Only, there was irony in it: now she did want to be here, in this room, with Luca. She shouldn’t have. The Sands would never forgive her—Pruett would never forgive her—for enjoying the other woman. And Jaghotai wouldn’t, either, for fuck’s sake. Not to mention the fragile alliance that had almost ended with a knife in Luca’s ribs, the alliance that Touraine was still thinking of ending soon.
And yet there was something in this moment of honesty that Touraine wanted to touch, to hold on to. Sky above knew it probably wouldn’t come again.
“Sit down.” Touraine pointed toward the bed.
Luca furrowed her forehead but obeyed. Tension eased out of her face in relief. Touraine kicked off her own boots and sat down facing her. Gently, she pulled each of Luca’s legs straight, watching her face for discomfort. Then she pulled off the high hose. Luca’s face was guarded and suspicious.
She started with the princess’s toes on her bad leg, the little muscles in Luca’s foot. The tightness pulled her arch into a claw. The skin was clammy. Her mouth fell open in confusion, but a moment later she tilted her head back and sighed.
Still squeezing Luca’s foot, Touraine slid her pant leg up enough to reach her calf and began rubbing there. Luca whimpered some at first, eyes closed. The muscles in the leg had knots hard as rock. Beneath the soft, pale hairs was a patchwork of scars as elaborate as her own.
Then Touraine put a hand on Luca’s thigh, to warn her. Luca opened her eyes, swallowed, nodded.
“Just—careful, please.”
Touraine worked from the crease of Luca’s hip down to the knee, squeezing and kneading. Hard muscle-scars ran throughout Luca’s entire thigh. At a nod from Luca, she pushed a little harder with her thumbs. A muscle-scar crackled under her hand.
“Fuck!” cried Luca, flinching away.
“I’m sorry—”
“No.” Luca gritted her teeth. “It… feels… good, I think.” She took a few short breaths before groaning again.
Touraine massaged until she started drowsing off and Luca’s breath slowed. She meant to roll away and off the bed, but she was caught by the sight of her hand on Luca’s thigh, the cloth of her pale, loose trousers a stark contrast with Touraine’s dark skin. Then Luca’s hand was on hers, stopping any movement.
“Thank you,” Luca said.
She met the solemnity in Luca’s face. She swallowed and nodded. She didn’t have words. The drive to touch her was like the drive to dance. Natural. Unbidden.
So she leaned over, and the heir to the Balladairan throne ran a finger around the curve of her ear, making Touraine shiver. Her own hand trailing up Luca’s leg, across her hip, to rest lightly on Luca’s stomach. Touraine could feel the coiled tension beneath her fingers.
And then Luca smiled ruefully and shook her head. “I want you sober or not at all. But—” She covered Touraine’s hand with her own again. “Would you… like to stay?” Luca said. Her voice was a little raw. “To sleep.”
Luca’s hand was soft and warm on top of hers. Touraine brushed her thumb across the other woman’s knuckles, surprised at the sharp twinge of disappointment she felt and also surprised at the relief. Luca wasn’t like the rest of Balladaire. She wouldn’t take and take and take. When she took the throne, she would make Balladaire better, if anyone could. One day.
Touraine let herself entertain that hope while sudden exhaustion dragged her down into the pillows. Or maybe it was their lushness. And Luca settled on her chest.
“What do you want, Touraine?”
The question startled Touraine away from the brink of sleep.
“I don’t want to be your servant anymore.”
Fuck. Djasha was right. Shāl’s holy water. A statement like that couldn’t stand alone, though.
“Not Balladaire’s. I want to be free. Paid a wage, not an allowance, and free to spend it at my leisure. Free to make my own home somewhere, free to… quit my post. If I wanted to.”
Luca went rigid in her arms. “Do you want to quit your post?”
“No—not right now.”
The seconds drew out before Luca relaxed again.
“It’s done,” Luca said. “All of it. We’ll draw up your employment papers and discuss wages tomorrow.”
“And for the Sands?” Touraine’s heart stumbled in her chest.
“That, I can’t do. I’m sorry. Not yet.” The arm she had draped around Touraine’s waist squeezed tightly, and she sounded like she meant it.