The Sea Change

by Patricia Bray

  Her mood now grim, she descended the stairs and left the market, but not before purchasing a skin of cheap wine. Returning to her apartment just after sunset, she was not surprised to find that there were no messages for her. Throwing back the shutters of her window to catch the night breeze, she placed the oil lamp on a nearby table, then dragged her chair over. She could not see the harbor from here, but she knew where it was. Lifting the skin in the direction where the Swift Gull lay anchored, she offered a silent toast to her crew. Then she opened the skin and drank.

  The wine was bitter, tasting of vinegar with an undertone of mud. The second swallow was worse than the first, but she persisted, and after consuming half the skin, the wine seemed merely bad rather than wretched.

  Her thoughts turned back to Brice, wondering how he endured his fate. He had once been a sailor, but now he was land-bound, spending his days serving others who lived the life he had once possessed. Such a fate would drive her mad. Indeed, it was driving her mad. But Brice seemed happy enough.

  Or maybe his happiness was a deception—an illusion meant to charm his customers, as false as the stories he told. Perhaps Brice pretended to be happy because he could not bear the sympathy of others.

  She frowned at the wineskin, feeling restless, as if waiting for something—though she knew not what. She sat by the window in silent contemplation until midnight came, and she knew the tide had begun to ebb.

  Only then did she move to her bed. The wine had been a poor choice, for it seemed she had barely fallen asleep when she suddenly awoke, heart pounding as she recalled being pursued by a merman who had transformed himself into a shark. Her limbs shook as if she had indeed been frantically swimming for her life.

  She took a deep breath to calm herself, then she heard the sound of someone banging on the door to her apartment.

  “Ysobel, awake,” she heard Zorion call out.

  “G’way,” a man’s voice yelled, while another called out “I’ll wake the lazy bitch.”

  “Enough,” she called, as she scrambled out of her bed. Both Zorion and her disgruntled neighbors quieted.

  The oil lamp was still burning, so she raised the wick, the soft light dispelling the shadows. The terrors of her dream were banished by the very real fear of the present. She wondered what tragedy had brought Zorion at this hour.

  “The Gull, she is safe? And you?” she asked as she threw open the door.

  “We’re safe,” he said, brushing by her and shutting the door behind him before he added, “There’s news from Ikaria.”

  “And it could not wait until morning?” Her frantic heartbeats slowed as she realized that there was no immediate danger, but whatever news had brought him here must be grave indeed.

  “I wanted you to hear it from me, before the council summons you.”

  Ysobel perched on the edge of her cot as Zorion dragged the chair away from the window.

  “They’ve crowned him. Emperor Lucius, of the house of Constantin.”

  “That’s impossible. Absurd.” Briefly she wondered if this was another wine-fueled dream. Or an elaborate hoax.

  But Zorion seemed convinced, and far too solid to be a mere dream. “I heard it myself, from Amitee, the captain of the Liealia, who slipped into harbor after sunset. She’s just back from Kazagan, so I rowed over to ask about conditions there and learned more than I had bargained for.”

  “The captain must be mistaken. This is mere rumor put out by Lucius’s supporters, meant to create confusion. Proconsul Zuberi would never stand for it.”

  “Captain Amitee swears it is true. She heard it from the harbormaster herself, and saw the official decree, signed by the proconsul and the head of their senate. Lucius has made himself emperor with the help of Nerissa’s ministers.”

  “Emperor Lucius,” she said, tasting the strangeness of the words on her tongue.

  She had dismissed the prince as a weakling, unable to command his followers, too troubled by his newly discovered conscience to do what must be done. Even Empress Nerissa seemed to agree with this judgment, for she had permitted the rebellious prince to live as a symbol of her mercy.

  But it seemed Ysobel had misjudged him. And so had Empress Nerissa. He must have been secretly scheming for months, if not years, all the while playing the role of a naïve and helpless pawn.

  “Ikaria must be in chaos,” she said. Even if he had done the impossible and secured the support of Proconsul Zuberi, surely others would be displeased to see one of the old blood elevated to the rank of emperor. They guarded their privileges jealously.

  It would be chaos. This was precisely what the federation council had schemed to bring about, when it sent her to destabilize the Ikarian Empire. Belated, but a triumph nonetheless.

  “It’s what the council hoped for,” Zorion said, echoing her thoughts. “But it’s a gift of the Sea Witch for certain. No telling if this is good fortune for you, or ill.”

  She did not need his words to know that it was too soon to rejoice. Chaos brought danger as well as opportunity. She must steer a careful course in the coming days.

  “I thank you for this news,” she said. “And now you should return. You will set sail in less than six hours.”

  She sighed as she realized that he would sail on his own. As one of the few who had met Prince Lucius, the councilors would surely wish to hear her impressions of the man. But then, hopefully, they would reward her service by releasing her.

  “I’ll return as soon as I can,” Zorion said. “Look for our sails within the month.”

  “Safe passage,” she said.

  “Safe passage to you as well,” he replied.

  Morning brought not one but two summonses—one from Lord Quesnel and one from the council itself. With wits that cleared as the sun rose, she realized that she should have sent her own messenger to Lord Quesnel last night, on the off chance that his own spies at the docks had failed to give him early warning. He did not like surprises. He would want to know everything she did, so he could appear all-knowing before the council.

  But the summons of the council took precedence over Quesnel’s desire for a private meeting, and thus she followed their messenger to the residence of Lady Felicia. The location of the meeting indicated that this was an informal gathering rather than an official meeting of the council. There would be no scribes to record the debates nor duly mandated observers from the plebeian class.

  What was said today would be said in secret, but the decisions made would have the full force of law to back them up.

  Ysobel was shown to a small receiving room where two men were already waiting. She did not recognize them, and they did not offer their names. Following their lead, she did not offer her own name, merely sipping the offered tea and watched the play of light over the small garden that she could see just outside the window.

  She wondered at the circumstances that had led to Prince Lucius’s rise to power. What had led Zuberi to support the prince’s claim rather than taking the throne himself? How long had the two been scheming together? Was Zuberi’s disaffection with Nerissa a recent occurrence? Or had this plot been simmering before the federation offered its assistance to the rebellious prince? Would Lucius be grateful to the federation for past favors? Or would he see them as betrayers who had abandoned him to Empress Nerissa’s clutches, forcing him to find new allies?

  The answer to these questions would shape the federation’s own response. She suspected that the councilors would want her opinion, but she had no guidance to offer them. Since she had not been able to anticipate Lucius’s elevation, she could hardly claim to be able to predict his next move. Only time would reveal his intentions, but she knew this answer would not please the council.

  Though, in this situation, ignorance might serve her best. If she were intimately acquainted with Prince Lucius, the council might well find a use for her. But as it was, she had nothing to offer them, so there was no reason for them to insist on her continued presence.

  She sat for
hours, her well-trained nerves showing no signs of impatience as the sun climbed in the sky. The two men, dressed in the smocks and leggings worn by travelers and master sailors, sat side by side without speaking. In time, a servant arrived to summon the younger of the two men, who left without a word to the man she had assumed was his companion. A short time later the second man was summoned.

  Finally, it was her turn. Inwardly she composed herself, stilling her emotions, as if she were about to enter negotiations with an unknown adversary. There must be no sign of weakness or doubt. She had done them a service, one they had only recently acknowledged, but the councilors were not her friends. Not even Lord Quesnel, who was an ally at best, and thus she must be on her guard.

  Ostensibly this was a private gathering, but the room she was led to was even grander than the official council chamber. Lady Felicia sat at the head of a long table of polished mahogany, while Lord Quesnel sat at the opposite end. Arrayed between them on the far side were a half dozen councilors, while on the side of the table closest to the door there was a single empty chair.

  At Lady Felicia’s gesture, Ysobel took her seat. She nodded respectfully to the other councilors, trying to judge their mood. Lord Quesnel’s face was blank, but his stiff posture hinted at inner tension. Lady Solange, who had taken Quesnel’s place as minister of trade, appeared troubled, as well she might be. Quesnel had been campaigning to resume his former post, and anything that strengthened his hand would weaken hers. Ysobel did not know the others well enough to be certain, but to her eye they also appeared anxious, as might be expected, given the gravity of the news.

  Of course most of the councilors were master traders themselves. They might well be choosing to show the appearance of anxiety to hide their true feelings and intentions.

  “You do not seem surprised by your summons to this meeting,” Lady Felicia began. “May we assume that you have heard the recent news from Ikaria?”

  Ysobel turned her head toward Lady Felicia, as was polite. But this meant that she could no longer see Lord Quesnel’s expression, and she realized that the council seats had been deliberately chosen so he could not offer her any guidance.

  She wondered who it was that they were testing. Was it her or Lord Quesnel they sought to keep in check?

  “One of my captains brought the news to me late last night. I intended to report to you this morning, but your summons arrived before I could send word.” Her words were addressed to Lady Felicia, but they were meant to appease Lord Quesnel.

  Telfor, who had held nearly all the ministerial offices at one time or another in his long life, eyed her with disapproval. He was no longer a minister, but still served as both councilor and private advisor to King Bayard.

  “A month ago, you stood before this council and assured us that Prince Lucius would be executed and Proconsul Zuberi would assume the throne. What have you to say for yourself?” Telfor demanded.

  “I believe I merely said that Proconsul Zuberi was the most likely of the candidates, based on my knowledge of Ikarian politics. But that knowledge was several months stale, as I informed you at the time.”

  “Not good enough,” Telfor said.

  “Lady Felicia, may I ask if you are certain of this news? There is no possibility of deceit or confusion?” Ysobel asked.

  Lady Felicia nodded. “Two different sources have brought us word of Emperor Lucius’s ascendance, strange as the turn of events may seem to at least some of us.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Ysobel did not have to feign confusion.

  “You were sent to Ikaria to foster rebellion. You used federation gold and contacts to help Prince Lucius and his followers in their rebellion. Since your return, you have argued that your diligence in carrying out your duties was worthy of reward.”

  Ysobel was shocked by Lady Felicia’s frankness. In the past the councilors had been careful to couch Ysobel’s acts in the most general of terms, using the language of diplomacy to mask treacherous deeds.

  “While I was in Ikaria, I did my best to carry out the wishes of the council,” Ysobel replied, choosing each word with deliberate care. “And I have never asked for a reward, merely acknowledgment that my service was complete and that I was free to return to my duties to my trading house and my ships.”

  She wondered if this was the reason for her summons—they wanted to make it clear that she should expect no reward from them.

  “So you knew nothing of Prince Lucius’s schemes, correct?” Lady Solange asked.

  Ysobel knew this was the moment of danger. She risked a quick glance toward Lord Quesnel, but his face was impassive, giving no hint of how he had responded when this question had been put to him. She cursed herself and the wine that had fuddled her wits the night before. As soon as Zorion had given her the news, Ysobel should have sought out Quesnel, regardless of the impropriety of the hour.

  But it was too late. It was too risky to try to guess what he might have said. She could only answer honestly and hope that he had done the same.

  “I reported everything I knew to the council when I returned last year,” Ysobel said. Such knowledge had been deemed too dangerous for written reports, so they had only their own memories to guide them. “As I said at the time, I believed Prince Lucius to be completely without friends or supporters, with the possible exception of his former tutor, Brother Nikos. I was as surprised as any when Empress Nerissa chose to let him live, and I am even more startled by this latest turn of events.”

  Some might have been tempted to claim credit for Lucius’s unlikely success, but Ysobel was wise enough to avoid this trap. Claiming knowledge of his schemes now would leave her open to charges that her previous reports to the council had been deliberately misleading, perhaps even treasonous.

  “Prince Lucius played you for a fool. And us as well,” Telfor said.

  Ysobel kept silent. She could not defend herself from the truth.

  Lady Solange smiled. It was not a pretty smile, but rather the grimace of a predator—one whose appetites were about to be satisfied. Lord Quesnel’s face, by contrast, was flushed with anger or humiliation.

  In that instant, Ysobel knew she had chosen wrongly. Lord Quesnel must have responded quite differently when asked that same question. He might even have tried to claim credit for Lucius’s ascendance and the civil war that would almost certainly erupt. He must have counted on her being greedy enough to back him.

  He had misjudged her. She was ambitious, yes, but not deceitful. She had shaded her answers to the council as carefully as she could, but she would not lie. Not for him, and not even for herself.

  “Your comments have been most enlightening,” Lady Felicia said. “I thank you for your time, and must ask that you remain on Sendat lest we need the benefit of your views in the future.”

  “I am, as always, at your service,” Ysobel said, rising to her feet and giving a short bow.

  She left, knowing that she was leaving behind at least one enemy. Lord Quesnel had been displeased with her before, but they had achieved a fragile truce, one that she had just unwittingly broken.

  Lord Quesnel had no reason to love her, and while the other councilors might enjoy his discomfiture, this did not mean that they would willingly take up Ysobel’s cause as their own. She had left behind no allies in that room, only enemies.

  She would have to watch her back.

  Chapter 8

  The monk who shared his flesh had promised to explain all, but the story he told was so fantastic that a part of Lucius was convinced that he must be dreaming.

  Nerissa dead, and her sons as well. It hardly seemed possible. She had sat on the throne since before he was born, a commanding figure whose decrees had ruled every moment of his existence. He had hated and resented her in life, and even in death he felt no pity for her. But it seemed somehow wrong that she had been struck down while he was unaware. A great ruler—for such she had been, usurper though she was—a great ruler should meet defeat on the field of battle—not at the
hands of a cowardly assassin.

  He was still shocked to find himself among the living. The last time he had been conscious, he had fully expected that the empress would have him killed. He did not understand why she had chosen to spare his life. There was no one left who could be trusted to tell him her thoughts, just as there was no trace of her left in the place that had once been her inner sanctum. The rooms were spotless, but there were neither tapestries nor paintings to brighten the walls nor carpets to soften the floors. As he wandered through the smaller of the two sitting rooms, his fingers ran idly along the back of one of the half dozen bamboo chairs grouped around a low table. As a boy, he had been summoned to this room from time to time, his mother’s warnings reminding him to display his best manners in front of the empress and her sons. In those days, the room had been filled with couches decorated with ivory and piled with silken cushions, and he wondered when Nerissa had decided they no longer suited her.

  Perhaps the servants had been ordered to remove her things, replacing them with the furnishings he saw. A subtle insult, implying that Lucius was not worthy to touch the late empress’s possessions.

  Or perhaps the rooms had simply been changed to ready them for the presence of an emperor, for all must have assumed that Nerissa’s successor would be a man. The furnishings he saw did not seem to be in Zuberi’s taste, which he would have guessed ran to the classic styles. Instead the disparate styles hinted at furnishings hastily assembled, or a widely traveled man with eclectic tastes.

  Belatedly, it occurred to him that the servants might have readied this room for Count Hector. They would not be the only ones shocked by the sudden reversal in Hector’s fortunes.

  Hector’s guilt is certain? Lucius formed the question in his thoughts, but dared not speak aloud. He had dismissed the hovering servants, and the functionary whom the monk, for some reason, referred to as One. But the servants had not gone far, merely to an outer room. An emperor was never truly alone.