Hal stretched back lazily, arms folded behind her head, and watched with undisguised amusement as Meracad enveloped herself in one of Franc's silk robes.
"We really must find you some clothes. You'll get lost in that."
"It will do for now. Franc said he'd find me something more suitable."
Meracad leant over the bed, kissing Hal with the same intensity that had defined their lovemaking earlier that day. Except that then they had been frantic, desperate. Awakening after hours of exhausted sleep, they had torn at each other's clothes, clinging together, overwhelmed by the extremes of intimacy and joy that their passion had invoked.
"I missed you." Hal closed her eyes, savouring the pleasure of physical contact after being deprived of it for so long.
"I got that impression." Meracad ran her finger over the outline of Hal's ribcage, trailing her hand across her stomach, hips and thighs. The duellist inhaled sharply, throwing her head back for a brief moment before seizing Meracad's wrist.
"Enough!" she exclaimed. "Franc will be wondering where we've got to!"
The merchant's daughter stuck out her lower lip in mock petulance. "I think he can guess."
Hal frowned, pulling at a thin cord which was wrapped around Meracad's wrist. "What's that?"
"What do you think?" Meracad loosened it a little. A tiny translucent sliver fell down above Hal's face, swinging like a pendulum.
"The shark's tooth! You remembered it!"
"Of course. It was all that kept me going through these months ─ the memories it evoked."
Unwinding the cord, Hal turned the strange token over in her hands.
"Such a stupid gift," she said at last. "It should have been a sapphire or a diamond. But I never could save the money I made from duelling."
"Well, you don't have to worry about that now, do you? Now you're Franc's heir."
"No, I suppose I don't."
Rising, Meracad slipped across the room to gaze out of the window. Hal observed her, taking in the folds and drapes of silk as they hung from the girl's slim frame, her fair hair now streaming loose down her back. Rising, the duellist pulled on her shirt and padded barefoot across the room to stand behind Meracad, wrapping her arms around her. The late afternoon sky was a crisp blue and the autumn sun still carried enough power to melt the snow, releasing for the time being its grip on the landscape. Water plunged in heavy erratic drops from the rooftops and gutters onto window sills and panes of glass. She bit her lip, resting her warm forehead against the chill lead of the lattice work.
"What's wrong?" she asked, sensing Meracad's mood change, her levity giving way to uncertainty.
"He'll come for us," Meracad said at last. "He won't rest until he's found us. I know him."
"We'll be ready." She rested her chin on the girl's shoulder, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt.
"He has every right to come. Every right to take what's his."
Hal froze, her embrace tightening. "I know what it is you want to tell me," she whispered in Meracad's ear.
"You know? How?" She twisted around in Hal's arms to face her with anxious eyes.
"You were sick. When we ran from the fortress. And then you pretended to be pregnant. The pretence seemed like too much of a coincidence. Does he know?"
"Yes." True fear entered her eyes. "He never seemed to stop talking about the preservation of his dynasty, how important it was that I give him a child. I struggled, Hal. Believe me, I fought. He was just too strong. I couldn't stop him."
Her tears swelled, brimmed and spilled. She gave into them for a minute. Hal held her as her body shook with emotional release. "You won't go back there." Anger cut through her words of reassurance.
"But once he knows I'm here, he'll take it as a declaration of war," Meracad stammered.
"Let him. There is no love lost between the houses of Hannac and Nérac, believe me. We're not running now. We'll stand our ground. And your child will be better off out of that death trap of a place."
"Is Franc really prepared to stake Hannac on our freedom?"
"Not just Franc. We all will."
Meracad smiled through her tears, pulling Hal closer. "I love you," she whispered.
"I got that impression." Hal's poor imitation of Meracad's cut-glass Colvé accent elicited a peal of laughter from them both.
A knock at the door made them jump. Elis, Franc's maid, stood in the corridor, clutching a ball of crimson material. "Master said this should be a decent fit for Lady Meracad." She thrust the dress at Hal and fled.
"Well?" Hal turned back into the room and looked across at Meracad. "Are you going to try it on?"
"Of course." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and tugged it from Hal's arms. "Don't look."
Hal screwed her eyes closed, opening them slyly when she heard the silk gown drop softly to the floor.
"I said don't look, Hal! Alright. Now you can turn round."
Hal released a low sigh and sank down on the bed. The deep red velvet clung tightly to Meracad's waist and hips before spilling down in waves onto the floor. The dress was without sleeves, just two delicate thin straps holding up a deep neckline.
"You know," she said at last, "I don't believe Franc would miss us for a few more minutes."
Meracad smiled. Reaching down, she lifted the duellist's face upwards between the palms of her hands. "No," she whispered. "I don't believe he would."
***
Hal woke with a start. The autumn afternoon had disappeared, a clear, starlit night winking in its place. The hum of conversation, accompanied by distant strains of music wafted upwards from the great hall.
She shook Meracad, who was lying next to her, still soundly asleep.
"What is it?" The pillow muffled Meracad's voice.
"Franc will be furious! Get dressed!" Hal jumped out of bed and pulled on her shirt and trousers. "I'm going downstairs." She pushed a few strands of hair from the girls face and kissed her cheek.
"I'll be there in a minute." Meracad stretched luxuriantly and then turned over and went back to sleep.
As Hal hurried in the direction of the great hall, the melodies and laughter grew in intensity, building to an uproar. Franc caught sight of her across the room and jumped down from the dais on which the high table was raised, squeezing through the crowds to greet her.
"Where have you been?" He was forced to shout to make himself heard.
"We had a lot to catch up on."
He raised an eyebrow. "The festivities started some time ago! Come on!"
He grabbed Hal by the arm, dragging her through the throngs of tenants who had given sway to the rhythms of the music or sat, huddled together in groups discussing the triumphs and failures of the harvest. Others raised their glasses to the Hannacs, father and daughter, as they pushed their way to the high table, while some listened, enthralled, as Arec relived the confrontation with Nérac's guards.
"We have a guest." Hal looked up to see Marc seated in Franc's chair, apparently the only person not enjoying himself. Still wrapped in his travelling coat, he scowled as he surveyed the chaotic scene before him, drawing deep draughts from his wine glass.
"He's not happy is he?" Hal yelled into Franc's ear.
"No, he isn't. Try and explain it all to him. He won't listen to me."
Hal clambered onto the platform with an air of resignation. "Marc!" She held out her hand to him.
"Hannacs!" he muttered, ignoring her. She sat down beside him and filled her glass, waiting for the tirade to begin. Franc pulled back the seat next to her, observing Marc warily.
The Senator finally spoke. "Well, I hope you're happy, the pair of you."
"We're ecstatic, Marc. Can't you tell?" Hal gestured to the crowds of dancing farmhands.
"Typical." Marc looked as if he had just swallowed something distasteful. "You kick open a wasp's nest and then celebrate with a party."
"Oh come on, Marc!" Hal began to rile. "Don't pretend you didn't think I would at least try."
"Hal, I really wanted to believe that your common sense would prevail for once. Of course I should have realised that the two of you share the same rebel blood."
"What can I say, Marc? She's her father's daughter." Franc's proud response irritated Marc even further.
"Nérac's wife!" He drained his glass, cast them both a morose look, and then immediately poured himself another.
"Meracad Léac," Hal corrected.
"Well of course that makes it perfectly alright!" Marc snapped back. "You know, I had hoped to find you settling into your new role as provincial aristocrat, Hal. Instead of which you've succeeded in stirring up an internecine feud which could destabilise the whole of the North. I did have some good news to pass on but I don't really feel like it anymore."
Before either Franc or Hal could reply, the heady pace of dancing slowed and the great hall gradually fell quiet. Meracad hovered at the entrance, uncertain, nervous ‒ a little lost. Her hair fell in loose flowing waves about her shoulders and her face now turned the colour of her dress as she realised all eyes were upon her. The crowds parted respectfully to form a corridor along which she might pass as she summoned enough courage to thread her way amongst them towards the high table. Even Marc seemed briefly stunned, his face softening, the bitterness draining from his eyes.
Hal leapt down from the platform and extended her hand to Meracad. They ascended together, Franc gathering her in a warm embrace.
"Welcome, lass. You're a sight for sore eyes. Take a seat next to Marc there, would you?"
She inclined her head in politeness. "Good evening, Senator."
Marc nodded coolly. "Lady Nérac."
She winced. "Please, Marc. Don't make this more difficult than it has to be." She took her seat beside him.
"Believe me, Meracad, life is about to get very difficult for the two of you. You've made your decision and you will have to be strong if you are to live with the consequences."
"Oh, Marc!" Hal sighed. "For once, let's just imagine that there is no world beyond these four walls. Let's fool ourselves enough to believe that every night is as joyous as this one. Of course we've staked everything on a few poor cards. Perhaps we'll pay for it tomorrow. But for now, give us the opportunity to enjoy ourselves."
Franc smiled and clapped her on the shoulder. "Spoken like a true Hannac, lass. Anyway, Marc, you said you had good news for us. For the Emperor's sake tell us what it is, instead of sitting there brooding like the agent of death itself."
Marc shook his head in disbelief. "You are all beginning to confirm my suspicions that the further north a person travels the madder they become. I can see you're all hell-bent on inviting ruin, and I can assure you that I'll be leaving in the morning before the insanity can spread. I just wanted to pass on a piece of interesting news about Cara."
Hal sat bolt upright in her chair. "What has she done?"
For the first time that evening the trace of a smile flickered about Marc's mouth. "Well actually Hal, it's more a question of what I have done, along with the help of a couple of rather obliging acquaintances."
Once he had begun telling the tale of the baiting of Cara Thæc, he seemed to regain some of his old humour, describing with particular relish the moment at which Anton Dræc had stumbled into Cara's chambers to find her wrestling with Asha. Meracad choked back her amusement at Marc's tragi-comic narration, while Franc clapped him on the back, wiping away tears of laughter. "I am indebted to you, old friend. Indebted I tell you!"
"And that's not all, Franc. Diodiné made a personal decision to have her ejected from the court."
"One of the few wise decisions that man has made," Franc observed. "Oh, come on now Marc!" He caught the Senator's warning look. "The Emperor's ears are not so sensitive!"
"You'd be surprised." Marc had grown serious again. "It turned out that Cara was in arrears on her court apartments. Even when she'd sold off the tapestries, the artwork, the jewellery, everything she had, there was still money to be paid."
"And so?" Franc asked, loading his plate with slices of meat, bread and fruit.
"Well, what do you think happens to those who can't pay their debts to the imperial court?"
"No!" Meracad suddenly appeared shocked. "They couldn't have!"
"Why not? That's what debtor's prisons are for, isn't it? You or I would face the same fate, Meracad, if we reneged on our duties to the court."
Hal had remained silent and stony-faced, waiting for the conclusion of Marc's performance. "That was harsh, Marc," she said at last.
They all looked at her in surprise. "Oh come on now, lass. Someone was bound to prove Cara's match eventually. I'm only surprised it wasn't you."
"She's my mother, Franc. That's hard to swallow, I know, but it's the truth. And somehow, I always thought..."
"That she'd acknowledge you?" Franc grew grave, his brow wrinkling in concern. "Don't ever fool yourself about that, Hal. I have more reason than anyone to know that she'll never change. You're Hal Hannac now, not Hal Thæc. Don't ever forget it."
Meracad squeezed Hal's hand. "Franc's right, Hal. We can't delude ourselves. Life is too short. We must live with the truth, however painful."
Hal looked out across the dancing crowds, her imagination soaring north to Dal Reniac, south to Colvé, the two cities which had dominated her life and still seemed to hold her in their sway. "You're right," she said at last. "Only the truth matters now. And the truth is that I love you." She stood up, and held out her hand to Meracad. "Will you dance?"
Meracad smiled. "Of course. I thought you'd never ask."
She rose, and they were soon lost amongst the swirling throngs of dancers, giving themselves up to the music's wild beat, as the swirling stars of the autumn night loomed over Hannac.