Page 5 of The Exile's Curse

Trust Imogene to get straight to the point. Her family, so far, had not raised the subject. Waiting for her to broach it, perhaps. But she wasn't ready for that. Easier to speak her fears to Imogene. "The wife of a traitor. The wife who ran away." The thought of approaching the de Montesse family made her stomach twist. Charl's parents had been kind to her on the whole, but they'd been fast to distance themselves when their son fell afoul of the law.

Imogene straightened, frowning. "But you need money, dearest."

Chloe wrinkled her nose. "I have money enough to rent an apartment when I am ready. My shop in Kingswell was quite the success."

The frown lightened to something closer to curiosity. "One day you will have to explain to me how you convinced the Anglion dominas to ignore an Illvyan selling magical supplies."

"Better to sell the supplies than practice the magic," Chloe said. "By the time I bought the store, I had been assisting Ginevra for several years and causing no trouble. Keep your nose clean long enough and you become boring. Besides, everything I sold was for earth witches. Perfectly respectable." If not the most exciting way to spend her days. Yes, the herbal lore and such healing as the average Anglion earth witches used were interesting, but they limited themselves with their taboos and rules. She knew her skills were nothing close to an Illvyan healer's. Or even a strong Anglion one. The temple trained those, and while they had tolerated Chloe, they wouldn't have welcomed her showing any interest in learning more magic.

One of Imogene's perfect brows arched. "From what I've seen of the Anglion temple, they're very willing to stick their noses in, even if you're boring. But you'll tell me more another time," she said. "So, you can afford to rent an apartment when you’re ready, and thus the de Montesse family can wait. Which brings us to the question of how you plan to fill your days."

Chloe huffed out a surprised laugh. Imogene had never been the shy and retiring type, and becoming a duquesse had only made her more direct with time. "That's not an easy question. And I don't know the answer yet. Papa wants me to spend a semester at the Academe. Refresh my theory, as it were. It is a reasonable enough plan." Even if she wasn't sure she wanted to comply. The need to reconnect with her magic, she couldn't deny. The familiar strength of Lumia's ley lines had been humming through her veins since she stepped off the ship, but she'd been too nervous try her magic again. Not even the small earth magics she'd allowed herself back in Kingswell, let alone the water magic she hadn't touched for so long.

"That seems a sound idea," Imogene said. "A way to accustom yourself to being back in Lumia. The Academe doesn't change much, even if the students do."

No mention of the fact that Chloe needed the practice, which was kind.

Imogene chewed her lip briefly. "Jean-Paul and I are holding a small ball next week. I would love for you to come."

Alarm pricked down Chloe's spine.A 'small' ball?She'd been to a few of their balls before Jean-Paul had become the duq. They'd hardly been 'small' then. Doubtful they would have shrunk now that he was one of the highest-ranking men in the country. "I'm not sure if I'm quite ready for that—"

Imogene held up a hand. "The emperor asked me to invite you," she said. "He seems quite adamant that you should take your place in society again."

The prick of alarm turned to a shiver. Why should the emperor care if she attended balls and parties? "I don't really have a place in society. I'm the common-born widow of a mere younger son. One who did a terrible thing. I have no desire to return to court life or be in the public eye."

"I understand," Imogene said, her tone sympathetic but firm. "But Aristides wishes it to be clear that you are in favor and not tainted by what Charl did. That can't happen if you hide yourself away."

That was definitely the duquesse talking. Chloe needed to remember that Imogene had changed, too. For one thing, she was now close enough to the emperor that she called him by his first name. He had always been fond of her, of course. Imogene had foiled an attempt to poison the empress before she was even married to Jean-Paul. Imogene and Jean-Paul had both increased their rank and influence since then. Not to mention that Imogene had designed the flying ships—the navire d'avions—that were going to be an invaluable tool to the empire as Chloe understood it.

"Am I to take it that this invitation is more a command?"

Imogene hitched a shoulder. "Close. I suspect you could refuse this particular invitation. But if you do, they will only keep coming. Both from me and whoever else Aristides chooses to involve."

Hardly likely anyone from Charl's former circle would be enthusiastic about the idea of inviting her to a gathering. But Chloe had other friends from court back then. Younger women like herself. Now less young. And, of course, there were whole other circles of society centered around the Academe and the parliament. The latter she would be avoiding. It had been a parliamentarian who had lured Charl into his idiocy, amongst others. Though the full extent of the conspiracy had never been uncovered. Charl had confessed, but he hadn’t known all the other parties. A pawn, not an instigator. Lucien had told her that much. She might hate the man, but she knew he wouldn't lie.

He didn't need to.

His powers as a Truth Seeker were unrivaled. And his reputation, even then, still early in his career, impeccable. The de Roche family was more powerful than the de Montesses, and he was the heir. He'd had nothing to gain from condemning his best friend. He'd done it because he believed in law and duty and the truth more than friendship, it seemed.

Rationally, she understood. But she loathed him still for the role he'd played in everything she'd lost. When her father had told her that no other conspirators had ever been unearthed beyond the first three who'd confessed with Charl, that loathing only deepened. What use was truth seeking if it couldn't even bring those who'd corrupted Charl to justice?

So no, no parliamentarians. But she suspected Imogene was correct. If indeed the emperor wanted her to join in, then join in she would. Yet another thread of oddity wrapped around her return, tugging her more off-kilter. She may have been in exile in Anglion and may have had to obey the rules of Anglion society to a degree, but she'd had a far freer life there than she would if she was to step back into the life of a society lady in Lumia.

Imogene took her silence for indecision. "I understand that you may not wish to deal with the court. And with what comes with it. The gossip and nonsense and people intentionally misunderstanding what happened. You will have some hard moments, yes. But those moments will come regardless. If you take the initiative and show them you are not ashamed—because you have nothing to be ashamed of—and that you still have the friendship of not only Jean-Paul and me but the emperor, then there will be far fewer such moments. Many of them will be expecting you to be an apologetic mouse, hiding from scandal. Don't give them the satisfaction. Show them you are not their prey, and they will find someone else to toy with."

She made it sound simple. But such things rarely were. However, refusing wasn’t an option. But if she agreed in the interests of getting the worst of it over and done with and then being able to slowly fade out of view, there was another problem. If she wore her Anglion clothes, the Illvyan courtiers would think her mouse-like indeed. A peculiar mouse at that.

"I don't have any ball gowns." She'd brought the dress she'd worn to Queen Sophia's coronation back with her. A reminder of one happier moment in Anglion. But Anglion court dress was oddly old-fashioned. The dresses were beautiful but ornate, with huge, stiffened skirts and myriad wide petticoats. Definitely not what an Illvyan might wear to a friend's ball.

Not that she knew what an Illvyan would wear to a ball now. Fashions had changed. Skirts were narrower but more draped, and the colors and patterns were different to her memories. Imogene’s glorious sapphire-blue silk dress was embroidered with vines of black flowers and was, as her clothes always were, a triumph of the clothier's art.

There'd been no need for ball gowns in Kingswell, and Chloe stuck to deepest green or dark gray or midnight blue for practicality—mixing potions could get messy—and to ensure she drew no additional attention. But wearing such somber colors in Lumia would do precisely that. No point in reminding everyone where she'd been and why she'd been there. "Though perhaps Mama kept some of my old ones," she finished.

That brought a contemplative expression to Imogene's face. "Ten years out of date? You might as well wear an Anglion gown. But perhaps there are some that can be made over in time. But for now, no. We need a gown that no one can fault. Which will be no problem. I know all the best clothiers." She tilted her head, dimples flashing. "They will be falling over themselves to make you a wardrobe."

"I expect that your clothiers are out of my price range. I need to pay for rent, not gowns."

"You are ignoring the fact that I have ten years of missed birthdays and Fete de Froi presents to make up for," Imogene said triumphantly. "I will buy you some dresses."

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