Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Thirteen - The Shark's Tooth

"She's behaving like a damned fool!" Beric stormed across the floor of Marc's grand reception room.

"Beric, please, sit down. Take a glass of wine. Who's behaving like a fool?"

The old duelling master threw himself into an ornate armchair, almost crushing it in the process, and drained the wine in seconds, dumping the glass down without ceremony on the table before him. Glowering, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Who do you think? Thæc, of course."

"Oh in the name of all the spirits," Marc groaned. "What's she done now? Can't you two ever agree on anything?"

"This time it's different. What do you imagine she's been up to the past few nights?"

Marc shrugged. "I have no idea. I haven't seen hide nor hair of her. I assumed she was seeing in the late hours with her dubious collection of friends at The Emperor."

"Maybe, she was." Beric leaned forward, one bushy eyebrow raised enigmatically. "But who else was she with?"

Sighing, Marc sank down on the couch opposite and tugged at the end of his nose in impatience. "Beric, I really have no intention of playing guessing games with you."

"Alright then, I'll tell you who." Beric leaned back in his chair, steepling a chubby set of fingers beneath his chin. "She's been meeting up with Léac's daughter."

"Are you sure?" Marc choked back his disbelief. "I warned her not to go near the girl."

"So did I, but she wouldn't listen. Léac'll string her up if he finds out."

Marc remained silent for a few moments, doing his best to absorb this disturbing piece of news. "I hear Léac's not in town right now," he mused, half to himself. He poured Beric another glass of wine and then turned to him. "Listen, old man, maybe we should give the girl a little time to herself."

"Enough time to do what? Commit a fatal error?" Beric spluttered. "I can't believe what you're suggesting, Senator."

"I'm serious, Beric. Léac is on business, far away in the North from what I've heard. Let the two girls have their fun. If you go blustering in now, you'll only make matters worse."

Beric drained the wine moodily, shaking his head. "I'm not convinced you're right about this, Senator. Even if Léac is away, he's sure to catch wind of such a development. And if Cara Thæc were to find out..."

"Léac is out of the city for at least a month. I know Hal as well as you do. These trysts of hers never last – I'd give them a couple of weeks at best. If nothing changes, we'll speak to her together. I promise."

Beric knocked back the dregs of the wine and then got to his feet. "Well, I bow to your better judgement, Senator. But if she won't end with her foolishness, I'll be damned if I'll sit idly by and watch her destroy herself."

"She should be grateful to you." Marc rose to see Beric out, uncomfortably aware that there was little he could say to put the older man's mind at rest. Hal would always go her own way ─ they had both known her long enough to realise that.

"Aye, well, maybe she is in her way." He cleared his throat, evidently embarrassed now, rose and slapped his hat on his head. Marc watched him navigate his way out, sidling around ornaments and furniture, his broad shoulders and rough manner out of place against the refined backdrop of the room. The salon doors swung to behind him and Marc returned to the couch, dropping back down with a long, drawn out sigh. He poured himself another glass of wine, drinking it straight down, but it was too late. Anxiety had already wormed its way inside his mind, and no amount of alcohol would serve to soothe his fraying nerves.