Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  “I did. I studied for fifteen years, and in the last few, she allowed me to assist her in more ... delicate matters.” He gave Teodora a meaningful look.

  It had never occurred to her that Livilla might have required help of that nature, but Teodora leaned forward, wondering if her prayers were about to be answered. “Are you saying you’re aware of how my friend was cured?”

  “Your Highness, I was more than just aware. I helped Livilla with all the preparations and noted down all of the effects upon you and Miss Tomescu following it.”

  Teodora couldn’t keep from smiling. “I am very happy to hear that.” She swallowed. “I was wondering, if you’re familiar with the ritual, might you be able to duplicate it?”

  Father Stipan looked taken aback, but soon his smile answered hers. “I’m certain I can, though a great deal depends upon the subjects. Who is it that requires healing? And who is offering their strength to bring it about? I must warn you, no one can give what you have more than once and survive.”

  “Oh, I’ll be on the receiving end, this time,” Teodora said. “I haven’t felt the same since my illness last year, and I’m tired of it. I was hoping you might help me regain at least most of my strength.”

  “I believe I can.” The priest looked thrilled at first, but then his face fell. “The problem is, the person providing their blood must be someone of uncommon strength, both mental and physical. Do you have someone willing in mind?”

  “I have someone in mind, though I doubt she’s willing,” Teodora said, smirking. “How hardy would you say our false Maxima is, for an old lady?”

  Braeden

  Within two days, they had word from Kronfels. Florian called for Gwynneth and Braeden, and the three of them sat around the table in the tiny, overheated kitchen.

  “We’ve had a great stroke of luck,” Florian said, shaking his head with a smile. “I would never have believed it.”

  “Teodora’s gone?” Braeden asked. That was the only thing he’d consider good in this scenario.

  “No, but her daughter has escaped her clutches and taken refuge with friends of ours.”

  Gwynneth gasped, then smiled. “That is wonderful news.”

  “Not so fast,” Braeden said. “What if this is Teodora’s idea?”

  “Elektra hates her mother with a passion,” Gwynneth said. “She must have spent three hours straight telling me all the awful things she’s done. And besides, she’s escaped her mother before, with the help of her army. It seems reasonable she’d manage it again.”

  “She has no army now,” Braeden said. “Teodora killed her Estenorian guards.” He’d believe it more readily if Major Silberg were still around, though he doubted he was.

  “She likely found someone else to help her escape,” Gwynneth said, looking happier than she had in a while. “I found Elektra to be a rather pleasant person, so I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she’s made friends at the palace.”

  Braeden snorted.

  Gwynneth turned to him with a reproving look. “Oh come now, the two of you got on rather well near the end.”

  “Well enough,” Braeden said, “though I stayed clear as much as I could. It’s just ...” he hesitated, wondering how to describe his hunch. “She’s not got the strongest character,” he said, aware that didn’t explain what he meant. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Teodora coerced or convinced her to see things her way.”

  “Do you think so? In her place, I would certainly hold firm. Just think how angry that would make Teodora.” A smile spread over Gwynneth’s face.

  “Trust me, Your Grace. Elektra is very much not you,” Braeden said. “And an angry Teodora is nothing to take lightly.”

  “I suppose you would know something about that,” Gwynneth said.

  “And so do you.” Braeden shook his head. “You of all people know how dangerous she is.”

  “You’re right.” Gwynneth sighed. “Still, it’s a shame to not take advantage of the situation.”

  “I agree,” Florian spoke up. “I also doubt the archduchess could have escaped without Teodora’s knowledge. Or at least we should assume so until we know otherwise. However, we might use her to confuse Teodora.”

  “Use her to lead Teodora away from your headquarters, for instance?” Braeden began to understand.

  “Something like that. What if we brought her to another location, made it look like something was going on there? If Teodora is behind this, she’ll be followed. We’ll lure her troops in one direction, while we strike from another.”

  The whole idea made Braeden uneasy, but he saw excitement dawning on Gwynneth’s face and knew he’d have trouble convincing both of them to leave Elektra be. “I don’t like it,” he grumbled. “Why don’t we let her sit in Kronfels until we’ve carried out our plan? Once we’ve succeeded we can find out what really happened.”

  “No.” Gwynneth shook her head. “Florian is right. This is an excellent opportunity to deceive Teodora. No doubt she expects to do the same to us, and I’m sure she’ll have fed the archduchess all kinds of useless information.”

  “We can feed some back to her,” Florian said with a smirk. “I’m told the archduchess had help with her escape and has a companion, someone no doubt assigned to her by Teodora, making sure she behaves. I’m sure this person is a spy and will have a way to send information back to Teodora.”

  “A spy or worse,” Braeden muttered. “What if they’ve been sent to assassinate one or all of us?”

  “We will appear in strength.” Florian would not be deterred. He and Gwynneth possessed the same annoying stubbornness. “Even the most skilled assassin won’t be able to take on more than a dozen of my troops.”

  “All right,” Braeden said with a sigh. He could see the value in misleading Teodora. “But I’ll want Princess Gwynneth far away.”

  “Oh no,” Gwynneth said, turning to Braeden with pleading eyes. “Please let me come. I’m sure Elektra will be suspicious if I’m not present at what are supposed to be our headquarters.”

  “Yes, the princess stays with us,” Florian said, his eyes hard. “In spite of everything, we still have a deal, and she’s staying with me until we succeed.”

  Braeden shrugged, but resolved to be a little warier of Florian. At this rate, he’d need eyes in the back of his head, with so many possible threats.

  Teodora

  Father Stipan seemed to think the old Maxima would do nicely. “The transformation might not be as complete as in your prior experience,” he said, “but you are in far better condition than your friend was.”

  “The old lady won’t be willing,” Teodora said, as they headed for the temple dungeon. “Is that a problem?”

  “I think not.” Father Stipan shrugged, then snapped at a guard to bring the imprisoned Maxima. He showed Teodora into a small room where someone had already brought a light. “Again, it makes the healing less effective, but we aren’t trying to bring you back from the dead.”

  “What about the fact she’s a Quadrene?” Teodora hadn’t thought of that until now. “Is her blood tainted?”

  The priest smiled. “The heresy affects her mind and soul, not her body.”

  Teodora wished heretical beliefs would turn her enemies decrepit, but in this case it was better it didn’t work that way.

  A moment later, two guards dragged in the old priestess. Her face was still bruised from her struggles during her arrest, but otherwise she looked healthy. Both tall and broad, with a large, kindly face, she looked exceedingly common. At least Teodora would have no more children to risk passing such a bloodline to.

  “It’s good to see you, Mother ...” Teodora trailed off. She would never address this woman as Maxima.

  “I’m Antonia Maxima.” The woman lifted her chin and stared Teodora in the eye. “Ordained by Edric Landrus himself.”

  Normally, Teodora was unable to hear that name without losing her temper, but considering what was about to happen, she laughed. “Perfect,” she said. “I wi
ll let him know your fate.”

  “I don’t fear death.” Her gaze was still far too arrogant.

  “Oh, it’s not death you have to worry about, at least not yet,” Teodora said. “Father Stipan assures me that the ritual you are about to undergo will leave you alive, though unable to care for yourself. You’ll likely die, but only if I stop feeding you.”

  At that the woman turned pale, but drew herself together quickly enough. “If this is one of Livilla’s evil spells,” she said, her voice soft and shaking just a little, “I do not fear its outcome. The gods will judge you for it besides your many other crimes, while they will take me to paradise when they wish it, not when you decide.”

  “Whatever makes you feel better.” Teodora looked at Father Stipan. “Shall we go?”

  He’d ordered a room prepared inside the prison. It was less comfortable than the palace, but also far more secure. All of the guards here were Teodora’s people, and more reliable than servants in the former Maxima’s palace.

  Because she knew Sibyla would not be in favor of this plan, Teodora had distracted her with an unusual case at the Kronfels hospital. It ought to keep her occupied for most of the day.

  Teodora entered first, so she might get comfortable before they brought the prisoner. A fire had been built in a room that looked like it might be part of the prison commandant’s quarters. Father Stipan had laid out various items on a table in the corner, which Teodora avoided looking at.

  “Please take a seat in front of the fire,” he said, and brought over a plain pewter mug. “Drink this. It will calm you and help you sleep quickly. When you wake up, you will be young again.”

  Teodora took the mug, praying to Vica this man was as trustworthy as Livilla claimed. Before drinking the steaming liquid, she looked up at him. “If this turns out well, you’ll be Maximus of Isenwald tomorrow.”

  “I ask no reward.” Father Stipan bowed his head, but not before Teodora spotted a surprised, gratified smile. “But if you insist, I thank you.”

  “I do insist,” Teodora said, then drank down the mug’s bitter contents before she hesitated any further. The fire was warm, the room more pleasant than she’d first noticed.

  Father Stipan sounded far away when he said, “Now come, Your Highness. Everything is ready.”

  Teodora’s limbs were heavy, but she moved from the chair and shed the loose gown she was wearing before falling into the bed. She wondered if she should be afraid, but was too sleepy.

  She slept and dreamed.

  Daciana, looking fresh and bright as ever, came toward her. Thrilled to see her friend again, Teodora ran to her, pulling her into an embrace. “It was a lie,” she whispered into Daciana’s black curls. “You’re alive.”

  “Alive?” Daciana’s raspy voice seemed thinner than usual. “I don’t think I’d call this alive.” And she laughed, a horrid screeching noise. The soft hair against Teodora’s face turned lank and slimy, and when Teodora pulled away, Daciana’s head fell backward off her body.

  Teodora screamed and jumped back, but too late for the blood, black and gushing from where Daciana’s head had been. She wasn’t able to free herself of Daciana’s embrace, holding her close while blood covered her in an endless stream. Surely one woman’s body couldn’t contain so much.

  Teodora screamed and screamed. Blood flowed into her mouth, but she couldn’t close it. It flowed into her throat and deeper. She was sure she must drown, but kept breathing somehow, gulping in air along with the blood. It went on and on, and she no longer saw or felt Daciana anywhere near her, just endless streams of thick, black liquid.

  She finally awoke, gasping, clutching at her face. “Oh gods,” she shrieked, her voice raw. “What have you done?”

  There was blood all over her face. “Oh gods,” she sobbed, trying to wipe it away, but there was too much. She sobbed and sobbed, begging the gods to spare her, to forgive her, for what it was, she didn’t know. It was a mercy when the blackness took her.

  Elektra

  “They’re coming to get us.” Janos Rykter stood in the doorway. “Let’s go over the story one more time.” He strode into Elektra’s room, the door slamming behind him.

  She hated being alone with him, and shrank into her chair. They were at the home of the Kronfels burgomaster’s daughter, a close friend to Antonia Maxima and more than happy to shelter Elektra after her escape.

  The burgomaster had sent word to the leader of the peasant revolt. It must have traveled quickly since Elektra hadn’t been here two days. The burgomaster’s daughter and her family had been friendly and welcoming, though Elektra couldn’t bear to look any of them in the eye. They’d be among the first to die when Teodora made her move.

  “We shouldn’t be in here alone,” Elektra whispered. “People will think ...”

  “I know exactly what they’ll think.” Rykter leered at her while pulling up a chair. “Don’t worry, you’re not my type. But it doesn’t hurt for everyone to assume I helped you escape because I’m your lover, does it?”

  Elektra pushed down a noise of disgust, though a pathetic squeak still came out.

  Rykter rolled his eyes. “Hard to believe you’re your mother’s daughter, squeamish little thing that you are. Don’t worry, I’m not interested.” His tone was insulting. “But our peasant escort will be here soon and we need to keep our story straight, all right?”

  Elektra nodded, swallowing down her fear. “All right,” she said, pulling herself together. “You were a Moraltan rebel who sneaked into my mother’s employ, hoping to find an opportunity to kill her. When you saw how much I hated her, you offered to help me escape.” Teodora had decided against Rykter using an assumed name because she worried Elektra would be too stupid to remember it. She was probably right.

  Rykter nodded and continued. “I hoped the burgomaster would help because he hates both your mother and Princess Viviane. So I asked him to find shelter for us while getting word to the leader of the peasant revolt. We’re happy to tell him everything we know about conditions inside Princess Viviane’s palace, and troop numbers, et cetera.”

  “I’m friends with both Braeden Terris and Princess Gwynneth,” Elektra said, “so I’ll want to find out what’s happened to them. I’ll be very surprised when they turn out to be on the side of the peasants.”

  “You can do that, can’t you?” Rykter asked, staring hard at Elektra. “You can pretend for at least a little while that you like me and that you’d be shocked if your friends are sympathetic toward rebels.”

  “Of course.” Elektra tried to appear nonchalant. “I’ve deceived Braeden Terris once before. I’m sure I can do it again.”

  “Good girl.” Rykter stood, then covered the distance to Elektra’s chair in one long stride. Before she could react, he’d grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. “Now, let’s make sure you have this straight,” he growled into her ear. “Any funny business at all, and I hurt you.” He squeezed her wrist hard, and Elektra yelped.

  He kept squeezing. “If it looks for one second like you’re trying to give the game away, I’ll hurt you even worse.” He gave Elektra’s arm a final wrench and dropped it.

  She cradled it in her other arm, worrying he’d broken it, afraid to look at him.

  But he wasn’t finished. “I’ll cover you in bruises,” he whispered, “that no one else will see. Every step you take will be agony, but you won’t let it show, or I’ll hurt you more. And if at any point I find you’re too much trouble, I’ll kill you. Understood?”

  He grabbed Elektra’s chin and yanked up on it, forcing her to look him in the eye. His eyes were black, like a stone.

  “Understood,” Elektra said, through the pain in her jaw, fighting back the tears.

  “Good.” Rykter pulled his hand away and smiled. “Now get your cloak. We’re going for a long, cold ride.”

  Under other circumstances, Elektra would have enjoyed riding in the heavy wooden sledge. In spite of its bulk, it screeched and rattled merrily al
ong the top of the frozen snow and Elektra felt like she was flying. If only she didn’t have Rykter’s bulk at her side, she’d be putting her mother far behind her, and she’d be happy.

  But now it was just terror. Rykter was too canny to outsmart and he’d never let her get away. Maybe it would just be best to do something stupid so he’d kill her. But knowing him, he’d hurt her first, just for fun, and Elektra was terrified of more pain. Even hours later her wrist and jaw throbbed, and she realized inflicting those had been like nothing to Rykter.

  To keep from despairing, she focused on her mission. She felt bad about betraying Braeden yet again, since they had a clean slate, and even worse about Gwynneth. But she told herself they were nothing but trouble and not truly her friends.

  They would just use her while it was convenient, then discard her, same as everyone else. If she ever wanted to be empress, a prospect that now seemed ridiculously distant, she’d have to become tough enough to sacrifice people who stood in her way.

  Now she had to do whatever it took to survive, even if it was bad. She’d already made that choice when she decided she wasn’t strong enough to be a martyr. So she looked straight ahead down the snowy road. Clouds hung low overhead, and it was warmer than it had been in some time. Maybe it would snow again soon.

  A few lazy flakes fell as the sledge drew up in front of a tall, dark building. Its bulk made it appear to be a barn, though there were no other buildings about. Perhaps it was abandoned.

  The sledge driver jumped from his seat while a dark shape materialized to take the horses. “Come on now,” the driver said, walking ahead and opening the door. Inside, a fire burned on the floor of a bare room. In its light Elektra recognized Braeden and Princess Gwynneth.

  Lennart

  In all of this, Lennart hadn’t spotted Mattila anywhere. She liked to command from the rear, or from high ground, so she might be watching from somewhere on the Obenstein, though the snow and haze wouldn’t make that task any easier.