Page 36 of The Exile's Curse

But sanctii, while not exactly common, were more common than Truth Seekers. Most people didn't cross paths with them often.

Lieutenant Plesse, Chloe had discovered last night after dinner, was, like her, from a non-aristo background. His parents owned a cloth factory in Neimes, one of Illvya's smaller cities. They’d had a few mages in the family in earlier generations, but Theo's abilities had been something of a surprise. Even more of a surprise when he turned out to be a water mage and had chosen to join the army rather than return to the family business.

Not a history which would have given him much cause to mingle with Lucien or any of his colleagues. Most of the more experienced members of the delegation would have dealt with the judicial branch from time to time, but even they looked nervous. Maybe it was because most of them weren't from noble families.

Truth Seekers, aristo or not, tended to move in the higher court circles when they weren't working. Their talent was rare enough that forming an alliance via marriage with one was an attractive proposition to a great family. Or, at least, a great family who thought they might be able to sway a Truth Seeker to work in their favor. Truth Seekers who weren't aristos like Lucien found it easy to marry well when they chose to do so.

From what Chloe knew of Lucien's unswerving allegiance to his work and the truth he had sworn to pursue, she doubted those marriages worked out as the noble families expected in terms of gaining sway over a Truth Seeker. Or future Truth Seekers, perhaps. But given there weren't many of them alive at any one time, the families seemed to think it was worth continuing to try. Lucien, born to inherit his father's title, had no ladders to climb. And he didn't use his talent for personal gain.

Or he had never done so when she had known him. She'd met a few of his colleagues, and while not all of them were as serious as him, they all seemed scrupulously honorable. And none of them complained about the burden of responsibility they bore.

Then again, they did somewhat cultivate an air of mystery about their work that made whining in public counterproductive. Or so Lucien had informed her one night when they'd all had too much campenois. He'd been embarrassed about that confession, but that didn't stop him being able to play the role with aplomb when acquired. And he'd had ten years to refine it since she'd last seen him at work.

Lucien's green gaze swept over the class, a smile of “relax, I’m not intending to read your minds just this moment” resting on his lips. His public face, intended to put people at ease. His eyes met hers for a moment, then moved on.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Plesse," he said. "Good afternoon, everyone. Colonel Brodier has asked me to take the lesson today. I'll admit, my Andalyssian might be a bit out of date, but I can certainly help you with the pronunciation and some context."

He looked back at Lieutenant Plesse. "Colonel Brodier also said you were the one who knew where everyone's skills are, Lieutenant. Perhaps you could give me a summary?"

Theo stood and started to do just that. Not everyone was as new to Andalyssian as Chloe. The diplomatic corps valued language skills. Illvyan had spread throughout the empire as the language of trade, but most countries retained their own languages as well. And understanding a language required more than just having it stuffed into your head by a sanctii. The fluency to navigate delicate situations took professions. So diplomats had lessons in the languages they wanted to use and studied the countries and cultures they would be working with. Chloe, who had always loved to learn—too much her father's daughter to be otherwise—had been happy to realize this when she first joined up.

A sanctioned reason to indulge her thirst for knowledge that had been somewhat stifled in Anglion. She had focused on the herb lore and medical knowledge that Ginevra had taught her and supplemented that with some history and geography when she had begun to read Anglion well enough and had money to spare for books. But she hadn't been able to dive deep into anything that might draw the temple's attention.

But now she didn't need to stay invisible, and she was, in a strange way, looking forward to the mountain of information she'd be learning if she stayed in the mages.

But that learning had barely begun. And when it came to Andalyssian, “barely begun” was too strong a term when she could still remember the headache from the reveille.

In Anglion, she’d learned the hard way, stumbling over words, listening to people, and reading with a notepad at hand so she could ask Ginevra for help.

Samuel, the sea captain who had taken her from Illvya to Anglion, had taught her some basics of Anglish and given her a translation of a very sparse vocabulary that had been built up from his experiences and contacts with the refugees he ferried over his years of doing so.

Over time, she'd met one or two other Illvyan refugees and learned a little more from them before she'd been able to get her hands on a dictionary. Some Anglions—mostly the military or certain members of the court—learned Illvyan, so there were books translating one language to the other to be found.

Having learned a language that way, she was curious to see how the reveille impacted the process. How quickly would practice let her find some order to the unfamiliar words crowded into her head so she could put them to work as she was keen to do? She was less keen to find out by spending hours in a small room with Lucien. But she had no choice, so she bent her head and took notes as he ran through some practice exercises.

His voice sounded odd speaking Andalyssian, though there was something about the depth of it that suited him. It was a language of contrasts, with the drawn-out sibilants and the more pointed harsher consonants. The deeper tones of Lucien's voice smoothed out some of the contrast somehow, taming it into something slightly more familiar.

And Lucien, damn him, was a good teacher.

Of course he was. He was good at most things.

He explained the connections in the words and the rules of Andalyssian grammar easily. And after warming them up on some basics, he moved them into more advanced concepts to do with laws and contracts.

The kinds of things that diplomats needed to know. The kinds of things that were complicated enough to learn about in Illyvan, let alone understand in another language while also trying to understand how the laws might be subtly altered by a culture. The empire imposed some standard rules on its citizens, but, like languages, there were still local laws in each country based on their traditions.

The Illvyan emperors had not tried to turn an entire continent into one country, recognizing, perhaps, the futility of such a task.

But with choice came complication.

Complexity.

And a lot of words in any language to understand it all.

Lucien moved them through the lesson smoothly, and she found herself both intrigued by what he taught and distracted by the sound of his voice.

It was odd that his was the presence that kept tripping her up. Her first few weeks at home, it had been a surprise to hear her family's voices around her, but she had mostly gotten over that by the time she'd left.

But every time she heard Lucien, it was a moment of dislocation.

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