His guests exchanged glances among themselves before pledging themselves to silence.

  “Do you think this wise?” Demetrios hissed.

  “They have the right,” Zuberi replied, careful not to look at his onetime ally. “The emperor is not ill. He is missing. We believe he was kidnapped the night he was to leave Karystos.”

  There were shocked exclamations from his guests. Kiril did his best to appear surprised, though he'd had the news earlier from both Zuberi and Demetrios, though naturally neither had informed the other of what they had done.

  “We've kept it quiet, hoping we'd be able to discover his whereabouts and free him,” Zuberi explained.

  “Who did this? And why?” Matticus asked.

  Zuberi shook his head. “I have my suspicions, but no proof.”

  “There's been no sign of how he left the city,” Petrelis said. “Neither by land nor by sea.”

  There was a long moment as the guests digested the implications of that.

  “Who knew of this?” Telamon demanded, quick to see the implied slight.

  “Myself, Demetrios, and Petrelis,” Zuberi said. “And Admiral Septimus, whose navy helped in the search, though they know not for whom they were looking.”

  Septimus had left the city a few days before, sailing with his fleet on a mission that was both training exercise and a chance to show the imperial flag, to remind vessels whose waters they sailed in. He hadn't bothered to request permission, merely sending a report stating his intentions, but Zuberi was not unduly worried. The imperial succession would be determined on land, not by any act at sea.

  If it had been the legions that were on the move, rather than the navy, then Zuberi would have had cause for concern.

  “It's been two months,” Kiril said. “How long did you plan to keep this news from his subjects?”

  “Until we knew what to tell them,” Demetrios said.

  “And what if he was murdered? What if he never left the city?”

  Once again it was Telamon who voiced the obvious.

  “I am the emperor's loyal servant,” Zuberi said. “I will not give up hope.”

  “Neither will I,” echoed Demetrios, apparently determined to prove himself equally virtuous. “The proconsul and I were agreed from the start that we would keep silent until we knew the emperor's fate.”

  “It's been too long,” Kiril said. “If the emperor was alive, you'd have heard from him.”

  “Or from whoever took him,” Petrelis added, as smoothly as if he'd been prompted.

  “The empire cannot be left adrift. This may be precisely what our enemies intended. We must have a new emperor,” Telamon said.

  “Zuberi, I know you refused this burden once before, but this time you have no choice,” Kiril said. “For the good of the empire, you must declare yourself.”

  He could not resist stealing a glance at Demetrios, who appeared thunderstruck by Kiril's declaration. No doubt he'd deluded himself into thinking that Kiril was his ally, just as Zuberi had intended.

  Zuberi shook his head. “I say it is too soon—”

  “You must,” Telamon said. “We need an emperor. And there is no one more fitted to serve.”

  Zuberi looked at his guests, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “You are all in accord?” he asked. “I cannot do this without your support.”

  “I and my legions will support you,” Kiril said.

  “As will I,” Telamon echoed.

  The rest chimed in, Matticus gulping nervously as he realized that he was being asked to help decide the next emperor.

  At last Zuberi turned to Demetrios. “Friend, I could not have held the empire together without your support. As you speak, so will the senate. What say you?”

  Demetrios knew when he was beaten. “We must have an emperor,” he agreed. “We will announce the emperor's death and name you as emperor-in-waiting. On the thirty-ninth day, if there is still no news, you will be crowned.”

  Zuberi frowned, then cleared his face, hoping that the others would think him merely hesitant to assume power. He'd hoped to take the crown immediately, but could not object to Demetrios's proposal. Propriety dictated a period of mourning for Emperor Lucius, and practically there was very little difference between emperor-in-waiting and emperor in fact.

  Thirty-nine days was the traditional interregnum between an emperor's death and the coronation of his successor. He had waited this long. He could wait a little longer.

  His guests soon took their leave, after once again vowing that they would remain silent until the official proclamation was made.

  Zuberi thanked them for their support—and knew that they would not hold their tongues. At the very least Matticus would drop hints to his own clients, using his advance knowledge to impress upon them his close connection to the next emperor.

  It was what he would have done in Matticus's place.

  Demetrios stayed behind after the others had left. As soon as they were alone, he let his anger show.

  “You planned this, all of this,” he said, waving at the remains of the dinner party with one arm. “You betrayed me.”

  Demetrios was not angry at the betrayal. He was angry that Zuberi had acted first, before he could put his own plans in motion. But it was not the time to gloat, he needed Demetrios's support.

  At least for the present.

  “The rumors were none of my doing,” Zuberi said. “As it is, I'm surprised that we were able to keep this quiet for so long.”

  “You didn't have to answer Kiril,” Demetrios said.

  “If not tonight, then it would have been tomorrow, or the next day,” Zuberi said, holding to reason in the face of Demetrios's ill temper. “The senate convenes in less than a month. We'll need an emperor by then.”

  “So you put yourself forward,” Demetrios said.

  “I'll admit I was flattered tonight,” he said. “But in truth, it was always going to be me that they chose as the next emperor. I was the closest advisor to both Nerissa and Lucius.”

  He'd been Nerissa's proconsul for the last half dozen years of her reign. And as for Lucius—not only had he agreed to seat Lucius on the throne, he'd held the emperor's life in his hands. Every decree, every ruling, every appearance by Lucius had been first approved by Zuberi. For the past year he'd been the emperor in all but name.

  Now it was time to take his rightful place.

  “I meant what I said. I need your support,” Zuberi said, as he approached and laid one hand on Demetrios's arm. “I will be emperor, but we will continue to rule Ikaria between us. On the day I am crowned, you will be named proconsul, if you so choose.”

  Proconsul, but not emperor-in-waiting. That title would go to his son, Bakari.

  Demetrios shook his arm free. “And if I prefer to remain Senator Demetrios?”

  Zuberi shrugged lightly. “Then we will continue as we have, and you will help me decide who should take my place as proconsul.”

  He needed Demetrios, needed the support of the senate. In return he was offering Demetrios the opportunity to become the second-most-powerful man in Ikaria.

  The trick was to offer Demetrios enough to ensure that he saw the value of remaining loyal but not so much that Zuberi seriously diminished his own power.

  But if Demetrios was tempted to conspire against his new emperor . . . Well, once Zuberi had secured his grasp upon the throne, there were others who would be eager to take Demetrios's place and to prove their loyalty.

  It would be unfortunate if he had to have Demetrios killed.

  “Do you think he's really dead?” Demetrios asked.

  “Who?”

  “Lucius.”

  “Does it matter? If he's not dead, he may as well be,” Zuberi said.

  It had seemed a kidnapping at first, but with no demand for ransom, Zuberi had begun to wonder. Had Lady Ysobel kidnapped the emperor for revenge? Or had Lucius been killed, perhaps deliberately, perhaps accidentally as he tried to escape?

  In any case, she'd gravely miscalculated. She'd thought to strike a blow against the empire. Instead, by ridding the empire of a weak ruler, she'd actually strengthened it.

  But there would be time to deal with her later—and to decide if he wanted to seek vengeance against the federation for the loss of Emperor Lucius or simply blame a faceless assassin for the emperor's loss.

  “Tell me that I can count on you,” Zuberi said.

  Demetrios gave a thin smile. “You can count on my support—just as I know that I can count on yours. I will be your proconsul, and together we will guide the empire back to greatness.”

  Zuberi embraced Demetrios as if he were a brother, then stepped back and called for the servants to fetch star wine.

  They drank a toast to the future of Ikaria. And as each man swore his friendship, both knew that they were lying.

  Chapter 15

  Lady Ysobel was watching him. As Josan took his daily walk around the deck he could feel her gaze weighing upon his back, even as he knew that if he turned, he would find her attention elsewhere.

  Ever since he'd woken to find himself missing a day's worth of memories, he'd found himself the subject of Ysobel's scrutiny.

  She'd watched him before, but this was somehow different. Before she'd eyed him as a potential foe, looking for signs of treachery. Now he'd caught glimpses of something that might be mistaken for concern.

  Questioning those assigned to serve him had been unrewarding. Apparently he'd dismissed them because he felt unwell, and at some point Ysobel had visited him.

  But what had she seen? Had she seen him lying insensate, his body unresponsive?

  Or had she spoken to Lucius? Was it possible that the prince had found the strength to take control of his body?

  Josan could feel no trace of Lucius's presence, but that did not mean that he was gone. Merely that he was out of reach. If Lucius had been conscious, that was surely a good sign, wasn't it? It meant that he was not as weak as Josan had believed. Perhaps there was still hope for them.

  Such optimism faded when confronted by reason. It was more likely that Ysobel had seen him helpless, reduced to a witless, drooling husk. Not wanting her pity, he had done his best to avoid her, but he could not do so forever. They were already within the islands, with Sendat only a day's sail away. And he still had yet to decide what he would do when he arrived.

  Simply declaring himself and his empire innocent of ill intentions would hardly serve—though perhaps one as simple minded as Lucius might think so. No, he needed logic to win the federation over to his side, and there was little time left to plot his strategy.

  And for that he would need Lady Ysobel's help. So when she approached him during his next circuit of the deck, he gestured for her to join him.

  “I've been thinking about what you said the other day,” she began. “About Brother Nikos.”

  He'd said nothing of Brother Nikos. Nothing that he could remember, that is. But perhaps Lucius had.

  “What of him?” he asked.

  “It seems incredible, that he should be capable of such a thing,” Ysobel said, her words coming slowly as if she were weighing each one.

  Nikos's recent treachery was nothing compared to his earlier deeds, but of course he could not tell her that.

  “You must ask yourself who benefits if we go to war with one another,” Josan said. “We would triumph, of course—”

  “I would not be so certain,” she interjected.

  “But either way, we agree that the war is likely to be long and bloody, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And even the winner will be greatly weakened,” he said. “What better time for Vidrun to pursue its own ambitions? Your federation has no interest in the disputed territories, so if Ikaria loses, their armies can push west unopposed. And if Ikaria wins, well, even if we had the heart for another protracted war, our armies will be too busy pacifying your islands. So, once again, Vidrun can expand unopposed.”

  He waited, but there was no response. He looked to his left, but she was no longer at his side. Instead she'd abruptly halted.

  He took two steps back to her.

  “You think that Nikos is in Vidrun? That he is behind these attacks?” she asked.

  “I know he is in Vidrun. As for the rest, it seems likely. He thrives best when he's in the middle of some intrigue, and he harbors ill will toward me and my empire. He'd use any opportunity he could find to strike against us.”

  He could not shake the sense that his words had surprised her.

  “And the mercenaries—”

  “Are safer than using their own navy,” he said. “Their ships disguised to look like my navy, their gold to buy mercenaries to crew them. Likely former pirates or those with equally low morals.”

  “Even if this was true, we have no proof,” she said. “What do you intend to do when we arrive?”

  She meant how would he prove his worth—and by extension prove hers. If his gamble failed, then she would be seen to fail as well. It was likely that they'd be the first two casualties when war was declared.

  And while they were not friends, he did not want anyone to die over this foolishness. Not even her.

  “I have an idea,” he said. “And I'll need your help.”

  They arrived at Sendat without incident, and Ysobel breathed a sigh of relief as the familiar harbor came into view. After spending a fortnight surrounded by Ikarians, it would be a relief once more to be among her own people. Not that this made her mission any less perilous—she had as many enemies in the federation as she did without. But here, at least, she had the advantage of knowing who they were.

  The harbormaster must have been warned of their approach, for he sent a boat out to guide them into harbor. Green Dragon was directed to drop anchor at the northern edge of the harbor, where, not coincidentally, she'd be flanked by vessels from the federation navy. Last year, Ysobel had shown the Ikarians how much damage could be inflicted by a single enemy vessel, and the federation was taking no chance of the Ikarians returning the favor.

  A rope ladder was thrown over the side, and Ysobel stood with Captain Chenzira preparing to greet their visitor. To her surprise, the harbormaster Neville had come in person, rather than sending one of his numerous assistants. A heavyset man, he wheezed as he climbed up onto the deck, his face flushed from his efforts.

  Neville's eyes flickered over her, but when he caught his breath, his first remarks were addressed to Chenzira.

  “Captain, may I ask your intentions?”

  “I've brought an envoy to speak with your people, under a flag of truce,” Chenzira responded. As agreed, he did not name the envoy.

  Neville frowned. “Lady Ysobel, have we no ships of our own that could have brought you here?”

  “This vessel was the most convenient, for me and my guest,” she said. “We travel together as a sign of mutual good faith.”

  Neville shook his head. “These are difficult days. I can't say I'm happy to have you here,” he said. She hoped he meant the ship, and not herself.

  “But we are not at war with the empire,” she ventured.

  “No,” he said.

  So they were in time. The tightness in her chest eased, though she did her best to hide the relief that she felt. By virtue of his position, the harbormaster was often the first source of gossip, and she would give him no reason to spread doubts about her or her mission.

  “If you need provisions, one of my clerks will arrange for you to purchase what you need,” Neville told Chenzira. “Your crew will be expected to stay aboard ship, but if Lady Ysobel vouches for you—”

  “I do,” she said.

  “Then you may come and go freely,” Neville finished.

  “And my guest and his servants may come and go as they will,” Ysobel said.

  Neville frowned again. “How many servants?”

  “Three,” she said. This, too, had been negotiated with Chenzira, who'd originally wanted to send a dozen of his men to protect the emperor. The emperor had wanted none of this, so they'd finally compromised on allowing the functionary and two of Chenzira's sailors to accompany him.

  With a heavy sigh, Neville granted his approval to this request as well. It only showed how much tension there was between the two countries. In the past, any ship with coin to spend or goods to trade would have been welcomed. From where she stood, she could see ships from a dozen different nations in port—though, naturally, the vast majority of vessels belonged to federation trading houses.

  Then again, there was a difference between a trading ship and one meant for war.

  After Neville took his leave, Chenzira arranged for them to be taken ashore, along with their luggage. The emperor could have stayed at the Ikarian embassy, but that would have revealed his presence before they were ready. Instead she sent a runner ahead to her father's house, instructing that the rooms allocated to Flordelis of Flordelis be prepared for a visitor.

  It was seldom that she called upon her family connections, preferring instead to rely upon herself, as head of her own trading house. But in this instance she had no other choice. Though the emperor might well be content to share the same three rooms that she used whenever she had occasion to be in Sendat, once the emperor's identity was revealed, it would be expected that he would be housed according to his rank.

  Even if he might have preferred otherwise. She'd shared closer quarters with him—or at least with the emperor's body. Whether the body had been guided by Lucius, Josan, or perhaps both, was a mystery that she was unlikely to unravel.

  Strange as his tale was, she had become convinced that it was the truth. It was not the persuasiveness of his arguments, but rather that he didn't try to persuade her. In fact he seemed to have totally forgotten that he'd spoken of it to her at all. Which meant he was either a better actor than he appeared—

  Or it was just as he had said. The man who had confessed to her was Lucius, while the monk Josan was the one who had spent the past days plotting with her.

  So far as she could tell, the monk had no idea that his other self had bared all to her. She'd held her tongue—in part because this knowledge felt like an advantage, and one she was loath to give up. And in part because she wanted to see if the monk would trust her, as Lucius had apparently done.

 

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