"Where is she?" Kurt asked, standing and rushing towards the legate. He had been waiting for her in the hall below the governor's audience chamber, quietly berating himself for not accompanying her and the strange native girl whose face bore the same mark as De Sardet's.
He felt the familiar tug of shame churn his gut. The legate had addressed the woman with easy courtesy – hadn't faltered once during the interaction. She had managed to completely swallow whatever she'd felt at being confronted with another face like hers and proceed with her usual grace and good sense.
But it had been too much for Kurt. He'd left De Sardet to go in alone whilst he admonished the guards who'd been on duty for their poor treatment of visitors.
It was easier to turn his attention the failings of others rather than examine his own, and the truth of that rankled him.
"Siora is with the steward. She's discussing the terrain with him and he's compiling a list of provisions for us."
"Provisions for us?" Kurt couldn't keep the confusion from his voice. De Sardet shook her head as though to clear it – she seemed tired, irritated at having to explain herself again. She gave him a sharp, cursory summary.
"She's here because the Bridge Alliance is attacking her people and I'm to play mediator."
Kurt found himself growing impatient – he saw his own shame through the prism of De Sardet's easy dismissal of him. This, coupled with the lack of sleep, meant he found himself snarling, "You're not going to even mention it?"
"It, Kurt?"
"Her mark. Just like yours."
A shadow of feeling flicked across her face, too quickly for him to make sense of it.
"I wasn't going to mention it here, no," her eyes flicked to the servant scrubbing the floor, "I've asked Captain Vasco to wait for Siora though, and to escort her back to my property so perhaps we can address your concerns there while we wait for their arrival?"
It sounded as though she was asking him a question, but he knew her well enough to know what was an order and what wasn't.
His growing irritation deflated inside himself. Reduced to this – bickering and pulling rank. When only a few brief hours before they'd been stood in the square talking about the possibility of…
But she was leaving the hallway now. He rushed to follow, his footsteps dancing across her shadow as they moved. There was no detour this time – merely a decent of the stairs and a sharp turn to the right. They entered the building in a brisk, business-like manner, and once inside, Kurt fully expected De Sardet to snap at him for his tone.
Part of him wanted her to.
But she didn't. He watched as she carefully pulled off her cloak and folded it neatly over the back to the chair. Her movements were measured – controlled – calculated even. Finally, she sat down by the fire, her back stiff and her chin high.
"I'm sorry," she said, barely loud enough for him to hear. He frowned, but said nothing, moving towards her with the same rigid movements that she'd employed moments before.
She turned her face to him. There was no hint of emotion there – she wore a perfect, placid mask. As though she were reciting a script and hadn't noticed he'd missed his line, she answered his unspoken question.
"I promised I'd sleep in a bed for at least a week after we arrived. I'm afraid I plan to break my vow."
They remained in an uneasy silence – something Kurt found utterly foreign. He'd always found De Sardet's company so easy. At length, she gestured to the second chair by the fire without looking at him. Her eyes were locked somewhere amongst the cinders.
"I don't even know the name of the wood we're burning," De Sardet said finally, "Our people came here, felled a tree and I have set it to ash without even asking what the species of wood is called."
Kurt said nothing – there was a melancholy to her voice that he hadn't ever heard before – stiff and formal. A soliloquy in her performance. All he could do was watch.
"But it's a familiar scent," she went on, "The way the smoke smells… it's different, from back on the continent and yet, I know it.
"I said on the boat that nowhere I'd been ever felt like home, and that was true then, but last night when I lay on the cobbles I felt… something stir in me and home is the closest word I have for it. Siora said her mark appeared when she bound herself to the island. Was I… bound? At birth? Is this some sort of bondage?" Her finger traced the thin tendrils of the birthmark across her jaw and Kurt's heart ached – he longed to know how the dark contours which mapped her skin felt, longed to follow the path of her finger with his thumb.
And then the façade cracked and a huge, fat tear rolled down the legate's face, "I shan't ever be able to ask my mother if she…" she threw up her hands suddenly, violently, and Kurt recoiled.
De Sardet was on her feet then, pacing to and fro before the fire.
"If we're going to see Siora's people, I should be able to ask them, no? Should be able to request clarification for what makes an En on Menawi?"
She stared at Kurt suddenly and he felt himself tear a little inside – part of him wanted to hold her, to sooth her like he had on the boat, and part of him knew he should hold back. He was already too familiar with her as things stood.
"I think you need to call for an early supper, and some coffee. Then I think we need to take a walk outside the city walls," he tried to smile, "I bet your cousin was delighted when he saw Siora, wasn't he? I bet he has all sorts of machinations planned where he can send her in your stead while you keep him entertained?"
De Sardet chuckled weakly by way of response. Kurt stood then, almost as though his feet had a mind of their own. He crossed to where she stood and faced her. She looked away, but he reached out and held her by the shoulders, "Look at me, Greenblood."
She pursed her lips and shook her head.
"I said, look at me."
She did so then, and he held her gaze, searching the inscrutable depths of her amber eyes. "Whatever this means – this business with your mark – you're not alone."
They remained there, locked in a moment which seemed to sing in Kurt's ears. His blood thrummed so hard through his skull that he could barely think straight. The tension was palpable. De Sardet leaned the weight of her body ever so slightly into where his hands gripped her shoulders. He felt his lips part, watched as hers did the same…
There was a knock on the door from the street and De Sardet sprang back, as though she'd been burned. She called out with that slightly-too-loud, slightly-too-high voice that the knocker should enter.
Kurt slumped back down into the seat by the fire, trying to swallow the day's feelings. Vasco and Siora entered the property and De Sardet began to try and organise sleeping arrangements for the night, and where they should collect the supplies from the royal steward the following morning. She was earnest, busy… but Kurt couldn't help notice the slight jumpiness to her movements, or the red flush which skirted her collar bone.
