But if Flordelis was ever going to regain its prominence, she knew it would not happen under the leadership of her father. Lord Delmar was too cautious, intent on preserving the assets under his care, unwilling to risk falling further into decline. Great rewards came only with great risk, and he was unlikely to see either.
Ysobel squared her shoulders as the mansion came into view. The white stones gleamed in the morning sun, and a flapping pennant flew over the door, proclaiming that Flordelis himself was in residence. The central door was open, with a boy of about nine or ten standing guard.
“Good morning, master trader,” he said, as his gaze dropped to her left hand and the ring that she wore. “How may Flordelis serve you?”
She spent a moment trying to place his features. He was not one of her nephews, but he could easily be the child of one of her many cousins. Then she shrugged, dismissing it as unimportant. She had spent much of the past seven years away from Alcina, either on trading missions or in service of the federation. It was no wonder that she did not recognize him, nor he her.
“I am Lady Ysobel Flordelis of Alcina, here to see my father.”
His features showed neither surprise nor curiosity and she felt a stir of pride. Flordelis’s power might be diminished, but they still bred true, and their training could not be faulted.
“Of course. Do you need a guide?”
She shook her head. “I know the way.”
With a nod, the boy stepped aside, and she passed through the gate into the large foyer.
No trading family could afford to keep a mansion merely for the occasional visit by the head of house, and Flordelis was no exception. The mansion was divided into apartments. Those on the ground floor were set aside for use by the senior captains when they were in port. The second floor was given over to the use of the trading representatives who lived year-round with their families in Sendat. The third floor held a suite of rooms for her father, and other suites that could be used by members of the family when their affairs called them here. Ysobel had once had use of a small bedroom, until she had earned her master trader’s ring and set up her own establishment.
At this hour of the day the mansion was mostly empty, its residents at the countinghouse or down at the docks. As she climbed the stairs to the second floor, she passed a servant carrying a basket of soiled linens, and a pair of young girls who dashed by, giggling, as they played a game of tag. She spared a moment to wonder if her father had chosen this time deliberately, so that there would be few witnesses to her visit. Her breath quickened as she raised her hand to tap on the door that led to her father’s private rooms.
A distant voice called “Enter,” and she opened the door.
Her father rose from his seat behind a desk covered high with books and advanced to meet her.
“Greetings and welcome, beloved daughter,” he said. Taking both her hands in his own, he kissed her first on the right cheek, then on the left.
“Greetings of the day to you, honored father,” she replied. The analytical part of her mind noted that he had welcomed her as a daughter rather than a fellow trader, and wondered what this might mean for her errand.
“Let me offer you some tea.” He led her to his private balcony, where a pair of chairs flanked a table set for a late breakfast. She declined a pastry but allowed her father to pour her a cup of dark red tea, which she tasted for politeness’ sake, then set aside.
From the balcony they had a fine view of the ships in harbor and the warehouses that lined the wharves. Flordelis could literally look down upon their property—and their competition.
“I know why you are here,” Lord Delmar said. “My agents have kept me informed. They tell me that the course you have chosen brings you neither honor nor profit.”
Ysobel bristled at the criticism. She would not have tolerated this from another; but he was her father, and so she chose her words carefully. “It is true that my difficulties have persisted longer than I would have wished, but the situation is not so dire as that.”
“Is it not? Honest captains refuse to sail for you, and merchants do business with you only when they can find no other. When is the last time that one of your ships brought in a profit?”
“Captain Zorion and the Swift Gull turned a profit on their last voyage, and he has high hopes for the new route,” she said.
Though it was true that the profit from the Swift Gull had been measured in mere pennies. Even her most experienced captain could not overcome the taint that her name now bore. As for her other three ships, two of their captains had left. The oldest of the three, Captain Mercer, had chosen to retire. He had been replaced by an even older man, a friend of Zorion’s called out of his own retirement to serve. Captain Jeanette, the youngest of those who sailed for her, had also left. Ambition had brought her to Ysobel’s service, in hopes of rising as quickly as her mistress. When Ysobel’s fortunes declined, Jeanette left for richer shores. Ysobel had promoted Jeanette’s first mate Elpheme to take her place—though not without reservations. Elpheme was inexperienced for her position, but in these difficult times her loyalty outweighed this disadvantage.
With Ikarian-controlled ports closed to her ships, she was forced to look elsewhere for cargoes. The contracts that she was offered were on terms she would once have scorned, but now she gritted her teeth and accepted. Even if the voyages ran at a loss, it was better to keep her ships on the seas and their crews together. She had hoped that time and the continued proof of honest dealings would serve to restore her reputation, but she had not expected it would take this long. As each month passed without making a profit, she was forced to dip deeper and deeper into her capital reserves.
If the situation did not change soon, she would be forced to consider leasing her ships to another house, or even selling them outright.
And a trader without ships was a pitiful creature indeed.
“It was a mistake for you to try to curry favor at the court. A trader’s attention should be reserved for her ships, not caught up in politics and scheming.”
“At the time, you said that Lord Quesnel’s favor would be a valuable thing to have,” she reminded him.
“And it would have been if it had been honestly earned. As it is, he shares your disgrace and is in no position to help anyone.”
Lord Quesnel had been the minister of trade, one of the most important positions in the government. It had been his idea to send Lady Ysobel to Ikaria. Officially her position had been to promote trade; unofficially her mission had been to promote revolution and destabilize the Ikarian Empire.
Accepting the assignment had been a calculated gamble, one that Ysobel could afford to take, while an established house like Flordelis house could not. At the time, her father had approved of her boldness, but it seemed her subsequent disgrace had merely confirmed his views that prudence was the only sure path to fortune.
Still, she had not failed in her mission, though it seemed that many, including her father, had forgotten this truth. “I did not fail,” she reminded him. “I did as the council asked. Empress Nerissa’s court is in chaos. Over two dozen nobles have been executed, and the imperial fleet was recalled home.”
“You failed when you were implicated in the scheme, bringing disgrace to yourself and the federation,” her father amended. His words were cruel, but his tone was as calm as if they were discussing the weather.
“There is no proof of my involvement, merely suspicions. And the council has refused all requests from Ikaria to return me for questioning.”
“Instead they confined you to this island, which shows their support is lackluster at best.”
This was the punishment that rankled most. She was convinced that if she could take personal command of one of her ships, she could turn a profit. She trusted Zorion and Telfor, who had been with her from the start, but her other two captains were either too old or too young for their posts.
Of course, Ysobel was not the only one who had paid the price for their role in
the ill-fated scheme. Lord Quesnel had been too powerful to be dismissed entirely, but he had been given a new post as minister of war. Only one intimately familiar with federation politics would recognize the change as the insult that it was. In the federation trade ruled all, and any other ministry paled beside it.
But she had not come to her father for a history lesson. She could not undo what had been done. She had learned the hard way that politics and business did not mix. Now it was up to her to chart a new course for the future.
“I have come with a proposition,” she said, changing the subject.
Her father nodded for her to continue and refilled their cups, giving her a chance to organize her thoughts.
“It is true that the contracts I have been offered have been less than favorable. Though no merchant has ever lodged a successful complaint against me or one of my ships, the rumors of cheating still persist. I need time to recover, but I cannot let my ships stand idle. Instead I propose to lease three of my ships to the house of Flordelis, leaving the Swift Gull to bear my standard. You gain three well-run ships, at terms that will be favorable to your house. I gain the time that I need to rebuild my reputation, without the burden of supporting all four vessels.”
With effort she kept her face impassive, revealing no trace of how hard it had been to make this offer. In some ways, this would be as if she was starting anew. But eleven years ago she had been given a single ship and used it to build a successful trading house. She could do so again.
Still, offering to lease the ships to Flordelis rankled. It smacked of failure—a child whose ambitions had outstripped her grasp and had to come running back to her family to rescue her. The only thing that would rankle more was if she was forced to lease her ships to strangers.
“No,” Lord Delmar said.
“No?”
“No.”
Anger rose, but she kept her voice calm. “Why not?”
“Leasing the ships only prolongs the inevitable, and I will not use the resources of our house to fund further folly.”
She drew in her breath to protest, but he continued. “I have a counteroffer. Flordelis will buy the ships from you, at a price to be set by an arbiter, with payment over seven years. You will resign your house and return to us. You may keep your status as master trader and work here in our countinghouses, negotiating agreements on behalf of Flordelis. When the council lifts your restrictions, you will be allowed to petition to sail as captain if you so choose.”
She gulped her tea to cover her confusion. The fruit brew was bitter on her tongue, or perhaps that was merely the taste of humiliation.
“Is this my father speaking? Or Flordelis of Flordelis?” she asked.
“Both,” he said. He leaned forward and took her hands in his own. “You know I’ve worried about you ever since Tilda encouraged your madness by giving you your own ship. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to protect you, and I was right. But if you come back to us, I can shield you from the consequences of your folly. Lean on the strength of the family and we will protect you.”
She knew that many would call his offer generous. Bold even, in that he was risking tainting his own house’s reputation by taking in his wayward daughter.
All she had to do was to give up her dreams of building her own trading empire. To admit that her ambitions had been mistaken, and yield to the wisdom of her elders. To follow a carefully circumscribed course for the rest of her days, knowing that her judgment might never be fully trusted again. There was little chance that she would ever achieve the rank of head of house, able to implement her own vision for the future.
But would it really be so bad? She would be a master trader, still—a feat that none of her brothers or sisters had yet achieved. She would have more power than most, and she knew the move would go a long way toward restoring her reputation. Those who had disparaged her previous accomplishments would take pleasure in her reduced status, and ironically this would make it easier for her to deal with them.
Gently she withdrew her hands from her father’s. “It is a generous offer, but I must decline. I am committed to my course, and there is no turning back. If Flordelis will not oblige me, I will find another house to lease my ships.”
“And if no one comes to your aid? What then?”
“Then I will do what I must,” she said. “But better bankrupt and laboring on the docks than returning to Flordelis and denying my ambition.”
He winced and she knew her words had hurt him.
“I love you and I will always honor our family,” she said, “but I need to make my own way in this world, for good or for ill.”
“I do not understand you,” he said.
“I know.” He had never understood his wayward middle daughter, no more than he had understood his sister Tilda, who had left one day on a routine trading voyage and returned a pirate hunter. There had been no place for Tilda in the house of Flordelis, and there would be no place for Ysobel, either. She was too independent ever to be happy steering another’s course.
In a way, his generosity hurt more than a flat-out rejection would have. It gave her nothing to rage against. She had hoped that he would see her as an equal and deal with her accordingly, but now she realized that he would always see her as a child. An unruly child, but beloved all the same and in need of protection.
She wondered if things would have been different if Lord Etienne had remained head of the house. Was it only her father’s love for her that blinded him to her worth? Or would Lord Etienne, too, have seen her as too headstrong, too much of a gambler to be a worthy business partner?
“I thank you for the gift of your time and counsel, Flordelis of Flordelis,” she said, using the ritual phrase to signal that they were finished speaking of the business of her house. “Now tell me what other news you bring from Alcina. Mother is well? And my nieces and nephews?”
Her father frowned, but allowed the conversation to be steered toward matters on which there could be no disagreement.
Having failed to convince her father to back her, Ysobel began cautiously approaching representatives of other trading houses, looking for one that would partner with her. The reputable houses would not consider leasing one of her ships—or, if they did, the terms they offered were insulting. And as for the less reputable houses, well, she was not quite that desperate. Yet.
She reckoned the sums several times and came to the conclusion that even if her ships brought in no profits, she could continue to sail for the rest of the season. But there would be little capital left to buy new cargoes come spring. If matters had not changed by that time, she would have to sell one of her ships. The Swift Gull was the newest and fastest, and would bring the most profit. But it was also her best chance for rebuilding her fortunes. Likewise, the River Sprite had been built to her specifications. Smaller than the Gull, it was more versatile, with a shallow draft that meant it could sail up rivers as easily as it could cross the great sea. Both of these ships were too valuable to lose.
Her two other ships—the Leaping Dolphin and the Eastern Star—were less impressive, being older and more conventionally designed. Alone, neither would bring the money that she needed, so she would have to sell them both. But as yet, the situation was not that dire. There was still time for the tide of her fortunes to change.
With all four of her ships at sea, there was little to occupy her restless mind. Instead she took to prowling the dockyards, carefully observing the newly arrived ships and their cargoes. She frequented the traders’ guildhall, inspecting the registry of contracts, as was her right. The intelligence gained on business partnerships was valuable, but that was only part of the reason why she visited. The other part was to remind the traders that she was still one of them, with all the privileges that this entailed.
Not long after her meeting with her father, she returned from the market to find a marine lieutenant standing inside her rented room. His polished brass shoulder cords shone brightly in contrast to his dingy surroundings.
Hardly a fitting place for a master trader to live, but she had better things to spend her coins on than mere lodging.
She did not bother asking him how he had managed to gain entry. The manager of the apartment block seldom inquired as to the comings and goings of those within, and the cheap lock on the door would not have stopped a determined child. That was why Ysobel kept nothing of value in these rooms, using them merely as a place to sleep.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
“We’ve been combing the city for you,” he said. A brief grin crossed his face, taking several years off his apparent age. “Luckily I thought to wait for you.”
“Who is looking for me?”
“Lord Quesnel. Come, he said to make haste.”
She did not protest, merely setting down the bag that contained the ingredients for her dinner. If it had been a simple matter, Lord Quesnel would have sent a servant. Even the minister of war did not use marines for his personal errands. Whatever the reason for this summons, it was bound to be of the gravest importance.
Her belly churned. She wondered if the council had changed its mind about her fate. Were they even now preparing to hand her over to the Ikarians? If so, surely the summons would have come from the council rather than Lord Quesnel.
Her curiosity grew as she followed the marine, who led her not to the War Ministry, but rather to Lord Quesnel’s private residence.
Lord Quesnel dismissed the marine with a swift thanks and assurances that he had earned the promised reward, which explained the marine’s pleasure at being the one to find her.
She had expected the tidings to be grave, but to her surprise Lord Quesnel appeared gleeful, almost manic. As soon as the marine left, he embraced her and kissed both of her cheeks, a greeting reserved for trusted friends and allies.
“I had hoped they would find you earlier, but now our time together must be brief. No matter; there will be other opportunities to celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
Rather than answering immediately, Lord Quesnel turned away. He poured pale star-wine into two crystal glasses and handed one to her.
The Sea Change Page 6