Page 15 of The Exile's Curse

"Clo-ee," Chloe corrected. "She's quick. Tok is learning to speak fast, but he has the benefit of his bond. It’s entertaining to see the faces of the Anglion courtiers when he talks to them." She smiled at the memory, then shook off the sense of disorientation that came in its wake. Just then the memory of Anglion felt like a memory of home. The place where all was familiar. But Lumia was home.

She could only hope that it would stop feeling so strange sooner rather than later.

"I hope you will be visiting us more often," Mestier Allyn said. "The Academe has missed you."

"Thank you. I missed you all, too. I'm sure I will be here. My father is keen for me to refresh my skills. As am I," she added hastily, not wanting it to seem that, were she to return, it would be under sufferance.

Mestier Allyn grinned. "Heard you already started on that. Cost us some earth lamps already. Some things don't change."

Chloe rolled her eyes. Gossip traveled around the Academe faster than a raven pouncing on a worm. "I didn't blow anything up today."

"I'm sure Madame Simsa will be glad of that. Just as well it's not both of you back again. Not sure the Academe could take it."

He meant her and Imogene. They'd had some escapades in their time. She smiled. "The duquesse has other things to occupy her now. But I'll tell her you remember her. I'll be seeing her tomorrow."

He nodded approval, then clicked his tongue at Mai, pointing at the cage door. The raven decided that dinner won over rebellion, hopped neatly onto his hand, and then made another short leap into her cage.

"Good night, Mai," Chloe said as Mestier Allyn closed the cage door. He turned back to her, and she curtsied. "Thank you for loaning me your window."

"They are always there, Chloe. Should you feel the need to find your bearings."

Chloe couldn't fault Imogene's clothier. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn a dress as beautiful as the one Helene had produced at such short notice.

Possibly her own wedding.

Though her dress for that particular day, while lovely, had been the result of compromises between her taste and that of her mother. And Charl’s mama. Who had had very particular ideas about what was appropriate for a woman marrying into the de Montesse family to wear.

Chloe had watched Imogene go through a quick-fire course in how to be a duquesse-in-waiting, fulfilling her duty as best friend to hold Imogene's hand and let her vent when the rules and protocol surrounding her future had become overwhelming. Charl, however, was not an immediate heir. Chloe hadn’t anticipated the same level of oversight of her own nuptials. But Babette de Montesse had been determined that a commoner shouldn't disgrace the family, and she had a bossy streak a mile wide.

It had been entertaining, once she was no longer the focus of Babette's attention. Charl didn't really care for all the pomp that went with court life. True, he enjoyed the benefits of his family's money and privilege, but she had always liked the fact that he had shown little desire for snobbery and formality in their day-to-day lives. He’d certainly been keen enough to prove his love to her, to convince her that he did indeed want to marry the daughter of the Maistre of the Academe and not one of the many girls from families far grander who would have been happy to snap up even a younger son.

He had only a small amount of blood magic. Just enough to warrant him toying with the idea of joining the Imperial army but never quite follow through. He'd had an equally small talent for illusion. Mostly good for conjuring sparks of light to amuse or to summon the pretense of her favorite flowers when he'd been trying to win her favor. Nothing like the startling strength of magic his best friend commanded.

And there was Lucien, in her thoughts again.

She scowled into the mirror. She was about to walk into an Illyvan ballroom and face an Illvyan crowd of what had once been her peers for the first time in ten years. She needed to keep her wits about her, not get lost in the memories and regrets.

Imogene had promised a small, relaxed affair. But 'small' and 'relaxed' were relative. And no ball thrown by a duq and his wife could ever be entirely free of court games.

Games she had no desire to play.

She intended to enjoy the music and the spectacle, drink some campenois, avoid dancing as much as she could, and lurk around the outskirts of the party before leaving at the earliest possible hour she could achieve without being rude. It was a waste of a magnificent frock, perhaps, but it was all she felt she could manage.

She took a breath and smoothed her face into something calm, contemplating her dress rather than the event it was for. Imogene had tried to talk her into bright red, but she'd chosen something more subtle, having no desire to stand out any more than she had to.

The dark green silk was sumptuous and the cut magnificent. Helene de Signey hadn't been in business when Chloe married, but, gazing at her reflection, Chloe understood exactly why Imogene paid her so well. The woman was a genius with fabric. But still, the dress was cut lower across her chest than anything she'd worn in Anglion in years, and she had to resist the urge to try and tug it higher.

Imogene had lent her a necklace of amber and peridots that would at least draw the eye up to her neck. And there was a fan in matching silk that would also provide distraction. Not that she should. She had no need to try to avoid the temple's attention here. There would be no disapproving dominas at Imogene’s ball. Not that an Illvyan domina would be disapproving.

No, the problem would be the attention of all those people who'd known her before—and those who'd known Charl and what he’d done. She wasn't entirely sure that she wouldn't prefer the scowls of even Domina Skey rather than subjecting herself to the scrutiny of the Illvyan court. But Imogene had promised her it would be smooth sailing, and she had to trust that.

Besides, Imogene was right. Hiding away wouldn’t convince people that she was innocent. She'd watched Imogene learn to stare down gossip and petty politicking when she'd first become engaged to Jean-Paul. No one had expected the heir to one of the most powerful duqdoms in the empire to marry a commoner.

A water mage at that. One who had a sanctii.

There had been plenty of upper-class noses put out of joint and plenty of gossip and spite because of it. She'd had her own turn at that when Charl chose her. Which, come to think of it, had put her in good stead when she'd endured a different kind of suspicion and rumor and scrutiny when she'd arrived in Anglion.

She could do it a third time. After all, with the emperor's declaration of her innocence behind her, there was not much that any of them could throw in her face that would do her any real harm. And once they realized she wasn't hunting for a second husband amongst the courtiers, that she was happy to fade into the background and just be the formerly scandalous friend of the Duquesse of Saint Pierre who appeared in their midst now and then, they would leave her alone.

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