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

She had also sent a letter to dear Uncle Nicolas before the bastard could get any orders back in this direction. It was going to be hard enough to deal with Cantic in this situation.

Speaking of the wolf… the sharp click of military confidence only one person in the world could have stopped outside of Luca’s office door.

“Come in,” Luca said.

General Cantic gave her usual salute and curt bow before handing Luca yet another stamped letter. This one was on cheap military stuff, likely scraped over and over again. It crinkled as she held it. The black wax in the corner bore the seal of Balladairan commanding officers, a fist clenching a wheat sheaf and crossed arrows, Cantic’s own signature beside it.

Cantic shrugged, hands clasped behind her back, so Luca skimmed it. Then tracked back to the beginning and read more carefully, unable to account for the way her heart lurched in her chest.

“You’re executing them? In public?”

Cantic nodded sharply. “You asked earlier to be kept informed of our actions. This is merely a courtesy, Your Highness.”

Luca sat back. “I wanted to be informed so we could discuss the best steps. We just discussed how volatile the city is, General. Give it more blood and—”

“You can be informed, Your Highness. Not dictate the military consequences. I already involved you more than I should have once, and that’s done us no good.”

“Make it private, then, General.”

“They tried to defect, Your Highness. I’m making an example of them. It’s hard enough to trust the rest of the Sands right now as it is. I’m reminding them of their place.”

“That sounds very Droitist of you.”

Luca clenched the paper, and it trembled with her. She didn’t know if it was sadness or anger or guilt or dread.

Cantic sighed and pointed to the other chair in the room, the one Touraine used to sit in. “May I?”

“As you like.”

“Ruling a nation is like being a teacher, Your Highness. The Droitists and the Tailleurists fight back and forth over the minute details, but the core principles are the same. You cannot be the guide and the friend. A teacher, like a king—or queen—needs a firm hand that’s willing to cause pain or discomfort even if the student doesn’t understand why. They don’t need to understand fully; they only need to trust you enough to accept that you have their best interests at heart. With that trust, they’ll take any amount of unsavory medicine.”

“And executing two Sands for their benefit is unsavory medicine?”

Cantic pulled a face and looked all the more haggard for it. “No, Your Highness. That’s discipline.”

Luca pushed her decree across the desk.

After Cantic read it, she gave an approving grunt and a nod.

“And that is how you build trust. One must have both. Excellent.” One edge of the general’s mouth turned up. “You can announce it before the hanging.”

Luca opened her mouth, but Cantic preempted her.

“Tomorrow, sunrise. That should give you time to ready one of your speeches.”

“I already have a speech. I’m going to announce it today.”

Touraine stared at the dark roof of the tent she shared with Jaghotai while the other woman’s heavy, steady breaths filled the small space. It put her too much in mind of the cell she’d been left in on the compound before Luca had pulled her out.

Luca, who was already turning their game against them.

Touraine felt nauseated, feverish with frustration, just thinking about the princess.

By the time word of Luca’s plan to repay Qazāli for their losses on the burning night reached them, it seemed like half of the slum had already emptied out, racing to collect.

Jaghotai had gone from a foul, if determined, mood to rage in an instant. That sky-falling liquor had to be the only reason the Jackal had even fallen asleep.

Touraine couldn’t sleep. All the mistakes she’d made rattled in her head like dice. She wouldn’t sleep well until she knew how they’d land. Not until she knew who would have to pay for Qazāl’s freedom and how much. Her gut told her she wouldn’t like the answer.

It didn’t help that she wasn’t feeling well today. She thought it was the cloistered air of the tent and staggered up to get some fresh air. A wave of fatigue made her stumble, though, and she caught herself on the tent flap.

“Are you going back to her, too?”

Jaghotai’s voice was thick from where she lay on the other side of the tent. It was too dark for Touraine to make out the colors of the blankets or the expression on her mother’s face.

“I know you sold us out to Cantic.”

Touraine’s retort dried in her throat. She hunted the dark for Jaghotai’s weapons. Desperation coiled in her stomach, but shame held her still. She felt warm. Too warm.

“What I couldn’t figure is… your princess seemed so attached to you. I kept wondering why you never went back to her, kept asking myself if maybe you really were here for us. I don’t think so. You could have had anything at her side. Only reason to leave would be if you knew she wouldn’t want you there. So why wouldn’t she want you there? You’d have to have done something she couldn’t forgive.”

Jaghotai stood. Touraine stepped back, making it look like reflex, and cracked the tent flap open enough to let in the moonlight. The pale light slashed across Jaghotai’s face, showing deep bags beneath her eyes. “She really was trying to make peace. Do you know how many people you’ve killed?”

Touraine swallowed. “My family was in danger.”

“Your family.” Jaghotai’s chuckle sounded pained.

Touraine’s back went rigid in response. Instead of stepping away again, she dug her words in even harder. She said, “More family than you ever were.”

Jaghotai snorted. “I had no choice in that. They took you—”

“And I came back. You knew who I was when you broke my ribs with your sky-falling boot. You’d have killed me then if it would have gotten you what you wanted,” she snarled.

Jaghotai