Gil clasped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. “I’ll never let that happen.”
The hug comforted Luca and made her feel too small at the same time. She straightened out of it and pulled her frustration closer instead.
“I feel like the general wants to push me out of the way, like I’m too stupid to know what I’m doing—or to learn.”
And why wouldn’t the general assume that? An untested queen—no, a princess, who hadn’t governed anything unrulier than a library and a pen to anyone else’s knowledge. That’s why her uncle, the regent, had sent her to this sun-scorched desert in the first place. “To gain experience,” Uncle Nicolas had said, “before taking the crown.” Despite his words, however, they both knew there was the possibility that she would fail. That she would make an utter mess of it and he could make a case to the nobles that she wasn’t fit to rule. It wouldn’t be the first time one Ancier had disposed of another for incompetence.
“I have to be the one to fix this,” Luca murmured as she looked out the window.
The Quartier was only a brief strip of desert away from where the soldiers lived and one cog of her empire turned. Beyond that, she could imagine the night noise of the city far in the distance. Just beyond the city flowed the River Hadd, and beyond the Hadd were the ruins of the Second City. Somewhere in the Second City was the Scorpion Library. The First Library.
And maybe the secrets of the Shālan magic that could help her rule one day. The magic that her father had never managed to claim. The magic that might have saved his life.
Luca ran a finger along the stone sill of the window. It was cool to the touch. “I’m twenty-eight years old, Gillett. I should have been crowned this year. The only reason I agreed to this test of his is so we don’t end up mired in another ten-year civil war. You know I have as strong a grasp of strategy and economics as Nicolas. I’ve read everything there is to read. I’ve been tutored in Shālan since before I could walk.” She turned to him, her voice low and bitter. “He’s too excited to test his Droitist this or Droitist that. Every corner of the empire will be like this if he’s not careful.” She gestured back to the city, as if she could point directly at the gallows and the hanged rebels.
“I know, Luca.” He tried to soothe her with his murmurs, his rough hands rubbing her shoulders. “You’re going to need people to do this, though. The right people.”
Luca made a delicate, peeved sound in her throat. “The right people?”
“Like Cheminade. Cantic. Even Beau-Sang. Never overlook a good weapon.”
Luca grunted and rolled her eyes. Later, however, her thoughts drifted to the handsome conscript. Perhaps she would make a good weapon, too.
CHAPTER 4CAPTIVES
Alive.
Her mother was alive.
Touraine reeled silently in the lonely dark of the carriage cab. She wished, not for the first time that night, that Pruett or Tibeau could have come with her.
After the meal, Touraine spent the evening standing awkwardly to the side just like the body servants, except for when Cantic introduced her to the princess. She’d thought this dinner would be the peak of her success, that she’d show everyone that the Sands could belong just as much as anyone else. That hadn’t lasted long at all, between the comte de Beau-Sang and whoever that old noblewoman was. So it was a relief, at first, when Cheminade approached her.
“Lieutenant Touraine.” The governor-general handed her a drink. Lord Governor Cheminade had a surprisingly tender air for a politician. The wrinkles in her face spread as she smiled.
Touraine bowed, more out of uncertainty than anything else. The drink was sweet and fragrant and delicious.
“I wanted to apologize personally for the comte de Beau-Sang’s behavior,” Cheminade said, peering into Touraine’s eyes like she was searching for some kind of reaction.
Touraine looked into her cup instead. It was cut crystal. Cool to the touch and dazzling to the eye. The governor lived in a completely different world. The fine food, the beautiful home—Touraine could never imagine living in a place like this. And yet Cheminade was the first Balladairan she’d met to suggest that Balladairans treated the Sands… less well than they deserved.
“It’s nothing, Lord Governor,” she said into her cup. “We’re used to it.”
“Yes, well. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
Touraine looked up, startled. “I don’t understand?”
“I’ve been curious about Cantic’s project for a long time now.” Cheminade regarded the room casually, taking in but not lingering on the general. Cantic was trapped in a scowling conversation with the comte de Beau-Sang. “About what they taught you, what they plan for you when all of the fighting is done.” She waved her hand as if gesturing to battles gone by. “Do you know you’re the first conscript I’ve ever met?”
“As far as I know, this is the first time the colonial brigade has been used in the colonies, my lady.”
The older woman smiled tightly. “Indeed. Imagine my surprise when I heard that one of you had already distinguished yourself by saving the princess’s life.”
Touraine raised an eyebrow. Even she could tell the flattery was thick. Still, she ducked her head in appreciation. “As I said, I’m happy to do my duty.”
The same tight smile. “I’m sure. Do the conscripts remember much about their pasts?”
Touraine’s alarm must have shown on her face. Cheminade laughed and put her empty hand on Touraine’s arm.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be honest,” Cheminade said, lowering her voice and smiling conspiratorially. “I did hear the man on the gallows. I can’t say I know his connection to Jaghotai—sky above knows the general will sniff it out—but I do know the woman. An overseer in the quarries. Excellent liaison between the city and the laborers.”
In a matter of seconds, Touraine felt
