Josan's heart sank at these words.

  “Rhosyn was damaged. She won't make it that far, and alone she's easy prey. I've promised to escort her to Tyrns.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I hope that the house of Arles understands why I broke their contract by choosing to deliver a passenger first, rather than sailing directly to Vidrun to deliver their cargo,” Zorion said.

  So he was not a prisoner, after all. At least for the moment.

  “Rest,” Zorion said. “There's a boy outside, who will fetch you whatever you want.”

  Josan nodded and closed his eyes. Let Zorion think that he was merely resting, rather than that he was incapacitated by his recent exertions.

  The weakness had always passed before. It would again.

  He hoped that both his selves had learned their lesson—he could not risk using magic again, not in any form. Not unless it was to save his life. Zorion had promised to set Josan free, but once he thought it over, he might change his mind. When the ship reached Xandropol Josan would need all his wits about him—and a body that would obey his bidding.

  Anything less would doom him.

  Chapter 12

  Xandropol was a city of wonders, from the great library that dominated the heart of the city to the marketplaces where you could find rare goods from every known land. Protected by both treaty and the armies of Volesk, the streets of Xandropol teemed with peoples of every race, speaking a dozen different languages. Impoverished scholars in tattered robes jostled wealthy merchants wearing embroidered silks, while traders from Tyrns looked on, their voluminous wraps making it impossible to tell if they were male or female, young or old. Any were welcome in Xandropol, as long as they kept the peace and paid their taxes.

  This was Burrell's first visit to Xandropol. As a marine he'd had no reason to come here. But Lady Ysobel had been here often; Xandropol was a popular destination for merchants offering their wares in return for goods from the north that had been ferried down the Bronze River.

  If it could not be found in the markets of Xandropol, then it likely didn't exist.

  Though so far, at least, they had no luck in finding what they sought.

  Their journey from Tarsus had been swift. Rather than waiting for an appropriate vessel, Lady Ysobel had drawn upon her own credit to hire a ship to take them directly to Xandropol. She'd bargained fiercely, but the agreed-upon sum had still been more than Burrell would earn in a year.

  It had been on that journey that she'd finally invited him to share her bed.

  It was something that would never have happened if they'd remained in Karystos. Whether commanding one of her ships, or serving in the embassy, Ysobel still thought of herself as a captain, foremost. And thus she would not lie with one under her command.

  No matter how much Burrell had wanted her to.

  He'd given up hope of ever being more than her friend, but during the fortnight it took to sail from Tarsus to Xandropol they'd become lovers. He'd always known that she was beautiful, and was not surprised that the passion with which she embraced everything else carried over to the bedchamber as well. She was as likely to pounce hungrily upon him, stripping him in her haste to join together, as she was to enjoy slow, tender embraces that lasted until dawn.

  He did not fool himself into thinking that it was anything he had done that had changed her mind. It was rather that their circumstances had changed. Forced once again into a passive role, with nothing to do until they reached Xandropol, Ysobel was using him to forget. While they dallied, they were simply a man and a woman, the burden of their responsibilities temporarily laid aside.

  When they'd arrived in Xandropol a week ago, he'd known without having to ask that the brief affair was over.

  At first, they'd not been surprised to have outpaced Hypatia. But as day after day passed without any sign of their quarry, their doubts had grown.

  With nothing to do but wait for Hypatia to arrive, Ysobel had grown increasingly short-tempered. Burrell shared her anxiety though he hoped he was better at concealing his frustrations. From the beginning, their course had been a gamble. If Lucius had never boarded Hypatia, or if he had sailed with her to some other destination, then they would have failed.

  And the news he was bringing her would only serve to add to her unease. He hesitated outside her room, then squared his shoulders before entering.

  “Any news?” she asked. “The ambassador asked me this morning how much longer we intended to stay.”

  Dorinda of Navar served as the federation's representative in Xandropol. A cousin of Lady Solange, the minister of trade, Dorinda styled herself ambassador though her official title was that of liaison. Dorinda had not been pleased by their arrival, especially when Lady Ysobel invoked her status as envoy to demand lodging.

  Dorinda likely viewed Lady Ysobel's presence as an attempt to assert her power—a reminder that Ysobel outranked her both in the court and in the halls of trade.

  In truth they stayed here because their purses were flat—they could afford a room, but not servants to run errands for them. And, if news from Ikaria came to Xandropol, it would come here first.

  They had taken their turns scouring the markets and docks for information, sending Dorinda's servants to fetch daily lists of newly arrived ships. This morning it had been Burrell's turn to visit the docks, while Ysobel chivied Dorinda's clerks.

  “No news of Hypatia, but she's not the only ship that is late,” Burrell said.

  “A storm at sea, or contrary winds?” Ysobel suggested.

  It was possible—no two captains sailed precisely the same course. Their ship might have had the advantage of favorable currents, while a ship sailing even just a point north or south of that course might have found itself becalmed.

  Or so he had suggested every time Ysobel fretted over Hypatia's failure to arrive. He'd almost believed it himself.

  Until now.

  “Lily is a week overdue, and was just posted as missing,” he said.

  Ysobel's face tightened. “That's one of my father's ships,” she said.

  He'd known as much by the name, even before he saw confirmation. The house of Flordelis traditionally named their ships after flowers.

  “And Greenbow, a single-masted ship from the house of Laurent arrived this morning, badly battered. They claimed they were attacked by a ship of the Ikarian navy. There were rumors of other attacks, but this is the first time a ship has survived to bring the tale to shore.”

  She winced as if he had struck her. During last year's war, both sides had used the pretext of pirate ships as excuses to launch their attacks. It was possible the Ikarians were trying the same ruse again.

  “The captain is at the docks, even as we speak, but I'm certain he'll be making his way here before long, to tell the liaison what he knows,” he added.

  “Do you believe him?”

  Burrell hesitated. He'd seen Greenbow arrive, with her jury-rigged mast and tattered sails. She'd been in a fight, but it seemed impossible that such a small craft could have fought off a navy vessel, unaided.

  “I don't know,” he said. “Even an incompetent captain should have been able to take that ship. The captain may be lying because he can't reveal the truth of who attacked him, or why.”

  “Or he may be telling the truth,” Ysobel said. “While I was chasing Lucius across the Great Basin, the Ikarians have gone to war.”

  “We don't know that—”

  “We don't know anything,” Ysobel snapped.

  Burrell took a step toward her, then hesitated. At this moment she did not want a lover, nor would she respect one who offered mindless comfort.

  “We may be at war,” he said. “But you know as well as I that the house of Laurent has a spotty reputation. Talk to the captain yourself before you judge the truth of his tale.”

  And before you condemn yourself any further, Burrell thought.

  If war had come, it would be none of Lady Ysobel's doing, though he knew she would blame herself. Each choice she made had been in service of her mission, but that would not matter to her.

  Nor would it matter to those who had sent her to Ikaria. She'd fought one war at their bidding, emerging triumphant from a mission meant to ensure her death.

  He could only hope they would be so lucky again.

  Ysobel had been present when the Greenbow's captain met with Dorinda—though the liaison had refused to allow Burrell to join them. He paced anxiously in his quarters, waiting for her to return.

  His thoughts chased themselves in an endless circle—if the Ikarians were once more on the attack, it was imperative that he and Ysobel return to the federation. They had proven themselves in battle before, and given the opportunity would do so again.

  Unless, of course, they were punished for incompetence, for not having foreseen the Ikarians' aggression. Some might even see Ysobel's decision to leave Karystos as a reckless abandonment of her sworn duty.

  And what could they say? “Emperor Lucius disguised himself as a monk and took passage on a common trader so we decided to follow him”?

  With no proof, the truth would condemn them as fools.

  He threw himself into a chair, looking longingly at the sweat-beaded decanter of chilled wine that sat on the table, left over from their earlier lunch.

  But he had not drunk a glass then, and he would not now.

  At last, Ysobel returned.

  “Well?” he asked, rising to his feet. “What did he say?” Ysobel showed fewer scruples than he, for she crossed to the sideboard and poured two cups of wine. She handed one to him, not bothering to add water.

  Ysobel swallowed half the cup, then said, “I wouldn't buy so much as a rusty nail from him.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief and took a sip of his own wine.

  “But—” Lady Ysobel began, and he felt his heart sink. “He is not lying about this. He was attacked, and the description he gave sounds very much like an Ikarian ship.”

  “The federation must be informed.”

  “Dorinda is seeing to that,” Ysobel said, with a grimace. “And I will send word as well.”

  “What of us?”

  “We will wait,” she said. “The monthly courier ship is expected in two days' time. We can board her for her return to Sendat.”

  A courier ship would be faster than any merchant that they could hire. But he was not looking forward to spending two more days kicking their heels ashore.

  “And what of Hypatia?”

  Ysobel laughed. “By now she's unloaded her cargo in Vidrun and picked up a new load. I doubt Lucius was ever on board.”

  If Lucius had been on board, headed for Xandropol, then the Hypatia should join the list of overdue ships, so the guild could be notified. But privately he agreed with Ysobel; it was unlikely that Lucius had boarded Hypatia. He had simply disappeared in Tarsus, and they had chased an illusion.

  And for that they would pay the price.

  Ysobel strode impatiently back and forth across the pier, as a harbor pilot guided Hypatia into an open berth. To her eyes the ship appeared undamaged, but there must be a reason why the captain had signaled for a berth rather than simply dropping anchor in the harbor.

  She could see the courier ship, loading supplies in preparation for the return voyage back to the islands. She and Burrell had planned to board later today. But instead of a summons to their ship, a servant had brought the news that Hypatia was in harbor, preparing to dock. It was only sheer luck that she'd found out—she'd intended to tell Dorinda's clerks that they no longer need watch for Hypatia, but in her anger over being deceived by Lucius she'd forgotten.

  Burrell leaned against a support pillar, pretending to watch Hypatia's approach, but she knew his gaze rested on her when he thought her attention elsewhere. His mood was in direct counterpoint to her own. As her frustration grew, Burrell became visibly calmer, which served to irritate her even more.

  At last Hypatia was tied to the pier, and a gangway put in place. The customs clerk and his assistant were the first to board, with Ysobel nearly treading on their heels.

  Ysobel had her second shock of the day, when she saw Zorion standing next to a middle-aged woman. She'd known he was sailing for the house of Arles, but hadn't realized that Hypatia was his ship.

  “I need to see your bills of lading and your registration certificates,” the clerk was saying. “You're liable for the daily docking fee plus a tax on all goods that are bought, sold, or delivered.”

  “I have no cargo, merely a passenger to disembark,” Zorion replied.

  So Lucius was on board. Her hands clenched into fists.

  Ysobel stepped around the clerk and Zorion's eyes widened as he saw her.

  “This is Amelie, my cargo master,” Zorion said. “She will provide you with whatever you require.”

  Amelie drew the customs officials to one side.

  “Where is he?” Ysobel demanded.

  Zorion's lips twisted in a rueful smile. “Not even a greeting? I thought we'd parted on better terms than that,” he said.

  “Our apologies, Captain Zorion, but the matter is too urgent for pleasantries,” Burrell said, pitching his voice low so none could overhear them.

  “Where is Lucius?” Ysobel asked.

  “Lucius?”

  “Josan, or Brother Mensah, or whatever he calls himself these days. The passenger you took on board in Rauma.”

  “Below,” Zorion said.

  Ysobel started to move past him, but he placed his bulk in front of her. “I'll not have you disturbing him,” he said. “Not until you tell me what business you have with him.”

  “Do you know who you have on board?”

  “He's a passenger who has paid his passage twice over, once in coin and again in service to this ship,” Zorion said. “So I ask you again, what business do you have with him?”

  She wondered if this would have been easier if the captain was a stranger to her. Zorion knew her too well. With a few words, he could make her feel like the awkward young woman she had once been.

  “The emperor of Ikaria is in your guest cabin,” she said, and had the satisfaction of watching Zorion's face pale. “And as we are likely at war with his empire, I need to have a word with him.”

  “They weren't Ikarians,” Zorion said.

  His words made no sense.

  “Who weren't Ikarians?”

  “The ships that attacked Rhosyn,” Zorion replied. “They had Ikarian sails, but the ships were built in Vidrun and crewed by mercenaries.”

  “Greenbow?” Burrell asked.

  Zorion shook his head. “Not Greenbow, it was Rhosyn. Which is why we're late. Rhosyn was damaged, so we escorted her to Tyrns.”

  Rhosyn had not been on the list of overdue ships, but the list only encompassed those ships that were expected in Xandropol. But if she had been attacked by someone posing as Ikarians . . .

  “And you are certain they were not Ikarians?” she asked.

  “I would swear it on my life,” he said. “On your life.”

  Which was his way of reminding her of the history that lay between them. She had let Zorion go from her service for precisely that reason—because he valued her life over his duty to his ship. He would not have uttered such an oath lightly.

  “We need to talk,” she said, just as Zorion uttered the same words.

  “Come below,” Zorion said. He nodded to Amelie, who was still conferring with the customs officials, then led them below to his cabin. There was a neatly made bunk in one corner, and a large table which could serve for mapping routes, or hosting a half dozen at dinner. Zorion took a seat at the head of the table, and she and Burrell sat on either side of him.

  She had seen no sign of Lucius, but he must be nearby.

  “Tell me of this man you think is Lucius,” he said.

  “I do not think he is Emperor Lucius, I know it,” she said. “And he is behind what has happened.”

  It was too much of a coincidence that he had disappeared at the same time that his navy had begun attacking federation ships.

  Zorion shook his head. “You may be right about his name, but you're wrong about the other. I told you I owe him a debt—without him we never would have reached the Rhosyn in time to help. Somehow he managed to call a storm from a clear day and called lightning to strike his attackers.”

  She and Burrell shared a long look. “It is him,” she said. “Emperor Lucius has the magic of his ancestors, and we have seen him call the winds to do his bidding.”

  Zorion still did not appear convinced. “But what is he doing here? Aboard my ship?”

  “I intend to ask him that very question,” she said.

  She knew her smile wasn't a pleasant one. But she had grown tired of Lucius's prevarications and had not forgiven him for breaking faith with her when he had fled in Rauma.

  “You'll go easy,” Zorion said. “I'll have your word on that.”

  “He is our enemy.”

  “I owe him,” Zorion said.

  She knew better than to expect that he would lightly set that debt aside. It did not matter whether or not Lucius was deserving of such consideration. If Zorion believed that he owed Lucius, then he would insist on repaying that debt.

  “I will not harm him,” she said. It was the best she could offer.

  “Very well, I'll have him fetched,” Zorion said. “There's not room for all of us in his cabin.”

  Zorion stepped outside and spoke to a sailor.

  A few moments later, two sailors entered, supporting Lucius between them.

  His appearance was a shock—he was thinner than she recalled, and his legs dragged uselessly on the ground as the sailors maneuvered him into a seat.

  He had feigned weakness once, but she doubted very much that this was a show put on for her benefit. He had the look of a man who was gravely ill, and she could see why Zorion had been hesitant to disturb him.

  But whatever pity she might feel was overbalanced by the harm he had done to her, and to her people.

  “Lady Ysobel,” he said. “Captain Burrell.”

  She waited until the sailors had left, shutting the door behind them. “Emperor Lucius,” she said.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28