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

Gil raised a wry eyebrow. “Coming from that family?” He scoffed in disbelief. “You and the lieutenant were up late last night. How are things in that quarter?”

Luca wasn’t sure if she imagined the suggestive teasing, but she chose to ignore it.

“The rebels are reticent, despite all of the concessions I’m willing to make. And”—she looked down and fiddled with the book in her lap—“I am having a hard time balancing the rebels’ demands with the nobles’.”

“Luca,” Gil said softly, and Luca looked up to meet his eyes. The lines of his face deepened as he smiled at her. “Stay the course. You’re doing the right thing. Just be patient. You can’t expect to erase the pain of decades with a few gifts.”

“Of course not.” Luca was simultaneously warm with Gil’s pride in her and annoyed by his advice. He was right; she just didn’t like that she needed to be reminded. “I suppose I should get dressed. Thank you.”

She squeezed his hand. It was dry and rough, still calloused by his regular exercise. He squeezed her hand back, then left her to change.

The short letter trembled in Luca’s hand when she went outside to find Touraine. I’ve found something, Paul-Sebastien LeRoche had written. I would be honored to host you for luncheon. Please bring your soldier. Apparently, if she had alienated Beau-Sang, she hadn’t alienated his son.

It was late in the morning, but Guérin was working with Touraine on more hand-to-hand and knife fighting. They were in their shirtsleeves, Guérin blond and towering over Touraine, her hair slicked back in a queue with sweat, and Touraine laughing as she darted in and out with a practice blade. As Luca watched, Touraine blocked a stab from Guérin and squirmed in close to hook a leg around Guérin’s. Luca gasped, certain someone’s leg would break. They both fell in a heap of awkward splits, Touraine laughing and Guérin smiling quietly.

Luca cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt the fun, you two. We’ve an invitation to the Beau-Sang place.”

Touraine frowned as she wiped the desert dirt off well-muscled thighs.

Luca found herself blushing and had to clear her throat again. “We’re visiting the son, not the father.”

Even Guérin’s shoulders sagged in relief.

It was at the Beau-Sang home that Luca truly began to understand life for Balladairan colonials, those who lived in—were perhaps even born in—the colonies.

The Beau-Sang town house was smaller than Luca’s but only just, which said something about Beau-Sang’s profit from the Qazāli quarries. Like most of the town houses, there was a small patio area shaded by canvas, a bit like a parade pavilion. Two young Balladairan women and two young Qazāli sat beneath the shade with drinks and fans. A hush fell over them as Luca alighted from the carriage.

She recognized Aliez LeRoche and the menagerie girl immediately. The Qazāli were at their ease, lounging in Balladairan trousers and unbuttoned jackets as comfortably as if they’d been born to it. Which, for all Luca knew, they might have been. And if Luca didn’t know better, she would have thought Aliez LeRoche had been flirting with the dark young woman with short hair before Luca interrupted them.

From the corner of her eye, Luca saw Touraine staring, but she couldn’t tell from her face what she thought of the scene. Was she thinking about the flirting couple? Or the Qazāli youth at ease?

Anylight, that wasn’t why they had come. LeRoche the son greeted them at the edge of the patio. He took Luca’s hands and bowed over them. “Welcome to my home, Your Highness. Guard. Lieutenant.” He nodded once each to the rest of Luca’s party.

“I believe you know my sister and Mademoiselle Bel-Jadot. They’re entertaining some friends of ours at the moment.” LeRoche waved to the two Qazāli, and they smiled back, as if they were used to the bookish man flitting back and forth as they drank their juices.

“If you’d like, Your Highness, we can have a drink with them first—or after, whatever you prefer.” Even as he offered, he was already leading them inside, away from the socialites and sunshine and into the cool darkness of the house.

“I’d love to see what you found, Monsieur LeRoche.”

He smiled over his shoulder, a disarming, excited look that made her just as eager as he was.

“Please, Your Highness. Call me Sebastien, or Bastien if you’d like.”

Ducking into the house felt like ducking into a cave. There was a sense of adventure in it, especially since she knew she was going in to find some lost piece of knowledge.

They passed through a sitting room that was stuffed overfull with Balladaire, as if Beau-Sang were overcompensating for the desert outside. Paintings upon paintings of still forests, of stags chased by baying hounds, of orchards, of fields of wheat, of chevaliers in their armor—it was almost like a museum of Balladaire.

Bastien, looking over his shoulder again, saw her expression. “It’s excessive, I know. Do you know Aliez and I have never seen any of these sights?”

“You’ve never been to Balladaire?”

“Not once. Father speaks as if it’s the most magnificent place, of course, but…” He shrugged. “Here we are. My office.”

Luca glanced at Touraine, who followed impassively behind her. Luca wondered what the other woman thought of Bastien and his sister. Their lives paralleled Touraine’s own displacement, though, of course, their displacement had been by choice. And didn’t risk their lives. And was more profitable on the whole.

Bastien’s office was sparse compared to the rest of the house. A single desk and chair. A brazier in the back for the cold nights, far from the full but tidy bookshelf. Faintly scented candles lit the room. It smelled like smoking dens in the city.

All of Bastien’s energy uncoiled as he stepped inside. He sprang toward the desk to a book, which he placed, open, in front of Luca. “Oh, sit, do sit,” he added belatedly, pulling the chair out for her.

“The Letters of Doctor Ay-yid as annotated by Dr. Travers. It’s a