UNMASKED

Ysobel cursed under her breath. Discovering the emperor secretly leaving Karystos was an advantage, but it was an advantage that she would waste if she could not confirm his destination.

She stared at the ship, willing it to reveal its secrets. As she watched, a monk scrambled awkwardly down the gangplank. He wore the cowl of his robe over his head, despite the summer heat.

Abruptly, she straightened. “That's him,” she said.

She could not say how she had recognized the emperor—there was something about his gait and how he held himself. That and the fact that he kept tugging the cowl so that it shielded his face, despite the melting heat.

She and Burrell followed as the apparent monk reached his destination—a small, aged cargo ship. She must have been mistaken. But then the monk turned for one last look at the harbor and a gust of wind slid the cowl from his face. There was no mistaking those features.

Lucius, emperor of Ikaria. Standing on the deck of a common freighter, wearing the robes of a monk instead of imperial silks. It was impossible. And yet there it was before her eyes.

“It looks like him,” Burrell said. “But what's he up to?”

“I don't know,” she said. “But I'm going to find out. . . .”