The Sea Change

by Patricia Bray

  Returning to the palace, Josan handed the crown and the court robes over to the functionaries, who carried them away for safekeeping. For a moment, he fancied that they would carry him off as well, relegating him to a musty storeroom until the next time Zuberi needed to display his pet emperor.

  But even Zuberi did not dare go that far, however much he might have wanted to. Instead the new emperor was treated with seeming respect, though his new life was as circumscribed as it had been when he was Nerissa’s honored prisoner.

  His chambers might be larger, but there were guards at every door, and he could not leave his rooms without an escort. His guards had orders from Zuberi that the new emperor was not to leave the palace grounds—for his own safety, of course. In the days that followed his coronation, his only visitors were the tailor and Zuberi’s former clerk Ferenc, who had been assigned as the emperor’s personal secretary. Ferenc kept him busy signing official decrees that had been drafted by Zuberi and his cronies, as well as responding to the formal messages of congratulations that had started to arrive.

  Council meetings were held, but the emperor’s presence was requested only after the council had reached agreement among themselves. The emperor was kept informed of the policies of his new government, but powerless to effect them. It was enough to frustrate even the calmest of men, which was perhaps the reason why Lucius remained a faint presence at the edges of his mind rather than coming to the forefront.

  He was surprised that no one sought him out to request favors, or to try to discover for themselves what strange alliance had brought Lucius to the throne. But as the days passed, he realized that the functionaries, with Ferenc’s help, must be discouraging all such requests.

  A month after his coronation, he emerged from the bathing chamber to find his court robes laid out, and in this manner he discovered that today he was expected to hold his first court session. His skin crawled as he remembered Nerissa’s twice-monthly gatherings, when he had been ordered to present himself. He had been the only member of her court required to perform a formal obeisance, demonstrating his complete subjugation. A petty humiliation that had saved his life even as it chafed his pride.

  The audience hall was crowded, as those who had come to the capital for Nerissa’s funeral had stayed, lest they and their interests be overlooked as new alliances were formed. There were only two petitioners, both minor nobles requesting that the emperor confirm their inheritance. In both cases, Josan asked the ritual question: “Is there any here who would deny this man’s claim?” giving Zuberi a chance to object. But there were no objections, and so he confirmed them in their new status.

  The two men were both newcomers, giving credence to his suspicions that Zuberi had deliberately chosen them so that Lucius could play the part of emperor while reassuring the courtiers that the newcomers had nothing to fear.

  At least from him. Wild rumors came even to his ears—some claimed gangs roamed the streets of Karystos, murdering any who dared cross their paths. Others said the legions were in open revolt, their commanders battling each other to determine who would rule as emperor. Even if he believed only a fraction of what he heard, these were perilous times indeed.

  And he was powerless to act—he could no more protect his people than he could himself.

  Demetrios had invited Zuberi to join him at the senatorial baths, but Zuberi had insisted on meeting Demetrios at his offices in the senate instead. A meeting at the baths would have provided the illusion that theirs was a casual encounter between friends, but it would have also required Zuberi to disrobe, something that he was loath to do. Artfully draped tunics and the heavy silk robes of state concealed his illness, but stripped of these and all would see his swollen belly and know his deadly secret.

  If his enemies even suspected his weakness, they would not hesitate to strike. It was only their fear of him—and of his influence over the new emperor—that kept them in check.

  When he reached Demetrios’s offices, he found Demetrios deep in conversation with several senators, all wearing the banded tunics of office indicating that they were performing their official duties.

  Interesting. Demetrios had not mentioned that the senate would be in session today.

  “I understand your concerns,” he heard Demetrios say. “But now is not the time to debate such matters.”

  “If not now, then when?” The speaker’s back was to Zuberi, but the accent was unmistakable. Senator Columba, who represented the far western provinces.

  “Allowing the regional governors more control—” chimed in another senator.

  Demetrios nodded as he caught sight of Zuberi. “And the senate will consider your suggestions, at the proper time,” he said. “Now, if you will forgive me, I believe the proconsul and I have matters to discuss.”

  “Honored senators,” Zuberi said, as he reached them.

  Senator Columba nodded curtly, then stalked off. His supporters mumbled what might have been greetings before scurrying after their leader.

  Demetrios led him into his office, where open shutters offered a fresh breeze as well as a clear view of the imperial palace. Zuberi settled himself into a straight-backed chair, disdaining the couches, and Demetrios settled himself in another chair.

  “Columba must be watched,” Zuberi said. “He will not be content until he elevates the governors at the expense of the empire.”

  Demetrios shrugged. “Columba has little support for his views. As you see, only four senators joined with him—not enough to call for a debate, let alone have any chance of passing their legislation.”

  “In Nerissa’s day he would not have dared even mention such a proposal. Today he has four other senators who are willing to lend him their support publicly, and who knows how many privately agree with him? Left unchecked, he could win others to his cause.”

  “Of course,” Demetrios said. “I did not mean to make light of your concerns. I merely meant that Columba’s ambitions are not our most pressing problem.”

  It was as much of an apology as he could expect, but it did little to assuage him.

  “Your brother, he continues to recover?” Zuberi asked.

  “So he tells me,” Demetrios said. “I have not seen him since he left for the family estate, but naturally I receive reports each day.”

  “It is the gods’ own luck that he was spared,” Zuberi said.

  That, or incompetence. Prokopios’s litter had been attacked as he was returning from a banquet—his bearers killed, and Prokopios himself stabbed in the abdomen. A passing patrol had chased off the attackers before they could finish the deed.

  Such attacks against the wealthy were increasingly frequent in Karystos, straining Petrelis’s city watch to the breaking point. It was possible that Prokopios was just another victim of thieves, or of rebels taking advantage of the increasing lawlessness to settle old grudges against the newcomers.

  But it was equally likely that the attack had been a clumsy attempt at assassination. With Prokopios dead, there would be nothing to prevent his younger brother from becoming the next emperor—once the upstart Lucius was disposed of.

  It was a move that Zuberi had been prepared to support. In the weeks since Lucius’s coronation he had been unable to find a better candidate. But the bungled assassination, if that was what it was, troubled him. Nerissa would never have allowed such incompetents to serve her.

  Then, too, Demetrios seemed oblivious to the danger that Columba represented. Either his political skills were far less than Zuberi had previously believed—or he was forming his own alliance with the provincial governors and did not want Zuberi to know.

  Zuberi frowned. He wished it were possible to question Demetrios openly about his brother’s attack but knew such was folly. Demetrios would never admit to planning fratricide, even if Zuberi offered his tacit approval.

  “Markos and his legions are far more of a threat to our control of the provinces than any schemes of Senator Columba,” Demetrios said, returning to their ear
lier topic.

  “Commander Kiril should arrive within the week, and the other commanders will follow,” Zuberi said. If they obeyed their orders. And if they were willing to fight for Emperor Lucius.

  Lucius. Emperor. The very thought enraged him, for all that he had agreed to this farce. Nizam might have declared Lucius innocent in the deaths of Empress Nerissa and her sons, but Zuberi knew better. Lucius’s rebellion had been crushed, but not before exposing the empress’s weaknesses and inspiring others to try where he had failed.

  Belying the frailties of her sex, Nerissa had been a cunning politician who had led her people wisely. A true empress, and worthy successor to her illustrious ancestors. She had elevated Zuberi from obscurity to a position of power second only to her own, and thus commanded his absolute loyalty. Even after her death, he continued to serve her.

  Compared to her, Lucius was nothing. A worm who did not deserve to live. He had cheated death again and again—first spared by the empress’s mercy, then spared by the perverted magic that flowed through his veins. For a man facing the prospect of his own impending death, this was an insult that could not be borne.

  Lucius would remain emperor only as long as he was of use to Zuberi. Then he would be killed—his death as agonizing as Zuberi could contrive. He currently favored poison—it gave him satisfaction to think of Lucius writhing and twisting in pain as the poison destroyed his organs. And if Lucius’s powers spared him from poison—well, not even a sorcerer could survive decapitation.

  “Kiril will want something in return for his support,” Demetrios said. “And as for the senate, our alliance is fragile as well. We need a list of favors that the emperor can dispense to his loyal supporters to keep the factions in line.”

  “Agreed,” Zuberi said.

  And they needed a new emperor. Once Markos was dealt with, and order restored, it would be time for Lucius to name his heir—before his tragic death.

  He listened as Demetrios outlined which imperial ministries had vacancies, and which officials could be persuaded to retire so that their lucrative posts could be offered to others. But even as he nodded his agreement, his mind returned back to the problem of who would succeed Emperor Lucius. Demetrios had disappointed him, but he would give the senator a chance to prove himself worthy of the honor. If he could keep the senate under control, and if he managed to dispose of his brother without being implicated in scandal, Zuberi would throw his considerable influence behind Demetrios and convince others to do the same.

  And then Zuberi would have the dual satisfaction of knowing that he had secured the future of the empire, and seen the last of Nerissa’s enemies destroyed.

  Josan’s days continued to pass quietly, with no official engagements that required his presence. But he was well aware that it was the quiet before a storm. Despite Proconsul Zuberi’s best efforts, it was doubtful that the new emperor’s reign stretched any farther than the city walls. Josan could feel Prince Lucius’s presence in his own growing frustration, though for now the prince remained in the background. He suspected that the prince’s reticence was his way of avoiding the tedium, using Josan as a servant to endure what the prince chose not to.

  It would not be the first time.

  He shook his head, knowing that such thoughts were dangerous. No good could come of recriminations, nor of fighting among his selves.

  Rising swiftly to his feet, he left his inner chamber. He did not pause as he swept by his startled clerk, merely calling over his shoulder, “We will visit the gardens.”

  His steps were swift, fueled by an anger that he dared not acknowledge. Two of the guards fell in behind him, hurrying to keep up. Servants scurried to open doors before him so the emperor did not have to sully his hands.

  Even the brutal heat of the late-afternoon sun was not enough to slow his progress. He was sweating freely by the time he had crossed the courtyard and passed through the ornamental pillars that marked the edge of the imperial gardens. Behind him, the guards were red-faced with exertion.

  There was no one else to be seen on the tree-lined paths. The rest of the palace’s residents were either busy with their duties or too sensible to take their exercise in the heat of the day. Everyone had an assigned task—everyone except the emperor, that is. He was of no more use than the statues surrounded by their carefully tended greenery.

  But his anger could not be sustained. Gradually as he walked, his thoughts calmed. If the past year had taught him anything, it was that his circumstances could change in an instant. Already he had gone from reluctant guest to condemned prisoner to emperor in name, if not in fact. Time was his ally. Time and the patience to build a base of power for himself, free from those who sought to control him.

  Josan had no wish to rule, but neither was he content to let others rule in his name. Here, his and Lucius’s goals were the same.

  Leaving the pathways, he entered the first of the inner gardens, where late-season roses bloomed alongside beds of violets, acanthus, and fragrant jasmine. A gardener knelt by a topiary dragon, apparently pruning it, though the bush seemed flawless to Josan’s eyes.

  Hearing footsteps behind him, the gardener turned his head, then scrambled to his feet and hastily bowed, gaze fixed on the ground so he did not commit the impertinence of staring at his emperor.

  On his own, Josan would have turned to leave the garden rather than disturb the servant at his work, but he knew Lucius would never have done so. Such petty matters were of no concern to one who would style himself prince. Or emperor.

  Josan kept walking, choosing a curved path that would take him into the next garden. As he passed the servant, he was surprised to see the man raise his head.

  “Emperor Lucius, if you please,” he called out.

  Josan stopped.

  The gardener, seemingly emboldened by such notice, took a few steps closer so he would not have to shout.

  Josan’s gaze fell on the garden shears that he carried. It was less than a year ago that another man had tried to kill him in this very garden.

  “Hold. Approach no farther,” one of the guards ordered.

  For the first time since his coronation Josan was grateful for their presence.

  The servant flushed, and as he realized the direction of Josan’s gaze, he hastily dropped the shears on the ground.

  “Most Gracious Emperor, I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but we—that is, those of us who tend your gardens—would know your will.”

  “My will?”

  The man nodded. “Yes. Ordinarily I would have asked for instruction from the Master of the Gardens, but since you are here…”

  Josan felt his eyebrows rise, and the gardener’s voice trailed into silence as he realized the enormity of his error. A mere servant did not stop the emperor to ask a question. Ever.

  Nerissa would have had this man flogged.

  Then again, this was the first time anyone had sought out the new emperor for advice. Only moments before he had been bitter because he was ignored. It seemed the fates had a malicious sense of humor.

  “What is it that you want?”

  “Lizards,” the gardener said. “There’s a new nest in the east garden, where the flowering cacti are. Empress Nerissa would have had us destroy them, but I thought that you, well, you might wish differently.”

  Josan gave a grim laugh. “Lizards,” he repeated.

  “Yes,” the gardener said, frantically bobbing his head in agreement. “The small spotted ones, not the royal lizards, but still…”

  The symbol of his house. By Emperor Aitor’s decree, lizards had been banished from the imperial gardens for a century, and the nobles in Ikaria had followed suit. He knew that there would be some who took this as a sign—that Emperor Lucius had somehow drawn them here by his very presence.

  But Josan would not play such games. Instead he shrugged.

  “The lizards mean nothing to me,” he said, gaining petty pleasure from the puzzled look on the servant’s face. “Do what you will
, for the good of the garden.”

  He turned and left, the gardener’s stammered thanks trailing after him like the perfumes of the gardens.

  He chuckled softly as he realized that Emperor Lucius had just made his first independent decree, free from those who controlled him.

  His first, but not his last, he vowed, and he heard Prince Lucius’s voice echo in agreement.

  Chapter 9

  It was strange to surface and feel an emotion from the monk other than that of worry or fear. Lucius savored the humor of their encounter with the presumptuous gardener—it was a petty victory but a victory all the same.

  His spirits remained high as they left the garden behind. As they crossed the great courtyard, preparing to return to the imperial apartments, Lucius was surprised to see a military commander entering on the far side, followed by an aide. The monk’s gaze would have passed him by, for to the monk one soldier looked much like another, but Lucius took control of their eyes, squinting as he saw the red cloak, fastened at the shoulder with a gold brooch. This was no mere officer, but rather one of the regional commanders, and at Lucius’s urging, the monk turned their steps to intercept him.

  I know this man, Lucius thought, mindful of their uneasy truce. He would not seize his body without warning, not unless there was no other choice. Let me speak with him.

  He felt rather than heard Josan’s agreement, and the monk’s consciousness retreated. Cooperation eased the transition, and Lucius assumed control of their shared body without a single misstep.

  For a moment, he regretted that he was dressed simply in a plain tunic with only the merest banding of purple at the hem to indicate his royal lineage, and not even a circlet on his brow. But he need not have worried, for as Lucius drew near, Commander Kiril’s eyes widened and he came to an abrupt halt.

  “Emperor Lucius,” he said, raising his right fist in salute and bowing.

  “Commander Kiril,” Lucius replied, acknowledging the salute with the barest nod. Kiril commanded the legions of the south, whose main responsibility was the pacification of the border with Kazagan. Kiril was far from his post, and where the commander led, his troops would not be far behind.