Ephialtes
--the legendary Greek traitor who showed the Persians the way around the narrow pass of Thermopylae
The weight should have made him feel powerful.
Or, at the very least, in control.
The cold press of jeweled silver against Edmund's brow did neither. In fact, he felt a little ill.
He told himself it was merely the chill of the great hall. Perhaps he would ask for a hot bath to be drawn when he returned to his rooms.
For the moment, Edmund deepened the folds of pale fur about his shoulders, pulling them around his arms, and continued to stare at the figures in front of him.
He hadn't been there for the actual event. It wasn't necessary. They'd only gotten what they'd deserved. At least, that was what he told himself.
His stomach tightened and he clasped his hands firmly behind his back, forcing his stiff back to straighten and the strange churning to leave him. He was a Prince now. And they were merely in the way.
Means to an end. Sacrifices to be made.
Those were her words. The words she had spoken as she drew the wand from her side, light flashing along the icy surface.
She said it would make him stronger. That no one would follow a weak ruler.
And no matter how he had tried he couldn't seem to believe them himself.
They were, after all, his family.
Lucy and Susan were closest to him, huddled together on the cobblestones. Lucy's face was turned away, hidden beneath Susan's splayed fingers. Susan herself was curled around her sister protectively, eyes shut tightly as if this was all some horrible nightmare and she was about to wake.
Edmund averted his eyes quickly, swallowed harshly down his dry throat, and took a step away, his tongue tasting of blood and Turkish delight.
One last figure greeted him.
The churning in his stomach returned, much stronger this time, and his eyes burned.
"You deserved it." Edmund's voice sounded thin and broken in the vast courtyard and he doubted even the statues believed him.
In the growing twilight he thought he saw their gazes grow heavy, bearing down on his shoulders, each one sending accusations.
Why didn't you warn them? Why didn't you save them? They were your family…
Edmund's breathing grew fast and he threw his fingers in his ears. "Shut up, just shut up!"
No one answered.
Drawing in a deep breath and unstopping his ears, he finally summoned the courage to look at the final statue.
This time, Edmund found he couldn't look away.
Bent in the snow, Peter had never looked more kingly. Sparkling white flakes collected in the curvatures of his shirt, his drooped shoulders, and the crown of his head.
And as Edmund stared down on the stony demise of his brother, he never felt the touch of ice to his shoulders.
