“Go.” Luca didn’t even bother to face Touraine as she waved the next supplicant forward.
Touraine used her own anger to add authority to the strike of her boot heels upon the floor. A small thing, but it made her feel better. She’d seen Malika Abdelnour gliding toward the food that was spread almost obscenely along buffet tables. She wondered what the Qazāli woman thought about all that wealth disguised as lamb and lemons, mint and olives, poultry dripping with honeyed sauces. What of the heaping bowls of Balladairan and Qazāli grains alike, nestled beside baguettes and tart cheese?
This would have been a legendary feast for the Sands. And she suspected something similar was going through Malika’s head.
Malika wasn’t a Sand, but maybe she’d gone through some of the same things—and yet she’d risen enough to be at the princess’s ball freely. Touraine saw in Malika someone with the same ambitions and frustrations. Ambition and frustration made for a suspicious combination, one worth exploring.
The music swelled around her like a wave. She turned, hunting, but the crowd pressed in around her.
Instead of Malika Abdelnour, she made eye contact with General Cantic. The general raised her wineglass and approached.
“Lieutenant Touraine. It looks like you’re doing better for yourself already.” She appraised Touraine’s new outfit, making Touraine self-conscious all over again.
“General. Sir. Thank you.” Touraine didn’t know what to say to Cantic or how to act. She held her hands clenched awkwardly at her sides and wished desperately for a drink to hold.
“I’m glad Her Highness was able to find a use for you.” Cantic tilted her glass toward the princess on her dais. “I would also like to offer my thanks. Because of you, we’ve been on the hunt for Brigāni in the city. It’s a good start to settling the rebel situation. Surprisingly few here, but those nightmarish gold eyes are a dead tell. I’m dying for a smoke. Did you never pick up the habit? I started back when I came in as a lieutenant.” She took a deep drink of her wine.
Touraine hadn’t picked up smoking. Pruett had, though. She’d been particular about keeping her tobacco and papers dry in the little tin she carried around. Something was slightly off about Cantic this evening. Her eyes were too bright and her words too fast, too casual. Touraine started to excuse herself, and Cantic grabbed her by the arm and stepped closer.
“I let her save you for a reason. You’re in a position to do great things for Balladaire.” Cantic lowered her mouth to Touraine’s ear to be better heard over the music. “Don’t let me down. You know where to find me.” And then Cantic pulled back, smiling the smile of proud confidence that she had turned on Touraine at the hanging, before everything had gone to shit. Touraine couldn’t help it: it triggered in her the same desire to please that it always had.
At least, it did until Captain Rogan sidled up beside them with two glasses of wine in hand. He wasn’t in uniform. He’d taken the opportunity to show off his noble blood and nobler purse.
Sky a-fucking-bove. Touraine should have realized that he would be counted among the socially required invitees.
“General Cantic, sir.” Rogan saluted the general with one glass and then bowed over the second glass as he handed it to Touraine. “Lieu—ah, excuse me. Touraine.”
Despite the oozing charm, Rogan’s voice snapped into Touraine like a whip. She flinched and hated herself for it.
“Forgive me for interrupting, sir,” Rogan said to Cantic. “I wanted to take the opportunity to apologize for any misunderstandings between me and the former lieutenant.” A grin split his long face, showing bright white teeth. “Then, perhaps, she would help me show a united front by honoring me with a dance.”
“That sounds like a good idea, Captain.” Cantic nodded over her own glass. “I’m sure there’s already gossip spreading about the trial.”
He grabbed Touraine’s empty hand with his before she could snatch it away. His grip stuck like a bayonet wedged in bone.
Touraine weighed her options. Fight him off her and break half of Luca’s fine ornaments in the process. Embarrass Luca and Cantic in the same blow. Or do nothing and accept the humiliating touch. Touraine met Cantic’s eyes again and saw in them the same words: Don’t let me down. This time, they were a warning, not encouragement.
Grinding her teeth, Touraine let him lead her to the floor. They gave their wineglasses to a milling servant. Her skin crawled where he touched her wrist and under her jacket where his hand rested on her waist.