The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “I hope so,” the captain muttered under her breath. “Though I don’t trust these Sanovans for a second.”

  “Now they know who I am, I’m sure we’re safe. Whatever its opinion on Terragand, I know Sanova does not care for trouble with Norovaea.”

  “I hope you’re right.” The Rusa bumped up against a dock.

  “Wait for word from me,” Gwynneth said as she prepared to disembark. “If I succeed, I’ll return to Kronland overland, but I’ll need you to take a message back to Lennart.” She pressed a small purse into the captain’s hand. “Find a nice inn for a few days. I’ll see you soon and thank you.”

  “No, thank you.” Captain Brun grinned at Gwynneth, hefting the weight of the purse. “Best of luck to you Princess.”

  “I’ll need it,” Gwynneth said, and joined Count Tarka on the dock. Tall and slender, with long hair so blond it was nearly white and piercing blue eyes in a narrow face, he was a perfect specimen of Sanovan nobility.

  He had already called for a hired carriage and took her straight to the palace. “I apologize for the conveyance, Your Grace,” he said, still flustered by her unconventional arrival and appreciative gaze. “But it’s best not to use one of the royal coaches if you don’t wish to attract attention.”

  “Quite right. I hope Queen Ottilya is in residence.”

  “She is. You’re in luck. She just returned from touring the north coast. That bastard—begging your pardon—I mean King Lennart, has been raiding all up and down it. To be honest, it’s shocking to see a ship flying the Estenor flag approach our harbor under the circumstances.”

  “I wondered about that. I hope the situation can soon be remedied.” Gwynneth could tell the count was dying to ask her how, but she contented herself with a mysterious smile.

  The count had sent word ahead to the palace, so a tall, dour-looking woman met her carriage at the main entrance and whisked her off to a luxurious suite. “I am Zytka, Duchess Hylek,” she said. “I am in charge of Her Highness’s household. I will let the queen know you are here and arrange an audience. Be prepared to see her as soon as morning.”

  Gwynneth hadn’t expected a friendly reception and perhaps it was just the duchess’s manner, but she detected distinct undertones of hostility.

  By the time she settled into her rooms, it was evening. Exotic but delicious food materialized from somewhere, and Gwynneth found herself sleepy before long. After making sure her best dress was in good repair, she went to bed and slept until morning. She hadn’t had such comfortable accommodation since Norovaea.

  Gwynneth was still breakfasting when Duchess Hylek came for her. Fortunately, she was already dressed and Catrin had arranged her hair.

  The duchess led Gwynneth down endless vast corridors until they reached a crowded antechamber. “Her Highness is hearing petitioners, but due to your rank, you should be next.”

  Gwynneth swallowed down her indignation. This was not appropriate treatment for someone who was nearly a fellow head of state. She had no time to stew as the duchess opened a door. “You may approach her majesty,” she said.

  A throne in a throne room. It seemed so pretentious. As far as Gwynneth knew, only Teodora bothered to receive petitioners in such formal conditions. Still, Ottilya Sikora was Teodora’s sister-in-law, so perhaps she thought herself equal.

  Gwynneth approached the throne with firm, measured steps. She would not be intimidated. The room was empty, save for a few people standing near the queen, all staring at her curiously. Gwynneth ignored them and swept into a curtsy. “Your Highness. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “You may rise, Princess.” Ottilya’s voice was rough and deep. It matched her face, which couldn’t be called anything but hatchet-like. “What brings you to Novuk, stealing into the harbor like a smuggler, and under an Estenor flag of all things?”

  “I’m here on behalf of King Lennart Ostberg.” Gwynneth let her voice echo through the vast room to show she wasn’t cowed.

  “Why in the world would you do such a thing?”

  “The king wishes to request the hand of your daughter, Princess Raysa Sikora in marriage.”

  The queen burst out laughing.

  Anton

  The count was excited when Anton found him later. “We’re to be part of a force that will take Kersenstadt,” he said.

  “Isn’t that a big city?”

  “Pretty big. Heavily fortified and manned by veteran garrison troops.”

  “How will we get in?”

  “The gates ought to open from the inside. With any luck, we won’t have to fight much. Make sure the horses are well-rested. We ride out tomorrow.”

  A sizable force left the castle where King Arryk stayed. Orland’s three thousand cuirassiers joined two hundred horse and another thousand pike and musket, commanded by Larisa Karsten. Anton could tell the king didn’t want her to go, but didn’t want to show it in front of everyone.

  “We must move quickly,” the count told Anton. “There won’t be much forage along the way. It’s been a hard winter and the snow took long to melt. Still, the country around here should be untouched and there ought to be barns full of hay. Once we get within a day or two of the city, I expect the Sanova Hussars will have already picked the area clean.”

  It was cold, but Anton didn’t mind. The mornings were foggy, but when it lifted the trees and grass were covered in white frost and sparkled in the sun. It looked like a fairy kingdom.

  About ten leagues from Kersenstadt, they stopped. From here, Edric Maximus would continue with a small escort. “It might take a few days,” he said, pulling on a borrowed cloak. He wore different clothes from normal in hopes he wouldn’t be recognized right away. “The temples ought to be easy enough, but if the town council is sympathetic to the empire, changing the government might take longer. Look for a light above the main gate. When it appears, the gate will open at midnight. When that happens it means most people in the city support the true faith. Please be gentle with them.” He gave the count a stern look.

  Larisa Karsten sent patrols to keep an eye on the city and then they waited. Anton wondered how they would get the gates open from the inside. He was getting sick of being cold and bored when the message came, just after dark on the sixth day.

  “We take the city tonight,” the count said, grinning as he put on his armor. Anton helped with some of the trickier buckles. “If the Maximus has done his work, it will be easy.”

  Late that night, all the troops moved out in quiet and orderly fashion. Anton made sure he and the count were ready to fight just in case. They walked through the open gate without a soul to oppose them at first. A mob of armed citizens had overcome most of Mattila’s garrison. Those who remained barricaded themselves into the castle, but Karsten turned her big guns on them, while the count got his troops ready to attack.

  Anton had never experienced cannon-fire inside city walls. It was so loud he was deaf for a long time after. But the guns did their work, turning the flimsy old castle gate into kindling with just one barrage. Even though Anton couldn’t hear, he saw the count raise his saber and charge through the broken gate. He followed, spurring Skandar to a gallop, holding one of his pistols ready. Those inside didn’t have much by way of weapons, since they’d already fought and lost at the city gate. A few of Mattila’s soldiers fired their pistols, then drew swords, but were quickly overrun by the cavalry.

  Anton fired at a woman charging the count with a drawn sword, but missed. The count didn’t though, and by the time Anton had drawn his own saber, it was over. Bodies lay everywhere, and everyone else surrendered. There was a small commotion as Larisa Karsten rode into the castle courtyard, on a horse that looked a lot like Skandar. The flickering torchlight revealed grime on her face and Anton wondered if she’d fired one of the cannon herself.

  The count smiled his special smile at her. “Congratulations, Duchess. The city is yours.”

  She stared back, unsmiling. “Thank you. Now we must find a way
to keep it.”

  After that one fight, they had no more trouble, since most people seemed happy to see them. Not quite so happy once they realized they’d have to feed and quarter the troops, but everyone cooperated well enough.

  The count found a pleasant townhouse and they stayed for a few days. “I want to leave once the city is secure,” he told Anton. “Karsten has plenty of troops to hold the place and she’ll work on building up the outerworks. I don’t want my cavalry used for that kind of labor, so we’ll move out as soon as we can. In the meantime, go have fun in the city.”

  Anton had money, so he found the nearest stall selling hot chocolate and a pastry shop nearby. It had been cold and he was growing, so he was always hungry. Kersenstadt was an interesting place—so different from Bonnenruck, though it reminded Anton of Kaleva. He visited several of the temples, which were famous for their beauty. These were usually packed. Edric Maximus moved around, preaching at each one in turn, making sure the priest or priestess there had a copy of the Holy Scrolls and was teaching from them correctly. He wouldn’t stay here long.

  Anton listened to some of the sermons, though he’d heard it all before. But the people of Kersenstadt were excited. This was probably all new to them.

  The count spent a lot of time at various warehouses. Brynhild Mattila had left the city well-stocked with all kinds of military equipment and Larisa Karsten was sending most of it to King Arryk. After a bit of shouting, it was decided that the count would take a convoy back to the king. He had wanted to go north to harass Mattila, but Karsten insisted.

  “Stubborn bitch,” the count swore, coming home one evening. “She’s much too used to getting her way. She’s got the king wrapped around her little finger and thinks she can do as she likes.”

  “You’ve met your match then,” Anton said, and ducked, not completely missing the blow aimed at his head. The count was sour whenever he couldn’t make a woman do what he wanted. Especially when she was as attractive as the Duchess Karsten. But it seemed the duchess had eyes only for the king and Anton saw why. Not only was he at least as good-looking as the count, he was also a king. Anton didn’t blame her for being so loyal.

  Janna

  The bombardment though short, was terrifying. For Janna, the worst was not knowing what had happened. She heard some of the news from Klaus the footman, but it made little sense. “Didn’t General Mattila leave a whole garrison?” she asked. Braeden had been so sure the city was impregnable.

  “Seems so,” Klaus said, his broad face bewildered, though he seemed to always wear that expression. Braeden had hired him for his size, not his wit.

  “So why couldn’t they stop this?”

  “I believe they tried, ma’am. That’s what all the shooting was about. The people of the city raided the armory and told the garrison to surrender. They put up a fight, but there weren’t enough of them. Those that could ran to the castle, but then that duchess and Count Orland turned the big guns on them and that was that.”

  “So what happens now?” Janna tried to push down the dread welling up inside her.

  “Soldiers. Foreign soldiers and plenty of ‘em. Looks like they’ll stay awhile.”

  “Oh Holy Mother,” Janna whispered, pulling Iryna close. “What will become of us?”

  “With any luck, not much.” Birgid spoke up. “We might have to put up some officers here, but beyond that, who knows?”

  “Some say they’ll leave as soon as they get all the weapons they want.”

  “I hope so.” Janna tried not to cry, since everyone else seemed to be bearing up quite well.

  She didn’t stay in suspense too long. That evening, there was a pounding on the door and Klaus ran up the stairs and burst into the parlor. “Norovaeans,” he gasped. “What should I do?”

  “Best let them in,” Birgid said.

  Janna nodded. It was unlikely her door would keep them out for long in any case. She struggled to stand and keep her knees from shaking. She had just pulled herself together when they walked into her parlor.

  “Good evening, Madame,” a tall blond man swept his plumed hat in a bow. “I am Major Holgar Ellert of King Arryk Roussay’s army.” He spoke strongly accented Olvisyan but it was no worse than Janna’s.

  Her throat was so dry. “Good evening,” she croaked.

  Major Ellert introduced two other men and a woman, all of them officers with names that made no sense to Janna. At least Ellert had a name she could pronounce. “We are sorry to inconvenience you, but we require lodging for the near future, and you have ample space. Who lives here?”

  Janna found her voice. “Just me and my daughter, and the servants.” Iryna had taken one look at all of the tall blond people and hidden behind Janna’s skirts.

  “Your husband?”

  “He’s away.” She hoped they wouldn’t ask for details. She didn’t want to be considered one of the enemy, even though she supposed she was.

  “Well, if he’s outside the city, he won’t be back for a while. Duchess Karsten has ordered the gates shut and no one allowed to enter.”

  Janna nodded. She didn’t suppose she could expect Braeden to just walk into the midst of a nest of Norovaeans, though she wished he would.

  All was well until the woman insisted on her own room and Janna felt obligated to give up hers. She could sleep in the nursery.

  “We will of course pay for all of our own food,” Ellert said. “I imagine we’ll stay out of your way as much as we can.”

  Janna nodded, relieved. The less she saw of them the better, even though none looked particularly threatening. She and Birgid got all of her things from her bedroom, the bedroom she’d shared with Braeden when he was here, she thought sadly. No matter. These people would be gone by the time Braeden returned, and hopefully soon.

  For the first few days, she seldom saw them. She went from the nursery to her little parlor while the servants took care of the rest of the house, and the Norovaeans stayed out all day and most of the night.

  “No doubt they have much work at the walls,” Birgid said.

  And they did. One evening, Ellert strode into the parlor, again giving her a courteous bow. “I am sorry to trouble you again Madame, but I’m afraid I have a requirement.”

  Janna indicated that he take a seat. It only seemed polite, and he was so very tall, looming over her.

  “The Duchess Karsten is working to build up the fortifications around the city and requires one able-bodied person from each household until the work is done. Your large footman should do nicely.”

  “Klaus? Oh dear. I can’t order him to …”

  “You needn’t do any such thing. If you prefer, I have the authority to draft him into the duchess’s service.”

  “I’d rather he didn’t.”

  “I am very sorry, but someone must, and he would be most able to bear the work.”

  “Is it very hard?”

  “There is a great deal of digging and hauling dirt and stone. The ground is frozen, which makes it more difficult.”

  “Will he be able to come back here when it’s done?” It seemed she wasn’t being given much choice in the matter.

  “Certainly. It shouldn’t take more than a week or two and the Norovaean army will feed and house him during that time.”

  “I see. I have another question,” Janna asked in a small voice.

  “I can try to answer.” Major Ellert seemed to have a constantly pleasant expression on his rosy face which looked strangely boyish on someone his size.

  “I realize you cannot tell me all of your plans, but I thought perhaps you would take what you wanted from the city and go?”

  Ellert smiled, and didn’t look offended. “We considered that at one point, but the duchess determined the city has immense strategic value and should be held. She will send Count Orland’s force back to King Arryk with all of the supplies he needs along with Edric Maximus.”

  Janna tried to stave off her rising panic. “Will there be a siege?”

 
; “I think not. King Arryk will defeat Mattila long before she can get back here. But don’t worry. We are keeping the city well-supplied just in case. There will be no starvation.”

  “Oh, good,” Janna said weakly.

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth kept her composure and waited for the queen to stop laughing. Since the laughter wasn’t the least bit sincere, it didn’t take long.

  Queen Ottilya wiped non-existent tears, then said, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why would I marry my darling daughter off to that horrid oaf?”

  “So your grandchild can sit on the throne of Estenor someday.”

  “A lovely thought, but not quite what I had in mind. Do you realize I personally have a claim to that throne?”

  “I do. But you have yet to succeed in pressing it, I’m afraid.”

  The queen frowned. “Don’t be insolent, Princess. My patience with anyone who claims to be a friend to Lennart is very thin.”

  “I don’t claim to be his friend. I’m merely an envoy.”

  “Why are you putting yourself through this?”

  “I have reason for directing Lennart’s attention away from Sanova. I care little for your dynastic disputes, but I need Estenor to invade Kronland.” Gwynneth realized she was taking a risk in matching her tone to the queen’s, but if her guess was correct, Ottilya liked a good argument and had no respect for doormats.

  “Oh-ho. I’ll bet you do,” the queen cackled. “Quite a mess you and your husband have made of things there.”

  Gwynneth narrowed her eyes, but kept her tone even. “In addition, it seems to me that you don’t wish for Teodora Inferrara’s unchecked success.”

  That hit home. Someone behind the throne gasped and the queen frowned. Everyone held their breaths.

  “Hmm. You’re right; I don’t. My husband in particular would love to see Teodora laid low.”