The final sacrifice, p.21
The Final Sacrifice, page 21
Though perhaps Lucius had revealed himself not to win her trust but rather simply to spite the monk. He'd been bitter about what had happened to him, as was to be expected. She could only imagine how she would feel in his place. Mere anger seemed too small for such a violation.
Each time she looked at him, she was torn between pity and horror. But she could not let her feelings distract her from what must be done. It was difficult enough dealing with one man. Now she knew that there were two—and that their goals might not be the same.
It had been the monk's decision to come here, Lucius had said, implying that he would have chosen a different course. She could guess how the monk would act, but as for Lucius? She could only prepare for all eventualities and be ready for anything.
When they reached the dock she hired a carriage for herself and the man she still thought of as Lucius, and a wagon to carry their scant luggage and his servants. Lucius insisted that his elderly servant, whom he referred to as Eight for reasons that passed comprehension, be allowed to ride in the carriage with them, so Burrell helped the emperor inside, and then assisted his servant.
She took advantage of the opportunity to draw him aside. “You know what we need,” she said to Burrell. “The trader's guild hall first, then if my clerk Balere is not there, you must seek her out at the warehouses.”
“And I'll check with the navy as well. Whatever news there is, you'll have it,” he said.
She'd feel better if she could do her own intelligence gathering, but Lucius could not be left to his own devices. And Burrell knew what she needed to know—how many ships were missing? What rumors swirled regarding their fates? Were there any witnesses to the attacks, or were the reports that she brought the first news to reach the federation?
And most important, was Lucius still emperor of Ikaria? If not, then he was merely a disposable pawn, and her plans would change accordingly.
Burrell helped her inside the carriage, then went off on his errands.
The seat of Flordelis was on the island of Alcina, but like other large trading families they maintained a constant presence in the capital Sendat. The mansion was in the old quarter of the city, a legacy of the time when Flordelis had been one of the great houses. A fine building of imported white stone, it housed those who supervised Flordelis's affairs in Sendat, as well as visiting captains and traders. The top floor was given over to apartments set aside for Flordelis of Flordelis and the senior members of house.
Ysobel had been born into the house, but unlike her siblings, she'd left to make her own way as a ship owner and master trader. She'd already been well established when her father had been selected as Flordelis of Flordelis. Since then their relationship had changed. They were not merely father and daughter but two master traders tending to the affairs of their own houses—which brought them into conflict as often as not.
She wondered how he would react when he discovered the use she had made of his hospitality, but then, as the carriage drew up before the mansion, she saw the pennant flying above. Lord Delmar was in residence, which meant she would have a chance to tell him herself.
The boy standing door watch, doubtless the child of one of her numerous cousins, opened the door to the carriage and helped her alight. She turned, and held out her arm for Lucius, who ignored it. Though after descending he then reached in and offered his arm to his scandalized servant. The servant shook his head, but did allow Lucius to take charge of his leather bag while he climbed down, then swiftly reclaimed his prize.
Ysobel wondered what made the bag so valuable. Did it contain the emperor's purse, perhaps? Or was it merely the servant's own possessions?
The boy's eyes took all of this in, but his face was as expressionless as any trader could wish. “Lady Ysobel, Lord Delmar bade me bid you and your guests welcome,” he said.
So her father was not merely in the city, he had been here when her message arrived. Good.
“Our luggage is following on a cart. When it arrives please see that it is brought in,” she told the boy.
Lucius looked around, his eyebrows raised. “Yours?” he asked.
“House Flordelis,” she replied.
“In the literal sense, I believe,” he said, his mouth quirking in a wry smile.
“Where is Lord Delmar?” she asked. She could have asked for her father, but the occasion called for formal manners.
“In his office, master trader,” the youth said. “He is expecting you.”
Lucius instructed Eight to remain behind until the cart with their luggage and the rest of his servants arrived, then followed her inside.
Her father's seldom-used office was on the ground floor, used only for the affairs of the family. When it came to meeting with other traders he had a table at the guild hall, as was customary, and a working office in the complex of warehouses owned by Flordelis.
She could not remember the last time she had been summoned there, but she knew where it was well enough. There were new frescoes on the walls, but the tiles under her feet were the same as they'd been when she was a child.
As they entered, Lord Delmar rose to greet them. He looked as she remembered him. His gray hair was perhaps a little thinner, the lines in his face a little deeper from the weight of his responsibilities, but his dark eyes were still bright, and he smiled to see her.
“Ysobel, I am glad to see you well,” he said. He took her hands in his and kissed her on both cheeks, choosing to welcome her as family and not as one trader to another. “
The rumors in port have been troubling, and I've been worried about you,” he added, with a glance toward Lucius. Naturally he was too discreet to mention precisely what those rumors were in front of a stranger.
“It is good to be home,” Ysobel said. “As for the rumors, I have brought news that should shed light on recent events.”
There was a pause as her father waited for her to introduce Lucius to him, as would be expected if her companion was the clerk he appeared to be. Instead she turned to the emperor.
“May I present my father, Lord Delmar Flordelis of Flordelis of Alcina?”
Lucius nodded gravely in acknowledgment.
“Father, this is Lucius Constantin Aurelius,” she said. “The emperor of Ikaria.”
The good news was that Lucius was still emperor of Ikaria. Reports said that he was resting at one of his villas in the countryside. Some said he was ill, others that he'd merely sought to escape the oppressive summer heat.
Unfortunately, they were not the first to bring news of ships being attacked. The guild knew of a half dozen missing ships, and Burrell's contacts in the navy had yielded the names of two more. Suspicion had fallen upon the Ikarians, but it had been mere speculation—until the captain of the Greenbow gave his damning report.
Ysobel had sent copies of Zorion's sworn testimony to both the ministry of trade and the king's council of advisors and requested an audience with each.
Lady Felicia, head of the king's council, was the first to respond, summoning Ysobel to a private meeting. She'd not been pleased that Ysobel had taken it upon herself to leave her assigned post in Karystos. Her frown only deepened as Ysobel made her report.
“You claim that those who attacked Rhosyn were not Ikarians, but you did not witness this for yourself,” Lady Felicia said.
“No, but you have the sworn statement of Captain Zorion—”
“Who once sailed for you, did he not?”
“Yes, but no longer.” She'd known that Zorion would be seen as partisan, but it was hardly the time to admit that she'd released him from her service because she no longer trusted his judgment. It would not help her case to admit that Zorion had previously set aside his responsibilities to others in order to protect Ysobel.
“If this is an attempt to hide your incompetence, it is remarkably weak,” Lady Felicia said. “First you allowed the Ikarians to dupe you into thinking they would honor the truce, then once you realized that you'd been deceived, you try to hide your failure by blaming others for their aggression.”
Ysobel's hands curled into fists but she kept her voice even as she responded. “If you thought so poorly of me, you would never have sent me as your envoy to the Ikarians,” she said. “You asked me to bring you peace, and I did.”
She let her words hang in the air. Unspoken was the knowledge that Lady Felicia and the council had been the ones to pursue the path of war until the Ikarians had made it unprofitable. Only then had they sued for peace.
Ysobel had accepted the role of envoy knowing full well that her own people were prepared to sacrifice her, if that was the price that Emperor Lucius demanded. But he, at least, had dealt honorably with her.
Would that she could say the same of her own people.
“I come before you because my goal remains unchanged—to prevent a war that will cost lives and treasure that none can spare,” Ysobel said.
“Even if you speak the truth, how do you propose to do this?”
“I respectfully ask that King Bayard and his councilors meet with the envoy who accompanied me,” Ysobel said. “Hear him before you decide upon any course of action.”
Lady Felicia's eyebrows rose at the mention of the king. Ysobel had never met him herself; he preferred to leave the ordinary affairs of governance in the hands of his ministers. But it would be an insult to leave him out.
“This envoy, I've never heard of him. Neither has anyone else,” Lady Felicia said.
“He speaks with the voice of the emperor,” Ysobel said. Such was traditionally said of those who served as ambassadors or envoys, but in this case it was the literal truth.
“And you will not tell me what he wants?”
Ysobel hesitated. “It is for him to say,” she finally said.
The gaze that raked over her was not friendly. “Perhaps you were wise to return,” Lady Felicia said. “It seems you have grown too cozy with the Ikarians. You should strive to remember where your loyalties lie.”
It was a perilous path that she walked. Reveal Lucius's presence too soon and lose the advantage of surprise. Yet the longer she delayed, the more it would seem to her enemies that she had chosen to put the emperor first and her own country second.
“I know my duty,” Ysobel said. “And where my loyalties lie.”
“For your sake, I hope you do,” Lady Felicia said.
They'd decided that he was to feign illness as part of the tale that they'd agreed upon to explain his absence from his empire. But when the hour of the audience arrived, the weakness was all too real and the cause all too familiar.
Josan had awoken that morning to the sound of low whispers, but the chamber he'd been assigned had been empty. At first he'd suspected that he was hearing conversations from an adjacent chamber, but gradually the whispers grew stronger, until he realized that it was the sound of Lucius's mind voice.
Lucius was present, able to speak to Josan clearly for the first time in weeks. But there was a price—Josan's entire right side was numb. He could barely stand, and his right arm swung uselessly by his side. He'd been forced to allow Eight to dress him as if he were a child.
After so long, the imperial robes felt strange on his skin—the silk slippery rather than soft, and the elaborate embroidery weighing as heavily on his body as it did on his spirits.
Trust Eight to bring along robes fit for an emperor—and then to scold his emperor for not taking better care of himself when Josan's infirmities were revealed. He did not know what he had done to earn such loyalty—by leaving the palace, Eight had risked his life. And he had compounded the risk by giving Chenzira the lizard crown, which Eight claimed had been given to him for safekeeping though doubtless others would say it was stolen.
Chenzira, too, had risked all, gambling that he could find Lucius where others had failed. Here it was easier to understand his partisanship—a bond had formed between them when Josan had taught the secrets of federation navigation techniques to the imperial navy. Chenzira had been his first pupil, and he still saw the emperor as a benefactor.
But that did not explain why Admiral Septimus had permitted Chenzira to embark upon his journey—nor Septimus's instructions that the rest of the fleet would support this madness. By doing so, he had set himself in direct opposition to Proconsul Zuberi—a man who could not bear to be opposed.
It was humbling when Josan considered how many were trusting him—trusting that he was still their emperor, and that by helping him they helped Ikaria. But mixed with the humility was equal parts fear, at the realization that it was not just his own life that he had placed at risk.
We are their emperor. It is their duty to support us, Lucius thought, with the mental equivalent of a shrug. He took the devotion of others as his due—a birthright just as much as the lizard crown.
But Josan could not be so sanguine. Even if he was enough of an emperor that he would use their loyalty, regardless of his misgivings.
It took the combined efforts of both of Chenzira's seamen-turned-servants to help him descend from the third floor, while Eight followed behind, muttering about dire consequences should the emperor fall.
It was a relief to them all when he reached the bottom of the stairs. The seamen released him, and he stood for a moment, regaining his breath. Then he made his way unaided out to the central courtyard.
Lady Ysobel was already waiting for them—the impatience on her face changing swiftly to concern as she observed Josan's slow progress and the way his right leg dragged with each step.
But when he reached her, her only words were to ask if he was ready to depart.
Josan nodded. “I know what I must do,” he said. “See that you play your part as well.”
As they made their way to the palace where they were to meet with King Bayard, Josan found himself wondering why she had not asked about his illness. Not that he wanted her concern, nor did he want to brush away offers to send for a healer or physician, but it was out of character for her not to say something.
Even if it was only to worry if he would be strong enough for the upcoming audience.
I told her, Lucius thought.
What?
I told her about us. About Nikos, the spell, all of it.
If Lucius had been a physical being, Josan would have struck him. He was appalled; no, he was infuriated by Lucius's recklessness. How could he have done such a thing?
Why? he demanded. Why would you tell her anything?
Because I could.
You wanted her to pity you. You risked us both for the smile of a beautiful woman.
I would have slept with her, if she agreed, Lucius thought, fueling Josan's rage. But do not cast me as wholly selfish. Someone must know of Nikos's treachery once we are dead.
Josan would not have picked Lady Ysobel to confide in. Yet there was no one else.
You should have consulted me first.
As you did, when you decided to forgo our search for a cure?
He would have consulted Lucius had he been able to, but logic was unlikely to sway the headstrong prince. Fortunately the carriage drew to a halt, bringing an end to the argument.
King Bayard's palace was not what he expected—merely a larger version of the mansions owned by the leading trading houses. It could have been dropped unnoticed into a corner of the imperial palace compound in Karystos.
Then again, the federation had no concept of a ruling dynasty. Their rulers were chosen from among the ranks of the nobility. King Bayard had been elected king thirty years ago, but before then he had merely been the minister of trade. And just as the heads of the trading houses were expected to step aside when they could no longer serve, the king was also allowed to retire gracefully, at a time of his choosing.
As opposed to Ikaria, where the crown passed only in the event of the death of its owner—peaceful or otherwise.
He had yet to meet King Bayard, but already he envied him.
Two soldiers guarded the iron gate that led into the inner courtyard. There was a brief delay as the seamen had to lift Josan out of the carriage, and he swayed as he stood on his own feet.
Burrell came forward, trailed by a man wearing a smock emblazoned with the seal of the federation.
Seeing Josan's weakness, Burrell quickly stepped forward to offer his arm, and Josan clutched it gratefully. He could not help wondering if his weakness was deliberate, another sign of Lucius's spite. But then he felt ashamed of his doubts. Lucius could be petty, but he was committed to the survival of his empire.
The soldiers swung open the gate, and their escort led the way, with Lady Ysobel at his side, followed by Josan's and Burrell's halting progress. Eight trailed behind them, carrying a cedar casket.
“What's in the box?” Burrell asked. He, too, did not comment on Josan's obvious weakness, nor how much effort was required to make it appear as if he lent his arm for courtesy's sake, when in fact he was supporting a substantial portion of Josan's weight.
“Diplomatic credentials,” Josan replied.
Unlike Ikarian mansions, which were often built around a central courtyard meant for entertaining, federation mansions had a small courtyard barely large enough for a fountain. The royal palace was much the same, and it took only a few paces to pass through the courtyard and enter the mansion proper.
Lady Ysobel slowed as they approached a set of elaborately carved doors.
Unlike his own palace, no guards stood outside. Instead their escort simply rapped once on the doors, then swung them open.
Josan braced himself for what was to come.
As he entered, his eyes swept over the room. Ysobel had expected a full council of twelve, but he saw fourteen people in the room. King Bayard was easy to recognize, for he sat at the head of a long table, a platinum circlet nearly blending in with his iron-gray hair. At Bayard's right was a woman who must be Lady Felicia, the head of his council. On Bayard's opposite side was an elderly man with a shaven skull, likely Telfor, who'd he been told was Bayard's closest advisor, though he no longer held any official post.
