The First Betrayal Read online

  So instead of Ansel’s loyalty, she had this diffident stranger, with his ink-stained fingers and the sure knowledge that whatever she told him went straight to Ambassador Hardouin.

  “Yes, there is one more thing. I require a residence in the trading quarter.”

  “But—”

  “Nothing grand. A parlor suitable for gatherings of up to two dozen, and a second story with three or four bedrooms. Oh, and a largish bathing chamber in the Ikarian style. Somewhere in the merchants’ district—respectable, but no longer fashionable so that no one will pay strict attention to my comings and goings.”

  “But—”

  “I will pay for it myself,” she said, pretending to misunderstand his protests. “I just need you to find a suitable place.”

  “But why do you need your own residence? Surely the embassy is far more suitable than any merchant’s house?”

  “The embassy is not suitable for my needs.”

  Perrin’s open mouth indicated his confusion.

  “Pretty boys,” she elaborated. “I enjoy the company of pretty boys, and I’m sure I would enjoy myself far more if I did not have to fear interruption.”

  Perrin flushed a deep red that extended from the tips of his ears down to his neck.

  “Um, yes. Of course. I will…see what I can find,” he said, then, at her nod, he fled the room before he could embarrass himself any further.

  Hard to believe that he had been serving in the embassy for nearly a year if he could still be shocked. His family would have done far better to send him on a long trading voyage with a strict captain to wipe away such signs of a sheltered childhood. He would never rise in the ranks of his house if he could not learn to conceal his emotions.

  Ysobel remained at her desk, finally opening and studying the scroll that Perrin had prepared. She was not surprised to see that the list was heavily weighted toward merchants from the old Ikarian families. Just as at court, where the newcomers dominated the positions of power, it seemed the merchant houses with ties to the newcomers had prospered at the expense of those too hidebound to align themselves with their former rivals.

  She was surprised to see Septimus the Younger included on the list. Surely the minister of the harbor would be in the position to use his knowledge to advance his house, and Septimus the Elder had held that post for over twenty years. According to Perrin’s notes, their fortunes had stagnated in recent years, which might indicate a lack of imagination or merely that the father had been failing and the son had not yet asserted his control. Perhaps now that he had succeeded his father, Septimus would be open to new opportunities. She made a note to meet with him in his official capacity, so she could judge his qualities for herself before she turned the discussion to matters of trade.

  She studied the rest of the list, and from the three dozen houses she selected eight to be interviewed—three of the newcomers and five from the natives. It would not do to make her bias too obvious.

  As if on cue, there was a knock at her door and Ambassador Hardouin entered her office. He waited for a moment, but she did not rise. The office was an uncomfortable place for a discussion, since there was just the one chair at the desk and a stool suitable for a clerk pushed in the corner. Politeness dictated that they remove themselves to the sitting room, but politeness wouldn’t serve her goals. Hardouin had already conceded power by seeking her out rather than summoning her, and she was in mind to press home that advantage.

  “You have scandalized your clerk. Poor Perrin is convinced that you will bring disgrace on the good name of the embassy.”

  “I see he lost no time in reporting to his master,” she said.

  “Can you blame him? He is rather young, after all, and new to his responsibilities.”

  “He is not that young. And you yourself recommended him to me,” Ysobel pointed out. At Perrin’s age, she had been entrusted with details of a conspiracy that could have cost her life, as well as the lives of all those involved. If Perrin did not mature swiftly, he would never be fit for more than a position in his family’s countinghouse.

  “Perrin is a very able clerk, if a bit naïve,” Hardouin said. “Still, he is loyal and discreet, which will serve you well.”

  Loyal, yes, but it was clear that Hardouin had first claim on those loyalties. Which was as it should be, assuming the ambassador was trustworthy and not playing his own games. But it was not an assumption Ysobel was prepared to make.

  “There are those I must meet that require discretion, and the embassy is far too public a venue for our discussions.”

  “And thus you spun Perrin a tale of pretty boys?” Hardouin smiled indulgently, as if amused by the jest she had played on her clerk.

  “I will need pretty boys as well. Though from his reaction I doubt Perrin will be much help in finding them….”

  She let her voice trail off suggestively, enjoying Hardouin’s discomfort. Then, at last, she relented.

  “We must assume that the Ikarians have me under observation. At least until they are satisfied as to my mission here. They are already scandalized by my sex, and will have little difficulty believing that I have strange appetites that must be satisfied in private. The young men will serve to deflect their interests from my activities.”

  “Of course. I should have thought of it myself,” Hardouin said. “I will remind Perrin that he is to follow your orders even if he does not understand them.”

  “Thank you. I would hate to have to replace him,” she said.

  Then, convinced that she had won this round, she rose to her feet and asked him to join her for lunch, which he accepted. She had, after all, confirmed Perrin’s loyalties. And more importantly, she had let Hardouin know that she knew that Perrin was assigned to spy upon her. Which was, of course, another reason why she required a separate residence, one not under the ambassador’s direct control.

  She would have to investigate her new household carefully, for surely both Hardouin and the Ikarians would attempt to introduce spies among her servants. But she had ways of dealing with that eventuality when it arose.

  Perrin’s loyalty might be questionable, but his efficiency was not. He took the list she had left for him and arranged the first meeting for the very next morning. Over the next days she met with representatives from each of the eight merchant companies and toured a half dozen properties.

  It did not take her long to find a house suitable for her needs. The former residence of a silk trader, it was being offered for rent while his purported heirs wrangled with each other and the civil magistrate, trying to prove who was the rightful inheritor of his property.

  Located in the southern quarter of the fifth tier, the district was home to successful merchants and the lesser sons of minor nobles. A respectable district, and one where no one would pay particular heed to her comings and goings, or that of her guests. The two-story limestone house was a bit smaller than she had wanted, but the bathing chamber was superb, and while most homes pressed cheek and jowl against their neighbors, this house came with a walled patio and garden in the back, providing a private space to enjoy the fine weather or meet with callers who could not be acknowledged in the light of day.

  Perrin made arrangements with the magistrate to lease the house for a year, while Ysobel called upon the local agent of Flordelis and used his recommendations to hire a small staff to look after it.

  For a house that had been vacant for six months, it was in surprisingly good shape, requiring merely a good cleaning and the purchase of new linens and draperies. The only difficulty was a nest of large lizards that had taken residence in the garden. While not the bane of a merchant’s life in the way of rats or insects, lizards were destructive enough in their own way, and she wanted them gone before she moved in. Under the former rulers of Ikaria it had been forbidden to harm the so-called royal lizards, but with Aitor’s ascent to the throne the lizards had been seen as the nuisances they were. Now they were called common lizards, and a freeman with a trained hunting cat to
ok care of the problem in a single afternoon.

  Finding a residence had been easy. Finding trading partners proved far harder.

  The traders she met with fell into three categories. The first were the figureheads who had no real experience and probably had never ventured farther than their own dockyards. These were the ones who were visibly uncomfortable with the presence of a woman in their places of business. Any merchant worth his salt had learned to overcome such prejudices, or at least to hide them to deny his opponent an advantage.

  The second were those whose misfortunes were the result of incompetence, lack of imagination, or both. They were the ones who refused to consider new trading opportunities, insisting that the best course was to continue to serve markets that had proven themselves over time. A prudent course, but one bound to yield diminishing returns. One trader went so far to lecture her on the folly of taking on unproven cargoes, and suggested that as she matured she would see the wisdom of her elders’ prudent ways. Lady Ysobel had listened courteously, pitying the shareholders who looked to this man for leadership. In ten years’ time, she’d turned a single aged ship into a fleet of three swift vessels, while this same trader had squandered the advantages he’d been given.

  There were two houses that seemed receptive to the idea of a joint trading venture and promised to study her offer carefully. A modest start, but progress all the same. And even those traders who had disdained her offer still provided valuable information about the political climate of Ikaria, under the guise of educating the new trade liaison. It was amazing what a man would reveal, even one as normally tight-lipped as a trader, when he was trying to impress a woman.

  Her final meeting was with Septimus, the newly named minister in charge of Karystos harbor. He had agreed to meet her not in his imperial office, which was buried within the labyrinth of the palace complex, but rather in the harbormaster’s office adjacent to the central wharves. Much to the dismay of the guard assigned to her, Lady Ysobel refused a litter, choosing instead to enjoy the crisp morning sunshine. She walked briskly through the streets, noting that the people seemed cheerful, and while those who showed obvious signs of wealth or status were accompanied by one or more retainers, that was a prudent precaution to take in any large city, regardless of how law-abiding its citizenry was reported to be.

  Karystos was built on a hill that sloped down to the sheltered harbor that had first brought it wealth. Over the years that hill had been sculpted and transformed by the inhabitants into a series of terraces, erasing any trace of the original landscape. The palace dominated the highest terrace, and from there its inhabitants literally looked down upon their subjects. Wealth and status were counted by proximity to the palace, and as each level descended from the next, so too did the aspirations of its inhabitants.

  As she passed through the lowest tier, which led down to the docks, her eyes lingered on the brick buildings that had replaced the wooden ones burned down during the riots. She wondered who had paid for the rebuilding, and whether the new structures were an attempt by the empress to bribe her people into forgetting their past grievances? Or was it simply a matter of civic virtue, to lessen the damage that any future riot might cause? After all, the fires had not stopped with the homes of the dissenters.

  She very carefully did not think of those who had been killed in the riots.

  At first glance the harbormaster’s office appeared to be a mere wooden shack at the end of a pier, with mismatched wooden walls showing signs of having been repaired after more than one severe storm. Though small, it rose two stories in height, with a balcony that circled the second floor providing a view of the harbor.

  Ysobel paused for a moment to drink in the sights. Since it was winter, the sailing ships were safely moored in the harbor, protected by the great moles. Only a handful of coastal barges were drawn up to the piers to unload their goods. Overhead she saw gulls wheeling in the sky, circling the southern end of the harbor where fishing boats unloaded their catch. The air was heavy with a mixture of familiar smells: sea spray, kelp drying in the low tide, pine tar, rotting wood, and the faint tang of spices as a dockhand brushed by, his shoulders bowed under a heavy sack. Sailors called out to each other in the pidgin of their trade, and for a brief moment she was homesick.

  This was what she missed most. When she closed her eyes and thought of home, this is what she saw. She longed not for a glimpse of the brilliant white of Alcina’s buildings against the pure blue of their sea, but rather for a ship beneath her feet and the thrill of making landfall in a foreign port. She was a trader, and she had been born to that life. It was in her blood.

  She shook herself from her reverie. She was still a trader, though these days she played on a bigger stage. This posting in Ikaria was a test, and she would never prove herself if she insisted on daydreaming like a foolish child.

  The door to the harbormaster’s office was open, so, motioning her guard to wait for her outside, Ysobel walked in.

  She found Septimus seated at a large table that dominated the room. The table was covered with layers of charts, the topmost of which appeared to be a map of the harbor, similar to the one in her own office.

  “Tell Captain Menkaura that his cargo is still impounded, and if he wants to argue, he’ll have to take it up with the magistrate,” Septimus said.

  “I would, but I’m not certain where to find him,” she said.

  Septimus’s head shot up, and he scrambled to his feet. “Lady Ysobel, my pardon. I must have lost track of time.”

  He extended his hand in the clasp of friendship, and she took it, returning the firm pressure. If he were surprised by her strength, or the calluses on her hands, his face gave no sign.

  During the presentation to Empress Nerissa, he had appeared both awkward and young, but away from the imperial shadow he was more confident, and older than she had thought. He had the broad-shouldered build of a dock laborer rather than the slenderness of an imperial official who made his living with the stroke of a pen. But it was his light blond hair and blue eyes that marked him in Ikarian society and would govern the first impressions of any who met him.

  The Seddon Federation was a mélange of races, as befit a country of sailors who had brought back with them more than mere trade goods. The only unifying characteristic of the citizens of the federation was their diversity. Ysobel’s dark hair and golden skin was not common, even within her own family, but neither was she unique.

  In Ikaria it was a different matter. The original Ikarians had been a ruddy-skinned race, with fair hair and light-colored eyes. The newcomers were a race apart, with their porcelain skin, ink-black hair, and dark eyes. It was possible to tell an Ikarian’s heritage by their coloring, and from there to infer their likely politics and status. Septimus, for example, was clearly one of the purebloods. So far unmarried, according to her files, if he wished to advance any further in the imperial ministries, he would be wise to consider taking a wife who was at least a half-blood.

  “Please take a seat,” he said. “I beg your pardon for asking you to meet me here, but I am so busy that I rarely make it to my office in the ministry before nightfall.”

  “Not at all. I understand that your duties must come first, of course.” She took a seat across from him and waited while he summoned a servant to bring them the ritual drinks that accompanied any important meeting. The servant brought them both red tea, which was a marked improvement from the tipia that the other merchants had thought suitable for a female.

  Septimus waited until she had taken a sip of her tea before speaking.

  “Lady Ysobel, may I be so bold as to ask if the title is a courtesy of your position or was it earned in trade?”

  “The title is mine.”

  He nodded, as if she had confirmed his private theory. “My congratulations. It seems the federation chose wisely when they named you trade liaison.”

  “Some of your fellow traders would not agree.”

  “And few of them were sole traders at y
our age. I would not pay heed to their mutterings. Becoming a named partner is an accomplishment to be proud of.”

  It was not a thing that she had hidden, but Septimus was the first to have done his research and tally his sums correctly.

  Born into the house of Flordelis, Ysobel had been destined for a place in her family’s trading company. Like her siblings she had spent time in the countinghouses and the markets, and as she grew older she went along on short trading voyages so she would learn all phases of the family business. Flordelis, though no longer as prestigious as it had once been, was still a force to be reckoned with, with over a hundred ships and trading representatives in every major port. But fate had intervened in the form of an aunt, who had chosen Ysobel’s fifteenth name day to gift her niece with a ship. It was not a new ship, nor a particularly fast one, but it was seaworthy. And with it Ysobel went from a dependent of the house of Flordelis to a trader in her own right.

  Promptly leasing the ship back to her aunt, she invested the profits in leasing a second ship. Now, ten years later, she was full owner of three swift trading vessels, and she would match those ships and their captains against any who sailed.

  Her title of “Lady” was recognition that she was a named partner, entitled to vote in the council of the merchants. She was still loyal to Flordelis, of course, but when the time came she would found her own house.

  “My skills as a trader are clearly rusty, for I have approached several of your merchants with a business proposition and found no takers,” she said, turning the conversation to the stated purpose of her visit.

  “I believe Clemence is still considering your proposal, and Jhrve is biding his time so as not to appear too eager, but I would wager that he will say yes before too long.”

  It seemed Septimus was well-informed, which reinforced her decision to cultivate him.