The black pavilion couldn’t have more obviously belonged to nobility without squires standing at attention with wine and roast swan. Unguarded, which was all for the best. Getting in and out would be tricky enough without enemies close at hand.

Careful to maintain her steady “I belong here” pace, Revekah slipped inside. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she felt a pang of disappointment. The interior was almost frugal. A blanket-strewn cot, a trestle table, two folding chairs and a pair of haversacks. Hardly the decadent vista she’d expected.

And no Akadra – although that had been a slim hope. Still, that was how life went. Hurry up, do nothing and wait. The owner would return before his army marched.

And then she’d kill him. For Josiri. For Anastacia. And for Katya. For Katya, most of all.

“Time to prove your patience, old girl,” she breathed. Soft, heavy footfalls thumped beyond canvas. Revekah stiffened and reached for her dagger. “Or maybe not.”

The tent folds parted.

“Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but a herald’s . . .” Kurkas let the flaps fall closed. “What do we have here?”

Revekah winced. Of all the men to cross her path, it had to be Kurkas. If he recognised her . . .

She threw a salute. “Was looking for his lordship, sir. A message from the duke.”

Kurkas nodded. “What it is to be popular . . . No one ever teach you it’s poor manners to enter an officer’s tent without invitation?”

She swore silently. “The duke said it was important, sir.”

Kurkas snorted. “I’m certain he did. Go on, give me your message and be on your way.”

“The duke said it was for Lord Akadra only.”

Kurkas crooked the brow above his eyepatch and rolled his remaining eye. “I shall be the soul of discretion. Let’s have it!”

“As you wish.”

Revekah sprang. Seizing a handful of Kurkas’ tunic, she hooked a heel behind his boot. She bore him to the ground, knees astride his chest. Her forearm slammed against his throat, choking off his cry of alarm. The oiled dagger slid free and arced down.

Kurkas’ forearm slammed into hers. The dagger shuddered to a stop an inch from his throat.

“Changed my mind,” he gasped. “Reckon this is a message best left for his lordship.”

Revekah grunted and ripped the dagger back for another blow.

Kurkas bucked beneath her. His hand closed around her throat.

Starlight exploded behind Revekah’s eyes as his forehead slammed into hers. A heavy shove sent her backwards. Blinking furiously, nausea crowding her throat, she staggered to her feet.

Kurkas reeled unsteadily upright. He blinked away a trickle of blood, the gesture disturbing his tangle of greying hair. “Yeah. Never doing that again.”

“You’re right about that.”