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

relate to them.” A hint of mischief in the faint smile as he glanced back toward the door. “Just pick a less prickly one.”

She met his mischief with the truth she hadn’t told General Cantic when she negotiated for the soldier’s life. “I really do want her to succeed with negotiations first. Spying is a last resort. We’re more likely to learn the truth about the healing magic as allies than as assholes.” That’s where her approach differed from everyone else’s.

He took a deep breath and regarded her silently. Finally, he said, “Finding the magic won’t bring them back.”

Luca stiffened. “I know that,” she snapped. “It’s not because of my parents.” Probably a lie. “If I have something to offer my people, Uncle Nicolas can’t say I’m not ready.” Unfortunately true. “I don’t want this to come to civil war, but Nicolas has the advantage. He does, doesn’t he?”

She opened her hands, as if she had her papers with all the figures in front of her.

Gil nodded slowly before meeting her eyes. “Nicolas and Roland never had the wide view Étienne did. She balanced your father well.” He paused a moment. “What is your soldier’s role tonight?”

A flush crept up her neck. The tailor had sent a handsome suit fit for a formal occasion. Since it was Touraine’s first public function as Luca’s rebel “envoy,” the other Balladairans would need to know how much of Luca’s favor Touraine had. Luca hoped the clothes and their associated rank would put Touraine at ease, as well.

“Touraine?” she called through the door. “Come back.”

The ex-soldier returned, stiff and striking, head tilted deferentially.

“Has Adile given you your outfit for the evening?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“You’ve tried it on?”

“Not yet, Your Highness.”

“Do it soon, in case we need to send to Madame Abdelnour for alterations. You remember where you’re to stand?”

“I’ll mingle as necessary, Your Highness, and I’ll follow you when you wish. I’ll have no more than one glass of wine and no spirits. Dancing isn’t required, but if asked, I may do so. I’m to say nothing of the rebels or my time in captivity. Is there anything else, Your Highness?”

The recitation left Luca breathless. She’d meant to press Touraine back on her heels, to take back the power she’d lost in her naked vulnerability.

“Just one more thing. Stars’ sake, lift your chin. You’re my assistant, not a slave.”

Touraine’s chin jerked up, her expression fierce and overall a bit too angry, but—

“Perfect. That’s how you should look tonight.”

This time the soldier’s bow was a deep, tilted nod. She didn’t break eye contact. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

From her false dais, Luca surveyed the improvised ballroom with pride as the music played and her guests mingled with their hors d’oeuvres and aperitifs.

So far, no civil war.

She had wrought this.

The large sitting room, the main room of the house, had become a ballroom overnight. Luca’s upstairs study was locked off, but the bedrooms became new sitting rooms, quiet places for guests to retire or smoke, away from the dancing and music.

The company was mixed: Balladairans from the Quartier—almost all of them nobles or their offshoots—and influential Qazāli, like the magistrates and the more powerful merchants. They mingled only fitfully, and rarely one to one.

And yet the tightness of the ballroom made the modest gathering feel festive, and the musicians played to that mood, though no one was dancing yet. In one corner, the pile of host gifts grew—a stack of books tended to by one of the servants. Lanquette or Guérin hovered near her at all times, and Gil had brought other guards in for the occasion. They stood at the corners of the room, scaring everyone into good behavior. Touraine stood to the right, just behind Luca’s seat, the most ornate chair she had. Stiff and haughty, just as Luca had commanded.

Everyone was waiting for her word, and that thought alone filled her with a secret thrill that straightened her back and eased her grip on her cane. They were here for her.

She raised her hand and the music stopped. She took the champagne a servant offered, while other servants offered glasses to the guests.

“Citizens of Balladaire.” She smiled. “Welcome to my home.” A polite smattering of applause and smiles.

“My new home, I should say. Before I arrived, I’d heard Qazāl was a land where kindness flowed as wide as the Hadd, and the only thing the Qazāli value more than compassion is intellectual curiosity. I have not been disappointed. Qazāl is a gracious land full of gracious people.

“First, let us remember the late Lord Governor Cheminade, who welcomed me into her home on my first day and lived as an example of peace between Balladaire and Qazāl. It is with a heavy heart that I step into her role as acting governor. I thank you all for your patience in the meantime.”

Around the room, heads nodded solemnly.

“I offer my thanks to my latest acquaintances—especially to Madame Abdelnour, by way of her daughter, Mademoiselle Malika Abdelnour, for costuming my household so elegantly.”

Luca held her arms out for a flourish. She wore a Qazāli formal black tunic that stopped below her hips, stiff enough to hold the sharp lines but supple enough for comfort. The buttons were pure gold. She stepped aside and gestured toward Touraine, who took the hint and stepped forward with a bow. The soldier wore a pale cotton blouse and a black vest with a standing collar and ornate gold trim, modeled after the Qazāli’s hooded vests. A gold sash streaked with black swirls and dangling with small, flat gold circles and black beads wrapped halfway around her hips like a skirt to hang down behind loose black trousers. Madame Abdelnour said the sashes were common accoutrements among the Qazāli dancers and throughout the old Shālan Empire, and Luca had to admit that Touraine looked striking in it.

Another shimmer of raised glasses while the mademoiselle curtsied. The guests clapped on cue. She scanned for the less enthusiastic. The real test was coming.

“Thank