The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “She will be young,” Natalya went on. “But King Gauvain is kind and will make a good husband. You needn’t worry about that. Besides, I will take a personal interest in her to make sure she settles in well.”

  Teodora didn’t care what kind of husband the king made, but Natalya seemed to think it should matter to her as a mother, so she nodded again. Mercifully, Livilla arrived at last.

  After the greetings were over, Natalya repeated the offer.

  Livilla looked thoughtful. “How touching,” she said. “The king must care for Kendryk a great deal.”

  “Oh, he does.”

  “I’m afraid it’s impossible my dear. Though I’m sure Teodora has already told you.”

  “We didn’t get quite that far,” Natalya said, looking calm in the face of this categorical refusal of her offer.

  “I hate to see Zofya not get this opportunity,” Teodora said. She had to confess that the idea of being mother to the Galladian queen was a thrilling one.

  “I agree,” Livilla said. “And we can still come to an agreement. This is what I propose. It is impossible for us to exchange Kendryk Bernotas for anyone less than the heretic Edric Landrus. In addition, Kendryk’s brother-in-law threatens our borders. We would require Duchess Larisa Karsten to join us in Atlona as our honored guest, held as surety for King Arryk’s good behavior. Once he and his armies have returned to Norovaea, his allies have disbanded and Norovaea signs a peace treaty with the empire, Duchess Karsten will return home. Edric will of course need to submit to the sentence he has so far avoided.”

  “Both of those are beyond my ability to grant, though I can assure you that Princess Gwynneth would never turn over Edric in exchange for her husband.” Natalya’s voice was calm, though her eyes hardened.

  “I find that very curious,” Teodora said. “They seemed devoted to each other when I saw them.”

  “Oh, they are,” Natalya said. “It’s because of that devotion the princess has refused to turn Edric over. Prince Kendryk made her swear not to do so under any circumstances, and the princess takes her oaths very seriously.”

  “Gods, he’s such a tiresome little fanatic,” Teodora burst out, annoyed that Kendryk had been a step ahead of her in this.

  Natalya smiled. “Perhaps. But I’m afraid if you cannot release him then a marriage between your daughter and the king will be impossible.”

  “I was thinking of a compromise,” Livilla said, shooting Teodora a glance she knew meant she should hold her tongue. “What if the conditions under which Kendryk is imprisoned were drastically improved?”

  “I assume he currently resides in the Arnfels dungeon,” Natalya said, her eyes grave.

  “He does. And he would have to stay within the bounds of the fortress. But he can be made much more comfortable, given his own rooms, servants, books. He could even receive visitors, within reason.”

  Teodora’s hands clenched the arms of her chair. She wasn’t sure she could bear to see Kendryk live in comfort after all he had put her through.

  “That’s a start, but not enough. I can’t counter with a smaller part of the king than I first offered,” Natalya said.

  “Of course.” Livilla nodded. “But we haven’t yet discussed the matter of the Archduchess Zofya’s dowry. In light of the circumstances, it might be considerably augmented.”

  Natalya leaned forward. “What do you have in mind?”

  “The Dallmaring Provinces.”

  Teodora couldn’t hold back a gasp, and Natalya was unable to hide her shock either. “All four of them?”

  Livilla nodded.

  “Granted to Galladium in perpetuity?”

  Livilla nodded again and shot Teodora another glance before she could protest. “Just consider it my dear,” she said quickly. “They are tiny, their people have never embraced the rule of the empire and they’ve created trouble with Galladium for a hundred years. Just think of how popular Zofya will be, bringing them with her.”

  Teodora had once visited the Dallmarings and was impressed only by their forbidding mountains and brutish peasant population. Those peasants revolted regularly and even though Teodora had ordered thousands executed after the last uprising, there were already rumors of more trouble. Turning them into Gauvain and Natalya’s headache while Zofya became Galladian queen seemed a reasonable proposition. “All right,” she said.

  “Devolution must begin at once,” Natalya said. “It will be finalized upon consummation of the marriage. But yes, this is something I can agree to. The king will be displeased that I haven’t returned with his friend, but he will be happy about Dallmaring. I have authority to sign on the king’s behalf and will want this drawn up formally before I go. And there’s one more thing.”

  “What?” Teodora asked, hoping she wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

  “I want Prince Kendryk moved out of the dungeon today. Then I wish to see him in his new quarters and speak to him alone.”

  Kendryk

  Kendryk squinted against the light as it flooded his cell. He sat up on the stone bench, but didn’t stand. He wasn’t sure he could.

  “Come along now,” a guard said, hauling him to his feet. “Your life’s about to get better, lucky sod.”

  Kendryk wondered if that meant he was finally being beheaded. At this point, he considered that an improvement in his circumstances. He swayed and took a small step. Someone grabbed him by the other arm and he stumbled out of the cell. If he was to go to the scaffold, he’d need some of his strength back. It would be too humiliating to have to be carried to the executioner.

  He was dragged up a few flights of stairs, deposited in a room, then left alone. He looked around. The room was light and clean with several sturdy pieces of furniture. A chilly breeze blew in between the bars of the window and the sky outside was gray. The door opened again and a skinny young woman carrying a tray scurried in.

  She stared at Kendryk like he was some sort of monster, dropped the tray on the table beside him with a clatter and said, “You’re to eat this before the doctor arrives.” Then she scurried back out, the door falling shut behind her.

  Kendryk waited to hear the sound of the lock turning, but there was nothing but the wind. If he walked out right now he wondered how far he would get before collapsing. Not far enough. And then what? He was inside the Arnfels, inside Atlona’s massive walls, deep in the Empire. No friends for hundreds of leagues around.

  The tray held a steaming bowl of broth, a few slices of fine white bread and a glass of very watery red wine. Perhaps they meant for him to mount the block on his own strength. He sipped the hot broth carefully. It tasted marvelous. He hadn’t had real food in so long. He devoured the bread and wine and wanted more, but only until the nausea hit. Then he felt so weak he had to lay his head on the table.

  He stayed that way for a while until the nausea subsided. When he lifted his head, the door was opening.

  Sybila came in, beaming. “Good, you could eat.”

  Kendryk tried to smile back but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. He hadn’t smiled in a long time.

  She sat down across from him. “I suppose no one has told you anything.”

  He shook his head.

  “For once I get to bring you some good news. A powerful friend of yours is with the empress right now and has secured a great improvement in your circumstances. As we speak, rooms in the castle proper are being prepared for you and you will move into them shortly.”

  “Rooms?” This made no sense at all.

  “Yes. You will receive an apartment of your own, and several servants. You will have access to the garden and castle library and be able to receive visitors.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kendryk said, his mind whirling. He had only one friend powerful enough to manage this, but try as he might, he couldn’t picture Gauvain Brevard having tea with the empress.

  Sybila was no help. “I don’t know who changed the empress’s mind, though you’ll find out soon enough. Your friend wishes to visit y
ou and I must make you presentable.”

  “That ought to take a while.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think. I want to make sure your health is good, and then I’ll help you with a bath. We’ll get someone in to shave you and I’ve already arranged for some suitable clothes to be sent up here.”

  Kendryk let Sybila take care of everything. He felt like a little boy whose nurse was getting him ready for bed. It was nice. A guard bearing clothes arrived before he was out of the bath. Right after that came a barber, who scraped off the patchy beard he’d grown and cut off all of his by now very long, lice-infested hair.

  Somehow, Sybila had found a suit that fit him reasonably well. It was about a generation out of date, but looked better than anything he’d worn since he got here.

  “You’ll have nicer clothes soon,” she said. “A tailor will visit you tomorrow. I imagine you can order some warm things, since winter is coming.”

  “How long have I been here?” Kendryk had given up keeping track of days and months long ago.

  “Nearly two years.” Sybila’s voice softened.

  “Gods. I’m almost twenty-four then.” Thinking of how much older his children were by now made him want to cry.

  Sybila laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Goodness. You really were as young as you looked. When I first saw you, I worried that Teodora got the wrong fellow and almost murdered a child.”

  “Not a child. But not old enough to know better.”

  “Her Highness is hard enough on you. Be kind to yourself at least. Now come, we must get you upstairs.”

  That took some doing. Even though Kendryk’s new rooms were on the second floor of the castle, it took many flights of stairs to reach them from the dungeon. Sybila made him drink another bowl of broth before starting, but he still thought he would collapse before reaching his destination. He was so tired he barely registered the pleasant surroundings.

  Sybila bundled him into a soft chair facing a warm fire. “You’re sweating right now, but it’s cold. I can’t have you catching a chill after all of this.”

  She sat on a footstool and rubbed his icy hands between hers. “Rest here for a few hours and I’ll tell them down at the palace that you can receive your visitor tonight. It will take a while to get your strength up, but I’ve ordered light meals sent up often and I want you to eat everything, even if you don’t feel like it. If there’s something you want they can’t get from the castle kitchen, send a servant to the inn at the bottom of the hill. They have an excellent cook. In fact, you’ll probably want to get most of your meals from there once your appetite returns.”

  “I can’t pay for all of this,” Kendryk said weakly.

  “Yes, you can. Your friend has arranged an allowance for you so you can buy whatever you need. Get some warm clothes, order whatever books you want and can’t find in the castle library and treat yourself to some good wine. You might be here a while longer so you might as well make things pleasant for yourself. I’ll check on you every few days.”

  “Thank you,” Kendryk said, still not able to absorb all of the changes. Until he knew who was behind this, he remained uneasy. “Not just for today. But for keeping me alive and helping me not lose hope.”

  “I don’t think I quite succeeded in that.”

  “Not all the time. But if I hadn’t known my family was safe, I may well have given in to Teodora at a weak moment. I hope you don’t get in trouble for that.”

  “Only if you tell her.” Sybila patted his knee and stood. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Anton

  Ice-skating was harder than it looked. All of the other children flew past him as if they had wings on their heels, even the little ones. Anton gritted his teeth and put one foot in front of the other. It had never taken him so long to learn anything. He stayed close to the edge of the canal and took tiny steps. It had looked like fun and he needed to get out of the house or the count’s new wife would make him go to school. She didn’t think a boy his age should spend all his time with horses.

  “Why can’t you skate?” someone asked and Anton looked up. A pretty girl with gold braids and apple-red cheeks was skating backwards in front of him.

  “Not from here,” Anton said, his teeth still clenched. He thought he might fall over if he relaxed. “No skating where I’m from.”

  “Where are you from?” The girl had cornflower blue eyes and kept skating backwards like it was nothing. She put both hands out. “Here, hold on to me. It’s easier.” She wore bright red mittens.

  “Moralta,” Anton said, grabbing onto her. “Though I’ve been in Kronland the last few years.”

  “How exciting. Why do you travel so much? Is your father a merchant?”

  Anton could hardly breathe and talk and skate at the same time, but he gasped out, “War. Long story.”

  “War? That’s even more exciting. Is it very dreadful? Have you killed anyone?” Then she laughed. “I’m sorry. My manners are terrible. I remember it’s hard trying to talk while you’re learning to skate. Let’s go sit over here.” And she dragged Anton off the ice and onto a bench next to the canal. “Take your skates off.” Hers came off in a flash. “We’ll get something warm to drink. Then you can tell me about the war.”

  Anton nodded. A hot drink sounded good. His nose was cold and starting to drip. He got his skates off, tied them together and threw them over his shoulder like he saw the others doing. The girl grabbed him by the hand again and pulled him along with her. “Do you like chocolate?”

  “I do,” Anton said.

  “Have you ever had it hot?”

  “No. Is it good?”

  “Divine. I’ll get you some. My treat. Oh, there’s Peter!” She waved at a tall good-looking boy with a friendly face and gold curls. Anton hated him until the girl said, “This is my brother Peter, and I’m Gretel. What’s your name?”

  Peter laughed and said, “Slow down Gretel. Let’s get the man a hot chocolate before you question him some more.”

  Anton liked him very much for calling him a man, so he smiled at Peter. “I’m Anton. Anton Kronek.”

  “Ooh, you even have a Moraltan name.” Gretel stood at the counter of a brightly painted market stall next to them and somehow stopped talking long enough to order three hot chocolates. “He’s going to tell us all about being in the wars in Kronland.”

  That brought Peter up short. “You’ve been in the war? Like a soldier?”

  Anton nodded. “I’m not a real soldier yet. But I’m a page to a cavalry general and I have my own horse.”

  “You have a horse?” Gretel handed him a large blue mug full of steaming liquid with what looked like cream on top. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

  Anton let the mug warm his hands. “King Arryk of Norovaea gave me the horse.” He couldn’t help bragging just a little, with Gretel’s bright blue eyes fixed on him. “But that’s a long story too.”

  “I want to hear it,” Peter said.

  “I want to see this horse,” Gretel said.

  “Why don’t we do both? I’ll tell you the story while we drink our chocolate and then I’ll take you to see my horse. You can meet the general’s battle charger too.”

  “That sounds much better than ice-skating,” Peter said, yelping as he tried to drink his chocolate too fast and burned his tongue.

  Anton let his cool off more and told about how he helped with the big guns before the second battle of Birkenfels. When he took a few sips of his chocolate, he nearly forgot what he was talking about. He’d never tasted anything so good.

  Gretel poked Anton’s arm. “So what happened to the girl? The one who was supposed to be helping the general?”

  “She died,” Anton said, finishing his drink. “She got scared, hung back and the rank she was in got hit by the other side’s big guns and that was it.”

  “How dreadful. Were you very sad?” Gretel’s eyes were like saucers.

  Anton shrugged. “Didn’t really know her. A little bit sad, I suppose.”r />
  “What do your parents think about all of this?” Peter asked. “I would love to go soldiering, but my father would never allow it.”

  “My parents are dead.”

  “Oh, how dreadful!” Gretel looked like she was about to cry. “What happened?”

  Anton didn’t want to talk about it, but also didn’t want to be rude. “My father was hanged for a rebel in Kaleva.”

  “Was he a rebel?” Peter wanted to know.

  “He was just a Moraltan patriot. He was only called a rebel because the Moraltans lost the war.”

  “It’s always bad to lose a war,” Gretel said, looking wise.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “What about your mother?” Gretel grabbed Anton and Peter’s empty mugs and put them back on the counter of the stall, all without ever taking her eyes off Anton.

  “My real mother died when I was little, and then I got another. But Marjatyan soldiers killed her a few years back.”

  “Oh, how dreadful,” Gretel whispered. “But you survived and now you work for a general and got a horse from a king.”

  “I’ll tell you about that while we walk,” Anton said. He was getting cold. It wasn’t too far to the Melchor mansion and Peter and Gretel were impressed by the size of the stables. They lived nearby, in the same nice neighborhood, but it sounded like their house wasn’t as big and didn’t have a stable. “We won’t be here long,” Anton said, though now he wished that wasn’t true. “As soon as the count raises enough money to buy another army, we’ll leave.”

  “I hope that won’t be too soon,” Gretel said, while Skandar nuzzled her cheek.

  Gwynneth

  “Your Grace, please understand. I can’t think of anything more important for Norovaea right now than having you here.” Norvel Classen mopped his forehead. He’d lost a considerable amount of weight since Gwynneth last saw him, and it didn’t suit him. She worried this job would kill him. “The work you’ve already done in captivating the members of the council is beyond price. Can you not give us a few more months?”