“Your Highness, I—did you even read the letters I sent you after the skirmish in the bazaar?” the general said.
It was hard to think back to that cloud of overwrought pain and anger. She had glanced at Cantic’s letters; most of them were updates on missing persons from the battle, and all of that was to be expected. And then came the hostage letter and accompanying finger, and then Beau-Sang as governor-general.
“Of course I did. They didn’t say anything about him.”
The deep lines in Cantic’s face deepened. “There was something strange about the missing people and how quickly he found these so-called hostages. And the culprits.”
It would take a particular kind of gruesomeness for a Balladairan to cut off another Balladairan’s finger just to get himself a place in the government. A kind of gruesomeness that sounded less and less far-fetched when taken with Aliez’s own fears about her father. Luca hadn’t even had a chance to check on the girl.
“You think he orchestrated the hostage taking.”
Cantic nodded.
“Do you think…” Sadness rose in Luca’s heart, not for herself but for a young woman whose father had had her abducted and held for a very different kind of ransom. “Do you think he had anything to do with Cheminade’s death?”
“I don’t doubt he’s capable of it, Your Highness. I’m only saying that I never found the proof.”
“Then why aren’t we sky-falling arresting him?” cried Luca. “Let’s go. Bring a squad of whatever soldiers look healthiest.”
When they arrived at the comte de Beau-Sang’s town house, Richard the servant boy was carrying a small wooden box out of the house while two Qazāli men carried out trunks and loaded them into a large carriage. The boy froze midstep when he saw Luca, his eyes wide like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“Beau-Sang!” Luca called. She turned to the boy while the grown men looked between her and the house. “Richard, will you take me to the comte, please?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He bowed over the box he still held. It was a dark wood inlaid with stylized pearl lilies, perhaps a jewelry box. He scurried away without even placing it into the carriage with the trunks. Luca and Cantic followed.
Not everything in the house had been packed, but enough of the Balladairan touches—the painted forests and stags and chevaliers—were gone that the place felt hollowed out. The sudden emptiness made the sitting room feel less like a museum of Balladaire and more like an ancient tomb.
“Your Highness?”
Luca turned to see Aliez halfway down the stairs, a surprised look on her face. She did not look like she was preparing to leave. She wore tight Balladairan trousers under a bright green Qazāli tunic; her hair was in a careless bun, and her feet were bare. She seemed smaller than Luca remembered, and Luca wished she had better news for the girl.
“We’ve come for your father,” Luca said softly. “Is Bastien here?”
The young woman inhaled sharply, then padded down the stairs to join them. “He’s out.”
“You aren’t trying to run, too?” Luca murmured.
Aliez scowled up at Luca. “Qazāl is my home, Your Highness.” Then she added in a hesitant whisper, “Did you find her?”
Luca shook her head, not because she didn’t know but because her suspicions were too horrid to drop in Aliez’s lap so suddenly. The girl’s restraint was admirable; she only bowed her head in solemn acceptance, as if she’d let the flame of hope die out some time ago.
“You should go back upstairs,” Luca said.
“No. I want to see this.”
Beau-Sang was in his office, loading his papers and books into watertight boxes himself. Richard announced them, even though the Comte stopped as soon as they walked in.
Casimir LeRoche de Beau-Sang smiled, as if the two most powerful people in the colony hadn’t just walked into his office with Balladairan soldiers at their back.
“Your Highness.” He bowed. “General. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Sky above, Beau-Sang, you’re the governor-general,” Cantic shouted, pushing into the room. “You’re supposed to be running the colony, not cowering in your study!”
“It’s a dangerous time. I would be willing to submit the city to temporary martial law.” He shrugged his broad shoulders and turned back to his desk.
“Martial law means I can shut down every ship in port.”
“And watch the Balladairans riot again? I’m sure the Qazāli would love that.” Beau-Sang turned his smile on Luca. “How deep do the crown’s coffers go? Deep enough for another round of reparations?”
Luca ignored the barb. “You’re not leaving, Beau-Sang. I’m stripping you of your post, and you’re under arrest.”
The comte chuckled. “Arrest? On what grounds?”
“Dereliction of duty, for a start.”
“A jury will find I’ve performed my post admirably. Unlike you.” His grin vanished, and he looked Luca directly in the eye. “I brought them to heel, and at every turn, you squandered it. If your uncle wants to conduct a trial of competence, you’ll be found wanting.”
Their audience rustled behind Luca, and she felt the pressure of their uncertainty. Beau-Sang knew Luca’s insecurities and how to capitalize on them. Then she felt a warmth behind her. Gil stood just behind her, and his presence lent her strength. His nod was slight, and she remembered his words the day she’d tried to use Aranen’s magic.
Faith is the absence of doubt. I have faith in you. She wasn’t alone. He would stand by her in this.
Luca stepped over to Beau-Sang’s desk and peered into the half-full box. Their arms brushed as she plucked up a paper nonchalantly and pretended to read it. Then she spoke calmly, to show his threats had no effect, even as a part of her screamed that he was right, that she needed him. She needed that steadiness to maintain her bluff.
“We have other suspicions.” Luca let her gaze drift to Aliez, who waited at the threshold with Richard and Gil. She murmured for the comte’s ears alone, “You want the best for your daughter, but
