Word soon got out that Susan of Narnia meant to find delight in her husband's absence. This brought about inconveniences. Scores of young men thought themselves entitled to aspire to a night of my company. They thought I wished it. But I did not. I was never unfaithful to my husband.

It might be wrong to admit that I did not refuse the attentions of men for Rabadash's sake. I did not do it out of any feeling of loyalty or love. So I told myself. In reality I was much too afraid of what the Tisroc's heir would do if he found out I'd spent the night in another man's bed. His blows I did stand, but I was not sure whether I could stomach whatever else he had in store for me.

Besides, I could not help but remember how my maidenhood had, thankfully, not been lost to him. My Archenlandish knight had got it. Was it possible that because of it, I was married to him first and forever? In any case it was better to think that I was staying faithful to him and not to my ever regretted Calormene folly.

How did it end this way? Don't leave me; love me, just a little bit longer.

Oh, how I wanted Narnia's loving embrace. I missed its people and I missed its meadows. I could not get on without my siblings and Aslan's absence was something I did not bear. I had forsaken them but it felt as if they'd forsaken me. Was it too much to ask for a moment more of love? I did not seem to find any in these, the burning lands of Tash.

Dearest Su,

I'm sorry I haven't written as often as I should have. You must think I'm a simply horrid sister. But I can't stress enough just how busy we've all been this past month. I'm sure you've heard of the skirmishes we've been having with the Galmians over Avra. I swear I have no idea why anyone thought the Lone Islands would make a good part of Narnia. All right I do know, the tribute. Cair Paravel's treasury might probably be empty without it. But my point is that the Gentle Queen's judgment and counsel has been greatly missed of late. I know this is wrong to write to a married sister but somehow I feel like you should not have left Narnia.

I had a revelation of sorts the other night. If Aslan meant to have four sovereigns in the throne, then it probably meant that we were all to stay spinsters and bachelors for the sake of it. You know, like Queen Elizabeth did, back in good old England (oh how I do miss it sometimes, don't you?). I've decided that, since you didn't, and, I suspect Peter and Edmund have no plans of doing either, I will. Narnia deserves my entire and undivided devotion.

I miss you Su, we all do. Be sure and ask your fine-smelling husband leave to visit dear Narnia soon. Until then, my best wishes.

Lucy

My sister grew more and more passionate about her country every day, without a doubt. Of course, this thought didn't stop me from crumpling the parchment as soon as I had finished reading it. I'd never told my siblings to which extent I did lament my marriage, but I would have expected my only sister to have been a little more perceptive.

Lecturing me about my duties to my country and Aslan, of all things! Months and months after it was too late for me to do anything about it. I suddenly wished very much for Edmund to hurry and marry his Terebinthian duchess, even if she was haughty and underappreciated him. Then Lucy would have all of Narnia's "undivided devotion" and see how much she liked it.

Then I bit my lip and banished such ireful thoughts from my mind. Why would I wish my brother an unhappy marriage? My siblings had tried to counsel me against mine. I owed Edmund the same courtesy. Yet he seemed so far away, they all did.

Dearie,

I'm afraid a visit to Narnia is not to be thought of at present. My husband will stay in Tashbaan this four or five months and he wishes me to be with child within that time. He wants an heir badly, I understand, for he is the only one of his brothers who has none. Yet I am certain that a royal visit from one (or two) of Narnia's sovereigns won't greatly interrupt his plans. Do come Lucy! And bring Edmund, won't you? You have no idea how badly I want to see you. I realize this is a very inelegant letter and you'll have to forgive me. Burn it after you read it if you like, but first receive the warmest regards and kisses from

Your sister

-What are you doing? - Rabadash asked, entering my private chambers unannounced as I so hated him to do.

-I'm writing a letter. - I answered as sweetly as I could.

-Well put down those silly things, you ought to be getting dressed.

-Right. - I muttered, stowing pen, ink and parchment away.

My handmaids braided my hair prettily that night, I must say. This was the one night of the year when Calormene women (maidens, wives and widows alike) were allowed to go around without those ever-so-stuffy zalmais. They wore white flowers in their hair so they would contrast nicely with the heavy black dresses they wore. I was no exception.

The Tisroc's heir and I went out hand in hand to the grand balcony. The high street ran below us. Empty as of yet. We could hear the dull pounding of the drums out in the distance. Then slowly, quite slowly, the four hooded priests turned the corner, followed closely by the temple maidens. Only the prettiest went to the temple. After them came the entire city, a great mass of black and the specks of white that were the flowers in the heads of the women.

No sound but the slow drumming of the temple's sentries and the shrieking of the chains being dragged by the grave-faced temple virgins. Tonight was a night of mourning. Tonight, Zardeenah lost her son according to a legend of old. Tonight, Calormen grieved with her.

Tonight, I grieved for my own reasons.

Since probably none of you are familiar with any former work of mine I thought I should mention that the word "zalmai" is a word I use as "Calormene" for hijab.

Also, here I took the liberty of quoting Armin Van Buuren's lovely song "Shivers".

And as alway, I'm very thankful for your reviews. For the story alerts and favorites as well, sure, but I always want to know what you think.