Touraine bowed again. Already it had become habit, like saluting. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Then she was alone, and she stood unmoving until Adile came, and even then, it took the maid’s prodding to shake Touraine out of the physical stupor.
“The bath will help, sir, I promise you that. You need some help, is that it?” It was the kindness that jolted Touraine into the moment. Adile pushed a blond curl back behind her ear.
“No, thank you.”
Adile tsked. “You’re not so different from the other soldiers, are you? They think they can do everything alone, too. Here.”
She set to work at Touraine’s golden buttons and didn’t grimace once at the stains or the stench. She stopped only when she saw the bandage below Touraine’s collarbone. “Make sure you tell Her Highness about that if you don’t want to go rancid.”
Then Adile was gone and Touraine was in the bath, fighting the pressure in her chest that squeezed tighter whenever she tried to think.
The trial had been only this morning. Squeeze.
She wasn’t going to die. At least not right now. Squeeze.
She’d been stripped of her rank. Squeeze.
Her mother might be out there, in this city. Squeeze.
Adile came back with her change of clothes and then led her to Princess Luca’s office. Unlike every other room in the house, there were few books, and the desk was surprisingly empty. Touraine suspected that the sitting room had replaced this office, since it was downstairs and more accessible.
“Adile was worried you might drown yourself,” the princess said when they were alone.
Almost alone. Her guards stood close.
Touraine didn’t know how to answer that. “Your Highness, may I ask a question?”
“Yes?”
“What is today?”
“Ah. It’s seventh-day. It’s been a week since we arrived.” Her cool voice softened just a little on the edges.
Only a week, but her body felt like it had been on campaign for a month. Her knees threatened to go soft. émeline and Thierry had been dead for days.
“Your Highness, my soldiers—”
The princess bowed her head solemnly. “Arrangements have already been made. The pyre will be ready by sundown. Rest. I’ll send someone to collect you when it’s time.”
For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something else. Touraine was glad when she didn’t. She dragged herself down the stairs and into her new room. A small bed rested against each of the three walls, each with crisp, clean bedclothes and pillows.
It was wonderfully, terribly empty.
Touraine stayed quiet in the carriage on the way to émeline and Thierry’s funeral. Luca let the heavy silence hang, and Touraine was grateful. Touraine had avoided thinking about her friends’ deaths, letting the grief crouch at the edge of her mind, waiting until the shock of the last week wore off. It was unavoidable now. She hadn’t even begun to contemplate what it would mean to leave her squad.
Their pyre was built out in the desert just beyond the compound. The night was deep, and Touraine would have been able to see the stars if not for the lanterns and torches.
The princess and her retinue hung back. Gracious or indifferent?
There was barely enough wood for the pyre to be ceremonial. However, by chance or by choice, the scent of burning pine sap eased the smell of the fire’s main fuel—thick patties of camel shit.
And the bodies.
When the fire was set, Touraine went to her soldiers.
Aimée didn’t hesitate. She scooped Touraine into a great hug that made Touraine cry out. Aimée never was cautious about affection. She eased out of the embrace but supported Touraine with an arm at her back.
“Fuck me, sorry, Lieutenant. We just thought you’d be—” The sudden flash of joy was gone.
“Good to see you, too, Aimée.”
And it was. Touraine let herself be passed around her squad, to arm clasps and shoulder squeezes and tender head ruffles. She wanted to enjoy the love—and a part of her did—but she knew it wouldn’t last. After the funeral, she would be alone again, with the princess and her “small” house and her guards and servants.
This was the fairness she’d wanted. The future queen standing vigil over Sands’ funerals. And Touraine’s promotion wasn’t a soldier’s rise, but she’d never dreamed of wearing a silk shirt as a soldier. When the princess stood over her in the jail, that lantern hanging from her fist as she sized Touraine up, Touraine had calculated.