Home > Books > The Unbroken (Magic of the Lost #1)(169)

The Unbroken (Magic of the Lost #1)(169)

Author:C. L. Clark

Luca busied herself with a loose thread in her robe. “Gil and Cantic… advise against it.”

Touraine leaned back against the pillows. “Of course they do. You’ve really fucked things up, Luca. I don’t know why I hoped for better.”

“I hoped you would understand now.”

“Who gave the order for her death?”

“Pardon?”

“Who ordered Aimée executed? For what crime?”

“Cantic. Desertion. They caught her trying to escape to join the rebellion.”

Touraine closed her eyes and slipped her hand out of Luca’s. “I think I’m going to be sick again. Do you mind?”

The dismissal was so abrupt it caught Luca mid-justification, and it made something unpleasant lurch in her chest. Her eyes burned, but she stood calmly.

“Of course.” Luca retreated into formality. “Ring the bell when you’re finished. Adile will come.”

She took off her contaminated clothing, dropping it in the basket for Adile, and left without looking back. She didn’t want Touraine to see how much her words had hurt.

When Luca returned the next morning, Touraine was gone.

Touraine stumbled back into the slums, half-conscious. The fever was back. The rashes up her body were itching more than she remembered them itching at Luca’s.

That’s because you were unconscious, idiot.

A cry went up as the children, serving as both official and unofficial lookouts, saw her.

“Stay back,” she rasped at them. “I’m sick.” So the children gawked at her and whispered.

“You have the laughing pox,” one of the little ones said, happy to be a know-it-all. “Like Hamid last week.”

Oh. The children she’d been playing with.

It wasn’t long before Jaghotai came up to meet her. Her mother only grunted, but Touraine could see the slouch of relief in her shoulders. “Your man Noé said you’d been taken. He’s been a mess. Thought for sure we’d see you strung up the next day.” Jaghotai came closer and examined a spot on Touraine’s neck. She whispered, “I just thought you’d gone back to your master. Glad to see I was wrong. Was I?”

She pulled back and bared a jackal grin.

“You’ve got laughing pox,” she added. “Makes sense. You didn’t have time to catch it as a child before the Balladairans took you.” She said it almost wistfully.

“Can I just… go lie down?” Touraine growled the words between gritted teeth. “It was a long walk.” Touraine was half a second from passing out, right there in the dirt. Jaghotai grabbed her by the arm to carry some of Touraine’s weight and lead her through. Touraine didn’t have the energy to jerk away.

“Stop. You’ll get sick, too.” Her protest was feeble, and they were already walking. Jaghotai shooed people back.

“Nah. I had it when I was a kid.”

“Am I going to die?”

“If we all died from it, there wouldn’t even be a Qazāl. It’s a weird thing.” Instead of lapsing into her usual glaring silence, Jaghotai kept up the idle chatter as they walked. Touraine wondered if this meant Jaghotai was becoming… friendly. “I don’t really understand it, but Aranen and Djasha do. You get it once, you don’t get it again. It also keeps you from getting the death pox.” Jaghotai helped Touraine slide back into her old bedroll.

The hand supporting Touraine went suddenly slack, and she slammed into the dirt.

“Sky above, Jak—” Touraine groaned and rolled over. “What’s wrong?”

“We don’t get the death pox,” Jaghotai whispered, a hopeful and calculating expression spreading on her face, “because we’ve already had the laughing pox. We need to talk to Djasha and Niwai. We need that Many-Legged priest’s animals again.”

CHAPTER 39

A PANIC

Three nights after Touraine slipped out of the town house like a ghost, Luca dreamed, wild with her own fever.

In one dream, on the second night of Luca’s sickness, Touraine led her by the hand, smiling, smiling, and behind Touraine, the gallows, and waiting on the gallows, Cantic, an empty noose swaying in her hand. Above them, a mixed flock of birds blotted out the sun. Crows, seagulls, pigeons cooing and screeching and cawing as they passed.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cantic whispered in her raspy voice as she placed the noose around Luca’s neck.

“Your Highness,” murmured Lanquette, shaking her awake with his gloved hand. “Princess.”