The next morning Tristan wasn't surprised to see that Kation was awake before him. Still sprawled across his chest, their legs tangled together, she was staring at the dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight as her free hand stroked over the scar bisecting the tattoo on his shoulder.
"Morning," she whispered, still speaking in Sarmatian. That in itself made him feel unutterably homesick. But instead of answering verbally, he tweaked one of the tufts of her hair. She yawned and rubbed her cheek against him, nose scrunching.
"Morning," he echoed, his voice a little thick—let her think it was from sleep—and his arm fell away as she sat up, the blankets pooling shamelessly in her lap. She stretched and groaned, raising her arms above her head as her back and shoulders popped. He ran a hand up her ribs appreciatively and she whined in her throat, squirming away.
"Arthur expects me to do more paperwork today," she groaned, trying to smooth her hair. "I'll sneak off at lunch time to exercise the horses, or else I'll try to murder him."
He smiled at the idea of Kation—thin as a rail and bristling with fury—going up against the bewildered, harassed and well-meaning Arthur.
"I'm sure he won't mind, especially if you take his horse too."
They washed, dressed in fresh clothes and hunted about for their weapons. Kation letting him attempt to smooth her hair—it was still too short to braid, but too long to be neat—while she attempted to straighten his collar. It wasn't until they had concluded a quiet breakfast in a dark corner of the tavern that she suddenly frowned at him. "You forgot to shave," she said, reaching up and running a critical thumb over his chin.
"Oh, I was considering keeping it," he said, laughter lighting his eyes and quirking his mouth at her look of dawning horror. He tugged her closer to rub his cheek against hers and it seemed impossibly soft. He heard her sigh half-heartedly and could imagine her rolling her eyes at his antics.
"If this is what happens when you go without my good influence for only a couple of days, I shudder to think of what might happen if I were to die."
He didn't buy her stern tone and looked down at her with mocking sarcasm. "What good influence would that be?" he asked innocently, flicking her cheek with a careless finger. A wicked smile curved his lips at the sight of her nose wrinkling, eyes sparking as she tried to remain severe.
"Tristan!" She growled.
"Yes, brat?"
"Stop flirting with me."
They parted ways at the stables without ceremony and he rode out on patrol—ostensibly to see if the governor was on his way, but really to look for signs of the Prefect's agents getting up to anything. It was as he rode over a small bridge that he heard someone hailing him by name. Drawing Tagiytei up, he wheeled around, on his guard, and saw a short man wrapped up in a cloak walking towards him.
"Who are you?" he asked, hands already straying to his bow and quiver.
"A friend," the man had a nasally voice and seemed to be rather fat under the cloak. Moreover Tristan could not clearly see his face in that deep cowl-like hood, which made him wary.
"Whose friend?" The Prefect's?
"Yours, if you like."
Definitely trouble. Tristan made a show of deliberately nocking an arrow. "I have enough friends," he said carelessly.
"Ah, but I am sure you could make room for me. I am the possessor of your sweet girl's fate. Her life and destiny are mine to control."
This guy was Kation's—Natalya's—master? Husband?
That settled it. Tristan bent the bow back to full draw and took careful aim. "In that case, I see it as my duty to set her free," he said.
The little man flapped gloved hands and backed away. "No, no! Hold fast, damn you! It's not like you can hope to kill a god with that pea-shooter!"
"If you are a god, why this feeble disguise?" Tristan asked, not lowering the bow.
"Never heard of the Iliad?" the man said incredulously. "I'm following a great tradition here, and you can't even appreciate it!" he threw off the cloak and Tristan hastily lowered his weapon. No human had green skin and whether demon or god, Tristan would need serious spiritual back-up from a shaman before he could think of tangling with this thing.
"Release Kation," he said fiercely. "What has she done to bring herself under your control?"
"Please, you know that's not her real name," the green-skinned demon said. "And that's a clue as to why she has a Roman name, despite being something else entirely. I control her because I was the one who brought her to you in the wood all those months ago."
Despite himself, Tristan was intrigued. "Where did she come from?"
"From her own world. It is almost exactly like this one, but its time is far in the future. Natalya has the rare ability to travel between the worlds and I am activating and directing this skill. She relies on me to return her to her own world. Therefore she is in my power." The god-demon chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "She is very good entertainment, let me tell you. Running around creating chaos, fighting everyone in sight, getting into trouble that's really none of her business…"
"You have been watching her?"
"Most of the time," the god-demon winked at him, grinning lewdly at the outrage manifesting on Tristan's face. "Don't worry, I'm anticipating that you won't have much more time together. I grow bored of watching her here. Her daily routine is so… samey."
In light of the conspiracy, the mutiny and daily drama surrounding the knights' personal lives, Tristan failed to agree, but thought better of arguing. Because the whole of his world was starting to turn to ash at the meaning behind the god-demon's words. "Does this mean you will take her away?" he asked in a hollow voice.
"When I feel like it. I had high hopes for her here, but it would seem that she made all the wrong choices. Oh well, better have one last victory fuck and say goodbye to her. She'll be gone soon."
"So why are you telling me about it?" Tristan felt increasing panic and anger. He was not the sort of person to give himself away or be vulnerable, he was just as jaded and guarded as Lancelot in that respect. But Natalya had wormed her way into his life and heart. He couldn't lose her now—because she would always be 'Kat' to him, no matter what name she had before—he had to do something.
"Wait!" he said abruptly. "Why would a 'friend' of mine, as you claimed to be, take her away?"
"Because my desires are far more important than yours," the god-demon replied as if this was obvious. "Besides, she's cursed—you don't want a creature like her for your wife."
Would the revelations never cease?! "Cursed? How?"
"Oh, you'll have to ask her about that. Probably at sword-point."
So at least he knew her that well.
Tristan thought fast. "How about a deal?"
"Hmm?"
"A deal, damn you. Name your price."
The god-demon smiled in a way that told Tristan he'd been duped. "Well… I suppose…" he seemed to think about it. "Okay, I have it." He snapped his fingers. "And get down off that horse, you're making my neck ache."
Tristan obeyed and stood by Tagiytei's head. "Well?" he asked, wondering if this wasn't a nightmare after all and he would wake up next to Kat any moment now. He really hoped so.
"Here it is…"