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.
“It’s very personal,” Aliez added.
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?