The Exile's Curse

by M. J. Scott

  Lucien moved them through the lesson smoothly, and she found herself both intrigued by what he taught and distracted by the sound of his voice.

  It was odd that his was the presence that kept tripping her up. Her first few weeks at home, it had been a surprise to hear her family's voices around her, but she had mostly gotten over that by the time she'd left.

  But every time she heard Lucien, it was a moment of dislocation.

  Perhaps because for him to be familiar, for things to be easy with him, it required Charl to be there, too. Part of the trio. One corner to the angles, the three of them supporting each other.

  And Charl was gone forever. Leaving them awkward and lopsided, a gap between them too raw to mend.

  Even before she considered the reason for the gap.

  "Lieutenant de Montesse?" Lucien said, and she realized she had missed the question he’d asked her.

  Goddess damn it.

  She didn't want to make a mistake in front of him on top of everything else.

  "I'm sorry, Major," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "Could you repeat the question, please? I was busy with my notes, and I missed what you said."

  "I asked how you would say 'This clause is not acceptable,'" Lucien said. His tone was mild, no hint of rebuke, but she felt herself bristling anyway as her brain raced to put the translation together.

  She spoke the words, trying to wrap her tongue around the sibilants that made the language tricky. Lucien's brows lifted as she spoke, and others around the table smiled.

  "What did I say?" she said, resigned to the fact that she had gotten it wrong somewhere. She was learning, she reminded herself. She was allowed to make mistakes, as much as it tweaked her pride to do so.

  "You said 'this teacher is unacceptable,'" Lucien said. "I will take your review on notice, Lieutenant, and endeavor to do better." It wasn't a reprimand and was delivered with a half-smile that told her he was trying to put her at ease, but that didn't help.

  "The fault is mine, Major. What should I have said?"

  Lucien spoke the phrase again. "The accent on the third syllable is what is letting you down, Lieutenant. That is a tricky sound."

  She repeated the phrase, and he nodded. "Better. Keep practicing, Lieutenant. Time and effort always improve things, I find."

  Was he talking about her Andalyssian or the difficulty of having to deal with each other? She'd bite off her tongue before seeking clarification on that matter. So she turned her attention back to her notes and tried to pretend that Lucien was nothing more than a teacher.

  The class continued for nearly two hours, and Lucien seemed to be preparing to dismiss them when the door opened and Colonel Brodier and Captain Theisse walked in.

  "Major," Honore said. "How go the students?"

  "Well enough, Colonel. A few more days’ practice and we won't be embarrassing ourselves in Deephilm."

  Honore flashed a smile at that. She walked to join Lucien at the far end of the room. "All right. Practice will continue at this time each day whilst we are traveling. Anyone not without other specific duties will be here." She studied the group a moment. "And given most of you are here, I'm going to take a few minutes to brief you on something else."

  A murmur of surprise—or speculation—rippled briefly around the table before everyone fell silent.

  "As you know, we are attending the wedding of King Mikvel as the emperor's representatives, and we will be meeting with the Ashmeisters and the king and others to discuss the mining treaties. But we also have another task to attend in Deephilm."

  Chloe's skin prickled with sudden nerves. Another task? What exactly? Lucien looked completely unsurprised by Honore's words. Was this why he was going with them?

  "King Mikvel is a young king and a new king. He is dealing with his own politics as he approaches this wedding. And there are certain factions in Andalyssia that are, perhaps, taking advantage of that fact. But we don't know all the details yet. What we do know is the king has petitioned the emperor for House Elannon to be restored."

  This time it was more than a murmur.

  "Three years early?" Theo blurted.

  "Yes. They are citing balance, making it a matter of religion as well as politics. Given what you all know from your briefings, I'm sure the difficulties become clear, and we will discuss them more as we continue our journey. But for now what you need to know is that the emperor has asked us to assess the situation and whether House Elannon has been...rehabilitated, shall we say. We do not have overly long to come to a decision, given the religious angle. There is some danger that the priests will refuse to complete the king's marriage rites if the house is not restored. After that, all hell could break loose." Honore held up a hand before anyone else could ask another question. "This is, of course, confidential. We do not know how widely the king's request is known in the Andalyssian court. We can assess that when we get there. But until I say otherwise, you are to say nothing of this to any Andalyssian or anyone else you encounter on this trip. This particularly applies to those of you attending the court ceremonies and celebrations. Understood?"

  There was a chorus of "Yes, sir" and "Yes, Colonel."

  "Major de Roche will be taking the lead on this part of the mission. After we arrive, I will assign some of you to assist him as necessary. Now, I'm sure you all have things to be doing, so I will see you at dinner."

  The iron fer-taureaus who pulled the charguerres waiting to take them into the mountains steamed gently in the cool morning air, the mist rising around them softening their harsh line. After a week of air travel, Chloe was glad to be off the navire, but she wasn't sure the next part of the journey was going to be particularly pleasant.

  She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter as she waited with Giane. The delegation's luggage was being loaded into the charguerres, and the courtyard at the front of the Elenian embassy was organized chaos. But even with what seemed like a hundred people to-ing and fro-ing and small iron braziers set up to warm the air, it was colder than Lumia would be in the depths of winter, let alone autumn.

  It would be colder still in Andalyssia, and the fact that they were proceeding with a convoy of charguerres and a squadron of soldiers was a reminder that the weather was not the only possible threat.

  But her shivers were not entirely due to the weather. No, some of it was anticipation. Andalyssia was going to be strange and possibly dangerous, but it was also a challenge. Something new. A chance to find out who she was now.

  She had to keep fighting a smile off her face as she stretched her hands toward the brazier. They'd arrived at Haalbrod, the Elenian border town, just before sunset the night before, so there hadn't been any chance to explore. When she'd opened the curtains in her room earlier, the misty view over the town to the mountains beyond had been breathtaking. The mountains were larger than any she'd ever seen. Snow-capped and mist-laden even in the morning sun. It seemed impossible that there were roads through them, let alone towns and cities nestled amongst them, but there were.

  And she'd be in the largest of them by nightfall. If they ever left. They were running late, and Colonel Brodier, who stood speaking to the Elenian ambassador at the front steps of the building, was beginning to look tense. If they left too late, they'd hit darkness before they reached Deephilm, and the mountain roads at night were icy and treacherous.

  But after a week on the navire, Chloe wasn't keen to immediately climb back into an even smaller box on wheels and sit for hours, so she didn't entirely mind the delay.

  Eventually, the hubbub around them slowed and they were ordered into the charguerres.

  "Thank the goddess," Giane said as she climbed inside the charguerre designated for the lieutenants and some of the clerks. "I hope it's warmer in here."

  "It should warm up eventually, I suppose," Chloe said, settling in after her. She was mostly thankful that the seating assignments in the charguerres seemed largely based on rank and she was safely with other junior officers. Six hours bouncing in an
iron box through a mountain range was one thing, but doing it with Lucien sitting across from her would have added a whole new layer of discomfort.

  She was too aware of the man. Like a burr in her skin. A burr she couldn't quite pluck free, no matter how she tried. Each language class, each briefing session about House Elannon—and that was a tangle she was glad she wasn't in charge of undoing—that she spent with him only made the sensation worse.

  The charguerre moved off slowly. Everyone huddled into their cloaks, the chatter that had accompanied breakfast and the preparation for them leaving dying off. Thin-skinned Illvyans, used to warm weather. Only Captain Theisse had looked mildly comfortable while they'd waited to climb into the charguerres. He claimed to enjoy the cold.

  Chloe did not. Kingswell had cool winters, but not much colder than Lumia. Plenty cold enough for her. She'd piled every blanket available to her onto the bed last night and still felt the chill in the Elenian air despite the fire in her room. She would need furs or a permanent warming charm to survive Andalyssia.

  Which made it a good a time to practice. She'd been too tired the previous night to try and connect with the Elenian ley lines. But she searched for them now, sending her senses down to the earth. They felt distant and slow moving, the song of them icy and distant, but after a few minutes, the chilly note changed slightly, softening somehow. Enough to let her draw a thread of power up to faintly ease the chill as the charguerres rumbled out of town.

  It was good practice, too, to try and keep the connection running as they moved over the roads that were not as smooth as one might wish. But with savage winters, maintaining roads was an expensive exercise. That was one of the things that had been discussed at dinner with the Elenian ambassador.

  The tone of the conversation had been that this was a familiar topic, one that came up regularly enough to be expected. It had been couched in tactful language. The complaint registered, but no action promised precisely. She had paid attention, trying to follow the dance of what wasn't being discussed as well as what was. It boiled down to a request for more money from Illvya—or perhaps a reduction in taxes paid to the empire, which would amount to the same thing—to assist with road maintenance. The Elenian ambassador was passing on the request from the Elenian Clan Hall, but Chloe got the feeling she was keen on her own behalf as well. Understandable if the woman spent a lot of time on the roads of Elenia and the mountains beyond.

  She'd made an eloquent case, which Colonel Brodier had listened to gravely and then neatly avoided promising anything more than relaying the message. Lucien hadn't spoken much during the meal, though he'd played the part of attentive dinner guest well, seated between the ambassador and Honore. The Elenians had all eyed him warily, as though the black of his uniform somehow drew their eye, though it was no different to what any of them wore. Or maybe it was the raven on his collar tabs rather than the usual imperial sun, proclaiming what he was.

  He hadn't seemed to notice. Perhaps it was just normal to him now, after all these years. That must grow tiring. She'd been a subject of suspicion in Anglion. Knew the scrape of unfriendly eyes across skin. The hairs that rose on the back of your neck when your instincts told you someone was watching. Worse in Anglion, where reaching for her magic to defend herself—if it had ever come to that—would have meant death.

  So she could sympathize with Lucien over that. Or could if she chose to. But she wasn't going to so choose. He had been fending for himself for years. Not to mention he had the protection of his rank and power. He didn't need her to worry about him.

  She snuggled deeper into her cloak and looked out the slotted window of the charguerre. The narrow sliver of glass showed only a small slice of the world outside, but a fascinating one. One that made her wish for an ordinary carriage. Not just because it would be more comfortable than the charguerre, which was built for strength and speed, not luxury, but for bigger windows to let her see this brand-new part of the world.

  The charguerre moved faster than a normal carriage. That was the purpose of them. The fer-taureaus—iron bulls—that drew them were tireless, their metal bodies fueled by magic. She had never quite been able to grasp how the mage ingeniers gave the fabriques they created the spark that kept them moving, no matter how many times Imogene tried to explain it to her. Apparently she didn't think about magic in the same way as an ingenier did. And hadn't been raised by an ingenier of the non-magical kind like Imogene either.

  Still, tireless wasn't the same thing as perfectly comfortable. They were winding their way over roads that climbed farther into the foothills of the Andalyssian mountains. The border between the Elenia and Andalyssia was a narrow plateau, just after the first rise of the hills. It seemed to Chloe that it would be more sensible to place it at the base of the hills instead, but no doubt there was some military advantage to where it was. She didn't like the feeling of not knowing. Preparation and a healthy degree of caution had kept her alive in Anglion.

  Though perhaps a diplomat could never be truly prepared for a new place. Not on a short-term mission, at least. So she would have to learn to live with the discomfort. It was going to be part of the job, as far as she could tell.

  The charguerre jolted abruptly, and Chloe winced as she bounced again Giane, seated to her right. "Sorry."

  Giane shook her head. "We'll spend the entire journey apologizing if we do it every time there's a bump in the road. And this road appears to be mostly bumps."

  "I guess it's hard to carve a road through mountains," Chloe said. "Maybe they sent us this way to prove the ambassador's point about maintaining the roads."

  "They sent us this way as it's the only road big enough for the charguerres. But I assume they wouldn't mind if the other is demonstrated, too." She leaned forward, peering past Chloe to try and look out the window. "Anything interesting?"

  "So far mostly grass and rocks," Chloe said. "If you tilt your head back, you can just see the start of the mountains above the hills."

  The Eissgora were the highest mountain range in the empire. The most forbidding and deadly. Beyond them lay mostly frozen land that was largely empty. One very small clan of tribes hunted the ice lakes for fish and waternahls. They ignored the Andalyssians, who, from the empire's view, owned the land, and the Andalyssians, it seemed, mostly ignored them apart from a small amount of trading. There were no other resources in the far north to be squabbled over. Just the wealth that lay beneath the mountains, enough to keep Andalyssia powerful. They were the ones with the secrets of working the depths of the earth in the freezing cold.

  Illvya needed some of what they produced. Strange to think that she was going to help make sure the treaties were working. But after Honore's announcement back in Bonaroi, it was clear that the treaties were the lesser of the two problems they'd been set.

  House Elannon. Imogene had been the one to foil their attempt on the empress. It had changed her life. Now Chloe was going to be part of the next shift of that cycle. And Lucien. It felt almost inevitable, in a way. Though also near impossible. And dangerous. If House Elannon hadn't changed, if there were those within who still hated the Illvyans, then who knew what might wait them in Deephilm?

  They'd tried to kill an empress. What else would they risk?

  Chapter 13

  The walled entrance to Deephilm looked ominous in the dying rays of sunlight, but Lucien was too pleased at the thought of getting out of the damned charguerre and no longer being rattled around like a child's toy to worry overmuch about a chilly reception from the Andalyssians.

  He'd seen the city before, and the vast granite wall hung with the black-and-white mountain-and-moon banners of King Mikvel Surayov looked the same. There was probably some subtle difference in the runes curving over the moon now that Mikvel was king rather than his father, but Lucien didn't read Andalyssian runes, and he was too tired to care.

  If the new king had a new motto, it would be buried somewhere in his briefing papers and he could find it if needed. What concerned him was
what changes had occurred—or not—behind the walls since he’d last seen those banners.

  His job to find out. To make a decision that could, perhaps, start a war if it didn't fall the way the Andalyssians wanted.

  It wasn't the first time in his career that he'd faced a task he didn't relish, and while he was prepared for the work, now that he had arrived, the weight of it settled over his shoulders.

  The gates swung open slowly, and a squad of gray-clad guards strode out to escort them through the city. The streets still bustled with people on their way home before the darkness and cold set in for the night, and the convoy drew plenty of stares as it wound up the hill to the palace. Carved into the side of a mountain, it, too, looked ominous, oppressive, and frankly, damned cold. It had been high summer the last time he'd been here, and even then the palace had been heated to ward off the chill.

  Torches burned around the forecourt, warding off the fading light. A horde of palace servants dressed in various shades of gray and black and white waited on the wide, steep steps that led up to the main entrance. He'd learned the various uniforms on his previous visit and their meanings would come back to him. For now, he looked for the man in charge as he climbed out of the charguerre behind Honore.

  There. On the top step. A man dressed in the silver and white of House Surayov. Not the king himself. They wouldn't be meeting with Mikvel until morning, when there was to be a formal audience of welcome. No, this was the king's Wardmeister. Head of the palace guard and seneschal rolled into one. A role both ceremonial and practical. Mikvel didn't have a younger brother to take on the role as would be traditional, and his father had no surviving brothers, so he'd chosen the youngest of his mother's brothers. Roland Zatry, who technically belonged to House Zatry, as the dowager queen had before she married Mikvel's father, but who, as Wardmeister, was now Surayov by duty.

  Lucien had a vague memory that they had met before, but Roland hadn't held any particular position of power under the old king’s rule, so he had no strong recollection of the man.