All the Qazāli who brought proof or notification of dead family, injuries, or damaged property would be given recompense from the hand of the throne itself.
She would be paying a lot. And using soldiers to monitor the claims.
Luca lit her sealing candle and waited for the wax to heat, to make the slow transition from a single cohesive block to disparate drips. Slow. She’d chosen the gold wax this time, and the flames streaked it black.
She’d demanded the reports from Cantic since Gil and the general both agreed that it wasn’t safe to have her in the streets. The fires—literal and metaphorical—hadn’t been put out. It had been nearly a week since she’d run to the window at the sound of the thunderous explosion. She couldn’t see the temple from behind the Quartier walls, but that hadn’t stopped her from imagining the slow motion of the domes collapsing on themselves every day since. When she’d left the Quartier, just to see, the night sky had been bright with the burning heart of the city.
Luca pulled her shawl tighter against a shiver. She snapped to and realized the wax puddle was larger than she’d intended. She blew the candle out and stamped her rearing horse into the mess, with the L. A. of her initials in faint relief.
She had also sent a letter to dear Uncle Nicolas before the bastard could get any orders back in this direction. It was going to be hard enough to deal with Cantic in this situation.
Speaking of the wolf… the sharp click of military confidence only one person in the world could have stopped outside of Luca’s office door.
“Come in,” Luca said.
General Cantic gave her usual salute and curt bow before handing Luca yet another stamped letter. This one was on cheap military stuff, likely scraped over and over again. It crinkled as she held it. The black wax in the corner bore the seal of Balladairan commanding officers, a fist clenching a wheat sheaf and crossed arrows, Cantic’s own signature beside it.
Cantic shrugged, hands clasped behind her back, so Luca skimmed it. Then tracked back to the beginning and read more carefully, unable to account for the way her heart lurched in her chest.
“You’re executing them? In public?”
Cantic nodded sharply. “You asked earlier to be kept informed of our actions. This is merely a courtesy, Your Highness.”
Luca sat back. “I wanted to be informed so we could discuss the best steps. We just discussed how volatile the city is, General. Give it more blood and—”
“You can be informed, Your Highness. Not dictate the military consequences. I already involved you more than I should have once, and that’s done us no good.”
“Make it private, then, General.”
“They tried to defect, Your Highness. I’m making an example of them. It’s hard enough to trust the rest of the Sands right now as it is. I’m reminding them of their place.”
“That sounds very Droitist of you.”
Luca clenched the paper, and it trembled with her. She didn’t know if it was sadness or anger or guilt or dread.
Cantic sighed and pointed to the other chair in the room, the one Touraine used to sit in. “May I?”
“As you like.”
“Ruling a nation is like being a teacher, Your Highness. The Droitists and the Tailleurists fight back and forth over the minute details, but the core principles are the same. You cannot be the guide and the friend. A teacher, like a king—or queen—needs a firm hand that’s willing to cause pain or discomfort even if the student doesn’t understand why. They don’t need to understand fully; they only need to trust you enough to accept that you have their best interests at heart. With that trust, they’ll take any amount of unsavory medicine.”
“And executing two Sands for their benefit is unsavory medicine?”
Cantic pulled a face and looked all the more haggard for it. “No, Your Highness. That’s discipline.”
Luca pushed her decree across the desk.
After Cantic read it, she gave an approving grunt and a nod.
“And that is how you build trust. One must have both. Excellent.” One edge of the general’s mouth turned up. “You can announce it before the hanging.”
Luca opened her mouth, but Cantic preempted her.
“Tomorrow, sunrise. That should give you time to ready one of your speeches.”
“I already have a speech. I’m going to announce it today.”
Touraine stared at the dark roof of the tent she shared with Jaghotai while the other woman’s heavy, steady breaths filled the small space. It put her too much in mind of the cell she’d been left in on the compound before Luca had pulled her out.