Kurt hadn't waited for De Sardet to wake the following morning.
They had slept in Siora's family home, a row of bodies at the foot of the bed Siora shared with her sister.
In the early light, Kurt had scratched a message to the legate on a scrap of parchment using some charcoal from the fire.
Need to go back to New Serene. See you there.
Yours, Kurt.
He'd held the note in his hands for a long time, staring at the last two words and wondering whether he should leave it or not. He'd signed the only other letter he'd written to her the same way – to do otherwise now would seem wrong. But he worried about the impact of such a thing regardless.
It was easy enough to retrace their steps and find a caravan willing to take him back to the city. He told himself that it was better this way – that it was his job to care for both De Sardet and Constantin and that by leaving her to Vasco's guns and Siora's wide range of skills, he could better watch out for the governor.
He told himself that by the time she was finished with the Alliance camp, his infatuation would have run its course and he'd be free to traipse around the island with her.
Love, Sieglinde's voice teased in his memory, but he swallowed it down and set his head back against the side of the carriage, closing his eyes and trying to sleep.
Of course he failed – he kept seeing De Sardet climb the stairs, or the rough-looking skin of her birthmark, or the way she'd looked beneath him the previous night as they'd sparred.
He was relieved when the carriage paused to let on new passengers.
"Bloody hell, Kurt – if I didn't know better I'd say you were following me."
Kurt didn't need to look, he simply laughed low in his throat.
"I was just thinking of you, Sieg."
"Do these other folks know? Might want to go somewhere private to do that next time," she said, and squeezed in next to him, making an obscene gesture with her hand that he heard but didn't see, "I thought you were with one of your royal ducklings."
"On my way from one to the other."
"Did you take my advice?"
"No, I did not."
"Hmm."
Kurt sighed and deigned to open his eyes.
"What are you doing here Seig?"
She groaned, "Play at being a glorified messenger."
She flicked her eyes around the caravan – there was an enormous man with the look of a farmer to him, two native women carrying what Kurt could only guess were instruments, and a noblewoman trying to look poor. Had it been only the musicians and large man, he suspected Seiglinde would have told him more, but the noblewoman gave them both pause.
"Hey, Princess," Seiglinde said, across the little wooden carriage, "You alright there?"
The woman looked startled, eyes darting from one side to another, "Me?"
"Aye. You," Kurt said, "You look a bit… green to be out on your own." He meant the word two ways – noble and inexperienced, but she chose to take it as the later only which told Kurt everything he needed to know about her. He smirked as her temper brimmed.
"I've had training – I can very much take care of myself," she sounded so indignant, and for a moment, Kurt felt an all too familiar pang as he remembered escorting the young De Sardet home drunk.
He snorted to himself, as the memory of her producing the short sword from her skirts resurfaced. Unfortunately, the woman sat opposite thought he was laughing at her. Seiglinde swatted his arm.
"He means no disrespect, ma'am. He's not been sleeping recently," then, in an exaggerated stage whisper, "There's a woman he loves and can't have."
Kurt batted her back and the woman stared hard at them, trying to decide what she'd done to merit such poor luck in travelling companions.
"I'm Seiglinde, and my companion here is Kurt. We're members of the Coin Guard," Seiglinde gestured to their uniforms, "I was merely asking after you because you look out of place, and as we're still in Congregation territory, it's still my job to make sure everyone's fine. Are you? Fine?"
"She's clearly running away," Kurt said, tipping his head back again and closing his eyes, "She's wearing what she thinks are poor folks travel clothes and she's got marks around her neck."
There was a rustle of skirts and a whispered hiss, "Fine, I'm running. But hold your bloody tongues."
"What's your name," Seiglinde asked, more gently.
"Lady Saintere…" she murmured softly.
"Do you want him dead?" The flat, matter-of-fact way Seiglinde asked made even Kurt start. The lady stared hard for a moment, as though unsure of what to say – if she agreed, would the Coin Guard be obligated to arrest her? But in a moment of boldness and in a voice that was much too loud, she responded.
"Yes. I rather think I do."
"Your husband?"
"Yes."
"Where does he stay?"
"An outpost out of Theleme."
Seiglinde nodded, "I'll do it myself next time I'm there. Then I'll send word. Where are you staying in New Serene?"
Lady Saintere wrote down an address and Seiglinde nodded, slipping it into her breast pocket. When that was done, the woman pulled her hood up and pointedly stared away from them.
"So which duckling are you off to see now? The drake?" Seiglinde continued as if the rest hadn't happened. Kurt's jaw dropped.
"That's it? No explanation as to why you're suddenly an assassin? There's three bloody witnesses to the arrangement here-" he gestured around the carriage, "And then there's me."
"But you won't do anything, will you?" she said, as though it was a given, "And I doubt that these two fine women object to me killing another Renaigse?"
They chuckled and shook their heads in unison, before one piped up, "I would kill any man that tried to strange me."
"There you go then…"
"You could lose rank for this," Kurt pointed out, but idly. He found he was staring a Lady Saintere's neck and picturing De Sardet's. He was imagining things that had been done to him, done to her, and he found that he was suddenly very much in favour of Seiglinde's side line in hired killings.
"Who hurt you?" Saintere asked, turning her attention to Kurt's companion, her voice barely above a whisper.
"No one hurt me," Seiglinde said, her flat and easy, "But my mother hurt my father every day until she killed him. She was caught by a member of the guard and I signed up at once – I wanted to be able to stop that for everyone else."
There was a long moment of silence and then Seiglinde added, "I would try and make sure that there are contracts in place for when he dies. You want to hold on to his money."
The large man snored loudly – a noise so enormous that he woke himself, and everyone in the carriage jumped to be doing something other than talking about assassinations. The musicians even started strumming the start of a haunting tune, as though diligently practicing in transit.
The melody tugged at Kurt's heart and he remembered De Sardet on the hill – her quick, strong fingers grabbing at him and forcing him to dance.
Three steps forward, Soldier. Three back. Turn. It's a romantic dance, Kurt, try to at least pretend you like holding me…. a bright, musical laugh, Moody eyes are good too though.
"It is the drake," he blurted to Seiglinde, suddenly, pulling himself roughly from his reverie.
"Boring," she responded, "I want to hear more about the hen, thank you."
"I bet you do. Truth is," Kurt braced himself – if he couldn't be honest with Seiglinde after he'd just witnessed… that, then he could never say it, "I can't be apart from her. I need to find someone to take my place with the drake."
He thought of hands around her neck, without him there to stop them. He thought of violent, silent acts in the night without his sword at her side. He thought of dancing in the moonlight, of the way she moved beneath him… It was true. He wouldn't ever be able to leave her again.
"It's worse than Ara then?"
"It's worse than Ara."
"Then you need someone you can trust with the drake. I actually have a roster with me," she reached into the cylinder which hung from her chest and pulled out a long list of intricately written names.
Kurt thought of his hastily scratched charcoal missive and winced.
"I believe many of these men are your recruits…" Then she grabbed a pen and turned the parchment over, writing something and handing it to him. He glanced at what she'd written.
Need to talk in private. Things happening. Burn this.
"I like a few of those names," Kurt said, turning the sheet over with a nod and settling on one of the men her recognised.
Rainer.
