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

“Because I’m curious.” It was hard for Luca to say the next words aloud even though she had been thinking them all day. “The magic comes from their god. The magic is real. That means the god must be real, too.”

Gil’s hand floated between his mustache and his short steel-gray hair.

Finally, he clasped both his hands in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees. “I take it you want to learn the magic yourself.”

“That would be uncivilized of me,” she said bitterly.

“Who did you talk to?”

Luca didn’t have to ask what he meant. “Aranen din Djasha.”

Gil’s face went slack. Enunciating word by slow word, he said, “You kidnapped the wife of the leader of the rebels you’re trying to subdue.”

“I didn’t ask for her specifically, but I did ask for doctors and suspected priests. This is what came up in the nets. It’s paid off.”

Only now, though, was Luca thinking about Aranen’s ironic smile as she said her wife would never use magic to destroy a company of soldiers out of vengeance. She sniffed matter-of-factly. “The priests are valuable hostages. We’ll use them to negotiate their surrender.”

Gil worked his jaw as he sat back again, tension slipping from his body. “I suppose that might work.” He covered his eyes with his hand. “But I thought you wanted to be a new kind of queen? I can’t see how this is any different than what your father or even Nicolas would do.” His brown eyes flashed with angry heat when he uncovered them again.

“You heard Touraine,” Luca snapped. “She wants to give me an ultimatum. I’m giving her one back.”

“This is about her, then. You’re taking your anger at her out on an entire city?”

Her face warmed with anger and embarrassment both. “No, I’m not. This is about strength, Gil. This is about ending this on my terms.”

Touraine had made her choices, and Luca was free to make hers.

He nodded slowly, frowning with distaste without meeting her eyes. He stood. “Your will, Your Highness. As I said, I have faith in you. That means I’ll stand by you.” He sighed heavily. “But I thought I taught you better than this.”

“I’m doing my best, Gil,” she said. Luca pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes as if she could avoid Gil’s disappointment if she couldn’t see it. “I don’t have anyone to show me.” She looked up and saw his broad back where he’d paused with his hand on the door handle. “I want to be a good queen,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper around the tears in her throat. “I can’t do that if I don’t have the throne. You know Nicolas will keep it from me if he has any excuse.”

Gil spun slowly on his boot heels. The sound was muffled on the thick Shālan carpet. “What does it mean to be a good queen? To show everyone your power? Do you want people to respect you or just obey you? Or do you want them to believe in you?”

Yes. All of it. She wanted all of that. And yet she knew that wasn’t the answer Gil wanted her to give, so she kept her mouth shut and buried her eyes in her hands again. She heard the door open and close, and then she was alone.

Touraine had nowhere to go. She wouldn’t be a Sand again. Luca wasn’t going to take her in again.

So she lurked in alleys in the Old Medina to keep a low profile while she debated whether it was worth it to spend the few sovereigns she had with her on time at a smoking house for a water pipe and a cup of sweet Shālan tea. Even coffee wouldn’t be bad. She just needed time to think. There still had to be a way she could help.

In the end, it was her stomach that chose for her. Instead of a smoking house, she headed to the Grand Bazaar. The sky was clear and peaceful. The sun was setting, and the thin clouds were melting into the desert sunset that Touraine was growing to love. Seabirds in the air spiraled in their rounds, looking for food in the bazaar: dropped crusts, discarded fruit too rotten even for cheating someone—or discarded after the cheating had happened.

Fruit and vegetables were almost as expensive as meat, since they were the next best source of food for the Balladairans. The fruit carts were almost empty as Touraine shuffled through to find something to eat and, yes, something she could carry with her when she inevitably joined a caravan.

The phrases she’d learned of market Shālan echoed in her head. A few sovereigns jangled in her pocket. None of the writs from Luca today. If she ran into any trouble, she might be able to say the usual: The Jackal sends his regards. It was a sly code to cloak Jaghotai’s identity while using the Jackal’s reputation. At the thought, Touraine couldn’t help but frown behind her mask. She had fucked up. Again.

It was so easy to slip back into the mundane bits of life, even when you knew the world around you could break at any minute. Even though Aranen had been taken, even though a part of her was begging to run to Luca and ask her to free her, another part of Touraine slipped easily, almost gratefully into chores like haggling over food.

Just like she and the Sands had learned to completely dissociate themselves from the reality of their lives, on campaign or off. They would go mad if all they thought about was the next battle they were marching to. Some of them had. Setting up camp, digging latrines, drinking and fucking and fighting and laughing, it was all part of real life. And if they gave up that, they’d be admitting they had nothing else but the war, and if they believed that, what exactly were they fighting