The First Betrayal

by Patricia Bray

  She folded each letter into a square, sealed it with wax, and wrote the direction with a firm hand. Then she summoned a servant to bear them off for delivery.

  The letters would be read, of course. The carefully applied wax seals would be pried off, the contents read and perhaps copied, then the seals carefully reapplied. She must assume that the Ikarians had spies planted within this embassy, as well as at the docks, where the letters would be taken for dispatch. If the ambassador were a cautious man, he would read them as well.

  It would take weeks for the letters to arrive in Seddon, and weeks more before she could expect a reply. Pushing back her chair, Ysobel rose to her feet. It was time for a light meal and to find out just when the tailor was expected. The sooner she had proper clothing, the sooner she could present herself at court. And then her true mission would begin.

  It took a week for the first of her court outfits to be ready, and another week before the empress was ready to receive her. Ysobel used this time to her advantage, reacquainting herself with the city and studying the documents left behind by her predecessor. Protocol dictated that Sir Aleron should have waited until his successor arrived, to ensure a smooth transfer of authority; but the unfortunate events that had dictated his sudden recall to Seddon also meant that he was unable to wait for her. He had sailed on one of the last ships to leave before the winter season. If she had arrived on schedule, she would have been mere days behind him. As it was, the post had been vacant for nearly two months.

  A long time for Seddon to have no trade liaison. Hardouin and his staff had filled in to perform the public roles of the liaison, but there had been no one to take up the post’s private duties.

  Fortunately, Sir Aleron had been a methodical man. The files he left for her were enlightening, but she was certain they contained but a fraction of his knowledge. There were some secrets, after all, that were too dangerous to commit to paper, no matter how strong the cipher.

  Ysobel was starting this assignment weighed down by the lateness of her arrival and the absence of her predecessor. Ill luck some might say, and perhaps that was all it was. Or perhaps not. After all, should Ysobel fail in her tasks, it would deal a severe blow not only to herself but to the ambitions of her house. Flordelis had its share of enemies, and there were many who would be pleased if the house never regained its former stature.

  Ysobel was determined not to fail. She quizzed the ambassador and his staff, and read Aleron’s files until she had memorized the biographies of all the key players in the realms of both politics and business. Many of the names were familiar to her from her earlier assignment in Karystos, but it was the ones who had come into power in her absence that she would have to pay closest attention to. The empress had a habit of playing her favorites off against each other—elevating one courtier to a position of power, then, when she judged him having grown too secure in her favor, she would dismiss him and elevate one of his opponents in his place. Mere names and titles were not enough to tell Ysobel who was currently in power and who was not. She would have to observe the interactions of the court and judge for herself—to see who was close to Nerissa and who might be feeling disgruntled and open to persuasion.

  Finally, the day arrived on which Empress Nerissa had declared that she would be pleased to meet the newest members of her court, including the newly arrived trade liaison from the Federated Islands of Seddon.

  Ysobel dressed in her formal court attire, standing patiently as her maid fussed with the draping of the overrobe, until the folds lay just right. It had taken some time to explain what she wanted, and even longer to convince the scandalized tailor that she could not be dissuaded. The unwritten rules of Nerissa’s court dictated that during official functions all ministers and government functionaries wore a uniform that had not changed in the last one hundred years. Tunics of unbleached linen were worn next to the skin to symbolize humility, and over these the ministers wore knee-length robes of silk or wool, depending on the season. The sleeves and hems of the robes were trimmed with colorful ribbons or embroidered in elaborate patterns.

  There had been no time for embroidery, but a search of the warehouses had yielded six ells of patterned gold ribbon, which was a perfect complement to the rich red silk. It was a fine outfit—for a nobleman, and therein lay the source of the tailor’s distress.

  No formal court outfit had been designed for women because there was no precedent for a female minister. With the exception of the reigning empress, all members of the Ikarian government were male, as were the empress’s official advisors. Women might be found in the lower ranks of the professions, but it was universally acknowledged that they were not the equal of men and were therefore unsuited for public responsibilities. The empress was the sole exception, her imperial lineage outweighing the presumed weakness of her sex.

  It was a curious blind spot to have and a weakness that could be exploited. In the federation, women had long been acknowledged the equals of men. A man’s muscles might be more suited for the labor of hauling deck lines, but men and women had been equally gifted with intelligence and cunning. Only fools would ignore the talents found in one-half of their subjects, and those in the federation prided themselves on their practicality above all else.

  In deference to Ikaria’s peculiar sensibilities, the Seddon ambassador was almost always a man, as was the trade liaison—though the junior members of the delegation were both male and female. Ysobel’s sex would lead many in the court to dismiss her importance, which was precisely what she needed.

  Twin litters carried herself and the ambassador through the crowded streets to the palace. Landsmen had been heard to compare the jolting, swaying motion of the litters to that of a ship, but Ysobel had never understood the comparison. Besides she was perfectly at home on a ship, while a ride in a litter always left her feeling vaguely queasy, and this day was no exception. Not that she had a choice. Her delicate court sandals were wholly unsuitable for walking any distance, and at least the closed curtains of the litter prevented the winter rains from damaging their attire.

  A shaven-headed functionary, his features nearly obscured by heavy black tattoos, was waiting at the portico to escort Ysobel and Ambassador Hardouin to the main audience chamber. Sworn to serve the imperial household since childhood, by law the functionaries forsook their own names and instead were called by their assigned task. This one introduced himself as Greeter.

  The masking tattoos and lack of individual names were meant to ensure that the functionaries had no private identities. They had no families, no names, and no role other than to serve the imperial household. As Greeter led them through the arched corridors toward the audience chamber, Ysobel stole a glance at his features. Surely, Greeter was still a man. And the first lesson of trade was that everything was for sale.

  Such a highly placed set of eyes and ears within the palace could be of tremendous use to her. If she could discover how to corrupt the supposedly incorruptible…

  Such speculation occupied her mind while she and Ambassador Hardouin waited their turn. At the far end of the room was a dais on which Empress Nerissa sat on a backless throne carved from ivory and inlaid with gold. Below the empress and to her right sat the Proconsul, Count Zuberi. Five years ago he had been a minor court functionary—the second minister in charge of the city grain stores, as she recalled. His rise since that time had been rapid, driven as much by his blood ties to the empress as to his abilities.

  Four imperial guards stood watch from the back of the dais, and two stood at the front, ready to prevent anyone from approaching the empress without her express command. These, too, were new since Ysobel’s last visit.

  The audience chamber could easily hold five hundred, but there were fewer than a hundred in the room—presumably those with an interest in the day’s proceedings. Ministers in their formal court robes mixed with an audience of fashionably dressed noblemen and -women. And while Ysobel’s attire was far less revealing than the tightly corseted gowns of the wom
en in attendance, the sight of her bare calves caused more than one eyebrow to rise.

  The scars from the aborted uprising five years before could be seen in the audience that awaited the empress’s pleasure. Five years before, the court had still contained a substantial number of the old Ikarian nobility, but now each fair head stood out like a beacon.

  There were other changes as well. She spotted a plainly dressed man standing at the front of the room, where he could hear each whisper between the empress and her petitioners, yet was still somehow apart from the gathered watchers.

  Ysobel put her hand on Hardouin’s sleeve to draw his attention. She let him see the direction of her gaze, then turned her head away. “Who is that?” she murmured softly.

  “That is Brother Nikos, head of the Learned Brethren,” Hardouin said. An old hand at court games, he, too, had his gaze fixed on the ambassador from Vidrun, as if he were the topic of discussion. “Once tutor to the empress’s children, he is now counted chief among her unofficial advisors.”

  “Of course. I was expecting him to wear the robes of the brethren….”

  “He wears them when he is acting as religious leader. But when he is playing the role of advisor, he wears the clothes of the common man. Or so I am told.”

  Interesting. Not that there was anything common about Brother Nikos’s attire. Plain, yes; his robe was unadorned, as befitted a man of humility. But raw silk was hardly the garb of a commoner. He would not be the first priest to discover a taste for luxury. She would have to reread the file on Brother Nikos tonight.

  They waited patiently as a provincial duke offered his oath of loyalty to the empress, and she confirmed his inheritance. A young boy was brought forward to make his obeisance to the empress. The nine-year-old heir to the throne of Kazagan, he would spend the rest of his youth being schooled in Ikaria, hostage to ensure that his father’s ambitions remained in check. Ysobel was impressed by the boy’s self-possession, and the empress spared a smile for the young prince, expressing her hope that he would become friends with her sons.

  Of more interest was the appointment of the new minister in charge of the Karystos harbor. As Hardouin had predicted, young Septimus was named to succeed his father in the post. These days it was rare to find one of the old purebloods granted a ministerial position, and from the relief on his face it was clear that Septimus himself had not been sure of his promotion. He expressed his gratitude at length, until the empress’s smile grew fixed, and Count Zuberi switched from clearing his throat to glaring at the newly named minister.

  And then it was their turn. Ambassador Hardouin advanced toward the empress, with Ysobel trailing one pace behind as was proper. As they reached the point four paces from the dais, Hardouin stopped and bowed. As an ambassador he was not required to make obeisance.

  Ysobel, however, was expected to pay her full respects. She sank down on her right knee, then bent forward, her back straight, until her palms were flat on the floor. She held the position for four heartbeats, then rose.

  “Most Gracious Empress Nerissa, Heir to the Wisdom of Aitor the Great, Defender of Ikaria, and Blessed Protector of Her People, may I present Lady Ysobel of the house of Flordelis, with your leave the new liaison for trade between our two great countries.”

  “Lady Ysobel. You have visited our empire before, have you not?”

  Ysobel’s palms were damp, and she felt a chill sweat break out. Fervently, she hoped that none could sense her nervousness. Or if they did, she hoped they would ascribe it to the awe of being face-to-face with such a powerful ruler.

  “Yes, your graciousness. I had the privilege of visiting Ikaria several years ago, as part of my education,” Ysobel said carefully.

  Back then, she had seen the empress from time to time—on those rare occasions where even the juniormost members of the embassy staff were invited to the imperial palace. But she had never been formally presented to her. Somehow that had made her task easier. She had been working to bring down an empire—to destroy a figurehead, not a living woman.

  From this short distance, she could see that the empress had changed in the five years since she had crushed Prince Lucius’s rebellion. Her figure remained plump and curved, as was to be expected from a woman whose sons were grown men. But there were deep lines on her face, and if this audience was any indication, her once-ready smiles had disappeared.

  “I understand you had difficulties on your journey here,” the empress said.

  “The ship I was traveling on was lost at sea, though through the wisdom of its captain I was spared. And your subjects offered every kindness to myself and my companions on our journey here.”

  “I am pleased to hear that,” the empress said. Her gaze lingered on Ysobel, taking in every detail of her features and attire.

  Ysobel struggled not to hold her breath. It was unlikely that the empress had any inkling of the role that Ysobel had played in the rebellion five years before. If she had, she would have ordered Ysobel’s arrest rather than arranging to receive her at the palace.

  Unless, of course, this was all a trap. Perhaps the empress had waited, in order to ensure that the maximum drama would be achieved.

  It was difficult to believe the matronly woman in front of her would be capable of such cunning. Then, again, appearances could be deceptive. This was the woman who had decisively put down the rebellion against her. Prince Lucius, who had been a foster brother to her sons, had died in her torture chambers, at Nerissa’s express command. It would be folly to underestimate her.

  Hardouin had been confident that the empress suspected nothing. If any had whispered about federation involvement in the failed coup, their stories had been given no credence. After all, if Nerissa or her ministers had suspected their complicity in the plot, the very least they would have done was to dismiss Hardouin from their empire and demand that Seddon send a new ambassador. For her part, Ysobel hoped he was right.

  “It will be pleasant to have a woman in our court,” the empress said at last, when it seemed the silence had stretched on forever. “I accept your credentials and acknowledge you as the new trade liaison.”

  “It is my privilege to serve, your graciousness,” Ysobel said.

  This time, both she and Ambassador Hardouin bowed. The ambassador handed a scroll listing her credentials to the waiting official, then they backed away into the crowd.

  It was over. She took a deep breath, then another.

  “As you see, she has changed greatly since when you were here last,” Hardouin said, when they were far enough away from the empress that their conversing would not be taken as a sign of rudeness.

  “Yes,” Ysobel said. “But so have I.”

  Chapter 5

  Here is the list of merchant houses that you requested. Those of the old blood are listed on the left, and those with ties of blood or marriage to the newcomers are listed on the right.”

  Ysobel took the scroll from Perrin, but did not immediately unroll it. Instead she kept her attention focused on the young man who had been assigned as her clerk.

  “These houses are in decline, but not yet bankrupt, correct?”

  Perrin nodded. “As you requested, these are houses that have experienced losses or stagnation while their peers have prospered. I excluded all those whose debts outweighed their assets, or whose losses stemmed from reverses at the court rather than bad luck and financial miscalculations.”

  “Very good,” she said. She had her own guesses about which names would be on the list, and was interested to see how closely her conclusions matched the results of Perrin’s meticulous research. The houses in question were ones that should be open to new trading ventures as a way to rebuild their fortunes. A risk shared was a risk halved, and there were a number of ventures in which an Ikarian partner might well prove advantageous. Her predecessor had been competent enough, but he had favored the status quo, seeking to preserve existing relationships rather than forging new ones.

  And indeed such caution had bee
n appropriate, in the days when Ikaria had been reeling from the aborted rebellion and all foreigners had been looked upon with suspicion. But the time for change had come, and Ysobel had been chosen as the instrument of that change.

  “I will let you know which houses are of interest, and you will arrange for me to meet with the senior trader of each, at his earliest convenience.”

  Winter was more than half-gone. Spring was coming, and with the arrival of spring the Ikarian merchant fleets would set sail from their harbors. Now was the time for deals to be struck, before the merchants committed themselves to less adventurous routes and cargoes.

  “Of course. Is there anything else you require?”

  There were many things that she required, but Perrin was an unknown quantity. A young man, he had been sent to Ikaria to gain seasoning in the ways of the world. As a clerk he seemed competent enough, and she had yet to catch him committing either an error or deliberate omission. Yet neither did she delude herself that she had first claim on his loyalties.

  If Ansel had survived, then she would have been certain of the loyalty of at least one person in Karystos. But someone had had to remain on the Pride, as steward of its cargoes both open and secret. Sworn to serve the house of Flordelis, Ansel had paid for his loyalty with his life. For even if the Pride had survived, then Ansel would surely have been murdered to keep the plot secret.