“The course did seem strange, but Captain Tollen said he was following a circuitous route to avoid the deeper waters where the most treacherous storms breed.”
“I don’t like it,” Zorion said. “Too many strange events for my taste. One is ill luck, two is a coincidence, but three—”
“Three is a conspiracy,” she said, finishing the old saying for him.
“You should not have let matters get so far,” he said.
“It was not my ship.”
“It was your life. Your mission.”
She nodded, acknowledging his rebuke.
“And what would you do, faced with the same situation again?”
“I would not hesitate. I would take command, even if the only crew I could trust was myself and my servingwoman.”
“Good girl,” he said, as if she was once again an apprentice who had just demonstrated her mastery of a particularly tricky bit of seamanship. “Tilda would have my head if anything happened to you.”
“My aunt has been dead these five years.”
“And how would that stop her? She had her ways…”
Zorion tried for a laugh, but it rang oddly hollow. Despite the years, his grief, like her own, was still sharp and fresh. Tilda had been barely fifty when she died, her immense vitality no match for the fever that had killed her and half her crew in a matter of days.
She knew that Zorion held himself responsible for Tilda’s death, even though it had been Tilda’s wish that Zorion leave her employ and take charge of the ship she had given to her favorite niece. Zorion’s experience had provided a perfect balance for Ysobel’s lack, and with his having left her direct employ, Tilda felt free to take him as a lover.
Always one to wring every advantage from a situation, that had been Tilda’s way. And Zorion had fallen in enthusiastically with her plans, content to let others serve Tilda, as long as he was the one that she turned to for pleasure when luck brought both of them into the same port.
But there was a part of him that believed that if he had stayed on as her senior captain, there would have been something he could have done to keep Tilda from dying. If he had been her captain, he would have found profit enough that there was no need to try the new route. Or, if fate had indeed brought them to that cursed place, that he would have been more vigilant. He would have recognized the signs of the sickness in time to escape before the port was sealed off.
No logic would dispel his feelings of guilt, and Ysobel knew better than to try.
“It’s a dangerous game you play,” he said.
“We knew that when I left. Tell me something I do not already know.” Reawakened grief made her words sharper than she intended.
“Charlot is not the only house that finds its fortunes in disarray. Deep dealings on the merchants’ council, but none can tell which of the factions will emerge triumphant, nor indeed who is setting one against another.”
Their public façade was one of unity, but among themselves the merchant houses bickered and fought for every advantage, even as their fortunes declined. In the east, the armies of Vidrun threatened the free ports that had always welcomed federation traders, while in the west the Ikarian Empire once more looked to expand its realm of influence. And where the Ikarians held sway, their ships would have the advantage, and the federation traders would have to fight for the scraps left behind.
The situation was not dire; indeed, there were still fortunes to be made by the bold, as Ysobel herself had proven with her rapid rise. But it was true that there was less wealth to go around than before, and the merchant houses seemed far more interested in fighting with each other than they were in developing new sources of revenue.
While the majority of the merchants’ council had sanctioned her secret mission in Ikaria, there were those who had objected to the tactics proposed. And even among those who had voted in favor of sending her…Many of them no doubt were hoping for her failure, rather than her success.
And she had a growing certainty that at least one person was not content to wait for her failure, but instead had bribed Captain Tollen to arrange a suitably tragic fate for the newly named liaison for trade with Ikaria.
The irony was that Tollen might well have been caught in his own trap, for she had survived, and by all evidence he had not.
“Flordelis will distance itself from you. You can expect your father or his agent to send word.”
She swallowed to relieve the tightness of her throat.
“Things are that bad?”
“They aren’t good. You had best be wary.”
“I will take due care,” she said. “But a ship that never leaves harbor is no more than a pile of rotting timbers. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“Safe harbors are the dullest, that’s what Tilda would say.”
She took it as the tacit blessing he had intended. Zorion did not like politics, and he strongly disapproved of Ysobel’s involvement in them. He would rather sail unknown waters in a leaking ship with a mutinous crew than navigate the treacherous shoals of the interhouse rivalries.
He had come to give her a warning, and that he had done. And perhaps news of his journey would give her rivals pause, reminding them that she had her own resources to draw on and those who would be loyal to her until death.
“So tell me,” she said, steering the conversation to safer waters. “Why tea?”
She listened as Zorion explained the importance of not overloading a ship on her first voyage and the bargain that he had struck on the bales of tea. It had been a well-chosen cargo, and when he asked she was able to reel off a list of a half dozen merchants, any of whom would be willing to pay a good price for it.
But even as she listened, she could not help wondering what to do about the information that Zorion had brought her. All signs seemed to urge her to caution, but perhaps that was just what her unknown enemies were hoping. Inaction could be just as deadly as action.
This was a problem for another day. Much as she trusted Zorion’s advice in all things regarding trade, he could not help her with her current dilemma. She would have to rely on her own wits, which had served her well enough in the past. For now she had a new ship and an old friend, and she meant to enjoy them both to the fullest.
Chapter 11
Myles did not consider himself a religious man. Religion was the province of barren women praying for healthy children and young recruits pissing themselves before their first battle. He had sworn allegiance to the triune gods, but this had been a matter of political expediency rather than true faith. Experience had taught him that the gods cared little for the affairs of men, and even the most fervent prayer was no match for a strong sword arm.
Yet for all his vocal disbelief over the years, it seemed the gods had not been ignoring him after all. Surely it was no mere coincidence that had led the man who called himself Josan into this very stableyard, to the one man in the town who would recognize him for what he was. The gods, or fates, or whatever name they went by, had decided to test Myles, and now he had to decide what to do with the perilous gift they had dropped in his lap.
He had come to Utika because it was a quiet town, far enough from the imperial capital to be removed from its troubles but still within the civilized provinces of the empire. The town was small to one who had lived in Karystos, but it was large enough to boast the decencies of civilization. Myles had planned on spending the rest of his life here, using his carefully hoarded savings to purchase a business that would provide him a steady stream of income.
His vision had even stretched to the idea of a companion with whom to share the years while he was still strong and vital. Children he did not want, but a bedmate who could be trusted not to knife him or rob him in his sleep would be a pleasant change.
His plans had not included a vengeful innkeeper, who was doing his best to drive Myles out.
Nor had his plans included the man who even now slept in the hayloft while Myles paced in his quarters, unable to sleep because
of his churning thoughts.
It was ironic. Before Josan’s arrival, he had been giving serious thought to selling the livery stable to Florek and starting over elsewhere. It had been too much for one man to run on his own, and there had seemed no sign that any would dare cross Florek’s ban and hire on to help him. But now, with two men to share the work, he could stay as long as he wanted. All he had to do was pretend that Josan was no more than he claimed, a wanderer of no particular lineage who was content with the most menial of employment.
If all he had wanted was a helper, he could have found none better. Josan did the dirtiest and heaviest jobs in the stable without complaint. The horses liked him, and he rode with the grace of one born to the saddle. If he made himself scarce when an imperial courier passed through, he still performed his duties, even as he kept the hood of his cloak raised to obscure his features.
And he had other talents, ones that only a keen observer would pay heed to. If Josan set the horses out in the paddock, the day was bound to be dry, no matter how gray and threatening the skies appeared. If on a clear day he began bringing loose gear into the storerooms and fastening the shutters, then you could be sure that a storm was coming. Josan never spoke of his weather sense, but the evidence was there all the same.
Just as he never claimed to be a linguist, and yet when Myles had tested him, calling out a greeting in rusty Decanese, Josan had replied flawlessly in the same tongue. His years in the army had given Myles a smattering of a half dozen languages, and as he tried these, one after another, Josan had easily followed, seeming not to realize what he was doing.
When Myles spoke of his talent, Josan grew angry, giving the first hint that there was a fierce temper under his calm exterior. He had refused to speak to Myles for the rest of that day, nor did he join him for dinner. The next day Josan behaved strangely, seeming bewildered by his surroundings and having to be told each task twice. Yet after a night’s rest he was fine, and acted as if they had never quarreled.
But Myles had learned that he could not push Josan too far. Instead he had given Josan ample opportunity to confide in him, but Josan still held tightly on to his secrets. And he dared not speak his suspicions aloud and risk driving Josan away. Not until he knew the truth.
On the surface his suspicions were ludicrous. Everyone else in Utika treated Josan as a common laborer. A man of no distinction, unworthy of their interest. Were they correct? Why was he the only one who saw the truth—the noble bloodline that had been hidden under rags and grime?
Perhaps it was because the uprising had never touched this sleepy provincial town that they could not see the truths so evident to Myles.
Josan was his friend, and he did not wish to cause him harm. But Myles also had a duty to those friends he’d left behind in Karystos—both living and dead. Six years before he had pledged his life to their cause, and mere distance did not mean he could ignore his oaths.
Regardless of his wishes, Josan had a part to play, and Myles did as well. It did not matter whether Josan was truly ignorant of his past or merely feigning blindness; it was a luxury that they could not afford. Myles would have to find some way to force Josan to face the truth.
His decision was made, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He knew that sooner or later someone was bound to recognize Josan for who he was, but that thought brought him no comfort. Josan had found sanctuary, and he would not thank Myles for thrusting him back into danger.
Josan knew that he could not stay in Utika forever. He had promised Myles that he would stay until spring, but it seemed increasingly likely he would have to break his vow. He knew enough to hide himself from curious travelers and the imperial messengers who regularly rode through, but he had a new worry.
From the first, Myles had treated him as a friend rather than a servant. He had thought this the result of Myles’s loneliness, but lately he suspected another motive. Often he would turn and catch a glimpse of hunger in Myles’s gaze, though his expression was always carefully neutral whenever Myles knew he was being observed.
He supposed it was flattering, in a way, to be the object of such longing. He had not shared his bed since before the fever had broken him, and his memories had no faces, merely the vague impression of slender sun-kissed limbs and bright laughter. Having broken so many vows already, the restriction on lying with one not of the brethren no longer held any weight. And certainly there was a part of him that would enjoy losing himself in the pleasure of another’s touch, even if only for a few hours.
But he could not risk such closeness. Myles had already witnessed Josan’s madness, though he had not seemed to realize the significance of Josan’s strange behavior. But the intimacies between lovers were far greater than those between master and man. He could not risk Myles falling asleep next to Josan, and waking up beside the Other.
That was how Josan thought of him, as the Other. The self that ruled his body during those days and hours he could not recall. Even to think of the Other was to risk inviting him in, so Josan seldom allowed himself to ponder the strangeness that had entered his life.
Josan was living a life of lies. He had turned his back on every precept of his order, abandoning his lifelong search for truth. He had become a hare, frozen motionless in the high grass, hoping inaction would keep him safe from the hawk circling above.
He carefully did not question his knowledge of horses, nor his talent for knowing what weather the day would bring before he had even caught a glimpse of the sky. If he needed to light a fire he used his newly purchased tinder and flint. He had thought his skill at languages was his own, but something about the game that Myles had played had awakened the Other, and when Josan had returned to awareness he had been terrified to learn that nearly two full days had passed.
He knew Myles had sensed something amiss, for his master had watched him even more closely in the days that followed. But whatever Myles thought of his servant’s odd behavior he did not speak, and for that Josan was grateful. There was no reasonable explanation he could give, and he would hate having to lie yet again to a man who had offered him only kindness.
Nor could he afford to share his fears. If he was indeed suffering from soul madness, as he suspected, then his fate was already sealed. The law required that such tormented souls be turned over to the magistrate, locked up so they could not harm others. Whether they harmed themselves was of no concern to their jailers, and such unfortunates seldom lived long once they were apprehended.
Of course, most often the soul-mad were only discovered after their madness had driven them to commit the most horrific of crimes. Monsters clothed in human flesh, their ordinary appearances masks for deeds of unspeakable foulness. Mothers who drowned their children; kindly men who lured innocents to their rooms and dismembered their bodies; bright-eyed children who slew their siblings over the theft of a toy.
He had never given them much thought, other than the reflexive horror that all felt whenever news of such a one reached the capital. Now he wished he had paid more heed to the tales. Had their madness come on them suddenly? Or had they experienced the slow descent into unreason, feeling their wits slipping away but unable to do anything to avoid their fate?
Not all the mad turned violent, but that was scant comfort, since there seemed to be no way to know if his Other carried the taint of evil.
There were those in the Learned Brethren who studied soul magic. A handful of the most senior scholars were entrusted with the rarest of knowledge that the brethren had acquired over the centuries. Such knowledge was deemed dangerous, and those who studied the ancient scrolls were aged men who never left the walls of the collegium. Few outsiders had any idea that the monks held such knowledge, and even fewer suspected that the monks not only studied soul magic but also practiced it when the occasion warranted.
It was another example of the irony that ruled his life. The one place where he could seek to understand what was happening to him, and whether it was possible to banish the Other, was also the
one place where he dared not go.
The brethren’s insistence that he remain on Txomin’s Island had taken on ominous significance. Had they known of his soul madness, and was that the reason they had sent him so far from civilization? If so, then to venture into Karystos would be proof that he was no longer obedient to their will, and they would have no choice but to turn him over to the magistrates, who would condemn him to the catacombs.
Yet staying at the stable held its own risks. Each day he lingered, he knew himself for a coward. A selfless man would leave immediately and seek out an isolated wood or distant mountain, where his eventual madness would bring harm to no one but himself. A good man would not risk staying here, endangering a man who could have been his friend if they had met as equals and not as master and servant.
Josan told himself that madness was not inevitable. That he would leave this place of refuge the next time the Other returned. And yet even as he made the vow, he tasted the bitterness on his tongue and knew it for the hollow promise it was. Despite all his care to avoid strong emotions and to center himself through meditation, he knew that one day his defenses would crack, and the Other would return. And then the Other might seize his body forever, leaving Josan’s soul trapped in the unknowing grayness, as his body committed acts of unspeakable horror.
In the days that followed his vow, the Other remained mercifully absent. Winter was full upon them, but that did not mean there was any less work to occupy his hours. True, there were fewer travelers on the roads, but those that did travel arrived with mud-caked horses that required extensive grooming, and hard-pressed carriages that inevitably needed some type of repair. And on those days where there were neither travelers nor imperial messengers, there were still the dozen residents of the stables to be seen to, who had grown increasingly fractious as days of hard-driving rain kept them indoors.
Josan was grateful for the work and found that by concentrating on each individual task he could, at least briefly, forget about the dilemma that he faced. He took more and more upon himself, occupying even his so-called free hours by mending perfectly serviceable harness and carefully arranging and rearranging the storeroom until Myles lost all patience with him and ordered him to leave well enough alone.
The First Betrayal Page 15