The Unbroken C. Clark (best books to read for self development .txt) 📖

He looked at Touraine dubiously. “You, too, in?”

“No.” She shook her head, and the dizziness made her mind pulse with pain. She grunted.

“Ya, silly, get up there. I can carry. If not, he helps.” He pointed to Gil and forced a smile.

Gil didn’t smile back. “Get in,” he barked.

“Yes, sir.” Touraine climbed into the basket next to Luca. Their thighs touched. The adrenaline rush of the assassin and sparring had faded—the fight with Jaghotai already seemed ages ago—and she was drunk. No more tipsiness. No focused invincibility. It was the dark, useless part of the alcohol. A bayonet couldn’t pierce the tension between her and Luca. And that had nothing on the tension they left behind them at the Qazāli fires, or a woman’s dead body, or the princess’s secret bargain that Touraine was regretting yet again.

At the house, Touraine helped Luca down while Gillett paid the driver. The driver nodded soberly after them before pulling his cart back into the night.

“What did you give him?” Luca asked, suspicious and frowning.

“More than enough.”

Gil trailed them all the way to the door to Luca’s chambers, where he and Luca shared a look Touraine couldn’t read. Lanquette took his place outside the door. Touraine recognized the angry, affronted set of his shoulders—too stiff by half. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

At the bedroom door, Luca winced. “Would you give me a hand?”

Adile jumped from her sleep just inside the room and rushed over, but Touraine waved her away. “I’ll do it,” she whispered to the maid.

Touraine helped Luca pull off her outer jacket. Luca’s bare neck was smooth, barely kissed by Qazāl’s overbearing sun. Touraine’s heart beat faster in her chest. Maybe Luca sensed the change. She looked at Touraine skeptically.

“How drunk are you, Lieutenant?” Luca spoke low and very close, but also matter-of-factly.

Touraine wet her lips. “Not very,” she lied. The execution had sobered her, as had the long ride, but the room still lurched if she turned too quickly.

“You had several cups and then fought your mother.” Luca’s brow creased.

Touraine focused on hanging the jacket. “I lost. That’s why I don’t drink.” Jaghotai’s words still slid in the back of her mind. When she’s sucked you hollow, she’ll throw you away to rot.

“Then you saved me.”

The princess slouched to her good side. Luca’s stiff court mask was still up, but Touraine noticed Luca wince as she shifted her weight to pull her inner coat off. Luca smelled like sweat and rose water.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drunk—” Touraine’s words fumbled over each other on their way out. The music had made everything vibrate. Dancing with Aranen and Luca. She would do the rest of it all again.

Luca turned around and her mask fell. She watched Touraine with naked apprehension, fear, guilt. “I’m sorry, Touraine. I… know you don’t want to be here—”

Touraine couldn’t smile at that. “General Cantic made it clear that it was this or nothing. I’m not ready to be nothing.”

Only, there was irony in it: now she did want to be here, in this room, with Luca. She shouldn’t have. The Sands would never forgive her—Pruett would never forgive her—for enjoying the other woman. And Jaghotai wouldn’t, either, for fuck’s sake. Not to mention the fragile alliance that had almost ended with a knife in Luca’s ribs, the alliance that Touraine was still thinking of ending soon.

And yet there was something in this moment of honesty that Touraine wanted to touch, to hold on to. Sky above knew it probably wouldn’t come again.

“Sit down.” Touraine pointed toward the bed.

Luca furrowed her forehead but obeyed. Tension eased out of her face in relief. Touraine kicked off her own boots and sat down facing her. Gently, she pulled each of Luca’s legs straight, watching her face for discomfort. Then she pulled off the high hose. Luca’s face was guarded and suspicious.

She started with the princess’s toes on her bad leg, the little muscles in Luca’s foot. The tightness pulled her arch into a claw. The skin was clammy. Her mouth fell open in confusion, but a moment later she tilted her head back and sighed.

Still squeezing Luca’s foot, Touraine slid her pant leg up enough to reach her calf and began rubbing there. Luca whimpered some at first, eyes closed. The muscles in the leg had knots hard as rock. Beneath the soft, pale hairs was a patchwork of scars as elaborate as her own.

Then Touraine put a hand on Luca’s thigh, to warn her. Luca opened her eyes, swallowed, nodded.

“Just—careful, please.”

Touraine worked from the crease of Luca’s hip down to the knee, squeezing and kneading. Hard muscle-scars ran throughout Luca’s entire thigh. At a nod from Luca, she pushed a little harder with her thumbs. A muscle-scar crackled under her hand.

“Fuck!” cried Luca, flinching away.

“I’m sorry—”

“No.” Luca gritted her teeth. “It… feels… good, I think.” She took a few short breaths before groaning again.

Touraine massaged until she started drowsing off and Luca’s breath slowed. She meant to roll away and off the bed, but she was caught by the sight of her hand on Luca’s thigh, the cloth of her pale, loose trousers a stark contrast with Touraine’s dark skin. Then Luca’s hand was on hers, stopping any movement.

“Thank you,” Luca said.

She met the solemnity in Luca’s face. She swallowed and nodded. She didn’t have words. The drive to touch her was like the drive to dance. Natural. Unbidden.

So she leaned over, and the heir to the Balladairan throne ran a finger around the curve of her ear, making Touraine shiver. Her own hand trailing up Luca’s leg, across her hip, to rest lightly on Luca’s stomach. Touraine could feel the coiled tension beneath her fingers.

And then Luca smiled ruefully and shook her head. “I want you sober or not at all. But—” She covered Touraine’s hand with her own again. “Would you… like to stay?” Luca said. Her voice was a little raw. “To sleep.”

Luca’s hand was soft and warm on