Fall of the Titan (The Desolate Empire Book 5)

by Christina Ochs

  “He’ll do a good job,” Braeden said, hoping he sounded reassuring, even as he worried at Anton’s chances. There was no place safe in Kronland right now. Even this city would be in danger again soon. He hoped Anton wouldn’t push too hard into a dangerous area.

  He wondered if there was a way to let him know he should wait wherever he was until Lennart had defeated Mattila. Unfortunately, they could do nothing until they’d heard from him.

  Braeden was about ready to get back to practice when a servant came with a message for Devyn. “You’re to meet the king and Princess Regent in the council chamber.”

  Devyn stood. “Will you come too?”

  “If you want me to.” Braeden had been hoping for a nap, but he saw from Devyn’s anxious expression he should go. Lennart still seemed to intimidate Devyn.

  They gave their practice swords to a servant, then stopped in a small cloakroom to clean up. Braeden wasn’t dressed for a formal council, but there was no time to change. He and Devyn hurried to the council chamber where everyone already sat along the long table.

  “I brought Count Terris,” Devyn announced unnecessarily.

  “Good,” Gwynneth said, smiling at Braeden. “We have a great deal to discuss.”

  Braeden and Devyn took their seats, side by side near the head of the table, though a servant had to bring an extra chair for Braeden.

  Lennart sat at the head, and Gwynneth at his right. Braeden could tell she was still mad at the king.

  “While defending the city is of primary importance, we’ll discuss that in a moment,” Lennart said. “Another matter that needs urgent attention is the fate of Balduin Bernotas.” He inclined his head toward Devyn. “What would you like to do with him, Your Grace?”

  Devyn had clearly given it some thought, since he said, “I believe we should imprson him in the Birkenfels again, but this time for life.”

  “I would agree,” Lennart said, “but for his supporters. While he lives, they’ll threaten your rule.”

  Devyn frowned. “He still has supporters?”

  “It seems so, at least according to the prisoners we’ve interrogated. I recommend a speedy trial and execution.”

  “Execution?” Devyn turned pale. “What would he be guilty of, since you installed him as prince?”

  “It’s tricky.” Lennart made a face. “But you might accuse him of heresy, since he turned on Edric Maximus.”

  The Maximus was there too, looking unhappy, but nodded in agreement.

  “I don’t want to do it,” Devyn said, an obstinate jut to his chin. “How does killing someone for heresy instead of the real reason make us any better than Teodora?”

  The room was silent, though a small smile crossed Gwynneth’s face. After a moment she said, “The prince has a point, doesn’t he? I recommend we keep Balduin imprisoned for now and discuss our defenses first. We can deal with the pretender later.”

  Trystan

  Aside from the forbidding cold of the castle, Trystan couldn’t complain about the hospitality. He was first taken to his room, a small chamber high in the donjon. From its single tiny window, Trystan saw over the wall and the moat, and across the rolling countryside.

  He brushed the dust of the road from his clothes, washed his face and decided to explore the castle before dinner, which Duke Philipe had promised would be a family affair. Trystan climbed up, until he reached the top of the tower. A few guards stood up here, and looked at him curiously.

  “Amazing view you’ve got,” he said, going to the crenelated parapet to look down. If he leaned forward, he could see into the castle courtyard, the people crossing it tiny as ants.

  He noted the thickness of the walls. Gauvain was right. There’d be no taking this fortress. Even the biggest siege guns would need days to put a dent in the walls, and by then, little Joslyn would be dead.

  Trystan wondered how he’d lay eyes on the girl, but the de la Tours made that easy. When he went to dinner—not in the great hall, which stood dark and empty, arms and armor piled on the floor, but in a smaller room containing only one long table—the whole family had gathered, children included.

  “I don’t usually keep my family here,” Duke Philipe said, “but until the heretic Natalya is dead, I’m taking no chances with their safety.”

  “That’s wise,” Trystan said, seating himself on the duke's right. “She’s a dangerous woman. Completely ruthless.”

  “So you’ve learned that already.” The duke waved over a servant, who poured dark red wine into fabulous glasses of Sanovan crystal. “This is my wife.” He nodded at a beautiful black-haired woman sitting across from Trystan. “The Duchess Monique.”

  Trystan smiled and raised his glass to her. She had to be twenty years younger than the duke, but her piercing blue eyes were anything but innocent.

  The duke went down the table, naming two sons, their wives and children, and a sour-faced, unmarried daughter. A little girl sat at the end of the table. “She’s our ward,” the duke said, waving a dismissive hand. “The illegitimate daughter of a friend.”

  Trystan did his best to show nothing more than polite interest. He wanted to stare at the child, see how she resembled Natalya, ask her if she was all right, but none of that was possible here.

  As the dinner progressed, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye from time to time. Aside from a shock of thick chestnut hair, she didn’t resemble Natalya at all, though she had inherited her spirit. One hand was bandaged, but she was boisterous, laughing and talking with the other children, and a nurse had to shush her more than once.

  Talk remained polite and superficial through the main courses of the meal, but once the cheese was served, the duke cleared his throat, and the children disappeared, along with one adult son, both wives, and the daughter. Only Count Michel, the heir, remained. Seated next to Monique, Trystan was certain he wasn't her son—they looked more like siblings than mother and child.

  “More wine,” the duke ordered, and when their glasses had been filled again, he said to the servant. “Put the cognac on that table and leave us. We’ll serve ourselves.”

  Once the door shut, the duke turned to Trystan. “Now, I want your whole story. Why you first set out to find Natalya, how you rescued her, and what you found at the king’s palace when you returned.”

  Mostly, Trystan told the truth. How one of his officers was friends with the Duchess Maryna and wanted to find her. Trystan already knew Princess Gwynneth and gladly accepted the commission to search for her daughter.

  They traveled to Galladium to pick up a trail, and Trystan to be honest, hoped for a significant reward from King Gauvain, which he'd promised at the time. Here the story became a little more fanciful.

  “My mother is an incompetent ruler, and my siblings will be no better.” Trystan shook his head, taking another long drink of wine. He could hold his alcohol well, but the de la Tours didn’t need to know that. Let them think it was loosening his tongue. “So I want to rule Podoska.”

  “Understandable,” the Duchess Monique said, with a seductive smile that didn’t suit the conversation.

  Trystan smiled back at her. “King Gauvain agreed to give me an army if I returned Natalya safely, in addition to the money needed to maintain it. So I was happy to go on the mission.”

  Then he returned to the truth for a while, telling the story of the pursuit and rescue in some detail, though he played down his duel with Count Vega.

  “Oh, I heard about that,” Monique said. “You are far too modest, Duke. Vega was a famed swordsman and no one had ever bested him.”

  “It wasn’t easy,” Trystan said, “and I was lucky, to be honest.”

  “Still impressive,” the duke said. He’d been mostly silent so far. “Now let me guess. You accomplished the nearly impossible, risking your life to see Natalya safe. Nice work evading my troops, by the way. What happened when you returned her to King Gauvain?”

  Now he had to be careful. Trystan bit his lip. “Not what I’d hoped fo
r. Oh, the king was kind and showered me with worthless honors, and a fair amount of coin too. But when I brought up the promised army, he apologized and said it wasn’t possible with the war on. Perhaps someday, when all of his resources were no longer being used against Maladena.” Trystan banged his glass on the table. “Obviously, that’s not good enough.”

  “So you took your money and honors, and left?” Amusement glinted in the duke’s eye.

  “I was er, rather in a temper,” Trystan said. “But yes, I left. Then I thought about who else might help me get my army. In exchange for some interesting things I learned about the king’s plans of course.”

  Anton

  Maryna had admirable composure, Anton thought, considering the bad news Kohler the banker had just given her.

  “I’d like to see an accounting,” she said, her chin held high, with not even a hint of a wobble.

  “Certainly, Your Grace.” Kohler rang a bell, and a moment later the woman from the front returned. He whispered something in her ear and she left. “Princess Gwynneth withdrew the money some time ago, through her banker in Allaux,” Kohler said.

  “I see.” Maryna sighed, though she otherwise didn’t appear too distressed. “I suppose I was too young for her to tell me at the time.”

  “No doubt she had need of it.” The banker, a wizened old man with twinkly eyes, appeared sympathetic.

  “I’m sure she did.” Maryna fingered a locket at her throat. She’d already confessed to Anton that she had no good jewelry to sell, since pirates had stolen the lot of it.

  The woman returned with a ledger, and Kohler glanced through a few pages, then handed it to Maryna. “It’s all here,” he said. “The letters from the Galladian bank are in back, bearing your mother’s signature.”

  Maryna paged through the ledger, though Anton could tell she wasn’t really looking.

  He thought of something Count Orland had done years ago, and cleared his throat. “Your Grace, Master Kohler, I have an idea. Her Grace is ruler of Terragand, the wealthiest of the Kronland kingdoms. Surely she might offer land as security for a small loan.”

  Maryna closed the ledger and took a deep breath. “I’d be willing to do that.” She fixed hopeful eyes on the banker, whose eyes twinkled again.

  “It’s not a bad thought. The problem is, Her Grace currently possesses no territory within Terragand. Though I hope that changes soon,” Kohler added.

  “It will change soon, but I need an army to do it. One piece of property that remains in my family’s hands is Birkenfels Castle. I trust you’ve heard of it?” she asked the banker.

  “Quite famous,” he said. “But Your Grace, that’s now your family’s home. Are you sure you wish to encumber it? In the unlikely event of a default, I’d hate to be forced to take possession.”

  “I won’t default.” Maryna’s eyes were bright again. “That should go without saying.”

  “Well, you’ll sign paperwork to that effect.” Kohler chuckled. “Though to be honest, rulers always present a high risk when it comes to loans. They’re more likely to default, and it can be difficult to enforce terms.”

  “Did my father ever default?” Maryna asked, her nose in the air.

  The banker smiled. “He did not. You are correct. In fact, he only made a few small loans early in his reign and paid them back promptly.” The smile faded. “Your father was a rare man, Your Grace. Many of us mourn him.”

  “Thank you,” Maryna whispered, then blinked and swallowed. “I try to be like him in every way. As soon as I’ve secured my kingdom, I will repay your loan, I swear it. And in the meantime, you may have temporary ownership of my castle.”

  “A mere formality,” the banker said, as he pulled a folio across the desk. “Though I should like to visit someday.”

  “You are always welcome.” Maryna’s smile was wide now.

  Anton wanted to jump and whoop, but kept his face dignified. It looked like Maryna had pulled it off, but he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the transaction until it was complete. That took the next few hours, as Maryna signed many documents, all of which she insisted on reading carefully.

  Anton was first amazed that he’d fallen in love with a girl who would have made an excellent lawyer, but in time, grew drowsy.

  But by the time they left the banking house, a letter of credit made out to Emilya Hohenwart in Maryna’s hand, the sun had gone down and the cool evening air woke him up again.

  Once they were back in the carriage, Maryna leaned forward and took Anton’s hands. “Thank you,” she said, “thank you for the wonderful idea. How did you know about such a thing?”

  Anton grinned, enjoying the warmth and softness of her hands. “When I was with Count Orland, he was always looking for ways to raise money. Right before I came to him, he’d inherited a little estate with a castle from an old relative. He never even visited it, but went straight to a banker and got a huge loan on it. Which he never paid back.”

  “I know you liked Count Orland,” Maryna said, giving his hand a pat, “but he seemed a very wicked man, even though he helped my father.”

  “He was wicked.” Anton felt wistful. “But he was a good person too, or at least he sometimes did good things. It’s hard to explain.”

  “I must try to understand, since I’m sure there are many others like him among my subjects.”

  “Hopefully not too many,” Anton said with a wink. “Do you want to go straight to General Hohenwart?”

  “Yes. I’m sure I won’t sleep until I've settled all this.”

  “Let’s go then.” Anton leaned out the window and shouted at the coachman to take them back to the inn.

  By the time they reached it, Hohenwart was at supper. “Have some chicken,” she said, gesturing at the laden table. “When you didn’t come back after a few hours, I worried it hadn’t worked out.”

  “It was more involved than I’d expected,” Maryna said primly.

  Anton called for ale and started in on the chicken. He was starving, and Maryna could take it from here.

  Teodora

  Father Alyk had counseled prayer over the next several months, but Teodora didn’t have that kind of time. She needed to be ready to engage Lennart within days, if possible. With the help of Franca Dura’s cavalry, she was confident of at least not being outnumbered, but she wanted more than that.

  By the time Mattila set foot in Terragand, Teodora wanted both Lennart and Edric Landrus dead, and Heidenhof under her complete control. If Mattila followed orders and arrived soon, Teodora would allow her to mop up the rest of the kingdom, but she'd take the real credit for herself.

  The combined army made its way north at a leisurely pace, and Teodora often rode into the hills with a small force, hoping to come across more enemy. She would pour Sibyla’s potion into the brazier, endure the nightmares, then ride out with an aching head and black flames flickering at the corners of her vision. But with no one to fight, the blackness stayed in her head, making it ache even worse and putting her in a terrible temper.

  She’d return to camp, shouting at anyone who crossed her path. Annoyingly, Captain Kolar insisted on hovering.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he’d ask, staring into Teodora’s face. “If you aren’t well, we can stop so you can rest.”

  “I don’t need rest,” Teodora shouted, jumping down from her horse and throwing her riding crop on the ground. “I need to find the enemy.”

  “The enemy is at Heidenhof, Your Highness,” Kolar said, rather patronizingly, considering his position.

  “This whole kingdom is the enemy, in case you haven’t noticed. Now pick that up.” Teodora put the toe of her boot on the riding crop and stared at Kolar.

  “Certainly, Your Highness.” He swallowed and bent down, just in time for Teodora to snap her leg up, driving her knee into his nose.

  The captain cried out and fell back, blood running down his face even as he grasped the crop.

  “Give me that,” Teodora said, grab
bing it from him. “And see you find someone for us to fight.”

  She turned away and stomped off, shouting for Sibyla. She’d need something for this awful headache.

  The doctor was already at her tent, mixing up a potion at the table. “You must tell me what’s going on,” Sibyla said, handing Teodora the mug as she collapsed onto her cot.

  “The usual,” Teodora said, tossing back the bitter drink. At least she knew from experience it worked quickly.

  “No,” Sibyla said taking the mug and sitting on the edge of the cot after Teodora had laid back. “No, something different is happening and you must tell me what it is so I can help you.”

  “What makes you think I need help?” Teodora murmured as the pain dissolved.

  “The soldiers tell some terrible stories,” Sibyla said, a cool hand stroking Teodora’s forehead. “Tales of you riding off into the woods by yourself, stumbling upon the enemy and killing them all by yourself. Afterward, they say your eyes are black, like a demon’s.”

  “Sounds like superstition.” Teodora yawned. “You know how soldiers are. Why settle for a reasonable explanation when a crazy story will do?”

  “This is different,” Sybila insisted. “Something is happening to you.”

  Teodora leaned up on an elbow. “You may be right, but it's nothing bad. The gods are helping me win this war at last.”

  “By helping you kill the enemy single-handedly?”

  “Why not?” Teodora decided not to mention Daciana or the dead Maxima. Truth was, she didn’t remember doing any killing, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t done it.

  Sibyla shifted on the cot. “I also heard your face was covered in blood afterward.”

  “What of it? That happens sometimes when you kill people.” Teodora yawned. Now the potion had taken effect she felt tremendously sleepy.

  “Your visor was down.” Sibyla sounded disapproving.

  “Perhaps it wasn’t.” If she hadn’t been so sleepy, Teodora would have been angry. “Why are you giving credence to soldier gossip?”