Leda

Chapter Forty-Nine: An Error of Judgement

"I'm not sure the moors are the best place to pitch a tent." Hal summoned a tired grin. "We appear to be sinking into the mud."

Lying on a pile of pelts and furs, her head resting on Meracad's knees, her gambeson unlaced, one boot on and one half off, Hal peered up into her lover's face.

Meracad smiled down at her, stroking a few of the damp locks of hair on Hal's forehead. "It's the best Lord Roc could do, I suppose," she said. "Be thankful you're not sleeping under your coat."

Hal nodded. "None of us will last for long out here. We can't afford a siege. We've little food and the weather will turn worse soon...I feel it."

"Ever the optimist."

"No." Hal closed her eyes, wrapped an arm around Meracad's waist and held her tight. "Alas, no," she whispered. Had life had thought fit to bless her twice: first Leda, now Meracad? She was not convinced.

Memories of the battle slipped and faded: the intensity of her rage which had somehow found its relief in the letting of blood. How she'd wandered alone and exhausted back to Meracad. And all this, she feared, was a prelude to something far, far worse. Hal shuddered.

"Hal..." Meracad laid an arm across Hal's chest, still stroking her hair. "Hal, there's something you need to know. It's about Marc. He's...he's dead, Hal."

Hal screwed her eyes shut, her body clenching and unclenching. "I know. Magda told me. You...you saw him?"

"Hal, you don't have to hear it."

"I do."

"Josen left him bleeding out in the gutter. He urged me to run, but...it was too late."

"Oh..." It was as if a part of her had been sliced away. As if her conscience itself had been incised. For that was what Marc had been, with his words of caution and restraint, his sharp wit and infinite sympathy.

"I sent him..." her voice was thick and hoarse. "I sent him after you. To warn you. I killed him."

"Oh, Hal!" Meracad shook her. "It wasn't you who killed him. It was Josen! Don't blame yourself for that. Perhaps...perhaps Marc was spared in a way. I don't think he'd have survived these dark, ugly days. There was too much light in him."

"He should have died in his bed, Meracad, surrounded by his friends. Not bleeding out in a Colvé gutter. He deserved better. And if that night I'd treated him and you and Magda with the respect you all deserved...if I'd not fought Magda, if I'd listened to Marc..."

"If, if, if..." Meracad levered Hal upright and planted a kiss on her forehead. "We all made mistakes that night, Hal. I'm sorry I slapped you."

She studied Meracad's face ˗ so worn with care and sorrow, yet her beauty shone through it all. Hal sucked in her breath. "No blow has ever hurt me more, Meracad." She pressed her fingers to Meracad's lips to stall her lover's protest. "Nor did I ever deserve one more." They kissed. She tasted the warmth of Meracad's mouth and sank into it.

"Alright in here?" Jools' head sprouted through the entrance to the tent. Hal broke from Meracad with a groan.

"Jools, please!"

Jools winked, eternally and infuriatingly cheerful. "Roc's calling council in the ruined farmhouse, right now."

She slipped away, disappearing into the darkness and whistling as she went. Hal rose, every muscle screaming at her to sit back down.

"Well we'd better go, I suppose. I'll get to meet your seafaring friends at last." She laced up the gambeson and threw the greatcoat over it. Meracad wrapped herself in furs.