Fall of the Titan (The Desolate Empire Book 5)

by Christina Ochs

  Elektra smiled. “How clever of you. You’re more useful than you realize.” She hoped he wouldn’t have to give up too many of his precious beasts for food, but was touched he’d done so to take care of her.

  “Do you think so?” Jozef stared at her anxiously. “I felt so awful all day, worried about you and not being able to help. Maybe I should do as Mother wants after all and get military training.”

  “Only if you want to, though it might come in handy. I don’t want to worry about you too.”

  Jozef’s eyes lit up. “You worried about me?”

  “When I had time to. As things went bad, I wondered if you’d realize it and go.”

  “I wasn’t sure, it was all such a commotion. First I heard the king had been killed and thought we’d won, but only a few hours later, soldiers started fleeing south. I sent the servants ahead with my animals while I waited for you. I also made Aksel go, though he had to leave most of his equipment behind. No doubt he’s around here somewhere.”

  “The king.” Elektra groaned, remembering the grisly sight, and the loss of all her hopes. She wished she could confide in Jozef, but there was no point now. She was stuck on this side for the time being. “What do you suppose will happen now?”

  Jozef shook his head. “Hard to say. I imagine the Estenorians will go home, but I can’t picture the Kronlanders giving up, especially with your mother still captive.”

  “What a mess.” Elektra sighed, brushing crumbs off her doublet. She didn’t know why she bothered, crusted in sweat, dirt and blood as it was. “I can’t imagine what I should do next.”

  “You should get some sleep,” Jozef said. “You hardly ever do, coming to bed after I’m asleep and getting up so early. I hate that.”

  “You don’t even notice.” Elektra smiled at him.

  “I do. I always wake up when you come to bed, but don’t want to bother you.”

  “Hm. Sometimes I wake up with you wrapped around me. Are you awake when you do that?”

  “Definitely.” Jozef’s old, flirtatious grin returned.

  “Well, it’s nice.” Elektra scooted closer to him. “Can we sleep like that tonight? I know I must look terrible and it’s all right if you don’t want to touch me ..” She stopped herself, aware she was babbling.

  “You look beautiful,” Jozef said, in the kind of tone he likely used for drawing room seductions. “In a grubby and soldierly sort of way. That’s not my type, but since you’re my wife, I might make an exception.”

  “You’re not my type either,” Elektra whispered. “But you’re my husband, and I’ve come to like you quite a lot.”

  “I’m glad.” Jozef blew out the lamp, then settled down on a blanket, pulling her down next to him and wrapping his arms around her. “I like you too. I’m sorry this day was so bad for you, and I’m sorry about the king.”

  Elektra looked up at him. “The king? Why?”

  “Because he would have made a great ally for you. I hoped that no matter how the battle turned out, afterward we’d find a way to reach him and then he could help us get away from our mothers.” He yawned. “Too bad. We’ll come up with something else, I’m sure.”

  Elektra burrowed her head into his chest. She’d been stupid not to confide in him, though it didn’t matter any more.

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth fled to her room inside Edric’s palace. Telling Raysa of Lennart’s death was one of the hardest things Gwynneth had ever done. Now she understood Princess Edda’s reluctance to give her the news about Kendryk.

  Raysa at least took it more calmly than Gwynneth had, though her body went rigid with shock. “I can’t bear it,” she whispered, her eyes wide and dry. “Surely there’s a mistake.”

  “They’ve recovered his body and are bringing it here,” Gwynneth said, taking Raysa’s icy hands in hers. “It seems many people can confirm it.”

  Edric had also received a similar message and word had spread all over the city.

  “I’m glad they’re bringing him here.” Raysa pulled her hands away. “As soon as he arrives, I’ll take him home to Estenor, where he belongs. We should never have come.”

  “He did a great thing, coming here,” Gwynneth said.

  “Did what exactly?” Raysa whirled on her. “Fought a war that had nothing to do with us or Estenor’s interests?”

  Gwynneth had never seen the queen angry before. “That’s not true.” She didn’t want to argue politics at this moment, but surely it would make Raysa feel better to know her husband had died for a worthy cause?

  “Of course it’s true,” Raysa snapped. “He came here because of you. No other reason. Now please leave. I can’t bear the sight of you.” She turned away and burst into tears.

  Gwynneth left the room, then hurried to her own where she might indulge in tears in private. Not only had she lost an old friend, she’d lost all hope of winning this war. It didn’t matter that Mattila was defeated; she would raise another army.

  That Teodora was Princess Edyta’s prisoner was also little comfort. Gwynneth was under no illusions that Podoska would help any cause but its own.

  She dried her tears and walked to the window. It was dawn, and promised to be a long, hot day. In spite of Lennart’s death they had won the battle, but Gwynneth had a hard time seeing many advantages. At least she didn’t need to worry about a hostile army threatening Heidenhof, but that was about it.

  Raysa would take Lennart’s body back to Estenor, and his army would follow. What did they have besides Estenor? Emilya Hohenwart’s eight thousand mercenaries, Trystan’s Galladians and Aidan Orland’s militia.

  Gwynneth gripped the windowsill. So far she’d managed not to think about Orland’s plans for Stella. Now he was dead, those would soon come to light.

  Gwynneth hurried to her desk and dashed off a note with trembling fingers. Calling for a servant, she ordered it sent to Duke Devyn at Birkenfels. She needed to talk to her children before word got out.

  Two hours later, Devyn appeared at the palace. Gwynneth saw just from his clenched jaw how upset he was.

  “I’m so sorry about Lennart,” she said.

  “I should have been there,” he said. “It would have been better if I’d died instead.”

  Gwynneth had to stop herself from slapping him. “Don’t say things like that. You are every bit as valuable as Lennart. The way things go in battle, it might have been both of you. Did you ever consider that?”

  “What does it matter?” Devyn’s shoulders slumped.

  “It matters to me.” Gwynneth took his arm. He’d grown some more, and was now taller than she was. “I have something else to discuss with you and Maryna, and it won’t be easy to hear. We’ll do it in Edric’s study.”

  She’d asked for Edric to join them, since he was able to verify the story. He was also an oddly comforting presence, considering. It seemed fitting too; he’d warned her off Arian Orland and would now see the consequences come full circle. Both better and worse than any of them might have imagined.

  Maryna and Edric waited for them there. Maryna had been closeted with Edric since their arrival hours before, no doubt laying plans. Now Gwynneth was glad for her daughter’s independence. If she’d wanted her mother to take action, she’d still be waiting.

  Once they were all seated at a table near the window, Gwynneth said, “This is a terrible time for it. But something is about to become public that concerns Stella, and by extension, all of us.”

  The children looked puzzled and Gwynneth wished she could spare them the sordid tale. She took a deep breath. “Edric Maximus knows at least part of this story and can confirm it’s true.”

  As quickly as possible, without meeting her children’s eyes, Gwynneth told them about the affair with Arian. “It was a mistake,” she said, staring at the table. “He meant nothing to me.”

  “Then how could you do it?” Maryna’s voice was as angry as Gwynneth had ever heard it. “How could you betray Papa when he needed you most?”

 
Gwynneth forced herself to look at her daughter. Even in anger, her eyes were far too much like Kendryk’s for comfort. “I can’t explain, or make any excuse for myself.” She swallowed. “I asked your father’s forgiveness, and he gave it.”

  “He was too good,” Maryna said, then dissolved into tears.

  “I agree.” Gwynneth blinked hard. This was worse than she’d expected. “Too good for me, certainly.”

  Devyn made an indignant noise, which she took to be agreement.

  She offered a quick prayer to the Mother that she might help repair the relationship with her children somehow. She still had to get to the worst part. “The reason I must bring this up now is because Stella is Arian Orland’s daughter.”

  “What?” Devyn jumped out of his chair so fast it fell to the floor with a bang. “That’s not true. Stella is my sister.”

  “Of course she is, your half-sister at least. But with Duke Aidan dead, she is also the Countess of Hornfels. Should the new Duchess Igraine die without an heir, as the duke expects her to, Stella will become duchess someday.”

  Maryna gasped, and Devyn stomped to the far end of the room. “I refuse to allow it,” he shouted.

  “There is nothing for you to allow,” Gwynneth said. “It’s done. I understand you’re angry with me. Edric was also, when he first found out.” She finally dared to look at him. His eyes at least were sympathetic and in them, she saw that he’d forgiven her too, even though he’d never said so. “Be as angry as you must, but realize that it’s a matter of weeks before this becomes public and Stella must be told. I’d hoped the duke would live many more years and we might wait, but it wasn’t to be.”

  Gwynneth winced as the door slammed behind Devyn. She ventured another glance at Maryna, who’d been staring at her all along, white-faced with anger.

  Maryna stood. “I suppose you will do as you must, Mother.” Her tone was venomous, completely unlike her. “And I will support Stella in any way I can. But I don’t want to see you for a while.” With that she flounced out of the room, banging the door as hard as Devyn had.

  “That didn’t go well.” Gwynneth looked at Edric.

  “What did you expect?” His face was serious, but his eyes remained sympathetic. “Just give them time to get used to the idea. I imagine you’ll have an even harder time with Stella.”

  “Thank you for reminding me.” Suddenly, Gwynneth wished to be anywhere but here, as she recalled that Queen Raysa hated her too. The next weeks promised to be extremely trying.

  Braeden

  Kazmir moved so slowly, Braeden wondered if he was hurt. So he dismounted and looked him over. The horse seemed fine, at least physically. Maybe he was just sad, like Braeden. After all, he’d known Franca just as long. They’d seen her buried on the battlefield, then left her behind forever.

  Braeden was on his way back to Heidenhof after the battle, riding beside Anton at the head of his Galladian company. Somehow, after Trystan dragged him away from Franca, he got through the rest of the day, vaguely conscious of victory. That was Trystan’s doing.

  Braeden had only followed orders, issued his own, sent soldiers off to fight and die, or worse, end up maimed for life. He’d had enough of fighting.

  He couldn’t even think about Lennart. Of course the king had always been at risk as much as any of them, but even to Braeden, he’d seemed just a little more than human, maybe even invincible. That a musketball took him like anyone else was beyond imagining.

  But it had happened, Lennart was dead, and Braeden was escorting his cold body back to Heidenhof. He did his best not to look at the wagon carrying it, or at the soldiers guarding it, grief written on every face.

  That made Braeden a little angry. Most of them had never even met Lennart in person and yet they grieved for him more than they ever would for a member of their own family. It seemed ridiculous.

  Anton tried to explain it to him.

  “It’s what he represented,” Anton said, looking rather dejected himself. “Independence for Kronland, defeat for Teodora, the end of the empire.” He sighed. “And unbelievable chances for glory for his soldiers.”

  “Ah.” Braeden was sure he understood. “It’s true there was no one more generous than Lennart. He gave you a great start, didn’t he?”

  “He did.” Anton turned toward Braeden. “And I don’t want to make it sound like I’m sorry he’s gone because of that. Even though he was a king, he was just a really nice person too. Sometimes he felt like a father to me. Sort of like you.” He offered Braeden a crooked smile, and Braeden felt a tiny ray of warmth pierce his heart.

  “I am like a father to you.” When he’d first met Anton, the loss of Janna had still been too raw for him to appreciate her son as much as he should have. But now Braeden loved the idea. Especially after losing Franca.

  He’d also had to break the news of Skandar’s death to Anton, though he’d taken it bravely. “It’s what he would have wanted.” He paused and blinked a few times. “Dying in battle beside his owner. I hope that’s how Storm and I go someday.”

  “Keep this up and you will,” Braeden growled. “I’ve had enough. I’m done with fighting. Princess Gwynneth promised me a nice estate on the Velta and I’ll take her up on it.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Anton’s eyes were wide. “I can’t imagine you not fighting.”

  “I’m too old for it,” Braeden said. “Look at all this white hair.”

  “That’s blond,” Anton said loyally.

  “If you say so.” Braeden chuckled in spite of himself. “No, I’ve been considering it a long time now, and besides …” He had to catch his breath before continuing. “I promised Franca I’d retire after this.”

  “I see,” Anton said softly. “Then I suppose you must, though I’ll miss you. It was nice fighting together.”

  “It’s not like you’ll never see me again. In fact, when you have time off, I insist you stay with me at my fancy estate, if you want.”

  “Thank you,” Anton said, “though I’m afraid I’m committed right now. I need to stay close to Princess Maryna. I swore to protect her, even if her mother doesn’t much like the idea.”

  “I understand why she might not,” Braeden said. He suspected that Anton and Maryna might have strong feelings for each other, but that seemed only natural. It was obvious from looking at the two of them that they were perfect for each other.

  Braeden knew Gwynneth would insist on a duke or prince for her daughter, but Anton was worth more than most nobles Braeden had ever met. Surely Gwynneth would see that as well?

  “You do?” Anton looked guilty.

  “Your face is an open book, and the little princes isn’t much different. You seem a wonderful pair to me, but it’s not my decision. If you’re smart, you’ll find a reason to stay away. It’ll hurt now, but save you grief in the long run.” Braeden didn’t want to see any broken-hearted youngsters right now.

  “She’s promised to wait for me,” Anton said, “until I’m famous enough to make a good consort for her.”

  Braeden groaned. This was worse than he thought. “That might never happen, as far as Princess Gwynneth is concerned.”

  “I know.” Anton’s eyes were grave. “Especially now that Lennart’s gone. I must find some other way to distinguish myself. But I will.”

  “I hope so.” Braeden didn’t have the heart to discourage him.

  Even at the plodding pace they took, following behind the king’s wagon, they finally reached Heidenhof. Somber citizens lined the streets, and by now the bulk of the Estenorian army had caught up to them, forming an enormous honor guard.

  Braeden couldn’t wait to get away, and he and Anton peeled off to make straight for Edric’s palace. The king’s body would follow after winding through the whole city. Someone had already decided he would lay in the temple in state for at least a few days, so the thousands of soldiers might pay their respects.

  By the time Braeden had put Kazmir in his stall, Anton had disappeared, likely
to look for Princess Maryna. Braeden stepped out of the stall to find Trisa and Devyn coming his way.

  None of them could speak, so Braeden just opened his arms, pulling both of them in close, thanking the gods they’d stayed away from at least this battle. If all went well, there wouldn’t be another.

  Maryna

  “Won’t the Princess Regent be joining us?” Count Faris asked, sitting down slowly. Maryna had asked him and Braeden to join her in the library, where she’d set up her own office.

  “No, I’m afraid she’s busy,” Maryna said.

  She didn’t know how long she’d be able to keep the quarrel with her mother from becoming public. Maybe she shouldn’t bother trying to cover it up. Once the truth about Stella came out, no one would blame her for being angry with Gwynneth.

  But no messenger had yet come from Duke Orland’s lawyer in Kaltental, and until that happened, Maryna wanted to keep things as quiet as possible. She had a great deal of work to do and didn't need the distraction.

  She turned to Braeden. “Do you have the figures I asked for?”

  He nodded, handing her a sheaf of papers. Maryna worried about Braeden. He’d taken the loss of his friend Franca very hard, and that blow came on top of the king’s death. Everyone was upset about that, but aside from the queen, who had taken over the temple, shutting everyone else out as she wept beside her husband’s body, Braeden seemed to be most affected.

  “Thank you.” Maryna smiled at him, wishing she could make him feel better. She would have to find something for him to do. Perhaps she would send him on some kind of mission with Devyn. That was more likely to cheer him up than anything.

  She paged through the stack, handing each sheet to Faris after she’d read it. “Oh dear,” she said finally. “That doesn’t look good.”

  She’d asked Braeden to compile the numbers of dead, wounded and surviving troops after the battle. While their side took fewer casualties than Mattila’s, Lennart himself had been worth at least ten thousand soldiers, probably more. There seemed to be no way to make up that loss.