by M. J. Scott
Charl was his best friend. He would be happy for him. He had schooled away any yearning his heart had in Chloe's direction and been a friend to them both. Or he had tried to. It had been difficult to watch them fall in love and marry. But watch and welcome and support he had.
Then Charl had ruined everything beyond recovery through sheer idiocy.
He'd died for his folly.
Chloe had fled.
And Lucien had been without either of his best friends for ten years.
Now Chloe had returned, but he feared the woman who had been his friend was gone for good.
There was no sign of warmth or light in her now. No sign there might be a way to slip inside the barriers she had so clearly erected. He could not blame her. He imagined if he had lived in exile for ten years, he might have some walls of his own. And he must leave her to hers and not do her the discourtesy of trying to batter his way through them like a lout. Things had changed. He would accept that fact.
"I will bid you good day, then, Madame."
He thought for a moment that he detected the faintest of winces before she regained her steely composure. He had never been so strongly tempted to send a whisper of his power toward her, to find out, if she spoke to him again, if she spoke true. But that would only add another layer to his betrayal. Not to mention go against all the oaths he had sworn to the emperor and himself. Truth seeking wasn't an easy talent and not one he would have asked for, given the choice. All he could do was try to use it for good. And even that sometimes led to unbearable choices.
And betrayal.
"Farewell," he said. This time he completed the bow and made himself step around her. There was work to do. His answer had always been to work. Work ceaselessly, and with a focus that had earned him a fearsome reputation within the judiciary and the Imperial mages. Until his father had died a year ago and he had become the marq and had to return to a life that required more of him than the work of a Truth Seeker.
The way titles passed was unfair, passing the burden of responsibility that came with them at a time when the recipient was also reeling with grief for the loss of a father. But he had shouldered the load and taken up his duties. In the last few months, he had even been listening to his mother's increasingly broad hints about heirs and grandchildren and starting to look at the women of the court with a different eye.
He hadn’t been entirely alone for ten years. There had been stolen nights and short affairs along the way. But he hadn't found a woman who lit the world for him as Chloe had.
But he didn't need that in a wife. He would choose a woman who he liked and respected and who offered him the same in return. That was enough for a family. A foundation that had carried many of the noble families of Illvya far through the centuries. Making heirs and protecting a heritage didn't require passion. It required commitment and friendship and a shared sense of duty. Marrying such a woman was the sensible thing to do.
But then he'd seen Chloe on the docks, and all the sense in his body had dissolved into dust and blown away.
Goddess help him, she was more beautiful than ever. He clenched his fists against the urge to turn back and look at her once more. He hardly needed to. The memory of her just now was still vivid.
Whatever had happened to her, it had polished her to brilliance like a diamond. Her face had lost the remnants of girlhood, and now the cheekbones had angles that only drew attention to the curving mouth and dark eyes fringed with thick lashes. Eyes that held no hint of the laughing besotted wife of his best friend. Well, it would be impossible think that ten years in exile had not changed her. But he hoped that same joyous spirit was still there somewhere inside.
Not that he believed he would be given a chance to find out. She had looked as though she would rather smite him dead than speak to him.
But he wanted the chance.
The stupid male part of his brain whispered that death would be worth it.
But it had been a very long time since the stupid male part of his brain ruled him. He would not let it do so now. He might want to ease the pain she still so clearly carried, but he would not add to it.
He had nearly reached the end of the hallway when he thought he heard her say, "Good day, my lord." It was another effort of will not to turn back, to see if possibly his ears were playing tricks on him and it was only his imagination conjuring the sound.
He’d had plenty of conversations in his head with both Chloe and Charl over the years since things had gone so horribly wrong. Long detailed conversations and arguments and rationalizations with the versions of the two of them who lived in his memories. Some might call it irrational, but he didn't think so. It was simply a way for him to make sense of how it had all gone so terribly wrong. And maybe it was his magic, wanting to find the truth that lay at the heart of the disaster. But he never had. Perhaps he never would.
A regret he would carry to his grave along with the regret that Chloe had not forgiven him.
Damn the man.
Chloe marched down the hallway, no longer entirely sure where she was headed but determined to put distance between herself and Lucien. She hadn't expected to see him here at the Academe. She'd not expected to see him anywhere, quite frankly.
He'd been perfectly polite. Regretful, even. But that didn't change the fact that seeing him was a lightning strike, carrying in its wake a storm of memories deadly as a flood.
Of her life before. Of the young woman who'd had hopes and dreams and had seen them all smashed to dust.
No. She wasn't her. And she wouldn't let memory rule her.
She turned right blindly and pulled up short when she found herself facing one of the outer doors. One shove and she was out in the sunlight, breathing hard, wanting only some air. And a chance to wrestle her feelings back under control.
If Lucien was addressing the students, he would be there for some time. She'd told her father she was going home, but now she couldn’t. Not until she had herself back under control. Her mother would notice if she was upset, and that would only lead to questions.
She didn't want questions. Right now, they might break her.
So she walked, trying not to think, trying only to feel the sun on her skin and the sounds of the city around her. The students were in class, so she should be safe enough from any more unexpected encounters. She followed the cobbled path around the corner of the building, thinking to seek out one of the gardens, and almost knocked over the person coming in the other direction.
"Watch where you are—Chloe Matin? Is that you?"
Chloe blinked and focused on the woman whose robes she had grasped in a desperate effort to keep them both upright after their collision. "Madame Simsa! My apologies, Venable. Are you all right?" She loosened her grip and stepped back, surveying Madame Simsa with a quick glance, happiness at seeing her warring with embarrassment that she'd almost knocked her over.
Madame Simsa was thinner than the last time Chloe had seen her, a little more stooped perhaps—she carried a carved black cane in her right hand—and the wrinkles on her face had gained some friends in ten years. But her blue eyes were bright and sharp as she gazed up at Chloe, expression intent. She tapped her cane on the earth. "I will survive, I expect."
Chloe bobbed a curtsy. She’d spent too many years in Madame Simsa’s classes to lose the instinct to offer respect to one of her favorite teachers. "Again, I apologize, Venable."
"Where were you going in such a hurry?" The older woman looked her up and down, lips pursing briefly. "And what has you all stirred up?"
Chloe gritted her teeth. Madame Simsa was more than just her teacher. More an honorary sort of great-aunt. She’d taken an interest in Chloe from the time she’d first toddled the Academe’s halls in Henri’s wake, years before she became an actual student. They shared the same affinity for earth and water magic, and once it had been Chloe's dearest wish to grow to be just as skilled and formidable. So far she had fallen miserably short of that goal.
And she wasn't going
to admit to Madame Simsa that it was Lucien who had thrown her off balance.
Madame Simsa had been married a long time ago, but her husband had died of a sudden illness when they'd both still been quite young. She hadn't remarried, seemingly content to carry on alone. She had never shown the students any sympathy if they let romantic entanglements get in the way of their studies, and Chloe suspected she had never much liked Charl. So no, she wasn't going to tell Madame Simsa that an encounter with a man had upset her.
"It is just...just unsettling being home," she said. "Part of me keeps expecting to wake up and find myself back in Anglion."
"I imagine it does," Madame Simsa said. "You were gone a long time." Her expression turned speculative. "Tell me, have you used your magic since you returned?"
Damn. It had only been a matter of time before someone asked her that. There was no need for her to use magic at home. They'd made changes to the house when Ana had been sick so she wouldn't tire herself using her magic to light earthlights and such. They had gas lamps and a number of ingenious gadgets to make daily tasks easier that required no power. So far no one had noticed that Chloe wasn't using her magic at all.
Henri hadn't asked about it. Chloe suspected it had never occurred to him to check. Magic to him was like breathing. But Madame Simsa had always been able to see into the heart of a matter. And she always pushed her students to hone their abilities. Chloe had been one of the students she'd pushed hardest, once. But her mother's illness, her marriage, and what came after had left her potential untapped. To Madame Simsa, Chloe's return would be a second chance.
"No, Madame. The need has not really arisen."
Madame Simsa snorted. "Since when does there have to be a need to use your magic here? I imagine you had little opportunity over in that country, given their backward views, but all the more reason to use it now." She tapped her cane again, three quick staccato beats. "By the look of you, it would do you good. Come, young lady, we will go to the practice rooms. I will put you through your paces."
"I am not so young anymore," Chloe said. "Nearly thirty-five."
"Bah. Talk to me about your lost youth when you reach eighty or so. Earth witches age slowly. Plenty of time for you to do...whatever it is you wish to do."
"I hope so, Madame," she said. "But I don’t want to keep you from your students."
"I would not offer if I did not want to do it, or if I needed to be elsewhere, you know that. Besides, you can tell me some tales of Anglion. I learned something of it from young Sophie, but she was biased, being Anglion herself. You have an outsider's view. You can tell me more of how they differ from the way we do things."
"I’m not sure I can tell you much. The temple didn't let me in on all their secrets," Chloe said.
"Just as well. It doesn't sound like much good would have come of tangling with that Domina Skey. Trying to control the crown. Bad business."
"Not so much for Sophie," Chloe pointed out. "She's queen now."
"Waste of talent, if you ask me," Madame Simsa said. "She is strong, that one. We could have taught her much more. And now, no doubt young Aristides will be pestering us for staff to send over there to teach the Anglions what they have been denied all these centuries." She peered at Chloe. "I don't suppose you wish to go back there and help with that?"
Chloe shook her head. "No. I've had quite enough of Anglion for now. I would like to see Sophie and Cameron again and some of my friends, but I have no desire to live there for any length of time. Illvya is my home."
"In which case, you need to reacquaint yourself with the most important part of it." She tapped her cane again, as though striking down to the ley line that ran beneath the school, then turned on her heel and headed back in the direction she had come from. "Let us not waste time."
Chapter 4
Madame Simsa might be old, but she moved fast when she wanted to. Chloe had to half jog to keep up with her. "How is Belarus, Madame, and...Riki?" Belarus was Madame Simsa’s sanctii and Riki her petty fam, a monkey. Petty fams were an earth thing. Not many mages who bonded with a sanctii also had a familiar. The small boost in magic that a petty fam offered became somewhat superfluous to a water mage who had a sanctii to work with.
Though sometimes it was more a case of the animal choosing the mage than the other way around. Madame Simsa claimed Riki had chosen her, and Sophie said the same about her raven, Tok. Riki was as smart as the Academe’s ravens—the birds were a common choice for petty fams—and she had the extra advantage of fingers and toes and being able to climb far out of reach after stealing whatever object caught her attention. She didn't care much for human views of ownership. In fact, she seemed to delight in causing mischief. The ravens weren't above stealing shiny objects or begging for tidbits but were far less likely to make off with one's shawls or books or shoes. Though maybe Riki had grown more sensible while Chloe had been away. Petty fams lived past a normal lifespan, bolstered by their mage's powers, but they still died eventually, and Riki had been with Madame Simsa as long as Chloe could remember.
"Both are well. Riki will be happy to see you again. She always did like you. How is Sophie's Tok doing?"
"He's learning to talk." She smiled at the memory. "The Anglions aren't entirely sure how to take him. I don't think talking crows are common over there."
Madame Simsa grinned as they rounded the corner and passed onto the long oblong patch of grass that lined the front of the sturdy stone buildings that housed the Academe’s practice rooms. "I dare say he is less startling than Elarus."
Chloe laughed. "Yes. I think it's going to take years before most of them are anywhere approaching comfortable with a sanctii in their midst. What they're going to do when more people start practicing water magic is anybody's guess. I don't envy Sophie her task."
"She is a smart girl. She will win them over. Or that husband of hers will bash some heads together until they listen to her."
"He does tend to loom menacingly in the background and glare at people who are being difficult." Sophie's husband, Cameron—formerly Lord Scardale but now the Prince Consort of Anglion—was tall, dark-haired, and blue-eyed like many Anglions who hailed from the north of the island. He didn't waste much time with small talk, and he was, as far as Chloe could tell, 100 percent focused on keeping his wife safe and happy in her new role. He wouldn't hesitate to do what needed to be done to protect her.
"The best ones do, child."
She didn't respond to that. Charl had tended to try to charm, not loom. He, too, had had dark hair and bright blue eyes, but he'd laughed a lot more than Cameron did and talked a mile a minute, his emotions running close to the surface. Or so she'd thought. But it had, it seemed, been an act, or at least partially so. There had been secrets he'd kept hidden beneath the charm. Secrets she'd learned too late.
No. Best not to think about that.
They reached the first practice room, and Madame Simsa opened the door, sweeping a hand to usher Chloe forward. "After you."
Crossing the threshold was like stepping back in time. She reached by habit to lift the student robes she wasn't wearing to walk over the threshold, then twitched her hands away, shaking her head.
The practice rooms were small and low-roofed, built from stone and reinforced with magic to withstand student mages losing control.
"Light the lamps, girl," Madame Simsa said from behind her.
Chloe hesitated. Lighting the earth lights was the job of any student with even a hint of earth magic. And there were few, no matter how heavily their talents might lean in other directions, who couldn't manage even that tiny spark. It should have been as instinctive as lifting her robe to step inside.
Illvyans used magic casually to make life easier when it came to things like lighting lamps or warming water or themselves. Blood mages and even some illusioners—though they were schooled to be cautious, as their powers could be amplified by strong emotions—could nudge a stray object out of the way. Water mages had less magic that was useful for
small daily tasks, but most had at least some talent for one of the other arts. That was another thing the Anglions had wrong, the idea that people could only use one kind of magic. But it seemed the years she'd spent being so careful to not use magic anywhere anyone could see her had broken her of being careless of her power. She hesitated, one hand half raised toward the lamp before she dropped it back down.
"You are in a bad way," Madame Simsa said, moving around to face Chloe. She waved a hand and the earth lamps came to life, warming the gray walls to something more cheerful. "Tell me, when was the last time you actually used your magic?"
"Before I returned," Chloe admitted. "But only for simple things." She'd gotten used to hiding her powers. Barely dared to use even the odd trickle of earth magic to add strength to some of the potions and medicines and teas she'd sold at her store. A hard habit to break, even after Sophie had taken the throne and rescinded some of the temple's more ridiculous strictures. She'd had no need for water magic in Anglion, anyway. No desire to scry for the future when she'd spent most of her time trying to avoid thinking too far ahead. No need for a sanctii nor any illusion that she had enough control over her powers to bond one anyway.
"Lighting earth lamps is simple enough," Madame Simsa said. "Why the hesitation?"
"Spend ten years stifling the urge to use your powers and you learn to be careful," Chloe said. "I've grown used to doing without magic."
"Sounds like a dull sort of life," Madame Simsa said with a brisk shake of her head. "Well, then, best we re-introduce you to Illvyan magic. Start with the ley line. I am guessing it will remember you. Or you, it, rather." She smiled. "Or both."
