberg’s face. “That’s not a bad idea. It’ll do you good to get out and about, and who knows what kind of trouble we’ll flush out in the meantime?”

  Elektra

  The boy holding the sword glared at Elektra. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  Elektra smiled, surprisingly calm. She recognized now when the gods were with her. “Archduchess Elektra Inferrara at your service.”

  The boy stared at her, his sword still raised, though he seemed unlikely to use it now.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Elektra saw Princess Viviane stand, along with another woman. Elektra offered the boy a reassuring smile, and turned to the women.

  The one with long blond hair falling to her waist around a deathly pale, though remarkably beautiful face, must be Princess Gwynneth. Through her excitement and heightened senses, Elektra felt a small pang of envy, but pushed it away. It seemed a base, petty emotion compared to the others that consumed her right now.

  She nodded at Princess Gwynneth, then reached for her icy hands. “I am so sorry to hear of your loss, but glad to finally meet you.”

  Then she turned to Princess Viviane, putting authority into her voice. “I’d like to speak to the Princess and Prince Devyn alone.” She almost added “please,” but then thought of how her mother would handle a situation like this, and stopped herself.

  Princess Viviane opened her mouth, a flush spreading up her neck, but Elektra stared at her, her chin raised, ready to override any objection. She might be a girl still, but she outranked everyone in the room.

  Now she was glad for her choice in clothing. Surrounded by all of the rich silks and velvets she felt stern, pure and strong by comparison in her plain linen acolyte’s dress.

  Prince Devyn came to her side. He still held his sword, and tipped the point toward Princess Viviane.

  “Would you be so kind as to leave us, Princess?” His voice was still
boyish, but clear and strong. “She might be an Inferrara, but a tiny one. I’m sure we’ll be safe.”

  Elektra nearly laughed, realizing that Kendryk’s son would consider her a threat, when it really was Princess Viviane who was the enemy here. But there was no way for either Gwynneth or Devyn to know this.

  She turned to Devyn. “You’re correct. I have no quarrel with you right now.”

  The “right now” was for Princess Viviane’s benefit, and Elektra turned back to her. It was clear she didn’t want to go.

  “I must speak with them alone, but it won’t take long, and then I promise to send for you.”

  She didn’t know if Princess Viviane would obey, and by now her normally white face was pink, her eyes flashing indignantly. But Elektra had the authority, and Devyn had the sword, so what could she do?

  “Very well,” she said, her tone giving lie to her words. “I’ll leave you.” Then she swept out of the room with all the dignity she could salvage.

  Elektra followed her to the door and locked it behind her. “I doubt this will hold if anyone tries to break it down, so we must act quickly.”

  “Whatever are you talking about?” Gwynneth asked, as Devyn slid his sword back into its scabbard.

  “I can’t tell you details since there isn’t time.” That would have to suffice for keeping her promise to the countess. “But I hope it’s enough if I tell you I’m Lennart’s ally, so I’m on your side.”

  Elektra took a deep breath and continued. “An agent of my mother’s is here, and I fear she has some hold over Princess Viviane.” This was dangerously close to giving up the secret, but the words were pouring out and Elektra couldn’t stop them.

  “I knew it!” Princess Gwynneth exploded, considerable color returning to her face. “I was certain the empress was involved.”

  She paced to the other side of the room, while Devyn tugged at Elektra’s arm. Even though he couldn’t have been more than twelve, he was already taller than she was.

  “So you’re saying you’ll help us?” he asked.