Page 67 of The Exile's Curse

Katiya shook her head. "No. She is very good at this. She's always been interested in plants and healing. But it's not necessarily encouraged in the houses." She sighed. "And now, with her being my sister, I fear she won't be allowed to pursue the healer's path. A strong leaning for earth is one of the few times the svasyas will allow a step away from balance. Healers are valuable. But she will be the queen's sister, and that is even more valuable than healing skill to some. Someone will want to marry her. I'm doing what I can with Mikvel and our father to make sure she isn't rushed, but she will have to marry eventually. I think that's why she pretends she doesn't care. She would be a good healer. Perhaps a great one. But she won't get the chance to follow her heart. Between that and not being allowed to use her earth sense, it's been hard for her since she manifested."

Chloe bit her tongue. It would do little good to interfere. Irina's life was here, and it would still be safe and pleasant even if she married. If she was strong-willed enough, she would find a way to incorporate the things she loved into that life. And perhaps she would even find a husband who supported those interests.

Good men existed everywhere along with the bad ones.

But Katiya looked worried.

"It's difficult. But she is smart. She'll find a way,” Chloe offered. “Perhaps she'll fall for a man with a scholarly bent of his own. You don't strike me as all warrior types." Andalyssians had to be smart to survive life in the mountains. The houses still had to make sure there was food and safety enough to go around through the winter months. The men they'd been dealing with in the negotiations mostly seemed intelligent and dedicated, with a few exceptions. But then Illvya and Anglion both had their share of men who'd rather bluster and posture than achieve any real good as well.

"I hope so," Katiya said. "I feel guilty that her choices are narrowed because of mine."

"I'm sure she wants you to be happy. And you love the king. You can't help that. Would she be happier if you didn't love him and were marrying him under duress?"

"No," Katiya said. "I guess not."

She looked up as the door reopened and Irina came back through carrying a basket of bottles. "Now, we will need to work fast."

Lucien watched the king's wedding ball growing wilder around him and wondered exactly how rowdy it would get. Perhaps this was a place for the Andalyssians to let off steam after the packed few days of pomp and spectacle that had prepared it.

Though he wasn't sure why they all didn't just want to be in bed as he did. He'd snatched a few hours here and there to meet with members of House Elannon, and so far, no one had sparked his suspicions. Other than those meetings, his days and nights had been crammed from dawn to near midnight with the various wedding rites and celebrations. He might have enjoyed it more had he been as young as the king and Katiya, but it had mostly made him feel old.

The wedding itself had been ceremony and ritual and spectacle, every second of it, he suspected, choreographed by the priests and seers who had appeared in multitudes.

The happiness of the bride and groom had been genuine though. He hadn't needed his magic to know the truth of the joy on their faces. From the looks that Sejerin Silya and the patrarch aimed in their direction occasionally, he suspected the smiles that kept creeping over Mikvel's and Katiya's faces weren't strictly in accordance with the rituals. But let the mystics be mystics. Weddings, even the weddings of kings, should be joyous affairs.

The ball was definitely joyful. Wine and spirits had flowed freely through dinner and continued to do so in the ballroom. In the last hour, servants had circulated with trays of kafiet. He had refused. The mood of the court might be one of wild celebration, but he wanted a clear head.

Chloe had accompanied him to some of his meetings with House Elannon in the last two days, but not all. She had her own wedding-related obligations to fulfill. They'd danced at the balls each night, but every time he'd asked if she had seen the man who had approached her, speaking Charl's name, she’d shaken her head. No further contact.

Which should have been a relief, but, in reality, it made a spot between his shoulder blades itch as though he was being watched. So he was watching, too, making sure she was safe. Tonight, at the largest ball of them all, that task was more difficult than usual. He took his turn at the dances, inviting a few of the Andalyssian women he'd gotten to know to dance with him. He'd even waltzed with Chloe again when Katiya and Mikvel had included a waltz in one of the sets.

She was, he thought, growing more comfortable with him. There'd been no tense wariness in her body under his hands, and he'd kept himself in check, determined to give her no reason to retreat from him once more and put her armor back in place.

Her gold-and-blue gown was one he rather thought he'd seen Imogene du Laq wear to the emperor's birthday ball the year before. Altered by an expert, as it looked as beautiful on Chloe as it had on the duquesse. It fit her like a glove above the waist before the skirts belled out in yards of fabric that floated and swirled around her as she danced, the silk shimmering. Her hair shimmered, too, braided and studded with sapphires and diamonds that possibly belonged to Imogene, too. Kind of her to help Chloe. It was a comfort to know she had powerful allies in Lumia. Doubtful that Chloe could have owned enough evening wear made to see her through the wedding, particularly when she’d had little time to prepare. But Imogene probably had entire houses filled with dresses. She was famously well dressed. And famously cool to the new Marq of Castaigne.

Which he understood. Charl had cost Imogene her best friend for ten years, and he was the nearest person to blame.

She couldn't be outright rude to him. The du Laqs and de Roches had no true quarrels and shared some business interests. Jean-Paul still spoke to him civilly, but he tried to give Imogene the distance she seemed to desire. Which was a pity. Imogene was smart and witty, and he'd liked her when his friendship with Chloe and Charl had meant their paths crossed more often.

After the waltz came more dances. More watching to see whether anyone approached Chloe. The faces of the court had grown more familiar over the last few days. He didn't have names for all of them yet, but he was good at faces. Though "ordinary" as a description left something to be desired. He could draw a more detailed description of the man from her memory if she let him use his magic on her, but that was about as likely as him making it through the current dance without Irina interrogating him about life in Lumia.

He glanced over her shoulder, trying to spot where Chloe was.

"You do that a lot," Irina said.

He almost stumbled in the dance, dragged back from his thoughts. Right. The queen's little sister. He was supposed to be making conversation with her.

"Do what, my lady?" he asked. Irina, with her sharp green eyes, didn't seem to miss much.

"Watch Chloe."

This time he did stumble. Or at least came to a halt for a second before he forced himself into action again. "No, I don't."

"You do," Irina said. "You like her."

"She doesn't like me," he retorted before he could stop himself. Damn. He hadn't had kafiet, but he hadn't been able to entirely avoid the wine and campenois during dinner, and his tongue had gotten away from him.

"No, I don't think that's true," Irina said, her expression serious. "She's angry with you, I think, but that's not the same at disliking you. Did you do something wrong, my lord?"

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