They exchanged pleasantries as she waited for him to reveal the purpose of his visit. In general her callers fell into two categories—those seeking a business alliance and those who came because she was a curiosity. At first glance Brother Nikos fell into neither of those groups. The Learned Brethren had no need for her help in arranging cargoes or negotiating contracts. And Brother Nikos had traveled widely in his youth, so this was not the first time he had encountered a woman who held power in her own right. Though, in general, it was best never to underestimate the curiosity of one of the Learned Brethren, for they had been known to travel to the ends of civilization and beyond in search of knowledge, Brother Nikos was hardly a typical member of his order. If he wished merely to learn about her, he could have dispatched one of his subordinates.
His presence meant that he wanted something from her. Perhaps it was as simple as wanting to judge her for himself rather than rely upon the reports of others. She wondered if he was here on his own behalf or on behalf of the empress.
They exchanged pleasantries for half an hour, but as Brother Nikos set down his teacup she was no closer to understanding the purpose of his visit than she had been when he was announced.
“Ikarian politics can be difficult for an outsider to navigate, as I am sure you must know. I hope you will feel free to call upon me should you require advice from an impartial observer.”
“Of course,” she replied. And, indeed, in any other country she might well have sought out one of the Learned Brethren if she wished an outsider’s view of local politics. But here they were tied so closely to the fortunes of the ruling family that speaking with Brother Nikos was akin to speaking with the empress herself.
Which he knew as well as she, and was most likely the point of his offer. As trade liaison she could not directly approach the empress on minor matters of trade, but that did not mean that the empress was indifferent to her efforts. Nikos was offering himself as an intermediary, so Lady Ysobel could ensure that she did not inadvertently offend the empress by entering into an arrangement with those who were out of favor.
“Your journey may have been inauspicious, but I am confident that you will succeed in your endeavors to bring our two countries closer together,” he said, as he rose to take his leave.
Ysobel repressed a frown. Brother Nikos was not the first to mention her being stranded, though he had phrased it more delicately than most. Many in Karystos enjoyed the irony that one of the so-called People of the Sea had been shipwrecked on a remote island. A part of her wanted to point out that the federation had never claimed that their ships were unsinkable, nor their captains infallible. And that the stranding might have been a deliberate act of treachery rather than mere bad luck. But such information would hardly inspire confidence in those she dealt with.
“I was fortunate. And indeed I must praise one of your own. The natives who found my party spoke only their own barbarous tongue, but luckily there was one of your brethren who came to my rescue and interpreted for me.”
“One of my monks?”
“Yes, a lighthouse keeper. Brother Josan, I believe he called himself. He was most courteous and helpful, though I was surprised to find a scholar in such a remote place.”
She caught a flash of dismay before Brother Nikos’s face stilled, then assumed the studied blankness of a man used to hiding his thoughts.
“I am pleased that he was able to be of service to you,” he said.
“It was lucky for me that he was there. Though it seems to me that his education and talents are wasted in such a desolate place.”
She was hoping for a hint as to what had disturbed him, but he was too polished a courtier to be so easily led.
“The brethren believe that knowledge is to be found everywhere. And duty often takes one far from one’s birthplace, as your own presence here attests.”
She could not challenge the truth of his words, but Ysobel was convinced that he was hiding something. Somehow, her encounter with the lighthouse keeper concerned Brother Nikos. Perhaps it had something to do with the reason a scholar was assigned a task better suited to a menial laborer. Or perhaps Nikos knew something about Lady Ysobel’s voyage and the events that had led to the shipwreck. She had suspected enemies back in Seddon of arranging her accident, but could it have been an Ikarian plot all along? Was Nikos’s reaction a sign that he knew she wasn’t supposed to have survived and that one of his own had been her inadvertent savior?
It was another layer of complication in a web that was already tangled beyond recognition. Lady Ysobel resigned herself to never cutting to the heart of it, until another caller provided the answer to this latest riddle.
Dama Akantha had waited a full two months after Lady Ysobel’s arrival before calling upon her. Their reunion was conducted in the most public of settings, as Dama Akantha arrived during one of Ysobel’s afternoon receptions escorted by the playwright Khepri, who had so recently inflicted his talents upon the Ikarian court with his account of the life of Emperor Aitor. Khepri had been Ysobel’s guest before, and she had been fortunate to have a supply of pale yellow wine on hand since he drank nothing else. He had declared himself instantly enchanted and vowed to compose a poem in her honor.
So far he had not made good on his threat, for which she was grateful. But he had returned on other afternoons, bringing with him members of the court. And now he had done a truly great service. Out of all those she had known five years before, Dama Akantha was the only one whose counsel she trusted and whose discretion matched her own.
“Esteemed Khepri, how good of you to join us this afternoon,” Lady Ysobel said, allowing him to take both her hands in his own. His hands were soft and rather damp, but she smiled brightly. “And may I be introduced to your companion?”
“Dama Akantha, may I present Lady Ysobel, the liaison for trade from Seddon? Lady Ysobel this is Dama Akantha of Neirene.”
It was hardly the graceful introduction that protocol required, but Khepri, for all his aspirations, was not one of the court. Nor was this a formal occasion. Still, he had best look to his manners if he hoped to advance his career.
Dama Akantha gave a thin-lipped smile. “Your pardon for intruding, but Khepri has told me so much about you that I had to meet you for myself.”
“Of course, and you are most welcome.”
Lady Ysobel signaled, and the serving girl approached, offering Khepri a glass of his favorite wine. A second glass was offered to Dama Akantha, who demurred.
“It is fortunate that you came, Khepri, for we were lamenting your absence earlier. Marcus and Larissa have each brought poems to read, but none here felt worthy of judging their creations. Perhaps we could persuade you to lend your expertise?”
Khepri beamed, drawing himself up to his full height, which was not much more than Ysobel laid claim to. She tugged Khepri’s elbow till he was facing in the right direction and gave him a small push. He wandered off without a word to his companion.
“A charming boy. His talents are indescribable,” Dama Akantha said.
The boy was nearly forty, though his round face and awkward manners gave the impression of a younger man. And as for his talents…“I believe you mean unspeakable,” Lady Ysobel said softly.
This time Dama Akantha’s smile reached her eyes. “I know most of your guests, but would you be so kind as to introduce me to the rest?”
They made their way through the two rooms given over to her afternoon receptions, pausing to exchange greetings but moving on before they could be drawn into conversation. This afternoon there were over two dozen guests, all but three of them men. Servant girls and boys circulated with trays of drinks and delicacies, ensuring that the guests did not lack for anything. Indeed, as long as the wine was flowing, few would notice her absence.
“Dama Akantha, I wonder if I might beg a private moment? I find I do not always comprehend the household customs in Ikaria and would appreciate the advice of a woman of your breeding,” Lady Ysobel said, pitching her v
oice so her request could be overheard.
“Of course. Shall we take a turn in the courtyard? The day is quite fine, after all.”
A few glanced their way as servants brought their cloaks, but then returned to their own conversations when the women stepped through the door that led to the enclosed courtyard. Spring was still a few weeks off, but the sun had warmed the stones of the courtyard, and the protection from the damp winter wind made the courtyard almost pleasant.
It fell to Lady Ysobel to begin the conversation. “I am pleased to see you well. I trust you suffered no consequences from the unfortunate events?”
“I am as I always was. And you, I see you have done well for yourself.”
“I have had some small success in my ventures.” There was no reason to elaborate. Dama Akantha was not interested in matters of trade or the accumulation of wealth.
Dama Akantha gestured toward the fire pits, then turned in a half circle, pointing out the garden paths. Lady Ysobel followed her gaze, nodding, as if the two women were discussing how to best utilize the space for a feast. The odds that they were being observed were small, but they both owed their survival to caution and the avoidance of unnecessary risks.
On the surface they were an unlikely pair. Dama Akantha was of an age to be Ysobel’s mother. A noblewoman who traced her lineage to the newcomers, she had ties of both blood and marriage to the imperial family. Widowed at an early age, she had used her caustic tongue and her husband’s fortune to secure her place as one of the unofficial arbiters of Ikarian society.
“And Lady Ysobel, what brings you back to my country? Is this strictly a mission of trade, or do you have unfinished business to attend to?” Dama Akantha’s voice was sharp, and it was easy to understand why she terrified the young ladies making their debut at the court.
“I had hoped to settle old debts, but I find that there is little interest these days.”
“Cowards. Cowards and sheep,” Dama Akantha muttered. “Nerissa betrayed us all, but they refuse to see it. They sit at her table, begging for scraps and thanking her for the privilege. Eunuchs all. There’s not a man among the lot of them.”
“If you were a man—”
“If I were a man, they would not follow me. I have the blood but not the right blood. My people have put their trust in Nerissa, more fools they. And the old line will only follow one of Constantin’s get.”
Dama Akantha seemed the most unlikely of revolutionaries. With her close ties to the imperial family, none would suspect that she had been part of the inner circle that had plotted to overthrow Empress Nerissa and replace her with Prince Lucius. That she, alone of Ysobel’s former contacts, had survived was a testament to her cunning.
What few realized was that the failed uprising had not been a simple matter of the old Ikarians versus the new blood. There were many newcomers who felt they had a score to settle with the empress—some scheming for power, while others were zealots such as Dama Akantha, who believed that the empress had betrayed their people when she made peace with Vidrun. The cost of that peace had been acknowledging Vidrun’s right to rule over Anamur, and there were many who saw this as a betrayal.
It did not matter that the newcomers had fled Anamur over three centuries before. To men and women like Dame Akantha Anamur was their homeland, and the descendants of those left behind were their family. It meant nothing that the people of Anamur had long since reached their own accommodation with their rulers. Nor had any of these self-professed patriots undertaken the long voyage to visit Anamur, to see for themselves how much the city had changed in their absence. Facts did not matter, it was the idea of Anamur as their sacred homeland that drove them. By their reasoning Nerissa had betrayed them, and thus she deserved to die.
Or at least so they claimed. Ysobel suspected that not all shared Akantha’s patriotic fervor—that many found it easier to cloak their actions under the banners of honor and duty rather than admitting their own lust for power. After all, Aitor had been only a minor noble before he made himself emperor, and if he could do it, why not another?
Ysobel had known only a handful of the conspirators, but Dama Akantha had known them all. If there was even the slightest chance to stir up the rebellion again, Dama Akantha would know of it. Her pessimism did not bode well for Ysobel’s covert mission.
“The prince’s fate was never confirmed. His body was not publicly displayed…” She let her voice trail off.
Dama Akantha shook her head. “Not in public, but all know that his body was removed from the torture chamber and buried outside the city walls. There was even an attempt to dig him up, but the guards caught wind of it and moved the body before we could reclaim him.”
Ysobel’s eyes widened. She did not want to know what they had planned to do with the prince’s body.
“We could find someone to play his part….”
“Where will you find such a man? Only a fool would agree, and such a lackwit could never hope to carry off the deception. And Lucius had the look of the old imperial line; there are precious few purebloods left.”
Ysobel cast her mind back. Lucius’s face had still had the roundness of youth, but had been showing signs of the sharply chiseled features that graced so many of the now forbidden old-style coins. Hair could be dyed to match that shade of dark blond, but blue eyes would be harder to find.
And it was not simply physical features that they needed to match. Any impostor would have to be a man of education, intelligent enough to learn the courtly manners that had been drilled into Lucius from birth. Nothing less would serve their purpose.
She pictured the prince as he would be now, five years older. Then the picture in her mind’s eye shifted, the purple tunic changing into a coarse robe, and his sharp features offset by his shaven skull.
No wonder Brother Nikos had been so troubled by her mention of the lighthouse keeper. Even back then she had thought his features familiar, but only now did she see the resemblance.
“There is at least one bastard of Constantin’s line left in Ikaria,” Lady Ysobel said.
“Nonsense. I would have heard of it.” Despite her words, Dama Akantha appeared intrigued.
“A monk of the Learned Brethren,” Lady Ysobel explained. “I had the good fortune to encounter him when I was stranded on the northern isles. Put him in a silk robe, let his hair grow, and most would swear he was Constantin come to life. Or Lucius, for that matter.”
No doubt he had been sent from Karystos to keep him safe, in those troubled days when no one was above suspicion. She wondered if he knew of his lineage. Did he honestly believe himself a nameless bastard? How many generations back did the indiscretion go? Aitor and his descendants had ruled for the last hundred years. If there had been a male heir to Constantin, even a bastard, surely someone would have already exploited the connection.
Constantin’s only legitimate children had been the ill-fated Empress Constanza and her sister, Princess Callista. Still, it was possible that he or one of his forefathers had sired a bastard line—from which the monk had inherited his damning features.
“If only…” Dama Akantha lapsed into silence as she thought through the ramifications of Ysobel’s discovery. Then she shook her head. “No, the Learned Brethren are Nerissa’s lapdogs. We dare not approach him.”
Ysobel agreed. Brother Josan was a danger to himself and to any who dared approach him. No wonder he had been exiled so far from the capital. “We had best return before our absence arouses suspicion. For now all we can do is watch and wait. Gather information on who may be sympathetic and wait for the right opportunity.”
“I have been patient for twice your lifetime. I can be patient a little longer,” Dame Akantha said.
Chapter 7
Spring wore on but the mornings were still cool. Often the approach of dawn brought with it a misty fog that blanketed the island, obscuring both sea and sky. On those days, Josan would wind the clockwork mechanism that operated the brass warning bell, whose toll would warn
ships until the morning sun burned off the fog. The bell was an ingenious device, but it required constant tending, needing to be wound every hour.
Brother Nikos had sent along a slender volume of travelers’ tales, including the earliest known description of the island chain. Josan had forced himself to read the book slowly, no more than three pages a day, in order to make this treasure last. Josan had read it twice, and had begun to read it a third time, this time trying to sketch each of the various sights the travelers described, using the few details they had provided. But this pursuit had to be set aside as the fog once more took hold of the island. For over a week, Josan had spent each night at his duties, then several hours each morning tending the bell. Some days the fog did not lift until noon, and yesterday the fog had lingered until the dark afternoon had slipped into night. Josan’s body craved sleep even as he prepared for another long night in the tower. But he reminded himself that this weather would not last forever. Summer would soon be here, and with it long, peaceful days in which he could get the rest he craved.
And once summer came he would no longer be alone on the island. In the spring, every hand was turned to the task of planting the fields, but once the crops were sown there were other tasks for the villagers. Some would turn fishermen, casting their nets in the sheltered waters of the sound. Others would come to the island, setting traps for the giant crabs or combing the beaches for the great spiral shells that could be found only along the seaward side of the islands. The deep blue lining of the shells would be ground into a coarse powder and traded to the southerners, who used it to make richly hued dyes.
In past years Josan, too, had wandered the beaches collecting shells, finding beauty not just in their shapes but in their diversity. His idle hours had given him time to discover a new talent, one for drawing, and he had put that to good use in his studies. From tiny shells smaller than his fingertip to great whelks as large as a man’s head, each unique specimen was carefully sketched next to a description of its coloration and where it had been found. He had collected over one hundred different shell specimens before the great storm had washed them all out to sea. But the knowledge he had gained still survived on the scrolls he had sent back to the order.
The First Betrayal Page 8