Chapter 4

My dear Lady Ysobel, you must be exhausted from your ordeals. There is no need to stand on formality. Surely you will want to rest and refresh yourself,” Ambassador Hardouin declared. A polished courtier, his eyes remained firmly fixed on her face, but she had no doubt that he had taken in every detail of her appearance.

In deference to the winter chill she wore a soft wool mantle over a calf-length chiton. Her legs were covered with stockings so sheer that her sandals buckled over them with nary a wrinkle. Though her only visible jewelry was a strand of pearls woven through her hair to hold the coif in place, the pearls themselves were of fine quality.

In short, her appearance was eminently respectable—for the wife of a merchant or provincial bureaucrat. But she was neither, and therein lay the source of Ambassador Hardouin’s discomfort.

“My ordeal was weeks ago,” Lady Ysobel pointed out. “Since then I have endured no more hardship than any other traveler. I have lost enough time as it is; I do not intend to lose any more.”

“Of course.”

With that small skirmish won, she took her seat, and the ambassador followed suit. Because it was still morning, a servingman brought a tray of nut pastries and crystal glasses filled with tipia: a mixture of fruit juices and pale wine. She took a sip for politeness’ sake, repressing a grimace at the overly sweet taste.

She had missed many things in her absence from Ikaria, but tipia was not one of them.

She took advantage of the ambassador’s distraction with the rituals of hospitality to study him. He had changed little in the five years since she had been here last. Still portly, the good humor implied by his round cheeks was belied by his shrewd gaze. What gray hair he had left was cropped close to his skull—a local custom that he had adopted. He had served as ambassador to Ikaria for the last dozen years, and by all accounts he was good at his job.

When she had first met him, she was a novice at this game, as green as any landsman heaving his guts over the side of his first ship. Then he had been the one with power and she the junior anxious to impress, and to curry his favor.

Now the balance had shifted. He was still ambassador, but she had returned as a trade liaison, which meant that in many ways she was his superior. Even the Ikarians, who were not known for their sensitivity to cultures that differed from their own, knew that the Seddonian ambassador was a mere figurehead. The ambassador, after all, dealt with matters of government. A necessary position, of course, but hardly crucial, not when compared against the importance of the trade liaison. In the federation, trade was everything. Mere governments rose and fell, but a canny trader could outlast them all.

Not for the first time, she wondered what role Hardouin had played in her recent misfortune.

“Has there been any news of Seddon’s Pride?”

Hardouin shook his head. “None. As soon as I received your letter, I sent word to all the ports along the coast, but no one has seen her. I fear you were correct, that she was lost at sea.”

“A sad loss for us all. I am sure that Captain Tollen did his very best, and I will inform the guild so they may make appropriate compensation to his family.”

“I have already sent word back to Seddon. Though a personal letter from you would surely be prized by his family,” he added.

It was the least she could do. After all, she was certain that Captain Tollen had done his best. She had spent enough time at sea to know that Seddon’s Pride had been a well-run ship, the captain respected by his crew. It had taken great skill to survive the first storm they had encountered and to guide the ship to a safe landfall. She owed her survival to Captain Tollen and his insistence that she ride out the storm on the island rather than staying with the ship.

But just whose orders had the captain been following? The course he had followed had been unusual, but explainable as a need to avoid the dangers of an autumn storm. At the time, she had not argued. The Pride was a federation ship, built for transporting important passengers in comfort, rather than the swift trading vessels with which she was familiar. And Tollen was a government captain, not a merchantman. It had not been her place to interfere with how he ran his ship.

Still, she could not help wondering if his orders had included delaying her arrival in Karystos. Perhaps he had left her on that island not out of concern for her safety but because it was the perfect opportunity to delay her. And if ill fortune befell her after her landfall, the captain could hardly be blamed.

Where was Tollen? Did his body lie on the ocean floor, along with that of his ship? Or was the Pride anchored in a foreign harbor, its timbers repainted and the distinctive gold figurehead replaced with a plain wooden pole?

It would have been better if she could have arrived unannounced and seen for herself Hardouin’s reaction to the news of her survival. Even an experienced diplomat could let things slip in the first moments of shock. But such a course had been impractical. It would have shown that she believed Hardouin might have been involved in her trials, and that would have meant tipping her hand. Let him think that she trusted him and hope that he would trust her in return. In the meantime, she would make her own inquiries.

She took another sip of the tipia. “As you can see, most of my possessions went down with the Pride. There was not time to gather anything more than the documents chest and a few trifles.”

The holds of the Pride had contained chests of coins to be used for bribes and samples of the newest and rarest trade goods with which to tempt Ikarian merchants. And weapons, of course—deadly daggers and short, curved swords manufactured in Vidrun, favored by mercenary troops from one end of the great basin to the other. Not to mention a wardrobe fit for the second-highest-ranking member of the Seddon Federation’s mission to Ikaria. All would have to be replaced. Some openly, some less so.

“There are many fine garment makers in this city. I will have my wife send over her own tailor this afternoon.”

“I will provide a full accounting of what was lost, so you may account for the expenditures in your report.”

Hardouin winced, but did not protest. She had expected him to argue over replacing her clothes, since the cost of a new wardrobe could vary from merely expensive to ruinous.

The fact that he did not protest might be a sign of his guilt over her ordeal. Or perhaps it was merely a sign that he recognized where the true power lay.

Not that Ysobel had any intention of bankrupting the embassy. She had several lines of credit that she could draw on, including her own line with the merchants’ guild, and that of her house, which could be tapped into for an emergency. But there was no reason to spend Flordelis funds when the federation could be held liable. She would let Hardouin replace the goods that she needed for her mission and provide her with a basic wardrobe for court functions. Then she would use her own funds for luxuries…and for those purchases requiring the shroud of secrecy.

 

It took some time for her to escape from the ambassador, but at last she was able to make her way to the rooms set aside for her use within the embassy. There was a sitting room for entertaining visitors, which flowed into a private dining room, furnished with couches to host dinners in the Ikarian style. A door from the sitting room led into her office—a narrow room, but long, with one wall filled with files and books. She glanced idly at the books, noting that her predecessor had left her a catalog of Ikarian vessels, along with a nearly up-to-date copy of the registry of merchants. Her own copy, safe in the documents box, had been printed just prior to leaving Seddon. On the wall opposite the files, a large map portrayed the harbor of Karystos, with each anchorage, dock, wharf, and warehouse clearly labeled.

She would take inventory later, but it seemed she had everything a trade liaison would need. Her public role was assured.

Her other role would require privacy, and there would be nothing committed to paper.

Passing through the office, she entered her bedchamber; beyond that lay a private bathing room. While soaking in the baths, one could admire the exquisite views of the city or the equally exquisite glass mosaics that covered the walls. The two baths—one hot for soaking, and the second tepid for bathing—were large enough that she could share, if she so chose. In that, too, it would be wise to be discreet. It was not just Hardouin who would know of anything that went on within these walls. She must assume that the Ikarians would know as well.

A glance into her wardrobe showed that her maid Anna had already unpacked the few clothes that Ysobel had acquired during her journey. No doubt Anna was also responsible for ordering the charcoal braziers lit, to chase off the damp chill of the winter’s morning. Of the ever-efficient Anna there was no sign. Hopefully she was obeying Ysobel’s instructions to relax, for she had certainly earned a holiday. Ysobel had retained enough gold to smooth their journey, but traveling the length of Ikaria in winter would never be anyone’s idea of a pleasure jaunt. Anna had earned herself a rest.

Her mistress, on the other hand, was eager to get started on her tasks. Ysobel gave one last glance at the bathing chamber, promising herself a long bath later. Then she returned to the office and sat at the desk.

There she wrote three letters, each with its own cipher. The first letter was to Lord Quesnel, the head of the ministry of trade. There was very little difference between the surface letter, which contained an account of her arrival and praise for Ambassador Hardouin’s hospitality, and the hidden message beneath. The cipher in this letter was simple, and meant to be broken, to lull the Ikarians into a false sense of ease.

The second letter was to the house of Flordelis, using the house cipher. On the surface this letter informed her family of her safe arrival in the Ikarian capital and offered her assurances that she would bring honor to her house by her diligent performance of her duties. Encoded within the letter was the news that she might need to draw on the Flordelis line of credit at the merchants’ guild. And, of course, that she would pass along news of any opportunities to their trade representative here in Karystos. For while civic duty was important, there was no reason why one could not serve the federation and improve the fortunes of one’s house at the same time.

The final letter was to Captain Zorion, the senior of her three captains. With luck, this letter would reach him before he took his ship on its first voyage of the spring. She informed Zorion of the presumed loss of Seddon’s Pride and asked him to pass along any news of Captain Tollen or his officers. This letter was encoded with a cipher of her own devising. To the uninformed it appeared to be a list of cities and trade goods, along with firm directions on where the captain should plan his next voyage. Typical correspondence between a trader and a captain in her employ, there should be nothing here to rouse suspicion. Only Zorion would be able to read the contents, and she could trust both his instincts and discretion. If Tollen or the Pride had somehow survived, Zorion would find them and send word.

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 women 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.”