The Unbroken C. Clark (best books to read for self development .txt) 📖

who knew about the magic. Touraine had gone to Luca, showed her the extent of what the magic could do. She’d only meant to encourage another alliance, not this.

“Let me talk to the princess one more time,” Touraine said.

Behind her, Jaghotai scoffed, but Djasha stared Touraine down. “You want to see if she’ll make another trade.”

It would be impossible to fix every betrayal on her shoulders. Too many of them were contradictory. She wished she could fix them all at once, tie them together like the laces of a boot. This was what it meant to be responsible for a company. Not every choice was a good one; usually good choices didn’t even exist. Even so, she had always been honest with her soldiers on the field.

“She said she’s willing to make another deal if you are.”

“We made that mistake once already,” Jaghotai snarled.

Djasha, however, was quiet. Her eyes narrowed minutely. “You’ve already spoken to her.”

Guilty heat flushed Touraine’s skin. “I only went to help. I thought if I could end this sooner, it would be better for everyone.”

“You what?” roared Jaghotai from behind her. She stormed around to stand over Touraine and Djasha. “You did what?”

Djasha went still on her pallet.

“I told her the truth. I told her the magic is real and you might be willing to send Balladaire healers if she agreed to leave—”

“You invited her to take a bite out of our ass!”

“Touraine, do you know how hard we’ve worked to keep the extent of Shālan magic a secret?” Djasha asked coldly.

Touraine swallowed. She suddenly remembered, all too clearly, how quickly and efficiently Djasha had stuck her knife in the young woman’s ribs at the dancing circles. That was what the rebels did to people who went against council orders.

Jaghotai waved her amputated forearm in Touraine’s face. “This. This is how much that secret is worth.” The Jackal turned to the Apostate. “Djasha, we’re fucked. She’s not going to stop until she has it or we use—”

Djasha shook her head, with a sharp nod at Touraine. They didn’t trust her anymore. Maybe Jaghotai was right and they never should have. Touraine was nauseated with the shame of it.

“She won’t stop,” Touraine agreed, with resignation. “But she said if you give her healers and a cease-fire now, she’ll turn the colony into a protectorate after she has her throne. It’s not the best, but surrender and promise the healers will work with her willingly, and maybe we can get your people back safely.” Now that Luca had the healers, the rebels were running out of leverage.

“Fuck her,” Jaghotai growled. “Fuck this. What right does she have to our magic? To our god? To our land!” Her voice softened in a way it never had for Touraine. “We’ll get Aranen back another way, Djasha.”

“Let me at least try,” Touraine pleaded.

She shot a glare up at Jaghotai, who loomed over her, arms crossed, her fingers digging into her biceps. Like she was trying to keep herself from flying apart. Or from wrapping her hand around Touraine’s throat instead of her collar. Her breath came in heavy puffs, like a bull’s.

With a massive grunt, Djasha pushed herself up from the pallet, surprising Touraine and Jaghotai both. She swayed a little but ignored both of their hands when they reached out. Instead, she stepped haltingly over to the kitchen area, which Aranen reigned over so handily. She ran a finger over the lip of a bowl, the handle of a knife.

“I’m not dying without seeing her again, Jak. If not this, something else. Soon.”

Djasha didn’t see Jaghotai’s eyes close in defeat or the dampness on her eyelashes. Her back was turned. She probably didn’t hear Jaghotai’s voice crack when the fighter whispered, “Fine.”

Djasha didn’t, but Touraine did.

Touraine stood, stepped gingerly behind Djasha. “If we surrender, she might release some of them.”

Djasha’s thin, hunched back heaved with the weight of her sigh. The Brigāni woman turned, her golden eyes seeking Jaghotai’s across the room. Her fingers played idly over the kitchen knife. Something passed between them that Touraine couldn’t read, and Jaghotai nodded, her jaw tight.

“Touraine,” Djasha said, “there is no ‘we.’ The only reason you’re not dead now is because I asked my wife to heal you. It would be a waste. Go, and this time, don’t come back.”

And yet Touraine felt like she had been stabbed, for all she’d expected it, for all she deserved it. She tried to step back, but her legs wouldn’t obey. She opened her mouth to plead her case, but nothing came out.

Jaghotai stepped in beside Djasha, and they made a threatening wall.

“Get out.”

Touraine backed out of the room on unsteady legs.

The last time Luca had ducked into the cool dark of the compound jail, she’d offered Touraine a choice. She’d never imagined that choice would lead her here. A miscalculation of strategy. She could never have predicted it, in this combination.

Less than a year, and so much had changed.

The jail was louder than she remembered, the stench stronger. The blackcoats had come back with a dozen doctors or suspected priests, or at least Qazāli suspicious enough to warrant questioning. Each of them is your fault, Touraine. You chose this for them.

Some of them cursed her from their cells. They clung to the bars, the better to aim their insults in the dim lantern light. The jailer barked back, kicked through the gaps, even if he could understand only half of the disgusting things they said. Some of them ignored her, kneeling with their hands folded in their laps or sitting with their knees pulled up to their chests. Meditating, thinking, praying. To find peace somewhere like this—they had to have some god. Whatever their outer appearance, she knew they hated her deep down, as much as those swearing at her did. They had to. She would, in their place.

Would you do it again?

She was queen. This should be the least she was capable of. So why did it turn her stomach?

She steeled herself