Prologue:
Nightmare and Dream
Aravis woke from feverish dreams that dark, chilly night. The sheets and her face were damp—both sweat and tears mingled, and she smelled her own fear, drawing the covers closely about her.
She had the dream once more. It was always the same… and always it shook her. As she breathed in deeply the scent of a northern night, she felt calmer, knowing it was only a dream…
It began with riding for her life on her blood mare, Hwin. They were escaping 200 Calormene soldiers astride fast horses, crossing over the desert. Beside and ahead of her, the boy, Shasta, whom she now knew as Prince Cor, was riding low on the back of the charger, Bree.
If the soldiers weren't enough to scare them, the Lion certainly added to the fear. He was quick and lithe—swiftness itself on four strong, thundering legs, his teeth bared and his dark eyes terrible to behold.
Aravis could taste bile in her throat as the Lion gained, his hot breath causing tiny hairs on her neck to stand frozen. A matter of moments, she knew, before she would leave this world and stand before the God Tash and the Lady Zardeena. Though she was paralyzed with fright, she could not urge Hwin on any faster. They were done for.
The great paws reached up, widened, and raked the flesh from Aravis' back. It didn't hurt for the first second… then the pain came, and it was worse than the fear. She almost wished the Lion had finished the job—but he released her, pieces of her skin wedged beneath his sharp claws, and hanging from her shoulders, mingling with the blood now flooding down Hwin's flanks.
She heard shouting… Shasta yelled at Bree to stop… to turn back...to save Aravis. But Bree ran all the more quickly, for ahead was a great green wall—a safe haven, if only they could get to it.
Shasta did the unthinkable… he leapt from Bree's back, bouncing and rolling across the turf. He jumped to his feet, despite the pain he must have felt, and lunged at the Lion, yelling at him. The Lion retreated… and Shasta carried Aravis to the wall of green… the day blackened, and…
Aravis woke up.
It had been four years since that day, and the dreams came to Aravis as real as if she was living it over again. She knew now why the Lion, the great Aslan, gave her the stripes—the shadows of which were now ten thin scars running down her back—for she had not been a kind child, and her cruelty deserved punishment. But it was not the memory of the cuts in her flesh that caused her to shiver in the night, four years later. It was the memory of the boy—Prince Cor, of Archenland, who, without proper training had displayed such courage, that he shamed them all.
And… though she'd called herself his friend since that day, it was not enough, somehow.
In the aftermath of the dream, her sweating had subsided, and the fear had lessened. But the tears flowed more freely than ever. In her chest was an ache unlike anything she had ever known. Her heart, beating thickly and slowly, pained her far worse than the claws of the Lion.
Cor… her rescuer, her friend… would that he might also be… what? Dare she think it? Her love? Husband? Such thoughts were foreign to her, and sounded strange in her mind. She'd never thought to marry, for she fled her own home in Calormen to escape such a fate.
But Cor had grown into a man… his shoulders had broadened, his face become serious, and his character solidified into that of the future king he would become. Identical to his younger twin, Corin, when they were boys, he had become a just, honest, and good man with a quiet strength that Aravis could not imagine why she didn't notice before.
And now… she realized she too must have grown. Many things about her had changed. She never used to be interested in fine clothing… now she spent great lengths of time examining her appearance… just hoping he'd see…
Did he know? Would he care for Aravis as she so truly did him?
Those were the fearful thoughts that lingered in her head long after the nightmare faded, the dream of a life with him, it would seem to Aravis, was much more frightening.