Kurt smiled to himself, watching the legate leave the dock – the lady Morange was deep in conversation as they walked through the city but De Sardet was distracted. She was doing her best to hide it, but if you knew her – really knew her – it was possible see her tells. There was a slight bounce to the way she stepped – a tautness which betrayed her impatience.
At length, they reached a neat little terraced house and the former governess took her leave. De Sardet paused until Morange was gone, glanced over her shoulder to check for other witnesses and then lay on the floor, face down with limbs spread everywhere. Kurt chuckled.
"How long have you been waiting to do that?" Kurt chuckled.
"Since we saw the Endless Knot through the telescope, she confessed into the cobbles. She remained there for a time – far longer than Kurt felt comfortable witnessing – then sighed deeply and stood.
After brushing herself down she produced a key and let them inside. It was a humble, largely modest dwelling – yes, the décor was sumptuous, but in terms of size, the whole house stood on a smaller footprint than the palace's entrance hall.
"Constantin didn't want to build you something fancy to use as legate then?" Kurt teased. To his surprise, De Sardet stuck her tongue out at him – such an uncharacteristically childish gesture that Kurt snorted a laugh.
"If it were up to him, he would have a similar sized house, I believe. He enjoys his wealth but he likes to spent it on…" she searched for a diplomatic word, "Transient pleasures."
"That's one way of putting it."
"Disposable things?"
She was peeling off her boots and stockings, spreading her toes wide and scrunching them into the thick weave of the rug. Her eyes stayed closed just a second or two, and a slow smile spread across her face.
"I need a bath," she said in barely a whisper, "Lady Morange said that the staff were ready to supply anything we need. Do you think…" A wicked grin crossed her face and she coughed to clear her throat, tugging on the bell pull by the fireplace for a servant.
It was the housekeeper that arrived with a chamber maid and a valet beside her. It was a small staff for such an important figure, but – Kurt supposed – there would be a similar contingent of employees in both Hikmet and San Matheus, and De Sardet was entirely capable of managing her own affairs.
He watched as she greeted each employee in turn and teased a little story from them – who they had been before they came and hat their roles in the house were. Then, she asked for two hot baths – one to be filled in her room and another before the fire in what he was surprised to hear would be his own room. Kurt had never had his own room before.
"M'lady, I can do as you ask, but we haven't the facilities you're used to. By the time I boil enough water to fill two baths and lug it all upstairs the water that's been waiting there will be cold."
"I see. Perhaps two baths, separated by a screen in front of the fire, then? If we boil some of the water in here, and you boil some in the kitchen, perhaps we can manage?"
"Aye, m'lady – I'll see to it."
Kurt wanted to object – to tell them that he could wait until he had time to take a trip to the public bathhouse. But the promise of hot water on his tired limbs, against the backdrop of a glowing fire… it was too beautiful a prospect to turn down.
The servants left to fetch baths.
And he realised that De Sardet would be bathing with him.
She busied herself with a fire poker, pulling the embers into what she thought to be the optimal shape for pot-boiling. Then the housekeeper returned with some large pans of water, rearranged the coals, and left again. De Sardet shook her head and stepped back,
"I'll stop trying to be helpful," she murmured, embarrassed.
"You're going to cause a scandal – tell them one bath is enough," he heard himself say the words, but he didn't believe them. He knew what was right and proper, what it was his duty to do, but he wanted nothing more than to melt into the hot water and drink in De Sardet's conversation across the screen.
"It's not the first time we've done this," she said easily and a memory came back to him, bitter sweet. He loved that she trusted him because of all they'd done together, but hated that the trust came at a price – he could be no more than a dear friend, a brother.
She'd been ill when the rest of the royal party had gone travelling. He'd stayed behind with her, to follow on as her escort. She'd lied about feeling better – they'd begun the journey before she was ready. Before they'd even managed a day from the city she had swooned in the saddle.
He'd all but lashed her to it and carried on to a little inn adjoining a public bath. By that point, Kurt was beginning to feel peaky too, but he fought it – like he fought all things – and he stumbled into the building with her propped against him. The inn-keeper had been kind – matronly – and had had two baths pulled for their room with a screen between. When they'd finished, she'd brought them warm milk with honey through it, and cinnamon sprinkled on top – a wild extravagance for a poor household, but a medicinal spice that was gratefully received.
She hadn't known who De Sardet was – they'd gone dressed in plain clothes to discourage attacks – and that's what the two of them had marvelled at, back to back in their respective tubs.
"I sort of thought that people were only kind because of who my mother is," De Sardet had said, "I didn't think they would be if I was… someone else."
"There's kindness out there," Kurt had said with conviction he didn't feel, "But it's hard to see at court where folk are hard."
"Is this how you grew up? Were people kind to be… kind?"
"No, Greenblood," he laughed, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice, "But how I grew up isn't important – fact is, I did grow up. Which is more than a lot of children."
She had been silent for a long while and then, "Sorry I lied, Kurt."
"I won't tell on you for lying if you don't tell everyone I got sick."
"Deal," she said, as though she'd won something. The truth was, Kurt didn't care who knew of his ailment – and he hadn't planned on revealing her. He just hoped she wouldn't lie to him again.
The servants had readied the baths by now, with De Sardet's somewhat clumsy help. And she had stripped to her shift, brazen and golden in the firelight.
She stepped behind the screen and he saw the shift leave the tops of her arms and heard her sigh as she slipped into the water. He closed his eyes, said something as close to a silent prayer as he would ever say then stripped himself, sliding down into the steaming water.
After the icy wind and salty spray of the sea, the water felt like fresh, soft linen against his skin – smooth and light. Deliciously clean.
They lay there for hours, exchanging notes on the voyage – she thought the sea looked like chipped black obsidian. He thought molten glass – and on what they expected would be Constantin's first act as governor. She thought he would assign a stand in and go exploring, and Kurt thought he would open a race track – horses probably, but dogs possibly.
There was salt around the rims of the tubs where water was evaporating, their skin had been so caked.
"I need to get out," De Sardet said after a time, "My fingers and toes look like raisins. Do you want to go first and I'll shut my eyes, or shall I go first?"
She didn't stipulate he should shut his.
"You go," he heard himself say, in a voice that was half-croak, half-sigh.
She didn't hesitate, simply stood and rubbed herself dry with a sheet he hadn't seen the servants leave. Then she emerged from the screen with her shift wrapped around her, tucked under her armpits and just skimming the tops of her breasts. Turned sideways as it was, it skirted just beneath her buttocks – a parody of modesty.
She trotted out of the room, the slabs of muscles on her legs dancing before him. Kurt shifted his position in the tub and hoped she wouldn't turn to see him hiding his appreciation of her.
But turn she did, "I left the towel on the screen."
A huge smile, and then she continued.
He forced himself to turn away as she ascended to a point where the wrap-around shift did nothing, but in retrospect he wondered if looking might have been better.
The shape of all he didn't see haunted him for the rest of the evening.
