The Exile's Curse

by M. J. Scott

  She looked around for Gilles as she sipped campenois. She'd changed partners so many times that she hadn't finished the dancing even in the same set as him. Thankfully, she hadn't yet had to dance with Lucien.

  Before she spotted any of the Illvyans, Irina broke through the crowd, bearing her own glass. She grinned when she saw Chloe. "Tired already, Lady de Montesse?"

  "Just resting a minute," Chloe said. "Those dances require some stamina."

  "A good way of keeping warm on a cold winter night," Irina said, flashing a dimple.

  Chloe could think of better ways. Mostly involving many layers of quilts and a good book in bed. Perhaps a companion, though that wasn't a subject to discuss with Irina, no matter how much her comment may have been a leading one. "Our nights aren't quite so cold in Illvya."

  "The nights aren't so cold in most places," Irina agreed. "We're as cold as it gets. Well, other than the ice reaches, but nobody is dancing there, I think." She finished her wine and handed the glass to the nearest servant. "But I came to fetch you. Katiya has a favor to ask, my lady."

  "Of course, Lady Irina," Chloe said, returning the formality. "I am happy to be of assistance to your sister."

  Irina rolled her eyes. "I'm being polite. I was given strict instructions that you are Lady de Montesse at the evening celebrations, not Lieutenant de Montesse. Almost as though you are two people."

  "Not two people, but two different roles, rather," Chloe said. "Lieutenant is the diplomat. Lady is the wedding guest. Well, as near as I can figure it. But they're both me, and I'd prefer that you called me Chloe."

  "Let's wait until everyone has had a few more rounds of wine," Irina said. "Then all the eagle-eyed old biddies who are sticklers for protocol won't be watching me so closely. It's very dull, this business of being related to the near-queen. Bad enough growing up in one of the sixteen houses, but the royal family adds new layers of ridiculousness to the whole business."

  "That has been my experience," Chloe agreed. "But you'll get used to it. And after the wedding, the fuss will die down. You'll be continuing your studies, won't you?"

  "Yes," Irina said, not sounding enthusiastic. "For a while, at least."

  Chloe was going to ask her what she meant, but they'd reached the royal party. Katiya stepped forward to take her hands and kiss her cheeks as Irina vanished back into the crowd.

  Chloe managed a hasty curtsy in the king's direction when Katiya let her go.

  "Good evening, Lady Katiya. That is a beautiful gown you're wearing."

  Indeed, Katiya was glowing in a shade of pink light enough to echo the gleam of a pearl. Chloe didn't think she'd seen that precise shade before. It would be popular in Anglion, where the nobles were pearl-obsessed, believing, wrongly, that pearls repelled the sanctii they feared so much. They were learning differently now that they were ruled by a queen bonded to a sanctii, but she doubted they'd be giving up their jewels any time soon.

  Andalyssians favored harder gems. Katiya was dripping in diamonds, the centerpiece of the collar she wore being a large stone nearly the same shade as her dress. Diamond clusters decorated her hair as well, set in delicate flower shapes placed to suggest a circlet...or perhaps a crown.

  "Thank you. Yours is lovely also," Katiya said. "Perhaps after the wedding we will have a chance to discuss Illvyan fashion some more."

  "I would be happy to, my lady," Chloe said. "Irina said you wanted to ask a favor?"

  Katiya smiled. "I do. Speaking of Illvya, as it were, Mikvel and I thought it might be fun if you would teach us one of the Illvyan pair dances. What do you call them again?"

  "A waltz?" Chloe half squeaked. Katiya wanted to waltz? The Andalyssian dances, fast as they were, did a good job of making sure the dance partners were rarely very close for long. And hands tended to clasp hands or shoulders or elbows, not waists as a waltz required. If Irina had been worried about using Chloe’s name, what would her eagle-eyed biddies have to say about their king and his fiancée waltzing?

  "That's it," Katiya said. "Will you?" She nodded at someone over Chloe's shoulder. "Lord Castaigne is right there. He seems to be a good dancer."

  Chapter 18

  Damn. Maybe Katiya wasn’t out to cause a scandal but rather matchmaking. This was Andalyssia. In Andalyssia, women married. Chloe, as a widow, was an oddity. Irina’s teasing about Lucien was just that, as far as Chloe could tell. But Katiya...well, she was more traditional, maybe. Or perhaps suffering from that peculiar state of being in love herself and therefore wanting everyone else to share her happiness. Whatever the reason, Chloe didn’t want to add fuel to the fire by acting rattled by the idea of dancing with Lucien. "He's never trodden on my toes," she admitted. "Not that we've danced often." Not precisely true, unless she only counted her time in exile.

  "He managed well in the sets," Katiya said. "As did you and the captain. It seems only fair that, after we've forced you to learn our dances, we let you try something more familiar." Her smile widened. "And here is Lord Castaigne now. Thank you, 'Rina," she said to her sister, who had joined them again.

  Chloe set her teeth and turned to find Lucien standing behind her. She dipped a curtsy automatically. "Lord Castaigne."

  He bowed in turn. "Lady de Montesse. Lady Katiya. I'm reliably informed my services are required?" He was smiling, but it was slightly wary to Chloe’s eye.

  "I want to learn how to waltz," Katiya said. "Would you and Chloe be so kind as to demonstrate? I understand our musicians know some suitable music."

  They did? Chloe hid a sigh. Definitely planned, if Katiya had gone to the trouble of making sure the band could play Illvyan waltzes. And Mikvel would have to have agreed. As much as he adored Katiya, he wouldn’t indulge her if there wasn’t some benefit to the crown. So, matchmaking or politics? A way to show that the king and queen were forward-thinking? Or show that the Illvyans were scandalous and not to be trusted? Hopefully the former.

  Chloe thought Lucien was no more pleased by the proposition than she was. But he, like her, was not letting that show. "Of course, Lady Katiya. Now?"

  "While the court catches their breath, yes," Katiya said. "You'll have everybody's attention."

  A muscle flickered in Lucien's jaw. No doubt he was analyzing the situation, too. But he merely bowed again, then offered Chloe his arm. "Shall we dance, then, Lady de Montesse?"

  She forced a smile. "My pleasure, my lord."

  The musicians, forewarned it seemed, were just taking their seats again as she and Lucien reached the center of the dance floor. The babble of conversation filling the room faded away. Not to the complete eerie silence that had greeted them in the King's Hearth, but they plainly had the court’s attention.

  "It seems we have become the evening's entertainment, my lord,” she said, still smiling and pitching her voice in a low ballroom tone she knew wouldn't carry far.

  "Then we shall put on a show, my lady," Lucien said. "I will try to keep this as short as possible, but I expect we won't get away with just one dance."

  "I'm sure I'll survive," she said. "And we should start or they'll think we're arguing. Are you going to give some instruction as we dance?"

  He shook his head, a smile flashing briefly. "I don't feel like bellowing like a drill sergeant. Let them figure it out. It's not overly complicated, after all."

  That was a matter of opinion. On the surface, a waltz was simple . An ability to keep to a count of three and follow one's partner were the main requirements. But there were a thousand tiny subtleties that could be communicated through the touch of a hand on one's waist or fingers or the precise distance held between the dancers’ bodies. In the arms of the right man, a waltz could be a seduction. Indeed, the first dance she'd ever had with Charl had been a waltz. After that, she'd tumbled into love like a fool.

  She was safe from that tonight. "Then let us get this over with. Unless you want me to lead?" It was an old joke that tipped off her tongue before she could stop it.

  Lucien's eyes widened a fract
ion, but then he grinned. "Trust me, my lady. I'm more than capable of taking you where you need to go."

  He nodded at the musicians and settled his hand on her waist, the clasp of it firm and familiar. Out of options, she placed her other hand in his and let him whirl her into motion.

  It was strange at first, and awkward, as it had been back at Imogene's.

  Not so much the shock of the unexpected but the fact that she was once again dancing with Lucien in a room full of people, drawing attention she didn't want. But to avoid fanning that attention into something worse, she needed to behave as she would with any other partner. So she smiled and looked into his eyes as though he was no different to any other man.

  He smiled, too, the expression polite. But his eyes were less so. Before, when they’d danced, they'd talked and joked and laughed, and she'd never spent much time gazing into his eyes. Never noticed the gold flecks dancing amongst the green. Never noticed quite how thick his eyelashes were up close or that the outer rim of his pupil was circled with a green like the shadow beneath a moonlit leaf. A green so deep it might as well be black. A wild shade, capturing her attention.

  Suddenly, there was no room, no other people. There was only the weight of his hand on her waist, so clear she fancied she felt each individual finger curled against her though the layers of fabric beneath them should make that impossible. His hand over hers was firm, his skin warm, and she swayed into his hold, moving a fraction closer unbidden.

  His pupils flared, the green more intense. Her face was hot, and she knew she couldn't blame the dance. Nor was it responsible for the racing beat of her heart. No, something else drove her pulse and the sudden hum of heat over her skin. She wanted. Wanted in a way she hadn't for quite some time. In a way she couldn't want him.

  Not Lucien. Not with all that lay between them.

  She tried to pull away slightly, but he held her firm, as though he knew what she was thinking. Please, Goddess, she hoped he did not. He wouldn’t use his power on her, couldn’t if she wasn’t speaking, but he knew her well, this man. Too well and not well enough. But he didn't let her go and he didn't let her falter, though she was suddenly afraid that the whirl of her feet and her mind might combine to send her stumbling.

  He held her safe. Held her fast. While her world shattered and reformed and she fought for resolve.

  Not this man.

  Never him.

  Her body might yearn, but she was not that young, foolish girl anymore, and he was the last man alive she would take into her bed, let alone her heart. Or so she told herself as they danced together as easily as if they shared a mind. Or a heart. Or a body.

  Charl had been a good dancer. Lucien, tonight, was perfect.

  But it was an illusion. One that had nothing to do with his magic and everything to do with reality. She would dance with him, but the music would stop and she would let go of his hand and step away. Would forget a moment of madness.

  And lock away her heart and her treacherous body once more.

  For the second waltz, some of the Andalyssians, including Katiya and Mikvel, joined them, and then for the third, the floor became crowded, which allowed her to regain some control of her senses.

  At the end of the dance, Chloe made her excuses to Lucien and escaped into the crowd, wondering when the room had become so hot. She eyed the servants’ trays, wanting something to clear her head, not cloud it faster. One man carried silver tumblers rather than wineglasses, and she worked her way toward him.

  "What's in those?" she asked. When he smiled and told her it was snow-chilled mint tea, she grabbed one thankfully as the music began again.

  When she turned back to watch the dancers, Irina had found her.

  "That looks like fun," she said, watching her sister laughing as Mikvel waltzed her expertly around the room. Well enough, in fact, that it looked as though he'd been practicing.

  "It can be," Chloe said. "You should try it."

  "I avoid dancing. I'm clumsy."

  Chloe narrowed her eyes. She hadn't seen Irina move anything less than gracefully. But she understood not wanting to draw attention.

  "Are you sure you don't want to marry Lord Castaigne?" Irina asked.

  Chloe almost choked on the tea. "Quite sure," she sputtered after regaining her breath.

  Irina lifted a brow. "He was looking at you the way Misha looks at Katya."

  The young king looked at his fiancée as though she was made of sunshine and everything that delighted him in the world. Smitten.

  Lucien wasn't smitten. There'd been something in his eyes when they'd danced, but it wasn't adoration. No. It was more primitive than that, dark and heated. Something she wasn't ready to admit to herself, let alone discuss with a well-born Andalyssian virgin.

  "It's the waltz," she said lightly. "You’re supposed to gaze at each other while you dance it. He was merely being polite."

  "Very polite," Irina said with a grin. "I'm in no hurry to get married, but when I do, I hope my husband has such good manners."

  Chloe rolled her eyes. "Marriage takes more than good manners. So take your time and choose wisely."

  "How old were you when you wed?" Irina asked.

  "A little older than you are now." Too young, for all she'd felt certain of her choice and her wisdom back then. "If I had my time over, I'd wait a little longer."

  "Did you make the wrong choice?"

  That was a question she'd wrestled with for ten years. "I don't know. I loved my husband. I loved the life he represented. But in the end, it turned out I didn't know him. Or not all of him. I'm not sure you can ever fully know another person, of course. But Charl, well, he hid more than most, it seemed. And I didn't see it." None of them had. Until it was too late.

  Irina wrinkled her nose. "Lord Castaigne is a Truth Seeker. They are supposed to be honorable men."

  "They are. And he is. But I don't wish to be married again, and even if I did, he wouldn't be the man I would choose." She wished she knew exactly what Irina knew about her marriage. "But this is far too serious a topic. And I need more tea."

  "They'll bring kafiet later," Irina said.

  Chloe laughed. "I'll save the kafiet. The schedule for the next few days seems exhausting. How is your sister holding up? Weddings are stressful enough without all this." She waved a hand at the mass of people.

  "She says she is well. She seems happy. But I think she will be happier after the ceremony. She likes other people to be the center of attention more than taking it for herself. She was quite shy when we were younger. Something she made herself overcome when she realized she might be queen someday, but she'd be perfectly happy to just marry Misha quietly and get on with things, I think."

  "Well, only a few more days. Then they will get some time alone, yes?"

  Irina nodded. "Two days after the wedding. On the third day, there will be a hunt and a picnic in the Senjo valley. Then more parties and ceremonies until the month is up, but not as many as this week." She blew out a breath. "Which is good. I’m behind in my studies."

  "Will you stay at court?"

  "Katya has asked me to, for the winter. Some of the houses return to their estates for the worst of the weather. But some stay here. The Ashmeisters remain. Winter is the time for planning and rest. I hope they’ll let her and Misha be newlyweds awhile and not bother them. But I will keep Katya company if Misha gets too busy kinging."

  "You're a good sister," Chloe said. "She’ll need time to adjust. Being a queen is a lot of work as far as I can tell."

  Irina laughed. "True."

  They talked a while longer, and then Chloe rejoined the dances as they reverted to Andalyssian sets, mindful of why she was there. The hours passed quickly, and her feet were sore by the time the dancing ended.

  She slipped away to the retiring room to ensure she didn't look too disheveled after the dancing. A few of the women had asked about her dress, seeming friendly, but there had been some disapproving looks, too. Aware she was under scrutiny, she had o
nly had two glasses of campenois and avoided the kafiet, but that wouldn't stop people gossiping if her hair was falling down. But the damage looked minimal.

  The retiring room was empty, so she took her time, savoring the peace as she smoothed flyaway hairs and inspected her dress for wrinkles or stains. The crowd in the ballroom had thinned out, but Honore had said they were to stay until Katiya and Mikvel departed. So far, those two had showed no signs of wanting to leave.

  In Katiya’s place, Chloe would be trying for as much rest as possible. But Katiya was young and in love, and at her age, Chloe had danced the night away without much thought of the morning.

  The solitude was a relief after hours in the crowded ballroom, and she sniffed the bottles of scented toilet waters set on the counters as an excuse to delay her return. Most of the scents were spicy and rich, but there were a few lighter ones, including one that smelled like the mint of the kafiet combined with the freshness of a lemon. It smelled of warmth and light and sunny days in her parents' garden. A wave of homesickness caught her throat.

  She'd wanted so badly to get away from Lumia. Now, suddenly, all she wanted was to be home again. Foolish. Deephilm was fascinating in its way, even though the newness of it all and the unrelenting schedule were overwhelming.

  This was what she wanted. This was where she could do some good. If they could secure the mining agreements and determine if House Elannon were to be trusted, she would have served the empire. Done something useful.