Page 19 of The Exile's Curse

Imogene had been a star pupil of her class. She could have had her pick of positions in the Imperial mages. Or any of the civilian mage guilds. Or even the Academe itself. But like Chloe, she'd wanted to travel and had chosen the diplomatic corps. She'd been twenty-two. Fresh from school. Surely Chloe could manage it now?

She took a deep breath. Imogene, too, had suffered through a scandal early in her career. Her very first mission had been a failure that set relations between Illvya and Andalyssia, the most northern country in the empire, back severely. It hadn't been Imogene's fault, but everyone on the mission had been caught up in the resultant disgrace, and she had to fight her way back to a second chance.

"You're thinking very hard," Imogene said. "You don't need to decide everything tonight. Come back and dance. Lord Castaigne has left, so you don't have anything to worry about. Or I can call for a carriage and you can go home. I'll tell people you have a headache."

"No," Chloe said. She straightened her shoulders. If she disappeared into the night, then it would just start rumors all over again. "I'll come back inside."

Imogene looked relieved. "Good. Supper will be served soon, and our cook made seila berry pies for dessert in your honor."

Seila berries had always been her favorite. Tiny and sweet with a burst of tartness at their heart. They didn't grow in Anglion. "Are seila berries even in season?"

"We have miles of greenhouses at Sanct de Sangre. We always have a few delicacies available to grace our tables all year. And your homecoming seems like a good reason to use some of them."

"Thank you," Chloe said. Seila berry pie might chase away the last of her anxieties. "I'm sorry I got upset."

"No need to apologize, I can only imagine it must be very strange. But I am on your side—don't ever forget that. And never hesitate to ask for help."

It was strange indeed to think she had people to call on now after fending for herself for so long.

"I won't," she promised. "Starting with now. Because I don't need to think about it. I would like to join the mages. Do you think you could get me an audience with Aristides?"

Imogene grinned. "That, love, will be even less of a problem than the seila berries."

Chloe laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"That Imogene Carvelle, my friend who once almost set her hair on fire trying to curl it, can now call on the emperor's favor. Life is strange."

"It is. But it's also an adventure. And yours is just beginning again.”

Chapter 7

"My lord Truth Seeker?"

Lucien looked up to find his junior grefiere, Kristof, hovering in the doorway.

"Yes?" he said, then regretted the sharpness of the tone when Kristof flinched. He was new to the role but had the makings of a good steward, and Lucien had no reason to be short with him. Especially when the irritation rising in his veins at the interruption was purely his own fault.

"A note from the Imperial office, my lord." Kristof moved to the desk and offered an envelope. "The courier said it was urgent."

"A new case?" Lucien asked, turning the envelope over, ignoring the throb in his temples at the thought of more work. The headache bedeviling him was of his own making. After he'd blundered into Chloe's path last night and she'd fled the damned ballroom as soon as possible to get away from him, he'd taken himself off to one of the salons he and his friends sometimes frequented, planted himself by the fire, and drunk most of a bottle of Ilvsoir, trying to drown out the memory of her face.

Goddess, she loathed him.

He didn't want to think about how much. It was just salting wounds that he should know to leave damn well alone. The resultant headache was the reason he had chosen to work from his office in his house in Arge-Nor rather than the one at the headquarters of the Imperial judiciary.

That and the fact that both his seneschal and his senior grefiere, Fidel, who handled the business of the estate for him when he couldn't do it himself, had been dropping tactful “you are spending too much time on the judiciary” hints for the last few weeks. He needed to spend a day or so where they could ask him all the things they wanted to ask and brief him on everything he needed to know and get him to authorize more damned bank drafts.

He'd already growled at Fidel that it was too damned early to discuss the breeding lines of pigs earlier that morning, which was probably why Kristof had been tasked with bringing him the message. He was clever—Fidel wouldn't have taken on anyone without the brains for the job—but perpetually cheerful and seemingly delighted to be learning the business of a grefiere. All of Lucien's household seemed to regard any sign of ill temper toward the lad as equivalent to kicking a puppy.

He turned the envelope over and frowned. It wasn't the Office of the Judiciary's seal on the back. It was the emperor's.

Damn.

He couldn't think of any good reason for Aristides to write to him. The trail on the Anglion scandals had largely run dry. They were looking for new leads on who the Anglions had hired in Lumia to attempt to kill Queen Sophia and her husband but so far had come up short. Likewise, they were yet to find the connections in Anglion. That was the only active case of his that the emperor had taken a direct interest in.

"That will be all," he said to Kristof. "I'll let you know if there's an answer."

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