Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  “Is everything all right?” Braeden asked.

  “I suppose,” she whispered. “I’m just so very frightened. What if our—”

  “Shut up, woman,” the count snapped. “Best you take yourself to your room now so you can calm down.”

  The countess scuttled off, with a panicked look at Braeden.

  When the door shut behind her, Braeden said, “She seems terrified.”

  “She’s always been a frightened mouse, but it really is unnerving when you hear of estates being burned, and their inhabitants slaughtered.”

  “True. Do you know of any in particular where something has happened? Again, there’ve been rumors, but the names of the estates change with each one. I came here first because I wondered if you’d been attacked.”

  “No, we’re still far off from the main trouble. It started in the forests, where it’s easier for the rebels to strike and then disappear. I imagine they’ll work their way out here if they’re not stopped.”

  “Well, I aim to stop them,” Braden said. “I’d appreciate it if you could call up your local militia in case they’re needed. Once I find out where the trouble is, I’ll put an end to it as quickly as I can.”

  “I can certainly do that.” The count looked eager. “I must say Count Terris, I’m impressed. I was expecting a bumpkin with common sympathies, and you’ve turned out to be quite the opposite.”

  “Thank you,” Braeden said, feeling he had not been complimented. But that didn’t matter as long as he got the help he needed.

  His escort was small because he couldn’t spare any more from Elektra’s guard. And if the peasant revolt was large, he’d need help from unpleasant types like Herbst, whether he wanted it or not.

  Gwynneth

  Once she realized the people crowded into the hut didn’t meant to harm them immediately, Gwynneth could relax and think. First, she looked around the room, taking in every detail. This appeared to be a two-room cottage, likely typical for woodsmen. It held a small sleeping loft against the chimney, under the thatched roof. Gwynneth and the children sat in a small living room with a bed in the corner.

  She could see through a low doorway into another room that appeared to be a kitchen with a wood stove. A large fireplace warmed the living area.

  Gwynneth smelled something cooking and her mouth watered, even though she hadn’t thought she was hungry. She and the children had been left alone here while everyone else gathered in the kitchen, talking over each other.

  Gwynneth tried to follow the conversation, but the common Isenwald dialect was beyond her. Even their presumed leader, who spoke in otherwise civilized tones seemed to drop into the local way when he was speaking with the others. It was frustrating not to know what was going on.

  Devyn had already gone to the front door and found it latched from the outside. “I can’t believe the insolence of these people. Who do they think they are?”

  “I don’t know, but I mean to find out.” Gwynneth told him what Colonel Destler had learned that morning about the revolt. “It’s possible these people are involved. That’s why I told them who we are, since being mistaken for Isenwald nobility might mean our deaths right now.”

  “This is unacceptable.” Devyn threw himself onto a threadbare animal hide in front of the fire. “We must stop them.”

  “We must persuade them to let us go,” Gwynneth said gently.

  She was worried about Stella, curled up against her side, her thumb in her mouth. That was a habit she’d abandoned when she was four, but news of Kendryk’s death had brought it back. She still wasn’t back to her usual self, since Gwynneth would have expected her to mirror Devyn’s indignation.

  “And how will we do that?” Devyn huffed.

  “By offering money. I’ll tell them to send a message to Edric Maximus, and I’m sure he’ll provide a ransom. Once we’re free, I’ll write to Braeden and tell him everything we learned about these people while we’re with them.”

  “He’ll have to put the revolt down, won’t he?” Thankfully, Devyn had taken his cue from Gwynneth and now whispered.

  “I’m afraid he will, so any information we can give him will be helpful. I realize it’s hard to understand their dialect, but see if you can make out any names, or the names of any towns. If we can figure out where we are and who’s in charge, that’s a good start.”

  “I agree.” Devyn seemed happier at the prospect of something to do, quietly crawled across the floor, stopping next to the doorway, and listened carefully, frowning with concentration.

  Gwynneth was glad he was quiet, at least for now, and prayed she could keep him from angering their captors. She only had to wait a little longer before the man who’d ordered them out of the coach came striding into the room, bearing two bowls of stew. A short woman with straw-blond hair followed him, bearing a third.

  “One for the eavesdropper.” The man came upon Devyn before he could get out of the way. “Have something to eat. We’ll be here overnight.”

  Devyn scowled, but took the bowl.

  The man brought Gwynneth the other bowl, and the woman handed one to Stella before going back into the kitchen.

  “Thank you.” Gwynneth stirred the hot stew with a wooden spoon. It smelled surprisingly good. “Poached venison, I presume?”

  “You really have a low view of us.” The man took Devyn’s erstwhile spot on the hearth rug. Now his face was no longer covered, Gwyneth got a good look at him.

  He was nondescript in just about every way: of medium height and build, with straight light-brown hair falling to his shoulders. His features were regular, except for an unusually prominent chin and those mocking gray eyes. She tried to guess his age, but he might have been anywhere from twenty-five to a youthful forty.

  “What do you expect? I’m supposed to be grateful to you for capturing us and stealing everything we have?” She fixed her most challenging glare on him. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who you are.”

  “I don’t mind,” the man said, his eyes still laughing at her. “I’m Florian Herbst, Baron of Linter, son of Count Herbst.”

  “Oh.” Gwynneth was taken aback by the title, and tried to cover her confusion by trying her stew, which tasted as good as it smelled. “So I can assume you are not involved in the peasant rebellion.” She worried he was angry about Princess Viviane, which would be far worse for her, and struggled to keep her face neutral.

  “You can assume no such thing,” Herbst said. “I am in fact the leader of the rebellion.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you do something so ridiculous?”

  Herbst shrugged. “Various reasons. You unseating the princess provided a rare chance for the people of Isenwald to get justice from their oppressors.”

  “Wouldn’t your family be numbered among them?”

  “My family is one of the worst.” Herbst’s genial features darkened. “I’ve been wondering how I might put a stop to my father’s injustices, and now thanks to you, I finally have a chance.”

  Teodora

  “You’ve had a terrible shock I’m sure,” Mattila said, as Teodora’s hearing returned to normal. “Are you sure you oughtn’t see your doctor?”

  “I’m fine,” Teodora said through gritted teeth, though she was anything but. She couldn’t allow any thoughts into her head right now. Thinking at all might kill her.

  “Still.” Mattila gathered up papers from the desk. “You should get some rest. Why don’t we meet again later this afternoon?”

  Teodora nodded, relieved in spite of it all. Once Mattila left, she shakily reached for the bell, and when a footman arrived, asked him to send for Sibyla.

  She came quickly, looking concerned. “All anyone can talk about here is Isenwald, which must be upsetting for you. Please let me take a look at you.”

  “I’m all right,” Teodora said faintly, “though I might need a nap.”

  “You will lie down for the next few hours,” Sibyla admonished.

  Once Teodora explaine
d the pain in her head, Sibyla looked very anxious. “You likely had another attack, though not as severe as the last one, thank the gods.”

  “I stopped it,” Teodora said. “I refuse to have one in front of that woman.”

  Sibyla laughed at that, and shook her head. “Somehow I wouldn’t be surprised if you managed it through sheer willpower. Still, it’s taken a lot out of you.” She sighed. “I wish I could get you away from all of your cares for at least a few weeks.”

  “It’s not possible,” Teodora said firmly. She didn’t want to argue now.

  Sibyla helped her to a bench and made her lie down. “When you’ve had a little rest, you can go up to your room, but send for me first.” She looked down at Teodora, frowning even as she covered her with a silky fringed shawl, recently draped picturesquely over a chair.

  Teodora fell asleep for a time. When she awakened, it was silent and she lay there, enjoying the stillness and the solitude. She knew she had to face the news from Isenwald, strange and upsetting as it was. It was just another obstacle, one of many she’d already overcome. And unlike some of those other times, Mattila’s army stood at her back. That must count for something.

  She took a few deep breaths and considered each thing, one at a time. First was the loss of Countess Biaram. Teodora had always expected she might be caught in a plot, but expected her to cover her tracks better. It was also possible that Princess Viviane had been less than discreet. In time, Teodora would get all the details and be in a better position to consider them calmly.

  Next was the matter of Braeden Terris. Clearly, he’d somehow escaped his fate and turned the tables in a surprising way. Teodora wondered why he’d been put in charge of Isenwald. Surely no one would follow a commoner as their ruler.

  But that was the reason for Elektra’s presence. She’d lend legitimacy to the whole affair. The bigger question concerned Elektra’s betrayal, if she was now on the side of Princess Gwynneth and Braeden Terris.

  Thinking about Elektra too hard made Teodora’s head hurt, so she put that aside. She’d get more information later, and if her daughter was a traitor, she’d deal with her as she had all the others. Elektra had never been much good anyway.

  The supposed presence of Princess Gwynneth made even less sense, and at the head of an army no less. First of all, why was she alive? Natalya herself had confirmed her death.

  That made Teodora sit up. Natalya might have lied. But why? Had she somehow found out what Teodora was planning? But where had Gwynneth come from so suddenly, and where had she raised an army of a sufficient size to overthrow Princess Viviane?

  So many questions made Teodora’s head hurt, and she lay back down again. The answers would reveal themselves, though she doubted she’d like most of them.

  Terragand now had a legitimate ruler, one with a considerable army at his back. She would have to discuss that situation more deeply with Mattila, who would surely prefer to see Terragand destabilized.

  Another thing bothering Teodora was Daciana’s disappearance after failing in her mission, or at least part of it. If Gwynneth appeared with only two children, perhaps Daciana had murdered the other three before being stopped, possibly killed. She hated lacking so much information.

  Well, Natalya was on her way to Atlona, and Teodora would have the answers out of her sooner or later. And if the girl with her was Maryna, then she’d have Terragand’s true ruler in her clutches once again. But this time, there’d be no escape. The girl could spend the rest of her days in the Arnfels, or perhaps even go to the block, but Teodora would have her out of the way.

  Sibyla came bustling in. “Are you ready to go to your room?”

  “I’m ready to get back to work,” Teodora sat up, smiling. “Would you send for the general? We have a great deal to discuss.”

  Sibyla shook her head, but mercifully, decided not to argue. “All right, but don’t take too long. I’ll go get the general.”

  When Mattila returned, she was bent on getting rid of Teodora. “From here on, we’ll be dealing mostly with military matters. I don’t see why you can’t return to Atlona while I manage affairs in Kronland. You must take better care of yourself.”

  Teodora smiled. “I thought you might say that, but I don’t agree. In light of what’s happened in Isenwald, there are several unexpected things to deal with. I will go there myself and find out what’s really going on.”

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth and the children slept comfortably in the little cabin that first night. They were given the tiny loft, which contained a bed big enough for the three of them. She’d never slept on a straw mattress before, but it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. Everyone else sprawled out on the floor below and didn’t bother them.

  The next morning they received a breakfast of rather bland but hearty porridge, and were led back outside. But instead of their coach, a rough sledge stood waiting for them.

  Gwynneth had to struggle to reach it, sinking into snow up to her knees. The coach couldn’t get through this. The sledge had a wooden bench and a woman gave Gwynneth a heavy woolen blanket, which she tucked over their knees.

  “Pay attention to where we’re going,” she whispered to Devyn as Florian Herbst jumped into the small driver’s seat, and cracked the whip in the sharp, cold air.

  Once they were underway she asked, “Where are you taking us?”

  “Someplace safer,” he said, without turning around.

  Though he didn’t seem inclined to chat, Gwynneth wasn’t giving up. “Are you going to write to Edric Maximus soon? I’m sure he’ll be eager to ransom us.”

  “I don’t want money,” Herbst said, “at least not yet. I’ve thought of another use for you.”

  Gwynneth shivered. “That sounds ominous.” She tried and failed to keep her tone light.

  “It won’t be too terrible if you cooperate.” The sledge now ran down a straight forest path, so Herbst turned back to look at them. “You’re a hero to the folk around here, you know.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “You got rid of the evil Princess Viviane. She’s been a hated figure in these parts for years, especially since the tree tax. That didn’t go over well among the woodsmen.”

  “I see.” Gwynneth wasn’t sure what else to say to that, and Herbst turned back around.

  “If you hated Princess Viviane and she is gone now, why are you rising up against your rightful rulers?” Devyn was bound to pipe up sooner or later.

  “Because a lot of them are just as bad. She’d impose a tax, the common folk would pay it, but the nobles took so much off the top, the common folk had to pay double. Does that sound fair to you, Prince?”

  Devyn frowned. “Of course that’s unfair, and it must be stopped. But you’re going about it all wrong. You must go to Kronfels and speak with Count Terris. I’m sure he’ll see justice done.”

  “Maybe he will, but I’m not inclined to leave our fate in the hands of a foreigner. It’s time the people of Isenwald took control of their own lives.”

  “By killing their betters?” Devyn was looking increasingly angry, and Gwynneth patted his knee, hoping he got the hint.

  Herbst chuckled. “If that’s what it takes. And if you were acquainted with these people, you wouldn’t call them better than anyone.”

  “You know what I mean.” Devyn’s eyes blazed.

  “I certainly know what you mean. You think you’re better than everyone else because you have a prince and princess for parents. I disagree.”

  Devyn turned to Gwynneth, incredulous. It was likely the first time he’d heard such things.

  Gwynneth shrugged and shook her head. “Arguing with this fanatic is pointless,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You might as well stop before you’re too frustrated.”

  But the woods around them were so quiet that Herbst heard and chuckled again. “Don’t worry. I’m enjoying the discussion, and it does the young prince good to have his carefully considered ideas challenged at least once in his lif
e.”

  Gwynneth didn’t disagree, but would never admit it in front of this man. “I doubt either of you will convince the other, though it passes the time, I suppose.”

  To her surprise, in spite of their terrible situation, she felt a curious peace. Perhaps it was the marvelous stillness of the woods, the horse’s steps muffled in the snow, the sledge’s wooden runners just a whisper below her.

  The one thing she hadn’t had since Kendryk’s death was peace of any kind. She didn’t expect it, but a tear rolled down her cheek.

  “It’s all right, Mama.” Devyn put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll get us out of this.”

  “It’s not that.” She couldn’t keep talking as the tears came on stronger. She was mortified that this was happening in front of their captor. But good manners told, and he pretended to ignore them now, cracked the whip again, then whistled under his breath as the horses gained speed.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” she whispered to Devyn as the tears subsided.

  “You haven’t had a proper cry in a while,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.

  She’d had more than enough at Prince Dristan’s palace, but a lot had happened since then. She’d avenged Kendryk, at least partly, though she didn’t consider the job done until Princess Viviane was dead.

  Gwynneth sat up straighter. That was it. Perhaps she could get these rebels to help her finish the job. But she needed Devyn to cooperate.

  So while the sledge sped through the forest, she whispered her idea into his ear. He frowned, but when she asked him to help her, he nodded.

  Teodora

  For once, Mattila and Sybila were united.

  “Your Highness, traveling in this weather could mean your death.” Sybila stamped her foot.

  “I agree,” Mattila said, sounding much nicer than she usually did.

  Teodora thought she’d welcome the chance to have her sovereign freeze to death.

  “It’s too difficult to travel this time of year, especially in your condition,” Mattila continued.