Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Eighteen - Broken

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Your nose is broken."

Groaning, she lay her hand back at her side, twisting her head in the direction of the voice.

"I'd avoid moving at all if you can. At least, that's what the doctor advised."

"Marc?" she gasped weakly.

"The very same," his voice filtered back. "Well at least you have a decent excuse for not attending my party. Otherwise, I might very well have finished you off myself."

"That's not funny." Now she could just make him out as he sat beside the bed, dark shadows beneath his eyes and his hair mussed.

"How did I get here?"

"You know, I really wanted to ask you the same question. All I can tell you is that I was down in the kitchens enjoying a post-party drink with Lira, when you made something of a grand entrance by falling through the door. The doctor is of the opinion that you must have crawled here, although judging by the state you were in, even she finds that incredible. Do you not recall anything at all?"

Hal's thoughts drifted unwillingly back to the previous evening. "I was stopped in the streets. I know you won't believe me, but I was on my way here."

"Well, I suppose that's irrelevant now, isn't it?" the Senator mused.

"I can't have been so far away I suppose," she continued. "Maybe a few streets. Some men stopped me. I couldn't see them clearly. They dragged me into an alleyway. Said they had a message for me."

"And this, I suppose, was the message?"

"Apparently so."

"And who do you believe the message was from?"

"I think we both know that. From Salius Léac." She gasped, racked by sudden fear. "Meracad!"

"Hal, you can't do anything for her right now. For the Emperor's own sake, lie down girl!"

"But if Léac knew about us..." She attempted to sit only to collapse back down on the bed as a fresh wave of pain laid claim to her entire body.

"Here, drink this." Marc held a glass of water to her lips. "Now, Hal, I can't believe the man's such a fiend he would beat his own daughter."

"You said he killed his wife."

"Yes, well..." his voice trailed away. "Listen, I know you must be terribly worried, but you simply can't help her at the moment. I'll see what I can find out, but you must promise to lie here and behave yourself for a while. Besides, Léac may well be under the impression you're dead, and we should keep things that way. If he finds out you're still alive, he might decide to finish the job."

"If Léac knew," she said eventually, regaining her breath, "I can guess who helped him find out."

"Cara?"

"Who else?"

He peered down at her, his eyes troubled. "If you're harbouring thoughts of vengeance, Hal, I suggest you forget them. You need to rest, not to worry. The doctor will be here again soon to check on you. You've broken more than just your nose, as I'm sure you're aware, and she gave strict instructions: you're not to move an inch. I'm serious about that. Understand?"

"I suppose so."

She understood, but such promises were so hard to keep when all she could think of was Meracad. Surely Marc was right: Léac could not have had her beaten? Or, she thought with a pang of horror, could he, in his anger, have killed her? No. Surely not! Even if he now despised his daughter for what she had done, she was still his most valuable asset. Yet, she knew that Meracad's betrothal had been central to Léac's plans for a long time. And their love ─ well, they may as well have taunted the merchant to his face. She began to feel worse than useless, lying in bed bandaged up to the neck. If only there were some way of getting a message to Meracad, at least to find out if she was safe. The night was long, feverish and full of disturbing shadows. In spite of her weakness she found it impossible to sleep and gradually, from out of her tormented, troubled thoughts, a plan began to form.