“And what of it?” Luca’s brief joy faded into touchy irritation. She muttered, “Fine. They’re more important now, anylight. If I can’t get to the books, it has to be the people. I need to end this. A Qazāli family was murdered in Atyid—did you know that? And later, two of the city’s blackcoats were found hacked apart.”
Touraine hadn’t known that.
“If we don’t come to terms with these clandestine little meetings, the next step is war. I can barely hold Cantic off as it is. But I won’t sell my empire on the hope of a few magic seeds that never sprout. What do you think? Will the rebels listen?”
Touraine recognized the old folk warning. An itch gathered between Touraine’s shoulder blades. She knew what she wanted. And she knew what Luca wanted. Sky above, she was tired of being a pawn. Who was to say she couldn’t be a camel knight or stand at the watchtower?
Who was to say she couldn’t be the player instead?
Touraine turned the king over in her fingers, running her thumb over the smooth wood.
“It’s hard to say, Your Highness.” Touraine shrugged. There were too many things she didn’t know how to talk about. The magic. The Sands. Her own creeping discontent. “They don’t seem…”
“I’ve already asked you—be frank with me. Would you tiptoe around your soldiers like this?”
Touraine tightened her lips and shook her head tersely.
“Then open your sky-falling mouth. What do you think about the rebels? Is their friendship worth slapping the face of every noble from here to Béson?”
Luca’s temper flared like a struck match, and Touraine lit like a cannon fuse. She slammed the king on the board with a satisfying clack.
“If it wouldn’t get me hanged, I would slap the face of every noble from here to Béson and back again. It makes me sick to see you court them. You want to stop this rebellion, then give the Qazāli what they want. Free them. Do it and they might even become allies. You don’t need the nobles’ approval for it. You’re the queen.”
“Those nobles are my people, and if I don’t end this rebellion the right way, my uncle won’t even give me my throne. Then the Qazāli get nothing. Or did our dear friends tell you they’ll help me oust my uncle by force?”
Luca flicked a hand dismissively. As if Touraine couldn’t possibly understand the stakes. Touraine understood them all too well.
“Our friends? You want their magic, but what have you done for them except finally treat them like humans? They offer advice, and you ignore it so you can chase down their secrets and almost get drowned for your trouble. Is everything yours for the taking? Do you care about anyone but yourself? Guérin almost died for you—I’d bet she wishes she had.”
A muscle twitched in Luca’s jaw. Good.
“I’ve changed Qazāl for them,” Luca said through gritted teeth. “The children I sponsored have already started schooling. Qazāli are working under better conditions than they’ve ever had, thanks to me going against the nobles. Guérin has the best medical treatment in my considerable power. Because of that, she’ll survive.”
“Without a leg. Do you know what it’s like for a soldier to lose her fucking leg?”
Luca raised her chin and faced Touraine full on. She folded her hands slowly on her cane in front of her. “No. I don’t. Tell me.”
Touraine had gone too far, and she wanted to go farther still.
“You’re trapped in bed until you heal enough to get up again—if you heal at all. You struggle to learn the crutch, the balance of it all. When you feel like you can walk again, you fall flat on your face because you forget a whole sky-falling leg is gone. It doesn’t feel like it. It even itches, and you’re half-mad with wanting to scratch it. You feel weak, with nothing to stand on. Less than everyone else around you.”
Luca raised an angry eyebrow. “I have a certain empathy—”
Touraine shook her head, tears of fury on her eyelashes. Too many of her men and women had lived through this—too many of them had not. She pointed at Luca, pointed at the sky-falling queen of Balladaire. “No. No, you don’t. Take off both your legs and look at all you have left.” She threw her arms wide. Luca just stared at her. “I said, look!”
Slowly, Luca turned her head marginally, flicked her eyes right, left. Plush carpets and carved wooden tables, upholstered chairs, everything but the servants pretending not to hear the future queen and her pet Qazāli shouting to the rafters.