Touraine didn’t remember leaving the hideout. Just that by the time she reached the streets, she was stumbling as if drunk, a wordless pain in her chest that blocked out everything else, making her feel numb.
On the way to the Quartier, her feet took her past the gallows. The ropes were empty tonight and hung limp in the still air. The memory of the hanging cropped up often. Too often. She’d killed plenty of Balladaire’s enemies before and never with as much guilt.
Who were her enemies, though? It hadn’t mattered to her before. And it wasn’t the idea of enemies that troubled her now. It was allies.
Her mother. Who hated her.
Back in the Quartier, the town house was still the deserted battlefield. Only missing the crows. Lanquette stood outside Luca’s personal chambers, and Gil sat in the sitting room. The men looked up at her, then went back to their own thoughts. Dark thoughts, by their expressions.
She had the guards’ room to herself. In the darkness, she scrubbed her face with her hand. She stopped with her fingers on her eyebrows and chuckled. When was the last time she’d looked at her reflection? Oh—Luca’s party. She’d been in that costume, but she’d felt handsome. Proud. Until Rogan.
As quietly as she could, she cracked open the door between her room and Luca’s, and listened to the other woman’s breathing. Slow, barely audible huffs met her ears. With her memory and her fingers, she found the small hand mirror that Luca kept on the dressing table and carried it back to her room. She lit a lantern and let it burn bright enough to show her image on the glass.
It was hard to tell anything without the Jackal next to her to compare. Memory coupled with desire could play cruel tricks on the eye.
Desire. Was this what she wanted?
Thick eyebrows, like the Jackal’s. A scar across Touraine’s temple, shallow. Handsome smile, she’d say, with better teeth. They shared brown eyes, but that wasn’t saying much in Qazāl.
She rolled her eyes. Stupid. These were the kinds of things Tibeau and Pruett had done when they were kids, not her. She scowled. The reflection contorted, bitter, angry, even ugly in its confusion.
Touraine’s breath skipped in her chest. She tried the scowl again, conjuring up all her resentment.
There. That was a familiar face.
The Jackal’s daughter.
The creak of Luca’s door behind her made Touraine jump.
Luca stood there, pale and sick-looking against the darkness of her room.
“You took my mirror?”
Touraine turned it over on her bed, smothering herself.
When Touraine didn’t explain, Luca looked down at her bare feet. Her pale toes splayed across the rug.
“What did the rebels say?” she asked, just before the silence became even more awkward.
“Oh.” It didn’t seem like what Luca had planned to say. Touraine flipped the mirror over in her hands again. When she saw her face, she saw Jaghotai’s disgust. “They said you’ve a deal.”
A week later, Luca got news that made Touraine’s stomach sink further.
They were working together in the official governor-general’s office on the compound when an aide brought a report from General Cantic.
The aide tipped his cap to Touraine with a smile as she took it. She barely registered the kindness, she felt so leaden.
“From Cantic? I’ll take it.” Luca held out her hand expectantly.
The camaraderie they’d built over the last months remained chilled over. They still shared quiet moments together during her Shālan lessons, and Luca wasn’t stingy with her praise as Touraine progressed, but every moment was taut with the words they’d said and the ones they hadn’t. Touraine sought refuge in the role of obedient soldier. No, obedient assistant.
She watched Luca from behind that wall of quiet obedience and saw the princess pale. Luca looked at Touraine and back at the paper.
“Touraine, two squads of colonials—” Luca looked away, eyes fixed on a small, desiccated lizard perched on a shelf, as if it had the words she wanted to say.
Touraine already knew she didn’t want to hear the rest. She asked anyway. “What about them?”
Luca spoke in a rush. “Cantic sent two squads of colonials from Rose Company to deal with the desert tribes disrupting our supply lines to the inner colonial cities and their compounds. They haven’t come back.”
A spike of adrenaline helped keep Touraine upright. “Let’s go get them, then. Maybe they were taken prisoner.”
Luca was already shaking her head. “I know these people. I’ve been reading Cheminade’s books on them, and they don’t take prisoners. They’re… like beasts. And I don’t mean that they’re uncivilized. I mean that… they think they are animals. They leave their dead like carcasses in the open plains instead of giving them proper burnings.”