The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “I agree,” Karil said right away, and Elektra shot him a grateful look.

  Braeden shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m letting the two of you get away with this. But you’re probably right. So what do we do now?”

  “First, we determine what we want. Then we figure out how to do it.”

  “I want the empress dead,” Braeden said. “And to have her suffer a bit on the way.”

  “Fair enough,” Elektra said. “What about you?” she turned to Karil.

  “I want her dead too. Oh, and I want independence for Marjatya.”

  “Hmm.” So the boy was Marjatyan. Pig-headed fools, the lot of them, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be useful to her. “You do realize that when I become empress I’ll be able to grant Marjatya independence?”

  “You’d do that?” Karil’s eyes nearly started out of his head.

  “I wouldn’t like to. But with the proper incentive I might be persuaded to some kind of accommodation.”

  “Enough with the politicking,” Braeden said. “It’s your turn, girl—I mean, Your Grace. What do you want?”

  “I want to be empress sooner rather than later.” Elektra had always wanted that, even when the idea terrified her, as it no longer did. “And the best way for that to happen, is for my mother to die.”

  “Rather convenient for all of us then,” Braeden said. “Between the three of us, I reckon we might find a way.”

  “But we must be careful,” Elektra said. “It goes without saying I can’t be implicated in any scheme.”

  “I suppose not,” Braeden said. “Is there anyone you can rely on to help you? Anyone else who wants her dead, and you in her place?”

  “Everyone wants her dead. But there is one person who wants it, and can do it. You must take me to Brynhild Mattila.”

  Teodora

  “She cannot do this.” Teodora glared at Solteszy before he replied. She knew what he would say, because Teodora had uttered those words far too many times, and Solteszy always responded the same way. He would say it was already done; Brynhild Mattila had defied Teodora’s orders yet again.

  Solteszy opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  “I won’t tolerate any more,” Teodora said. “I’m sure the aristocracy is already laughing at my inability to control my own general.”

  Solteszy put down his quill, and ordered the papers in front of him. They sat across from each other at her large desk, going over the morning’s correspondence, which included an encrypted dispatch from a spy on Mattila’s staff.

  “They may laugh,” he said. “But even as they do, they know full well no one has ever controlled Mattila. None would do any better in your position, and all of them realize it.”

  “That doesn’t help.” Teodora felt deflated, too tired to be angry. She stood, stretched, and walked to the window. Dew lay on the grass, and though the sun barely cleared the tops of the eastern hills, it promised to be a fine, warm day. Seeing it from the window was the closest Teodora would get to enjoying it.

  Not that she enjoyed anything. Not anymore. Demario, the only man she’d ever loved, was gone, dead by her own hand. That he’d hated and betrayed her at the end made it no easier to face. In addition, summarily executing one of the Queen of Maladena’s favorite generals led to diplomatic problems with Maladena, and no more loans from its treasury. Teodora needed the money, but found she didn’t care.

  She’d always had a passion for ruling, for the glory of the House of Inferrara, for the power of the Olvisyan Empire. But even that had faded. Teodora had faded. When she regarded herself in the mirror by the flattering candlelight, while her maids dressed her hair long before dawn, she saw a drawn, dried-up, middle-aged woman who no longer cared about anything.

  Even rage at Mattila’s insubordination flickered out all too quickly. It had been months since Teodora had the pleasure of reducing a lady-in-waiting to tears, or smashing priceless porcelain in a fit of temper. She’d tried to work herself up to it several times, but didn’t enjoy it like before.

  The sun rose higher, and light flooded the garden, in full summer flower. Livilla would be here any day now, with Elektra. Perhaps that would help. Livilla always offered comfort without pity. That was all she needed. That, and time.

  Teodora turned back to Solteszy, his head bent over the pile of letters, and sat down across from him once more. “What should I do?” she asked. Solteszy wasn’t a friend, exactly, but he was no weak toady, and always offered honest, practical advice.

  He looked up. “Don’t issue Mattila any more orders, for the time being. She will simply delight in defying you.”

  “That’s true. But I can’t allow her to become yet another renegade Kronland ruler.”

  Mattila had violently objected to Livilla making peace with King Arryk in Norovaea without her consent. She also objected to Livilla “kidnapping” Elektra from Arenberg. Teodora refused to reply to these messages, and responded with more emphatic orders that Mattila withdraw her armies from Norovaea and subdue Terragand.

  Mattila hadn’t replied to these orders, but Teodora’s spies told her she’d withdrawn south to Brandana. Once there, she sent its ruler, Princess Floreta, into exile in neighboring Ummarvik, intending to declare herself de facto ruler of the kingdom.

  “She hasn’t done it yet,” Solteszy said. “In fact, until she makes an official declaration, this is what you tell everyone: Mattila is in the lengthy process of pulling her army out of Norovaea. She is regrouping in Brandana to prepare for an offensive into Terragand. No one need realize what she is planning.”

  “So I pretend Mattila is following my orders. Perhaps I can hint we’re planning something big for Terragand?”

  “Certainly. Because you are, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. And once I’ve done it, I’ll be happy to issue Mattila an order she can openly defy, so I can declare her rebel.” Ever since she’d been forced to work with Mattila again, Teodora vowed daily to destroy her if it took her last breath. Her only regret was that there was no punishment terrible enough to redress the wrongs she had suffered. But she would enjoy trying anyway.

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth was enjoying herself, although she found dealing with bankers tedious. But Bonnenruck during the summer was pleasant, and she enjoyed having Kendryk to herself. They’d traveled with only a small armed escort, Gwynneth’s ladies, the indispensable Catrin, and Kendryk’s manservant. To save money, they stayed in a small suite of rooms at an inn near Bonnenruck’s banking quarter.

  “It feels like we’re playing at being commoners.” Gwynneth smiled at Kendryk as they got ready for dinner. Even though they’d traveled without fanfare, word of their arrival had spread, and now they received frequent dinner invitations from the Bonnenruck quality.

  “Just a little.” Kendryk smiled back at her. “Though I have to say I got enough of that during my stay in Atlona.”

  “I imagine most commoners are treated better than that.” Gwynneth still couldn’t keep from getting angry whenever she imagined Kendryk in a dungeon, although he spoke about his time there without rancor.

  “I imagine most commoners don’t have servants,” Kendryk said.

  “I suppose you’re right. How dreadful. Though it’s true I’ve made do with only Catrin before.”

  “I hope you’ll never have to endure such hardship again.” Kendryk’s eyes twinkled, so she could tell he was teasing her.

  Gwyneth waited for Catrin to finish her hair, and turned toward Kendryk, smiling. “I’m really very happy, you know. I don’t want you to think I’m discontented in the least. Of course I want to go home again, but right now, being with you is enough.”

  “I agree,” Kendryk said. “You can go, Catrin.” He took Gwynneth by the hand, pulled her out of the dressing table chair, and looked her up and down. “Beautiful. I’m sure all of the Bonnenruck ladies will be jealous.”

  “Some, perhaps.” There wasn’t any point in false modesty. Gwynneth had sometimes
worried in the past few years she was losing her looks, but now that Kendryk was back, she felt younger and prettier than she had in a long time. She didn’t have money to spend on clothes and jewelry, but Catrin was clever with the needle, keeping her gowns in good repair, and adding bits of ribbon and lace to update them. Her pregnancy didn’t show yet, though she’d have to tell Kendryk soon. Just not tonight.

  She leaned forward and kissed Kendryk on the lips, careful not to crush her lace collar or muss her hair. “You’re looking rather fine yourself.”

  Even though Kendryk affected a far more somber look since his return, he still looked handsome and dignified. On Gwynneth’s insistence, he’d left his hair long, and now it fell far past his shoulders. The gray streaks made him appear distinguished, and they matched his grave manner. He was even more serious than he had been before, and while she missed his easy laughter and the sparkle in his eyes, his demeanor fit their uncertain situation.

  He took her by the hand. “We must go. We’re the guests of honor, but it’s still rude to be more than a few minutes late.”

  She had become less punctual after spending so much time in Galladium, where no one seemed to care when you turned up as long as you looked good and had something witty to say.

  A boat waited for them, bobbing in the canal’s waters at the inn’s front door. This was a wonderful way to travel, with the sky so blue overhead and the evening sun slanting across the brightly painted buildings. Their hostess had sent the boat, and two finely liveried oarsmen rowed them to the mansion in short order.

  “Isn’t this nice?” Gwynneth squeezed Kendryk’s hand.

  “If you have canals and good weather.” Kendryk squeezed it back.

  The boat bumped into a dock in front of a magnificent house, and one man leapt out to tie it off. He and the other man lifted Gwynneth onto the dock, all without the least harm coming to her dress.

  “Marvelous.” She smiled at each of them in turn, and the younger of the two blushed. Kendryk was right behind her and she took his arm as a bewigged footman held the front door open for them.

  Their hostess stood inside, already sunken in a curtsy. “What a beautiful home you have.” Gwynneth smiled at her.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Kamyla Melchor straightened up. “I apologize for the lateness of this invitation, but I’ve been on my honeymoon and just heard you were in town when I returned.”

  “No need to apologize.” Kendryk smiled at her. “It seems congratulations are in order.”

  “Thank you,” Kamyla said, though she didn’t appear particularly happy for a newlywed. Gwynneth would have thought a woman of her age and station could marry whoever she chose without pressure from anyone. Perhaps the husband wasn’t turning out as well as she’d hoped.

  Kamyla led them inside, and the next half hour passed in a whirl of names and faces. Gwynneth and Kendryk already knew many people, but Vrouw Melchor had assembled a larger crowd than usual. Once Gwynneth met the new husband, she understood the bride’s less than giddy behavior. Devries Geerts was short, fat, and bald. While Gwynneth had known other men of the type to be merry, likable sorts, Geerts was not one of them, with a perpetually down-turned mouth, and beady, unfriendly eyes.

  “What does Vrouw Melchor see in him?” Gwynneth whispered to her dinner companion, a jolly young woman who looked like she enjoyed gossip.

  “Money,” the woman whispered back. “A few years ago, her husband was kidnapped by pirates and disappeared. She lost a few ships along with the husband, and fell on hard times. None of her schemes succeeded, and everyone’s certain she had to marry Geerts in exchange for him bailing out her business.”

  “How dreadful,” Gwynneth said. But as she looked around the ornate dining room and identified the exquisite china and crystal as Sanovan, she told herself she’d probably do the same, rather than give up something this fine. But when she looked at Geerts again, she wasn’t so sure.

  After dinner, the talk in the drawing room was all business. No one knew precisely why Gwynneth and Kendryk were here, but everyone correctly guessed it had to do with money.

  “You ought to go see the brothers Van Arnam,” an old man with enormous whiskers told Gwynneth. “Their rates aren’t the lowest, but they’re more reliable than anyone.”

  “I heard all Bonnenruck bankers were reliable.” Gwynneth smiled before taking another sip of her wine.

  “It’s true, they are,” the man huffed. “But the Van Arnams more so than any others. Especially if you need foreign transactions of any kind, which I assume you do.” It seemed the old fellow was cannier than he looked.

  “Hmm,” Gwynneth said, hoping none of Teodora’s agents were in the room, though she wouldn’t put it past her. “Thank you for the advice.”

  Braeden

  Braeden wondered if he had eaten bad cheese, fallen asleep, and was having a strange dream. But it seemed he really was making plans to assassinate Teodora with her own daughter. He sat around the fire with Karil and Elektra, discussing the best way to broach the subject with Brynhild Mattila.

  They have a history,” Elektra said. “I don’t know exactly what it is, but it seems long ago Mattila did something terrible to Mother and perhaps to her dreadful friend, that Daciana Tomescu.” She shuddered.

  Braeden at least approved of that view of Tomescu. In fact, he was looking at the little archduchess in a different light. Now she no longer cowered in Mattila’s shadow, she seemed far more confident and energetic. She also seemed a religious fanatic, but Braeden didn’t mind that too much, as long as it didn’t get in the way of his plans. “Daciana Tomescu is dead,” he said.

  “She is? How do you know?”

  “My stepson shot her in the head during Prince Kendryk’s rescue. And then he blew up the rest of her.” Braeden felt a swell of pride, talking about Anton and what he’d done. Then he wished Janna were alive to know what a hero he was.

  “That’s marvelous news.” The archduchess beamed. “I always hated her and imagined I’d have to kill her before I could get to mother. I confess I found her terribly frightening.”

  “She was,” Braeden said. “But she’s gone now, and hopefully that’s upset your mother at least a little.”

  “I hope so too.”

  Braeden found the girl remarkably hard-hearted, but didn’t mind if she directed it toward Teodora.

  “You say that Brynhild Mattila wants Teodora dead as well?” he asked.

  “She hasn’t said it outright, but I’m sure she’d love to get Mother out of the way. She imagines she’ll become regent until I turn seventeen. I don’t intend to allow that, but we can let her believe it as long as we need her.”

  Braeden frowned, remembering something Barela had told him. “I have it from a reliable source that Livilla will be regent, should something happen to your mother.”

  “Yes, that’s been my understanding as well. I wouldn’t mind, since Livilla is one of the few people in the world I can trust. But if Mattila hopes to eliminate Livilla, she’s in for a surprise.”

  “Interesting.” Braeden had never paid much attention to the politics of succession. “Who else can you trust, besides Livilla? Anyone?”

  Elektra frowned. “Mother Luca perhaps. She’s always kept my secrets, and even tried to shield me from Mattila when she was in a rage.”

  “She your personal priestess?” If the girl had some affection for this woman, it could explain the strong religious feelings.

  Elektra nodded. “She’s also close to Livilla.”

  Braeden stared into the fire. “As far as I can tell, Livilla is fond of your mother. So we can’t rely on her to help us. Or your priestess.”

  “No, I suppose not. But it doesn’t matter. The fewer in on the plan, the better. Now, this is what we should do.”

  It annoyed Braeden that Elektra acted like she was in charge, but he supposed she was accustomed to it because of her rank. “What should we do, Your Grace?” He hoped his tone made it clear he wasn’t too impresse
d.

  “You will take me to Mattila straight away. She’s probably still in Brandana, and shouldn’t be hard to find. I can get a personal audience with her, and then I’ll ask if she’ll see you too.”

  “That’s dangerous,” Braeden said. “By now word should be out that I rescued Prince Kendryk. I suppose everyone on the imperial side will try to kill me.”

  “You were with General Barela then?” Elektra’s face fell. “I’m so sad Mother killed him. He always kissed me so nicely, and brought me the loveliest presents.” Elektra’s lip curled. “Typical of her to kill anyone good. It’s a shame Prince Kendryk got away after all the trouble he’s caused, but I’m sure Mattila won’t care. If anything, she’ll be glad you thwarted Mother.”

  “The question is, what will she do when she sees me?” Braeden asked. The hopelessness of his situation was becoming clearer with every step he took. For all he knew, there was a price on his head, and he wasn’t safe anywhere outside Galladium.

  “Hard to say,” Elektra said. “But if you can no longer show your face at court, Mattila is the only person who can get close to Mother with a weapon. I’d do it myself, but I’m sure I can’t get away with it. I’d even considered poison, but I need Livilla’s help for that, and she wouldn’t do it.”

  “I could create a diversion I suppose,” Braeden said, and then remembered something. “We have to be careful with Karil, too. He escaped with Kendryk, and I’m sure the empress would like him back in the Arnfels.”

  “You were a prisoner of my mother’s?” Elektra looked at Karil with renewed interest.

  “Hostage,” Karil said. “Held to make my father, Count Andarosz, behave himself.”

  “I’ve heard of your father,” Elektra said. “A dreadful troublemaker, like all Marjatyans.”

  Karil, looking pleased to be considered a troublemaker because of his nationality, asked, “So my father is still alive?”

  “He was a year ago. I saw his name on a petition of complaint lodged by the Marjatyan nobility against the empire.”