Touraine went to the smaller side door, the one that all the Qazāli came through, and cracked it to scout the danger.
Through the door, she saw a single soldier kicked at the ground in aimless irritation, muttering a stream of curses, all of which mentioned Touraine by name. Aimée was about to slap the ornate knocker on the decorative doors again.
“Psst. Hey.”
Aimée spun around, into a fighting crouch. When she saw Touraine at the door, she straightened and walked over, mouth hanging open.
“You sky-falling ugly fuck. You—but you—”
Touraine wanted to say something clever back, but emotions blocked her throat, forcing her quiet.
Aimée kept sputtering. “Pruett said—she named you—when the princess asked who was responsible. I thought it was a shit joke. How—sky a-fucking-bove—”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Touraine said, her voice low. “If the blackcoats catch you here, you’re—they’ll kill you.”
“No, you shouldn’t be here. I’m on orders for the lieutenant.” Aimée meant Pruett. “We’re supposed to be hunting for your merry band, but—look, can I just come in?” Aimée craned her neck to look past Touraine’s shoulders to see inside the temple.
Touraine had never seen her like this. Eager. Earnest. She’d spoken more than five words without swearing. After Touraine hesitated a second longer, Aimée pushed past her and into the temple. The other woman took two steps before she stopped, gaping at the ceiling with its marble and the glitter of gold and colored stone swirling through intricate geometries. Touraine felt a tender warmth, even as she chuckled. This was what she must have looked like the first time she saw the inside of the temple: mouth slack, head tilted, trying to take it all in.
Ecstatic.
Aimée walked to a nearby pillar and placed her palm flat against it.
“No wonder Beau would never shut up about this place,” she murmured. Aimée had been turned into a gleeful child. Touraine couldn’t help a small bubble of pride. She shoved Aimée in the shoulder playfully.
“Fine, just invite yourself in.”
Aimée’s rueful gaze was only half a joke. “You should have invited us, Lieutenant.” She spread her arms wide to encompass the vastness of the temple hall. An entire company one hundred soldiers strong could sit for lunch on the marble floor if they moved some of the “unused” altars.
“I mean, look at this place,” Aimée continued. “Plenty of room for all of us. Sky above, it smells, though. Like a cross between soup and some rich asshole’s powder room.” She crinkled her nose.
Touraine nodded at one of the smoking incense bowls. “You get used to it.” In a hushed voice, she added, “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
Aimée didn’t answer at first. Just closed her mouth and peered around, taking in the small crowd of Qazāli on the other side of the temple and their bowls of food, the worn rugs and poufs where a person might sneak in and pray in secret to a forbidden god.
“What’s amazing is you, here. How the sky-falling fuck are you alive?” Aimée turned and pushed Touraine in the chest. “I saw you go down. You didn’t fucking get up again.”
Touraine rubbed the spot, already feeling the possibility of a bruise. She shrugged, uncertain how much to say. She trusted Aimée, but Aimée hadn’t joined the rebels, and she didn’t know whether to trust her with the secret of the Shālan magic.
“I was never dead. Just a bad shot. The Qazāli still have a few good doctors from before, you know.”
With narrow eyes, Aimée scanned Touraine up and down, as if she could see the scars from a cutter’s surgery through Touraine’s clothing.
“What do you want with us?” Best to change the subject quickly. And to figure out if they should expect more guests soon.
Aimée’s scrutiny didn’t let up. “Pru’s orders. Your pillow friend called her to the compound, looking for answers.” She turned the scrutiny on the others in the temple.
Touraine’s lips twisted sourly. “My pillow friend. Answers for what?”
“You do know what’s been happening in the city, don’t you?”
“Let’s pretend—for just a second—that I’m supposed to be a corpse. I wouldn’t get out much, would I?”
“Maybe not. I’m sure there’d be worms to get you whatever sky-falling news you wanted in your little hidey-grave.”