Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [59]
When the war fizzled, the French began to cut costs. In the first order, twenty thousand commissioned and warrant officers were pared away—the majority of them Liberé. Though the government claimed the decision of whom to let go had been based on officer seniority, Rousseau had said he’d finally seen the truth of where he stood with his countrymen, and would stand with them no longer. Guillouet had accepted the promised citizenship.
But now he was here, because there’d been little opportunity for him in the remaining French territories following the war.
“And what do you think?” Archimedes said.
“Of the war?” At his nod, Yasmeen laughed. Oh, but she’d started many entertaining tavern brawls this way. “I think that the French kings owned the land, and that taxes are the way of the world.” When his face darkened and his mouth opened, she grinned and continued, “I also think that, for hundreds of years, it was in the Huguenots’ best interests to think of the Liberé as cart-pullers, and so they justified their every action with the original obligation so that they could continue believing they were right—and continue filling their treasury.”
The thunderous expression lightened. “I can still fall in love with you, then.”
He would do well to wait until she was done.
“I also know that the Liberé are burning down villages and massacring natives to clear land and grow more coffee. The Lusita-nians supported the Liberé in the war, but they smuggle in slaves from the Horde-occupied territories to work their mines. The Castilian queen and her court eat from plates of gold while her people starve in the streets and call for her head.”
“And Johannesland?” His eyes were bright with amusement. “My mother’s people are not so terrible.”
“Their princes squabble among themselves, and they supported the French simply because the king is not Catholic. They are not terrible, but they are stupid, and that is almost as bad.” She looked up as the cargo lift began to descend. “The French are no better or worse than all of them, because everyone serves their own interests. And that is why I prefer Port Fallow and the Ivory Market to all the rest of the world: No one pretends they are doing anything else.”
“Including you . . . even though it would serve your interests to reach Rabat more quickly aboard Mad Machen’s ship.”
Damn him for picking at nits. Of course she’d thought of that, and rejected it. “It serves my interests not to have my friends killed while helping me.” She gave him a smile that showed the sharp edges of her teeth. “A husband, however . . . it will be quicker than divorce.”
His laugh was loud and full, and continued over the clank of the lift coming to a rest on the platform. He dragged their trunk aboard—filled primarily with his weapons and contraptions, and the warmest of their clothes. For Yasmeen, that meant all of her clothes, and the few heavy woolen and fur pieces she’d traded for her silver cigarillo case that morning.
She braced her feet when the lift began to rise. “Did you bring any cigarillos?”
“A few, but not many. I only smoke them with you.”
Because they were so expensive. Yasmeen sighed. “I’ll probably become irritable.”
“Do you think I’ll notice the difference?”
The look she gave him would have cowed a lesser man, but nothing of Archimedes Fox was less, including the width of his grin. She could not help but laugh, and it was still in her mouth when the lift locked into place against Ceres’ side. Waiting to welcome them aboard,