At the flash of Djasha’s blade, Touraine stumbled back into a crouch, belatedly dragging Luca with her. Behind them, steel and wood clattered and the soldiers swore, trying too late to raise their muskets. Lanquette and Gil both had their pistols trained on Djasha the Apostate. It took a long moment before any of them realized what had happened.
When the woman’s clutching hands grew limp, Djasha lowered her to the ground. Djasha staggered as she pushed herself up, and Aranen caught her.
“I apologize,” Djasha said, bowing her head to Luca. The bloody knife dripped into the sand. Touraine expected Luca to be as stunned as she was, but Luca always had the perfect calm. Unshakable. A wall of control.
Luca stepped out from behind Touraine and nodded at Djasha. “That will do.”
That… will do? Suddenly, Touraine wasn’t sure whose pawn she was—and which was the more dangerous answer. Cold chilled her stomach. What would happen if either woman found out she planned to break this peace before it began? Maybe it was better not to break it. To hold her tongue and wait for the Sands to take the brunt of it. A small sacrifice.
While Aranen tended to Luca’s arm, Touraine scanned for Jaghotai among the rest of the silent Qazāli. She didn’t find her.
After Gil had sharp words with the rickshaw driver, the man tossed back a drink and left his friends behind to gather the rickshaw. He helped Luca limp in; the princess barely let her right leg touch the ground.
He looked at Touraine dubiously. “You, too, in?”
“No.” She shook her head, and the dizziness made her mind pulse with pain. She grunted.
“Ya, silly, get up there. I can carry. If not, he helps.” He pointed to Gil and forced a smile.
Gil didn’t smile back. “Get in,” he barked.
“Yes, sir.” Touraine climbed into the basket next to Luca. Their thighs touched. The adrenaline rush of the assassin and sparring had faded—the fight with Jaghotai already seemed ages ago—and she was drunk. No more tipsiness. No focused invincibility. It was the dark, useless part of the alcohol. A bayonet couldn’t pierce the tension between her and Luca. And that had nothing on the tension they left behind them at the Qazāli fires, or a woman’s dead body, or the princess’s secret bargain that Touraine was regretting yet again.
At the house, Touraine helped Luca down while Gillett paid the driver. The driver nodded soberly after them before pulling his cart back into the night.
“What did you give him?” Luca asked, suspicious and frowning.
“More than enough.”
Gil trailed them all the way to the door to Luca’s chambers, where he and Luca shared a look Touraine couldn’t read. Lanquette took his place outside the door. Touraine recognized the angry, affronted set of his shoulders—too stiff by half. She couldn’t bring herself to care.
At the bedroom door, Luca winced. “Would you give me a hand?”
Adile jumped from her sleep just inside the room and rushed over, but Touraine waved her away. “I’ll do it,” she whispered to the maid.
Touraine helped Luca pull off her outer jacket. Luca’s bare neck was smooth, barely kissed by Qazāl’s overbearing sun. Touraine’s heart beat faster in her chest. Maybe Luca sensed the change. She looked at Touraine skeptically.
“How drunk are you, Lieutenant?” Luca spoke low and very close, but also matter-of-factly.
Touraine wet her lips. “Not very,” she lied. The execution had sobered her, as had the long ride, but the room still lurched if she turned too quickly.
“You had several cups and then fought your mother.” Luca’s brow creased.
Touraine focused on hanging the jacket. “I lost. That’s why I don’t drink.” Jaghotai’s words still slid in the back of her mind. When she’s sucked you hollow, she’ll throw you away to rot.
“Then you saved me.”
The princess slouched to her good side. Luca’s stiff court mask was still up, but Touraine noticed Luca wince as she shifted her weight to pull her inner coat off. Luca smelled like sweat and rose water.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drunk—” Touraine’s words fumbled over each other on their way out. The music had made everything vibrate. Dancing with Aranen and Luca. She would do the rest of it all again.
Luca turned around and her mask fell. She watched Touraine with naked apprehension, fear, guilt. “I’m sorry, Touraine. I… know you don’t want to be here—”
Touraine couldn’t smile at that. “General Cantic made it clear that it was this or nothing. I’m not ready to be nothing.”