The drums stopped. And then, from the back of the crowd, Touraine saw Cantic take the gallows stage, followed by Luca, who leaned lightly on her cane. Her leg must not hurt today. The thought came automatically, but it vanished as Touraine watched two pairs of blackcoats drag two prisoners up the stairs. Though the prisoners weren’t wearing their uniform coats, she could tell they were soldiers by their military-issue boots.
“Closer,” Touraine muttered to Noé and the others. She pushed into the crowd and lost sight of the gallows stage.
“Those sky-falling dogfuckers,” Noé said, standing on his tiptoes.
Touraine couldn’t see. “What? What is it?” The nausea was rising in her again. It was just the press of the crowd and the smell, she told herself. But she was also dizzy with exhaustion. She steadied herself on Noé’s shoulder and tried to focus.
“They have—I think—”
“Sky above, who, Noé?”
“Henri and…” He looked down at Touraine, anguish in his eyes as he hesitated. “Aimée.”
“Shit.” Touraine shoved harder, forcing her way to the stage.
Cantic’s harsh voice silenced the crowd. “Citizens of Qazāl, subjects of the Balladairan Empire. The last few weeks in this city have been grim, and I’m not near eloquent enough to address them or the reason we’re here today. I present with honor Her Royal Highness Princess Luca Ancier, queen regnant of Balladaire.”
Around Touraine, a scattered few clapped, but even the applause was subdued.
And then Luca started to talk, her voice clear and resonant.
“Loyalty is part of the social contract we commit to when we decide to be civilized. As humans gathered into societies—tribes and villages, cities and nations—we committed to each other. We promised to protect our fellows, to honor the promises we give and the exchanges we make.”
An elbow to Touraine’s jaw as she shoved her way to the front showed Touraine just how minute those exchanges could be. She almost fell to the ground, but Noé reached for her, held her up with concern in his soft brown eyes.
“To betray that trust,” Luca continued, “chips away at the stone upon which we build our great cities. Broken promises weaken the bonds between siblings. When parents abandon the child, do their young hearts not break?”
Finally, Touraine arrived at the front of the crowd, close enough to get a full view of those standing on the gallows. She and Noé hung back just enough to be invisible behind a group of Qazāli quarry laborers, as stone-faced as their work. Luca. Cantic, Rogan, and that bastard the comte de Beau-Sang stood just behind her. Cantic and Rogan were cloaked in military impassivity.
Two pairs of blackcoats held Aimée and Henri up by the nooses, Aimée jerking her arms out of their grasps even though her hands were cuffed.
“Luca,” Touraine whispered. “What are you doing?”
The princess stood tall and regal, her gaze piercing the crowd. The sunlight sparkled on her spectacles. “If we apply these solemn rules to our most intimate relationships, should we not maintain them in all of our dealings? Merchant to customer, doctor to patient. Subject to crown. Soldier to general.”
Touraine looked for the other Sands, but the only soldiers keeping the peace were Balladairan. That meant Balladaire didn’t trust the Sands here. Were they being punished for the deserters, like Noé? Or had Aimée tried something on her own and gotten caught?
“Yesterday, I told you how Balladaire will care for and protect all of its subjects and enact justice. Similarly, though it is hard to govern the treacheries of the heart, the government can protect against the treacheries that threaten the society as a whole. False merchants will be fined. False doctors will be arrested. Traitor soldiers will lose their lives.
“After you return home today, think well on the type of person you want to be in this beautiful city. Will you uphold it, or erode its foundations? Thank you.”
Luca bowed her head delicately to the assembled crowd, who watched her in a hush. Even Touraine’s breath caught in her chest. Finally, she let her focus shift from Luca to the nooses behind all the Balladairans and fully absorb the sight of her friend about to be hung.
Traitor soldiers. Noé’s fingers went tight as a battlefield bone cutter’s vise on Touraine’s arm.
“Sky a-fucking-bove, you assholes! I can escort my sky-falling self, thanks.”
Noé’s nails dug even deeper. “No,” he whispered. Whimpered.