“Why?” Teodora looked around. “This is a lovely room. The ambassador from Moralta stays here often. So much nicer than the Arnfels, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Elektra tried to keep the panic from her voice.
“I don’t suppose you’d want to find out.” Teodora leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. “Though it might not hurt you to have the experience. I sometimes wonder, if I’d been more familiar with the place, I might have been able to prevent …”
“Prevent what?” Elektra welcomed anything that might distract her mother from sending her there.
“Prisoners escaping, that sort of thing.” Teodora’s voice was flat, her eyes hard. “But I don’t like the idea of sending my heir there. Even though you’re right; I don’t care for you in the least.”
While Elektra had always known this, it hurt terribly to hear it from her own mother. But she mustn’t let it show if she was going to outwit her somehow. “The feeling is mutual then.” She forced a smile. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t work together, does it?”
“Of course not.” Teodora stopped short, and Elektra held her breath. Then Teodora continued, “But working with you means I’d need to trust you at least a tiny bit, and after your little revelation, I’m afraid I can’t.”
“I see.” Elektra tried to keep her voice from trembling. “So, what must I do to get out of here?” She raised her chin, and looked Teodora in the eye. As little good as showing backbone did, crying and sniveling seemed to be even less effective. And maintaining one’s dignity had to count for something.
Teodora shrugged. “Nothing right now. It will do you good to stay here longer and think about things. Consider especially how you might regain my trust. You’ll never have all of it, but I’d like to at least know you can follow orders.”
“I can,” Elektra said, a little too eagerly. At this point she was willing to agree to just about anything.
“Perhaps.” Teodora stood. “I don’t need you yet. Aksel’s conversion is proceeding rather slowly, and until he cooperates I have little use for you.”
“Let me talk to him,” Elektra said, suddenly realizing she wanted nothing more than to see Aksel, even for a few minutes. “I’m sure he’ll convert if it means getting me out of here.” A friend who would do something like that for her was beyond all of Elektra’s hopes, but she allowed herself to dream anyway.
Teodora swept past her to the door and knocked on it. “I’m afraid you overestimate your charms, my dear,” she said, looking Elektra over condescendingly. “No one will do anything like that for you. We’ll talk again in a few weeks, I’m sure.”
“A few weeks?” Elektra shrieked, but the door had already closed behind her mother.
Anton
Anton awoke briefly to something pouring down his throat. It burned, and Anton tried to struggle, but warmth washed through him, and he slumped back against whoever held him.
“Hold his head steady,” the same deep voice said, and large hands grabbed him by the chin and forehead. Anton struggled some more, but it did no good at all. Someone held his legs down too. Panic spread as he wondered if they were getting ready to cut off a limb, though he didn’t remember being hit. He was in pain, but couldn’t quite tell where it came from, especially as the liquor numbed his whole body.
A moment of blinding agony was followed by a sustained stabbing, and blood flooded his mouth again. He spit it onto the grass before sliding into blackness.
When he woke up, it was nearly dark and he still lay in the sand, his head in someone’s lap. He looked up with an effort, and saw Stasny, asleep. Or at least he had his eyes closed, because they came open the moment Anton made a sound, his throat so raw and dry he wasn’t even able ask for water. But Stasny seemed to know, grabbing a flask from somewhere, and pushing it between Anton’s lips. He gulped it down fast, then felt sick.
Once the wave of nausea had passed, Anton tried speaking again, even though moving his mouth made pain shoot through his head. “What happened? Are we prisoners?” Though he didn’t like fighting for the empress, being taken by the other side now meant separation from Susanna, maybe forever.
Stasny laughed, sounding almost the same as usual. “We won. Chased Tora Isenberg back into the sea, though we got a fair number of her troops before they got away.”
Anton breathed in deeply. “But they killed so many of ours.”
“True, we took a few casualties, but not as many as it felt like when those cannonballs dropped on us like rain.”
“Where are we?” Anton still wasn’t able to think straight.
“Still on the field. The doctor stitched your face up, and I waited for you to wake up so we can get back to camp. Think you can walk?”
Anton nudged his right cheek, and when he did, noticed the bandage that wound around his head, holding the dressing in place. He didn’t dare touch the inside with his tongue. At least it hadn’t taken his eye. Only two inches higher, and he would have looked more like the count than he ever wanted to. “I’ll try,” he finally said, though he was very weak. But he really needed to get back to Susanna, since he knew she’d worry.
Stasny hauled him to his feet, and Anton stood there for a moment, swaying. He leaned on Stasny, and took a few deeps breaths. With the smoke of the battlefield blown away, a breeze came off the ocean, fresh and cool. Anton gulped it down and watched the sun, now a bright orange ball hovering on the distant horizon.
“It’s late,” he finally said.
“You were out for a few hours,” Stasny said cheerfully, “though I think that was more from the brandy they gave you than anything else. We’ll go slow, though I’ll try to get you into camp before dark.”
Anton found that his head cleared as he walked, and the pain in his cheek turned to a dull throbbing. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he said to Stasny, once they’d reached the edge of camp.
“You’d do the same for me. There was no way I’d leave you lying in the sand.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” Anton grinned, then yelped when he realized one side of his face wouldn’t move without extreme pain. “And you’re right; I’d do the same for you, though I hope I never have to.”
Anton stumbled along in silence, Stasny’s hand on his elbow. He wondered if they’d ever get to their part of camp. Torches flared up, lighting the paths between the tents, and Anton had to stop a few times, feeling weaker. He hoped he could make it.
From somewhere ahead of him came a shriek, and a moment later a crying Susanna flung herself at him.
“Oh gods, I thought you were dead when you didn’t come back.”
Anton put an arm around her, but sagged.
“Hey, easy there,” Stasny said. “He’s on the wobbly side. Can you help me hold him up?”
Anton almost grinned down at Susanna as she came around to his other side, then remembered he shouldn’t. She was still crying, but at least she was helping support him.
“What happened?” she finally asked.
“Just a splinter through the cheek,” Stasny said. “The doctor’s already taken it out, and stitched up the hole. You’ll need to help him keep it clean, and make sure he has a shot of brandy to help him sleep.”
“That’ll take more than a shot,” Susanna grumbled, though she pulled Anton even closer.
Anton wasn’t sure he’d make it much further, when they finally reached the tent and he collapsed onto the cot. “So dirty,” he moaned, realizing he had to be covered in blood and worse.
“Never mind that,” Susanna said, then turned away for a moment.
Anton heard her murmuring at Stasny. There was a rustle and a laugh, and Stasny was gone.
“Thank the gods for that man,” Susanna said, kneeling at the side of the cot, while she pushed Anton’s hair away from his forehead. “I gave him a bottle of my best brandy for taking such good care of you.”
She cried a little more, though Anton didn’t know quite how to comfort her. Then she got some
water, and after he’d had a long drink, she started cleaning him up.
“Thank the gods for you,” Anton said, wishing he could smile.
Lennart
Lennart read the message and swore as he flung it to the ground.
“Bad news?” Kendryk asked, looking worried. He rode beside Lennart as they led the combined force, heading deep into Terragand.
Lennart nodded. “Ensden defeated Tora Isenberg on a beach in northwestern Terragand.” This news followed Kalstrom losing his foothold on a spit of land in Kaltental harbor when Ensden launched a night attack. Kalstrom had fallen back to join Lofbrok a few leagues off on the northern shore without too many casualties, but it was a significant strategic loss.
“Oh gods.” Kendryk turned pale. “How bad is it?”
“Not as bad as all that.” Lennart sighed, already recalculating his plans. “Most of my fleet was standing off the coast there, since I worried about Isenberg being cut off from everyone else. She could save nearly all of her army, though she had to abandon much of the artillery. Not that Ensden will know what to do with it.”
“Where is she now?”
“Ummarvik, though she says Prince Ossian is less than thrilled at hosting her. Princess Floreta is also there, and is trying to persuade Isenberg to use her troops to move on Mattila in Brandana.”
“That would be a mistake,” Kendryk said. “We barely have enough to take on Ensden.”
“You’re right.” Lennart looked at Kendryk, then paused. He might as well ask him. “I have other ideas about Brynhild Mattila. How do you feel about a trip to Brandana?”
“You want me to negotiate with her?” It was clear from the look on Kendryk’s face he’d never considered it, and didn’t much like the idea.
“Why not? We have little to lose if she says no, and much to gain if she agrees. If she could gather even a small force, she might make all the difference.”
“True,” Kendryk said, “but I don’t want to condone the way she’s usurped the throne of Brandana.”
“You needn’t. I won’t ask you to treat with her as an equal; as far as you’re concerned, she’s just another general you’re trying to get on our side.”
“I don’t want to leave Terragand,” Kendryk said, a stubborn set to his jaw. “I don’t want to risk missing out on any major action.”
“If you can bring Mattila in before we engage with Ensden, it might well turn the tide.”
“I doubt I can do it in time,” Kendryk said.
“I’ll wait.” Lennart smiled, knowing he could answer any objection. “We can manage well enough through the summer, and I wouldn’t mind seeing if I can get reinforcements from further south in the meantime. The more Kronlanders we have on our side, the better.”
Kendryk frowned. “What makes you so sure any Kronlanders will join us? The only reason you got support from Helvundala is because my aunt now rules there, but I can’t imagine anyone else will be interested in helping me.”
“It’s not only you they’re helping.” Lennart slowed his horse. Now was as good a time as any to have this conversation. “They all benefit if I can run Teodora out of Kronland once and for all.”
“She’ll come back when you leave.”
“Not this time. If she survives this fight, she’ll still lose it. And when she loses, she’ll sign a treaty with the two of us.”
“What kind of treaty?” Kendryk suddenly looked more interested.
“She must agree to political and religious freedom for all of Kronland.” Lennart couldn’t hide a triumphant grin.
A smile spread across Kendryk’s face. “That would be marvelous.” He paused, and his brow creased. “It’s hard to imagine right now.” The smile fled. “And there’s something else.” He shifted in the saddle. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful for everything you’re doing. But I can’t help but wonder why you’re doing this. What do you hope to gain from this venture?”
“A strong, independent Kronland benefits Estenor too,” Lennart said. “If Teodora overruns you completely, she’ll be lurking at my doorstep, cutting off my access to the sea, and no doubt engaging in all kinds of villainy.”
“No doubt,” Kendryk said wryly. “You want us to provide you a buffer.”
“Only as you usually have. Estenor has nearly always been friendly with Helvundala and Terragand to our mutual benefit. I want to make that permanent by defeating Teodora so thoroughly she’ll never dream of attacking Kronland again. I’ll tie her up with as harsh a treaty as I can manage, and guarantee it all with a permanent army minding the Olvisyan border.”
“Sounds ambitious.” Kendryk still looked dubious, but interested. “And expensive. Who will pay for this standing army?”
“Teodora will.” Lennart grinned. “Just like she’s sucking your brother-in-law dry with reparations payments, I’ll do the same to her. And that’s if she’s still alive at the end of this. I’m assuming her replacement will be more cooperative.”
“Anyone would be more cooperative.” Now Kendryk was smiling again. “And I won’t deny I’d love to see her dead. But forgive me if I still have trouble believing that you’re going to all of this trouble, risk and expense for the sake of an independent Kronland alone. What else do you want?”
“I want to see the Quadrene creed spread through all of Kronland,” Lennart said quietly. They’d talked religion more than once, but he’d never explained what he hoped for. “I want the empire and the old faith to guarantee they won’t interfere with it.”
“That will never happen.” Kendryk shook his head. “I like the idea, but the empire and the faith will go down in flames before they allow tolerance.”
“So they’ll burn.” Lennart shrugged, and waited until he’d caught Kendryk’s eye. “I’ve read all of Edric’s writings and I’ve read the Scrolls. I know this must be done before it’s too late.” A strange excitement rose inside him, as it always did when he remembered his real reason for being here.
Kendryk nodded slowly. “You’re right.” He smiled again. “And I’m very pleased about your plan. I was grateful you were willing to help restore Terragand, but I was sure you did that out of friendship to Gwynneth. That you wish to do far more is the answer to many prayers. Knowing that, I’m happy to negotiate with Brynhild Mattila on your behalf.”
Lennart grinned. “And imagine the look on Teodora Inferrara’s face when she learns her former general is now working for us.”
Teodora
“Out of the way,” Teodora screeched, cracking the whip at an old woman in the street. The woman stumbled against the wall of a house, narrowly missing the horse’s hoofs. After that, the rest of the traffic cleared a path for her quickly enough.
Alarmed by Livilla’s uncharacteristically cryptic note, Teodora was in a hurry to get to the Maxima’s palace. Rather than taking the imperial carriage with its six horses and many guards, she’d asked for a two-horse buggy, and insisted on driving it herself.
“Your Highness, please,” said the guard sitting next to her. “This is dangerous. We cannot risk—”
“It’s these idiots who are in danger,” Teodora said, settling back into the seat as the street widened. The square in front of the Maxima’s palace lay straight ahead. “Don’t be such a ninny.” She had to laugh at the guard, her knuckles white as she clung to the seat. Though she couldn’t see the three sitting behind her in the buggy, they probably weren’t any better off.
Teodora kept the horses at a smart trot, slowing only as the courtyard gate swung open ahead of her, then leapt out of the seat before they came to a stop. “Where is the Maxima?” she asked a servant who’d been standing in front of the stable.
“In her private study, Your Highness. Please follow me.”
Teodora knew the way, but it didn’t do to fling oneself into the Maxima’s presence like a schoolgirl. The bright heat of the summer’s day turned suddenly cool and dark as she entered the palace. The gray floors and black pillars—all in marble—linin
g the great hall gave an impression both forbidding and impressive, a fitting demonstration of Livilla’s power.
By the time she reached her destination, Teodora had cooled off, though she was still anxious. Livilla never sent for her like this unless the news was bad. She breathed in deeply, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead.
Livilla rose from a seat in the shadows as Teodora entered, the door falling shut soundlessly behind her. This room, though relatively small, was also lined in black marble, broken only by white silk curtains billowing at the open windows.
“Come, child,” Livilla said, walking up to Teodora and taking her hand. “You must sit down and have something cool to drink.”
Teodora sat in a silver chair, upholstered in black silk. “I don’t want a drink,” she said. “Is it very bad, whatever you’re going to tell me?”
“I’m not sure,” Livilla said, pouring what looked like white wine into two small crystal glasses, and handing one to Teodora. “Both bad and good, I think.”
It was impossible to tell anything from Livilla’s tone, so Teodora took the glass and tried to relax into the chair, sipping at the cool, sweet drink.
Livilla sat down across from Teodora in an identical chair, set her glass down and then took what seemed like an eternity arranging her robes around her. Did she always move this deliberately?
“I’ll start with the good news,” she said at last. “Daciana Tomescu is alive.”
Teodora jumped out of her seat, cold wine spilling onto her lap even as the glass shattered on the floor.
“How? Where? Are you certain?”
“My dear, sit down please, and I will tell you everything.”
“Is she here? I must see her.” Teodora looked around wildly, as if she expected Daciana to stride out of the shadows at any moment. As the shock receded, she was still frightened, mostly because Livilla’s face was so grave. “She’s hurt, isn’t she?” Teodora sank back into her chair.
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 125
