Lady Ysobel and the federation that she represented did not care whether Prince Lucius was victorious or if he died a tragic martyr. An impostor would have served them as well. They needed only a figurehead to launch a rebellion, to ensure that Empress Nerissa’s attention was firmly occupied within her own borders.
And if Nerissa were to react even more harshly than she had six years before, even those who had stayed neutral would be forced to choose sides. The resulting violence could well engulf the whole of the empire.
Lady Ysobel had to know this, just as she had to know he was almost certainly doomed. Yet she was able to smile casually as she refilled his wineglass and passed him a cluster of dark red grapes. It took a certain coolness to smile at a man while calculating the odds of his imminent demise. He admired her determination even as he deplored her goals.
Lady Ysobel was dangerous, not just for what she knew but for what she represented. He had hoped that her instincts as a trader would help him convince her that the rebellion was a losing proposition; but he saw that she had already made those calculations and was not interested in victory. She and her people were prepared to turn a profit regardless of the ultimate outcome—and regardless of how much suffering they caused.
Despite the heat of the water, he felt a chill come over him as he realized how firmly the trap had closed around him.
Lady Ysobel was furious. She paced the confines of her small office in the embassy, unable to sit still. Perrin, her clerk, had taken one look at his furious mistress and wisely discovered errands that took him elsewhere.
In her fury, she alternated between cursing herself for the ambition that had led her to accept this assignment and cursing Prince Lucius, who was proving to be the most uncooperative of conspirators.
From the very beginning, nothing had gone as planned. By all signs, Captain Tollen and Seldon’s Pride had perished during the great storm, and she herself had been lucky to survive. But the council did not recognize any excuse for failure, and once she arrived in Karystos she had worked hard to prove herself, to overcome the stigma of having lost both the gold and weapons entrusted to her.
That she had done ably, establishing a network of spies who confirmed her assessment that the time was not ripe for fomenting rebellion. Instead, she strove to prove herself through her skills as a negotiator, using her public role to fatten the coffers of federation traders. In the year that she had served as trade liaison, she had brokered more deals than her predecessor had in his five years in the post.
Pursuing profit was in itself a worthy task, though it would be a slower means of achieving her goals. Bringing Ikaria to its knees was an accomplishment that would gain her entry into the very first rank of trading houses and a seat on the merchant’s council. While a successful term as trade liaison would increase her stature and her personal wealth, it would serve merely as a stepping-stone on the path to power.
Failure, on the other hand, would destroy all that she had worked so hard to achieve. And ever since her meeting with Prince Lucius, she had seen failure as a distinct possibility.
Not merely that the rebellion would fail, for that was a certainty. But that she, along with the federation, would be implicated in the unrest. Painting Prince Lucius as the villain would tear Ikaria apart, as the uneasy truce between the native Ikarians and their newcomer rulers fell apart. But if Nerissa were able to portray the rebellion as the act of a foreign aggressor, putting the blame on agents of the federation, she could use this connection to her advantage, uniting her people in the face of a common foe. And Seddon would find itself embroiled in a costly war.
The odds were still in Ysobel’s favor. True, events were spinning out of her control, as the various factions quarreled over how best to use Prince Lucius—even though the prince himself was showing a marked disinclination to be used. Although she could not see the ultimate outcome, she could still win this game if she prepared for every eventuality.
The most likely course was an ill-coordinated uprising, as the leaders lost control of their most volatile followers, who then took to the streets. And that day might come sooner than anyone thought. She had been troubled to learn that young Flavian had taken into his service Nikki, the elder brother of the boy who had been executed by Empress Nerissa. Flavian’s recklessness coupled with Nikki’s rage could well prove the spark that touched off the rebellion. It would be crushed by the empress’s forces, of course, but the hunt to uncover the full extent of the conspiracy would occupy Nerissa’s time and attention nicely.
If Prince Lucius were turned over to the empress for questioning, then Ysobel and the members of the inner circle of the rebellion would be at greatest risk. But in that case, perhaps, she could use Prince Lucius’s sudden attack of conscience in her favor. Surely she was not the only one who was disturbed by his doubts. For all their professed devotion to the royal blood of Constantin, the conspirators saw themselves in control of the newly reformed Ikaria. They did not intend to raise up one who would truly rule over them—particularly one who showed signs of putting the interests of his people ahead of those of his supporters.
A few well-placed hints, and the rebels might come to share her view that a dead martyr was of far more use than a balky and uncooperative princeling.
Her furious pacing slowed, and her anger diminished as she crafted her plans. By the time Perrin returned to tell her that the ambassador was ready to see her, she had managed to convince herself that this was merely a setback and not the disaster it had first seemed.
Perrin led her to Ambassador Hardouin’s private chamber, where an attendant was arranging the folds of his crimson silk overrobe, which meant that the ambassador was preparing to leave for an evening’s entertainment.
They exchanged greetings, then Hardouin dismissed his attendant.
“What is so urgent that it cannot wait till the morning?” he asked.
“I met with the pretender this afternoon,” she said. “Alone.”
“Was that wise?”
Of course it was not wise. Wisdom would have been staying in the federation, choosing the deck of one of her ships over this quagmire of politics and intrigue. But having committed herself to her course, she was prepared to take the risks necessary to accomplish her task.
“He requested the meeting, and it seemed wise to find out what he wanted.”
“Gold,” Hardouin said, turning from her as he opened his jewel case. After a moment’s study he selected a ring with a large square-cut ruby, and slipped it on his right hand in place of the signet ring he wore for official duties. “He wants money, and an assurance that we’ll send soldiers when the time comes.”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t want gold. He may not even want our support. It seems he’s grown a conscience in his years away and is rethinking whether or not he wants the throne.”
Hardouin turned to her, giving her his full attention. “This is no time for jests.”
“I am not joking. Nor do I think that his remarks to me were a test.”
Not for the first time, she wondered what part the Learned Brethren were playing in this. Why had they sheltered Prince Lucius all these years? Had it been done with Brother Nikos’s knowledge, and the full support of the brethren, even as they swore their public loyalty to Empress Nerissa? Or was his presence at the lighthouse mere serendipity? Perhaps a merciful act of compassion on the part of one of the monks, who had kept the secret from his superiors?
Whoever had sent him to that lighthouse, his years of exile had changed Prince Lucius—though it was a damned inconvenient time for him to discover that he had a conscience. She did not know if his doubts were honest caution or mere vacillation, but she would be prepared for either eventuality.
“The pretender’s diffidence may alienate some of his followers,” she said. Even here, in the security of the embassy, prudence dictated that they not speak his name aloud. “It is possible that one of them will decide there is more to be gained by betraying him to the empress, along with any that
are suspected of helping him.”
“What would you have me do?” he asked. Doubtless he had his own ideas, but he was testing her, waiting to see what she would propose.
“It is possible that my name may come up. If so, it is vital that I be seen as acting on my own.”
Hardouin nodded.
“Now would be a good time to drop a few hints. Say that you suspect me of diverting official monies into my own personal coffers. Mention that Lord Quesnel has sent word to you that he is displeased with my performance and thinking of replacing me. A few merchants already know that I no longer speak for Flordelis house, so it would be a good time to remind them that my own family no longer trusts me.”
“I can do this, but once the rumors take hold it will be difficult for you to act as trade liaison.”
She shrugged. She had already reckoned the cost. No reputable merchant would want to deal with one suspected of being dishonest and corrupt, but it was an acceptable sacrifice. Even with her precautions, suspicion would fall upon the embassy and upon Seddon. But as long as the empress had no proof of official involvement, it should stay her hand.
“If this all blows over, then it will be easy enough to correct the rumors. You will discover that the evidence against me was planted by a disgruntled clerk, and all will soon be forgotten.”
“You must take care. If you are betrayed, you must not fall into Nerissa’s hands,” he said.
She knew it was not concern for her safety that prompted his words. Ysobel knew too much, and she had no illusions about her abilities to hold her tongue once handed over to Nerissa’s torturers. Given enough time, even the strongest would break.
“I know my duty. I will not allow myself to be made prisoner.”
Neither did she intend a noble suicide, though she had no intention of saying so to the ambassador. Hardouin could be trusted only so far. He, too, had his ambitions, and given a choice between her survival and his own interests, he would choose himself. Should it come to the worst, he might well decide to purchase Nerissa’s forgiveness with the presentation of Ysobel’s corpse.
In theory, if she suspected that she was in imminent danger, she was to return to the embassy, and Hardouin would make arrangements to have her smuggled out of the city. By treaty, the empress could not search inside the grounds of an embassy, so Ysobel should be safe.
But she had not come this far by putting blind trust in others. If it came time, she would flee the city on her own and leave Ambassador Hardouin to make his own explanations.
“I trust that matters are not so grave as you fear, but I will do as you ask. You will keep me informed of all developments?”
“Of course.”
They exchanged polite farewells, then went their separate ways—Hardouin off to start spreading rumors, while she would work to salvage what she could. She had done her duty by warning the ambassador, but she did not truly believe all was lost. If she kept her wits about her, she could still turn events in her favor. The seat on the council was not yet out of her grasp.
And if Lucius would not cooperate, it was time to find a new scapegoat. Brother Nikos might play the role of learned scholar and loyal advisor to the empress, but the fact remained that his order had sheltered the renegade prince. She remembered how anxious Nikos had been to question her when she first arrived in the city. She had thought his unease attributable to the same affliction that many Ikarian men felt when faced with a woman who held rank in her own right, but now she saw that conversation in a different light. Perhaps Nikos had been testing her, trying to find out if she had recognized the lighthouse keeper for who he truly was.
Still, the empress was hardly likely to take Ysobel’s word over that of one of her most trusted advisors. She would have to find proof of her suspicions. If evidence could not be found, it would have to be manufactured. Just enough to bring the glare of suspicion upon Nikos and his monks. Once the empress started investigating, Nikos’s treachery was bound to reveal itself.
In that Benedict would be helpful, for he could use his position in the city watch to arrange the fortuitous discovery of evidence that would link Nikos to the conspiracy. Bring Nerissa proof that there were traitors within her court, and she would tear her empire apart looking for the rest of the conspirators, while Lady Ysobel and Seddon emerged unscathed.
She would call upon Benedict tomorrow, she decided, ostensibly to complain about pilfering from the dockside warehouses and to ask that the night watch be strengthened. Once they were alone she would question him, to see what he knew of the brethren’s secret activities. If she handled him deftly, Benedict might come to believe that discrediting Nikos was his own idea.
In the meantime, she returned to her chambers and summoned a maid to help her change into a fashionable gown and dress her hair. Empress Nerissa was hosting a concert in the evening, which would be held in the gardens of the imperial palace. Ysobel had been invited but had originally decided not to attend since it was unlikely that the empress would be in personal attendance. But she changed her mind, since Dama Akantha would almost certainly be there, in her role as a patroness of the arts. It would be a perfect chance for a seemingly casual encounter, and under the cover of the music Ysobel could share her doubts over the suitability of the pretender to the throne.
Dama Akantha was passionate in hatred of the empress, but her hatred was matched by her cunning. If the time came for Prince Lucius to be sacrificed, Ysobel could count on Akantha to see that the prince met a suitable end before his loose tongue brought them all to grief.
Chapter 18
Josan rose before dawn, dressing himself in a sleeveless tunic over loose cotton pants in expectation of another scorchingly hot day. A yawning servant fetched barley cakes and sweet tea, which he ate while standing at the bedroom window, watching the buildings change color as the sun’s rays broke over the city.
Passing Myles’s room, he glanced through the open door and saw that the room was empty. Josan was not the only one to have arisen early, and he wondered what had driven Myles from his bed at that hour.
As he reached the foot of the stairs, he encountered Myles, who was about to head up. One glimpse of Myles’s face was enough to tell him that something was wrong.
“Good, you’re awake,” Myles said. “I was on my way up to wake you.”
“What has happened?”
Myles glanced around the open hallway and shook his head. Renato was convinced of his servants’ complete loyalty, but neither Myles nor Josan was inclined to take risks.
“Come,” he said.
It was telling that he had fallen back into their old ways. He had not called Josan “my lord,” nor had he bothered disguising his order as a polite request. Whatever had driven Myles from his bed had disturbed him.
They went into Renato’s study, and Myles barred the door behind them.
“There’s a bundle by the gate in the back with your things. If trouble comes, if you hear any noise, don’t wait to find what it is. Slip out the back and head for the docks. There’s an inn at the southern end called The Sailor’s Ease. Stay there, and if I do not come for you within a day, you are to take passage on any ship you can, understood?”
“What happened?”
“Lady Zenia was murdered last night.”
The name meant nothing to Josan, but it meant something to the Other, who stirred within him. “The empress’s cousin?” he heard himself ask.
“The very same.” Myles sank down heavily on the nearest chair, and after a moment Josan followed suit.
He recalled the mischievous smile on the face of a young woman who had taken pity on a young boy bored by a formal court event. She had taken him aside and shown him where the guards hid their dice, teaching him how to cast them and reckon his score. Then they’d raided the elaborate refreshments table, snatching sugar cakes and devouring their stolen treasures while hiding behind the commoners’ screen.
He remembered her laughter as if he could hear her still, and re
called the devotion of a young boy who had fallen in love with her. He had thrown a tantrum on the day that she was married, for all he knew himself a beardless boy still far too young for her. Though their paths had seldom crossed except on the most formal of court occasions when all would be invited, she had always held a special place in his heart.
In Lucius’s heart. Josan had never met her, never known the woman, yet he felt Lucius’s grief as if it was his own.
“Was she alone?” he forced himself to ask, though in his heart he already knew the answer. Myles’s face was too grim. There was more bad news to come.
“No. The assassins killed Zenia, her three children, and her husband. Plus the servants in the house. They said there was blood everywhere. The screams alerted the neighbors, who summoned the watch.”
“Whoever did this will pay for what he has done. I want him brought to me by sunset, or so help me—”
“You are too late. He is already dead.”
“Who? How?” He felt robbed, thwarted of his chance to inflict pain upon the one who had caused him this grief.
“Flavian. The young fool was arrested by the watch, along with those he had paid to do his foul work.” Myles’s disgust was palpable, as he contemplated the folly of the youngest member of the inner circle of conspirators. Not only had Flavian been stupid enough to be caught, he had been caught in an act so horrific that it would alienate those who might have otherwise have been sympathetic to Lucius’s cause. If Flavian had been intending to destroy the revolution, he could not have chosen a better way.
But Flavian, it seemed, was already beyond whatever retribution anyone could mete out.
“How did he die? Was it Benedict?”
“No, but Benedict sent a messenger to us with the word of what had happened. Flavian took poison and died before he reached the prison. Still, at least two of his thugs are still alive and in the empress’s custody, and if he told them anything, then we are all at risk.”
“Where is the magistrate?”
The First Betrayal Page 26