He tilted his head back at Touraine, and Luca was grateful he didn’t turn around. The ex-soldier was glaring daggers at his back.
The concerns in question, Luca assumed, were profit losses directly related to her latest requirements: that all Balladairans who employed Qazāli staff were required to pay them an appropriate wage and to meet certain standards of treatment. The rebels hadn’t sent Luca their list of terms, but Luca didn’t need anyone to point out the bond of cruelty and desperation that kept Qazāli working for people like Beau-Sang. And the less desperate the Qazāli laborers felt, the less likely they would be to turn to the rebels to vent their frustration. Or so she hoped.
“The colonial brigade is here to be used at General Cantic’s discretion,” Luca said sharply. He was prying, and Luca couldn’t tell if it was to irritate her, to goad Touraine, or to get information. Probably some combination of the three, like a proper courtier.
The problem was, it was working. Normally, Luca was adept at shrugging away negative comments about her—about her leg, about her social bearing, even about her lovers. But these critiques of her work pricked her like sewing needles forgotten in a coat. She wanted to end the rebellion, but she didn’t want to fail the empire in the process.
“And how well do they think their livelihoods will survive if they maim their workers or starve them to death?” The question came out sharper than Luca intended. Slow down. She needed to take her time with Beau-Sang. He wasn’t someone she could afford to alienate—prod, yes, but alienate? No. The Balladairans with stakes in the colonies looked to him as an example.
Luca cleared her throat and added, “Anyone with concerns about the changes can talk to me directly about their individual situations.”
This was the crux of the delicate dance Luca had to perform if she wanted to end the rebellion and prove that she was truly ready for the throne. Any agreement with the rebels would require concessions on the part of not just the empire itself but the Balladairans who made money off the colony, and Beau-Sang was chief among those. If she didn’t have them on board, the resolution might be a bloody one no matter what.
“Your own colonial businesses haven’t suffered, my lord?” Luca asked Beau-Sang. “Surely a man like yourself doesn’t need the law to treat his workers well.”
“No, no, indeed not. Production will slow at the quarries; I’ll be able to employ fewer laborers, and perhaps there will be an increase in disciplinary problems now, but we’ll manage, of course.”
“I hear you run a tight system.” Luca couldn’t stop the edge from returning to her voice. She glanced behind him at his young assistant, Richard. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, hiding the stumps of his pinky fingers.
“It’s dangerous work,” Beau-Sang said. He sipped his coffee somberly. “Strict discipline keeps everyone safe.”
“Is it true that you cut off quarry workers’ hands when they don’t meet their quota?”
Luca had found this in the pile of Cheminade’s unresolved complaints. One of the few from a Qazāli. Somehow, Luca didn’t think this was just because few Qazāli had problems with their employers.
Beau-Sang froze with his cup halfway to his lips again. He set the cup back down on the saucer. The small dishes looked delicate in his large hands.
“As I said, Your Highness. It’s dangerous work. The loss of a limb isn’t uncommon.”
“Then I expect you, as the owner, to enact proper safety protocols. I’ll ask the general to send some soldiers and engineers to see what changes can be made.”
Beau-Sang pursed his lips so tightly that they lost their color. Then he said, “Indeed, Your Highness.”
This “indeed” was as false as all the others, but Luca smiled a falsely genuine smile in return. “I’m glad you agree, my lord. In these small ways, perhaps we can convince the Qazāli they don’t need to rebel. We’ll show them that the Balladairan Empire takes care of all its people. Good afternoon, my lord.”
“Good afternoon, Your Highness.” Beau-Sang stood and bowed. Just behind him, his servant-assistant Richard bowed, too.
Before he reached the door, however, Beau-Sang paused and bowed slightly again. “Is it true that Qazāli prisoners are being released?”
It was Luca’s turn to freeze. She had taken the utmost care to release certain Qazāli prisoners privately just a couple of days ago. No fanfare, no celebrations of her generosity. She didn’t want to call more attention to herself. She’d even gone through the releases with Cantic, framing them as mistrials. The general had been dubious, but she’d agreed. She’d also understood the need for secrecy; if word got out that the magistrate could commit such a thing as a “mistrial,” the unrest would be total.