The Unbroken by C. Clark (ebook reader .txt) 📕

not for you. Why did you do it, Touraine? We were so close to bloodless peace.”

Luca limped back to her seat, and Touraine followed. She took the cup of coffee Luca offered her.

“Innocent people died, Touraine. Civilians, soldiers, your own sky-falling Sands. What was worth all of that?”

Touraine had accounted the price more often than Luca knew. A night hadn’t passed without her picturing Tibeau’s outstretched hand still clutching his baton, or his blood soaking the knees of her trousers as she knelt by his side. She hated herself enough without Luca’s goading.

How many more of them would be dead, though, if the Qazāli had gone against Balladaire with guns? And she still wasn’t sure she had made the right choice.

“My family.”

“Your family?” Luca said incredulously.

“To be a lieutenant—or a captain or, sky above, a queen—you’ve got to do the hard math. You’ve got to protect what’s most important.”

“You’re lecturing me again on how to be a leader? You didn’t even do the hard math—how many more people will die if the rebellion doesn’t stop?”

“I know. I made a mistake. That’s why I’m here now. The rebellion won’t stop, Luca. Not until you leave. I know them now. I’ve been living with Djasha and Aranen since—”

Touraine looked down at her boots, the supple leather shining. “Luca. Tell me the truth. Do you still want peace with Qazāl?”

The question was as much for her own heart as for the Qazāli. She missed playing échecs with Luca here, drinking coffee. She didn’t want to believe Pruett was right—that Luca was as Balladairan as the rest of them. Maybe that was partly why Touraine had decided to venture out to the Quartier today. To see her again. To see for herself.

“I did, until they took Balladairans hostage and sent me their sky-falling fingers!” She splayed her own ink-stained fingers.

Touraine frowned. “The hostages weren’t the council’s idea.”

“What about throwing the city into starvation and riots? Terrifying my citizens with—sky above, I hope it was only goats’ blood. It’s—you’re—” Luca struggled to find the right shade of insult. “Barbaric.”

“I didn’t come here to trade insults,” Touraine snarled back. “I wanted to offer you something.”

Luca snorted and lowered herself onto her usual chaise. “You did, did you?”

“Something you’ve been looking for.”

The princess’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head to look just behind Touraine, as if for a hidden package.

Touraine smiled bitterly and tugged up her shirt. Lanquette and Gil were private enough. The shining scar on her belly was small but plain.

“The council still has the magic. Can still teach it to you. And it’s more powerful than we ever thought. The bullet wreaked havoc on my insides during the Battle of the Bazaar. They said my own shit had poisoned my blood. Common enough on the battlefield. Not common to recover from it.”

Luca’s eyes flicked across Touraine’s body. She licked her lips and looked like she wanted to touch the scar but only tact held her back. “This is what we came here for.”

“I was hoping that I could convince you to… make a gesture of faith.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get rid of Beau-Sang, and let the council take over. Start making your exit now. Qazāl deserves to be sovereign. Let the Sands do as they choose.”

Luca shook her head, chuckling and leaning back in her seat. “Pardon me.” She faltered as she stretched her leg. “Let’s say Beau-Sang has killed a dozen or so Qazāli a day for the last couple of weeks to discourage their association with the disloyal. The Qazāli civilians will stop abetting the rebellion, which will then gutter out as it starves for food, funds, and fools.”

She beckoned for another cup of coffee. She gestured to Touraine, but Touraine shook her head. Luca was playing with her.

“I didn’t come here to gawk at the sights, Touraine. My capabilities as a ruler are under scrutiny. If I can’t handle the Qazāli situation, my uncle could make a case of incompetence against me and hold the throne even longer.

“Do you know who thinks the Qazāli are barely capable of rational thought? My uncle. Do you know who recommended an ‘experimental’ education program with a brigade’s worth of Shālan children? My uncle. And if I don’t keep a foothold here, the likelihood of my uncle surrendering the throne when I return is slim.” Luca held her index finger and thumb apart for emphasis. “That means civil war and tens of thousands more dead, and if you don’t think they’ll try to pull your precious Sands in, too, you’re badly mistaken.”

Touraine winced at Luca’s words. Too much of it rang true.

“If you want to end the bloodshed,” Luca finished, “you tell the rebels to stand down and be patient.”

The words rang true, but just to a point, and only from one point of view.

“How long do they have to be patient on their own soil?” Touraine countered.

Silent seconds crawled by.

“How many people do you lose to every plague?” Touraine asked. “To accidents and blood poisoning and childbirth? If you brought Qazāli healers willing to work with you—willing to, not forced to…”

Luca’s chest hitched, though she tried to hide it with cool disinterest. Touraine heard the catch in her breath.

“What would it be worth, to stop that from happening?”

“Well, if they’re willing to trade it, they should have said so several decades ago,” Luca snapped. “Maybe none of this would ever have happened.”

The dismissive tone of Luca’s voice shattered the glass wall Touraine had been using to keep her contradicting feelings apart from each other.

“We aren’t your toys or coins to be passed from hand to hand, Luca. If someone prefers not to fuck you, are you disgusting enough to force them anylight?”

Luca’s face twisted. After a long moment she said, “Give us a cure to the Withering, and we’ll discuss terms. I’m prepared to offer their magistrate, with elected officers this time. They would have their own government while remaining under our protection from other powers in the north. A true protectorate. After I have my