The Exile's Curse

by M. J. Scott

  One small step to right the wrongs of the past.

  That thought made her freeze, the perfume's golden stopper in her hand.

  Righting wrongs? Was that what was she doing? Which wrongs? Charl's treason? Her own wasted years?

  She wasn't sure. Wasn't sure why the thought had even entered her mind other than she was tired, and in need of tea and sleep to offset the campenois and dancing and diplomacy.

  It had a ring of truth to it though.

  But getting to the bottom of half-buried motivations was hardly something she could do in a night. Not unless she wanted to ask Lucien to help her. To tell her if she was speaking the truth to herself. Which she most assuredly did not.

  She put the crystal flask back on the table after one last sniff, patted her hair into place once more, and straightened her shoulders. Time enough for thinking later. Tonight she still had work to do.

  But she’d barely stepped through the door when she almost bumped into Lady Cela coming in the other direction. Which led to an awkward flurry of apologies and sidestepping.

  Lady Cela smiled at her, the expression too full of teeth. "Lady de Montesse, isn't it? Are you enjoying the ball?"

  "I am," Chloe said. "His Majesty knows how to throw a good party."

  "That he does," Lady Cela agreed. "But I'm sure it's nothing as grand as a ball back in Lumia."

  "I wouldn't be so sure of that," Chloe demurred.

  "Perhaps...." Lady Cela hesitated. "Would you wait for me? We could walk back to the ballroom together. I'd love to hear more of your country."

  "Of course," Chloe said. She’d wanted an opportunity to get a better sense of the woman. No wasting this chance. Hopefully she’d find that her fears were unfounded. "I’ll wait for you here."

  Cela smiled her thanks and slipped into the retiring room.

  Chloe, not wanting to loiter outside the door and risk a repeat of the near collision, moved a little way down the corridor to study the tapestry that covered a large part of the nearest stretch of wall. A forest scene, all tall tree trunks with angled branches and leaves in half a hundred shades of green. Beneath them grew plants that owed, she thought, more to the imagination of the embroiderer than reality. But amongst them were rabbits and foxes and deer. Birds perched in some of the branches, bright feathered and whimsical. She spotted two black birds she decided must be crows high in the branches of the tree closest to the center of the tapestry and smiled, stepping closer to study the detail.

  Then jumped as a voice from behind her said, "Lady de Montesse?"

  She whirled, one hand flying to her chest.

  Chapter 19

  The man who’d addressed her was medium height and older than Chloe. His hair was darker than most of the men she'd met in the palace, a sandy color she would have expected in Illvya, not Deephilm, and his eyes a middling green. His evening clothes were various shades of dark blue, including the embroidery, and she couldn’t immediately recall any house that wore only blue. But at least it wasn't Elannon orange and green.

  He flashed a nervous smile. "Forgive me, my lady. I didn't mean to startle you."

  "I wasn't paying attention. Admiring the needlework." She didn't entirely relax, but he didn't seem to pose an immediate threat. And Lady Cela wasn't far away.

  "It is beautiful," he agreed.

  Please let him not be about to follow that with something predictable like “So are you.” She was in no mood to deal with unwanted advances. She nodded, offering what she hoped was a polite but discouraging smile.

  "The artisans who make them are following traditions that have existed here for many centuries," he continued.

  Not the direction she'd expected him to take. But needlework was a preferable topic to seduction, so she nodded. "I hope I might have time to meet some of them. Their traditions and techniques must be fascinating."

  His smile widened. "Traditions are important. They are what make each land unique."

  "Yes," she agreed, curious now despite her wariness. He had a point he was working up to, and she was keen to find out what it was.

  "There is strength in difference." His expression had grown intent.

  Her spine prickled. Maybe seduction would have been easier to deal with. This was sliding into politics. The kind she shouldn’t try to deal with alone. Where was Lady Cela? "Strength comes from many places." There. A politely meaningless statement.

  Her mystery man—damn, she should have asked for his name—seemed to take it as encouragement. "Strength, too, in ideals. In valuing the old ways. Your husband, I believe, valued these things."

  Her husband? Definitely not a subject she wanted to discuss with a strange Andalyssian. Alone or otherwise. But she caught herself before she could do something that gave away the flare of alarm bumping up her pulse again. If he was interested in Charl’s values, then he likely didn't have the empire's best interests in heart. In which case, it was her duty to find out more. So he could be stopped.

  "He did," she said slowly. Honestly, she had no idea what Charl had truly valued. She'd never asked for the details of his confession. Didn't need to know more than “treason” and the fact that he had confessed. If he had harbored a desire for a particular outcome from his actions, if there had been a purpose to the plot he'd participated in, he'd never shared it with her. His trial had been short, and she hadn’t attended, urged to stay away by both her family and his. There'd been no time after his execution and Lucien's warning to acquaint herself with the particulars of his crimes. "And he paid for those ideals."

  "Yes. He was wronged. There are those who still share those ideals, my lady. Those who would offer your husband...sympathy. And his widow support," he said. "Support you were denied when it mattered."

  Ah. Did he imagine she was a fellow conspirator? That she'd fled to avoid prosecution, not to avoid those who might worry Charl had told her too much? Not the first to make that mistake. Though, he would be the first, so far, who she had met who found that interpretation of her actions to be admirable. Which was, indeed, interesting.

  "It was difficult," she murmured, trying to sound downcast. She needed to keep him talking. See if he said anything more to confirm her suspicions.

  "I can imagine. But you have returned. And now that the emperor"—he said the word as though it was bitter in his mouth—"has offered you his protection, you can continue the fight."

  "The fight?"

  "To return things to the way they should be." He glanced around. "Many people share that aim."

  "After so long?" She tried to sound encouraged by the thought rather than astounded that there were always men—and women, she supposed—foolish enough to throw themselves into idiocy. Did they truly think they could bring down the empire? Particularly when it continued to treat its citizens well and bring peace and prosperity? Or that it was wise to tell her so when they had no idea of her true motives? If Charl was convinced by men like this, then he truly had been an idiot.

  And what did that make her?

  "Always," he said. "The empire is not the natural order of things, and there are those who would see it come to an end."

  Goddess. Who are these people? "I'm afraid, sir," she said, "that I know little of what Charl had planned." She knew nothing, in fact. She risked a quick glance back toward the retiring room. What was taking Cela so long? Had the woman fallen ill? Or—an unpleasant thought struck her—had she asked Chloe to wait for her so this meeting could occur and was taking her time to allow it to run its course?

  "But you returned to Illvya. Why would you do that if you didn't want to see him avenged?"

  She narrowly avoided blurting, "Because it's my home, you idiot." The man was flushed, and his face looked damp. Nervous, if she were any judge. And out of place. The jacket he wore was too simple compared to those worn by the male courtiers, the fit loose across the shoulders. Not his, she suspected. And, therefore, perhaps he wasn't a regulator attendee at court. If she scared him off now, he might vanish. Leaving her none
the wiser.

  After all, she had no proof that Lady Cela asking her to wait wasn’t just a coincidence. Nor could she discern truth from lie like Lucien.

  "I—" She stopped. Decided it might be better to play things straight. Act nervous. She glanced around, shifting her weight. "I do not think this is a safe place to talk. Too many people in the palace for the wedding. Perhaps we could meet in the days after the ceremony? My schedule will be less full once the wedding itself is over. It would be easier for me to steal away for a few hours. Find out if our interests...align." Should she ask for his name, or would that just scare him off?

  He looked somewhat relieved. "That can be arranged." He glanced around again, then nodded once. "I will be in touch, my lady." He sketched a rapid bow, turned, and hurried away, vanishing around a corner and out of sight.

  Chloe was staring after him, wondering if she had imagined the entire encounter, when the door to the retiring room opened and Lady Cela stepped out.

  "I'm sorry, Lady de Montesse," she said. "I had snagged my hem and wanted to catch it with a few stitches. I didn't intend to keep you waiting so long."

  And that was a claim it would be difficult to disprove. Unless she wanted to demand that Cela turn up her skirt and show her the stitches. Which she did not. If Lady Cela was innocent, then no point making the woman think she had lost her senses. And, if she wasn't, then no need to give her any hint that she was alarmed by the encounter she'd just had.

  "No matter," Chloe said. "I was enjoying the peace and quiet out here. And admiring the tapestries." She threw the last out in case Lady Cela might also confess a fervor for the maintenance of Andalyssian traditions and culture. But, instead, she barely glanced at them and then gestured toward the ballroom and smiled at Chloe.

  "Let's walk back. But slowly. I have so many questions."

  Chloe had a few of her own. But Cela’s too-convenient timing had done nothing to ease her doubts about the woman. So she would hold her tongue and ask them elsewhere.

  She answered Cela’s questions, which seemed innocuous, as they walked back to the ballroom, then excused herself to look for Honore. But her search was cut short when the music started up again and she had to join the dancing once more.

  Half a hundred questions of her own whirled around her mind for the few remaining sets. She searched the dancers for the man who'd approached her but didn’t find him. Though one of her partners confirmed that none of the noble houses—vassal or otherwise—wore only dark blue. Which only added to the problem.

  The last dance ended, and Mikvel and Katiya finally departed. Chloe stepped off the dance floor to find Lucien waiting. Which was convenient, as she had decided, after much debate with herself, that she should tell him rather than Honore about the man in the corridor. At least initially. After all, he was from the judiciary. Crimes against the emperor were his responsibility. Besides which, he knew more about what Charl had done and who else had been involved than anyone else on the mission.

  "Lord Castaigne," she said, feigning a smile. "Come to escort me back to my quarters again?"

  His brows flew upward, and she realized that, perhaps, that wasn't the best way to phrase that question. To the wrong man, it sounded rather like she might be issuing an invitation to something more than a late-night stroll through the palace corridors. Her cheeks went hot.

  "There is something I need to discuss with you,” she continued in a rush. “So, although I am in no need of an escort, perhaps we can walk together." She glanced around the rapidly emptying ballroom. No sight of Gilles, but Honore was talking with Roland. Their faces were both focused and intent, making her think they were probably discussing scheduling or some other administrative minutiae. Nothing requiring her presence. Her instructions had been to attend the ball. She had done that, and she had the sore feet to prove it. The invitation to treason was an unexpected addition.

  But that was a burden to place in Lucien's hands rather than the colonel's. So better to make their getaway now.

  "Shall we go?" she said to Lucien, who was regarding her with a slightly bemused expression.

  "After you, my lady."

  She said nothing until they had left the ballroom well behind them and reached a quieter part of the palace, headed for the guest quarters. There were more servants than the previous evening, but with the wedding growing ever closer, that was to be expected. They’d be working all hours of the day to ensure that all the guests were housed in perfect comfort, fed, and entertained.

  For a moment she was, once again, very glad not to be Katiya, who would soon take on the job of managing the vast building for the rest of her life.

  "Am I supposed to guess?" Lucien asked as they turned a corner.

  "Guess?"

  "What you wanted to talk about?"

  Her encounter outside the retiring room. Her musings on Katiya’s life had temporarily distracted her. She shivered as she remembered the fervent look on the stranger’s face. "I think it's better discussed in private."

  Lucien’s brows lifted. Then he pointed at a door standing partially open a few feet down the hallway. The palace was dotted with small rooms used for meetings or gatherings of courtiers or to hide away from court life when one had had enough for a time. A palace was like a small town. People forced to live in close quarters who might not choose to do so otherwise. But small towns demanded less time given to games of status and protocol. Power and politics required time and effort and too much time in the company of others. Giving the courtiers space was important to prevent the inevitable frictions from boiling over into something more.

  "Here?" she asked.

  "Well, it's better than either of us being seen entering the other's bedroom at this hour, don't you think? Unless you have suddenly decided you no longer dislike me and were inviting me to...." He raised one brow.

  Damn the man. Why did he have to look good arching a brow? And be so reasonable? "No. I haven't lost my mind,” she said, the words a tad sharp. “But you're right. No point risking breaking some Andalyssian taboo and causing trouble. I just want to talk," she managed.

  "Then after you, Lieutenant."

  The lamps in the little room were alight, which seemed a waste, but at least that meant she wouldn’t be alone in the dark with him.

  Lucien closed the door and pressed his palm briefly to the wall. Magic shimmered around him, tolling through her, as a ward sparked to life.

  The ease with which he raised the ward in a strange building was impressive. "Neatly done," she said, stepping closer to study the ward. Not a form she was familiar with, but it hummed with Lucien's magic. Deep and true and...intriguing. She stepped back hastily.

  "Wards are part Air," he said. "I know we all learn them, but illusioners study them more than most. Plus, they come in handy in the judiciary. You don't want someone walking in and interrupting an interview with a suspect at the wrong time."

  "No, I suppose not." It wouldn’t be helpful to be interrupted when he was using his magic. Truth Seekers negated the need for harsher interrogation methods, but they were also bound by protocols on how they deployed their powers. Suspects were questioned by mundane means first, and he’d told her once that mood and atmosphere were important in encouraging them to talk.

  The room held only two small sofas separated by a low table. Arranged for intimate conversations. The kind she had no desire to have with Lucien. She stayed standing.

  So did he. "So, what did you want to discuss?"

  "I left the ballroom to use the retiring room,” she said. “A man approached me as I returned. He talked about Charl. About what he did. He seemed...sympathetic to his cause."

  She had seen Lucien in official mode before. Not just during the mission but at various times at court back in Lumia. But she'd never seen him turn into a Truth Seeker before her eyes. His shoulders straightened, his face turned cool and his eyes intent. A hunter ready to lock in on prey. She didn’t want to be the one he pursued with that look on his face.

/>   "Who was it?" he demanded.

  "I don't know," she said. "He didn't introduce himself. He wore dark blue. No house colors I recognized. I asked one of the Andalyssians whether any of the vassal houses wear that color, but he said no." She tried to recall the man’s face, but the details had faded. "He was ordinary, I guess."

  Lucien frowned. "You were always good with faces."

  "I've met too many blond-haired green-eyed men in the last few days for one to stand out."

  "Could he have been wearing an illusion?"

  Damn. She hadn't thought of that. Hadn't even checked whether he was using magic, too startled by the direction their conversation had taken. "I don't know," she said, inwardly cursing her lack of attention.

  "Tell me what he said."

  She recounted the conversation. "I wanted to leave him with the impression that I was open to further discussions. I didn't want to scare him off."

  He smiled approvingly. Though there was a sharpness to it. Anticipating the pleasure of a successful catch. "Good. That was smart."

  She let out a breath. He believed her. Trusted her. She had, she realized, been half afraid that he wouldn't. "He said he would contact me again."

  His smile vanished. "How?"

  "That much he didn't say. And he left before I could ask. I was going to ask his name, but I thought it might alarm him."

  "Likely. Did anyone else see him?"

  She shook her head. "No. Though...."

  "Though, what?"

  "One of the court ladies was in the retiring room. She asked me to wait for her. She was in there a long time. Long enough for him to appear, talk to me, and leave before she came out. It felt...a little convenient? But perhaps I’m jumping at shadows."

  Lucien frowned again. "Who was she?"

  "Lady Cela. I met her at the tscherov this afternoon." It felt far longer ago than that.

  "Anything unusual about her that you noticed then?"

  "Only that she used orange and green in the tscherov she wove for Katiya."