Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Twelve - Dawn

The streets were now silent, save for the faint licking of the river against its banks. Hal closed her eyes, inhaling the cooler, fresher airs of the night, her shirt still clinging to her arms, damp with sweat. The heat inside The Emperor had been intolerable.

She stole a glance at Meracad whose long, fawn-toned hair now hung free of her cap. The girl's cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone with a brightness Hal had never witnessed before. The evening had grown merrier as soon as Orla left the inn and Meracad had chatted, laughed and joked with the thieves as if they were old friends. With the heady, drink-fuelled atmosphere of The Emperor behind them, however, the conversation dried up. Hal fixed her gaze on the moonlit road ahead, not quite knowing where the night would lead.

"Perhaps we could...talk some more?"

She rejoiced inwardly at Meracad's words, but chose not to show it. "Have we not talked a great deal this evening?"

"Oh, you must know what I mean, Hal." Meracad stopped, reached out and laid an uncertain hand on the duellist's shoulder, her lips curling into a brief, wistful smile. "I never felt such freedom before this evening. But we were not alone."

Her words burrowed their way into Hal's mind, their implication plain. She felt naked, raw, alive to the night and all its temptations, aware of the throbbing of her own pulse and the pressure of Meracad's fingers against her arm. "Is it safe for you to be out so long?" she finally asked.

"I told you ─ they all think I'm asleep. I complained of a headache and went to bed. They'd never think to disturb me. They're as grateful for my father's absence as I am."

Denying herself the luxury of logic, Hal pulled Meracad close, suddenly aware of how violently the girl was trembling as she pressed her against her own body. "We can go back to my lodgings," she whispered.

"I must be back before dawn."

Nodding, she took Meracad's hand, leading her along a series of narrow side streets until they had reached the half-timbered hut which passed for her own quarters. She fished in her pocket for the key before pushing open the door and followed Meracad over the threshold into the one room she called home.

"Not as grand as a court apartment, but it serves me well enough. I'm only here to eat and sleep." Embarrassed, she laughed off the poorly-furnished chamber with its plain, whitewashed walls and bare floorboards.

Meracad turned around, surveying Hal's humble lodgings as if they were a grand reception room. "Who needs luxury when you have freedom?" she asked softly.

"You are right. Here, sit down." Hal gestured to the bench. "Perhaps I have some wine somewhere. I don't exactly do any entertaining here but Marc sometimes appears and then I have to appease him with alcohol."

"Appease him?"

"Unlike you, he doesn't appreciate my choice of accommodation. He believes I should have taken rooms at court."

Meracad smiled. "He must worry about you."

"Oh, he does. Too much." She reached beneath the bench and pulled out a flagon and wine glasses. "Here. This is also not to his palate, but then he does have rather expensive tastes."

Meracad took a sip. "It's fine country wine. Where did you get it?"

"Franc Hannac supplies me with a bottle from time to time." She sat down on the bench, their arms brushing. Silence descended on the little room, and Hal leant forward, resting her chin on her hands, her brow knotted as she struggled to make sense of the situation. She could still tell Meracad to go, to leave before it was too late. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird against her chest.