Leda

Chapter Sixty: Dal Reniac to Colvé

Dal Reniac to Colvé

The Summer

Touché, Leda!

Well, you always know I must have the last word. And though I will never be as eloquent as you are, I am not quite the illiterate savage you'd believe.

Many thanks, Leda, for your gift of this new chronicle of our adventures. Your Mother and I intend to read it to each other, although it is very strange to have your own deeds set into words. As if we were characters in a book, and our tale the stuff of imagination. But then, if you had not recorded our adventures, I suppose that they would be lost to history. We'd just be forgotten; our achievements and sacrifices unknown. And perhaps future generations ought to understand the true price of freedom.

Leda, it was perhaps my fault that you did not understand Oræl's love sooner. I warned her that you were grieving for Edæc, and I believe she took my words to heart. Perhaps I was wrong ˗ I did it to protect you. But now I see that you might have enjoyed the happiness you speak of sooner if I'd persuaded her to express her feelings. At least you've found each other now. And I can think of no better person to stand beside you: to support you and hold you when life fires its arrows at you. Because it will, Leda. We can none of us afford to be complacent. The path you've chosen is not an easy one. You're the first empress in our history; you lead us all into uncharted territory now. But at least you won't have to do that alone.

As for myself and your Mother...we are still settling into our roles as Ladies of Dal Reniac. And though we may not have as many duties as you do, we still encounter new challenges every day. Disputes to be settled, the city to be rebuilt, our warehouses to be inspected. We expect ˗ thank the spirits ˗ a better harvest this year, and that our granaries will be replenished. I don't want to have to see another hungry child this winter. It would break my heart.

Your gift, of course, could never compensate for Hannac. You knew that as much as we do. I have forced myself to visit our old home. I sat amongst its ruins and I wept, Leda. I never knew I had so many tears in me. I thought I'd cry myself dry. I remembered the fort when it was full of life. I saw my father walking from the ruined keep. I saw you and Edæc as children, playing in the courtyard. We buried our dead out on the moors, so that Edæc and Magda will not be without company. And then I Ieft it. I left it to the eagles which have made their nest amongst its scorched timbers. I left it to the rats and mice which scurry through its empty cellars. I left it to the sheep which now graze on the grass growing through its cobbles. As Meracad said, Hannac was its people. It can never be rebuilt. I leave it as a monument to all who lived there. And at least Pæga and Berasé now bustle with life, with their new occupants who have made their homes here.

Leda, I will leave you now. Your Mother is watching me from across the room, smiling. I believe she thinks that I'll wear myself out with writing. But in all seriousness, I cannot but return her gaze. It is a miracle, Leda, to share your life with another person. There can be no greater joy. And to think that through my own stupidity, I almost lost that happiness forever. What a fool I was! My greatest hope is that you will know what I now feel. And that in a score of years, you'll look back at Oræl as I am now looking at your Mother.

Stay safe, daughter, and never forget that we love you.

Hal