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

it, she was sure. Even Cantic said she disapproved of the Droitist methods. She sipped the coffee that the servant brought her, then twisted the cup in her hand.

Cantic dropped her hands to her sides and set her shoulders. “Will you accept her duties, Your Highness?”

Luca gave one slow nod. “I will.”

“When you’re ready to begin, I can show you her notes, the records, everything you need. Her aides will fill you in on everything, I’m sure.

“That said, there’s the matter of your safety, Your Highness. Cheminade’s death is suspicious on its own. When I consider your—” Cantic cleared her throat. “There’s already been one attack on your person.”

Luca nodded briskly. “I’ll keep to the Quartier and the compound unless my duties take me elsewhere.”

Cantic’s relief showed in the sudden straightening of her shoulders. “Thank you, Your Highness. Cheminade’s death was… unexpected. A blow. If something happened to you, the empire would reel.”

Luca raised her eyebrows. The words sounded disingenuous, but Cantic looked sincere. The older woman had a serious face, sharp jawed with deep-set eyes. Surprisingly, she reminded Luca of Gillett. They were both so rigid, and it made them capable. They were like oak trees, deep rooted and unbending. The similarity made Luca want to soften toward her, but this particular trait was also Gil’s most infuriating.

“Thank you for your concern. Have the streets been like this very long?” Or is it my arrival that makes them bold?

“As much as it pains me to say it, Beau-Sang might have been right. It seems the rebels have grown more dangerous. After you read Cheminade’s notes, we can go over the details.” Cantic looked agitated again, eager to be gone. “She and I had discussed mandatory documentation for Qazāli, river sanctions, a citywide curfew to start.”

Luca was intrigued. It sounded like the changes could help quell rebel activities, or at least make it difficult for them to maneuver. However, the implication that all Qazāli were prisoners would end poorly, like it had with the Verinom city-state back in the ancient ages. She knew enough of history—Balladairan included—to know they would toe dangerously close to breeding further resentment.

She caught the general’s quick look toward the window.

“Are you worried about something, General?”

Cantic looked down, and her lips moved in what might have been the shadow of a smile. “Your Highness. I command over one hundred thousand lives. I’m always worried. It keeps us alive. I do have an urgent meeting, however, and I’m happy to leave you to your morning.” The general tried and failed to cover up the exhaustion in her voice with a short, businesslike tone.

Luca wanted to ask, Had it ever been this bad? Did she think it would get worse? They were the questions of a child in need of reassurance. Luca wasn’t a child.

Instead, she asked, “Where is Nasir?”

For a moment, the general’s mask of command dissolved entirely. She closed her eyes and shook her head, lips folded in. A second later, she was stern and implacable.

“It’s hard to lose a spouse. He’s gone to be with family in Zanafesh.”

“I see.” A palpable grief hung between the two of them, though Luca wasn’t sure it was Cheminade that Cantic mourned. She wasn’t sure it was Cheminade she mourned, either. “I’ll come to go through Cheminade’s office later.”

Cantic’s visit left Luca’s mind full and fogged at the same time.

As she dressed for the day, she imagined Cheminade splayed across the ground. Had she been poisoned? Had she spasmed and choked on her own tongue? Had it been sudden and painless?

Had she seen it coming?

If Luca died, Uncle Nicolas would stay on the throne. The man was a coward. He wouldn’t protect the nation from another outbreak of the Withering. He had chosen to run away to the north rather than stay in the city with the king and queen, helping their people. And he had signed away a fertile region of eastern Balladaire because he was afraid of the Taargens. If he stayed on the throne, who would stand for Balladaire? Her father’s legacy, their empire, her home would be chipped away by enemies and plague until it fell.

When Luca emerged, Gil was waiting outside her door. She put a hand on his arm. She wanted to put her head on his shoulder and find comfort in his hug, but just the thought of it made her feel too small for the role she’d set herself.

Instead, she went up to her office and sat at her desk. With so much to do, and the city hostile to her, she couldn’t get to the books and the magic they offered. That was only a dream, anyway. As governor-general, she held true power in her hands, and an entire quartier hoped for influence with her or her uncle. Time to play the role, then. To gather all the pieces to her and see how she could make them move.

CHAPTER 8THE LIEUTENANT

The murder of a Balladairan soldier?

Rogan whistled as he marched Touraine to the general’s door. Dread weighed her boots down, but she refused to let Rogan drag her. He knocked sharply, regulation three times. Cantic called, and he pushed Touraine in. Rogan saluted; Touraine did not. The effect would have been ruined by the manacles around her wrists, and Touraine preferred not to call attention to them.

“Thank you, Captain. You’re dismissed.”

Rogan’s glee flickered. “Yes, sir.” A smirk still played across his mouth as he walked out.

The room was bright with sunlight, and Touraine squinted. She would kill Pruett for this hangover. She blinked hard and focused on the general.

“Explain yourself, Lieutenant.” General Cantic loomed over her desk, which was covered in stacks of fresh ivory-colored paper, pristine and more expensive than Touraine could even imagine. Letters from the regent, perhaps. The lines of her face were deep with disappointment. No nostalgic fondness this time.

Touraine looked suspicious. She couldn’t change that. And if she couldn’t convince Cantic that she was innocent, she would die.

She spilled everything,