He’d been performing, he’d been misdirecting, to distract Nina and spare her feelings, but in the end it was she who was the superior artist, making him forget himself. It was the look of wordless wonder on her face, truly. It undid him. He spent the rest of the night awake, her head resting heavy against his chest, but he was unafraid.
Once the time was right, Hector snatched the clothes he’d left on a chair and dressed quickly, in the dark. When he walked the length of his living room, a faint light filtering through one of the windows illuminated the crimson stain upon the tablecloth.
He grabbed his hat and hurried down the stairs, down to meet Étienne, who was waiting in the carriage.
Their ride was conducted in silence—conversation would have been too difficult to endure, since it would surely turn to the only possible subject at hand, the duel, and Hector did not wish to speak a single word about pistols or bullets.
The Lawn was a patch of greenery that stretched next to Clocktower Hill, hiding behind a row of ancient elm trees. There was the clock tower nearby, a building of white stone with two hundred steps inside and five bells that chimed every hour.
The Lawn was a secluded place, with no road cutting through it. It served no particular purpose. It simply was. At one point, one city mayor or the other had tried to turn it into a rose garden, but the soil was poor and the funds ran dry. It had become, in the past couple of decades, a favorite spot for fighting duels after an edict had declared men were not to duel in the neglected Corners Cemetery, which had been the customary backdrop for these encounters.
Once they passed the curtain of elms, Hector saw that the other attendees had already arrived. There was a man with a bag, the physician he had never met. Luc stood with Gaétan. He was surprised to see Valérie was also present, her shoulders wrapped in a white shawl. She looked at him as he approached.
He had not thought what he might feel if he should see her again. It was nothing but a vague numbness, a whiff of sadness because her eyes were cruel and he could not help but feel sad for her, this woman he had once admired.
Hector fixed his eyes on Luc Lémy and nodded.
“I am here, gentlemen,” Hector said in greeting.
“Good morning, Mr. Auvray,” Gaétan said.
Luc stood straight and proud in a fine blue suit, his hair combed back, a cigarette in his mouth, as if he were headed to a party rather than a duel. He did not grant a single word to Hector.
“The pistols,” Étienne said, opening the mahogany box and offering its contents up for a final inspection.
Gaétan checked the weapons and declared himself satisfied. He sounded disquieted.
Luc did not seem disquieted; instead, he looked slightly bored, his foot tapping impatiently against the ground, his eyes not bothering with Hector. No words and not even a glance. He had finished his cigarette and discarded it, crushing it under the weight of his patent leather shoes.
“Let us measure twenty paces,” Gaétan said.
The seconds proceeded with this business, planting a sword on the ground at the appointed distance so that each man would know where to stand. Hector and Luc took their positions after the rules were explained. Each pistol was loaded with a single bullet. They were to shoot at the strike of the clock and not a second sooner.
Étienne handed Hector his pistol. “I have no idea what to say to you at this point,” Étienne muttered.
“It’s fine,” Hector said.
Étienne nodded and stepped back.
The time was close now. The pistol felt heavy in Hector’s grasp as he held it at his side, but his palms were not sweaty, and even if the blood was thumping rapidly through his veins, the fear of the previous morning did not manifest.
Luc now deigned to look at Hector with a scornful sweep of his head. Hector stared at the boy fixedly, but did not allow an expression to color his face. He felt a roaring fury inside his heart at the sight of his opponent’s eyes, but he did not want to give the brat the satisfaction of catching him discomposed.
“Three minutes, gentlemen,” Étienne declared.
“You must stop! Stop it, Gaétan!”
Hector turned his head sharply because that was Nina’s voice. Nina stumbling toward her cousin.
Hector opened his mouth.
He wanted to rush to her, and had to close his eyes for a second to prevent himself from moving. He looked at Luc to force himself to stay firm. The weapons were loaded, they were in their places, the clock was about to strike.
Hector could not possibly speak to her now, could not clutch her for a single moment. It was too late.
God, in that instant how he hated Luc Lémy. He might have aimed for the heart right then, blinded by indignation. But then he thought of her, he thought of her only, and he found he could allow himself kindness.
The clock struck six.
Luc pulled the trigger.
Hector fell back, crashing against the ground, the strength of the blow robbing him of his breath.
It hurt.
CHAPTER 26
She woke with a start and discovered he was gone. She thought to weep, but there was no time for that, there was no time at all. She needed to find him. Now that it was morning, now that the day of the duel had arrived, she could not possibly allow him to walk onto that field.
Nina dressed as quickly as she could and did not even bother looking in the mirror, running down the stairs and onto the street. She found a carriage to take her to Clocktower Hill.
The tower rose, bone-white against the sky: a pale portent of disaster in the early-morning light. The Lawn could be accessed by foot only. She paid the man and rushed up the hill, the dew wetting her skirt.
It was not yet six. It wasn’t. She dashed toward the Lawn, and she saw them there, the witnesses and the duelists. Hector and Luc were already in their positions, their pistols in hand.
“You must stop! Stop it, Gaétan!” she yelled, stumbling as she approached her cousin.
“Nina,” he said. “Nina, I—”
“You must stop it!”
“It’s a duel, dear child. He can’t stop it,” Valérie said.
Nina turned to look at the woman. For a moment she thought she could not possibly be real, that she had to be an apparition, but Valérie was there, solid, calmly glancing at the duelists as if it were another day at the park.
“Valérie, you must speak to my cousin. You must help me stop this,” she pleaded.
“Must I?”
“Nina, for God’s sake, shield your eyes,” Gaétan said, taking hold of her and pulling her back.
She pushed Gaétan away, her hands slapping his chest for a second.
The clock struck the hour. The men raised their arms and fired their pistols.
She wanted to scream but could utter no sound, and her fingers curled against the palms of her hands, the nails digging into her skin.
She saw the shining pistols and she thought, I love you.
There was no time to say it, no time to utter a single syllable, but the word broke through and echoed in the space around them anyway, because her love was will.
And her will was an arrow, slamming both men with its strength and knocking them down; it made the grass waver in its path, the blades bending under an invisible wind for a second.
And her will was wind, but it was also iron. It clutched in its grip the bullets that had been destined one for the shoulder and one for the heart. The bullets stood in midair, as if they had been painted upon the landscape and had not been cutting through the air at an incredible speed a fraction of a second before.