Leda

Chapter Eleven - Digging Deeper

"What are you waiting for, Hannac?" Castor's face paled with excitement.

Hal froze, her sword hovering before Magda's throat. Her opponent stared back up with angry, fearful eyes, shaking her head.

"I said..." The Emperor stalked through the clusters of courtiers towards her.

"Yes, your Majesty. I know what you said. But we were ordered to duel, not to kill."

"Now I'm ordering you to kill."

She recalled Degaré's limp, lifeless corpse and shuddered. "Duelling is entertainment, your Majesty. Death is not." She lowered her sabre.

"Please, Castor. Please!" Evelia was on her feet imploring; her soft, round face glazed with tears. "Don't take Magda from me. She's all I've got."

A few murmurs of sympathy rumbled around the court. Hal sank down on the floor beside Magda. "Something you're not telling me?" she whispered.

"Shut up, Hal."

"She seems rather concerned that you live."

"I said shut up!"

His lips flecked with spit, Castor loomed over her. "Run her through, Hannac, or I'll have you both executed."

"Well if that's how it's to be, your Majesty..." She handed him her sword by its hilt. "Our lives are yours to command, after all."

Would he bite? Two unarmed duellists at his feet, the entire court watching. Frowning, now less certain, Castor took the sword and studied its blade as if it were the first he'd ever seen in his life. Wine trickled onto the floor in slick red drips from an upturned pitcher, pooling like blood. She looked past the Emperor to Meracad who stared at her from behind a table, paralysed with fear.

Hal shook her head. "Don't worry," she mouthed. But no words of reassurance would ever be enough, not now.

"Brother..." hands in pockets, Josen strolled across the room as if taking a walk on a summer's day in the palace gardens. His smile, however, was false and tight. Slipping an arm around Castor's shoulder, he tugged him into a fraternal embrace. The court held its collective breath.

"Brother, surely it would bring bad luck to spill blood at your coronation feast?"

Castor's frown deepened. He turned the sabre over in his hands, his expression passing through irritation and firm rage before that strange, intense hunger re-entered his eyes. Shrugging himself free of Josen's hold, he reached out with the blade, pressing its point into Hal's collar bone. She closed her eyes, aware of a fine thread of blood now inching down the front of her shirt.

"When your Emperor bids you do something, Hannac, you do it."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"And now I'm bidding you leave. Go. Return to that miserable hole you call home and don't come back."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Ever." He twisted the sword. She bit her lip. "If you are seen within twenty miles of Colvé, you die ˗ do you understand me?"

She sucked in air. "Yes, your Majesty."

"And you will send Leda Nérac to me."

She hesitated. He dug deeper. She clenched her teeth. "Yes, your Majesty."

"Good." He drew away the blade. "I shall keep this as a reminder of your promise." He handed it to Josen. "And now get out. You too, Brighthair. Crawl back to the North with her. I'm sure my Aunt can manage without your services."