Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Twenty-One: A Contract

It had been an impressive marriage feast. Both Léac and Nérac had invited many guests: men and women from all corners of the empire. Courtiers rubbed shoulders with men of trade, soldiers with senators. They sat at trestles drooping beneath the weight of roast pheasants and geese, cauldrons of broth and wine, plates piled high with fruit or plastered with slices of cheese and meat. Above them, minstrels performed from the balconies: fast paced jigs or slow, measured courtly pavanes.

Meracad sat at the high table dressed in a long, white muslin gown, its details stitched in gold leaf and pearl, a garland of ivy leaves winding about her head. To her right Nérac, proudly surveyed the room, leaning across her to engage his new father-in-law in conversation. Léac had said barely a word to her since arriving, other than a private warning that if word slipped out of her misdeeds, she would have only herself to blame. She kept her rage and disappointment in check, refusing to let them bubble to the surface, feigning a mask of placid, calm compliance. Everyone, it seemed was enjoying the spectacle. Everyone apart from her.

The evening drew on and guests gradually paid their respects before departing. Nérac insisted on the tradition that the newly-weds be the last to leave. The wait was torturous. She could eat little, her stomach threatening to reject the fine food spread before her on the table.

It was the early hours of the morning before they were left alone. Only Léac remained, now well into his cups, still holding forth on his latest business venture into debt collection. Pages wilted tiredly against the walls, waiting for their own chance to return home for the evening.

"Well, Master Léac, with all due respect to tradition, I believe that Meracad is exhausted."

"Aye." Léac nodded, casting a glance of contempt in his daughter's direction. "I expect you'll both be wanting your bed."

She gripped the arms of the chair, digging her nails into the wood and clenched her teeth. His tone had been inflected with a malice which only she could detect: a slight lecherousness even. She felt sick to her stomach.

Léac stood and presented an unsteady bow.

"I trust you will find your accommodation satisfactory," Nérac offered politely.

"Oh yes, my Lord. It suits me well. Goodnight."

He left and the pages began to hurry about the great hall, clearing away platters and glasses, carrying leftover food back down to the kitchens. Meracad breathed out a long sigh and rested her head against the back rest of the chair. Her husband observed her for a moment.

"It was a trying evening for you, I see."

"No," she lied. "Just rather long. I am tired."

He was silent for a moment. Then he put a hand upon her shoulder. She flinched, before recovering her poise.

"Come," he said at last. "There's something I would like to show you."

She stood, weary, and he led her from the hall and down a winding flight of stairs until they reached an iron-studded oak door. Lighting two torches, he passed one to her. She held it up as they stepped across the threshold, and as her eyes adjusted to the light she gasped in astonishment, making out a vast, wood-panelled corridor with leather-bound volumes lining its walls, stretching away into the darkness.

"All of this is entirely at your disposal. Your father tells me that you are something of an avid reader."

"Yes. Yes, I am," she murmured in surprise.

She moved further along the stacks, bringing her torch as close as she dared to the books, her fingers tracing the inlaid titles upon their spines: tomes on hunting, war, history and philosophy, volumes of stories, of poetry and of illustrations.

"All of them?" she asked once again, dumbfounded.

"Every single one."

She felt him move behind her, holding his torch above her head. His free arm curled around her waist. Meracad froze, her rapture now replaced by an icy fear: a nausea unfurling in the very pit of her stomach as his lips pressed against the nape of her neck.

She squirmed from his grasp and he released her.

"What is the matter?" he asked, his tone now colder.

"It's nothing. It's just, well, I am rather tired and..."

"It is our wedding night."

"Yes, I realise that, but..."

"A contract is a contract."

She stared at him in horror, but his eyes remained impassive. He took her torch from her and placed it beside his own in a metal ring which hung from the ceiling. Meracad saw her chance and ran for the door, halting when his laughter rang out behind her.

"There's no point. I locked it."

Her heart beat wildly as she grabbed the handle and pulled. It would not move.

"Let me out." She failed to suppress the rising note of panic in her voice.

"Come now, I thought we had an agreement, you and I."

"You have one with my father, not with me."

"It's the same thing. Of course, I could decide to break the contract, to tell him that my own clauses have not been met. I wonder what he would have to say about that."

"I am not to be bought with money, titles, possessions, or for a whole world of books!" She grasped the handle again, and shook it in desperation. The door did not budge.

"Everything has its price, Meracad. And if you do not know that by now, by the Emperor's own soul you will do soon."

He took a step towards her and she jerked away, her dress snagging on the corner of a shelf. Stumbling, she sought to regain her balance, but he seized her shoulders and forced her to the ground. Screaming, she struck out, her fist making contact with his jaw. He winced and slapped her hard across the face.

Her head reeled. It was as if her strength were leaking away, but she continued to struggle, forcing her fingers into his eyes. He roared in pain and struck her once again. Blood ran from her nose and mouth, gradually transforming the white of her dress to crimson. He forced her onto her stomach, pushing the gown above her legs, his hands tearing at her undergarments. And then she experienced a pain that she had never known before, as it was the fabric of her body that he now tore at.

She had no idea how long it lasted. When he had finished, he left without a word. She lay in the darkness, covered in blood and surrounded by books.