Chapter 17

Weeks passed, but despite his determination, Josan was still no closer to uniting the rebels under his leadership so he could convince them to disband. All he had accomplished so far was to discover that it was much easier to study history than it was to shape it. Numbers had been his passion, and the pursuit of logic, not the secrets of men’s hearts. He could calculate the steadily diminishing odds of success, but he could not find within him the skills to bend men to his will.

Even Renato, who continued to proclaim his complete loyalty, had taken to leaving the house on secret errands that he would not reveal. He claimed that such secrecy was meant to protect the prince, but only a fool would believe such lies. Secrecy did not protect him; rather it protected those that Renato met with and whatever schemes they were hatching.

Ironically he would have respected Renato more if he thought that the magistrate was meeting with Nerissa’s emissaries, preparing to betray him. But he judged it far more likely that Renato had grown impatient with a prince who counseled caution and had decided to take matters into his own hands. After all, the prince was hardly likely to disdain his followers once they had raised his banner in the streets.

Which left him with one more lever to try. He had sent Myles to arrange a meeting with Lady Ysobel. It was a test, for he knew Renato would certainly object if he knew that the prince was negotiating privately with Lady Ysobel. But Myles had apparently held his tongue, for Renato made no mention of the meeting, and at the appointed hour, Josan slipped out of the town house.

Heavily swathed despite the stifling heat of the afternoon, Josan was flushed and sweating by the time he reached the rear entrance to Lady Ysobel’s garden.

A servingwoman was waiting on the other side. “You’re late,” she proclaimed. “Hurry now; her ladyship doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Apparently the sight of a man wrapped from head to foot in an all-encompassing robe, with the hood drawn down to cover his features was nothing new to this woman, as she tugged on his sleeve and began to lead him through the garden paths.

“Mind your manners and do as you’re told,” the woman advised. For all she was old enough to be his mother, he had to hasten his steps to keep up with her. Grumbling under her breath, she gave the distinct impression of a woman with better things to do with her time.

As he was hurried into the house and upstairs to the private living quarters, he wondered what story Ysobel had told her servants to explain his presence.

Halfway down the corridor, the woman paused in front of a paneled door and pushed it open, revealing an elaborate bathing chamber.

“If you’re quick there’s still time for a wash before she gets here,” she said, punctuating her remark with a disdainful sniff.

He paused on the threshold, blinking. On his left, water cascaded from a fountain mounted on the wall down into a cleansing pool, where swirling currents would carry away dirt into the trough below. On his right, an elaborate soaking pool occupied the place of honor in front of the large windows that overlooked the city and the harbor below.

“In with you, and strip off,” the woman ordered.

At that he knew why she thought he was there. He wondered if this was a test, or merely Lady Ysobel’s unique sense of humor.

“I am here for your mistress’s pleasure, not yours,” he said. Stepping inside the room, he shut the door behind him.

He removed his outer robe and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall, then untied his sandals. He stripped off his tunic and pants, then sank gratefully into the cleansing pool.

Despite what the woman had implied, he didn’t think he smelled that bad; nonetheless he used the pumice stone to scrape his body until his skin glowed bright red. Only then did he emerge from the cleansing pool. As he made his way over to the soaking pool, he noticed a table with a chilled pitcher of wine and a plate of fresh fruits. He poured himself a glass of wine, then stepped into the soaking pool. Ledges built into the sides of the tub allowed him to gradually immerse himself in the heat, until at last he sat on an underwater bench. He sipped the wine and looked out over the city as if he had not a care in the world.

Lady Ysobel had a taste for the finer things in life if this room was any indication. But he wondered if it reflected her true self, or if it was yet another self-serving mask, just as he suspected that she used her licentious reputation as a cover for conspiracy.

He heard the door open, then shut, but he did not turn around. There was the barest whisper of silk, as it slid onto the tiled floor, then Lady Ysobel stepped into view.

She paused to pour herself a glass of wine, giving him ample time to admire her slender form. Her breasts were small but firm, the dusky rose of her nipples a perfect complement to her exotic golden skin. Ikarian women were praised for their soft curves, but Ysobel’s body was firm, with muscles that rippled lightly under her skin. As she climbed into the soaking pool, she met his gaze frankly, then allowed her eyes to travel downward, inspecting him as if he were there solely for diversion.

Intellectually he knew she was beautiful, and her bold confidence would prove irresistible to many. But he admired her with the same spirit with which he admired the delicate mosaics that graced the walls. She was pleasing to look at, but he did not lust for her, and he would not allow her charms to tempt him from his path.

Josan wondered if his disinterest came from his lifelong adherence to his vows? Or did it come from the knowledge that the flesh she admired was not his own?

He raised his glass in salute. “Lady Ysobel.”

“Prince Lucius,” she replied, raising her own glass. Whatever her plans might have been, she apparently sensed that he had no interest in dalliance, and she adjusted her tactics accordingly.

“I do not know what to make of you,” she said. “Your friends agree that you have changed much in your exile.”

“All men change,” he said.

“But few return from the dead, bringing with them the gifts of the gods.”

“I was not dead.”

“Of course,” she said. Reaching over to the table next to her, she selected a quartered peach and devoured it in neat bites. “Tell me, how did you summon the lightning that struck the palace?”

“Lightning strikes the palace in nearly every storm,” he said.

“But you knew that there would be a storm that night. Just as you warned the islanders that the great storm was coming,” she said.

He shrugged. He had not come to discuss his feeble gifts.

“A useful talent for a sailor to have,” she said.

“Since I am not likely to find myself on a ship, it makes no difference,” he said. “Surely Seddon has more at stake here than a mere interest in predicting the weather.”

“The weather is important to a sailor, as important as a sound ship or a good captain,” she pointed out. “Misjudging the weather cost Captain Tollen his life, and his ship.”

He could not fault her logic, but both knew that he was not here to discuss the weather, or the hazards of sailing. He held his silence, waiting to see what she would say next.

“Tell me what stake the Learned Brethren have in this? Was it their idea for you to hide on that island? What has Brother Nikos told you, and what is he prepared to do to help our cause?”

The less she knew of the brethren’s involvement, the better for them both. “Our cause? Since when has the federation interested itself in who sits on the imperial throne? And do not try to tell me that you care about restoring the ancient bloodline. Dama Akantha may profess to believe that nonsense, but I do not.”

A swift attack was the best form of defense.

“The federation seeks mutual cooperation against the common threat of Vidrun’s unchecked expansion,” Lady Ysobel explained. “In the decade since Empress Nerissa made peace with Vidrun, their empire has grown even stronger. Nerissa should be gathering allies of her own, but she has been unwilling to see the advantages of closer partnership between our two lands.”

“So you want to replace her with someone who will be suitably grateful to the federation. An emperor who will be inclined to see matters as you do.”

“Of course.”

He shook his head. “If I had an army of ten thousand in the field, I might believe you. But there is no logic in your argument when success is so far from our grasp. Tell me, do you really think these rebels have any chance of overthrowing Nerissa?”

“Surely you cannot doubt the loyalty and devotion of your followers?”

It was not their loyalty he doubted, it was their intelligence. Though he could hardly say as much to Lady Ysobel—not if he were to keep the pretense that he was indeed Prince Lucius.

“Even with your help, my followers have accomplished nothing except petty crimes and meaningless deaths. I see no profit for any of us in this,” he observed. “I came here to rule, not to hide in the shadows while murderers and arsonists tear apart the city in my name.”

“You must be patient,” Ysobel counseled. “With you to lead them, your people will accomplish great things. They will put you on the throne.”

“But even if I seize the throne, can I keep it?” he mused aloud. “Nerissa’s allies are too numerous to be ignored, and they will not sit there quietly as I strip them of their power.”

A flash of impatience crossed her face, then her expression smoothed back into its placid lines. “Have faith, Prince Lucius, and trust in those who wish you well.”

“Of course,” he said. He had learned what he had come for, and there was no sense in further argument.

Ysobel had no grand plan to put him on the throne; indeed, the more she proclaimed her faith in his ultimate victory, the more certain he became that she was lying. She did not believe that he would be able to defeat Nerissa.

She had been honest about one thing. Vidrun was the key. Not because of the idea that Seddon and Ikaria would someday unite against Vidrun—for even the most foolish would realize that Ikaria, newly emerged from civil strife, would be unwilling to engage in another war. But Vidrun had steadily squeezed the federation out of the easternmost trading routes. With the east closing, that left the routes to the west. There Ikaria was making its own inroads, but if the empire were torn apart by civil war, then the federation would be free to expand.

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.