Page 21 of The Exile's Curse

Not when the empire produced enough of it for the man to deal with now.

"Ah," Lucien said. "Which brings us to business. How may I be of service?"

"Walk with me, Lucien,” Aristides said. He led them through the grounds to a section of his private gardens that Lucien knew. Its main feature was an outdoor dining pavilion, shaped in finely carved wood to echo the lines of the palace. The emperor seemed to enjoy spending time outside the palace when the weather was fine and often discussed business there. Given the man's schedule and obligations were more suffocating than Lucien's—he wouldn't trade places with Aristides for the world—Lucien couldn't blame him for wanting to escape the palace walls as often as possible.

Aristides took a seat at one end of the long table that sat square in the center of the pavilion, beneath a replica of the Imperial seal picked out in gold and enamel on the wooden ceiling. “Sit.” He pointed to the chair on his left.

Lucien sat. Aristides called for tea, then made maddening small talk until the servants arrived with it.

The tea was at least hot and strong and, in combination with his mother's tincture, made progress in chasing away the last edges of his hangover. Which was almost worse, in a way. Without the pounding head to distract him, the memories of the ball and Chloe were far too clear.

"How are your cases progressing?" Aristides asked eventually after he, too, had drained his cup and devoured some of the small works of art masquerading as cakes that the servants had brought with the tea. Lucien left those alone, not quite trusting his stomach yet.

"They are in order, Your Imperial Majesty. You have all the latest information in the Anglion matter."

In fact, Aristides might know more than Lucien. The emperor had, like Chloe, recently returned from Anglion. He'd sent Lucien a briefing, as it was pertinent to his investigation into the attempts against Sophie and Cameron in Illvya, but a report wasn't the same as a firsthand account.

"Yes, well. We will see how that progresses. Queen Sophia has work to do, and it will not help her if we go hunting for problems too soon. But Domina Skey must have had contact with someone here to have access to scriptii."

"Or else they have a water mage in Anglion who no one knows about," Lucien countered.

Aristides shook his head. "I do not think so. Their fear of water magic is real. I cannot see Domina Skey sanctioning such a thing. Too much risk to her power. I think part of the reason that she viewed Queen Sophia as a threat is that she may have sensed the potential in her. And without her being bound to the temple in the usual way, she was a risk." He considered Lucien a moment. "Speak to Edouard. He will tell you what impressions he gained from the court there."

"I will, Your Imperial Majesty." Edouard had been a Truth Seeker longer than Lucien, and his skill was subtle and impressive.

"Do so,” Aristides said. "But as Anglion must be left a while to find their feet, allow me to present you with another matter." His face twisted a little, which was probably about as close to an apology as Lucien would get for whatever mess was about to be dumped in his lap. "I know you have a lot on your hands, Lucien. And I would not add to that if I could avoid it."

"But?" Lucien said. The emperor was clearly not going to avoid it. He might respect his tools and give them leeway when he could, but he would never hesitate to deploy a tool when he needed it.

"But we will be sending a delegation to Andalyssia. It requires a Truth Seeker."

"Andalyssia?" Lucien was too startled to be polite. Truth Seekers did travel sometimes for cases in other parts of the empire, and he'd been to Andalyssia once before, briefly, in the wake of an assassination attempt on the empress. Located in the northernmost part of the empire, it was freezing cold most of the year, and the people were strange. And unforgiving. They'd shown no love for Illvya. Not that he could blame them when the Illvyans at the particular time had been upending one of their noble houses with proof of treachery. He had no desire to go back. Such a trip would take—he tried to recall the geography and distances—at least two months. He could scarcely afford to be away from his estates for so long. "Your Imperial Majesty, my estates need—"

"I understand the ramifications," Aristides said, cutting him off.

Lucien's stomach dropped. He wasn't going get out of this.

"I know it is inconvenient. I will provide you with adequate compensation. You can hire as many land stewards as you require."

He had an excellent land steward already. But he couldn't expect Fidel to run the estate for months in any other way than what his father had already set in motion. Lucien had ideas of his own. Things he wanted to change. Not to mention it was early autumn. Most of the hard work of summer harvest was done, and the tenants were planning the coming seasons. They needed access to their lord. As would his staff. Traditionally this was the time of year when he would be at home, to meet with his people. Local problems and requests were dealt with by the lord if they didn't need to be dealt with by the judiciary. He was depriving them of that. His younger brother was married and living half the country away on his wife's family lands. His sisters were married, too. He could hardly expect them to step in for several months.

But the emperor was unlikely to be swayed by those arguments.

"Has there been an incident that requires a Truth Seeker in Andalyssia, Your Imperial Majesty?" he asked, carefully controlling his voice to remove any hint of frustration.

"Not an incident as such," Aristides said. "But the king is about to marry. He has made a petition for us to consider restoring House Elannon early."

"What?" Lucien wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. House Elannon had been behind the attempt on the empress.

Aristides grimaced. "It is a matter of their bloody balance," he said. "The priests are claiming it would be inauspicious for the king to begin his wedded life without a full council. Or, rather, they have said it would be inauspicious for the queen-to-be to be crowned in such circumstances."

"They didn't argue that when the king was crowned."

"Less time. They crown a new king within days of the old one dying. There was no time to ask, though I am sure it crossed the council's mind. But the queen's coronation will not happen until the month of marriage rites is up."

Which left time for negotiations. And an opportunity to force a matter that was a wedge between the two countries. He put down his tea. He couldn't immediately recall the particulars of Andalyssian wedding traditions, but he'd butted heads with their concept of balance when he'd been there to oversee the Ashmeister Elannon's trial. Andalyssians believed the goddess wanted the land to be in balance in order for it to thrive. And that idea permeated their lives. It affected how they used magic and how they structured their society. The king ruled, but he had the council—the sixteen largest noble houses each appointed an Ashmeister to advise the king—the priests, and the seers to advise him. Each year one of the Ashmeisters was appointed to rule the council, and that role rotated through the cycle of houses until it began again.

When the Ashmeister Elannon had been found guilty, part of the punishment—part of the agreement which had saved the house from being annihilated—had been the removal of House Elannon for one full cycle of the council. Sixteen years. Long enough for the older generation to lose their grip on power and the younger members of the house to reflect on the consequences of treason. Long enough for the whole country to reflect.

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