The final sacrifice, p.17
The Final Sacrifice, page 17
Lucius nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to Zorion. “How long have you known?” he asked.
“She's spent the last quarter hour trying to convince me that I had an emperor aboard. But I did not believe it till this very minute,” Zorion said.
“Is an emperor any more unlikely than a magician?” Lucius asked.
Zorion chuckled. “I'll grant you that.”
The ease between them grated on her nerves. They were conversing as old friends, leaving it up to her to remind them that this was not a social occasion.
“Tell me, emperor, how long have you known that our countries were at war?”
Lucius abruptly sobered. “The attackers were not Ikarians, they were mercenaries from Vidrun,” he said. “Captain Zorion will tell you as much.”
“So he has said. But he has no proof except his own word. And other ships have told a different tale,” she pointed out.
“Not just my word,” Zorion began, but Lucius interrupted him.
“I cannot be responsible for what other men say,” Lucius replied, speaking over Zorion's protests. “I know the truth, and that is enough.”
Could he really be so naïve?
“It will not be enough for the federation,” she said. “Already messages have been sent telling them that the Ikarian navy is once more on the attack. They will not wait; they will take action.”
Lucius still did not appear to comprehend the danger, but Burrell's face grew grim.
“What will your people do when the federation navy attacks one of your own?” Burrell asked Lucius. “They will not wait to ask why. They will simply respond in kind.”
“And then it will be war, whether just or not,” Ysobel said. “Once it starts, it will be beyond any of us to stop it.”
Lucius swore under his breath. She did not recognize the language but could guess the meaning.
“What would you have me do?” he asked.
She hesitated, not having expected him to capitulate so easily.
“Put an end to this before it is too late,” Burrell said.
“How?” Lucius demanded. “I have no ships, no armies, no one to do my bidding. I cannot even command my limbs to obey me.”
Her face showed the neutral mask she wore when trading, but his scorn cut her to the quick. Lucius, for all his faults, was right. In her obsession to find him, she hadn't thought what she would do with him—or what he could do for her. A poor strategist indeed, to pursue a prize with no idea of its worth.
But just because she could not immediately think of a use for him did not mean that he was without value.
“If you sent orders to your navy—” Burrell began.
Lucius slammed his hand on the table. “Those were not my ships. Whatever ills you think were done, they were not done by my men.”
“The attackers were mercenaries from Vidrun,” Zorion said, drawing all eyes to him. “We'd the luck to capture one of their officers. He confirmed what his sailors had told us, that they'd been hired to pose as Ikarians to attack our ships.”
“Where is this officer?” Ysobel said. “Where is your proof?”
“With Rhosyn,” Zorion said. “She was the injured party, and she had the claim against them. They were put ashore with her in Tyrns.”
It was her turn to swear. Lucius's words were suspect, but she trusted Zorion. If he said that the attackers had been mercenaries posing as Ikarians, she believed him. But others would not share her belief, and any proof was hundreds of miles away in Tyrns. If the mercenaries were even still alive. Rhosyn's captain might have asked the authorities to execute them as pirates. He would not have known that other ships had been attacked, nor how important it was to prove who was behind these attacks.
Meanwhile, Captain Pepin from the house of Laurent had sworn that he'd been attacked by Ikarians, and Dorinda would send the account of his attack back to the federation as a warning.
It was likely that Pepin had been tricked by the same vessels that attacked Rhosyn, but without proof, the ministry would be left to judge the tales of two captains. Zorion's reputation for honesty might have carried the day—
If the recent war with the Ikarians was not still fresh in everyone's memories.
Faced with a tale from Zorion that could not be proven, and a growing list of missing ships, it was likely that the council of ministers would err on the side of caution.
They would launch an attack, hoping they could inflict sufficient damage before the Ikarians' new weapons turned the tide of battle against them.
“You could come with us,” Burrell said. “We sail for Sendat this afternoon.”
Zorion shook his head. “I cannot abandon Hypatia, nor my duty to the house of Arles. I have already stretched that duty as far as I can. And I doubt they'd find my tale any more convincing in the flesh.”
“Not you,” Burrell said. “Him.”
And he pointed to Emperor Lucius.
They did not know what they asked of him.
Josan had been stunned by Burrell's absurd request, then shocked when Ysobel took him seriously. She'd asked—no, demanded—that he go with her to the federation.
Where presumably his presence would be enough to convince the federation that the Ikarian Empire was not behind the recent attacks.
Or that they could use him to bargain for peace.
It was absurd. Anything he said would likely be contradicted by Proconsul Zuberi and his allies. They might be preparing to crown a new emperor even as he sat here, hiding in his cabin, pretending that he was safe on board the ship of his enemies.
He knew that was not strictly fair. Not all in the federation could be judged by Lady Ysobel's standards. Captain Zorion had dealt with him honestly. It had been Zorion who put an end to Ysobel's badgering, insisting that Josan, as he still called him, be allowed to think over her request in private. He'd personally helped Josan back to his cabin and sworn that Josan would not be disturbed.
But neither was Josan free to leave. He could stand on his own, for a few minutes. But he could not leave this ship without help. Nor without Zorion's permission.
Even if Zorion was willing to let him go, Lady Ysobel was not. He'd be set upon the moment his foot touched the dock.
He was trapped, and he knew that all had sensed his fear.
They thought him a coward—willing to chance a senseless war rather than risking his own life by journeying to the land of his enemies.
Ysobel had sworn over and over again that he would be safe, under diplomatic protection. She might even believe it to be true, but he knew better. Politicians had no honor, and the emperor of Ikaria was a prize that would be too tempting to resist.
But he did not fear the Seddonians. Nothing they could do to him would be worse than his current fate, trapped in a body that was slowly failing.
If a cure was to be found, it would be here. In Xandropol, somewhere within the complex of buildings that formed the great library, and the tens of thousands of volumes stored within.
He had little time left. And if he turned aside now—
There would be no cure. Just death—perhaps swift, perhaps slow. He had only his own conjectures on how long it would take this body to fail completely. He might be trapped within a paralyzed shell for days, months, or even years, at the mercy of those around him.
When the time came, he hoped they'd have the kindness to kill him.
He suspected they would want him to suffer first.
It was not cowardice, was it, to want to live? He'd never asked for any of this—never asked for the spell that had taken his soul from his own dying body and transplanted it into the body of a prince.
Never asked to be emperor.
He'd never wanted power, nor fame, nor riches. Just to be allowed to live the life of a scholar in the peaceful pursuit of knowledge.
It was not fair, he thought, with a child's overwhelming sense of injustice. I do not deserve this.
But what he deserved was a double-edged sword. Many would say that he did not deserve to be alive, living in this borrowed body. And what of Lucius? If there was any hope of restoring his soul, it would be found here. If Josan gave in to Ysobel's demands, he would be condemning both of them to death.
In Xandropol there was hope that at least one of them might be saved. If they went to the federation . . .
They might even die before they reached the islands. In which case, his sacrifice would be for naught.
His thoughts chased themselves in endless circles, but as his temper cooled, reason came once more to the forefront.
He'd told the others that he could not be held responsible for the attacks. If mercenaries chose to pose as ships from his navy, then the impostors were the ones who should be caught and punished for their deeds.
But it was troubling that the mercenaries were from Vidrun—a powerful kingdom with a long history of enmity toward Ikaria.
Among Empress Nerissa's accomplishments had been bringing an end to the interminable wars with Vidrun—though she had not achieved victory, merely a stalemate that was declared to be peace.
The question to ask was who would benefit if Ikaria and the federation went to war?
The federation would not attack their own ships. They did not want war, not because they were opposed to it, but because they saw no profit in it. The risks posed by the newly armed Ikarian navy were too great.
As for himself, Josan had been sickened by killing. The fire weapons he had taught his navy to make had indeed lived up to their name—the Burning Terror. But the ingredients for the Burning Terror required a rare earth element, so their supply was limited. And conventional sea warfare still favored the federation, with their larger fleet. If the two nations went to war, it would be a long, deadly struggle that would weaken them both.
Which might well be what was intended. Vidrun's expansion to the north had ended at the Bronze River, stopped by the armies of Volesk. Her expansion to the south had halted, in part, because the imperial legions had offered their assistance to Kazagan, which their king had reluctantly accepted, becoming a vassal state of the Ikarian Empire.
But if the empire was weakened by war, then Vidrun could attack unopposed. And best of all, they need risk nothing beyond hiring a few ships of mercenaries to incite the conflict.
It was a clever plan. And he had an ugly suspicion that he knew who was behind it.
Brother Nikos. Once head of the Learned Brethren in Ikaria, and one of Empress Nerissa's principal advisors.
And the man who had orchestrated the foul spell that had joined Josan's soul to Lucius's body, in an attempt to create a puppet that would be under his command.
Nikos had deserved death for his crimes, but he could not be executed without revealing what he had done, which would have meant Josan's own death. Instead Nikos had been exiled from Ikaria, sent to join his brethren in Xandropol. But he'd never arrived. Spies had reported his presence in Vidrun, where, it seemed, he was up to his old tricks.
Josan sighed. Even if Nikos was not behind this, he could not let it go unchallenged. If there was anything he could do to prevent a conflict from erupting, he must do it.
Lucius, he called, listening intently for any trace of the prince's mind voice. Lucius, he called again, but there was no answer.
He would have to decide for both of them.
Strange—he had known of Lucius's existence for over two years, ever since he'd discovered that this body was not his own. They'd argued, fought, and struggled for supremacy, before finally learning to cooperate. When Lucius was present, he could hear what Lucius was thinking, sense his feelings, and at times he'd been able to draw upon Lucius's memories and skills.
But he still did not know Lucius. He did not know what Lucius would choose if the decision was his to make.
Lucius had agreed to this journey, seeing it as his last chance to restore himself to health and to sole command of his own flesh.
It was tempting to take the path of cowardice and claim that this was what Lucius would have wanted.
But Lucius also saw himself as an emperor in the tradition of his illustrious ancestors. Given the opportunity, he might choose the path of noble sacrifice, rather than self-interest.
Josan knew what he must do, but he continued to weigh the options over in his mind, pretending that his fate was not already sealed.
He'd been in his cabin for at least two hours when at last a knock sounded on his door. Lady Ysobel's patience had held out longer than he'd expected.
“Enter,” he called.
Zorion entered, carrying a tray. “You missed lunch,” he said.
It was a kindness to have fetched it. Zorion set the tray on the bed next to Josan. He'd no appetite, but picked up the cup, which was filled with plain water, and drank it down.
“You can trust Lady Ysobel,” Zorion said. “I served her for a decade, and she never broke her word to me. If she says she'll protect you, she will.”
Josan shrugged. “I'm sure you have found her to be fair,” he said.
He did not doubt that she'd dealt honestly with Zorion, and had likely done the same with others that she encountered in her role as Ysobel of Flordelis of Alcina—captain, ship owner, and head of her own trading house.
But that was not the woman he had had dealings with. Ysobel the spy, Ysobel the conspirator, Ysobel the politician, was quite a different creature. That woman's loyalty was to her own advancement first and her country second. She was more than capable of promising one thing to Emperor Lucius while intending something else entirely.
But he would not argue the matter with Zorion and risk antagonizing the only one who'd showed compassion for him.
“Even if she is true to her word, do you imagine she speaks for all of your countrymen?” Josan asked.
Zorion rubbed his chin with one hand. “Her word should be enough,” he said.
“But it won't be,” Josan finished for him. “If I survive the trip, it's likely my presence there will accomplish nothing except providing a target for their wrath.”
Zorion's gaze had sharpened as Josan mentioned the possibility that he would not survive the trip. It was a fear he'd not shared with the others, but then, they had not been witness to his steady decline in the way that Zorion had.
“I could fetch a physician,” Zorion offered.
Josan's mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. “I don't need a physician. I need a miracle.”
“So you've made your decision, then?” Zorion asked.
Josan nodded. “Tell Ysobel she's won. I'll go with her, for all the good it may do us both.”
To his surprise, his capitulation did not appear to make Zorion happy. Instead Zorion frowned, and stared at the floor of the cabin, as if seeking guidance from the scarred planks.
“There's something you should know before you make your decision,” Zorion said. “Two ships entered the harbor a few moments ago. They bear the colors of the Ikarian navy.”
“The mercenaries are here?” Josan pushed himself up, swaying as he tried to stand.
“Easy,” Zorion said, grasping his forearms and lowering him back down when it became clear that Josan's legs would not support him.
Josan flushed, humiliated anew by his weakness.
“They don't have the look of pirates,” Zorion said. “They could be exactly what they seem to be, though what brings them this far east is a mystery.”
It was possible, if unlikely, that they had come looking for him. Even if not, if they were true navy vessels, then perhaps he was no longer at Ysobel's mercy.
Though he must first find a way to speak to their captains. Hopefully there would be at least one of those he had helped train—otherwise, it might be difficult to convince them that the frail man dressed as a common merchant was indeed their emperor.
“Bring their captains to me,” Josan said. “I will know if they are my men or impostors.”
He held his breath, knowing that Zorion held his fate in his hands. He could not help but wonder at the impulse that had prompted Zorion to tell him of the Ikarian ships. If he'd kept silent, Josan would have sailed with Lady Ysobel, never knowing that there might have been another choice.
“How shall I fetch them? They'll hardly believe me if I say I have Emperor Lucius aboard,” Zorion said.
“Tell them the truth,” Josan said. “Tell them that there've been reports of pirates masquerading as Ikarian ships, and you want their help. If they are mercenaries, they'll come because they need to find out what you know. And if they're not, then they'll come because that is their duty.”
“And what will you say to them?”
“Whatever I must,” Josan said, growing impatient. “I will not argue with you. You were the one to bring me this news. Summon them or not, it is up to you. But I'll wager even Lady Ysobel will want to know what these captains know, and I am the only one who can get that information for you.”
“I can recognize a mercenary,” Zorion said, but his tone was mild.
“And if the mercenaries and my navy are working together, how will you discover that?”
“There's that,” he admitted. “Very well, I'll send them a message. If they come, they come. If not, at sunset I'll give Lady Ysobel your answer.”
“Thank you,” Josan said.
He felt like a condemned man given an unexpected reprieve. Hope returned, but it was almost too painful to bear.
Chapter 13
Zorion had visited Ikaria often enough to expect that both captains would be men. There were no women in their navy, nor indeed in any positions of authority. One was young for his rank, something perhaps explainable by his dark hair and pale complexion that showed his connections to the new Ikarian nobility. The other was a middle-aged man, with the light brown hair of the old Ikarians who were more typically found in the navy.
He was surprised at how quickly they had answered his invitation—and that they'd come in person rather than sending junior officers. Either they were truly concerned over a possible threat to the truce between their countries, or they were both involved in whatever was going on.
“Your message mentioned pirates, disguised as one of our ships?”
