The Duellist Trilogy by Kate Cudahy

The Duellist Trilogy by Kate Cudahy

Author:Kate Cudahy [Cudahy, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Firebound Books
Published: 2018-02-17T22:00:00+00:00


Chapter Twenty-Five

Unexpected Guests

Leda wouldn’t sleep. It was as if she could sense Meracad’s anxiety. Squirming in her mother’s arms, her cheeks turned a vivid shade of crimson as she screamed angry wails into the night air. Meracad whispered to her, rocked her, planted quiet kisses on her forehead, but nothing seemed to work. And the longer Leda fretted, the more her own fears grew, until she was no longer sure she could bear them.

At first, she had railed against Arec, making him the object of her frustrations. Why had he let Hal go? How could he have opened the gates, allowing her to ride out alone and unprotected?

Arec had endured the outburst in silence. When it was over, and her anger had run its course, he had placed two firm, heavy hands on her shoulders, turning her round to face the western wall. Luc and Olæc were carrying Franc’s body down the steps. That was the moment she had understood.

“Quiet, Leda!” The child’s shrieks echoed around the courtyard, as if there were three Ledas, not one who now cried. Meracad enfolded her in blankets and held her close, focussing on the grief-stricken figure of Marta Ilenga who bent over Franc Hannac’s lifeless form, her auburn hair tumbling in loose streams down her back and across Franc’s face. Meracad ventured a few hesitant steps towards Marta and then stopped. The Mistress of Berasé was furious in her grief, haranguing Franc for his lack of care and stubbornness.

“You idiot, Franc Hannac! You could’ve taken my help. You might’ve spared me the pain. We’d be drinking your wine now and laughing at what’s passed. Instead you left me here alone without so much as a goodbye, you bastard.”

“He could never have foreseen what was to happen.” Ignoring Leda’s protests, Meracad moved to stand beside Marta. They had lain Franc out in his armour on a trestle from the great hall. Four torch bearers stood at each corner, holding silent vigil. His eyes were closed as if in sleep; as if he had merely collapsed with exhaustion and might get up at any moment to put his house in order. For a brief moment, Meracad understood Marta’s resentment. She could not quite accept that Franc was gone.

“If Berasé and Hannac had stood together from the beginning, none of this would have happened.” Marta’s eyes were red against the pale, taut skin of her cheeks. Her lips trembled. “But he’d have it his way – as always. I should’ve known not to trust him. It’s not the first time he turned his back on me.” She dissolved into deep, throaty tears, clutching Franc’s hand in her own as she kneeled at his side. Meracad could only look on, helpless. Leda screamed, Marta was weeping and all the time a voice nagged at her conscious thoughts: was Hal alive?

The sharp, jarring blast of a horn from the south wall told her that someone was coming. She jumped, her heart picking up pace as it already had done so many times that evening.



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