Touraine winced at Luca’s words. Too much of it rang true.
“If you want to end the bloodshed,” Luca finished, “you tell the rebels to stand down and be patient.”
The words rang true, but just to a point, and only from one point of view.
“How long do they have to be patient on their own soil?” Touraine countered.
Silent seconds crawled by.
“How many people do you lose to every plague?” Touraine asked. “To accidents and blood poisoning and childbirth? If you brought Qazāli healers willing to work with you—willing to, not forced to…”
Luca’s chest hitched, though she tried to hide it with cool disinterest. Touraine heard the catch in her breath.
“What would it be worth, to stop that from happening?”
“Well, if they’re willing to trade it, they should have said so several decades ago,” Luca snapped. “Maybe none of this would ever have happened.”
The dismissive tone of Luca’s voice shattered the glass wall Touraine had been using to keep her contradicting feelings apart from each other.
“We aren’t your toys or coins to be passed from hand to hand, Luca. If someone prefers not to fuck you, are you disgusting enough to force them anylight?”
Luca’s face twisted. After a long moment she said, “Give us a cure to the Withering, and we’ll discuss terms. I’m prepared to offer their magistrate, with elected officers this time. They would have their own government while remaining under our protection from other powers in the north. A true protectorate. After I have my throne.”
“It’s not a cure. It’s a skill—you can’t just take it like you take their stone or their beads—”
“Then I want a hundred doctors or healers—whomever. I want a cadre to teach us, and then I want my throne. Help taking it, if need be. Then a protectorate.”
Touraine shook her head, incredulous. Who was this? What had happened to the dreaming scholar?
The answer was glaringly simple. Luca was Balladairan. She was Balladaire.
Touraine stood. Luca’s pale jaw flexed. The hollows of her eyes were skeletal in the dim light of the salon.
“And let them pay you in their own resources for the privilege of your protection?” Touraine scoffed. Her eyes burned and she blinked them clear. “You can’t be yourself unless you have a leash in your hand, and there’s always got to be someone attached to it.”
“Not you,” Luca said, voice surprisingly soft.
“No. Not me. Not anymore. And how long until the rest of Qazāl says the same? The rest of Balladaire?”
Touraine let the silence sink between them.
“They don’t need your protection. The magic does more than heal. If the rebels come for you, don’t look for me to stop them.”
“Are you threatening me?” Luca stood and walked slowly around the table, her cane tapping, until Touraine could have leaned over and kissed her.
“No.” Touraine dug her fingernails into her palms. Despite everything, the idea of Luca being hurt set her heart racing.
The sharp edge of Luca’s voice rested against Touraine’s throat. “I’m letting you walk out of here on one condition. Get the rebels in line. I don’t want any more bloodshed than you do. The sooner they stop fighting, the sooner I call off my hounds.”
“You deserve this fight.”
“The civilians, too? The children?”
“You teach the children to spit on us! Crawl out of your books, and open your fucking eyes, Luca. This is real. We are real.”
At the whistle of air, Touraine flung her hand up by instinct. Luca’s wrist crashed against her forearm, and Touraine whipped her hand over, grabbing Luca’s wrist so hard that Luca’s pulse pumped against her thumb.
“Boot me to the moon if I’ll let another of you women hit me in the face.”
“Let go of me.” Luca didn’t struggle.
“Keep your hands to yourself. I’m not your pet anymore.”
“Touraine—” For a moment, something softened her face. Touraine could almost hear her say it: Come back. The temptation to surrender and apologize was there. She could tell Luca wanted it. So did she. Just not with this Luca.
The window of apology slammed shut. “I hope their magic is as strong as you say it is,” Luca said. “If I were you, I would ask your new friends to hide you well.”
Her voice didn’t shake, and her blue-green eyes were colder and more uncompromising than frozen earth when you had a whole squad to bury. Her face flushed. They shared the silence and the air between them for three breaths, breaths that shuddered in Touraine’s chest. Her heart pounded all the way to her fingertips. She dropped Luca’s hand and brushed past Gillett without meeting his eyes.