No one seemed to watch the woods; all eyes were fixed on something happening a little further up the road. Braeden took cover in a stand of fir trees. As long as they were quiet and no one looked too closely, they might not be seen.
Those with him were accomplished woodsmen and moved silently. He only had to worry about Elektra making an accidental noise, but she stayed close behind him and he heard only her breath, still quick and shallow.
While riding in the sledge he’d felt light-headed from blood loss, but forgot about that now. The cut on his arm burned, but it felt distant and unimportant.
They reached a cluster of what looked like imperial guards. From the blood on the snow and the bodies scattered here, this was where the fight had ended. Braeden held up a hand, motioning the others to stop. Behind him, Elektra gasped, and an instant later, Braeden saw why. Teodora was here.
The rumors had been lies. Aside from gray hair, there was nothing old about her. She’d removed her helmet and stood relaxed, a bloody sword in her right hand.
Braeden took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He took a moment longer to recognize Devyn in his armor, held between two large Moraltans. A body lay crumpled on the snow in front of Teodora. Braeden couldn’t be sure, but hoped it wasn’t Florian.
There was no time to waste. Devyn was in great danger since Teodora would take no more chances with captives and trials. She’d want her opponents dead today.
Braeden licked his lips. There was a distinct pressure against his forehead, even though he’d removed his helmet. He hoped he wouldn’t pass out. He turned to Elektra. “Your mother is about to kill Prince Devyn,” he whispered. “Can you help me save him?”
“What can I do?” Elektra’s face was white, her eyes wide and terrified.
“I have no right to ask you,” Braeden said, “after what you did for me. But I can’t think of another way. You must distract your mother.”
“Oh no.” Elektra’s lip trembled and Braeden worried she might cry.
“I’m sorry,” Braeden whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. “But I swear, if I can get the prince away, I’ll come back for you first chance I get.” He hated making that kind of promise, but the girl had just saved his life, and she might save a few more.
“Promise?” A tear leaked out of one eye and she dashed it away.
“I promise,” Braeden said, squeezing her shoulder. He looked back at Teodora. She’d thrown her head back and was laughing, talking to man standing beside her. That voice sounded familiar too, and dread tightened in Braeden’s chest as he recognized Count Herbst. Perhaps he’d killed his son.
“Bring the sledges around,” Braeden whispered to a man behind him. “We must leave quickly.” The barest rustle, and the drivers were gone.
He turned back to Elektra. “Now go,” he said. “Pretend you’re escaping from me. And thank you.” He did his best to smile, though her expression never changed from one of pure terror.
A movement from behind a tree caught Braeden’s eye. A slim blond peasant holding a musket came running across the snow, headed straight for Teodora.
Braeden moved to hold Elektra back, but she was already gone, covering the small open space screaming, “Mother! Mother!”
Teodora whirled around and the blond peasant crashed into Count Herbst. For an instant, Teodora faced Braeden, and was within range.
One shot from his pistol and it would all be over. But he couldn’t, not with Elektra and Devyn so near. If Teodora died, they likely would too. He’d take another chance if he got it, but he had to get Devyn away first.
Teodora frowned. “Goodness, what are you doing here?”
“Oh Mother.” Elektra was sobbing now, and threw herself into Teodora’s arms, forcing her to drop the sword.
“Now!” Braeden shouted, and his small troop dashed toward Teodora. As he’d hoped, her imperial guard closed ranks around her and Elektra, but Braeden didn’t care about them.
Devyn’s captors looked around wildly, but Braeden ran one over, while shooting the other at point-blank range. Devyn threw himself clear and shouted at Braeden, “You must help Mother!” pointing at Count Herbst.
Braeden whirled around, drawing his sword. Then he understood. The blond peasant was Gwynneth, and she was struggling with the count, trying to hit him with the musket stock while he blocked her with his sword.
Braeden charged straight at Herbst, who shoved Gwynneth out of the way as he turned to face him.
“Go back toward the house, Your Grace and get in a sledge,” Braeden said, as he charged at Herbst, who was brandishing his weapon skillfully.
Elektra was doing her job well. From somewhere inside the cluster of guards, Braeden heard her shrieking something about Janos Rykter being killed and thrown in the river and a great peasant army marching this way.
Braeden drove Herbst away from the guards. The count kept backing up as he parried, slipping and sliding on the snowy ground until he lost his balance. Still, he didn’t give up, blocking Braeden’s downward blow, even as he backed away, crawling on the ground.
“You bastard,” Braeden said, kicking Herbst’s sword away. “This is for Florian.” And he drove his sword straight down into the count’s chest. Unfortunately, there was no time to enjoy a moment of justice. If Teodora could rally her troops he and his friends would be quickly outnumbered.
“Your Grace,” Braeden ran toward Gwynneth, standing nearby with Devyn. “We have to get out of here.”
“We couldn’t leave without you,” Gwynneth said. She looked like a boy in her breeches and coat. “I’m so glad you killed that awful man. Stella is back in the sledge, I hope.”
“Good,” Braeden said, “we’ll take it and go. Teodora’s troops are scattered chasing down stragglers, and hopefully won’t follow us right away.” They ran for the sledge, and Braeden shoved Gwynneth and Devyn into it. The driver had already turned it around, Stella on the seat beside him, brandishing a little wooden sword.
“Get the duchess down from there,” Braeden roared, then turned back toward the enemy once he saw Gwynneth drag a shrieking, struggling Stella into the sledge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other sledges darting into the woods. He hoped one would wait for him. Even from this distance, he heard Elektra screams and Teodora’s impatient replies. The girl had bought them critical moments.
Braeden hesitated, hoping for one more glimpse of Teodora. But her guards stayed close around her, while Moraltan officers ran about, trying to round up their troops. It was time to go.
Braeden ran back down the road, hoping someone had waited for him. Two sledges stood in the clearing beside the house. “Your Grace, you must go,” he said, out of breath now, waving his hands at Gwynneth. “I’ll be right behind you.”
He jumped into the sledge’s empty seat, and leaned back, gasping for air, as it followed Gwynneth’s into the deep woods.
Teodora
It took Teodora far too long to decipher Elektra’s hysterical screeching. The girl must have been traumatized by Rykter’s death, since she babbled on and on about it. Something about a fight on a bridge and a girl stabbing him in the back.
She wouldn’t stop crying and clinging to Teodora, and critical minutes were wasted before she disentangled herself. At first she’d hoped to get valuable information, but Elektra’s account was so garbled, Teodora couldn’t make sense of it. So she shoved her toward a guard, saying, “Take care of her,” then turned toward the Moraltan captain, waiting outside the ring of guards. “Please tell me you stopped them.”
“Stopped who?” The man stared at her, his eyes blank. She would miss Rykter sorely.
“Princess Gwynneth, her son, Braeden Terris and all the rest of the rebels. Where are they?”
“Hard to say.” The man shrugged. “Likely in the woods somewhere.”
Teodora stamped her foot. “Then follow them!” she screamed.
The captain jumped. “Er, yes Your Highness.” And then he was off, shouting orders. As far as
Teodora could tell, he had no idea which way anyone might have gone.
“Captain,” she shouted, and he turned back to her. “They’ll make for Terragand. Watch the roads, but also send patrols through the countryside. They’ll need help to get that far, so someone will hear something before too long.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Teodora sighed. She would have liked to join the chase herself. Since the ritual, she felt unbelievably energetic. But now she’d killed the leader of the peasant revolt, she needed to make sure it was over for good.
“Pick up that body,” she ordered a guard, pointing at the leader’s corpse, still collapsed in a bloody patch of snow. “And take it to Kronfels. We’ll make sure anyone who might have hoped to follow him sees it.”
Then Teodora hesitated. She didn’t have enough troops to launch a thorough pursuit of Gwynneth and Braeden and hunt down every last peasant. She decided the peasants could wait. With their leader gone, it would be easy to find those who’d name names for a price. It would be spring before long and much easier to round up all rebels.
“Mother?” Elektra tugged at her sleeve.
Teodora turned to her with an impatient glare. “What do you want?”
Elektra’s eyes were wide and terrified. “What’s happened to you? You look so different.”
Teodora laughed. “I look the way I always have. I suffered from ill health for a while, but the gods have restored me.” She decided not to mention that Father Stipan had conducted the ritual rather clumsily, killing the old Maxima. Best Elektra not know about that just yet.
“Oh,” Elektra said, her voice faint. “It’s like a miracle.”
“It is.” Teodora liked that interpretation. “It means the gods look upon me and my reign with great favor.”
“I’m sure that’s true.” Elektra still looked apprehensive. “Now what will you do?”
“Return to Kronfels, for the time being. With any luck, we’ll catch Braeden Terris and Princess Gwynneth soon, and I want to be there when they’re brought in.”
Elektra nodded. “Of course. I was so frightened.” Her lower lip trembled. “They didn’t believe me at all.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m afraid I’m a terrible actress. They took us into the woods and I was certain they would kill me too.”
“I knew they wouldn’t,” Teodora said, looking Elektra over with a critical eye. “Whose blood is that all over you?”
“Janos Rykter’s,” Elektra whispered. “I was right beside him when he died. It was dreadful.” She looked like she was about to cry again.
“I’m sure it was,” Teodora said impatiently. She put an arm around Elektra’s shoulder, steering her back down the road. Someone would bring horses for them soon. “But even though it’s too bad about Rykter, I’m pleased with your performance. I didn’t want to tell you before, but I didn’t need you to convince them you’d escaped. I just wanted you to distract them so I’d have an easier time getting to their headquarters. It almost worked.”
She was annoyed that it hadn’t, but at least she’d killed the peasant leader and the rest would be in her power soon enough. “You did well.” She gave Elektra’s shoulder a squeeze, then smiled at her before mounting her horse. “You can ride beside me back to Kronfels.”
“Really?” Elektra’s face lit up. “You’re not still angry with me?”
“Not too much.” Teodora gave her a fond smile. “You accomplished your mission, and didn’t allow them to keep you hostage. I’m so pleased you came back of your own accord. I still don’t trust you completely, but more than I did before. I hope that makes you feel better.”
“It does.” Elektra now rode beside her. “I’m glad. I never thought I’d be so happy to see you, and I want things to be different between us now.” She spoke that last in a rush.
“Me too,” Teodora said. “And to show you how much better I like you now, you’ll get to choose the method of execution for Braeden Terris and Princess Gwynneth when we find them.”
“I would love that,” Elektra said. She even raised her chin, looking Teodora in the eye. It was about time she became less squeamish.
Anton
On one hand, Anton was relieved he’d told Maryna about her father. On the other, he wasn’t sure what to do next. He’d expected her to be sad and to cry but he didn’t expect her to become unreasonable.
After crying for a long time, she pulled away from Anton, sitting up in the straw, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “I can’t do it,” she said after a long, shuddering sigh. “I can’t be princess. I’m not ready for it and I don’t want to do it.”
“Your mother will be regent until you’re seventeen,” Anton said, trying to sound soothing without being patronizing.
“That’s not what I mean.” Maryna’s eyes were swollen and her nose was red, but there was a determined jut to her chin. “I don’t want to be princess ever. I don’t care. I don’t care about Terragand and I don’t want to go there again. I haven’t even spent most of my life there. And without ... my father ...” she said this with some effort. “Without my father I don’t want to have anything to do with it. Devyn will be a fine ruler anyway. I’m not needed.”
“It’s all right.” Anton didn’t want to argue with her now. He understood what it was like to lose your parents. “You needn’t do anything right now.”
Maryna wiped her nose. “I must do something.”
“I’m sure Natalya will help you.” Anton desperately hoped that was true.
“I don’t see how she can,” Maryna said.
“Or just stay here in the village a while,” Anton offered, not knowing what else to say. He’d expected Maryna would be anxious to return to the rest of her family. “Might be we’ll get snowed in anyway, sooner or later.”
“I think that would be best. I don’t know what to do next.”
“It’s all right.” Anton patted her hand. “You don’t have to decide anything right now.”
“Good.” Maryna slumped back against the straw, despair in her eyes. “I don’t see how I can go on. I just can’t.”
Anton leaned back against the wall beside her. “You’ll do it for others. For your mother, your brothers and sisters, for Edric Maximus, for Natalya and for me.”
Then he remembered something else. “Do it for your father too. Think of what he’d want for you. He was always brave, no matter what. There was one awful time when he was sure he’d lost all of you.” Anton told her about Teodora’s terrible false message. “But even when he was certain he’d lost everything, he kept going.”
That got Maryna crying again, but this time it wasn’t quite so bad. “I suppose you’re right.” She sighed heavily. “Though I don’t feel strong enough to do anything. I don’t want to face the others but I suppose I must. Does Natalya know?”
“I told her last night. It was her idea I tell you, even though I really didn’t want to.”
“It was a good idea.” Maryna still held his hand and squeezed it again. “I know it was hard for you, but I’m glad I didn’t hear it from anyone else.”
“That was my thought too,” Anton said. “I was so worried last night that someone would say something accidentally, or call you Princess, which is what everyone already knows you are.”
“I suppose I am.” Her tear-stained face had grown calmer and serious now. “And I realize I have responsibilities. I just don’t feel ready to take them on yet.”
“You don’t need to. It’ll take a long time to get back to Kronland, and we might well have to wait until spring before we can get out of the mountains. You have time to get used to the idea.”
“I’ll never get used to it.” Maryna shook her head. “But I’ll do my best to do my duty. Will you help me?”
“In any way I can.” It wasn’t the right place for anything formal, but Anton knew what he wanted to do and hoped Lennart would understand. So he knelt in the straw, in front of Maryna.
“I pledge my sword to the service of the Princess of
Terragand,” he said solemnly. He didn’t have a sword with him, but that didn’t matter. “I served your father for a short time, but I plan to serve you a lot longer, until one or both of us is dead. And since I’ll be protecting you, that won’t happen for a long time.”
Maryna’s tears flowed again, but at least she smiled through them just a little.
Gwynneth
It took Gwynneth a long time to calm down. She wanted to cry, but refused to do it in front of the children. So she took long deep breaths as the sledge shot deep into the forest, along a tiny path, well away from any road. She listened carefully for any sound of pursuit, but heard nothing but one more sledge behind them, the one bearing Braeden.
Before saying a word to anyone, she offered a prayer of thanks that he’d appeared when he had. Elektra’s surprising betrayal had helped as well, though it was no doubt the opposite of what she’d intended. At last, Gwynneth looked over at Devyn. He still had blood on his face, and stared straight ahead, one arm around Stella, snuggled against his side, her thumb in her mouth.
“Are you hurt?” Gwynneth asked.
Devyn turned his head toward her. “I’m fine,” he said. “But Florian is dead.”
“I know.” Gwynneth took her hand out from under the fur and laid it across the back of the seat to pat his shoulder. “I saw it. I should have acted sooner, but it happened so fast.”
Devyn’s mouth was pressed into a straight line, and when he spoke his voice was harsh and deep, almost like a man’s. “You couldn’t have stopped it. She did it so quickly, I wasn’t expecting it. She didn’t even question him. Didn’t even give him a trial.” He slumped forward, putting his head in his hands.
Gwynneth was silent for a moment, rubbing his back. “What did you expect from her?” Her anger rose as the shock wore off. “This is the woman who captured your father, destroyed our country and ran us out of our home. She destroyed my brother, murdered the woman he loved in cold blood, even as she slaughtered the inhabitants of an entire city.”
Now Gwynneth clenched her fists. “She murdered her own lover, tried to kill all of us—more than once—and finally killed your father. I don’t see how we can be the least bit surprised about what she did to Florian.”
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 59
