The Unbroken by C. Clark (best novels to read for students TXT) 📗

fists so tight behind her that she thought she’d cut herself and bleed all over Cantic’s stone floor. It was too much.

She bit the hook. “You lying bastard!” The words burst out, even though she knew her temper would condemn her. Her pulse throbbed all the way to her fingertips. Her body burned with heat. “I ought to cut your own dick off, you raping—”

“Touraine!” Cantic slammed her palm on the table.

The general’s face remained unreadable, but the other officers glowered at Touraine’s outburst. She saw her guilt in each gaze and last of all Rogan’s smugness. It made her want to be sick. Blood pounded behind her eyes, and she ground her teeth.

“Sirs,” Touraine started again, in as measured a tone as she could manage. “I lost my baton to the rebel who kicked me, not fighting a blackcoat.”

“That was careless of you,” one of the jury officers said.

“More careless than killing a man and leaving my weapon in the street with his body?” she snapped. “Which makes more sense to you?” Touraine bit down on her tongue. She needed to get herself back under control, but the unfairness of it all was driving her ragged.

She turned to Cantic. “Sir, you said the soldier’s balls were stuffed in his mouth—I couldn’t do that. We don’t have knives.”

“So you threw the knife away—”

Touraine cut off the other officer. “If I would hide the knife, why wouldn’t I hide my baton?” She turned back to Cantic. “Sir.”

Cantic looked from Rogan to Touraine. There was disappointment, but maybe pain, too. Did the general feel guilty? Guilty enough to give her another chance?

How had Touraine gone from saving the princess and receiving the highest honor a Sand had ever received to begging for her life in front of this farce of a court-martial?

“Thank you, Captain,” Cantic said, as if Touraine hadn’t said a thing. “Sergeants, escort her back to the jail while we recess. Not you, Captain, stay—”

As the sergeants approached her, Touraine had a desperate thought, more desperate than the host of desperate thoughts she’d had over the last few days.

She had saved the fucking princess’s life. Princess Luca owed her. She’d said so herself.

If this backfired, Touraine might be shot on the spot for her audacity. Still, it was better than waiting in jail for Rogan and then being shot.

“General,” she said. The other officers were talking over each other in outrage. Rogan watched her, and even though his face was the picture of grim dignity, she read the smugness in the cocky set of his shoulders. The princess was watching her carefully, as if she could read Touraine’s mind. As if she could read it and wasn’t upset by what she saw there.

The sergeants had her by the arms. Louder: “General Cantic, sir.”

The general held up her hand to stem the conversations. “Speak.”

“I saved the princess—”

“Helped save. You alerted us to a threat.”

Touraine pursed her lips tight. “Just so, sir. I helped save Her Highness’s life.” She nodded to the princess, the closest to a bow that she could manage. “Your Highness, I would ask the boon you promised me.”

The princess’s mouth made a round moue, her eyes just a fraction wider. At the table, the officers clamored again, but Touraine didn’t look away from the princess, who didn’t look away from her.

“Ask.” Princess Luca’s cool voice cut through the noise, silencing the officers as effectively as Cantic’s hand.

Touraine swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

“I ask for my life,” she said, as steadily as she could. It was as if saying it aloud reminded her how badly she didn’t want to die just yet. Not here, not without any say in it.

General Cantic slammed her hand on the table, breaking the link between Touraine and the princess as everyone jumped.

“Touraine, you overstep. Sergeants—”

“I would like to ask her a question or two, General.” The princess stepped in again. Her voice was like a dip into a cold river on an already frigid day.

The look of hesitation passed so quickly across Cantic’s face that Touraine almost missed it. She sat up straighter.

“Heads of state have no sway here, Your Highness. This is strictly a military proceeding.”

“She is on trial for treason against the crown, is she not?”

Cantic’s lips tightened and she nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“And as the governor-general of the southern colonies, I’m also responsible for crimes committed in my jurisdiction, correct?”

She’s the governor-general now? Touraine thought with surprise.

Cantic nodded again.

Princess Luca limped to stand in front of Touraine, slouching to favor her right leg. If Pruett’s eyes were the sea in a storm, Princess Luca’s were the middle of the ocean on a cloudless day, clear and blue green with nothing friendly in their depths. She was a slight woman, wearing simple but elegant clothing tailored close to her narrow frame. A golden horse head gleamed on her black cane. Her lips were pink and parted as she studied Touraine. Touraine’s heartbeat sped up under her gaze.

“Lieutenant Touraine. Did you receive any letters of seduction from the rebels? A message to convince other conscripts to join them?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Have you attempted to coerce your fellow soldiers to join the Qazāli rebellion?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Have you passed sensitive information or military knowledge or weapons to the rebels?”

“I would never, Your Highness.”

The princess weighed Touraine’s answers with pursed lips and narrow eyes. Her tight bun made her even more severe. She had the same clipped accent as Rogan but without the condescension. To condescend, you had to be close enough to have an opinion. The princess held herself apart from everyone.

“Did you know or were you alerted to the attempt on my life in advance?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Then how did you know the attack was coming?”

“I saw a man, the old man…” Touraine trailed off. You look familiar, he’d said. “He kept trying to pull me into a conversation, but I caught him looking toward the girl who attacked you.” The girl who had prayed on the scaffold before Touraine hanged her. “That’s when I