“I could use Cantic’s goodwill,” Luca mused. She sighed with disappointment. “Maybe we should stop. Give her their names, root them out, and be done. It would be easier than explaining this to the nobles. And Cantic and my uncle.”
She gestured angrily at what Touraine realized must be Luca’s response to the rebels’ list of demands. She propped her head on one hand and glared at it.
“What do they want?”
Luca scoffed. “Arms, land. For nothing in return. I’m afraid—” She stopped herself and glanced at Touraine, like she was gauging how vulnerable to be. “I’m afraid we’re risking everything to get nothing.”
“What are we risking?”
Luca ticked the risks off on her fingers. “The empire, its trade. My reputation. You.”
The last surprised Touraine, and it showed.
“What?” Luca asked. “You are risking yourself. If they change their minds, they could kill you.”
That cheerful thought had occurred more than once to Touraine herself. Touraine was afraid, too, though. Afraid that she and the others who risked everything would get nothing. That they would suffer no matter what.
All Touraine said aloud was “It’s fine. You’ll make progress.”
“You’re lying.” Luca raised a wry eyebrow. “You can be frank with me.”
Touraine smiled ruefully. It was a pretty thing to say, but it just showed how little Luca understood. She could never tell Luca about all the doubts she had about Balladaire, about Qazāl, even about magic. Luca wouldn’t trust her anymore. She would cut Touraine loose, and then where would Touraine go? So Touraine told just some of the truth.
“I don’t think they trust you,” she said hesitantly. “The Jackal—she’s the asshole—she’ll never be happy with anything you offer, and I don’t know if the rest of the council has her under control.”
As the words sank in, the princess bit her lip like she always did when she was thinking hard. Luca looked between the notes she’d taken and the list of demands.
“Do you think you could soften them for me?” Luca struck Touraine with her sharp blue-green gaze. The small line between her eyebrows deepened. “Because if the magic is real and if they’ll give it to us or teach us or share—if we get access to the magic, we might actually be able to find a middle ground.”
“Those are big ifs, Your Highness.”
Very big ifs.
“We can reach an agreement—I know it.” Luca’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve only ever wanted to be a good queen.”
Touraine scooted back into her seat. She had been sitting on the edge. “I only ever wanted to be Cantic.”
Luca snorted. “I’m shocked.” She was smiling.
Touraine chuckled, and then they were both laughing, and the vise grip around her body was loosening.
“I don’t know what I can be now,” Touraine added. “Anylight, I would have to survive long enough.” She laughed again, but this time it rang false.
“I’ll always need advisors, Touraine. Here and in Balladaire.” They sat close enough that Touraine watched Luca’s throat bob up and down as she swallowed hard. “I would like you to survive that long.”
CHAPTER 19
HISTORY LESSONS
The next night, Touraine sought out Sa?d and the rebels. Luca’s response to their demands was locked in her mind. None of them could afford to have a paper like that floating around.
This time, she went with an offering. In the new meeting room, more spacious but more sparsely furnished, she spread out fresh flatbread and a bean paste that the street hawker at the food cart said originated in one of the far eastern countries in the old Shālan Empire. Dry black olives, wrinkled and a touch bitter.
The Jackal looked suspiciously at it all. “She’s trying to bribe us.”
It wasn’t a bribe. Not exactly. And it wasn’t from Luca—not exactly. Luca wanted this to work, and Touraine wanted to help. If the Jackal would let them.
“Not a bribe. Just courtesy. You fed me last time.” Touraine ate the first bite, exaggerating the chewing motion.
The Jackal rolled her eyes and snatched a piece of bread. Sa?d already had a chunk in his mouth and munched quietly, maybe even smiling. Malika took some of the food to the Apostate, who had taken up a similar position as before, in the back of the room among cushions.
“What did you want, then?” The Brigāni woman daintily rubbed the olive oil on her fingers into the smooth, dark skin of her hands. She had tucked the bread into her mouth without removing the scarf enough to show her face. She seemed like she was feeling better after the fit that had taken her the last time they had met, but she moved deliberately.