“You won’t take the seat yourself? You’re the highest-ranking official here—”
The general bent her neck as if to stretch out tightness. She cleared her throat. “No, Your Highness. I’m not.”
Ah. No, indeed, she wasn’t.
“Anylight, only despots put cities under martial law,” the general added.
“So you want me to take the position.”
“Only as a standin, Your Highness. Temporarily until we find someone suitable. I wouldn’t presume to give you a job, of course. Only to let you know that there is a vacancy that must be filled as soon as possible.”
Luca looked out the window, picturing the city beyond, full of people pressing and pressing against each other in the Old Medina and avoiding each other in the New Medina. She thought of Cheminade’s wink and the tender hand on her husband’s. An ache spread through her chest and made her eyes sting. She blinked it all away.
She said, “If I take on Cheminade’s duties—the governor-general reports directly to the metropole. I am the metropole.”
“With the duke regent, of course.”
Luca ignored that. As governor-general, there would be no middle official to wrangle. She could change policies in Qazāl herself, without weighing them over meeting after meeting. She would rule this city, the nation, every colony in the region, and the success would be hers. It would show her uncle and the people that she was formidable and sensible. A worthy ruler. The rebellion would be hers to end.
Any failure would be hers, too. No one to hide behind, to blame decisions on, except, perhaps, for Cantic.
“As regent, he only wants to maintain King Roland’s empire, Your Highness. He won’t jeopardize it.”
Luca had no response for this. Her uncle had come up with the Droitist theories, ostensibly, yes, to integrate the colonies into the empire. His attitude and the theory itself, meant to curtail children with pain and rigid rules, would never achieve it, she was sure. Even Cantic said she disapproved of the Droitist methods. She sipped the coffee that the servant brought her, then twisted the cup in her hand.
Cantic dropped her hands to her sides and set her shoulders. “Will you accept her duties, Your Highness?”
Luca gave one slow nod. “I will.”
“When you’re ready to begin, I can show you her notes, the records, everything you need. Her aides will fill you in on everything, I’m sure.
“That said, there’s the matter of your safety, Your Highness. Cheminade’s death is suspicious on its own. When I consider your—” Cantic cleared her throat. “There’s already been one attack on your person.”
Luca nodded briskly. “I’ll keep to the Quartier and the compound unless my duties take me elsewhere.”
Cantic’s relief showed in the sudden straightening of her shoulders. “Thank you, Your Highness. Cheminade’s death was… unexpected. A blow. If something happened to you, the empire would reel.”
Luca raised her eyebrows. The words sounded disingenuous, but Cantic looked sincere. The older woman had a serious face, sharp jawed with deep-set eyes. Surprisingly, she reminded Luca of Gillett. They were both so rigid, and it made them capable. They were like oak trees, deep rooted and unbending. The similarity made Luca want to soften toward her, but this particular trait was also Gil’s most infuriating.
“Thank you for your concern. Have the streets been like this very long?” Or is it my arrival that makes them bold?
“As much as it pains me to say it, Beau-Sang might have been right. It seems the rebels have grown more dangerous. After you read Cheminade’s notes, we can go over the details.” Cantic looked agitated again, eager to be gone. “She and I had discussed mandatory documentation for Qazāli, river sanctions, a citywide curfew to start.”
Luca was intrigued. It sounded like the changes could help quell rebel activities, or at least make it difficult for them to maneuver. However, the implication that all Qazāli were prisoners would end poorly, like it had with the Verinom city-state back in the ancient ages. She knew enough of history—Balladairan included—to know they would toe dangerously close to breeding further resentment.
She caught the general’s quick look toward the window.
“Are you worried about something, General?”
Cantic looked down, and her lips moved in what might have been the shadow of a smile. “Your Highness. I command over one hundred thousand lives. I’m always worried. It keeps us alive. I do have an urgent meeting, however, and I’m happy to leave you to your morning.” The general tried and failed to cover up the exhaustion in her voice with a short, businesslike tone.