Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  “A commoner who expects to keep order.” Gwynneth shook her head. “If they think he’ll allow this to go on, I’m afraid they’re mistaken.”

  “Your Grace, you must let Count Terris handle this. Everyone says he’s a man of rare common sense. I’m sure he’ll figure something out. Besides, in this weather, the rebels might not stay active for long.”

  “Or they’ll warm their cold hands over burning manor houses and palaces.” Gwynneth stood. “But you’re right, we cannot stay here.”

  She felt awful leaving this mess for Braeden, but getting to Terragand was more important now. If the local nobility reacted to the revolt as brutally as was customary, it would all be over within days. At worst, Braeden might have to oversee the execution of a few ringleaders.

  “Do you think we can get through without running into trouble?”

  “I don’t know.” Destler still looked worried. “I’ve already sent several scouts out to take a look at the road and at what’s nearby. We won’t leave until they’ve returned, so we can choose the safest route. And Your Grace,” he added, following Gwynneth into the dining room. “Please allow me to take you that way, even if it lengthens our journey.”

  Gwynneth smelled sausage, and felt a pang of hunger. She smiled at Destler. “All right. We’ll take the safest way.”

  She sat down next to Devyn and Stella, who’d nearly finished their breakfast, and decided not to mention the revolt. Devyn would be indignant at commoners not knowing their place, and Gwynneth would never hear the end of it.

  She planned to ride in the coach with them today. Even though it had stopped snowing, dark clouds hung low, and a cold wind whistled through chinks in the inn’s walls.

  It was cold inside the coach, and Gwynneth was grateful for the fur-lined cloaks Princess Edda had insisted on giving them before they left. She’d been certain winter would come early and hard, and she’d been right. They had to keep the window coverings fastened down to keep out the wind, so time passed slowly, with nothing to see or do.

  The coach creaked over the packed snow of the road. Gwynneth wondered if it might not make sense to leave the coach behind and go ahead on horseback. If the weather improved, she’d ask Destler about that.

  She smiled at Devyn, yawning on the bench across from her and Stella, already asleep in the corner.

  “You might as well sleep too,” she said. “I might try.” She didn’t mention she’d passed yet another sleepless night, struggling to force all thoughts of Kendryk out of her mind, while puzzling over how Braeden might handle the problems here. She’d succeeded in not thinking about Kendryk too much, but by dawn she was even more worried about Braeden than before, and she didn’t yet know of the revolt.

  But the coach interior had warmed, and the seat was soft and comfortable. Gwynneth put her head back and dozed off.

  She came awake with a start when the coach jolted, then lurched to a stop. She’d just started unfastening the window coverings, when the door burst open, and Colonel Destler stuck his head in.

  “Trouble on the road ahead,” he said. “Please stay in here until we’ve dealt with it.”

  “Can I—” Devyn began, but Gwynneth cut him off.

  “I need you to protect me here,” she said.

  He relented with a huff, though he reached for the box holding his pistols, which he’d placed below his seat.

  She turned back to Destler. “Do what you must and come get us when it’s over.” Even as the door slammed shut, she heard shouts and gunfire. Surely no force out there was big enough to overcome hers?

  She’d just have to wait, and trust in Destler’s competence. It was too much to ask that she might relax, but she ignored the fear pitted in her stomach, at least until the fighting drew much nearer.

  Teodora

  Dealing with Mattila every day made Teodora wonder if it was worth it. Just because they were once again allies didn’t make her easier to handle, and she argued over every detail.

  She’d stood over Teodora’s shoulder while she composed a message to Livilla, asking her to see to Aksel Roussay’s release, and claimed she wouldn’t leave Arcius until he arrived here. Teodora wanted to scream with frustration.

  She doubted Janos Rykter could stay active for long with no money, and Teodora refused to beg from Princess Alarys with Mattila watching her every move. So she sat in Arcius, in relative comfort, while she waited for Aksel to arrive. He’d come on the next supply train, through Moralta, and was expected to arrive in two weeks.

  In the meantime, Teodora decided she might as well plan her next steps with Mattila. So, much as she hated it, she spent several hours every day with the general while they discussed how they’d conquer Tirilis.

  “That’s just the beginning of course,” Mattila said. They sat in a corner of Princess Alarys’s library, at a large table covered in maps. “I’ll besiege Richenbruck, then subdue the countryside. That’ll neutralize Tora Isenberg and the troops she has inside, along with those holding the Obenstein.” She smiled. “I expect the Obenstein to fall first.”

  “Will you bombard it?”

  “Yes. The fortress can’t be in good condition after Lennart’s assault, so I expect to take it quickly. Once I’ve taken the city, I’ll garrison it and move into Lantura. If we’re quick in Tirilis, Lennart won’t have time to rally the rest of his troops before we head north. I know Prince Eldrid has only a small army and should be easy to subdue. I imagine we can take him out in a matter of weeks.”

  Mattila leaned back in her chair, looking rather self-satisfied. “By the time Lennart comes out to fight—if he does—we’ll be in an excellent position, perhaps even threatening Oltena. He’ll have to scramble to motivate his allies.”

  “I ought to let Princess Viviane know,” Teodora said. “She can move into Terragand as soon as Lennart leaves. Even if he doesn’t go back, he’ll be worried and distracted.”

  “Not by that stupid cow,” Mattila said dismissively. “I’ve had irregulars operating inside Terragand for months and don’t need her help.”

  It was just as well, since it turned out Princess Viviane would be no help at all. Princess Alarys called Teodora to her boudoir late one night, looking rather furtive.

  “I thought you ought to hear of this before the general,” she whispered, looking ridiculous in a frilly dressing gown. Draped over her round frame, it made her look like a particularly unappetizing cream puff.

  Teodora couldn’t imagine what would be so bad, and wasn’t too worried, considering the princess’s penchant for drama.

  “Hear what?” she asked, taking a seat in a deceptively delicate-looking sturdy chair.

  Princess Alarys took a deep breath. “I’m sure it can’t be true, it’s too ridiculous, though my source has always been reliable.”

  “Well, out with it.”

  “Princess Viviane has been arrested and deposed, while Braeden Terris rules Terragand jointly with your daughter Elektra.”

  Teodora just sat there, unable to process this information. “You’re right. That is ridiculous. Perhaps your source is ill? Or mistaken? Because that’s complete and utter nonsense.”

  “I agree,” the princess whispered. “But there’s more. It seems most of this was organized by Princess Gwynneth, who arrived in Kronfels at the head of a large army.”

  “What?” Teodora exploded, springing out of her chair. “Princess Gwynneth is dead. Everyone knows that.” She put her hands on her hips and stared down at the cringing princess. “That cannot be true. Your source has lost their mind, or has received incorrect information. I refuse to believe any of this nonsense.”

  “All right then,” the princess said, her voice small, “but I thought you should know.”

  Teodora shook her head and swept out of the room, wondering as she went if the princess was cracking up. But when she met with Mattila the next morning, it appeared she’d received the same tidings from a different correspondent.

  “How can any of it be true?” Te
odora still refused to accept it, because the implications were too awful if it was true.

  She didn’t know which was worse. Princess Gwynneth and at least two of her children still alive—one of them a rather feasible heir to Terragand—;Braeden Terris escaping death once again, and somehow overthrowing a Kronland ruler, one allied to Teodora no less; or Elektra apparently changing sides.

  “Oh, and there’s something here about your Countess Biaram,” Mattila added, looking like she was enjoying herself immensely. “It seems she’s been shipped to Maladena as a prisoner.”

  “What?” Teodora shrieked. “How? Why?” Her next panicked thought was that all of her plotting had somehow been exposed.

  Mattila looked at the letter she held. “It seems she confessed to many crimes, including subverting the princess and plotting to murder Prince Kendryk, all on your behalf. She turned over all of her papers, and in exchange for her cooperation, escaped with her life, at least for the time being. She’s meant to serve a ten-year sentence in a Maladene penal colony.”

  Teodora gasped for air, but it wouldn’t come.

  From a distance she heard Mattila ask her something, but even if she’d understood, she was unable to respond. She couldn’t have an attack now, not like this, not in front of her worst enemy.

  With the greatest effort she’d ever made, Teodora pushed the pain in her head far, far back, until it receded into a tiny, throbbing ball at the edge of her consciousness.

  “Are you all right?” Mattila was in her face, shouting at her.

  Teodora smiled through the agony. “I’m fine.”

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth wished Devyn wasn’t armed; she didn’t see how any good could come of it. But he was loading his pistols, grim determination on his face.

  “Please be careful with those,” she said, “and don’t fire them in here.” Her hearing had never recovered from the time Maryna had fired at Daciana Tomescu while holding the pistol next to Gwyneth’s head.

  The sounds of fighting drew nearer, then receded, and it was all Gwynneth could do to keep from poking her head out the window to see what was happening. It grew even quieter, and the coach moved ahead with a lurch, throwing Gwynneth and the children together.

  Devyn had put his pistols back in the box after loading them. He’d already explained to Gwynneth that wheellocks wouldn’t fire until he pulled the trigger to set the mechanism in motion, but Gwynneth was still uneasy.

  They untangled themselves and took their seats on the bench as the coach made its way down the road.

  “I’m sure they were bandits, and Colonel Destler and his troops saw them off,” Gwynneth said, after things had quieted down.

  The coach turned and kept rolling, the snow squeaking under its wheels. Gwynneth realized she was hungry and wondered how long it had been since breakfast. She had a basket packed at the inn under the seat, and got it out, handing each child a roll laid with cheese, along with an apple, taking one of each for herself.

  “I hope it’s lunchtime,” she said with a smile, “or we’ll have a long time to wait until supper.” They had just finished when the coach came to a halt. “Maybe Colonel Destler will come see us soon.”

  She started opening the window, when the door flew open and a pistol barrel poked inside.

  “Step outside with your hands up,” a muffled voice said.

  Gwynneth’s heart leapt into her throat, but she kept her head enough to yank on Devyn’s arm before he reached for the pistols in the box.

  “Go,” she hissed. “They’ll kill you if you fight right now. Maybe later.”

  “There are children in here,” she said loudly. “Might I come out first?”

  “Sprogs go first.” The voice was rough, though the dialect was not.

  “Please don’t hurt them.” Gwynneth cursed her voice for its wobble as she pushed first Stella and then Devyn out the door. She hoped her son would hold back if his little sister stood between him and their attackers.

  Gwynneth wondered what had happened to her escort as she stepped down, automatically taking the hand offered her. She let go as soon as she realized she’d taken it, but by then she stood in the snow.

  Not wanting to appear too frightened, she took a moment to look around. The coach stood in a clearing, deep in the woods, near a small house made of logs and thatch.

  She lifted her chin and looked at the man holding the pistol, the lower half of his face still covered by a muffler. She wondered if he was trying to disguise himself, or was just cold.

  “Who are you?” she asked, making her tone as haughty as she could.

  “Like I’d tell you.” His eyes darted to one side and then the other, and Gwynneth’s followed them. They were surrounded by a whole group of folk wearing long coats, their faces covered under hats of various kinds. In their shapeless garb, it was hard to tell man from woman.

  “Are you part of the peasant revolt?” she asked. Devyn gasped, and she shot a look at him, hoping he stayed quiet.

  “Not telling you. Who’re you?” The man poked at her arm with the pistol barrel.

  Gwynneth took a deep breath and risked it. “I’m Gwynneth, Princess Regent of Terragand, and this is Prince Devyn himself.”

  Devyn lifted his chin, and looked down his nose at the man, who was only a little taller.

  That caught the man by surprise. “Really?” For the first time the mockery in his gray eyes fled.

  “Yes, really.” Gwynneth did her best to sound bored and impatient. “His Grace is needed in Terragand immediately. I’d be grateful if you let us go, so we might return to our escort. Where is it, by the way?”

  The man laughed. “Likely still chasing a bunch of rogues through the woods. That lot drew your guards off, while we went after the real prize.” The mocking look was back.

  “Well, I’m afraid I’m not much of a prize.” Gwynneth let her tone match his eyes. “You’re welcome to request a ransom though you’re likely to be killed long before you collect it. You’re better off taking our valuables and getting us back to our friends. I’ll let you live if you do.”

  “Aren’t you high and mighty?” The man laughed again. “No, Princess, I’m afraid you’re staying with us while we figure out what to do with you. But come, you’ll catch your death out here. There’s a fire inside and a hot stew on it, if you’re hungry.”

  “We’ve had lunch.” Devyn sounded disdainful in the extreme.

  “Though we’ll appreciate a fire,” Gwynneth said.

  That part was true. It had started snowing again and someone had unhitched the horses and led them away somewhere. They wouldn’t go anywhere else today, and she needed to figure out what to do next while not freezing to death.

  Braeden

  “Ah, it’s nice to be back out on the road,” Trisa said, taking in a deep breath of the frigid air.

  “It’s a damned nuisance, having to ride into the woods in this weather,” Braeden grumbled. It used to be he didn’t mind, but of late, he’d been feeling what might have been arthritic twinges in his joints. Staying in his warm, comfortable house in Kronfels was far more appealing. “But we have no choice now but to find out what’s going on.”

  “Might be it’s just rumors, “ Trisa said. “Those are always common in wartime.” While the kingdom wasn’t at war, it had certainly just suffered a major upheaval.

  Isenwald’s open countryside lay covered in snow, and seemed quiet. One day’s journey out from the city, Braeden stopped at the home of the nearest nobleman, a Count Herbst. His reception was chilly until he told the count where he was going and why.

  “I’m glad. Something must be done about these rebels,” the count said. “I’m afraid the upheavals of war have given the peasantry ideas above their station. Rather than being content to work the land, too many young people joined the various armies, leaving us short-handed. Because of that, the remaining peasants must work longer hours, and had the nerve to demand higher wages. I’ve never seen such insolence.”

/>   “Hm.” Privately, Braeden agreed with the peasants. “Sounds like a lot of things have changed.”

  “Indeed, and not for the better. Will you have more brandy?”

  “Sure.” Braeden hadn’t realized he’d polished off a cup, though he felt warmer for it.

  He didn’t like the look of the count. Though he appeared genial enough at first, there was something cold and unpleasant about his gray eyes. Once he was under the impression Braeden was on his side, he’d been hospitable, finding a warm place for Braeden’s small escort to spend the night, and inviting the officers to dinner in his fine manor home. It wasn’t quite a palace, but pleasant enough, and the countess was kind.

  At dinner, Braeden noticed that she seemed frightened of her husband, frightened of the peasants, frightened of his and Elektra’s rule, and just about everything else. She even shrank under Trisa’s friendly, though rather direct gaze.

  “I can assure you Countess,” Braeden said, as they waited for another course to be brought in. “We’re only caretakers until Princess Gwynneth locates the rightful heir. We don’t wish to do anything radical.”

  “Huh. That tax measure seems radical,” the count said, “though not unwelcome. Try the roast grouse. My cook does wonders with game.”

  “That measure is only temporary.” Braeden took a small bite of the grouse. It really was good. At least the food was better than the company. “It’s a gesture of goodwill, and a way to help folk through what’s looking to be a difficult winter.”

  He waited until the cheese was served before bringing up the revolt again. “I’m trying to find out what’s happening because I’ve heard only rumors so far. I was hoping you out in the countryside had better information.”

  “What exactly do you need to know?” The count’s eye held an odd gleam.

  “Locations of the attacks, names of any known leaders, that sort of thing.”

  The countess whimpered, as if in distress, but froze when both men turned to her.