Page 61 of The Exile's Curse

"I wasn't paying attention. Admiring the needlework." She didn't entirely relax, but he didn't seem to pose an immediate threat. And Lady Cela wasn't far away.

"It is beautiful," he agreed.

Please let him not be about to follow that with something predictable like “So are you.” She was in no mood to deal with unwanted advances. She nodded, offering what she hoped was a polite but discouraging smile.

"The artisans who make them are following traditions that have existed here for many centuries," he continued.

Not the direction she'd expected him to take. But needlework was a preferable topic to seduction, so she nodded. "I hope I might have time to meet some of them. Their traditions and techniques must be fascinating."

His smile widened. "Traditions are important. They are what make each land unique."

"Yes," she agreed, curious now despite her wariness. He had a point he was working up to, and she was keen to find out what it was.

"There is strength in difference." His expression had grown intent.

Her spine prickled. Maybe seduction would have been easier to deal with. This was sliding into politics. The kind she shouldn’t try to deal with alone. Where was Lady Cela? "Strength comes from many places." There. A politely meaningless statement.

Her mystery man—damn, she should have asked for his name—seemed to take it as encouragement. "Strength, too, in ideals. In valuing the old ways. Your husband, I believe, valued these things."

Her husband? Definitely not a subject she wanted to discuss with a strange Andalyssian. Alone or otherwise. But she caught herself before she could do something that gave away the flare of alarm bumping up her pulse again. If he was interested in Charl’s values, then he likely didn't have the empire's best interests in heart. In which case, it was her duty to find out more. So he could be stopped.

"He did," she said slowly. Honestly, she had no idea what Charl had truly valued. She'd never asked for the details of his confession. Didn't need to know more than “treason” and the fact that he had confessed. If he had harbored a desire for a particular outcome from his actions, if there had been a purpose to the plot he'd participated in, he'd never shared it with her. His trial had been short, and she hadn’t attended, urged to stay away by both her family and his. There'd been no time after his execution and Lucien's warning to acquaint herself with the particulars of his crimes. "And he paid for those ideals."

"Yes. He was wronged. There are those who still share those ideals, my lady. Those who would offer your husband...sympathy. And his widow support," he said. "Support you were denied when it mattered."

Ah. Did he imagine she was a fellow conspirator? That she'd fled to avoid prosecution, not to avoid those who might worry Charl had told her too much? Not the first to make that mistake. Though, he would be the first, so far, who she had met who found that interpretation of her actions to be admirable. Which was, indeed, interesting.

"It was difficult," she murmured, trying to sound downcast. She needed to keep him talking. See if he said anything more to confirm her suspicions.

"I can imagine. But you have returned. And now that the emperor"—he said the word as though it was bitter in his mouth—"has offered you his protection, you can continue the fight."

"The fight?"

"To return things to the way they should be." He glanced around. "Many people share that aim."

"After so long?" She tried to sound encouraged by the thought rather than astounded that there were always men—and women, she supposed—foolish enough to throw themselves into idiocy. Did they truly think they could bring down the empire? Particularly when it continued to treat its citizens well and bring peace and prosperity? Or that it was wise to tell her so when they had no idea of her true motives? If Charl was convinced by men like this, then he truly had been an idiot.

And what did that make her?

"Always," he said. "The empire is not the natural order of things, and there are those who would see it come to an end."

Goddess. Who are these people?"I'm afraid, sir," she said, "that I know little of what Charl had planned." She knew nothing, in fact. She risked a quick glance back toward the retiring room. What was taking Cela so long? Had the woman fallen ill? Or—an unpleasant thought struck her—had she asked Chloe to wait for her so this meeting could occur and was taking her time to allow it to run its course?

"But you returned to Illvya. Why would you do that if you didn't want to see him avenged?"

She narrowly avoided blurting, "Because it's my home, you idiot." The man was flushed, and his face looked damp. Nervous, if she were any judge. And out of place. The jacket he wore was too simple compared to those worn by the male courtiers, the fit loose across the shoulders. Not his, she suspected. And, therefore, perhaps he wasn't a regulator attendee at court. If she scared him off now, he might vanish. Leaving her none the wiser.

After all, she had no proof that Lady Cela asking her to wait wasn’t just a coincidence. Nor could she discern truth from lie like Lucien.

"I—" She stopped. Decided it might be better to play things straight. Act nervous. She glanced around, shifting her weight. "I do not think this is a safe place to talk. Too many people in the palace for the wedding. Perhaps we could meet in the days after the ceremony? My schedule will be less full once the wedding itself is over. It would be easier for me to steal away for a few hours. Find out if our interests...align." Should she ask for his name, or would that just scare him off?

He looked somewhat relieved. "That can be arranged." He glanced around again, then nodded once. "I will be in touch, my lady." He sketched a rapid bow, turned, and hurried away, vanishing around a corner and out of sight.

Chloe was staring after him, wondering if she had imagined the entire encounter, when the door to the retiring room opened and Lady Cela stepped out.

"I'm sorry, Lady de Montesse," she said. "I had snagged my hem and wanted to catch it with a few stitches. I didn't intend to keep you waiting so long."

And that was a claim it would be difficult to disprove. Unless she wanted to demand that Cela turn up her skirt and show her the stitches. Which she did not. If Lady Cela was innocent, then no point making the woman think she had lost her senses. And, if she wasn't, then no need to give her any hint that she was alarmed by the encounter she'd just had.

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