Leda

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Chasing the Wind

The track around Brennac's western shore had hardened to a mass of frozen ruts and grooves, its dark earth crusted with ice. Ensconced in Leda's carriage, Oræl shifted in discomfort as the wheels hit yet another bump and a bolt of pain shot through her leg.

"Nearly there now, Oræl" Leda forced a smile.

Nestling down amongst a heap of furs and blankets, Oræl managed a curt nod in response. It had taken them three days to travel from Dal Reniac so far, and much of that time had been spent in polite, pointless exchanges. Oræl sensed that Leda wanted to say more; that she wished to unpick Oræl's feelings, to coax her into some kind of confession. But why was that necessary? Why prolong this agony? Leda knew all that was to be known, and Oræl regretted bitterly the moment she'd made herself so vulnerable by revealing her true feelings. After all, hadn't Hal warned her against doing so? Leda was in mourning for Edæc, for the man who should have been her husband. Leda's lost love had been a man, not a woman. And in any case, what business had she, a crofter, in yearning for an empress?

But her feelings betrayed her, for every night she slept through those awful, taunting dreams, waking with an ache between her legs and her heart fluttering like a trapped moth. As Oræl slept, Leda shed her clothes a thousand times and leaped from her boat. A thousand times they met beneath the surface of the lake, their fingers spanning each other's bodies like nets, their lips meeting. And she woke again and again, her forehead beaded with sweat, cursing into the darkness.

Recalling those dreams now, she stifled a moan, clenching her lips together as she raised the blind to peer through the window. They were nearly there at last. This torment would soon be over. Brennac's shore scrolled out alongside the track, a thin rime crusting its edges, a vicious wind warring with the trees which lined its banks. Soon, she thought, she'd be back: back amongst her people. She'd persuade someone to lend her a boat, pack it full of nets and then launch and sail or row as far out into the lake as she could. And then she'd go to work. The fact of it was so simple it surprised her.

They rounded the bank and a few low, thatched dwellings hove into view, the smoke from their makeshift chimney stacks sprayed apart by the wind. In the months she'd been away, Oræl had lost her boat, she'd been captured and escaped, she'd witnessed the public slaughter of battle. Grown men had wept as they'd thanked her for killing Castor. But now, when she caught sight of her parents' croft at last, true fear unfurled in the base of her stomach. Would they, after all she'd done, allow her a place at their hearth? Would her life once again descend into a mess of sullen stares and angry words, of the mutterings of neighbours; their insults half concealed behind their hands? And all of that while enduring Leda's absence. While knowing that Leda sat feted in her palace in Colvé and she remained here, scratching out an existence, bearing their scorn, hatred and rejection.

Her heart was drowning. She sensed its inner weight like a solid lump of quartz hurled into Brennac's waters. And as the carriage ground to stillness, she was unable to open the door and climb out.

Leda watched her for a moment and then rose, raised the latch and gave it a push. "You said you wanted to go back home." It sounded like an accusation.

"Yes. I did. Thank you." She forced herself to speak. "You'll come inside? My parents will want to see you."

Leda inclined her head and then jumped, un-empress like, into the road. "Of course." She held out a hand to Oræl.

Oræl gripped the side of the carriage and lowered herself down onto the ice-packed road, holding Leda's arm and limping forwards as wind coursed beneath her fur-lined jacket, jabbing through the blue wool of her dress. The crunch of carriage wheels had summoned the crofters from their beds. In spite of the early hour they now stood rubbing eyes and yawning, staring at the vehicle and pointing at the Dal Reniac crest on its side. And then they whispered, gestured and stared in undisguised shock at Oræl and Leda as they made their way towards the village. Leda tightened her arm around Oræl's elbow as if sensing her anxiety, and they pushed forwards.