Page 39 of The Exile's Curse

Chapter 13

The walled entrance to Deephilm looked ominous in the dying rays of sunlight, but Lucien was too pleased at the thought of getting out of the damned charguerre and no longer being rattled around like a child's toy to worry overmuch about a chilly reception from the Andalyssians.

He'd seen the city before, and the vast granite wall hung with the black-and-white mountain-and-moon banners of King Mikvel Surayov looked the same. There was probably some subtle difference in the runes curving over the moon now that Mikvel was king rather than his father, but Lucien didn't read Andalyssian runes, and he was too tired to care.

If the new king had a new motto, it would be buried somewhere in his briefing papers and he could find it if needed. What concerned him was what changes had occurred—or not—behind the walls since he’d last seen those banners.

His job to find out. To make a decision that could, perhaps, start a war if it didn't fall the way the Andalyssians wanted.

It wasn't the first time in his career that he'd faced a task he didn't relish, and while he was prepared for the work, now that he had arrived, the weight of it settled over his shoulders.

The gates swung open slowly, and a squad of gray-clad guards strode out to escort them through the city. The streets still bustled with people on their way home before the darkness and cold set in for the night, and the convoy drew plenty of stares as it wound up the hill to the palace. Carved into the side of a mountain, it, too, looked ominous, oppressive, and frankly, damned cold. It had been high summer the last time he'd been here, and even then the palace had been heated to ward off the chill.

Torches burned around the forecourt, warding off the fading light. A horde of palace servants dressed in various shades of gray and black and white waited on the wide, steep steps that led up to the main entrance. He'd learned the various uniforms on his previous visit and their meanings would come back to him. For now, he looked for the man in charge as he climbed out of the charguerre behind Honore.

There. On the top step. A man dressed in the silver and white of House Surayov. Not the king himself. They wouldn't be meeting with Mikvel until morning, when there was to be a formal audience of welcome. No, this was the king's Wardmeister. Head of the palace guard and seneschal rolled into one. A role both ceremonial and practical. Mikvel didn't have a younger brother to take on the role as would be traditional, and his father had no surviving brothers, so he'd chosen the youngest of his mother's brothers. Roland Zatry, who technically belonged to House Zatry, as the dowager queen had before she married Mikvel's father, but who, as Wardmeister, was now Surayov by duty.

Lucien had a vague memory that they had met before, but Roland hadn't held any particular position of power under the old king’s rule, so he had no strong recollection of the man.

Roland's face was serious but not hostile as he descended the stairs to greet them. He was fifteen years older than the king, a few years older than Lucien himself. His braided blond hair reflected the red from the torches, and the light caught the silver of an old scar across one eyebrow.

"Colonel Brodier," he said as he reached them and bowed. "Welcome to Deephilm." He spoke Illvyan, which was a relief. After six hours in the charguerre, Lucien wouldn't have been surprised if all his knowledge of Andalyssian had been rattled out of his brain entirely.

"Thank you, Wardmeister," Colonel Brodier said. "Illvya is glad of your welcome."

They continued the formalities, and Lucien listened with half an ear while he discreetly scanned the surroundings. And resisted the urge to turn around and see if Chloe had made it through the journey in one piece. Of course she had. The woman wasn't made of glass, and none of the charguerres had plunged over the edge of the mountain. She was perfectly safe. Or at least as safe as any of them were inside these walls.

She wouldn't thank him for looking.

She might thank him to mind his own business and make sure he was doing his part in this mission. Well, perhaps not thank him, but at least she would have no further reason to be disappointed in him.

If he did his job here well, that would keep her safe. Hopefully. He still wasn't entirely sure what might happen if he discovered that House Elannon weren't trustworthy. The extra squadron of soldiers they'd brought with them wouldn’t save them should the Andalyssians truly turn against them. The sanctii might manage to get some of them out alive but not all.

Not that that was really any different to the reality of any diplomatic mission. Far from home and outnumbered.

He had to have faith in the power of the empire and the goodwill of the man Roland served.

Colonel Brodier finally said, "And this is Major de Roche, the Marq of Castaigne."

"My lord Truth Seeker," Roland said. "Welcome back to Andalyssia."

It seemed he was remembered. He sharpened his focus. "Thank you, Wardmeister. My congratulations on the upcoming happy occasion."

Roland's face was about as expressive as the stone walls of the palace, giving no clue to his feelings. Presumably he was privy to the real reason Lucien was here. "Thank you, my lord." He looked past Lucien to the rest of the Illvyans. "We appreciate Illvya's support of the king." His expression lightened slightly. "Now, I think it's best if I show you all to your quarters. The journey from Elenia is never easy. And none of you are used to our weather."

In other words, “come inside, soft southerners, before you freeze to death.” Though whether there was duty or concern or the desire to demonstrate that northerners were tougher behind the words was anyone's guess. Lucien wasn't going to argue. A warm room, food, and a good night's sleep and he would be a far happier man.

The Surayov palace was something of a maze, as all palaces were. Though none of the other palaces Chloe had ever been inside were carved into the side of a mountain, giving the impression that they might go on forever and ever into depths of stone and earth.

The walls were hung with tapestries and the stone-flagged floors, once they got past what she assumed were the ceremonial parts of the building and further into the private areas used for everyday things like living quarters and such, laid with layers of rugs and carpets to ward off the chill. The Wardmeister—handsome in a grim sort of way, as Giane had whispered to her back in the forecourt—escorted the delegation through the palace to the wing where they would be staying. A bevy of servants waited as Roland gave a quick explanation of the communal areas of the wing, a private dining room and several areas set up like parlors for relaxation and meetings, before handing them over to be shown to their rooms.

A short and wiry girl with ice-blonde hair and eyes the colors of grassberries came over to Chloe and Giane, introduced herself as Allita, and led the way to their rooms, moving swiftly, the heels of her gray leather boots tapping on the floor. The bedrooms ran along two corridors, and Allita took them right to the end of the longest hallway before producing two keys and handing them one each.

Chloe smiled and took hers, thanking Allita in Andalyssian. Individual rooms. A luxury she'd hoped for but hadn't expected. After a week sleeping in a tiny cabin with Giane snoring gently over her head, it was a relief to know that she would have some privacy during their stay.

Allita used another key off the ring hanging from her waist to open the second-to-last door at the end of the corridor. She held it open, ushering Giane inside and telling her she'd be with her shortly. She then unlocked the very end door and held it open for Chloe.

The air that wafted out was warmer than the corridor, and Chloe stepped inside quickly, not wanting to let the heat escape. The room had plastered walls painted a deep green and lined with more tapestries. It seemed Andalyssian needleworkers must be kept busy. The floor was slate, but there were plenty of rugs. Maybe in summer the stone underfoot would be cooling, but she was glad to see she wasn't going to have to pad across it in bare feet.

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