“Why?”
The whole mad sprint from the temple, this question had run through Touraine’s mind. Only one thing made sense.
“The magic,” she answered.
“But why now?” Jaghotai growled, grinding her stump into her hand.
“I’m sorry, Djasha.” Touraine ignored Jaghotai to meet Djasha’s gaze instead. Touraine wasn’t afraid of Jaghotai. She was afraid of the golden-eyed woman whose face was utterly calm in her grief. That calm steadiness that meant she was beyond the reach of irrational lashing out. Whatever came out of her would be calculated.
“I can’t do anything with an apology,” Djasha said, disgusted. “We lost half of our priests this morning.”
“What?” Touraine asked, startled.
“Malika brought word,” Jaghotai said, scowling. “Blackcoats are taking doctors and anyone who’s been seen lingering at the temples throughout the city. Half a dozen missing at least.”
“They know too much,” Djasha said grimly.
“I told you we should never have trusted that bitch,” Jaghotai snapped at Djasha.
Djasha closed her eyes, and for a moment, her illness and grief combined to make her seem impossibly fragile.
A new guilt rose. Luca was the only one who knew about the magic. Touraine had gone to Luca, showed her the extent of what the magic could do. She’d only meant to encourage another alliance, not this.
“Let me talk to the princess one more time,” Touraine said.
Behind her, Jaghotai scoffed, but Djasha stared Touraine down. “You want to see if she’ll make another trade.”
It would be impossible to fix every betrayal on her shoulders. Too many of them were contradictory. She wished she could fix them all at once, tie them together like the laces of a boot. This was what it meant to be responsible for a company. Not every choice was a good one; usually good choices didn’t even exist. Even so, she had always been honest with her soldiers on the field.
“She said she’s willing to make another deal if you are.”
“We made that mistake once already,” Jaghotai snarled.
Djasha, however, was quiet. Her eyes narrowed minutely. “You’ve already spoken to her.”
Guilty heat flushed Touraine’s skin. “I only went to help. I thought if I could end this sooner, it would be better for everyone.”
“You what?” roared Jaghotai from behind her. She stormed around to stand over Touraine and Djasha. “You did what?”
Djasha went still on her pallet.
“I told her the truth. I told her the magic is real and you might be willing to send Balladaire healers if she agreed to leave—”
“You invited her to take a bite out of our ass!”
“Touraine, do you know how hard we’ve worked to keep the extent of Shālan magic a secret?” Djasha asked coldly.
Touraine swallowed. She suddenly remembered, all too clearly, how quickly and efficiently Djasha had stuck her knife in the young woman’s ribs at the dancing circles. That was what the rebels did to people who went against council orders.
Jaghotai waved her amputated forearm in Touraine’s face. “This. This is how much that secret is worth.” The Jackal turned to the Apostate. “Djasha, we’re fucked. She’s not going to stop until she has it or we use—”
Djasha shook her head, with a sharp nod at Touraine. They didn’t trust her anymore. Maybe Jaghotai was right and they never should have. Touraine was nauseated with the shame of it.
“She won’t stop,” Touraine agreed, with resignation. “But she said if you give her healers and a cease-fire now, she’ll turn the colony into a protectorate after she has her throne. It’s not the best, but surrender and promise the healers will work with her willingly, and maybe we can get your people back safely.” Now that Luca had the healers, the rebels were running out of leverage.
“Fuck her,” Jaghotai growled. “Fuck this. What right does she have to our magic? To our god? To our land!” Her voice softened in a way it never had for Touraine. “We’ll get Aranen back another way, Djasha.”
“Let me at least try,” Touraine pleaded.
She shot a glare up at Jaghotai, who loomed over her, arms crossed, her fingers digging into her biceps. Like she was trying to keep herself from flying apart. Or from wrapping her hand around Touraine’s throat instead of her collar. Her breath came in heavy puffs, like a bull’s.
With a massive grunt, Djasha pushed herself up from the pallet, surprising Touraine and Jaghotai both. She swayed a little but ignored both of their hands when they reached out. Instead, she stepped haltingly over to the kitchen area, which Aranen reigned over so handily. She ran a finger over the lip of a bowl, the handle of a knife.