I stumbled to the room, yanked the scarf off my head and unclipped the cloak from my shoulders. The young woman moved to help me free myself from my dress, but froze at the sight of all the weapons strapped to my chest. I glanced over my shoulder and sighed.
"It isn't safe to travel the roads at night," I said quietly, not apologising only explaining. "I am not out to hurt anyone."
The girl edged forwards and I quickly laid all the weapons on top of the cloak. I went over to the tub and swished a hand in the steaming water—glorious. Soon enough I was naked and shivering as the girl carefully washed my hair and scrubbed at my back.
"Thank you," I mumbled.
"Did you fall off the horse, miss?" the girl asked, carefully cleaning my scraped skin and bruises. The water and soap stung, but I really didn't care. I was desperate to be clean.
"Something like that," I replied, cleaning between my toes and at my nails. Soon I was drying myself with a towel and changing into the spare dress—it was a finely woven summer garment, which would do as a nightdress. "Can these clothes be cleaned?" I asked, picking up not only my tunics, sash and leggings but also the dress I stole from the baron's villa. "We can pay for everything now if it's necessary."
"No, you can pay tomorrow. I'll deal with it immediately." The girl said taking the clothes from me.
"Thanks," I replied. "We'll need breakfast for three. And if the injured man's clothes could be cleaned as well, that would be very kind indeed."
The girl nodded and left. I would have worried that I had frightened her if I wasn't so tired. I grabbed my knife and tent peg from the pile, tucking both under my pillow before curling up under the blankets with a sigh. I closed my eyes and was asleep in an instant.
Only to be rudely awoken sometime later by Tristan.
"Go away." I grumbled. Hadn't I done enough? Hadn't I worked so freaking hard already? I deserved one night's uninterrupted sleep. Just one.
"It's morning," he replied. I peered past his shoulder and was incensed to see the bastard was right. That didn't mean I was getting up.
"Go away," I repeated. "Come back at lunch time with breakfast," and snuggled under the blankets once more. I felt Tristan's weight settle on the bed beside me, but stubbornly didn't resurface. I let one hand creep up to grab the tent peg from under the pillow and hugged it close. I would stab him if he didn't leave me alone.
"Come and get food yourself," he retorted. "I am not your servant."
"But I," I retorted gleefully. "Am your charge—an unchaperoned young woman who has already had a most terrifying and dreadful experience with bandits." In reality I knew we ought to actually sit down over a quantity of wine and devise a way to prevent a full-scale mutiny, but I was shamefully enjoying a bed and the prospect of a wholesome meal.
"You need to get up," he insisted. "We need to get away from here before the Prefect's agents come after us."
That annoyed me, not because he'd thought of it first, but because it was completely the wrong thing to do. We were more dangerous to the Prefect if we didn't immediately run back to Arthur screaming blue murder. I finally uncovered my head and smiled at him nastily. "And they'd manage to take us on, right?" I drawled. "For a start, Kahedin would be better off not being put on a horse for a while. Moreover, I think I'll be more useful if I kept my distance, rather than being reinstated as head clerk for Arthur."
"What do you mean?" he asked, looking at me suspiciously.
Knowing that I had lost the battle in going back to sleep, I settled for propping myself up on my elbow and explaining. "I mean that if I return as anything less than a licensed killer, then Arthur's interests will not be protected as they should be. Being trapped doing paperwork and menial chores in the fort will mean I can't move around freely."
"Why would you need to move around freely?" Tristan asked, looking deeply suspicious.
"Because it's only by outmanoeuvring the enemy that we can hope to win." I explained, summoning the last of my patience. "And unlike the rest of you, I haven't been noticed as a serious threat. I can remain a little shadow that no one will see, much less anticipate. Arthur's not known for fighting dishonourably."
"He is a good person," Tristan said defensively. It was almost as if Tristan needed Arthur to be a good man. Needed that strong moral presence to offset his own penchant for easy-killing. In another world, he could have quite easily become a murderer or assassin.
"Which is precisely why we need to be bad," I replied. "Keep our fearless leader gleaming white so he can continue to do good deeds. We need to do the ruthless things that will actually get the job done."
Tristan was staring at me with something approaching admiration. I grinned up at him winningly. "You know this is exactly what you'd like to do, and don't even think about telling me you haven't been doing something like this for a long time already." His admiring look grew into one of… glee? I'd never seen 'gleeful' on Tristan's face before. If I was a lesser woman, I'd have found it deeply disturbing. Instead (and here's the proof I'd gone completely mad) I found it thrilling.
~oOo~
Tristan'd never liked her more than in that instant. Tired, bruised and battered, but still plotting mayhem. Something swelled in his heart—he wanted to see her kill so badly. He wanted to see the methodical ruthlessness that had so horrified Kahedin. She seemed to catch his anticipation and her grin turned feral. Faster than he could follow, she produced a wickedly sharp tent peg and stuck it under his chin. "Now get off me and go see what's for breakfast," she said sweetly, completely at odds with her expression.
Tristan rose obediently, grabbing her blankets and taking them with him. She huffed and got to her feet, pulling another knife from under her pillow before padding over to a bundle by her cloak. Throwing off the cover, she revealed a pile of knives of varying quality.
"Impressive," he said, sidling closer to peer at them over her shoulder.
"Breakfast," she reminded him, jabbing at him with her elbow. He dodged and scowled at the back of her head. She was being unusually hostile at the moment—could it be the stress?
He left her to it, turning away and walking downstairs to the common area. The young woman from last night saw him and stiffened as he headed over to her. "Y-yes sir?" she said in a small voice.
"I need breakfast for my two friends, one of them is too injured to leave his bed and it will have to be taken to him. The young woman will be joining me down here soon enough."
"Understood, sir. Should I also bring your companions' clothes that were washed?"
Tristan didn't know Kation had already seen to her laundry, but was amused nonetheless. He nodded and left to check on the horses. The two mounts from the Prefect's stables were not war chargers, but seemed to be well-trained and sensitive. Promising breeding stock if nothing else. He checked their teeth and noted that they were both reasonably young too… once again, Kation's wickedness was impressive if terrifying. These horses were worth an awful lot of money.
A small sound behind him dragged him from his musings and he swiftly turned to see Kation (still in her thin dress) standing in the entrance to the stables. She was wearing yesterday's turban as a shawl around her shoulders, revealing her shorn head. The bruises and scrapes on her face were stark against her pale skin, but she didn't seem to be in obvious pain.
"Problem?" Tristan asked, glaring at them both. She shook her head and moved closer.
"These are good horses," she murmured.
"They're worth a lot of money."
"Worth a set of knives and a sword for me?" she asked.
"Far more than that," Tristan replied. "Was that what you intended? For shame, Jols would never forgive you."
She finally cracked a small smile and stroked the chestnut's small muzzle as it poked its head over the stall. "They're madcaps—think Mato and Amandus could handle them?"
"They've managed to survive Tagiytei," Tristan retorted.
"Only just—they hand him over to me whenever they get the chance."
"Then you really should come back to the fort with us and spare those boys further suffering," he couldn't stand the idea of her running about alone and vulnerable.
She shook her head emphatically. "There are spies and insurgents in the fort, I can't afford to have them notice me, especially when matters are reaching a critical stage."
"There has to be a way…" Tristan argued.
She threw him a hooded look from under her curling eyelashes. "Getting sentimental?"
He remained stubbornly silent and stared down at her. She rolled her eyes and looked at the horse again. "Up to you. Either I run my errand to Eboracum and then re-join you in the fort as a completely different agent of Arthur's, or I go back with you now and return to the sort of drudgery that has typified my stay."
"What do you need in Eboracum?"
"Tools I can actually work with," she replied, looking deeply thoughtful. "Proper knives and a good sword. A small narrow makhaira would do nicely."
Tristan knew the sword type—forward curving and leaf-shaped, it was a single-handed sword with brutal power. "Surely it will be too heavy for you?" he asked.
Kation shot him a penetrating look. "If I get it made for me, then it will be easy to get the balance right. But that requires a lot of money."
"Why will you need all these weapons?"
"You didn't seriously think that my escape from the Prefect's villa was the end, did you? Besides, I have a gift for him."
"A present for the Prefect?"
She smiled nastily. "Yeah… it's not quite finished yet, so I'll just have to let him squirm in anticipation until it's ready."
Tristan was curious, but knew that she would tell him in her own time. Then he remembered something important. "By the way, Vanora had her baby while you were gone."
She stared at him. "And?"
"A healthy baby boy and Vanora was doing well when I last bothered to look. And Bors was present at the birth, although he didn't want to be."
Kation looked relieved to hear her friend was alright. "Afraid?"
"Terrified."
They shared a smile, which turned into the giggles as they pictured Bors' face, for once pale as death and horror-struck as Dagonet and the twins pushed him inexorably towards the room where Vanora lay, raining curses down upon him. Then they caught each other's eye and the giggles turned into peals of choked laughter.
As they finally managed to get themselves back under control and the girl wiped tears of mirth from her discoloured cheeks, Tristan wondered why they had laughed so hard. Perhaps it was the relief of seeing his friends alive? Had he really been so worried? Refusing to acknowledge the weakness of such sentiment, he slung a companionable arm around Kat's shoulders and dragged her back to the tavern for breakfast.