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

you. I confess myself a stranger here, in a conflicted land, but I hope to change that—both my strangeness and the conflict. My strangeness is my own burden, which only study and friendship can cure. The conflict, however, will require us to work together, Qazāli and Balladairan alike. Let the boundaries between us fall. Allies must be open and honest with each other, about their fears, their hopes, and their needs. They must hear when the other speaks. May every citizen here know that my ears are open.

“As proof of that, I offer the Qazāli a token of Balladaire’s goodwill, a hope for our unified future: at my invitation and under my own purse, fifty Qazāli children will attend the Citadel, the finest Balladairan school in Qazāl.”

Across the room, Gil’s mouth opened in surprise before he sealed his lips. It was the first gesture she would offer the Qazāli, an incentive to work with her instead of against her.

This time, Luca raised her glass high. “Enjoy yourselves together. To your health.” She drained the last of her glass and lowered herself into her chair, heart racing.

The music started again, and people claimed their partners for the first dance. Instead of joining them, Luca sat while guests paid their respects, bowing over her hand and commenting on which book they’d brought for her host gift.

One of the first to approach her was LeRoche de Beau-Sang, practically pushing the previous person out of the way. He was surrounded by youths: two women she recognized and a young man she’d never seen. Beau-Sang bowed elegantly before eyeing Touraine and smiling as if he had won a bet. Luca fought the urge to look behind her.

“May I present to you my daughter, Aliez?” Beau-Sang guided the blond woman forward. “And her friend, Mademoiselle Bel-Jadot?”

Luca smiled tightly, acknowledging the young women as they curtsied. “We’ve met before. At the bookshop in the New Medina. Welcome.”

She had recognized the Bel-Jadot girl, but she hadn’t realized at the time that the other girl making fun of her that day was Beau-Sang’s daughter. She might leverage that better in the future, as well. Not now, however. Tonight was about peace. And the pieces on the board. Luca turned to the young man in the group.

“And this is my son, Paul-Sebastien.” Beau-Sang touched Paul-Sebastien’s shoulder with a tender hand.

The young man wasn’t as broad as his father, but he wasn’t frail, either. He wore his blond hair pulled back in a queue and had to tuck loose strands behind his ears. He wore spectacles, too. His entire mien was awkward and nervous, and Luca couldn’t tell if it was endearing or off-putting.

Beau-Sang’s smile widened. “I also see that you’ve taken my advice. They’re a fine investment, aren’t they?” He nodded behind her.

This time, Luca allowed herself to look. Those thick dark brows. The cold glare into the middle distance. That square, clenched jaw.

“That’s one of Cantic’s, is that right? The lieutenant.”

As if Touraine were a prize hound she’d purchased to race against his Richard.

(Had Luca not purchased Touraine? Was Touraine not useful?)

Touraine couldn’t keep her mask on in the face of Beau-Sang’s needling. Her nose flared in a flash of anger as she scoffed.

Beau-Sang’s smile at Touraine showed teeth. “Unfortunately, it seems like her manners are not so refined as I remember.”

Sky above and earth below. Luca wanted to hide her face with her palm.

Instead, she cleared her throat sharply and nodded in dismissal. “Monsieur le comte. Mesdemoiselles. Thank you.”

As the others left, Paul-Sebastien hung back, nervously watching Aliez and Bel-Jadot as each sorted herself with a dancing partner. When his father gestured sharply for him to follow, Paul-Sebastien held him off with a sharp shake of the head.

“Yes?” Luca raised an eyebrow.

Paul-Sebastien came closer and bowed deeply, but he also looked past her shoulder, where Touraine stood at attention, his head cocked. To his credit, he looked slightly embarrassed for his father.

“I only wanted to ask, Your Highness—did you enjoy the book I left for you?” Paul-Sebastien’s face flushed.

Both of Luca’s eyebrows rose in surprise this time. The unmarked history book that had sent her chasing Yeshuf bn Zahel at the bookshop. “That was you? My thanks for the gift. It led me to interesting questions about… oh.” Paul-Sebastien LeRoche. PSLR. “You wrote it.”

He brightened and stood a little straighter, but he still managed to look apologetic. “I did, Your Highness. However, my father doesn’t approve of the subject matter.”

Of course he didn’t. Luca remembered his dismissal of her own curiosity at Cheminade’s dinner. To be quite honest, Luca imagined Beau-Sang was the kind of man who disdained all books, which was a black enough mark on his record.

“Then we do have a lot to talk about. You know much about this city for a Balladairan.”

“I should hope so. I’ve lived here my whole life.” He chuckled, growing a little easier with her. “By some standards, that would make me Qazāli, wouldn’t it?”

It was laughable, given the contrast of his golden hair and pale, pale skin compared to the native Qazāli. There were fair Shālans in the city, from other countries in the old empire, but not very many. It made Luca wonder what new boundaries people would have to make in the future—how they would call themselves, what else they would find to separate themselves from each other. Humans tended to do that.

Luca waited until the next song began so that her words were covered by the music and the clack of dress heels on the floor. The line to greet her only grew longer. She should hurry him on and be done with this, order him to call on her another day. But she had to know.

“Have you had any luck finding bn Zahel’s book?”

Paul-Sebastien shook his head hard enough that a lock of hair flopped into his eyes. “The Last Emperor? I wish, Your Highness.”

“Not even in the First Library?”

He made a wistful sound in his throat. “No one can get there, Your Highness. Which