by C. L. Clark
“We need the meat we’ve stored here for the soldiers.” Cantic crossed her arms behind her back and glared at Beau-Sang. She still hadn’t forgiven Luca for making Beau-Sang the new governor-general.
“Your soldiers aren’t even doing their job. Our citizens’ lives and livelihoods are at stake while your men and women gamble and our food is stolen by rebels you should be crushing. My connections have found nothing.”
“Your connections?” Cantic said. “I thought you had a plan. Time for a rougher hand, wasn’t it?”
“Please!” snapped Luca. She pressed the bridge of her nose. “General. Lord Governor. This isn’t helping. We need a solution. We can blame each other later. And even the rebels can’t have caused all of this.” She had seen the birds come in. Everyone had. A flock of wild birds had picked the grains clean, no matter how the farmhands shouted or shot them. Abnormal, maybe, but that was only bad luck. Wasn’t it? It was a coincidence, but even she couldn’t figure out how the rebels could have managed to control wild animals. All of her and Bastien’s research pointed to the Shālans having healing magic, nothing else. The Taargens and their bears were up north… Could the rebels have allied with the Taargens so quickly? Could they do something like this?
“Is it possible that the animals were taken by hyenas or lions?” Cantic turned her back dismissively on Beau-Sang and paced the wide storeroom. “If game is scarce because of the drought, maybe it’s emboldened them.”
“That many lions? That many hyenas?” Beau-Sang clenched and unclenched his fists. He was the kind of man Luca could imagine liked to strangle things. He probably would have liked to strangle Cantic, but the older woman would have his entrails looped tidily around his own throat before he could get a good grip on her. “They’ve picked the sky-falling fields clean, woman!”
“Beau-Sang. Watch your tone.” Luca stepped between the two before her imaginary vision could come true. “General, I’m inclined to agree with the governor. The birds are one thing. But the livestock… especially with the blood…”
They all shuddered. One of the Sands had reported it, and Luca insisted on seeing it for herself. She still wished she hadn’t. Someone had painted We pray for rain in blood across the paving stones. Blood clung stickily to shop doors. The air was thick with the cloying scent of blood spoiling in the heat. She’d retched in the cab. The curtains couldn’t keep the stench out. The words were familiar; she’d read that line in the poetry book Touraine had brought, but she couldn’t remember enough of it to find another copy and look for clues. If Touraine were alive—no, if Touraine were alive and hadn’t betrayed her—Luca would have sent her to investigate how the rebels were doing this.
“Your Highness, let me help.” Beau-Sang smoothed his shirt over his barrel of a torso. “We’ve gone over this before. We need to repurpose this energy the Qazāli have. If we put the strongest youth to work in the quarries—”
“Can we stop with the labor camps!” Luca waved her hand toward the room. “These provisions won’t last the army a month if we have to feed civilians, too. Balladairan and Qazāli. No one knows when the dry season will stop. We can’t eat rocks.”
Beau-Sang’s face went as stony as his quarry, his beady blue eyes watery with anger.
Luca was about to lose the nobles for good. They were already terrified, and if she wasn’t careful, they’d be the ones leading the riots. Beau-Sang was meant to have this in hand, but he’d spent most of his time as governor-general trying to sneak in benefits for his own businesses. She glared at him as she swept into the sunlight of the compound.
The frustrating stalemate with Beau-Sang and Cantic drove Luca home to her fighting practice with Gil with more vigor than she’d felt in some time.
After a particularly vigorous lunge, her right leg seized, shooting a brief spasm of pain up her spine—and across her face.
Gil gave her a supporting arm immediately. “Easy, Highness. Easy.”
As Luca walked the pain off, the old guard captain asked, “Do you remember when you decided to challenge Sabine de Durfort to a duel?”
“Yes?” She took her position and lunged at him again.
He dodged the blow with a slight twist of his hips. “You couldn’t even hold a sword. How did you beat her?”
She stopped and considered him as he held her gaze expectantly. She sensed a test.
“I learned.”
“How?”
“I practiced every day.”
He smiled. “You did. You were such a determined child. You reminded me—”
“Of my father, I know.”
“Of your mother. Étienne was bold in success but even more brilliant after failure.” He stepped out of his guard stance and cupped Luca’s shoulders. “You and her are so much alike. You worked yourself sick, though. You have room to be a little kinder to yourself.”
“Kinder?” Luca laughed in his face. “And who will be kind to me if I fail?”
“All the more reason for you to be. Be patient. Be methodic. If you break yourself now, you’ll be too broken to rule.”
She held her arms stiffly at her sides as he placed a scratchy kiss upon her forehead.
And what if I already feel broken?
At the edge of the room, the doorman daintily cleared his throat.
“Your Highness. The younger LeRoche is here to see you.”
“Without notice?” Luca asked. That wasn’t like Bastien, not unless it was an emergency. Like when his sister, Aliez, had been kidnapped. Luca’s heart leapt into her throat. She didn’t need more trouble. She nodded to the doorman to show him in. “Give me a moment, Gil?”
“Of course.” Then he surprised her by wrapping her in a tight hug and whispering, “It will be fine.”
He left her in the sitting room they’d been using as a practice room just as Aliez LeRoche stepped inside.
“Good afternoon, Your Highness. Please forgive my interruption.”
The warmth from Gil’s embrace was sucked very suddenly away. Luca gripped her thin practice sword tightly. She had not forgotten the young woman’s mocking voice that day in the bookshop. Months ago, perhaps, but Luca rarely forgot these things.
“Mademoiselle LeRoche. This is unexpected. Is Paul-Sebastien all right?”
Aliez nodded. Her hair was a purer blond than Luca’s, golden like wheat under a clear blue sky with none of the soil beneath. Like many of the Balladairans born in Qazāl, she wore the sun on her skin—in her case, as a dense smattering of freckles across the nose and cheeks. She also wore one of Madame Abdelnour’s hybrid Balladairan-Qazāli outfits: trousers and a blouse, half-flowing, half-structured.
“I’m here on my own behalf, actually,” Aliez said.
Luca waited.
“I want to apologize. For the things I said with Marie Bel-Jadot. About the broadside.”
Bel-Jadot. The menagerie girl. Giraffe.
“It was cruel of me to go along with her, and cowardly as well.”
“Do you know who’s making them, these broadsides?” snapped Luca.
Aliez hung her head. A lock of blond hair flopped into her face, and she pushed it back with the same gesture Bastien used. “I’m sorry. If I did, I would tell you in a heart’s beat, I swear it.”
“What are you here for, then?” Luca pinched the bridge of her nose. She wanted to put the girl outside, with some choice words besides. Something bitter still lodged inside Luca’s chest, knowing they had mocked her and she had done nothing. “Do sit. Would you care for tea? Coffee?”
Aliez looked nervously at Adile, who already hovered nearby with a beverage service. “Coffee, please. Thank you.” Her hands already twitched and fidgeted like Luca’s did when she drank too much of the potent Shālan drink.
Luca took off her fencing glove and stretched out her legs. She had just been warming to it, and the disruption soured her even more.
“Could we speak alone?” Aliez asked softly.
Luca paused, cup halfway to her lips.
With Luca’s look, Adile bowed over the coffee tray and left the room.
“It’s about some of the other broadsides, actually. I’ve seen them, you understand—everyone has, and I’m not saying this to mock you. I’m just—”
“What’s your point, Mademoiselle LeRoche?” Luca said coldly. She held her cup steady and gritted her teeth.
“Hélène is missing.”
“Who is that?”
“My… friend. Who I’m fond of. More than fond.” She looked down at her coffee cup. Tears caught themselves on her thick blond lashes before jumping into her drink.
Luca tried to imagine why Aliez would bring this problem to her, of all people. The girl was ten years Luca’s junior, and they had never passed more than a faux-friendly word to each other.
“Bastien says when he came to you—when I was missing—that you were so helpful. That I was rescued thanks to you.”
Heat rushed to Luca’s face at the tinge of admiration in the younger woman’s tone.
“That’s not how it—that wasn’t the same thing. I can’t help you find one person.”
“I know. I know you can’t. Only. I hoped.” Her hands shook, and her words burst out in a rush: “Because of the broadsides. That you might understand how I felt.”
Luca’s face burned hotter as Aliez’s concern became clear.
“Your friend is Qazāli.”
“Yes,” Aliez said in a small voice.
“And your father.”
Aliez shook her head. “We met in school. He never wanted me to see her. After the first time he saw her, we decided that it would be best if she only visited when he was away. She was too uncivilized, even though we were at the same Balladairan school. Now that I’m back from the rebels, he says Qazāli are too dangerous and I should have learned my lesson.” She scowled through her tears. “He’s so smug about it. It makes me furious!”
The more that Aliez divulged, the quicker Luca’s own heart thrashed against the cage of her chest. It felt as if her secret, half-broken feelings for Touraine were being pulled out of her. She clamped down on them hard with that familiar, comfortable cold.
“What do you expect me to do about it?” Luca asked.
Aliez’s face was nothing but hurt, wide-eyed innocence. “Don’t you have… people? Who can help you find out things like this?” After a beat, she added, “I suppose that I’m afraid.”
“Of?”
She shook her head, and her voice came out a whisper. “I’m afraid he’s done something to her. I’m afraid if I ask around for her, I’ll find her body instead.”
Though Luca didn’t let it show, Aliez’s words struck a nerve. Her own grief over Touraine’s death still felt fresh, despite Touraine’s betrayal. Sometimes, she found herself wishing for Touraine just so that she could ask the soldier, Why?
“I would rather she left me, decided I was silly and that she didn’t want to be bothered with me anymore,” Aliez said hoarsely. “Even that would be better.”
“I’m sorry, Aliez.” Luca’s voice cracked, too, though she tried to hide it. “I don’t have any ties to the Qazāli side of the city right now. We’re all—” Floundering, she almost said. She couldn’t admit that aloud. “Doing what we can to get the city back upright. It’s a difficult time.”
She hated how false her words sounded. She hated that this child had ridiculed Luca and now had the audacity to ask her for help. She hated that this girl also loved a Qazāli as openly as she dared and now faced the consequences for it. There were always consequences. Threats, broadsides, political losses. If Cheminade had been here, maybe she would have advised Aliez and Luca both.
There was more to this, though, than Luca’s own grief. The girl sat there, blue eyes just like her father’s, pleading, clinging hopefully to Luca’s break in composure.
“Why do you think your father had anything to do with it?” Luca asked.
“Well, that’s how we get to the other part. I was—it was before I was kidnapped, before any of that bazaar nonsense took place. He heard me talking to Bastien about her. I could tell he wanted to beat me right then, but I kept my distance. The things he shouted at me, though.” Aliez shuddered and looked around the room to make sure they were alone.
Luca clutched her coffee cup, waiting for the girl to arrive at the point and dreading it at the same time. Beau-Sang wasn’t beyond reproach. No noble was. Even Luca had done things she wasn’t proud of by now.
“He said some things about the old governor-general,” Aliez said. “The one who died? And I wondered if… Well, he made it sound as if…” She waited for Luca to complete the thought, but Luca’s teeth were clenched tight. Aliez finished in a voice so low that Luca had to lean closer to hear it. “As if he had something to do with it.”
“That’s quite an accusation,” Luca said when she could finally speak.
“It’s not an accusation.” Aliez looked down again, this time as if she were disappointed with herself. “I don’t have any evidence. It just feels like it. Call it intuition. I do know my father,” she said darkly. “You can look into it if you want to.”
Luca took a shuddering breath. Cantic, who hated Beau-Sang and had practically frothed when Luca installed him outside of the military’s control, would have to hunt down that evidence. The governor-general that Luca herself had chosen, against Gil’s warning. Killing Lord Governor Cheminade would have opened the way to his placement. She didn’t want to believe she’d fallen into someone else’s elaborate plan, but what if she had?
She certainly felt trapped. With the public announcements and the eyes of the Balladairans, especially the nobles, on her, she felt like she didn’t have a choice but to see this through. She couldn’t afford to be mistrusted and disregarded right now, not with Qazāl in such a fragile state. Not when she was this close to losing the city already.
“Your Highness?” Aliez twisted her empty cup while she searched Luca’s face. It was as if she’d finally remembered whom she was talking to.
“Mademoiselle. Thank you for bringing me your concerns.” Luca set her cup on the table with finality and stood, signifying the end of their chat. “I have a lot to consider, you understand.” By which Luca meant she was going to swing that damned rapier back and forth until she collapsed and couldn’t think about everything crumbling to shit around her.
Aliez followed suit and curtsied prettily, but her face echoed the pain and frustration in Luca’s heart. “Thank you for your time, Your Highness.”
Adile made to show the young woman out, back into the waiting sunlight, under which all their troubles were bared. Luca looked back at her fencing sword and glove. She could be finished practicing for the day.
“Mademoiselle. Aliez. I find that a walk often cleanses the mind.” Luca followed her outside, squinting at the bright sky.
Aliez smothered a giggle with a pale hand. “You’ve been spending time with Sonçoise de l’Ouest, haven’t you?” She smiled ruefully. “I would enjoy the company.”
“So would I.”
After taking a turn around the Quartier with Aliez, Luca’s mind was “cleansed” enough to come to at least one decision. She spent the evening asking herself, Who is closest to the conflict? Who walks with it through the streets?
How many times had Touraine told her the Sands were always at the front?
And if the Sands were at the front, they would see the most. Luca knew just whom to send for.
When Lieutenant Pruett arrived at the compound the next morning, Luca tried to put Aliez’s revelations about Beau-Sang aside. If he was behind the assassination, to deal with him would take resources she didn’t currently have. Luca invited Pruett to take a promenade around the top of the compound walls, with Gil and Lanquette following behind. From that height, the desert scrub stretched toward the south and east until it rose into dunes. Toward the north, they could see the sea, a blue stretch beyond the Quartier.
Luca and the lieutenant walked the rampart with cool cups of avocado juice sweating in their hands. At the first sip, the lieutenant shivered in delight.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Luca smiled, as if they weren’t both remembering the last words she’d spoken to Pruett at the main guardhouse in the city.
Pruett smiled with closed lips. “Delicious.”
Luca waited until they passed the soldiers at the southwestern corner before speaking.
“How are your soldiers finding the situation in the city?” Luca had not gone back since reports of the first hints of discontent had come in. Gil had forbidden it; it wasn’t worth the risk. Guérin was too near her memory for her to argue.
Lieutenant Pruett’s eyes barely lingered on Luca before casting back out over the wall as if she expected an attack any moment.
“We’re holding well enough. Captain Rogan has us on double guard shifts, everyone. With the other guardhouse platoons, we can cover most of the city…” She trailed off.
“Yes?”
“If there’s gonna be a riot, Your Highness, it’s not coming from the sky-falling Qazāli.”
Behind them, Lanquette cleared his throat roughly.
Lieutenant Pruett smirked and took a delicate sip from her juice. “Pardon my language. All I mean is, your Balladairan civs aren’t too good at telling the difference between my soldiers and the rebels. Things might get messy if this food business doesn’t get sorted soon.”
“You are still well fed, aren’t you?” Luca looked meaningfully at the other woman. She wanted to let the threat linger. “If you need further provisions, write directly to me.”
Pruett raised an eyebrow but nodded. “To what do we owe this kindness?”
Luca smiled tightly. “It’s my duty to make sure my soldiers can do their jobs, not a kindness.”
“And our job?”
“Do you have any idea who’s doing this? What’s causing this?”
“Huh. It’s just animals, isn’t it?” Pruett raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Inept Qazāli farmers not keeping hold of their herds, the broadsides said.”