The Exile's Curse

by M. J. Scott

  "We could have that," she said softly.

  His thumb went still, all of him tensing. "Sorry?"

  "A wedding night. Or nights, I guess. I mean, they're going to expect us to sleep in the same room together. And we were...compatible the other night."

  "If that's what you call merely compatible, Chloe, then I pity the men who you've actually had a good time with," he said, his voice roughened.

  She rolled her eyes. "Don't fish for compliments, my lord."

  "But you so rarely give them. Makes the angling worth it." He smiled again, and for a moment, it felt like tumbling back through time. Like they were best friends once more. "But go on. We're compatible, we will be sharing a room. You’re proposing that we take advantage while we can?"

  Heat choked her throat. "Yes. Clearly there is something between us. Which is unfortunate given what else lies in our past. You know as well as I do what that history means."

  "I do," he said, though she wondered if it were more question than acknowledgment.

  Safer to believe it was the latter. "But we are not in Lumia. And the Andalyssians will regard us as married."

  "We will, in fact, be married," he pointed out. "Or else I let someone paint me with dye for no good reason."

  He was right. They would be married. But she couldn’t let herself believe it. Or it might become too hard later, when they divorced. So she ignored that part. And ignored the insane urge to demand that he remove his jacket and shirt and show her the marks on his chest. But she twined her fingers more tightly through his. "We can have a wedding night. After all, you're doing this to save my career. I owe you." Easier, perhaps, to let herself believe she was doing this for him rather than to indulge her own desire.

  His brows drew down. "You don’t owe me anything. Definitely not sex. You can invite me into your bed because you want me there, regardless of how you might feel about me otherwise. I am happy to be of service, as I said before. But I don't need you to fuck me out of obligation. If I wanted that, I could have married one of any number of Illvyan aristos who only wanted my title years ago."

  Her stomach tightened at the thought that he might have married while she was away. "That's not what I meant, exactly. But is that why you're not married? You want a love match?"

  He looked away with a shrug. And she was tempted to use his power to see if his answer, whatever it was to be, was true. But no. She'd told him never to use his power on her. She might have accidentally used the thread of it she’d gained already, but she wouldn't turn it against him.

  “Talk to me,” she said softly and touched his face, turning him back to her.

  His eyes held hers for a long moment, and she thought he was going to refuse.

  "When I was younger, I thought so," he said eventually. "Truth be told, my career leaves little time for romance. And there seemed no particular hurry until my father died and the title became mine."

  "Then you will be searching for love again?" she asked. “After, I mean?” She didn’t know why she was asking. Or what she wanted his answer to be. Her blood rushed loud in her ears as those green eyes locked with hers again.

  "This is a peculiar conversation to have with the woman who is marrying me tomorrow," he said, mouth quirking. "Perhaps we should worry about that instead of you thinking about my next wedding already."

  She laughed, relieved. There was no good answer he could have given her. And she was scared to know which option she would find worse, him moving on after they divorced or him giving up on love as she had. "True, my lord."

  "Perhaps you could call me Lucien?" he asked. "At least when we're alone."

  "All right. Lucien." The syllables slipped too easily off her tongue, though they still felt somewhat strange. Like turning back the clock to the time when uttering his name had been easy, as had their friendship. Not so easy now. Or simple.

  He half smiled, then leaned forward and kissed her fast. "Stop thinking so hard. And get some sleep." He let go of her hand and climbed off the bed.

  How did one simple kiss make her heart pound? She wanted another, despite knowing it to be foolish. Didn’t want him to leave. "You could help me sleep."

  "Oh no, that would lead to more of that trouble you're worried about." He shook his head. "Good night, Chloe. I'll see you in the morning."

  "White is traditional," Katiya said uncertainly.

  The queen was perched on the end of Chloe's bed, looking very regal in silver and white, her hair braided and held in place with a white gold and diamond circlet. Irina, also already dressed, was examining the jewels Katiya had arrived with in case Chloe needed a larger selection than she had brought with her.

  "I'm a widow. I've done this before. I'm definitely not a virgin," Chloe said. "White would be redundant." She'd worn it for the ceremonies and festivities yesterday, and that had been fun, but today she wanted to be Illvyan. She'd worn a white—well, palest cream—gown to marry Charl. She hadn't been a virgin then either, but she'd liked the color with her hair, and it went well with the de Montesse family colors. But she saw no reason to do so again.

  Besides, if she wanted to wear an Illvyan gown, it had to be one she had brought with her. Imogene's taste, like hers, rarely ran to pale, and most of the dresses reflected that. The gold-and-blue gown she'd worn to Katiya's wedding was the most beautiful, but also too formal for a small hasty wedding.

  Lucien had put his foot down about that. The court wouldn't attend the ceremony. Only the king, Katiya, Irina, and Roland. And as many priests and seers as deemed necessary. Nobody else. Mikvel had agreed but insisted they should have a larger reception in the evening for the court to celebrate their nuptials.

  But it wouldn’t be anywhere as grand as one of his and Katiya’s balls. So, she could wear any of gowns she hadn't already worn to one of the royal wedding celebrations.

  She considered her choices again. Allita had produced several carved wooden racks and draped the options over them. The silver brocade might pass for white. But it wasn't her favorite, and silver had never been her color.

  So, instead, she reached for one of the few gowns that Helene's seamstresses had made for her. Heavy silk in her favorite deep shade of pink. Cut simply—there hadn’t been time for anything too elaborate—with a modest neckline and long sleeves, it was still Illvyan but wouldn’t ruffle any feathers. Helene had cleverly trimmed it with lace dyed the same shade, the motifs cut out and sewn to the fabric in a manner that resembled Andalyssian embroidery. "This one."

  Katiya looked unsure but didn't argue. Irina just smiled and held up a circlet of ruby and diamond stars. "You should wear this, then. It complements the silk, and the stars match your betrothal ring."

  And the mark on her skin. Lucien’s mark. Part of her wanted to refuse, but another part knew he would like it.

  She nodded.

  Irina smiled. “There’s a necklace, too.”

  "Just the circlet. Let's keep things simple."

  Her dress and jewels might be simple, but Chloe's emotions as she walked to the chapel were complicated. She was nervous. Which made no sense. This wasn't an actual marriage. Or, rather, not one that was going to last.

  But apparently her stomach didn't recognize that. It fluttered with butterflies. A sensation she hadn't felt in a while. Anticipation. Of having Lucien in her bed again. Possibly not a frame of mind that Sejerin Silya would approve of. Chloe wasn't sure she approved of it herself. But she couldn't change it.

  "Are you ready?" Irina asked as they reached the doors where Gilles waited to escort her into the chapel.

  "As I'll ever be," she replied, taking a deep breath. Too late to do anything else now.

  Captain Theisse stepped forward. "You look lovely, Lieutenant," he said.

  She smiled at him, appreciating his avoidance of her last name. Charl's last name. Soon not to be hers anymore. Once Lucien divorced her, she would return to using Matin. He would find that true love he sought eventually, and whoever he married next wouldn't appreciate an
other Lady Castaigne running around. Besides which, would she even be Lady Castaigne after their marriage was dissolved? Charl had died. Divorce was different.

  And this, she suspected, was another train of thought that Lucien would gently suggest was strange to be having just as she was preparing to go and make vows in front of the goddess, the balance, and who knew what other deities might care to look in that she was pledging herself to him forever. She took another breath, trying to steady her thoughts, and made herself smile Gilles.

  "Thank you," she said and tucked her arm through his as the doors opened.

  The ceremony was straightforward. Not as long or elaborate as the king's and without the interludes of massed choruses singing strange Andalyssian harmonies to echo round the stone arches. But, having attended that, she at least understood what to expect and what to say. She stood with Lucien and followed instructions to face various directions and be anointed with substances representing earth, water, blood, and air by the svasyas. The words and movements came by rote, her focus more on Lucien than what was going on around them.

  Solid and strong and familiar to anchor her through this very strange day. At various stages of the ceremony, the hum of his song through the bond grew louder, as though he was perhaps watching the ceremony to see what magic was being used. No one had yet told them they needed to dissolve it, and she was glad. She wasn’t ready to give it up, the comfort that came from feeling him near.

  The only real surprise came when he produced another ring at the end of the ceremony. Katiya had shown her a selection of gold bands earlier that morning and told her to pick one to give to him. They were, the queen claimed, his size. Chloe hadn't argued, and Katiya had waved away her request to pay for it.

  She wouldn't have been able to afford the ring that Lucien offered her. A band of rubies near the shade of her dress, set off with a black diamond in the center. The stones sparkled in the light. Expensive. Too expensive. But she could hardly mount an argument at the altar, so she just held out her hand and let him slip it into place as she recited the final vows obediently.

  He smiled as he did so, something gleaming at her from those wild green eyes that made her think his mind was more focused on events after the wedding, too. Then he leaned forward and kissed her. Not as fierce as the night before. Not as unrestrained as the night they’d shared. But the hunger beneath it thrummed at her through the bond, and she was glad that his hands had gone around her waist as her knees wobbled and the world faded around her until he pulled away and the witnesses began to clap.

  She didn't get any time alone with Lucien after the ceremony. Mikvel had promised the reception he'd planned would not be too extravagant, but she realized, as the hours passed and she began to grow more eager to have Lucien to herself once more, that they hadn't placed any limits on him as to time. That had been a mistake. They should have known by now that the Andalyssians liked long meals. And liked them more followed by dancing and free-flowing wine.

  By the time Lucien led her onto the dance floor for their first dance, it was already late.

  "How much longer, do you think?" she hissed through her smile as Lucien swung her into the rhythm of the waltz. As always, dancing with him was easy, and a pleasure now that she had let go of her anger, but while it was delightful, she also wanted it to be over.

  "Some time, I'd imagine," Lucien replied. "After all, they haven't even brought out the kafiet yet."

  Goddess. Kafiet. There'd been multiple rounds of the cursed stuff at Mikvel and Katiya's wedding. She wanted a clear head tonight. To be in command of her senses when she finally got Lucien alone. After all, she had learned that he was very good at making all of them happy.

  "Remind me never to let an Andalyssian plan a party for me again," she said.

  "I will," he said. "Of course, that requires that you'll still be talking to me after we return to Lumia and—"

  "I'm sure I will," she cut him off. It seemed wrong to speak of divorce while dancing at their wedding. She didn't want to think much at all. Surely she deserved a night of frivolity where she could just pretend she was dancing with a lover and forget all the ways in which the coming days and weeks and months were going to be hard?

  She reached for the bond, wanting distraction. They hadn't spent much time together yet since they'd formed it, and she was still curious about what exactly it could do. But what answered her wasn't the spark of magic but rather a sense of hunger and heat. Of wanting. The same need driving her impatience for the reception to be done with. But it wasn't hers. It was his. And the strength of it made her giddy, heating her cheeks.

  Lucien raised a brow. "Would you care to share whatever thought crossed your mind just then?"

  "Perhaps later," she said, batting her eyelashes.

  He grinned, but then his gaze lifted, his eyes scanning the crowd as they waltzed.

  Looking for the man from the garden.

  "I doubt he will be here this evening," she said. "Just enjoy the dance. Leave the watching to Honore and the others."

  Honore had come to her rooms while she'd been eating breakfast, wanting to know more of Chloe's encounter in the garden. There hadn't been much time to spare, but she'd promised the sanctii would be watching. Chloe lacked the talent that some water mages had that allowed them to sense the presence of a sanctii even when they were invisible, but it was comforting to know they were looking out for her.

  Lucien didn't immediately look back, but when he did, he was smiling again. "My apologies. But I said I'd keep you safe."

  "And I have perfect faith that you will," she said, meaning it. "But this is, as we discussed, your wedding night. As your bride, I feel obligated to make sure you enjoy it."

  His grin widened, pupils flaring, and she knew she had captured his attention once more. A renewed pulse of heat came through the bond. "I have perfect faith that you will," he said and whirled her into the next dance.

  There was more dancing. More wine. More Andalyssians whose names she came close to forgetting as her body grew more tightly focused on Lucien. They were standing talking with Theo, Giane, Mikvel, and Katiya when servants finally began appearing with trays of kafiet. At Mikvel's wedding, no one had drunk until the bride and groom did, and they had been served last. She watched as everyone took the tiny glasses, the kafiet gleaming pale green as it always did. Lucien took his before the male servant offered her the very last glass.

  She took it, held it as Mikvel made the toast. Smiled at his gentle joke that earned laughter from the crowd. Went to lift it to her lips, eyes locked on Lucien's. But as he began to tip his back, she saw the servant still standing close, his expression intent. Alarm flared as a faint odd chord of magic sounded. As Lucien began to swallow, she saw a flash of red at the heart of the kafiet. A color that shouldn't be there.

  Without thinking, she threw up a hand, pulling wildly on the bond. Her magic cracked through the room and the glasses all shattered, triggering shouts and cries of alarm.

  She stood panting, almost reeling in the aftershock, eyes fixed on Lucien. Time enough to worry if she'd hurt anyone once she knew he was all right. That she'd been fast enough.

  A tiny streak of blood appeared on his cheek, above the place where he'd been bruised by the branch back in the forest. He lifted his free hand to touch it, frowning. Said, "Chloe, what—" and then toppled over.

  Chapter 27

  "Lucien!" Chloe lunged forward but couldn’t catch him as he crumpled. The court had erupted into panic, but she didn’t care, dropping to her knees beside Lucien, searching frantically for a pulse.

  There.

  Too weak, but there.

  Tightening her grip on his wrist, she reached for the ley line, sending a flood of magic into him, trying to give him strength.

  Irina appeared on Lucien's other side, crouching carefully. Her face was pale, but her voice stayed steady as her eyes scanned Lucien’s body. "What happened?"

  "There was something in the glass," Chloe said, still pouri
ng magic into him. "A flash of red."

  Irina's eyes widened. She uncurled Lucien's hand, still wrapped around the base of his kafiet glass, pulled it free, and sniffed it cautiously. "Firewort," she said. "I think." She turned and snapped orders at the nearest servant to fetch her bags and the healers. Then she looked past Chloe to Mikvel, green eyes blazing.

  "Poison," she said. "We need water for everyone. They should wash their hands. Clean any wounds carefully. Anyone who has kafiet near a cut should leave it alone and stay still until the healers can clean them up."

  Mikvel nodded and turned on his heel, bellowing orders of his own.

  Katiya came over to stand by Chloe. "What can I do?"

  "Are you hurt?" Irina asked, eyes going up to her sister. For the first time, she looked alarmed. "Did you get cut?"

  "No."

  "Then see what you can do to help others."

  “No, wait,” Chloe said. “The servant. The one who brought the tray to us. Do you know who that was?”

  Katiya shook her head. “I don’t think I noticed.”

  “Find him,” Chloe snarled. She stared down at Lucien, his face too pale. She could barely hear anything over the deafening panicked thump of her heartbeat in her ears. But she could feel him through the bond. He was alive. She had to make sure he stayed that way.

  "Chloe," Irina snapped. "Pay attention. Keep feeding him your strength. We have treatments. They can work."

  "Can work" wasn't "will work." Irina had told her that firewort could be deadly. For a moment, she thought she might faint. But no. Lucien needed her.

  Irina glanced past Chloe. "Colonel, if you have any healers, you should send for them, too. They can help the royves."

  "They could help you." Honore's voice was calm and crisp. Her colonel voice.

  Irina shook her head. “They don’t know how to deal with firewort. Royve Ava will ask for help if we need it. Chloe is lending him her strength through their bond. No one else will be able to do more." She looked back at Chloe. "Don't let him go."