I glanced between Charles and Sébastien. “Well, good for them.”
“Good?” Sébastien pointed one shaking hand at me. “Laurel has doomed us. Without a working army or hacks, Kalthorne could crush us in a war.”
“Then we should broker for peace.” I shrugged. “No war seems like a winning situation for everyone, and it’s not like we had a reason for doing this in the first place. Especially considering how His Majesty is fueling his noonday arts.”
“Your actions have put Demeine in danger.” Sébastien planted his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I can’t stand for it. What happened was terrible, but we can deal with it after we deal with Kalthorne.”
I rolled my eyes. By the time we “dealt” with Kalthorne, His Majesty could have killed dozens of hacks. I walked to Laurence’s rickety folding desk and picked up the stool.
“We shouldn’t be dealing with Kalthorne at all,” Charles said. “It’s a distraction.”
I set the stool before Sébastien. Charles stared, and Sébastien spluttered.
“Is this better, Monsieur?” I asked.
From the corner of my sight, I watched Charles open his mouth, shut it, and bury his face in his hands.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Sébastien crossed his arms, chin shaking it was so clenched, and did not look at me.
Charles gave an overexaggerated shrug. “Sit on it, I would assume.”
“Sébastien,” I said, using his name for the first time that morning. He jerked his head to look at me. I was only a few thumbs shorter than him, but my mother had prodded good posture into me. I pushed him onto the stool, keeping both hands on his shoulders. “Your brother is a chevalier, and you, one day, will be a very good physician, but if we go to war with Kalthorne, His Majesty will continue using the noonday arts, yes?”
Sébastien glanced at my hands and nodded.
“Which means he will have to continue using hacks.” I let my arms fall. “And when he runs out of hacks, who do you think will serve him, then?”
Sébastien turned to Charles. “He wouldn’t.”
“Sébastien,” Charles said. “We’ve talked about this. When one enemy is dead, one resource used, he will move to the next, and who do you think that will be?”
I let Sébastien stew and sat next to Charles.
“They’ll try to find who did it, make them confess it was a lie, and use them as an example.” He ran a hand over his face. “They might not even bother finding out who really did it and skip to the example part.”
“They know someone in Laurel is a noble,” Sébastien said, eyes closed and head leaned back. “He’ll start there. We’ll need a distraction of our own to keep us out of his sights.”
Charles leaned into me and murmured, “Probably don’t antagonize Sébastien.”
“His existence antagonizes me.”
“He’s nervous.” Charles flipped open his leather journal and ran a hand, fingers heavy with gold and ruby rings, down the page till he found whatever it was he needed. He had always styled himself impeccably, but there was an edge to how he carried himself now. He was fashionably disheveled but unbelievably precise. “Leave him be, please.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
Charles hummed and grinned.
Eventually, our silent meeting was interrupted by Laurence. He pulled back the opening to the tent and shook his head, the dark circles under his eyes impressively defined. Laurence flicked two fingers at Charles and me, and we leapt up. He collapsed onto his cot.
Charles leaned over at him. “Laurence, would you like us to leave?”
Then Laurence du Montimer, the consummate voice of reason and tranquility, closed his eyes and said, “What the fuck did you all do?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Nothing?” Laurence cracked open one eye and glared at me. “That is rich coming from you.”
“Did you see who it was that—?”
“No,” Laurence cut off Charles and waved the question away. “Do not worry about that.”
“See!” Sébastien cried. “This whole thing was too presumptuous. Laurel should have waited and discussed it, not abandoned us to this.”
Laurence winced and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You cannot fix a decrepit house while standing inside of it. You must tear the house down and start again, though it is useful to get help and resources from inside the house first.”
“That,” Charles said, voice flat, “sounds like Laurel.”
“Another poster appeared in Serre at noon signed by Madame Royale Nicole of Demeine,” said Laurence. “We cannot simply wash our hands of this. Laurel is attempting to overthrow the king, and clearly they have selected Nicole as