The Exile's Curse Read online

  "We'll see," Imogene said. But she smiled, clearly pleased, then looked across the room. "Ikarus, would you tell Lili that we would like some tea, please?"

  "Ikarus is here?" Chloe asked.

  She had forgotten about Imogene's sanctii. In Anglion, the familiaris sanctii were strictly taboo—considered demons of the darkest, vilest kind. Queen Sophia would change that slowly, given she came with a sanctii of her own. But before she had come to power, sanctii and water magic had been forbidden for many, many years. Chloe might have snuck in a little earth magic here and there in Anglion where she had need, but she hadn't been even slightly tempted to try water magic in a country where it might just get her killed.

  But in Illvya and the other parts of the empire where water mages were common, there were sanctii. Not all water mages bonded with them. The required rites took a degree of skill and power that not all could attain. Nor the willingness to spend one's life joined to a companion from a race completely different to one's own. A healthy regard for the potential for destruction embodied in the sanctii's powers also deterred some from trying.

  Some but not all. Enough tried and succeeded that she would have to learn once again to guard her tongue and consider the fact that there might be an invisible listener to any given conversation involving a water mage. The skills at dissembling she had gained in Anglion in that regard would continue to serve her well.

  "He's nearby," Imogene said with a careless flick of her fingers. "He can always hear me anyway."

  "And you use him to convey messages to your servants?"

  "Not always. But he doesn't mind. He quite likes Lili."

  A sanctii became part of a household over the years. Her father's, Martius, had been part of her life since birth. He had seemed happy to have her home again, as much as any sanctii expressed emotion. It made sense that Ikarus would make his own relationships with the people in Imogene's life.

  Chloe had been on what she considered friendly terms with him when Imogene first bonded with him, though he had tended to stay out of sight. She'd met Sophie's Elarus a time or two as well, but the female sanctii—an even rarer thing—was less communicative and more focused on Sophie. Which made sense given the situation in Anglion. The young queen was leading an overturning of centuries of schism in the temple there, not to mention trying to root out the seeds of a plot that had led to her gaining the throne. She needed her sanctii to be focused on keeping her safe.

  "I see," Chloe said. She would regain her former ease with sanctii other than Martius in time.

  Imogene smiled again. "So, that takes care of clothing. What of your jewelry?"

  "I have a few pieces. But in truth, I sold much of it in Anglion."

  The smile disappeared. "What of the de Montesse stones Charl gave you?"

  "I left those behind. I didn’t want to be accused of being a thief as well as a traitor's wife."

  Blue eyes blazed. "No one thinks that."

  Chloe shrugged. She appreciated Imogene's loyalty, but she had to be pragmatic. There would be those in Illvya who didn't wish her well and would have been perfectly happy if she'd lived out her years in exile. "I guarantee you that some people do. And his family suffered enough."

  "They truly haven't contacted you?"

  "No, but I did not expect them to. I don't know how much of an estate there was," Chloe said. "Charl was, after all, just a second son of a second son. He claimed to handle the money himself and never gave me reason to think matters were difficult. But then again, he never gave me reason to think he was conspiring against the emperor either, so who knows what he was really doing?"

  She looked away for a moment, regretting the bitterness that had crept into her tone. She was supposed to be convincing everyone that she was fine. Ready to embark on a new life.

  Imogene squeezed her hand. Chloe squeezed back, willing away the bite of anger.

  "Were that man not already dead, I would throttle him myself," Imogene muttered, voice fierce despite the softness. "I know you loved him, but—"

  "You would have to form an orderly line behind several other people," Chloe said.

  "Including you?" A dark eyebrow arched.

  "Possibly," Chloe said. "I was angry for a long time. Now I am mostly just sad for a waste of a life." A waste of their life.

  "All the more reason not to let anything make you waste another second of yours," Imogene said.

  She looked up as the door to the parlor opened and one of her footmen appeared bearing a tea trolley. He was followed by Albeir, Imogene’s seneschal. Imogene stayed quiet as the tea service was set up, then took up the pot when the servants left them alone again. "Still sugar and lemon?"

  Chloe nodded and took the delicate china cup gratefully. The scent of the rich black Sisiian brew was wonderful. Once they both had tea and had investigated the plates piled high with enough artfully arranged frou-frous masquerading as cakes to feed them for at least half a day, Imogene settled back on the sofa.

  She sipped tea, dispatched several tiny cakes, then faced Chloe once more. "You do need to deal with the de Montesse family at some point."

  Why was she so concerned with the estate? Maybe it was an aristo thing. The obsession with inheritance ran deep in the noble families. "Possibly. But, as I said, there is no urgency to the matter."

  "A smart woman does not give up resources that belong to her."

  Chloe narrowed her eyes at her. "A smart woman also does not stir up old troubles for no good reason. I don't need their money."

  "Let me at least task Jean-Paul's lawyers with doing a little investigating as to whether there was an estate," Imogene said. "They are fiendishly effective and utterly discreet. No one will get wind that you’re looking."

  She wasn't going to drop the subject. Chloe wrinkled her nose. "You have become more ruthless as a duquesse."

  "Did you not become more ruthless in Anglion?"

  "I survived."

  "Being a duquesse is something of a game of survival, too. There are ample opportunities to do good with the power it grants me, but only if I am able to wield it with authority. And seize opportunities." Imogene sipped tea again and reached for a cake glazed with pale green icing and violet-shaded sugar flowers. "I should hire a worse cook. Eat some of these so my ball gown does not grow too tight."

  "Are you bribing me with cake to let you have your way?" Chloe asked, rolling her eyes, as she took a gold-and-aqua cake of her own. It smelled like lemons and somehow, also of summer.

  "I would give you cake regardless," Imogene said. "I will also continue to try to convince you to let me help."

  Chloe took a tiny bite as a delaying tactic. Her father would, she had no doubt, say much the same if she asked him. That she should pursue the matter. He would be willing to pay for a lawyer, too. Her family were not poor. Henri's position at the Academe had seen to that. However, her mother's illness had been expensive. Knowing her father, and her mother's ongoing need to dote, they would insist on contributing to her expenses for some time as well. And her father would never hear of her repaying him. Whereas Imogene, on the other hand, might eventually allow her arm to be twisted in that direction if Chloe insisted. So Imogene was, perhaps, the more palatable option. For now.

  "If I eat the cake and give in now, am I less likely to wind up with indigestion?" she said with a smile.

  Imogene swallowed the last of her cake. "I never gave you indigestion," she said indignantly.

  "Only tried to turn my hair gray a time or two before I was even twenty," Chloe said.

  That earned her an eye roll. "Your hair is no more gray than mine. And you are a young woman still. No reason you can't do whatever you want with your life. A new career. Another husband and children—" She held up a hand as Chloe began to protest. "If they are what you choose," she finished. "Do not give me that look. No one is going to force you to have babies. You have enough earth magic to avoid that as long as you wish."

  "Is that what you've been doing?" Imogene and
Jean-Paul had been married a long time. The lack of an heir to the duq's estates couldn’t have gone unremarked upon.

  Imogene's expression turned thoughtful. "It has never seemed quite the right time. For either of us. We have discussed it, of course. I told Jean-Paul he was going to have to support me if we decided to delay. Otherwise, all the nosy old biddies at court would be saying I was barren and a terrible choice."

  "But you do intend to have children?"

  "Yes, Goddess willing. I knew that when I agreed to marry the man. Now that my navire project has reached a degree of success and the Anglion issue has been resolved, we may have peace enough for a time to do something about it." She smiled at Chloe. "And, of course, you are home to be an aunt to them now."

  Chloe had had her share of dealing with younger brothers and sisters when Ana had been ill. She’d met her nephews and nieces over the last few days, but she didn’t intend to become one of their minders, as adorable as they were. "I have forgotten all I know about babies," she said firmly and took another cake. This one was pale peach and blue, but inside was seila berry jam that burst across her tongue.

  "I'm sure it will come back to you," Imogene said with a satisfied smile. "Now, let us discuss your gowns."

  Chapter 3

  "Does that sound reasonable, my dear?" Henri asked two days later.

  Chloe started. She’d been thinking of her morning with the clothier and had completely lost track of the thread of the conversation. Given the topic at hand was how she might refresh her studies at the Academe, it was somewhat mortifying to realize her thoughts had drifted. Perhaps it was only that she was hungry, having spent most of the morning standing in the middle of a fitting room, being assessed and measured and pinned.

  Imogene worked fast. Chloe didn't want to know what she had done to secure an appointment with one of the most famous clothiers in the city so quickly.

  Helene de Signy had been fascinated by what Chloe had been wearing and keen for detail of the fashions of Anglion. Her brother Marx had delicately dug for gossip while looking slightly askance at the serviceable gray wool of Chloe's dress. But they were professionals and whirred into action when Imogene mentioned the deadline for the ball gown.

  Two more days. Imogene still claimed it would be only a small ball. Chloe still wasn't certain that she wanted to go. At least she would be well dressed.

  "Chloe?" Henri prompted.

  She grimaced apologetically. "I'm sorry, Papa. It is a lot to take in. Perhaps you could write down your recommendations so I can think on them some more this week?" His initial suggestion of a semester at the Academe to refresh her skills had somehow expanded to a year's worth of studies, and her head was whirling.

  His smile was approving. "Of course, my dear. There’s no rush. Your mother won't thank me for stealing you away from her any sooner than necessary."

  No, but it might be better for her mother if he did. Better for all of them, if they could find some sort of balance in this new life quickly. Which would be easier if she knew what her new life was to be. But she needed to give herself time. And her parents the same grace.

  She rose from the chair by her father's desk and nodded to Martius, his sanctii, who was standing by the fire, as she gathered her purse and gloves. The sanctii nodded back, his dark eyes as inscrutable as ever. But his mottled gray skin had been cracked by a slow smile the day she’d returned home. Which was likely as close to an admission that he was pleased by her return as she was going to get. Somehow, the sanctii’s calm acceptance was easier to take than her family’s delight.

  "Are you returning home?" Henri asked. "Or did you want to stay? We could lunch together. I believe those lemon cakes you like so much might be on the menu."

  That could hardly be a coincidence. Just as her mother had been trying to keep her close, her father had been bringing up the subject of her to returning to the Academe for a year or so of study with not-so-subtle regularity. Lemon cakes—one of her favorite things—were a bribe. But as tempting as they sounded, her mother had been stuffing her with Illvyan delicacies for days, and if she returned to the Academe, she would be able to eat the lemon cakes regularly.

  "Perhaps another day. I promised Mama I would be home to help her in the garden this afternoon."

  Henri smiled. "Well, I dare not keep you from that."

  Chloe nodded. "We can talk more this evening. Bring the list of classes home with you." Nerves stirred in her stomach. She needed to brush up her skills, and Henri's enthusiasm for magic was always infectious. But a year seemed a long time and, she suspected, another unintentional manifestation of her father’s desire to protect her. The Academe was half-home to her and, with the number of sanctii residing there with their mages, one of the safest places in the city.

  She'd loved being a student, but she didn't think it was what she wanted to do forever. Teaching was Henri's passion, not hers. But until she did know what she wanted, the Academe was a good place to begin.

  Lucien de Roche strode down the corridor of the Academe di Sages, mind still mostly on the stacks of paperwork awaiting him back in his office. He had spared a few hours, as he did twice a year to come and address the students who showed an affinity for the Arts of Air about his abilities as a Truth Seeker. His was a rare talent amongst illusioners. There were only ten Truth Seekers currently in the emperor’s service, and it had been several years since a new one had been found. They could always use another.

  But he held no strong hope that there would be a student in this year's class who might hold the spark. If he was honest, it was always a mixture of relief and resignation when no one displayed the talent. Truth Seekers, once discovered, really didn't have much choice in the matter of their careers. It was the law and the service of the emperor. There had been, in the past, a handful maybe who had refused that call. Most of those had ended up choosing to serve the temple. Professing a religious calling was one of the few acceptable ways to avoid the long arm of the Imperial family.

  Not one that tempted him.

  No, he'd been happy with the law. Maybe it was from growing up watching his father settle disputes on their estate and seeing the very real stakes of such matters.

  A talent for the truth was invaluable in the law. But it was unlikely that he'd be unearthing a new Truth Seeker today. Which left his mind free to contemplate other things. So he wasn’t paying particular attention to his surroundings when he turned a corner and came face-to-face with Chloe de Montesse hurrying in the other direction.

  He stopped dead. So did she, her eyes flaring wide with what he thought might well be horror before her expression snapped into a coldly distant blank.

  He bowed, manners drilled into him since birth difficult to overcome, though these days he outranked the daughter of the Maistre of the Academe by more than several degrees. But he owed Chloe courtesy, at the very least, having caused her no little chaos in the past.

  "Madame de Montesse," he murmured even as his mind corrected the thought. It was Chloe's husband, his former best friend, Charl, who had caused the chaos and destruction rather than Lucien himself. He had only done what duty and honor and his goddess-sworn oaths of truth had forced him to do. It had given him no pleasure and endless grief to do so, though he had buried that in order to do his duty. He doubted Chloe saw it that way though.

  "My lord," she said in an icy tone that sounded nothing like his memories of the laughing, vivid woman who'd been one of his closest friends.

  It seemed, someone—Henri, presumably—had informed her of his change in status.

  "I am here to address the students," he offered when she continued to stare at him, dark brown eyes opaque. With her black-streaked red hair braided around her head and color staining the golden skin of her cheeks as she stood ramrod straight in a simple dark gray dress, she looked formidable. Older than the Chloe in his head, which was confusing. Not happy to see him. The rejection felt like a slap, though it wasn't unexpected. She'd made it clear on the docks that she
wanted nothing to do with him.

  Careless of him to not consider that she might be at the Academe. He'd expected her to be tucked at home, enjoying the family she had so recently returned to, what, less than a week ago?

  His heart had nearly stopped when he'd seen her on the docks. He'd had wind of the news that she was returning from Anglion. With relations between the two countries tentatively returning to something more open, there were plenty of ships filled with Illvyans being ferried back and forth to assist in the emperor's plans to assist Anglion's young Queen Sophia to solidify her reign, and they all carried news. But he hadn't known she was returning that day. It was pure chance he’d gone to discuss a matter with the captain of one of the ships in the de Roche fleet.

  And suddenly there she had been. Where there had been a lack of her for ten years. Ten years where he had only known that she had fled to Anglion, and no more news than that had ever reached him. Ten years when he had never dared to entertain the hope that he might see her face again.

  "I would not like to keep you from your task," Chloe said, still cold.

  He nodded and stepped back, intending to bow and be on his way, but instead he found himself unwilling to leave as she stared him down.

  Heart-stopping, indeed, that face. He had seen it for the first time the night of Imogene and Jean-Paul du Laq's betrothal ball. Imogene and Chloe had been standing across the room, Chloe laughing while Imogene had looked vaguely nervous under her immaculate makeup. As well anyone marrying into one of the highest families in the empire might. Chloe's dress was a blaze of red that had caught his attention against Imogen's betrothal-white. Imogene was a beauty, her face and vivid blue eyes the stuff of painter's dreams, but she had faded into the background once he'd seen Chloe. She had looked so purely joyful that it had caught him like a lure, leaving him dazzled as though he had stared too long at the sun.

  And then, minutes later, the two of them had crossed the ballroom, and Imogene introduced Chloe to him and to Charl standing with him. It had not taken very long to realize it was Charl who had caught Chloe's interest. Charl, who was always charming and handsome and attracted women like bees to a flower. It had taken a little longer to see that Charl was, unusually for him, interested in return. That had been the point where Lucien had to turn away from the light.