Page 20 of The Exile's Curse

Kristof nodded, his hand snapping a salute.

You could take the man out of the army, it seemed, but not the army out of the man. The judicial corps didn't really stand much on ceremony. Kristof hadn't served that long with them before the chief clerk had dropped a word in Lucien's ear that Kristof had perhaps more talent for the civil side of the law, given he seemed to delight in contracts more than the criminal code. The cases the Truth Seekers got involved in were rarely pleasant, and some people just didn't have the stomach for the work.

It had been timely. Fidel had been not so subtly hinting that he needed an assistant. Fidel had interviewed Kristof, and after that, it had been easy to free the lad from his service. But Kristof had been through basic training and a year or so in the regulars and couldn't quite break himself of the habit of saluting a man who was a major, a Truth Seeker, and a marq. He would relax in time. Lucien's talent was rare, and he had always been pleased to use it to serve the empire, but when he was home, he wanted to be Lucien, not the soldier. Definitely not the Truth Seeker. He didn't want a household of staff who were in awe—or fear—of him.

He glared down at the envelope as Kristof closed the door on his way out. Tempting to toss the damned thing in the fire and pretend it hadn't arrived. He was in no mood for new tales of betrayal or thievery or dishonor.

Not when the remorse snaking through his stomach with poisonous persistence kept telling him he was guilty of all three.

But he served the truth. It was the only way he could reconcile the power the goddess had seen fit to damn him with. To make good of it.

It was the only way he could remain human. Men weren't supposed to know what other men were thinking, to see into their deepest hearts.

He'd caught a glimpse of Chloe's as they’d danced, those big dark eyes full of anger, and he hadn't had to use his power. She was never going to forgive him. And they were destined to cross paths and simply hurt each other more every time they did.

He couldn't avoid court. She was the best friend of a duquesse. It was inevitable.

So he needed a strategy for how best to handle those occasions. Definitely not as he had last night. But then again, simply abandoning her on the dance floor would have caused a scene. She didn't need scandal. He had let her go at the end, even though he had to force his hands to release her. He was a gentleman, and he would bloody well behave like one and leave her alone. His heart would get over it eventually.

He hoped.

Damn it.Maybe a new case from Aristides was a distraction he needed after all.

He flipped open the envelope and tugged the heavy white paper free. The note was short. He was to attend his emperor. No explanation. Another sign that the matter could be nothing good.

And, Goddess, he felt like ten levels of hell. His head pounded, and his eyes had looked like he'd boiled them when he’d shaved earlier. The shave itself hadn't been his best attempt. His uniform was clean, and he'd drunk equal gallons of coffee and minted tea to attempt to clear his head and freshen his breath, but neither had helped overly much. They certainly hadn't dealt with the self-disgust.

He had a tiny skill for earth magic, but not enough to magic away a headache of this proportion. At the Academe, they'd told him his talent for illusion was so strong and his Truth Seeking so rare that his other magics were never going to amount to much. At the time, before he'd truly understood what being a Truth Seeker meant, he'd been proud. But there were days now—more of them each year—where he'd happily trade his power for some middling talent for blood or water that no one particularly cared about and settle down to running his estate.

He hadn’t yet asked Aristides for a reduction of his caseload, but he could tell he was stretching things too far since his father died, even without the commentary from his staff. He owed the Castaigne holdings and their people more attention than he was currently giving them. He had no desire to be an absent, neglectful lord. It was just that he hadn't yet worked out how to avoid that and also avoid neglecting his duty to the empire and the truth.

Frustrated, he yanked open the top drawer in his desk. He kept tinctures his mother made him there for days like these. She was an earth witch to be reckoned with, and one of her remedies would ease his head. It would also taste dire and chase away sleep for a night. He was short on that, too, but he would take tired over feeling like someone was running a dull blade through his temples.

The cork in the vial yielded easily, and he downed the contents in one fast gulp. His mother told him she made the taste unpleasant so no one would be tempted to use them too often. Unpleasant was underselling it. The stuff tasted like socks that had been worn for a month by someone with a dire foot disease and then perhaps pissed on by an angry cat. He chased it down with water and the now cold half mug of mint tea on his desk, which made his mouth somewhat happier.

Then he opened the door and told Kristof to call for a carriage, as he had to go to the palace and see what fate awaited him there.

The emperor was in one of the open, grassed parts of the palace grounds near the stables, studying a very expensive-looking chestnut filly when Lucien was ushered into his presence thirty minutes later. The horse's finely drawn lines and dished nose suggested Kharenian stock. Expensive indeed. She watched Aristides with big curious eyes, ears flicking back and forth as he stroked her neck. The saddle on her back and Aristides's breeches and relatively subdued jacket suggested the emperor had been putting her through her paces. He looked up as Lucien approached.

Lucien bowed as Aristides nodded at him. "You wished to see me, Your Imperial Majesty?"

"That is a very formal tone for such a sunny day." The emperor squinted at him with assessing eyes. "You look tired, my lord Truth Seeker."

"I am fine, Your Imperial Majesty." He resisted squinting. Sunlight sometimes pained his eyes, and the lingering edges of his headache definitely didn't appreciate it. But while smoked-glass spectacles had become fashionable in Lumia a few years ago, he'd never been convinced that they didn't look somewhat ridiculous. And definitely weren't acceptable to wear at court.

Aristides handed the mare off to a waiting groom. "A present for my daughter. Cecilie," he added, which was helpful. The man had a flock of daughters, after all.

"Is it her birthday soon?" Lucien tried to remember the court calendar. He didn't always have time for every social event the palace held, but as marq now, he had to attend more of them. And Imperial anniversaries and birthdays and such celebrations were more important than most. Or so his father had told him. Lucien was still making his own assessment of priorities, but it was true that it was hard to avoid being missed at such events when the majority of the court turned out in force.

"She will be sixteen," Aristides said. "Goddess protect us all."

Cecilie had a reputation for being strong-willed. His mother kept telling him she was going to be a beauty. He'd made it plain that he had no intention of marrying someone less than half his age, even if the emperor defied all reason and decided to waste an Imperial princess on a mere marq. He grinned at Aristides. "At least it's another five years until you find out if she has any magic."

Aristides winced. "Perhaps I can arrange for an extended tour of the empire around that time. I could leave straight after her Ascension, should it come to pass." He nodded at the groom. "Take her back to the stable. She will do nicely."

"I think the empress would hunt you down and drag you back," Lucien said with a grin.

"You are possibly correct," Aristides said, smiling ruefully. "Well, five years is a long time. No need to borrow trouble."

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