Chapter 15
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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.

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.

Based on the information Ysobel had given him, he could make guesses at the rest who ranged themselves along each side of the table. Pity that they did not have placards displaying their names, so he would know which ones to be wary of.

Strange to see so many were women—six of the fourteen, including Lady Solange, who was minister of trade. According to Ysobel, this was the most important ministry, more powerful than even the ministry of war. He wondered what Nerissa would have made of such a gathering.

At the end closest to the door, there was a man whose eyes widened as he caught sight of them. Josan did not recognize him, but that meant nothing. As emperor, there were many who knew him by sight.

There were two seats vacant at the end of the table, but Josan made no move to take one of them.

Instead he released Burrell's arm. “Introductions,” he said, making sure his voice would carry to the king.

It was a seemingly deliberate discourtesy, and he knew Ysobel well enough to know that she was angry, though a stranger might think her calm. Still, Ysobel did as he'd requested.

“Bayard of the house of Merlion, King of the Federated Islands of Seddon,” Ysobel said, then proceeded to name the councilors in turn.

Josan nodded, acknowledging each introduction. The man who'd stared so hard at him was Hardouin, who'd served as ambassador to Ikaria before being expelled for his part in the failed second uprising. It was possible that he recognized the emperor, but in a few seconds that would no longer matter.

Josan gestured, and Eight came forward and opened the casket, his back to the council so that only Josan and his companions could see what was inside.

“Credentials,” Burrell murmured. It sounded as if he were trying not to laugh.

Josan flexed the fingers of his right hand, and for a mercy they obeyed him. It would have been humiliating to have another perform this task. Reaching inside the casket with both hands, he lifted the lizard crown out and set it upon his head.

He could not see what had happened, but from the gasps he knew that the crown had glowed when it recognized its rightful owner.

The usurpers had been unable to wear this crown—Aitor and his descendants had instead worn a heavy jewel-encrusted monstrosity. But Zuberi had deemed Lucius unworthy of such treasure, and at Lucius's coronation he'd been crowned with the lizard crown of his ancestors—something that Zuberi swiftly regretted as the lizard crown responded to the magic inside Lucius. Each time he put it on, the filigreed crown would flash with light. And some swore that as he wore it, the lizards would dart between the twined olive leaves.

He'd never witnessed such for himself, but he knew it would make a lasting impression.

“Lucius Constantin Aurelius, Emperor of Ikaria,” Lady Ysobel said.

There was a brief hush, then King Bayard rose to his feet.

“I bid you welcome,” the king said. “Please, be seated. We have much to discuss.”


In some ways, it had been very much like a meeting of his own council, from the early days of his reign. Then, as now, he'd been in fear for his life, knowing that the wrong word could see him imprisoned, or worse.

The risks here were actually less. While Zuberi had often threatened to send Lucius back to the torture chambers, it was unlikely that Bayard would order anything more drastic than imprisonment. Or a swift execution.

Which might be preferable to the lingering death by paralysis that Lucius feared.

It had taken all of Josan's strength to sit upright for the council meeting and appear in command as King Bayard's councilors argued with him and among themselves. Bayard, for his part, had said nothing, content merely to observe the debate. Until the end, when Telfor had whispered something that caused the king to announce that the council was over. Bayard had gravely thanked his honored guest and his councilors for sharing their wisdom, then taken his leave without reaching a decision.

Burrell had had to help Josan stand, and it had taken the efforts of both Burrell and one of Bayard's servants to support Josan as he made his way back to the hired coach. Once they'd arrived at the Flordelis's mansion, he'd been carried upstairs to his rooms as if he were a child or an old man.

At least this gave credence to the tale they'd spun for the council—that Emperor Lucius had been on a private voyage when he'd witnessed the rogue attackers, and Lady Ysobel had convinced him to set aside his own concerns in order to defuse the crisis.

It nearly passed belief that an emperor would leave his realm, but all understood that a dying man could be driven to desperate acts. And that he had turned aside from his own quest to help avoid this war would surely count in his favor.

If Bayard and his councilors were reasonable men. Which was yet to be proven.

Exhausted from his efforts though it was scarcely midday, Josan allowed Eight to chivy him into lying down for a rest.

When he woke, it was late afternoon, judging from the shadows on his walls. Once again he heard voices, but this time they came from outside his head.

“Come, you must rise,” Eight said. “You have a visitor.”

Josan pushed himself to a seated position with his left arm, but needed help to stand. He resigned himself to being treated as a child, as others dressed him, then combed his hair.

He'd seen little of Lord Delmar since his arrival, but when Josan entered Delmar's personal study, he found his host speaking with none other than King Bayard. Delmar waited until the servants had helped Josan to a chair before asking permission to leave, closing the door behind him.

Josan's studies had concerned mathematics rather than history, so he could be forgiven for not knowing if this was the first time that the ruler of the federation had held a private meeting with his Ikarian counterpart. But if this was not the first such meeting, it was surely a rare event.

He wondered what Bayard had to say to him that he could not say in front of his own councilors. It was fortunate that Josan spoke both the diplomatic tongue as well as the trade tongue—left to Lucius's efforts they would have needed an interpreter.

“I am told that you are unwell,” Bayard began.

Josan shrugged, pretending to an ease that he did not feel. “A weakness plagues me from time to time,” he said. “It will pass.”

“I would gladly offer the services of one of my physicians—”

“No,” Josan interrupted. “I do not need a physician, nor did you come here to inquire about my health. We are both too powerful to play games with one another. Speak plainly, or not at all.”

Bayard leaned forward in his seat, leaning his elbows upon his knees. “My advisors tell me not to trust you. They are convinced that this is an elaborate ruse, meant to deceive us into lowering our guard,” he said.

“It seems to me that I am the one who has taken all the risks,” Josan said, “while you have ventured nothing.”

“And so you came here, driven by a noble spirit, for what? To urge us not to attack your ships? Not to take revenge for our losses?”

Bayard's words were scornful, but Josan refused to let himself be drawn.

“Your country is no friend of mine,” Josan said. “I have not forgotten that you sent spies to help overthrow Empress Nerissa. Twice.”

“To place you on the throne—”

“To see Ikaria consumed by civil war,” Josan pointed out. “If we wish to recount past sins, we will be here till dawn.”

Bayard straightened upright, no longer confrontational. “Agreed,” he said.

“I came because we have a common threat,” Josan said. “I will not spend my men and my ships blindly, battling the wrong enemy, only to weaken ourselves so that we are ripe for attack by another. If you cared about your country, you would feel the same.”

“I know my duty to my people,” Bayard said.

“Then you know better than to act rashly.”

“What do you propose?”

Josan took a deep breath. “Joint patrols, formed of equal numbers of ships from each of our navies,” he said. “They will seek out these rogues posing as Ikarians and show that we are not to be taken by such tricks.”

It was the best that he'd been able to come up with, and neither Chenzira nor Ysobel could think of a better plan.

“And once we find these pirates? If they are Ikarian?”

“If they are Ikarian, I will see them punished, and personally repay the owners of every ship that was lost,” Josan said. “But if they are from Vidrun, as we have sworn to you, then you will be welcome to make cause with us as we strike back against them.”

Bayard shook his head. “I do not want war with Vidrun.”

“I do not want war with anyone,” Josan said. “If you choose to forgive their sins against you, that is your right. But I will do as I must.”

Or his successor would. Proconsul Zuberi and the newcomers had their own reasons to hate those who had driven their ancestors out of their homeland of Anamur, forcing them into exile in Ikaria. The newcomers had prospered in exile, but they remembered what their ancestors had lost, and Ikaria had spent much of Aitor II's reign in constant skirmishes with Vidrun. It would take little to reignite that conflict.

“They say that men see most clearly as they approach death,” Bayard said. “Pettiness disappears when one is thinking of a legacy rather than one's own ambitions. Or so Telfor insists each time he advises me.”

“I hope to be as wise when I reach his age,” Josan said, refusing to admit that he was dying.

He held his breath, waiting for Bayard's answer. What he offered was the limit of what he could—he was confident that Admiral Septimus would agree to the joint patrols. Such was within his power even if another sat on the imperial throne.

At least until Septimus was replaced. Or condemned as traitor, for helping Lucius.

He pushed aside such worries and returned his attention to the man who would decide the fate of two countries.

“Agreed,” King Bayard said. “I'll not ask my people to fight a war based on mere rumors. Once I have the truth, I'll know who my true enemy is.”

Josan repressed a sigh of relief. He wanted to express his gratitude but knew that such would be a mistake, serving only to reinforce the fact that Bayard held power over him. Instead he merely said, “Your wisdom serves your people well.”

“You will, of course, remain as my guest until this matter is resolved.”

Bayard was too polite to call him hostage, but both knew that was what he had meant. It was only to be expected. He had known from the start that the Seddonians would be loath to relinquish the advantage that his presence gave them.

“Of course,” Josan said. “I know I will be treated as well here as I would be in my own palace.”

He knew Bayard would take this for a polite lie, but Josan spoke the literal truth. He had as many enemies at home as he did here—and both were equally likely to take advantage of his helplessness.