Chapter 6
Two days after their meeting, Septimus sent word that he would accept her offer of a joint trading venture. Accompanied by their respective agents, they met in her newly rented house to finalize the details and sign the contracts. The terms that that they settled on favored Septimus slightly, as she had intended, but both sides would make a profit. Septimus complimented her on her choice of residence, noting that it was close enough to the port to provide easy access to the countinghouses and docks, but far enough away that she would not be disturbed by the frenzied activity when the shipping season resumed.
The very next day he sent over three dozen bottles of red wine, marked with the seal of the imperial vineyards. A gift for her new residence and a sign that he was pleased with their bargain.
Perhaps inspired by Septimus’s example, her next caller was the merchant Jhrve. Descended from one of the captains whose ships had brought the newcomers from Anamur to their exile in Ikaria, Jhrve’s house had prospered little during the intervening years. To his credit, Jhrve had tried to improve the fortunes of his house by diversifying their trading routes and partnering with other merchants. But his choices had proven unfortunate, first losing cargoes to pirates, then having one of his partners go bankrupt, leaving Jhrve liable for their shared debts.
Jhrve agreed to supply four ships, at terms that were fair if not as generous as the ones that Septimus had been offered for his six ships. Ysobel had hoped for a dozen ships, but no other potential partners came forward, and it was better to send ten ships now than to wait and risk others reaching port first. And with a partner from each side of the Ikarian factions, she maintained the public appearance of neutrality.
Working through the federation guildhouse, her agents purchased grain for the cargo, and Ysobel personally selected the pilots who would guide the ships. The skills of federation navigators were second to none, and she knew that at least one reason why Septimus and Jhrve had agreed to the venture was that they hoped their captains would learn the secret routes that enabled federation ships to outsail their competitors. To avoid this, the pilots were instructed to take the ships by a fast route, but not by the route they would have chosen if the ships had been crewed by Seddonian sailors.
A true trader was always careful never to show his full strength, and even if the Ikarians managed to memorize this one route, without the secret teachings of the navigators guild they had no chance of equaling the skill of federation sailors. There was a reason why they were nicknamed the People of the Sea, and they had no intention of giving up their hard-won advantage.
With her public role firmly established, Ysobel turned to her covert assignment. Her predecessor had left her a rudimentary spy network, suitable for knowing which warehouse held illicit goods or learning of a court scandal before the whispers became open gossip. Useful, but she needed better information to discover who was actively disloyal and who could be persuaded to consider treachery. Most of her former Ikarian contacts had been killed, or had accepted banishment to remote country estates. She was careful to avoid the few who still remained in Karystos, unsure of their current loyalties and whether or not they were still under observation by the empress’s spies.
Instead she set about cultivating new contacts. Septimus introduced her to many of the leading merchants, some of whom had acquired sufficient wealth that they left the trading to the junior members of their house while they turned their own attention to politics. The winter court was dull, by Ikarian standards, but she and Ambassador Hardouin were invited to a series of entertainments that enabled her to meet the leading figures of the court. She did not confine her attentions merely to the wealthy and powerful, but also sought out clerks and trusted servants, who often knew more than their masters. She had not forgotten the functionary Greeter, though she had yet to discover anything that would be sufficient temptation for such a man.
Ysobel had let it be known that she would receive callers at her residence every third day, during the afternoon hours. Some aristocrats came out of mere curiosity, the novelty of a female minister having the entertainment value of a new creature in the imperial menagerie. A few brought their wives, as excuse for their visits, but most often they came alone. Poets and playwrights came as well, both male and female, in hopes of securing a new patron, or at the very least, of taking advantage of her hospitality for the space of an afternoon.
The high taxes imposed by Empress Nerissa on foreign goods had made luxuries out of ordinary delicacies, including imported wines and foodstuffs. As both a diplomat and a merchant with access to her own warehouses, Ysobel was exempt from most taxes, and thus could afford to entertain on a scale that would have bankrupted a minor noble. Small wonder that so many came to drink her wine, then to grumble quietly that Proconsul Zuberi’s policies would prove the ruin of the empire.
She noticed that none blamed Nerissa aloud, but instead chose to focus their dissatisfaction on her chief minister. Zuberi was resented for his influence over the empress—for he alone seemed immune to her habit of changing favorites each season—as well as his penchant for elevating members of his own family to important posts. As her guests gossiped, Ysobel smiled and listened, and ensured that their wineglasses were always full.
Her duties as trade liaison occupied her mornings, and she met with merchants during those hours. Only the most idle members of that class came to her afternoon entertainments, and her salon became a place for seemingly impromptu encounters between those who could not afford to be seen together elsewhere.
She made good use of the bathing chamber, having engaged the services of a green-eyed acrobat who demonstrated both remarkable flexibility and the stamina of youth. He accepted both her summons and her ultimate dismissal with good humor. His replacement was even younger, a minor poet well-known in certain circles for his erotic verse. Alas his verses were far more inspiring than his touch. Ysobel expanded his repertoire, then, he, too, was dismissed with a purse of gold coins for his trouble.
The two had served their purpose, establishing her reputation, but from then on the pretty boys who discreetly entered through the garden gate were selected for their ability to run confidential errands and gather intelligence. From time to time she invited one to share her bathing chamber, but contrary to her growing reputation for licentiousness, these boys merely bathed with her. She had charms against both pregnancy and disease, but it was wise not to trust in their potency. And she could not afford any emotional entanglements.
She divided her time between her new household and her chambers at the embassy. Most of her time at the embassy was spent in her office, answering official correspondence with the help of her clerk, Perrin. There were trade agreements to be certified, bills of lading to be inspected, and the newest shipping regulations to be studied, then forwarded to the ministry in Seddon along with her comments. The registry of Ikarian merchants and ships had to be updated and certified, and a secret list of those merchants suspected of false dealings or imminent bankruptcy furnished to federation agents in all major ports.
For the time being, with only a handful of sturdy ships plying the unpredictable winter seas, her duties were light, and she had plenty of time to ingratiate herself with Ikarian society. Her way was smoothed by the open purse supplied by the embassy and the sheer novelty of her position.
Ysobel leaned back in her bath and took a sip of chilled wine, before returning her glass to the special holder that contained crushed ice, ensuring the beverage remained cool despite the heat of the baths. Her left hand trailed idly in the water, creating new currents that disturbed the gentle flow. The blue mosaic tiles and leaping fish along the edges of the pool reinforced the illusion of the ocean, and for a moment she fancied herself a goddess, raising a tempest to vex the impertinent sailors who had intruded upon her sanctuary.
She laughed and took another sip of wine, as the heat of the soaking pool relaxed her muscles and drew the poisons of fatigue from her system. Last night, she and fifty others had been Septimus’s guests at dinner, then the company had proceeded to the lesser imperial theater to see the premiere of a new play celebrating Emperor Aitor the Great’s victory over Vidrun. The dinner guests had been interesting, as much for their selection as for their wit. Septimus’s guests were no higher than the second rank of the aristocracy, equally mixed between the newcomers and the old Ikarian blood. His guests reflected both his ambitions and how far he had to travel to reach the top ranks of Ikarian society.
Sadly the play was less entertaining than the dinner party. The playwright had taken substantial liberties with history yet still managed to produce a dull offering, bereft of both drama and spectacle. More than one audience member fell asleep during the first act, and it was only the booming drums meant to simulate the army’s climactic attack that had interrupted their slumber. The empress had not been in attendance; instead her youngest son Anthor had sat in the imperial box and struggled mightily not to show his boredom.
It would have been a different matter if the playwright had incorporated more of the truth in his tale. Then all eyes would have been riveted on the stage as the story of a man who had used his position of imperial consort to usurp the Ikarian throne, murdering his firstborn son to seal his power, unfolded. Even Princess Callista, the rightful heir to the throne, had yielded, grateful for mere survival in the land that her father and sister had ruled before her. Aitor had claimed power not just for himself—during his reign, the newcomers had transformed themselves from wealthy outsiders into the supreme rulers of Ikaria. The Aitor of history was a commanding figure, but his most daring deeds were not spoken aloud, and instead it was his minor triumphs that Khepri had chosen to celebrate.
Still, she suspected the play would do well enough, if only because no one wished to appear to slight the empress by failing to pay due reverence to her legendary grandfather. Those who had not been able to gain admittance tonight would see the play later in the week, before it finished its run.
After the play Ysobel had invited those whom she wished to know better to return to her residence for refreshments. Servants circulated, bearing trays of delicacies, and cupbearers hired for their beauty ensured that the cups of the lounging guests were never empty.
Ysobel herself had drunk only in moderation, switching to unfermented grape juice while her guests continued to drink wine and brandies. Laughing at their witticisms, she noted who could be trusted and whose tongues loosened with wine until they babbled their secrets to any who would listen. As dawn approached, the litter bearers had collected the last of her guests, and Ysobel had gratefully sought her bed.
Rising a few hours later, she had broken her fast, then retired to the bathing chamber, a luxury that she made use of at every opportunity. The Ikarians might be backward in many ways. They were uninspired shipbuilders, and their so-called navigators were barely more than charlatans. But they were positively inspired in their reverence for bathing and in the skills used to create the lavish chamber that she so enjoyed. Baths in Seddon were simple, utilitarian, only large enough to ensure cleanliness. Whereas her cleansing pool was big enough for a couple to share, and the soaking pool was large enough that she could invite a half dozen friends, or host a small orgy.
When she returned to Seddon and set up her own household she would import masons from Ikaria to construct a bathing chamber of her own. Thus resolved, she turned her thoughts back to the previous evening. She’d had hopes of using Horacio, who had the passion of youth, but his behavior had shown that he could not be trusted. On the other hand, his older brother Idaeus was still a possibility. He was more cautious than his brother and considered himself something of a scholar. She would begin by appealing to his intellect.
She was beginning to doubt, however, that her mission to sow discord would succeed. The mood of Karystos had changed since her last visit. While some grumbled, there was no sign that they were willing to do anything more than trade scurrilous gossip. She had no doubt that there were still a few who wished to see Nerissa humbled, but such dissent had gone far underground.
Given the example of those who had gone before them and been punished for their treason, it would be difficult to find new recruits willing to risk their lives to challenge the empress. There might be more to gain from cooperation after all. She felt relieved—but as soon as she recognized her feelings, she felt ashamed of her weakness. She could not let personal feelings influence her mission.
The Seddon Federation was built on trade. Unlike Ikaria, they had no great armies or conquered lands to fall back upon. The rocky islands of Seddon could never support all of her people. For the federation to survive, her trading ships must be the preeminent merchant power on the sea. Ikaria represented a threat to that power and thus to Seddon’s very existence. Ikaria had long been distracted by internal politics and its interminable conflict with Vidrun. But if the empire was united, and once again turned its attention to conquest, the federation could find itself barred from key ports and cut off from access to vital commodities.
Her ruminations were disturbed by the arrival of her maid, Anna, carrying a soft cotton towel and a linen robe. “Lady Ysobel, I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but you have a caller.”
“At this hour?” It was barely noon.
“Brother Nikos, the head of the Learned Brethren,” Anna said. “He apologized for inconveniencing you, but I assured him you would want to see him.”
“Of course. You did well to summon me,” Ysobel said. She rose to her feet and stepped out of the pool. Accepting the cotton towel, she patted herself dry.
With her maid’s help she swiftly dressed, donning a light tunic and an overrobe of blue. Her long hair was twisted into a simple chignon, and she gave thanks that her youthful skin needed no cosmetics. Then she made her way downstairs to the small parlor she used for receiving guests.
Her staff was well used to visitors, and she was pleased to see a tray of delicate pastries on the table, along with a tea service. She offered him wine but was not surprised when he refused. Her informants had told her that Brother Nikos seldom drank wine in public, and never during the daytime. It was part of the image of an ascetic scholar that he so carefully cultivated. However, a keen observer would see beyond the image to notice that his robes, while in the simple style of the monks, were nonetheless made of a rare wool that cost more per yard than silk. And, while he seldom drank wine in public, when he did indulge himself, he was reported to drink only the finest of vintages.
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 voice 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.