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

from the carriage driver tricking her and her getting lost in the Old Medina to Émeline’s death in the rescue. Everything except that she had gotten so drunk on the governor-general’s wine that she had passed out.

“You deny killing the Balladairan soldier?”

“What soldier, sir? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We found his body in an alley, his skull bashed in and his… testicles removed and placed inside his mouth.” Cantic frowned in distaste.

Touraine’s mouth dropped in surprise. Despite the horror of the crime, though, she couldn’t muster much sympathy. She had her own grudges against Balladairan soldiers who thought those with less power were playthings. Cantic’s frown deepened.

“Whoever he pissed off, General, it wasn’t me. I never even saw a blackcoat that night. I swear it.”

“A bloody baton lay nearby.”

Touraine stopped breathing. Her baton was gone.

“Sir, one of the rebels took my baton that night.” Touraine had forgotten. Stupid. If she hadn’t goaded that asshole of a woman, maybe Touraine would still have her weapon. She wouldn’t be in quite so shitty a position. “She took my baton off my belt. They—she must have killed him. She could have left him to set me up, or—”

“If that’s true, help me help you. Did you get any information from the rebels? Anything could be valuable.” There was an urgency in that rusty, smoke-damaged voice. Had the damage happened because of the general’s smoking habit, or in the Brigāni’s fires?

“I don’t have anything, sir. I’m sorry. They questioned me but they covered their faces. They never even said their names.”

She started to say There was a Brigāni who asked me to spy on you but stopped herself. Cantic would never trust her again.

“Did they torture you?” Cantic’s expression was part tenderness, part threat.

Touraine nodded slowly. “I was beaten. And cut. They threatened me with… magic. As you said, sir. They’re uncivilized. Nothing worse than we were trained to tolerate, sir.”

And yet. Touraine still felt the knife on her chest, still saw the Brigāni studying her blood. As if she would make Touraine a puppet. The wound began to itch.

“Then why didn’t you report to the infirmary?”

“I don’t know, sir. Exhaustion was no excuse.” Nor was grief. “I’ll show you the damage if you want further proof.”

Cantic frowned at her desk, shifted something on it. Shifted it back.

Nothing hidden meant less guilt. As Cantic opened her mouth to pass judgment, Touraine said in a rush, “The second one asked about you, sir.”

Cantic paused the shuffle of papers. “Who?”

The general’s blue eyes dug into her, picking her clean. It sent Touraine spinning back into an insecure vulnerability she hadn’t felt for a decade. She froze before she could respond one way or another, hesitated a moment too long.

Cantic misinterpreted the silence. “Enough.” She threw the papers down in disgust and turned away. “We’re done here.”

“Sir, a Brigāni, golden eyes, I don’t know what else, a robe—”

Cantic looked back sharply. “A Brigāni? A woman?”

“I don’t know who. Just…” Touraine flushed. “She claims you killed her family. That you burned them all.”

The general’s breath caught, and something unreadable crossed her face. “Anything else?”

“No, sir.” Touraine shook her head. “Except—sir, please look at my record. It’s excellent. I would never betray you or Balladaire. You’ve given me too much.”

“I understand, Lieutenant. However, it’s difficult to believe under these circumstances, and you actually do have some particular altercations with other Balladairan soldiers against your record—”

“Sir, I’m not asking you to believe me. I’m asking you to trust me.” Touraine’s fists were clenched white-knuckle tight in front of her, as if she could hold Cantic by the coat and shake the truth into her. “Please, sir.”

Cantic deflated. She kept her eyes on the desk. “This is unfortunate, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

General Cantic held out her palm. She still didn’t meet Touraine’s eyes. “You are relieved of your rank as lieutenant until further review. You will not return to the barracks. For now, you’ll be in custody.”

Belatedly, Touraine realized the general was waiting for her lieutenant’s pins, two pairs of golden wheat stalks bound together. Her hands shook, clattering the manacles as she grasped her collar.

“Now, Lieutenant.”

Touraine pulled the pins’ clasps and dropped the golden wheat stalks into Cantic’s palm. The general finally looked up, and Touraine held her gaze as steadily as she could.

“The charges stand. You’ll be tried, and your commanding officer will have a chance to speak on your behalf. We’ll weigh that, along with any testimony you have to offer, against the evidence.” Cantic sidestepped around her desk, ushered Touraine out of the office, and gestured to two nearby blackcoats. “Take her to the brig. Give her water and food. Send a medic.”

Touraine spun around, her knees weak, hoping for a hint of the woman who had slipped her candy when she was a child. “Sir!”

The words died in her throat. The general was giving her the other look Touraine remembered from childhood. The look that said, I don’t want to do this, but you’ve left me no choice. It said punishment was coming.

For murder and sedition. Sky above. Touraine was as good as dead.

The soldiers pinned her arms roughly to her sides and marched her all the way to a squat building at the far end of the compound.

Despite everything, the coolness of the rock and the windowless dark was a relief. And then the sergeant shoved her into her cell.

“Here you are, Lieutenant,” the sergeant sneered.

They left her in the dark.

In the darkness of the jail cell, Touraine blinked and stared until the black outlines of the bars were silhouetted against the darker black of the small corridor. The jailer must keep the lamp in his office. No reason to waste a torch on a Sand prisoner.

A prisoner who would be court-martialed and likely executed in less than a week.

Touraine growled wordlessly at the empty dark.

“Shut your mouth, Sand whore!” the jailer said.

Sky above, if she could kick that asshole rebel with the boots in the teeth just once, she’d go happily to her