“Aimée.” Tibeau put a warning arm across Aimée’s chest. “Keep it up and I’ll shove sand in places you didn’t even know you had holes.”
“All right, easy, Sergeant. Sorry, Lieutenant,” Aimée said, pushing Tibeau’s arm away. “Anylight. I’d stay close to her now.” She glanced behind Touraine, back toward the door. “Rogan went into a shitting rage when he found out you’d be let off. If he and his friends liked you before…”
As if summoned, a shadow blotted out the light from the open door. Touraine spun around, a cold fist of fear at her throat. It’s okay, she told herself. You’re Luca’s now. He can’t touch you.
The thought was cold comfort when Touraine saw Pruett framed in the doorway instead.
“Pru. Hey.” Touraine’s throat was too dry for words.
“That’s all you have to say?” Pruett sauntered in. Something crinkled in her fist as she crossed her arms. A broadside and her cap. She’d cut her hair, too, and her face was narrow without the frame. The bags under her eyes could’ve carried corpses.
“Pruett, I—” Instead of talking, Touraine held her arms open.
Pruett blinked hard and pressed her lips together. After an eternity of a breath, she pulled Touraine close. Her neck smelled like gun powder, oil, sweat.
“You smell like a fucking rosebush.” Pruett held Touraine at arm’s length, nose wrinkled.
“How is Rogan?” Touraine blurted. Her fear found its exit.
“Don’t worry. I’ve held him off so far. Seems he’s not that particular about who he chases, as long as she’s in power and he can try to make her small.”
Pruett looked her up and down, asking without asking, How are you?
“I’m fine.”
“Figured you were.” Pruett held out the broadside. It had been balled up at least once.
Touraine eased out the wrinkles. Her stomach lurched, and she couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or dread. “Sky-falling fuck.”
“That supposed to be you and her?” Pruett asked. “They fucked up your face.”
“Where’d you get this? How many were there?”
Pruett raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms back over her chest. “They’re all over the city by now, most likely. I pulled this one off the wall of a smoking house around the corner.”
“Shit. I need to go.”
“I just got back.” Pruett frowned. “Can’t you give me a minute of your time, or what? Were you even going to bother seeing me?”
Touraine’s heart thumped low in her stomach, making her nauseated. She could stay. Luca had given her leave. But even though she didn’t know the full shape of Luca’s plans, she knew that Luca needed to see this. It was the kind of picture that did damage, no matter what your plans were. Touraine tried and failed to ignore the bitterness and hurt on Pruett’s face.
“I’m sorry, Pru. I have to go. She’s going to kill someone.”
She picked up an armful of books, plucking them almost at random. If it looked like a Shālan history, she took it. Luca would probably be interested. She tucked the broadside inside one of the covers. With one last look at her friends, she turned to go.
Captain Horse-Fucking Rogan stood in the railed corridor, his slicked hair even shinier in the sunlight.
“I hadn’t expected the pleasure of Her Royal Highness’s chambermaid so soon. And trespassing, no less.”
As always, Pruett was the fastest on her feet. “Captain, sir. The former lieutenant is on an errand for Princess Luca. I was just hurrying her along.”
“All of you? Quite a lot of help for a simple errand.”
Aimée shrugged. “Spare key.”
“Heavy lifting.” Tibeau folded his arms across his thick chest.
“A spare key?” Rogan raised an eyebrow. “We don’t have a spare key. Do you expect me to believe that you four aren’t plotting something like treason?” His smile turned wicked. “At the very least, do you expect a jury not to believe it?”
Touraine stood straighter, let her anger fill out the breadth of her shoulders. “There’ll be no jury, Captain. They’re helping me on orders from Her Highness.”
From her pocket, Touraine pulled out the pass that Luca had stamped with her personal seal.
“And I’ll need their help to carry these books to Princess Luca’s library in the Quartier.”
It was a desperate ploy, and Rogan smiled.