He found De Sardet alone, outside the village.

Siora's people had been kind to the legate and her entourage following the battle, but they were mourning and Kurt could tell that De Sardet felt she was intruding on their grief.

The sun was sinking as he approached her, her figure sharp and silhouetted against the fading light. She seemed older and harder than before, the soft curves of her body erased by armour. It was only as he drew close enough to pick out the details of her form that Kurt realised this had been the first battle she'd seen.

She'd fought before, of course – at his side, no less – as they made their way through the streets of Serene at night. But she'd never seen the mass of bloodshed, shattered bones, and dying men that true battle brought.

Kurt had – but even then, only a handful of times. The Congregation of Merchants had been at peace for so long that there was seldom need for the Coin Guard to take arms én masse. It was all such a bloody waste of life and potential – and that was desolate enough – but what really haunted Kurt more than anything was the smell – blood and piss and shit. The history books never told that part when they recorded glorious campaigns for the ages.

He tried to push such thoughts from his head. He'd come to check on the legate, not to recount past killing fields.

She saw him approach and he raised a hand in greeting. When he was close enough that he could talk at a more intimate volume, he smiled and nodded back to the village,

"You alright, Greenblood?"

"Probably," she said, with a weak smile, "Though I can't help but wonder how things might have been had we arrived sooner."

"This isn't on you," Kurt said. He stopped himself from going to pull her into an embrace. He had to be realistic – his motives were no longer innocent and it wasn't right for him to take advantage of her feelings to gratify his own.

"If we'd left from the palace as soon as Siora arrived… if I'd pushed for horses…"

"If the guards on the stairs hadn't stopped her. If Constantin hadn't insisted on talking to you before Siora had chance to speak. If a thousand things – if, if, if. You can't live your life by ifs Greenblood. It's not healthy."

And you should know, Kurt.

"I know… I just…" she sighed and looked away from him, into the greying woods, "The battle? Are they all like that?"

"Like…?"

She shook her head and shrugged, "So bloody senseless."

"Every single one I've seen."

Silence descended again and they watched the twilight creep towards them through the trees. After a time, De Sardet's shape in the darkness and the lights of the fires in the village were all Kurt could see.

The space between himself and the legate was poignant, important, but Kurt felt frozen and unable to do anything that seemed right. So the quiet stretched out before them like the darkness.

Until the sound of music reached them from the village, a slow mournful dirge.

"Vasco will be loving that," Kurt muttered sarcastically. De Sardet's body language changed beside him and he knew she was smiling.

"The good captain hasn't had chance to show us how the Nauts celebrate a crossing as he promised, has he?"

"Can he though, if he's no longer a Naut?"

"I suppose not," there was a pause, "A shame. You promised me a dance."

"I don't remember-"

"You even said you were looking forward to it."

Kurt harumphed and De Sardet laughed.

"You're infuriating," he said trying to sound as though the thought of dancing with her was hateful. The memory of his arm around her waist as they spun across the deck of the ship haunted him though.

"Then we suit each other well enough," there was levity in her voice, though it was tinged with melancholy. They both sighed in unison and chuckled low and bashful.

"I knew things here would be different to back in Sérène but I didn't realise how... urgent everything would feel. I haven't even had chance to open my boxes back at the house and now I'm out here, about to set out for some Alliance camp in the hope of rescuing a native queen… "

"Is that a complaint, m'lady?" He flashed a wry smile, "And here I thought you weren't the workshy type."

She laughed, loud and long, "High praise indeed!"

"Eh?"

"When I was in Thélème, the captain there informed me that if a member of the Coin Guard ever called you a 'good worker', then it was as good as a declaration of true love."

Kurt felt his cheeks flush hot and his stomach flash cold. He was thankful for the darkness then, and for the fact that when he spoke, it was with a gruff indifference he didn't feel, "Don't be daft. You'd know it was love if I ever called you Excellency."

That imperiousness crept back into her voice, "I could order you to…"

"I could quit."

Silence, then, "What if I ordered you to dance?"

"I could still quit," he teased, but before he could stop himself he added, "But I probably wouldn't."

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"Dance with me?"

He wanted to say yes, to hold her again, but he put steel in his bones and drew his sword because in the end, it was all he could do, "Only if I can lead."

She chuckled, low and hollow, drawing her own weapon, "You see, you're just as infuriating as I am, Soldier."

They circled one another in the moonlight, De Sardet striking first as she stepped easily within his reach, "Slow, old man."

He struck her shoulder with the pommel of his great sword and her knees buckled slightly, "Or willing to take a hit in order to give one."

She grunted and stepped back, and for a moment he felt his heart in his mouth at having hurt her – that was new. They hurt one another all the bloody time and he never thought twice about it. But he'd taught her well and she saw the turmoil on his face, pushing her advantage and striking at his knee with her foot.

"Not seen enough carnage today?" he grunted as he regained his stance and shoved her over in one fluid motion. She clattered to the ground, dropping her sword. But De Sardet was resourceful - she pulled at his ankle as she collapsed. He fell onto her and she scrambled to lock an elbow around his neck.

"You're the one who wanted to spar," she growled from where she squirmed beneath him.

Her arm was around his throat now, taut and strong. He'd been distracted – let himself think of her as something other than an opponent. His mind had been elsewhere and now she'd finally got the better of him after all these years.

He hammered his first on the floor twice to yield and she released the pressure of her arm, but didn't let go.

They remained there, panting at one another, locked in the parody of an embrace.

He could feel her breath on the soft skin behind his ear and he shuddered, blissfully. She moved slightly and as she did so, her lips accidentally brushed the space there. Kurt closed his eyes against the temptation to pin her to the soft, warm moss beneath them.

With every inch of his strength he forced himself to stand, catching an image of her prone beneath him as he turned. It was almost too much.

When she stood she faced him, her face a perfect mask of calm. But he knew her too well to believe it – he could see the impish pride in her eyes.

"Well done," he grunted.

"You let me win."

"Didn't."

"You could have had me so many times then," Kurt held back an incredulous cough at her turn of phrase.

"But I didn't," he snapped, "And that's the bloody point. You won, Greenblood."

There was a harshness to his voice which startled both of them. De Sardet froze for a second as if trying to decide what to do now. Then contrary to everything he'd expected, she took a step towards him. He scrambled back – inelegant and ashamed in the moonlight.

She did it again, her amber eyes calculating and a smile spreading across her lips.

Then her strong, quick fingers darted forwards and grabbed at both of his hands, placing one on her shoulder and the other at her waist.

"Your forfeit for losing, Captain," she grinned. Then, "Don't worry, I'll lead."

Kurt groaned despite himself. The sound was borne of desire, but she took it for exasperation.

And that was good. How it should be.

But not what he wanted.