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

The Jackal exhaled sharply and shook her head, as if in disbelief. “Why are you doing this? What do you get out of fighting for them and not us?”

Touraine was almost taken aback by the broken confusion in the woman’s voice.

“This isn’t about me,” she answered.

“No?”

The Jackal loomed over Touraine. Her crossed forearms were scarred, even beyond the amputation. The Jackal was no stranger to a hard life, and for a second, Touraine thought the Jackal would call her bluff, push her down the stairs and break her neck. She braced herself to use the woman’s weight against her, just in case.

“You and the other Lost Ones are in the middle of this,” the older woman said. “Without you lot shoving your tongues up their assholes, they couldn’t fight. With you, we win. You’d be free.”

“Be free? To come die for people like you?” Touraine snorted. “That’s hardly any better. The princess is your best chance.”

Then the Jackal spat, right on Touraine’s new leather boots. She sneered at Touraine’s entire outfit, from the exquisite black scarf so smooth against her cheeks to those spit-smeared boots.

Anger erupted white hot in Touraine’s belly as she stared at the white-flecked slime. She knew the reactions the bitch waited for. If Touraine fought with her, she could claim she had grounds to attack. If Touraine did nothing, she was a cringing dog.

So Touraine did what she did best. She swallowed her pride. She did her job.

“Her Highness asks for a full list of your requests. She’ll consider them. I’ll come back, we can talk, and I’ll go back. Until we reach an agreement. The sooner she gets the list, the sooner we start working on peace.”

Even as she said the words, Touraine disbelieved them. The Jackal didn’t want peace, and how many other Qazāli thought just like her? But this was what Luca believed in. Maybe Saïd could convince Touraine; she already had a soft spot for him. But the Jackal made that hard to imagine.

The Jackal grunted. “This is why I don’t see any good sending more of our children to be brainwashed. They’re no good to us then, parroting the Balladairan ‘uncivilized’ gullshit at us. I don’t have time for it, and I don’t have time for you and your traitor friends. Tell your master we’ll think about it.”

Touraine grunted back and then flicked a mocking salute. “Yes, sir.”

But there was a barb stuck in her chest from the Jackal’s parting shot. She remembered Aimée’s words from the other day. The Sands had a shit lot. They were stuck in the middle of this conflict, and neither side gave a shit about them besides how and where they could die in battle.

At the bottom of the stairs, Touraine turned. The Jackal stood like a spectral shadow outside the door.

“They’re not traitors, you know,” Touraine said. “They never had a choice.”

“Then tell them to make a choice now.” The Jackal opened the door to the small apartment. “Or we’ll make it for them.”

The broadside was only the first indication of Balladairan discontent in the colony. Over the next few days, as Luca continued to respond to grievances and requests in her new role as governor-general, she could practically feel the merchants’ and nobles’ whispers tickling the back of her neck. She suspected she wasn’t imagining the dirty looks she received from other Balladairans as she took her exercise around the Quartier.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she received a request for an audience from the comte de Beau-Sang and granted it to him.

Casimir LeRoche de Beau-Sang came from one of the lesser noble houses of Balladaire’s southern coast. Beau-Sang had made his family’s fortune early as Balladaire stretched the reaches of its empire. He was one of the first to invest in developing Qazāl as a colony. His quarries were especially lucrative: marble shipped to Balladaire as an architectural luxury and sandstone for the colonies as an architectural necessity. (The Balladairans in the colonies didn’t favor the pressed-mud style of building that was popular with the Qazāli.)

The quarries had turned him from a member of a small, rarely thought-of house to a major player in Balladaire’s court intrigues, but for all that he preferred to stay in Qazāl.

So Luca wasn’t surprised that he was the one who came to meet her in her office at the Balladairan compound.

Touraine opened the door at his knock and bowed him in—only enough of a bow so as to not directly insult him. Close enough. Close on Beau-Sang’s heels was his little assistant, the young Qazāli boy. Richard.

While the door was open, Luca was surprised at how quiet the military compound’s administrative building was. She had always imagined the noise of battle and unruly troops, even in a place where people were essentially doing sums and writing politely veiled threats.

What is war if not a complicated web of mathematics and charm? Luca thought.

It was time for her to use the charm.

“Good afternoon, Comte. How are you and your family?” Luca gestured for him to sit as Touraine stepped out to fetch coffee.

“Good morning, Your Highness.” Beau-Sang eased his broad body into the creaky but well-upholstered chair in front of Luca’s desk. “We’re doing well, mostly. Paul-Sebastien asked that I send his regards. He’s glad to have a true scholar nearby.”

Luca accepted the flattery with a nod. When Touraine returned, she poured them both coffee before sitting at the small traveler’s desk in the corner. Touraine offered the young boy a cup, as well, but Richard shook his head with a look toward Beau-Sang before taking his place standing just behind the comte.

The room was only barely large enough to accommodate Luca and Touraine both; it was still full of many of Cheminade’s effects. Cheminade had decorated the office like she’d decorated her home, full of travel relics and curiosities. Beau-Sang gave the souvenirs the slightest sneer before he sipped his coffee.

“It’s unfortunate business, those broadsides,” Beau-Sang said. “I