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

anger, her strength. She countered one, two, three of Jaghotai’s strikes only just in time, and as she staggered from the third, the fourth put her on her knees, chest heaving.

Jaghotai looked down on her in contempt. “I would have raised you better than this.”

In a rush, the rest of the world seemed to return. Djasha clapped again and pointed to Jaghotai, and the Qazāli cheered for their champion as if they could dissipate the tension with sheer noise. Touraine dragged herself to her feet.

Djasha held a cup in front of them, her smile tense.

Touraine stared at it while Jaghotai looked as if she’d been told to swallow piss.

“Traditionally, you shake the hand of the opponent and share a drink.” Djasha leveled her gold eyes at both of them. She lowered her voice for their ears alone and said through her still-smiling teeth, “Now is not the time for petty mother-daughter bickering. You represent two nations trying to make peace, and if you don’t fucking act like it, I will kill you myself in your sleep.” Her smile widened.

Touraine couldn’t tell whether Djasha was joking, but Jaghotai dangled her hand in front of Touraine’s face.

She took Jaghotai’s hand, tempted to twist it until the small bones popped apart. Then they drank from the same cup. The audience cheered. Then, her gaze unfocused, Touraine watched Jaghotai saunter away to celebrate with the other dance-fighters.

“Are you all right?” Luca asked, touching her hand gently. Luca’s ring was cool against the heat of her skin.

Touraine struggled to focus on the princess. The ring of fires had grown hostile. She was too close to Balladaire to be safe here. “Fine. We should go back.”

“I agree.” Luca scanned the Qazāli without moving her head. “I am walking a very tenuous edge of welcome.”

“Are you? What did you do?” Touraine’s voice was thick and slurred, even to her own ears.

“Sky above, you really are drunk. By proxy, I took over their country.”

“Oh. Right.”

They lingered a little longer, but gloating eyes watched them as they clung to Djasha and Aranen’s fire. Aranen held Djasha in her arms, and they both smiled and laughed even though Djasha’s face looked drawn. So much joy.

When the knife flashed toward Luca, Touraine was slow. Maybe she was distracted by the two women’s happiness; maybe she was just too drunk. Before coming to El-Wast, she’d never fought against assassinations—the Sands got to die in wide, bloody fields.

She jerkily pushed the knife away, but the blade caught Luca’s skin before Touraine grabbed the enemy’s wrist and tumbled over with them. Luca shouted in pain and the world spun. Sheer luck kept Touraine from getting herself stabbed before she disarmed them and flipped the person onto their back.

A woman looked up at her. No more struggling. She spat full in Touraine’s face.

Touraine hauled her up just enough to slam her into the ground. The woman’s head bounced once, and Touraine knew it hurt.

Gil had Luca. Safe. Lanquette and the other guards circled them.

“What is this?” Luca waved her forearm, and blood splattered the sand. She held the wound up to Djasha, who also stood. “I thought we were your guests.” The cold menace was back in Luca’s voice.

“You are.” Djasha eyed the woman under Touraine with distaste. “Bring her to me.”

Touraine dragged the woman to her feet and over to Djasha before she realized she was following another general’s orders. A soldier’s instinct beaten deep.

“Yasmine.” Djasha said only the woman’s name, but the tone of her voice said the rest. Fury. Unforgivable disappointment. Cantic had spoken to Touraine this way before her trial.

Luca broke from her protective circle to stand next to Touraine. Her eyes were as hard as Djasha’s. She gestured to her guards. “I want her arrested immediately. Her and anyone working with her.”

Touraine was stricken more by Yasmine’s face. Anger worked her jaw, tightened it so the tendons showed. A rapid pulse jumped at her throat. Most surprising was the shine of unshed tears.

“We will punish our own criminals,” Djasha snapped, without looking at Luca. There was a sense of finality that hushed even Gil’s indignation on Luca’s behalf.

“Yasmine,” Djasha repeated.

Whatever passed between them was brief, but it must have satisfied Djasha’s unspoken question.

“I’m sorry, my teacher,” Yasmine said in Shālan. Finally, the would-be assassin bowed her head.

Then Djasha pulled a thin knife from her sleeve and stabbed under Yasmine’s ribs and into her heart. Crimson leaked from her lips and covered Djasha’s hand as she pushed harder to see the job done as quickly as possible.

At the flash of Djasha’s blade, Touraine stumbled back into a crouch, belatedly dragging Luca with her. Behind them, steel and wood clattered and the soldiers swore, trying too late to raise their muskets. Lanquette and Gil both had their pistols trained on Djasha the Apostate. It took a long moment before any of them realized what had happened.

When the woman’s clutching hands grew limp, Djasha lowered her to the ground. Djasha staggered as she pushed herself up, and Aranen caught her.

“I apologize,” Djasha said, bowing her head to Luca. The bloody knife dripped into the sand. Touraine expected Luca to be as stunned as she was, but Luca always had the perfect calm. Unshakable. A wall of control.

Luca stepped out from behind Touraine and nodded at Djasha. “That will do.”

That… will do? Suddenly, Touraine wasn’t sure whose pawn she was—and which was the more dangerous answer. Cold chilled her stomach. What would happen if either woman found out she planned to break this peace before it began? Maybe it was better not to break it. To hold her tongue and wait for the Sands to take the brunt of it. A small sacrifice.

While Aranen tended to Luca’s arm, Touraine scanned for Jaghotai among the rest of the silent Qazāli. She didn’t find her.

After Gil had sharp words with the rickshaw driver, the man tossed back a drink and left his friends behind to gather the rickshaw. He helped Luca limp in; the princess barely