Chapter 8
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The city of Skalla was a study in contrasts. The official buildings were constructed of stone in the imperial style, but the rest of the city was constructed of yellow brick or even timbers, as she'd heard was common in the interior of the northern provinces. The blended architecture reflected the diversity of the inhabitants. As the northernmost imperial port, Skalla was a frequent stopping point for traders from the northern countries, as well as Ikarian merchants who came to meet them.

In winter, with the shipping lanes closed, three strangers would stand out. But in high summer no one paid any attention to them.

Ysobel had used her credit to acquire more suitable lodgings for their party, as well as new clothes. Lucius continued to exhibit a strange blend of arrogance and modesty. He assumed that she would make all the necessary purchases, then insisted that he would dress neither as noble nor merchant, but rather in clothes fitting for a scholar.

At last she'd found clothing suitable for him, as well as richer garb for herself and Burrell. She dressed as befit a Master Trader—discarding tunic and leggings for embroidered shirts and linen pants—some with wide legs, others cropped short for ease of movement when on ship. Burrell, too, found clothes in a similar style, though he preferred more sober fabrics.

Lucius would have been happy enough if she'd found another monk's robe for him, but allowed himself to be convinced that it would raise fewer questions if he dressed as a clerk, in plain tunics of cotton or linen, depending on the occasion.

She'd also found the city baths, and spent a luxurious morning soaking away the accumulated grime of their voyage. Lucius and Burrell had spent equally long in the men's bath—and when Lucius emerged she saw that he'd had his hair cropped short.

Clearly at some point he intended once again to disguise himself as a monk, most likely so he could make his own way, without their aid. But he was not as clever as he supposed. If he did manage to elude them, it would be far easier to track the progress of someone with the distinctive look of a monk than it would if he merely blended into the general populace.

Though how much he would blend in was a question. Blond hair and light eyes were not common in this part of the empire, and once he left the empire he would be immediately spotted as a foreigner. Whether traveler, trader, or monk, he would be noticed.

Though perhaps not recognized. As he walked the streets of Skalla—in carefully supervised excursions—no one gave him a second glance. Few, if any, of the citizens here had ever been south to the great capital Karystos, and of those who had made the journey, if they'd seen the emperor at all, it would have been at a distance.

Even if he stood in the central market and shouted his name, it was doubtful that any would do more than stare at him in pity.

She, at least, could prove her identity. But as a master trader, with five ships sailing under her banner, it was expected that she would travel throughout the Great Basin. The federation traders' guild had outposts to serve its traders at every major port and was expected to handle anything from routine inquiries to the arrival of a master trader who'd lost everything at sea.

If the local factor had heard that Lady Ysobel was serving as envoy in Karystos, she must have assumed that the assignment had come to an end. Trade ruled all in the federation, and even the prestige of being named an envoy would be seen as of lesser status than the prestige of managing the affairs of one's house. Naturally the factor would send word back to the trade guild that Lady Ysobel had been in Skalla, but by then it would not matter.

Lady Ysobel had already sent letters to the ambassador in Karystos and to Lady Felicia, head of the king's council, who had named Ysobel as envoy to the Ikarian Empire. To each she had explained Lucius was not at either of the two imperial retreats, and she was attempting to determine his ultimate destination. She did not believe that he was personally intending to attack the federation, but prudence dictated that precautions should be observed.

She suggested the ambassador could continue to handle the negotiations related to the truce until Lucius returned—or circumstances changed.

Her readers would understand that she meant a change in government. If Lucius were overthrown, there would be no need for Ysobel to return to the capital.

She'd been chosen as envoy not because Lucius trusted her but rather because she'd worked closely with him during his ill-fated rebellion against Empress Nerissa. The king's council had assumed that her knowledge of Lucius would give her an advantage in any negotiations.

She'd thought so as well, but in their first meeting she'd realized how wrong she was. They'd been able to hammer out a truce that both countries could live with, but it had been as if she was negotiating with a stranger who wore Lucius's face.

From the first he'd confounded her. He'd led a bloody rebellion against the empress, then, inexplicably, he'd surrendered, betraying all those who had once professed their allegiance to him.

Confined to Nerissa's palace as a royal prisoner, he'd somehow turned circumstances to his advantage, vaulting from obscurity to become the most unlikely of emperors. Now, at presumably the height of his power, he appeared to be abandoning the throne he had fought so hard to take.

It was a puzzle, but one whose answers lay not in Skalla, but rather in Lucius's ultimate destination—wherever that might lie.

She found Burrell and Lucius in the common room, the remnants of a plate of olives and bread lying between them. Hooking her foot around a nearby stool, she dragged it over to their table and sat down.

She waved to beckon over the server. “I'll have the same, and we'll have whatever is planned for dinner.”

The server frowned at her. “The lamb won't be ready for at least two hours. There's fish from lunch—”

“We'll have fish. And a pitcher of yellow wine, if you have any,” she said.

“You found a ship,” Burrell said

Ysobel nodded. “There's a merchantman that will suit our needs. I've already been aboard—she's clean, in good repair, and carrying a consignment of cloth bound for Tarsus.”

Their other alternative had been a ship of similar size, but that ship was carrying clay jugs of olive oil—a heavier cargo that would result in a slower journey.

“Will we be sharing deck space with caged fowl?” Lucius asked.

The server returned, setting down the wine and a plate of dark olives and fresh bread. Ysobel ate a handful of the small, nutty-tasting olives before tearing off a chunk of bread.

“No ducks,” Ysobel said. “They have cabins set aside for use by traders, which they make available to passengers when there are no family members aboard.”

The bread was still warm, and she chewed it slowly, knowing it would be some time before she savored fresh bread again.

“We need to eat, then make our way to the docks. The captain plans to sail at dawn and wants us on board before sunset,” she informed them.

They'd spent three days here already, waiting for a suitable ship. After their recent experiences she'd been understandably reluctant to take just any ship. She'd passed on those that were too old, too slow, or whose reputation was tarnished in any way.

It would have been easier if Lucius had allowed her to book passage on a federation vessel; she knew all of the trading houses and their reputations by heart. But Lucius, fearing to find himself completely in her power, had insisted that he would only sail on an Ikarian ship or one from a neutral country.

Their dinner arrived—fillets of a plain fish that had been seasoned with spices, then baked with cheese and raisins. It was a bit dry, but better fare than they could expect aboard ship. After they ate, Ysobel refilled the emperor's wine cup and made a show of topping off her own and Burrell's, though neither had drunk more than was needed to slake their thirst.

Griselda is a good ship, but she's Taresian,” Ysobel observed. “We'd make faster time if we had a federation ship.”

Sea trade was the lifeblood of the Seddonian Federation, and for generations their captains had jealously guarded their sailing routes—and the secrets of navigation that allowed them to reliably find the swiftest currents, sailing across the breadth of the Great Basin without depending upon landmarks.

“And we'd be swifter still if I could hire a vessel to take us directly to Xandropol,” she added.

Chartering such a ship would take all her available credit and a talent for persuasion. But it could be done—and there was a chance that either the ministry or the Ikarian Empire would ultimately see fit to repay her generosity.

Lucius drained his cup. By her count it was at least his fourth, and who knew how many he had consumed before she had arrived. But his eyes were clear and his voice steady as he replied, “If speed were my sole concern, I could navigate for the captain myself.”

Her eyebrows rose in disbelief. Rumors claimed Emperor Lucius had been the one who'd discovered the secrets the federation had guarded for so long, then taught them to his own navy. Perhaps she'd been hasty in dismissing those rumors.

“What, you think me unable to perform simple math? Even an emperor can reckon his sums,” he added.

“If he wanted the Taresians to share his hard-won knowledge,” Burrell said.

Lucius shrugged. “True, there is that to consider. I think it best for all of us if we let the captain of Griselda chart his own course.”

“As you wish,” she said.


Burrell paced the deck, taking advantage of the fair weather to stretch his legs—and to keep his eye upon the emperor, who sat leaning against the capstan, his back cushioned by the coiled ropes. Ostensibly the emperor was their clerk, but he avoided their company whenever he could, and they paid him the courtesy of allowing him his solitude. None of the crew had seen fit to question why he and Ysobel shared one cabin, while their clerk had the other to himself.

The emperor was in the habit of spending most of each day on deck, observing their passage or simply enjoying the fresh air. While in Skalla he'd acquired several books to replace the one he'd lost, and they consumed his attention.

They'd been at sea for four days, and the weather had been near perfect. Burrell carefully avoided thinking about whether such weather was due to good luck or some other influence.

At noon there'd been a faint shadow on the horizon, and as the day wore on it grew clearer until even a landsman could tell that they approached the shores of Tarsus. Griselda was bound for the city of Rauma, where they would have to find another ship to take them the rest of the way to Xandropol.

He noticed that the sun had shifted so that it shone full on the emperor's face, which would make it difficult to read. Usually the emperor would change his position throughout the day, so that he was always in the shade, but he hadn't moved for the past hour.

Burrell made a circuit of the deck, pausing to speak to the helmsman, who confirmed that they would arrive in Rauma sometime tomorrow. Then he made another circuit.

The emperor still had not moved.

Before he'd even realized that he'd made up his mind, Burrell crossed the deck. The emperor blinked as Burrell's shadow fell across him, his face flushed from the sun's rays.

Burrell crouched down next to him, putting one arm on the capstan for balance.

“You can see Tarsus on the horizon,” he said. “We'll be in Rauma tomorrow if the weather holds.”

The emperor nodded, closing the book that he held open on his lap. “I've never seen Tarsus,” he said. “When I sailed before, we took the southern route.”

Burrell kept his face carefully blank. The emperor's whereabouts during his years of exile was a matter of much speculation. Was it possible that he had spent that time in Xandropol? Was this the reason why he was so anxious to return—because he'd found safety there once before?

Lady Ysobel swore she had encountered Lucius on Txomin's island, which was part of the empire, at a time when he was calling himself Brother Josan and living as a lighthouse keeper. But that did not mean he couldn't have first journeyed to Xandropol.

“Did you wish to return to your cabin? It is almost time for third meal,” Burrell said.

The ship's day was divided into four watches, with meals being served before each watch. The only concession made for passengers was that their meals were brought to their cabins. If they weren't there to receive them, they had to wait until the next meal.

The emperor tilted his head slightly and flexed the fingers of his right hand.

“Perhaps I prefer it here,” he said.

“Or perhaps you can't move,” Burrell said. “Prove to me that you can stand.”

“I'll not be treated in this fashion,” he said. “Leave me alone, or—”

“Or what? You'll summon the crew? They'll be happy to help me discipline my clerk.”

The emperor glared.

“Come, strike me if you dare,” Burrell goaded him.

The emperor continued to glare at him for the space of several heartbeats, then his expression changed to one of ruefulness. “Would that I could,” he said, his voice softer than it had been before.

Burrell nodded slowly, his suspicions confirmed. “Shall I summon help?” A ship of this size wouldn't have a healer, but there would be one of the mates assigned the task of caring for the crew's ills—splinting broken limbs, sewing up cuts, and treating them for whatever ailments they caught while in port.

“And what can he do that all of the imperial physicians could not?”

Burrell rocked back on his heels. He was not used to feeling so helpless. If the emperor were suffering from a malady, there was little that they could do to help.

“Leave me alone,” Lucius commanded. “This will pass. It always does.”

Lucius's words were brave, but surely that must be a mask. If Burrell were the one who was paralyzed, he would be terrified.

“If I help you stand, can you walk?”

Lucius thought it over for a moment, looking hard at his feet. First one, then the other leg, twitched. “Maybe,” he said. “But I'd rather wait.”

“If you wait here, you will fry in the sun,” Burrell said. “And then you'll be of no use to any of us.”

He rose, and found one of the crew idling. Explaining that his clerk had been overcome by the heat, he enlisted the man's help. They pulled Lucius upright, then slung one of his arms over each of their shoulders, bearing most of his weight. With their help, the emperor was able to walk slowly to his cabin.

Burrell settled him into bed, thanking the sailor for his help.

“This will pass, you say?” Burrell asked, after the sailor had departed.

“It always has before,” he replied. He did not thank Burrell for his help.

The emperor turned his face to the wall and Burrell took the hint. Closing the door to Lucius's cabin behind him, he went to find Lady Ysobel. If Lucius's illness was getting worse, then she needed to be informed.


He will tell Lady Ysobel, Josan thought.

Tell her what? That we are ill? She knows that already.

Lucius's voice was clear in his mind, though his body was still gripped by a chill numbness. He had been able to feel Lucius's spirit, but Lucius had not been able to take control. It had been Josan who spoke to Burrell, and Josan who managed to stumble back to the cabin with the aid of his two helpers.

They are lovers, you know. Can't you picture the two of them together? I wonder if she is as commanding in bed as she is out of it? Lucius mused.

The images that came to mind stirred both of them, in different ways. This body had never lain with a man, but Josan still remembered what it felt like, and to himself, at least, admitted that he would enjoy letting his hands reacquaint themselves with firm muscles and silky flesh.

Lucius, though he despised Lady Ysobel's politics, nonetheless was intrigued by her exotic beauty—a rare combination of strength and grace, her dark hair and golden skin an exotic delight.

Do you think they would take us to bed?

Josan was shocked. Which of them?

Both, of course, Lucius retorted. Then each of us would have what we wanted.

Josan swallowed, hard. It had been so long since he had felt the touch of a lover . . .

And then realized that Lucius had used his own longings to distract Josan.

Enough, Josan thought. I will not be so easily distracted. You've been using magic to speed this ship's passage, haven't you?

And what of it? The journey is taking too long. We should be in Xandropol by now.

He could taste Lucius's frustration, and underneath it fear. This was the first time since leaving Karystos that he and Lucius had been able to converse, though Lucius had taken control of their shared body at least twice. First when they'd been shipwrecked and it had been Lucius who'd summoned the wind that bore them to land. Later he'd surfaced in Skalla, when Josan had been lost in fever dreams, healing their shared body. But since then his possessions had been brief, lasting minutes rather than hours.

Lucius was growing weaker. Josan could feel his spirit fading. But as Lucius weakened, so did his body.

If Lucius's spirit were to disappear entirely, Josan might be free . . . But he swiftly squashed that shameful thought. It was more likely that this body would wither and die once Lucius's spirit faded.

You must save your strength, Josan told him. Once we are in Xandropol, we will unravel this spell.

And then what? Will I be free to return home? Will I still have an empire to rule? Or do you plan to live there, as Brother Josan of Xandropol?

It was the question that haunted them both. Josan did not like Lucius, but he respected him enough not to offer hollow reassurances.

If you exhaust yourself before Xandropol, I will make those decisions without you, Josan pointed out. If you wish to reign once more as Emperor Lucius, you would be wise to hoard your strength.

You are neither my father nor my elder brother, to order me about, Lucius said. But his presence diminished, and Josan could feel his nerves tingling as sensation returned once more to his limbs.

By the time a seaman arrived with dinner, Josan was fully recovered. He ate heartily, then pulled out a blank parchment and his writing case. They would soon arrive in Rauma, and he had his own preparations to make. Ones that did not involve being dependent upon Lady Ysobel's charity.


Rauma was a bustling port, far larger than Skalla had been, with ships of all sizes and descriptions tied up to her wharves. Griselda waited in harbor for several hours until a berth was freed for her. As soon as they could, Josan and his companions made their way off the ship, dodging sailors who were opening hatches and rigging hoists to unload their cargo.

After Josan's attack yesterday, Burrell had stopped by that night to inquire after his health, and Josan had been careful to give the impression that he was recovering, but still weak. He'd feigned the same at breakfast this morning. As he descended the gangplank, it was with a slow, hesitant gait.

Lady Ysobel watched him when she thought he was not looking. Burrell simply moved close and offered his arm. Emperor Lucius would have been affronted by such liberties, so Josan made certain to glare at Burrell before reluctantly accepting his support.

He was tired of playing the part of Lucius, but it was what they expected of him. And he dared not risk their discovering the truth.

“We need a ship for Xandropol. A fast ship, not a coastal trader that will pause at every inlet and cove for the next hundred miles,” Josan said.

“I know what we need,” Lady Ysobel replied. “I will go to the harbormaster to find out what ships are available. He will not welcome a crowd, so you and Burrell may wait for me.”

She thought him too weak to continue. At their mercy.

And if he stayed with them, she would be right.

Josan scorned the first two taverns that Ysobel suggested as too disreputable before agreeing to the suggestion of a teahouse, which had tables both outside and in, where merchants and ships' officers sat sipping hot spiced beverages and conducting their affairs.

Ysobel left them, promising to return shortly. Josan felt his hands shake. This would be his best chance for escape. Burrell must have mistaken his nervousness for illness. Without prompting he suggested that they hire a private room rather than waiting in the common room.

Josan settled himself, sending Burrell out to fetch a mug of spiced kava and the sweet nut rolls for which Tarsus was famous. But when Burrell returned with the treats, Josan fumbled with the roll with his right hand, rather than tearing it apart with two hands as was customary. Petulantly he tossed it aside.

Burrell's face was carefully blank, as he took in the evidence that the emperor was once more paralyzed.

It was not long before Ysobel joined them. She and Burrell exchanged glances, communicating without words. It seemed more proof for Lucius's theory that the two were lovers, though Josan was not certain. Perhaps they were, or perhaps they had merely been together for so long that they could anticipate each other.

“There are two choices in harbor—a merchantman bound for his home port in Tyrns who swears he will arrive within the fortnight, and we can find another ship there to take us the rest of the way. Or there's a pilgrim ship with a Taresian captain bound for Xandropol, but they have four ports of call along the way, and will take at least three weeks,” Lady Ysobel said.

Josan frowned, pretending to think over the choices. “What are our chances of finding a ship when we reach Tyrns? Is it a well-frequented port, or will we have to wait for days to find a suitable ship?”

Ysobel shrugged. “His home is one of the smaller ports, so there is no guarantee,” she said. “Or there's the federation ship Hypatia, leaving this afternoon for Vidrun. I do not know her, but she's a three-master, and looks to be a fast ship. I'm sure I can persuade her captain to stop in Xandropol.”

“No,” Josan said. “Not Hypatia.

“Then I recommend the merchantman,” Ysobel said. “And we can take our chances in Tyrns.”

Josan gave a one-shouldered shrug. “So be it,” he said. “When does she sail?”

“Tomorrow. I'll go make the arrangements,” she said.

That left him alone with Burrell. Josan closed his eyes and leaned up against the wall. “We'll need a place for the night,” Josan said. “Ask our host if he can recommend somewhere. Clean, but not too far from here.”

He did not move, careful to give the impression of great frailty.

He heard the door open, then close again. Josan waited for the space of two dozen heartbeats, then opened his eyes.

He was alone.

Swiftly he stood, crossing over to the corner where Burrell had placed their meager luggage. Opening Burrell's journey bag, he took out one of Burrell's embroidered shirts. Stripping off his tunic, he pulled the shirt over his head.

It was a decent fit. He hunted till he found a pair of trousers with cropped legs, then put them on. The cropping would make it less obvious that they were made for a man who was two inches shorter than he was.

Shoving Burrell's pack behind Ysobel's, he grabbed his own and moved to the door. He cracked it open and peered into the corridor, but there was no one to be seen. He longed to run but instead walked down the corridor with measured stride, until he reached the door that led to the terrace outside.

There he disappeared into the crowds—just another Ikarian merchant going about his affairs. He walked for ten minutes before he stopped a sailor, and asked, “Do you know the federation ship Hypatia?”

The sailor shook his head, though he gladly took a copper to bring a scroll to the harbormaster's office.

He tried a merchant next, but the man refused even to hear him out. At last a dock laborer nodded, holding his hand out for a coin. Josan dropped a copper in his outstretched palm, wincing as he noticed that the laborer was missing two fingers on that hand.

“She's tied at the end of sixth wharf,” his informant said.

“Which one is sixth wharf?”

The laborer shook his head, amazed by such ignorance, and spit over the rail into the filthy harbor. “Same as in any civilized port. Sixth from the dawn side,” he explained.

Josan thanked him, handing over another copper for the man's troubles.

At any moment he expected to hear voices raised in pursuit, but he reached the sixth wharf without interference. There were four vessels tied up alongside, and at the end, a ship with the head of a fantastic beast carved out of its prow. Hypatia was painted in gold leaf along the bow, an ostentatious sign of wealth.

Even to his inexperienced eyes, the ship had the look of one that was ready to sail. There were no laborers loading or unloading cargo, and the hatches were all closed shut. A gangplank connected the ship with the wharf, and Josan made his way to the top.

A white-haired woman barred his way. “We're done with trade for this trip. The captain doesn't care how important your cargo is,” she said.

“I have no cargo,” he explained. “Nonetheless, I beg a moment of his time.”

She looked him over. “Your name?”

He hesitated. He hadn't thought of this, but he needed a name to give these people.

“Josan,” he said. It was foolish, but having lived as Lucius for so long, he was not willing to relinquish his own name. “Josan of Karystos.”

“Wait,” she said.

She disappeared below and returned a few moments later accompanied by a middle-aged man, who was built like one of the ship's masts, his solid bulk topped with a surprisingly intelligent face.

“Captain Zorion, of Hypatia, in service to the house of Arles,” he said.

“Josan of Karystos,” he said. It was nearly true. “May I have five minutes of your time?”

“Five minutes, no more,” Zorion said. “As soon as my first gets back with our sailing papers, we leave.”

“Agreed. But in private,” Josan said.

Zorion's expression did not change. “Amelie, five minutes, and if Edmond isn't back by then, fetch him yourself.”

Captain Zorion led him over to the wheelhouse, which was empty while they were tied up to the wharf.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Passage for myself, to Xandropol,” Josan said.

Zorion shook his head. “I don't take passengers, and I'm not going to Xandropol.” His eyes moved past Josan, caught by some activity on deck, and he began to move away.

“Wait,” Josan said, grasping Zorion's arm. “I am prepared to pay.”

Reaching inside his borrowed shirt, he pulled at the cord that was tied around his neck and pulled up a small leather bag. Opening the bag, he tipped a pair of rubies into his palm and held it out.

Zorion's gaze traveled from the rubies to Josan's face, then back again. “I need no trouble with the law,” he said. “Not here, and not in Xandropol.”

“I am not a criminal,” Josan said. “The reasons I travel are my own. I must reach Xandropol without delay. These are yours if you agree to take me.”

Zorion picked up the rubies, holding each up to the light in turn.

The stones were flawless, fit for an empress. Most of Nerissa's jewelry was still held in trust by the functionaries, but a few pieces had remained in her suite, overlooked in the chaos of preparing for the new emperor. When Josan had found the necklace he had first hid it, later surreptitiously taking it apart, gathering a dozen dark rubies. Other pieces yielded brilliant diamonds and polished amber luck stones.

Burrell had searched Josan's pack and found his purse—which was all the coin Josan could lay his hands on. An emperor did not need coins of his own, after all. But jewels were another matter, and Josan had hidden them within the thick cord that he wore around the waist of his monk's robe, carefully teasing them free when he was in his cabin on Griselda.

“For a few more of these, you could hire any ship,” Zorion said.

Josan had a handful of gems, but had only placed three rubies in the pouch. He did not want to give an appearance of wealth, but rather one of a man who was bargaining away the last valuable things that he owned.

“Do we have a bargain?” Josan asked.

Amelie's head appeared in the doorway. “Edmond's back,” she said. “We're ready to cast off.”

Zorion's fist closed over the rubies. “Tell Edmond that he's bunking in with the sailing master. We've a passenger joining us.”

“Thank you,” Josan said.

“Your word that there's no trouble,” Zorion said.

“I swear by all that I am that I am a free man on lawful business,” Josan said.

“That's good enough for me,” Zorion replied.

That, and a pair of rubies that might or might not make their way onto the ship's manifest. Though perhaps not all Seddonians were as mercenary as Lady Ysobel had shown herself to be.

Josan allowed himself to be led belowdecks, and accepted Amelie's admonishments that he was to keep out of the crew's way. He need only endure a fortnight longer, he promised his twin selves. Then they would be in Karystos.

Somewhere within the great library there would be the answers they needed.