by M. J. Scott
The speed with which his father complied with this request made the hairs on the back of Jean-Paul's neck prickle. So he wasn't surprised when Aristides walked over to the sideboard, poured himself a glass of ilvsoir, and then settled into one of the delicate gilt chairs, gesturing for Jean-Paul to sit too before saying, "Danced with any pretty girls tonight?"
Now that they were alone, Jean-Paul didn't need to be polite. "What did my father promise you to get you to ask me that?" He lowered himself carefully onto a chair. Palace furniture tended toward spindly-legged styles that were not designed for someone of his size. Though these were more comfortable than some of the torture devices disguised as furniture Aristides used in some of the audience chambers he reserved for people he didn't want to encourage to linger.
Aristides grinned. "Can't I be concerned over my friend's lonely bachelorhood?"
"Given it hasn't much concerned you before now, no. I'm in no hurry to follow you into matrimony. Unlike you, I don't have an empire to secure with heirs." Aristides had married young. He and his empress had produced a crown prince and three princesses since then. Their children were spread out over twelve years. Alain was just eighteen. Cecilie, the youngest, was six. And the empress was unexpectedly—to the court, at least—pregnant again. Perhaps that was what was making Aristides family minded.
"A duq also has a line to secure," Aristides retorted.
"I'm not duq yet," Jean-Paul said. "And I have siblings. Nothing’s going to happen to the San Pierre legacy if something happens to me."
"I prefer you to your siblings."
"Well, my younger brother is a twit, I grant you that. The girls are both sensible, though."
"There has never, to my knowledge, been a Duquesse of San Pierre in her own right," Aristides said. "I have enough trouble with things at the moment without your family causing an uproar by failing to pass the title to a male heir.”
"Then you'll take the twit and set my sisters to managing him. They'll find him a sensible wife," Jean-Paul said, then realized he had perhaps made a tactical error in reintroducing the subject of marriage.
Aristides smiled, the expression edged. "I'd rather find you a sensible wife. Your father mentioned Celadin?"
"Celly would rather eat her entire collection of shoes than marry me, I expect." Jean-Paul waved a dismissive hand. He'd know Celadin de Bretani since they'd both been small. Never had the slightest desire to kiss her, nor, as far as he could tell, she him. "We get along, but nothing more than that."
"Your father reliably informs me that the breeding of heirs doesn't require such things." Aristides smirked and drank again.
"Says the man who adores his wife." True, Aristides hadn't had much time to choose when he'd been pressed to marry so young, but in Liane, he had made a match with someone he could love.
"I'm perfectly prepared to let you marry someone you adore, too," Aristides said. He tapped his glass with one long brown finger, dark eyes serious. "But you need to find her. Your father, I suspect, will start to force the issue if you do not take some action soon. So consider this my hint to start to take action."
Jean-Paul thought of Imogene and the action he would have been taking with her right now if he hadn't been interrupted. He frowned, wondering if she would indeed be waiting for him when he returned. His frown turned to a grin that he had to work to regulate to something less enthusiastic.
Aristides cleared his throat. "Am I to take it from your expression that there may be a candidate?"
"For marriage? No." The lieutenant was beautiful, but they had only just met. He wasn't going to confuse attraction for affection so soon.
"Ah. So we interrupted something more...temporary? In which case, my friend, I shall consider my duty to your father done and release you back to your entertainments, such as they are. Major Perrine will be in touch with you tomorrow about the Andalyssians.”
"I look forward to it," Jean-Paul lied again. Major Perrine, the second-in-command of Aristides’s personal guard, was a good man but somewhat of a stickler for detail. A good quality in someone in charge of the emperor's safety. Less good if he was to be in charge of Jean-Paul, too. Technically they shared a rank. But it was Jean-Paul being inserted into the guards’ usual sphere of operations, and Perrine's rank was somewhat less newly minted than Jean-Paul's own. Which meant he had to follow Perrine's orders. "Are you returning to the ball?"
"Not just yet," Aristides said. "I have other conversations to hold." He looked down at his glass as though resenting the fact. He wore the weight of his crown lightly most of the time, but there were moments when Jean-Paul glimpsed the price he paid for his power.
"Then I will bid you good night, Your Imperial Majesty."
"And I will bid you good hunting, my friend."
Chapter 9
The last person Imogene expected to see coming around the corner of the main barracks of the Imperial Mage Corps two days after the ball was the vanishing son of a duq himself.
Dressed in imperial black, brows drawn down as though contemplating something unpleasant, he didn't look as though he was expecting to see her either. But when he did, his face broke into a smile that chased away the regret she'd been trying to ignore since their evening had ended so abruptly. A sensation that was both pleasant and somewhat...alarming.
"Lieutenant," he said. "This is an unexpected pleasure."
"Major du Laq." She saluted—they were, after all, both in uniform—wrestling her expression away from the tickle in her cheek muscles that wanted to smile right back at him.
The sight of him instantly lifted her mood, but she didn't want to let him know that just yet. Not after he'd failed to reappear at the ball.
She'd waited for him for almost an hour, lingering around the edge of the dance floor, pretending to sip more campenois and watch the dancers while fending off offers from other men. But as the time had stretched, she'd begun to think perhaps he wasn't returning. Then Chloe had found her, armed with an invitation to continue on to a smaller gathering.
She could hardly refuse to go. Friendship trumped new flirtations. Besides, she'd had no idea whether her flirtation was coming back. A fact her body had lamented even as she'd left with Chloe and her friends.
"So formal, Lieutenant," Jean-Paul said. "Does this mean your disappearance from the ball indicated a sudden change of...heart?"
Imogene glanced around. They weren't inside the barracks, but this wasn't a conversation she would be keen for her fellow mages to overhear. By a strict reading of the rules, there was no issue with an officer in the mages being involved with one from the regulars, but it wasn't encouraged. Not that she was planning on being involved with the man, but his rank was an added complication. One she'd forgotten to think about back there in the ballroom with his hands on her waist and those storm cloud eyes making it hard to think.
They were making it hard to think now. The man was no less handsome out of his evening clothes. Perhaps even more so. The sleek lines of the uniform suited him better than the frippery of court dress. But no, she had to think not of how good he looked but whether she still wanted to encourage him at all.
"I'm not entirely sure this is the time and place for such a conversation, Major," she said. "I have to report for duty."
Not duty exactly. Generally officers were granted a week's leave following an extended foreign mission unless the army had urgent need of their services. She'd submitted all her reports, so her time was her own. But Colonel Ferritine had sent a note to request her to come to headquarters. Given he was the one who would decide whether she would be allowed to bond a sanctii, she wasn't going to keep him waiting.
"Is Colonel Ferritine your commander?" Jean-Paul said. "I'll walk with you. I have an appointment with Major Perrine."
He did? She felt her brows rise. The cavalry didn't usually cross paths with the Imperial Guard unless the emperor was going somewhere beyond the city. The guard protected their turf zealously when it came to asserting authority over the emp
eror's safety. But a lieutenant didn't ask a major why he was meeting with another senior officer.
"Very well."
"But before we go, Lieutenant, I wondered if you might like to try dancing with me again? There is another ball at the palace in three days’ time. It would be my pleasure to secure you an invitation. If you haven't had that change of heart I mentioned earlier?"
That was clear enough. He was interested enough to pursue the matter further. Though she wasn't sure how clear to be in return. Or if it was the wisest move to accept his invitation. The man was handsome, and his touch had made her breathless, but her career was at a delicate point. But surely just one night couldn't hurt. She could even bring Chloe to lend respectability to her appearance at another ball. "Just me?"
He frowned. "Is there someone else you would like to bring?"
"My friend, Chloe Matin," she said quickly, wondering why she was so keen to correct any misapprehension of his that she might have a man in mind.
"The Maistre's daughter?" His expression eased, and he nodded. "That would present no problem. Though is she likely to take it amiss if I monopolize your time?"
She smiled up at him. Chloe had managed herself well enough at the ball. She had known more people there than Imogene, in fact. "I'm sure she will not."
His smile matched her own. "Then, Lieutenant, I will have an invitation delivered to you. Now, let us walk. I wouldn't want to make you late."
Imogene's mind was still half on Jean-Paul as she walked into Colonel Ferritine's office. Which was why, perhaps, she came to a less than graceful halt when she registered that both Major Fontaine and Captain Brodier were in the room. She gathered her wits long enough to snap a salute. Honore flashed her a quick encouraging smile before her expression turned back to a more professional calm one.
"Don't look so alarmed, Lieutenant," Colonel Ferritine said. He gestured to the plain wooden chair beside Honore. "Take a seat." The colonel had short gray hair and lines in his face that spoke of his years of experience. His bright blue eyes looked friendly rather than annoyed, so Imogene hoped that was a good sign and she wasn't about to be hauled over the coals by all three of her commanding officers. Not that she could think of anything she might have done that would warrant it. Attending a ball wasn't forbidden. Still, she settled herself fast and stayed silent, waiting to find out why she was there.
"I believe you spoke to Captain Brodier about sanctii the other day," Colonel Ferritine said. "Have you thought more on what you discussed?"
"I have," Imogene said, keeping her voice steady. She folded her hands in her lap as her pulse sped up a little. "I know it's not a decision to be taken lightly, but it is something I am interested in pursuing, if it would help my work." There. That sounded like she was being a good little soldier rather than one enticed by the idea of having a sanctii for more selfish reasons.
The three officers exchanged a look. Imogene clasped her hands tighter, unsure what that might mean.
"It is not a choice you can make lightly," the colonel agreed. "But at this moment, there may be a case for making it quickly."
"Sir?" Imogene said, hoping she sounded enthusiastic rather than entirely unsure what the colonel was talking about.
"Our next round of preparatory training for those wishing to attempt a bond starts next week. As you know, we consider and select our candidates with great care. The decisions are made well in advance. But, as it happens, one of our candidates has changed his mind and does not wish to undertake the training."
Imogene racked her brain, trying to think who it might be. The process by which the army chose mages for this was secretive, as was the training that followed. The candidates held things close to their chest until they either succeeded or failed in their attempts. And those who failed sometimes pretended they hadn't even tried. Failure wasn't seen as a black mark on your career—bonding a sanctii was difficult and required a great deal of power—but Imogene imagined it could only feel like a catastrophe to try but fail. There were often whispers of speculation about who might be chosen, but she'd been out of the country for months now. She'd lost track of who could be in the running. But equally, she'd heard nothing of any junior officers being injured or ill. She couldn't imagine what else would make someone give up the chance.
"So, we have a slot to fill, Lieutenant." Colonel Ferritine nodded at her and then at Major Fontaine. "The major tells me Cesarus speaks favorably of you."
He did? That startled her enough that she turned her head to look at Major Fontaine. Who merely smoothed his neatly trimmed red beard and gestured her back to the colonel.
"All other reports are favorable, too. You have been an exemplary young officer since your first mission. And, on short notice, we don't have another candidate more suitable to put forward."
"You want me to bond a sanctii now?" It came out squeakier than she'd intended.
The colonel grinned. "Not right this minute. But soon. I understand, Lieutenant, that this requires some consideration on your part. But we need to know by the end of the week. If you accept this offer, you would commence training next week. If you say no now, it will not reflect badly on you, but I cannot promise you a place in the next round or even tell you when the next training might occur. You know how long the training lasts? And that you are confined to the training barracks while undertaking your studies?"
She nodded. Ten days for the initial training, she knew. Which covered more on sanctii lore and the learning of the very precise details of the bonding itself. After that, individual mages could take longer to study and prepare themselves. Mages outside the army sometimes took months. But she wouldn't have months. A mage who didn't have the courage to make an attempt as soon as possible would be quietly discouraged from trying at all. And that would be a bigger failure than failing to form the bond at first attempt.
A shiver ran down her spine. There was a healthy dose of apprehension now mingled with excitement. This was serious business. A decision that would change her life. Very few mages released a sanctii from its bond once they had one. If she chose to do this, she would have a sanctii watching her, helping her, linked to her until she died. A bond more intimate than marriage in a way. But the fact that there was still excitement mingled with the fear told her that she still wanted to try.
"You need my decision by the end of the week?" she asked, pleased that she sounded calm and direct.
"Yes. You have until then. Sooner would be better. It would give you more time to prepare yourself. I know you are on leave after your mission and were probably minded to pursue some frivolity, but this choice requires care. I trust your judgment, Lieutenant. I know you will take time to consider before you make it. But you should consider quickly. A good officer knows when to be bold, after all."
Chapter 10
"What do you think is keeping him?" Chloe whispered to Imogene as they surveyed the ballroom at the palace.
The assembled nobles were mingling and talking, waiting for the emperor to make his appearance and formally open the ball. But he was late now, late enough that the buzz of conversation had turned from congenial to a more speculative note.
Imogene twitched her skirt out of the path of a young aristo walking past her with no regard for anyone in his immediate surroundings. "Your guess is as good as mine at this point." She tried to sound as though she didn't much care. But as Jean-Paul had not yet appeared either—making her think, given his visit to Major Perrine, that perhaps his role tonight was more than just courtier—she did care.
She'd been looking forward to tonight. Frankly, between the nerves as she tried to determine for sure that she wanted to bond a sanctii and the anticipation of seeing Jean-Paul again and discovering what may happen if they were not interrupted once more, there had been enough adrenaline running through her system for the last three days that she needed to do something to burn it off and clear her head. She was rather hoping the something would be Jean-Paul, but that did require the man to actually appear.
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br /> But before she could grow too anxious, the buzz of voices quieted and the ball-goers began to turn, as though pulled by a hidden thread, toward the far end of the ballroom where the emperor held court. Imogene and Chloe, being relatively unimportant, were nowhere close enough to see much more than the backs of other people's heads. Chloe, who was taller, stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck in a way that was not strictly ladylike.
"Can you see anything?" Imogene asked.
"The emperor, I think," Chloe said. "And the empress." She teetered for a moment, and Imogene put a hand on her arm to steady her. "Major Perrine. And...I'm not sure. Is there a delegation expected? There are several people wearing long robes. All embroidered and pleated. I don't recognize the style."
Imogene stiffened. Long pleated and embroidered robes? That sounded painfully familiar. "What colors?" she hissed.
"Shades of green and a very peculiar orange. I'm not sure it's the best combination." Chloe glanced sideways at Imogene with a smirk. "Your mother's clothier would not approve."
Imogene smoothed a hand down the skirt of her own crimson dress, trying to smooth away the nerves suddenly gripping her stomach. Orange and green embroidered robes. Court robes from Andalyssia. Their particular style of intricate geometric embroidery was burned deep in her brain. Beautiful, in its own way, but unfortunately also too wrapped up in the memories of her disastrous first assignment. All those disapproving pale-skinned faces glaring above the robes as the senior of the king's Ashmeiser—had made it clear that the Illvyan diplomats would be best to return to Lumia. Technically he hadn't had the authority to expel Illvyans, but at that stage even Captain Berain had realized the mission was an unredeemable failure and there had been little point remaining.
"Andalyssians," she said, the words half breath.
Chloe's head snapped back round. "Andalyssians? Wasn't that where—"
"Yes," Imogene said, stomach churning with the sudden need to leave. "I'm not sure I should be here. If the emperor is hosting a delegation from Andalyssia, he must be trying to mend fences. I doubt he wants anyone from that mission present."
