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

“Indeed?” Luca tried not to yawn, and the effort almost cracked her jaw.

Beau-Sang gave Luca a paternal smile, as if it would reflect the depths of his affection for his own children. “I understand what’s at stake for you here. You’re afraid of failing to crush the rebellion, your uncle calling a trial of competence against you.”

Suddenly, Luca felt stripped bare. It wasn’t as if Beau-Sang’s observations were secret, but one would point them out only if one wanted to do something about them—for better or for worse.

“We have the rebellion well in hand, my lord.”

“Of course we do,” he said, as if he believed anything but. “However, we’re losing control of commerce. It’s difficult for your merchants to turn a profit, especially in more expensive industries, like stone.” He waited for her to ask for more, but she only stared him down. He continued on his own, “I’ll take the prisoners in the quarries. You can keep your high-handed ideals and appease the rebels. The prisoners aren’t subject to your new laborers’ laws. You marry one of my children, and that wealth comes to you. You lose nothing.”

Beau-Sang folded his thick, hairy fingers together on his lap. Though the hour was early, he didn’t look bleary at all. Luca, on the other hand, had taken two cups of strong coffee, without even milk to soften the bitter flavor. She was awake, but the heady rush was building in her blood.

Or maybe it was apprehension.

She would be lying to herself if she pretended the idea hadn’t occurred to her. Bastien in particular had proven a reliable friend and was easy to talk to. He shared her interest in scholarly pursuits, and there was comfort in huddling over books with someone who understood her.

Circumstances had stopped her, though, not chief of which was a troublemaking turncoat soldier whose face Luca still saw with painful clarity whenever she closed her eyes.

There was also the matter of Aliez’s allegations against her father. Luca hadn’t had time to look into them yet, but they turned Luca’s stomach more than ever. Beau-Sang had been vocal in his praise of the Balladairans after they had razed the Qazāli neighborhoods. He’d even made snide comments about the fall of the temple.

And the reverse of his offer was clear—if she didn’t accept the proposal or one in kind, he would endanger her road to the throne, possibly sabotaging Luca’s plans to end the rebellion.

Through the carriage window, desert-yellow buildings passed by, grayish in the early morning. They would be at the Grand Bazaar momentarily.

There was no way to guarantee loyalty from anyone except to give them what they wanted and keep up the supply—or hope that no one came along with a better offer. Beau-Sang thought he was holding a knife to her throat and forcing her to empty her pockets, a common thug. At the very least, she could buy herself more time to determine an escape route. Or time to find out the truth Aliez had hinted at.

Luca adjusted her own short coat over her thin Qazāli-style tunic, trying to let the sudden flush of body heat escape. “I’m honored that they would be interested, my lord. Both Paul-Sebastien and Aliez do you a great credit.” More than you deserve. “I’ll be glad to consider this after I’ve thought about who might make the best companion.”

“Very good, Your Highness. Let’s speak again next week. That should be enough time.”

“I’ll send for you when I’m ready,” Luca said. She met his gaze and held it until finally he bowed his head.

“Your will, Your Highness.”

Luca closed her eyes and leaned back under the guise of sleepiness, though tears pricked at her closed eyelids.

Without Touraine, the way was clear for her to choose a consort. Not that she would ever have gone through with proposing that to Touraine, but it had been… such a nice idea. A gentle what-if that had never occurred to her until the night Touraine had rubbed the ache from her legs. And then the next day, she’d betrayed Luca for the first time.

Even worse than Touraine’s betrayal was the sneaking guilt that crept along Luca’s shoulders like a roach—that she was no different.

Touraine started toward the guardhouse, thinking to find Pruett there. As Touraine got closer to the center of the city, though, she heard the rapid tap of a Balladairan drummer, waking people up and calling them out.

She and Noé and the few other Sands who had escaped on the burning night followed the sound unerringly to the bazaar. The Grand Bazaar, now more often called the Gallows Bazaar.

Already, a groggy crowd was present. The Qazāli stall owners who hadn’t lost their livelihoods—or their lives—in the rioting, early shoppers trying to get the best scraps of food, and Balladairan merchants whose eyes gleamed with an ever-present hunger.

Above, gulls squawked, waiting for their share. They wouldn’t get it, though. Desperation had made everyone quicker to snatch at anything—including Luca’s handouts.

The drums stopped. And then, from the back of the crowd, Touraine saw Cantic take the gallows stage, followed by Luca, who leaned lightly on her cane. Her leg must not hurt today. The thought came automatically, but it vanished as Touraine watched two pairs of blackcoats drag two prisoners up the stairs. Though the prisoners weren’t wearing their uniform coats, she could tell they were soldiers by their military-issue boots.

“Closer,” Touraine muttered to Noé and the others. She pushed into the crowd and lost sight of the gallows stage.

“Those sky-falling dogfuckers,” Noé said, standing on his tiptoes.

Touraine couldn’t see. “What? What is it?” The nausea was rising in her again. It was just the press of the crowd and the smell, she told herself. But she was also dizzy with exhaustion. She steadied herself on Noé’s shoulder and tried to focus.

“They have—I think—”

“Sky above, who, Noé?”

“Henri and…” He looked down at Touraine, anguish in his eyes as he hesitated. “Aimée.”

“Shit.” Touraine shoved harder, forcing her