5
Tara hid daggers in various places, ranging from her dress sleeves to her boots. She knew she was going to walk into enemy territory and she wanted to be ready. She took a breath. She knew what she was getting into and it was not going to be fun. Looking at the small table in the room, she picked up a necklace with her good hand. She had removed the bandage the doctor had wrapped her left hand in so she could pick up things better. Not that she could with that hand any way. It burned with every movement she made, and even wrapped it hadn't helped.
The physician had said that it was some sort of crippling poison that was not deadly, but would become annoying as the toxin set into her muscles. It would be like having a more severe form of arthritis that would sometimes leave her unable to move her entire arm. Even though he could not explain why the icicle shaped mark had appeared, he suspected that it had something to do with the poisonous nature of Jadis' blood. Instead of concentrating on her hand, she studied the necklace in her palm.
Her mother had given her that necklace right before the king's men come and taken her. She had told her that it was a reminder that they would meet again, only in happier times. Tara pressed the pendant to her lips and closed her eyes as she pictured her mother; she missed her.
She sighed; she still had to finish dressing. With a longing look and the beautiful face of her mother in her mind, she placed the necklace back on the table. She definitely didn't want Miraz to get his filthy hands on it, even though she longed to keep it near.
Suddenly, a knock at the door brought Tara from her reverie with a jump.
"Tara!"
It was Peter! She gasped as she struggled to get the dress on.
"I'm coming in," he said after a pause.
"No, Your Majesty, don't!" she cried, but he paid no attention and opened the door.
She hurriedly pulled down her dress sleeves, but not before the High King glimpsed the sight of a wound that ran from her elbow to her forearm and was turning hideous shades of purple and blue.
He looked at her, his face red, eyes blazing and gaze piercing as she busied herself with tying a sash around her slim waist. He walked over to her, his eyes never leaving her arm. "How did you get that?" he asked quietly, but she pretended as if she hadn't heard him. He grabbed her hurt arm and squeezed, sending her to the bed gasping. "Did Miraz give that to you?"
She tried to yank her arm out of his grasp, but it only resulted in more pain so she stopped. "Let go," she demanded, through gritted teeth, trying to hold back the tears of pain that threatened to spill over.
Instead of letting go, Peter pulled up her sleeve and a strong wave of nausea surged through him at the sight. Bruises of different colors ran down her arm, almost completely blotching out her tan skin. A long, deep scar spiraled down her arm, starting at the shoulder and ending at her wrist. He could tell the incise had been reopened numerous times for the area around it was red and it was oozing puss.
He let go and looked at her and saw that there were tears falling down her face.
"Are you happy now?" she asked, standing and letting her sleeve fall to cover her arm once again.
"How long has this been going on?" he asked, softly.
"What does it matter?" she said, as if defeated. She sank down on the bed with a sob.
"Does Caspian know about this?" Peter questioned, sitting next to her.
She nodded.
"And he does nothing?"
"What can he do?" she demanded. "If he had known, Miraz, in his eyes, would not have been the same. In some things he needed, needs, to be ignorant, for his well being."
"Is that your excuse?" he cried, disgust layering his voice. "Constantly being beaten is no way to live! He has no right, Tara. No right!"
"It's my life. I have the choice of whether I stay or not." She stood, grabbing her broadsword from the bed. She turned away from him, and focused on strapping the heavy sword to rest against her hips, which were swollen from her encounter with Jadis in the room that held the Stone Table. Caspian was lucky that she knew her way around the How so thoroughly, or his arm might have been slightly more mangled that it was at present.
"What are you doing?" Peter suspiciously questioned.
She didn't reply.
"Tara, answer me," Peter demanded, through gritted teeth.
"I'm getting ready to go with your brother to deliver the challenge to Miraz," she answered after a pause. Her voice was more relaxed than she felt. Despite knowing him better, Peter's presence was intimidating.
"No, you're not," he stated. "You're going to stay here, where it's safe."
Tara's jaw tightened, but didn't trust herself to turn and look him in the face. "I'm not accustomed to taking orders—never have been. And I don't know what makes you think that I am going to start now." she challenged softly.
She heard footsteps and a rough hand wrapped around her waist spinning her around. "I will," Peter said harshly.
She put up her hands and pushed away from him. Her face paled as pain flashed up her bad arm all the way to her shoulder, as he once again reached out for her and swiping her wounded limb. "You can't make me do anything I don't want to," she said, darkly, trying to mask the pain in her voice, but failing horribly.
"As High King, I can," he retorted, stepping up to her, but she quickly stepped back.
"In case you haven't noticed," Tara spat. "This is not the Narnia you remember and you are not King anymore."
The fury that clouded Peter's face made her regret those words in an instant.
"You wouldn't know anything about ruling a country," he said, in a low, dangerous tone.
"I could do a better job than you're doing at the moment," she fought, taking a step toward him, but thought better of it and would have taken a step back, but Peter grabbed her bad arm, bringing her close, and she forced herself to stay silent as pain flooded through her.
"You?" he mocked, cocking an eyebrow and she picked up a hint of disgust in his voice. "A street rat rule a country?"
Tara's mouth dropped in shocked surprise.
"Lucy told me," he explained.
Her eyes burned with fury. She would have to have a talk with her little queen if they ever met again. "I may be a street rat," she said, her voice shaking, and she fought in his arms furiously, not caring about her arm anymore. "But at least I'm not a stuck-up, pompous, conceited, self-satisfied, self-centered, arrogant King who is so full of his image he doesn't care about his people. Meant in a most…caring way." It was her turn to mock him and he didn't miss it.
"You think I wanted this?" he shouted, shaking her slightly.
"You certainly didn't do anything to prevent it," she countered, quietly.
"You act like this is my fault," he accused.
"And you act like it isn't," she retorted.
"What am I supposed to do?"
She sighed. "Wait for Aslan, like Lucy suggested."
"You know that's going to be a little hard considering that I have to fight Miraz," he retorted, letting out a long slow breath.
They both looked away from each other and the silence that followed was uncomfortable. Tara squirmed in his arms.
"Please don't go," he breathed, but she didn't calm. He shook her, causing pain to shoot up her left arm, and she became still to make him stop. He tried to stroke her hair, but she pulled away, not meeting his eye. Angrily, he grabbed a fistful of her ebony locks and yanked her head back until he could see her eyes. Before he could speak she asked,
"What does a street rat have that would cause the High King over all kings of Narnia to be so concerned about her?"
"I don't want anything to happen to you," he murmured, and the way his eyes shone down at her she was tempted to believe him.
"Why?" she questioned, refusing to give in. "Why am I so important to you that you would lose sleep over me?"
A surprised frown creased his forehead.
She smirked. "Lucy told me."
He smiled with her at the joke. Freeing her head, he reached down and touched her cheek with his fingers.
Instinctively, Tara pressed her face into his hand. Why did she give into him like that?
"You're so brave," he whispered. "You have such a deep well of inner strength that enables you to face yours fears head on, and I respect that. Tara, you're…beautiful, inside and out. Please, just…"
"I'll be fine," she reassured, but her voice shook precariously and she didn't know whether it was from emotion or the pain in her arm which had considerably subsided.
"No, you won't," he fought, softly. "I may not know Miraz the way you and Caspian do, but from what I've seen, he will not pass up a chance to take revenge on you or the ones you care about."
She looked away from his pleading eyes. "That's exactly why I'm going," she answered quietly. "I've seen what Miraz can do… and I've helped him do it. And I will not let you or Caspian or anybody else suffer for what I've done." She watched his eyes widen in surprise at hearing the same words his brother had spoken over a year ago when they had first come to Narnia. Not being able to stop herself, she gently touched his cheek, not realizing it was with her bad hand. "Don't worry, I'm a big girl. I'll be fine." How could someone so important care for her like this? It was beyond her comprehension. She of all people—a street rat, Telmarine turncoat, Narnian spy, and henchwoman for Miraz— did not deserve it.
Peter took her hand in his own and brought it to his lips.
A smile flickered on her features, but disappeared just as quickly. Escaping his arms, she turned away and took her mother's necklace off the table. "Here," she said, stepping back up to him and before she could stop herself she was slipping it over his head. "A reminder that I will always come back." She let the pendant fall gently on his chest, her fingers touching his tunic. Peter grabbed her hand, still holding the pendant. She looked at him and gave a smile.
"Wear this into battle, and Aslan will grant you peace." She turned to go, but Peter wrapped his arms around her drawing back to him. Her breathing quickened and she struggled to escape the circle of his arms. Spinning her around, he faced her. She lowered her head, but he reached around and grabbed her hair, forcing her to look up at him.
"Why do you do this?" he asked softly. When she did not respond he bent, their lips meeting. She squirmed in his arms throughout and he pulled away angrily.
"Why do you always fight?" he demanded.
She panted and was shaking violently. "Because I always have," she stated softly, tears shining in her eyes. She glanced at him, but then quickly averted his gaze. He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger.
"You don't have to anymore," he said, looking deep into her eyes and he suddenly felt her relax. He bent to kiss her and this time she met him eagerly. When their lips finally parted, she smiled shyly up at him. Leaning against him, she rested her cheek against his chest and wrapped her arms around him. For the first time in a long while, she felt protected. There was something about him that calmed her, reassured her. It felt nice having someone to pour your heart out to. Someone who genuinely cared, regardless.
She sighed and looked up at him with a smile. Just then, a knock interrupted her thoughts. She looked to the door then back to Peter.
"Yes," she called.
"Tara," the voice belonged to Trumpkin. "It's time to go."
She sighed. "All right, I'm coming," she replied.
"Well, don't take all day about it," he grumbled loud enough for her to hear and she could not help but smile. She waited until his footsteps ebbed before speaking again.
"You heard him," her voice was soft and her eyes shone. "I have to go now." Peter tried to retort, but Tara stopped him by placing two of her fingers on his lips. He reached up and pressed her finger tips to his mouth and kissed them, her palm, then the back of her hand. "Let the necklace also remind you that you don't need to put on a show to be great. You just have to be the King I know you can be." With that, she drew away from him. She walked out the door, with Peter by her side and she felt his eyes never leave her form.
She walked to the entrance and smiled reassuringly at Edmund who looked as if he'd rather be doing something else. Trumpkin held four twigs of the olive branches and passed one to Tara. Suddenly, Caspian was there with Lucy and Susan. Lucy hugged Tara's waist. Part of her was glad that Lucy had told Peter what she had shared with her.
"You'd better come back," she said, softly.
Tara smiled. "I will, don't worry." Then, taking a dagger from her sleeve, she pressed it into Lucy's hand.
"I want you to take care of this for me," she said smiling. "It was my father's and it always brought him luck when he used it. Besides, I think a knife expert could make better use of it then I could."
Lucy smiled and unsheathed the blade. Tolken, her brother, older by two years, walked up to her and pulled her into his arms, embracing her firmly. Then, she looked at Edmund and nodded her head. She, Edmund, Glenstorm and a giant named Wimbleweather walked out of the How and, with the olive branches held across their right shoulders, they started across the field to where the Telmarine army laid waiting. Suddenly, Tara realized her hand was not burning and she looked down at it surprised. The mark was still on her wrist, but the pain was gone and the burning had subsided. When had this happened? She thought back to when she was in her room with Peter and a smile played on her lips when she realized that the pain had stopped while still in the High King's arms, him kissing her pain away. She felt like crying, but restrained herself.
Tara's stomach did a small flop as they neared the edge of the camp. Tara looked back and saw a few centuries posted, just in case of a surprise attack. By this time, they had reached the edge of the camp where Glozelle sat on horseback, waiting. He led them to the center of the camp where a large, open tent stood. Inside, Miraz and his trusted lords sat around a long table. They waited until Miraz acknowledged their presence before entering.
Tara, for a short time, listened as Edmund presented the challenge. She thought he was doing a good job and her mouth curved in a half-smile. Then, she felt eyes on her. For the last few minutes, she had been staring at Edmund's boots, but she felt a gaze on her that burned through her. She looked up and met Miraz's eye head on. His eyes were furious, but she met them coolly, and then motioned her head toward Edmund, who was almost finished.
"The fight shall be to the death. The reward shall be total surrender," Edmund finished, rolling up the scroll and then waited.
"Tell me, Prince Edmund…" Miraz began, but Edmund cut in.
"King," he said, with a nod of satisfaction.
"Pardon me?" Miraz asked and Tara could tell he was confused. She struggled to keep her face expressionless.
"It's 'KingEdmund', actually," he reinstated. "Just king though. Peter's High King." There was an awkward silence. "I know. It's confusing."
Miraz looked at Sopespian and cocked an eyebrow. "Why would we risk such a proposal when our armies could wipe you out by nightfall?"
"Haven't you already underestimated our numbers?" Edmund questioned, trying to feed the Telmarines his bait. "I mean, only a week ago Narnians were extinct."
"And so you will be again."
"Well, then you should have little to fear."
Miraz laughed. "This is not a question of bravery."
"So you're bravely refusing to fight a swordsman half your age?" Edmund asked.
Miraz leaned his elbows on the table. "I didn't say I refused."
"You should have our support, Your Majesty," one of his lords said. "Whatever your decision."
Sopespian said, "Sire, our military advantage alone provides the perfect excuse to avoid what might otherwise be—"
"I am not avoiding anything!" Miraz shouted as he stood up with his sword in hand.
"I was merely pointing out that my lord is well within his rights to refuse."
"His Majesty would never refuse," General Glozelle said. "He relishes the chance to show the people the courage of their new king."
Miraz clenched his jaw and breathed hard. "You," he said, holding the tip toward the young king. "You should hope your brother's sword is sharper than his pen."
"Then you accept?" Edmund asked.
"Your brother shall have his duel."
Edmund cocked a smile at Tara, triumph in his eyes. Tara returned the look and was about to say something, but Miraz's voice interrupted her.
"On one condition though," he said, looking directly at Tara. Edmund's head turned back to face him, slowly, worry creasing his features.
"What condition is that?" Glenstorm asked, speaking for the first time since they had entered the camp.
"She has to stay," Miraz said, indicating Tara with a nod in her direction. Edmund would have answered in a heartbeat, but Tara spoke first.
"Let him and his comrades think about it." Her features were calm and her gaze intense. The small band of Narnians huddled together.
"Tara, no," Edmund spoke in a whisper, looking in Miraz's direction.
"Why not?" she asked. "It's our only chance."
"I agree with King Edmund," Glenstorm said. "It's too risky for you, Tara."
Tara shrugged.
"Tara, as your King, I'm ordering you not to go," Edmund said, resolutely.
"And as your citizen," she shot back, although not meanly. "I'm telling you this is our only chance."
Edmund's thoughts clouded with a memory—a painful memory that made him clench his fists in anger. It was one that he thought he had buried long ago, when he and his family had returned to England. Then it had not been a problem. Now that he was back in Narnia, he was taken by complete surprise and was unprepared for the string of recollections that resurfaced. Tara's voice brought him back to Miraz's tent.
"Tell Peter this is the only chance he'll get to kill Miraz without any loss of Narnians. Tell him… don't worry about me." Her voice was soft yet heavy, as if she knew as well as he did that, if she stayed, she wouldn't be returning with them.
"What is your decision?" Miraz interrupted.
Tara stepped out in front of Edmund and looked straight at Miraz, saying, "We accept the challenge on your terms." Almost immediately, Tara was seized roughly and her hands were bound behind her back. She glared at the men who removed her sword and visible daggers.
"General Glozelle," Miraz said, calmly. "Will you please escort King Edmund and his…beasts out of the camp?"
Another memory flashed through the Just King's mind. This one more infuriating and unwanted than the last. His thought's filled with only one name, he had failed too many in the past, but he would not fail her. He could not. "Tara!" he yelled, fighting the restricting arms that restrained him from charging the Telmarines.
Tara smiled calmly, sadly in his direction. Her face was a picture of peace, but it turned Edmund's stomach. Suddenly, Miraz was there, blocking his view of her. Tears stung his eyes as he defeatedly turned around to face the How. Tara had known what she was walking into when she had asked to accompany him. So did he. His jaw clenched, but he raised his head. He would honor the brave soul who was willingly giving herself over, so that Narnia would have a chance to thrive once more.
* * * * *
Miraz's brawny form blocked her view of Edmund's petrified face as Glenstorm dragged him away from the tent. The tyrant's face was red with fury and the look in his eyes chilled her. Before anyone could say anything, Miraz's hand flashed out catching her across the cheek, reopening the previous wound, which had just begun to heal. Tara tasted blood in her mouth, but her eyes never left Miraz's face.
"I'm glad you've decided to rejoin us," he said, coolly. "I've been waiting for this and I think you are going to enjoy what I have in store for you."
"I'm looking forward to it," she responded evenly and she had to suppress a smile when Miraz's face fell considerably.
He turned to Glozelle. "Place her in an empty tent, with guards around the clock," he ordered, his eyes roaming over her form.
She glared at him.
"Make sure she is bound tightly. I'll deal with her personally after I've talked with my war council." Glozelle grabbed her roughly and dragged her through the camp, all but throwing her inside an empty tent. Tara hit the dirt hard on her side, but hurriedly pushed herself up. Taking a breath, she braced herself for whatever Miraz had in store.
. . . .
Edmund's breathing had started to regulated, but it became quickened as the How loom closer. The Narnian century had seen them coming, but had also seen the lack of number in their group. His stomach did a somersault when he saw a crowd of Narnians waiting at the entrance. Peter and Caspian were among them and they didn't look happy.
"Ed, where's Tara?" Peter asked, once he was within talking distance.
Edmund swallowed and averted his eyes, feeling his brother's eyes scorch his face.
"Ed!" Peter yelled.
He took a breath. "She's back at Miraz's camp," he managed softly, not meeting any Narnian's gaze.
"She's where?" Caspian inquired, his face had gone pale and Edmund didn't think it was with fear.
"Edmund, what happened?"
"Miraz only agreed to the duel if Tara stayed behind," he explained, quietly.
"You did what?" Caspian yelled, infuriated.
"Ed, you didn't," Peter said, his eyes aflame. Edmund looked up at his brother, but out of the corner of his eye saw Doctor Cornelius stop Caspian from drawing his sword.
"I didn't," he said, even quieter. "She did."
"What are you talking about?" Peter questioned, the anger still not gone from his eyes but was slowly diminishing.
"None of us," he explained, looking at the Centaur and Giant, "wanted her to stay behind. We'd rather go to war then leave her. But, she must have known that Miraz was going to ask something like that, because she was ready." Then looking at Peter he said, "she told me to tell you, that this is your only chance to defeat Miraz without any bloodshed."
"You didn't try to stop her?!" Caspian yelled.
"I couldn't!" Edmund shot back, tired of being the victim. He put his face in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair.
Peter sighed, letting his anger out with it and went over to his brother. "You did what you could," he said, although he had a hard time believing himself
Edmund smiled up at him.
"Try to go and get some rest before tomorrow," Peter said, with an encouraging smile. "It's going to be a long day."
He nodded, suddenly exhausted, and with Wimbleweather and Glenstorm, walked off into the How.
Peter watched Edmund go, and then turned to look at Miraz's camp. After a moment, he fished around in his shirt and pulled out Tara's necklace. He studied it in his palm, then closed his fingers around it, protectively. Suddenly, he felt a rough hand on his elbow and he was forcefully spun around, meeting the furious black eyes of Caspian.
"Why did you let him get off so easy?" He questioned; his voice low with rage.
Peter wrenched from his grasps. "Does it matter to you?" he spat.
"It might matter to Tara." He replied, a bit calmer, but barely.
He sighed. "Ed's always had the harder time in everything he's ever chosen to do." He explained. "This was a time he needed grace and mercy."
"By tomorrow we'll see how graceful and merciful Miraz was to her." Caspian muttered under his breath. "You may be the more experienced royal," he began aloud, "and in some things I am duty-bound to respect your judgment. But Tara means the world to a lot of us and I will not see all of her hard work, sweat, and blood given in vain." With that he turned away and Peter ground his teeth as he listened to his footsteps fade.
"Hey," he called, his head turned, but not focusing on anything.
The footsteps stopped.
"She'll be fine." He had no idea why he said that, but in his heart he truly believed that it was not in Aslan's plan to let her die now.
"I hope so." He heard him mumble and Peter did not need to look to know that Caspian had disappeared inside the How. Looking one last time at Miraz's camp, Peter turned to follow Caspian inside the tomb. With luck and Aslan on their side, hopefully it won't be his tomb before the week was out.