“Frame you?” The Jackal chuckled. “That was a coincidence. We couldn’t care less, though if they’d executed you, we might call it justice done.”
The confession caught Touraine off guard, but she pushed that away, too. She climbed up one more step, putting her in reach of the Jackal’s strength.
“Then go ahead. Strangle me. Get your justice. You kill me, she loses nothing, but you—you lose the friendship of the one person in all of Balladaire who doesn’t want to kill the rebels outright.” The only person Touraine had ever heard speak of the rebels with something other than disdain. No, Luca and Cheminade. “She’s already given you an act of faith.”
“Good faith, from the faithless? She doesn’t even have the authority to make deals with us.” The Jackal sneered.
Faithless. She said it the same way Cantic said “uncivilized.”
Touraine hitched her chin up. “Even so. Faith is better placed in real people, backed up with real actions. And she’s backed by the duke regent.” Touraine wasn’t totally sure about that particular, but the Jackal didn’t need to know that.
“We have other friends. The Qazāli aren’t the only ones unhappy with your masters.”
Touraine stared up at the slash of black shadow where the Jackal’s eyes hid just above the lower sweep of her scarf.
“The thing is, Jackal, if you could beat us, you already would have. These ‘little talks’ could save your ass and all the people you care about.” If the bitch cared about anyone, which Touraine was finding harder and harder to believe.
The Jackal exhaled sharply and shook her head, as if in disbelief. “Why are you doing this? What do you get out of fighting for them and not us?”
Touraine was almost taken aback by the broken confusion in the woman’s voice.
“This isn’t about me,” she answered.
“No?”
The Jackal loomed over Touraine. Her crossed forearms were scarred, even beyond the amputation. The Jackal was no stranger to a hard life, and for a second, Touraine thought the Jackal would call her bluff, push her down the stairs and break her neck. She braced herself to use the woman’s weight against her, just in case.
“You and the other Lost Ones are in the middle of this,” the older woman said. “Without you lot shoving your tongues up their assholes, they couldn’t fight. With you, we win. You’d be free.”
“Be free? To come die for people like you?” Touraine snorted. “That’s hardly any better. The princess is your best chance.”
Then the Jackal spat, right on Touraine’s new leather boots. She sneered at Touraine’s entire outfit, from the exquisite black scarf so smooth against her cheeks to those spit-smeared boots.
Anger erupted white hot in Touraine’s belly as she stared at the white-flecked slime. She knew the reactions the bitch waited for. If Touraine fought with her, she could claim she had grounds to attack. If Touraine did nothing, she was a cringing dog.
So Touraine did what she did best. She swallowed her pride. She did her job.
“Her Highness asks for a full list of your requests. She’ll consider them. I’ll come back, we can talk, and I’ll go back. Until we reach an agreement. The sooner she gets the list, the sooner we start working on peace.”
Even as she said the words, Touraine disbelieved them. The Jackal didn’t want peace, and how many other Qazāli thought just like her? But this was what Luca believed in. Maybe Sa?d could convince Touraine; she already had a soft spot for him. But the Jackal made that hard to imagine.
The Jackal grunted. “This is why I don’t see any good sending more of our children to be brainwashed. They’re no good to us then, parroting the Balladairan ‘uncivilized’ gullshit at us. I don’t have time for it, and I don’t have time for you and your traitor friends. Tell your master we’ll think about it.”
Touraine grunted back and then flicked a mocking salute. “Yes, sir.”
But there was a barb stuck in her chest from the Jackal’s parting shot. She remembered Aimée’s words from the other day. The Sands had a shit lot. They were stuck in the middle of this conflict, and neither side gave a shit about them besides how and where they could die in battle.
At the bottom of the stairs, Touraine turned. The Jackal stood like a spectral shadow outside the door.
“They’re not traitors, you know,” Touraine said. “They never had a choice.”
“Then tell them to make a choice now.” The Jackal opened the door to the small apartment. “Or we’ll make it for them.”