While Susan tended to their guests, taking the Calormenes on a tour of Cair Paravel and its grounds, Peter sat resolutely at his desk, quill and parchment prepared and waiting. Setting out to finish the speech before the noon meal, he concentrated on carefully scratching out the correct words. That's all they were. Just words. Battle, death, sacrifice-they were not blood and screams and horror. Merely black lines on white paper. All he had to do was thank the Narnians who had served faithfully, honor the ones who had died, and outline a hopeful future. That was his duty. That was the purpose of the speech. He didn't have to relive the sun glinting off of armor. The screeches of Fell beasts. Kneeling in the dry grass beside his dying brother.
Peter abruptly pushed away from his desk and strode to the balcony, throwing open the doors and stepping out into the sunshine. Bracing his hands on the balustrade, he hung his head between his arms and gulped the fresh air like water in a desert. When his breathing finally slowed, and his pulse evened out, he straightened, gazing up into the clear morning sky. He couldn't afford to have a reaction like this at the feast. He was the king, high king over Narnia. His people looked to him for strength, for courage, for direction, and leadership. He had been ruling for less than a year, a year spent earning the Narnians respect and trust. To lose it now, in the foundational moments, would be to lose it forever. He could not fall apart like this. If he were a child, the response would only be natural. But now that he was king, he was not allowed such indulgences.
He squared his shoulders and marched back to his desk, intent on keeping a tight reign on his emotions. It was a challenge, but one that he was determined to master. As he continued with the composition, the memories returned but he fought them down, stuffing them into the back corners of his mind until he could focus on the task before him. The only effect they managed to have on him was to tie his stomach in knots, but even that he paid little attention to. A knock on his study door jarred him from his fierce concentration. The door was cracked open and Mr. Tumnus' fuzzy head appeared in the opening.
"Sorry to disturb you, your highness, but Queen Susan is requesting your presence in the training yard," he relayed his message.
"Oh," Peter frowned, puzzled. "What is she doing there?"
"Something to do with the delegation, I shouldn't wonder," Tumnus replied.
"Tell her I'll be there directly," Peter said.
With a quick dip of his head, Tumnus was gone. Peter looked down at his desk and was surprised to find he had made much progress. Relieved to be so nearly done, he didn't mind taking a break. As he made his way through the castle, he crossed paths with Lucy. His sister was dragging her feet, missing all of her usual cheer and liveliness.
"I say, Lucy, what's wrong?" Peter stopped her in the hallway.
When Lucy raised her eyes to look at him, he was startled to find them misty. "Edmund never came."
"Swimming?" Peter asked, recalling what she had mentioned at breakfast.
She nodded miserably. "I waited for him for hours."
"Perhaps he forgot," Peter suggested gently.
At that moment, the subject of their discussion appeared at the other end of the corridor.
"Edmund!" Peter called.
Edmund casually walked over to them. "Yes, Pete?"
"Don't you have something to apologize to Lucy for?" he asked.
Eyebrows furrowing, Edmund shook his head. "I can't recall anything."
"You promised her a swim," Peter prompted. "And even if you didn't remember, you still owe her an apology."
Lucy looked at Edmund expectantly, forgiveness already on the tip of her tongue.
"No, I didn't forget," Edmund stated, eyes glittering even beneath the bruise still circling his left one.
"What?" Peter blinked.
"I just decided to go for a ride instead. I thought it would be funny to see how long she'd sit out there on the beach, all alone, just waiting," Edmund assured them, a nasty smirk on his lips.
Lucy's face crumpled, her hands balling into fists.
"Edmund!" Peter scolded, incensed on Lucy's behalf.
"It was just a joke," Edmund snickered maliciously.
His words were an echo from a year past, a long year of repentance, healing, and forgiveness. To have his little brother behave in such a way again was like a splash of ice water in Peter's face. When he looked to Lucy, he saw she was feeling much the same as himself. Hurt, anger, and disbelief were plain in her expression.
"Why would you do something like this?" she questioned.
Before he could answer, Tumnus trotted up to them. "If your majesties will please hurry, Queen Susan is waiting for all of you in the training yard."
"What does she want now?" Edmund groaned, throwing his head back.
Moodily, he marched after Tumnus as the Faun led the way. Peter turned to Lucy.
"Are you sure you want to go down there? I'll make your excuses for you if you don't," he offered.
Lucy shook her head, putting aside her grievance with Edmund. "No, I'm alright. I'll come."
She drew herself up to her full height, only reaching Peter's shoulder. Peter drew her in for a quick hug, proud to see her displaying the valiance Aslan had named her for.
"We'd better hurry then." Peter released her, taking her hand instead.
Together, they went to meet up with the others. They found Susan standing on the outskirts of the Calormen party, all of whom were gathered around the area designated for practicing combat. As they came closer, Peter could hear the distinct ring of metal against metal, as well as the hard grunts of deep voices. Before they came to where the others were standing, Susan separated herself and hurried over to Peter.
"What's going on?" he asked her.
"Oreius and Rhuni are dueling," she answered.
"Why?" Lucy inquired, straining to catch a glimpse of the two large Centaurs.
Susan held up her hands. "The Calormenes wished for a demonstration of Narnian swordsmanship, but since you boys took so long getting here," she raised a reproachful eyebrow at Peter, "Oreius offered to show them what it looks like when a pair of Centaurs clash."
As if on cue, the Calormenes let loose an uproarious cheer.
"I think they're enjoying it a bit too much," Susan muttered disapprovingly.
The crowd parted to allow Rhuni through, his chestnut flanks glistening with sweat. When they turned to watch him leave, they caught sight of Peter.
"Ah, great King Peter. Won't you grace us with a display of your excellent fighting prowess?" Uhanta requested.
"Oh..erm.." Peter looked to Susan.
She stood still and silent, giving him no indication whether he should accept or refuse the request.
"Of course he will. You will, won't you?" Edmund prodded, pushing away from the tree trunk he'd been leaning against while watching the proceedings. "Show our guests what a true king of Narnia is capable of?"
Oreius nodded. "Perhaps, sire, you could move through the exercises and forms you have mastered."
Peter opened his mouth to agree, when Khasis stepped forward.
"I should hope we are fortunate enough to witness the finesse of both kings." He stared meaningfully at Edmund.
"Indeed. Such an engagement would truly be an inspiration, I have no doubt," Anmut added, eyes gleaming in his dark face.
"An honorable knight never turns down a challenge," Edmund goaded.
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Are you challenging me?"
Edmund moved until he stood directly in front of Peter, chin up and chest out. "Yes. I, Edmund the Just, challenge you, Sir Peter Wolfsbane."
Disconcerted by Edmund's brashness, Peter took a moment to consider. To refuse would be to appear as a coward before the foreign visitors. Yet Edmund's conduct was out of character and Peter was hesitant to accept, unable to understand the motives behind his challenge.
"Come now, just a friendly crossing of swords," Edmund urged in a low voice. "What do you say, Pete?"
Peter nodded sharply. "I accept your challenge, Edmund the Just."
Edmund licked his lips in anticipation and folded at the waist, though the gesture seemed more insolent than respectful.
"Pardon us as we prepare." Peter excused himself and Edmund from the field.
Oreius followed behind them. When they got to the armory, Edmund headed for his full suit of armor.
"I do not think your majesty will require all of that," Oreius remarked. "Helmets, vambraces and greaves should suffice. This is merely a showcase of skill, not single combat." He pulled the appropriate training gear from its shelf.
Grudgingly, Edmund put on the pieces Oreius had selected. Peter did the same, watching Edmund with a close eye. Oreius moved on to the racks of swords. When both kings were garbed in armor, they joined him. With a longing glance at Rhindon, Peter bypassed his own sword in favor of a duller, training blade. Edmund hefted a shining sword from the selection of dutifully sharpened ones, flipping it from one hand to the other a couple times.
"Are you sure we can't use real swords?" he asked, gazing up and down the length of the weapon.
Peter stared at him. Oreius pawed the ground.
"I do not think that to be wise, your majesty," he murmured with displeasure.
"But surely Peter and I can handle it," Edmund insisted. "We've come so far in our training."
"I do not think it wise," Oreius repeated firmly.
Peter cleared his throat. "Ed, just use a practice sword."
Muttering unintelligibly under his breath, Edmund returned the sword to its place and retrieved a blunted one to replace it. Peter glanced at Oreius.
"I do not know that we will give them much of a show. We're hardly warriors," he worried. "They must have soldiers in their own country that are far more impressive."
"Do not confuse age with skill, my liege," Oreius said. "You have learned much in a year, and most of your knowledge was gained by experience."
The corner of Peter's mouth lifted self-deprecatingly. "It's a miracle we made it through Beruna. I did little more than swing my sword wildly."
"And yet, you achieved victory," Oreius reminded.
"Thanks to Aslan," Peter replied confidently.
"Are we going to stand here talking all day or are we actually going to fight?" Edmund snapped irritably before spinning on his heel and stomping out without waiting for the others.
"The young king appears to be...not himself," Oreius observed.
Peter sighed. "You don't know the half of it." Then he strode back out into the sunlight.
The Calormenes ringed the combat circle, faces eager and eyes bright. They had been joined by nearby Narnians, drawn to the charged atmosphere. Peter stepped into the arena, finding Edmund glowering at him from the other side. He glanced to where Susan and Lucy stood, their expressions unhappy. Oreius outlined the rules, and explained to the visiting spectators how the victor was declared when one contestant landed what would be a mortal blow with an ordinary weapon. When he had finished speaking, Peter and Edmund bowed to each other to signal the start of the competition.
With sword loosely pointed up, not yet directed at his opponent, Peter took several steps to the right, gradually circling Edmund. Edmund matched him pace for pace, blade held in a guarding stance, close to his chest. After coming back to his starting position, Peter flourished his sword. Edmund's eyes narrowed and he lunged forward, bringing his sword down in a large arch. Peter easily blocked and the two stepped apart. Edmund thrust forward, though his blow was parried by Peter. Taking the offensive, Peter slashed at Edmund's side. Deftly using his blade to block, Edmund pivoted and ducked beneath Peter's outstretch arm, ending up behind him. He kicked out at the back of Peter's knee, causing the other boy to stumble. Edmund took advantage of his struggle to regain balance, smashing the pommel of his sword down between Peter's shoulder blades. Peter fell forward, landing on his face, and their audience gasped. When Edmund came closer to his toppled opponent, Peter flipped onto his back and hooked an ankle behind Edmund's, knocking him to the ground as well. They scrambled apart, gaining their feet and catching their breath.
With a yell, Edmund sprang forward, raining a flurry of blows down on Peter. Focused on deflecting the strikes, Peter was driven back. Never slowing, Edmund pressed his lead. After feigning a swing to the left, Edmund slammed his elbow into Peter's nose. Peter reeled back, blood spurting from the injury. The Calormenes cheered, clapping their hands and whooping loudly. Coming to the realization that Edmund was not holding back, Peter leaped at him. Edmund caught his strike and parried it, a feral grin contorting his lips. They exchanged quick hits, neither able to land one on the other. Their swords flashed madly in the sun, rapid movement creating the illusion of sparks dancing on the metal.
Switching his sword to a one-handed grip, Peter used the vambrace on his other arm to deflect Edmund's next swing. His weapon free, he aimed at Edmund's legs. The younger boy jumped aside evasively. Peter dropped to one knee and jabbed his sword upward toward Edmund's chest. Edmund brought his blade down to block, and the two weapons clashed with a resounding scream of metal. Locked together, each king panted, readjusting their grip, straining their muscles to gain the upper hand. Although Edmund was smaller, Peter's awkward position put him at a disadvantage. Edmund threw all his weight behind his sword and it scraped further down the length of Peter's blade. Peter bent backward beneath the pressure, spine uncomfortably contorted. Edmund shoved harder, eyes cold.
"Yield, Peter," he snarled. "Yield!"
Peter grit his teeth and gathered his strength. With a great heave, he tossed Edmund off, breaking the blade lock. Edmund rushed him again. Peter spun, dodging. He swung his sword around to catch Edmund's. In one smooth motion, he brought both blades together and twisted his wrist, wrenching the weapon from Edmund's hand. Unarmed, Edmund lashed out with a clumsy punch before diving for his fallen sword. The tip of Peter's blade against the hollow of his throat stopped him. Slowly, glaring poisonously at the victor, Edmund straightened, wary of the weapon trained on him. Peter kept the sword there another moment, hovering just above the skin, before he pulled it away, flourished it, and sheathed it in his belt.
Oreius trotted forward and bowed to Peter. "You have won the match, Sir Peter."
While the crowd erupted in applause, Edmund sketched a shallow bow. "It would appear you have bested me this time," he grunted.
Peter dipped his head in acknowledgement but refrained from making a comment. The enthusiastic audience entered the ring to give their congratulations. While enduring the endless pumping of his hand, and the ceaseless compliments of awed witnesses, Peter scanned the multitude until he spied Edmund, slinking away, trailed by Khasis. Then Lucy was hugging him around the middle and he forgot all about wondering where Edmund was going. A Sparrow fluttered over, landed on Susan's shoulder and delivered a quick message before flying for the castle once more. Susan made an announcement about noon meal being ready, and asked for the gathering to move indoors. As the rest of the assembly headed that way, Susan grabbed Peter's arm to hold him back. He glanced at her questioningly but she waited until the majority of the group had left. When only Lucy and Oreius remained, she deftly removed his helmet and passed it to Oreius. Then she snatched his chin and turned his head from side to side.
"What in the Lion's name are you doing?" Peter exclaimed.
Rather than reply, Susan looked at Lucy. "Have you got your handkerchief, Lucy?"
Lucy whipped it out of her sleeve and handed it to her sister. Susan accepted it and set to work gently dabbing the blood from Peter's face.
"That was a dirty hit," she murmured, carefully cleaning him up.
"Technically, it wasn't against the rules," Peter pointed out.
"Hold still," Susan commanded.
Lucy pursed her lips. "But he doesn't normally do that."
"How would you know?" Susan asked suspiciously. "Is this where you sneak off to when we're supposed to be practicing our embroidery? You'd rather watch the boys swings their swords around?"
Lucy blushed, but didn't deny the accusation. Peter smiled.
"Go easy on her, Susan," he said, pleased to discover Lucy enjoyed watching him.
Susan hummed in disapproval. "Just don't give her any ideas, Peter," she warned.
"I can't make any promises." Peter gave Lucy a wink.
Lucy giggled and hung onto his hand. Susan stepped back to inspect her handiwork. No trace of blood remained. Satisfied, she pinched the soiled kerchief between thumb and forefinger until she could find someone to take it to the laundress for her.
"Come along you two, or we'll be late for dinner," she called over her shoulder as she walked away.
Peter and Lucy started to follow, but Oreius cleared his throat. "Your armor, highness."
"Of course." Peter hastily removed the last bits of protective gear and thanked Oreius when he offered to return the things to the armory.
Free at last, Peter and Lucy sprinted after Susan, keen to avoid one of her legendary lectures about tardiness.
Khasis pursued the defeated contestant, taking long strides to match the boy's quick pace.
"King Edmund," he called. "King Edmund!"
His shouts went unanswered as the monarch stomped into the armory. Khasis ducked into the dimly lit building to find Edmund throwing his armor on the floor. Khasis raised an eyebrow.
"I almost had him!" the monarch raged, tossing his sword on a nearby table.
"Your majesty did display an impressive mastery of swordplay, as well as cunning," Khasis remarked.
"Blast Peter. Him and his stupid disarming maneuver. And his mightier-than-thou attitude and his high kingly position," Edmund growled.
Khasis waited, observing the outburst.
Edmund suddenly turned to him. "What do you suggest I do?"
Khasis feigned ignorance. "Put in more hours with your swordmaster."
"Not about that," Edmund barked before lowering his voice. "I mean, how do I dispose of my brother?"
Khasis stroked his beard. "Why do you ask me?"
"Because I have heard tales of the cleverness and ruthlessness of the Calormen nobility. You have lived among them, you serve them. Surely you have seen, if not participated in, many assassinations," Edmund explained, glancing around to make sure there were none to overhear their conversation.
Khasis nodded. "Aye."
"And?" Edmund pressed impatiently.
"If you truly want the deed done, entrust it to none but yourself," Khasis began. "Many hands are connected to too many mouths," he recited a proverb from his country.
Edmund furrowed his brow. "But then I would be found out and punished accordingly."
"Not if you're sly," Khasis said conspiratorially.
Leaning forward, Edmund eagerly awaited instructions. Khasis brought his head close to the boy's, whispering in his ear.
"First, you must select someone to take the blame. Perhaps a mistreated slave, who could be out for revenge," Khasis said.
Edmund frowned. "We don't have slaves here in Narnia."
"Whyever not?" Khasis asked, astonished.
"Who knows? It's a rather egregious oversight," Edmund said.
Khasis paused. "Then perchance someone new in the castle, a mysterious stranger with unknown intentions."
Edmund took a moment to consider, then he nodded. "I believe I know one like that."
"Excellent. All that's left then is to plan the time and the place for the death of a king." Khasis rubbed his hands together maliciously.
Edmund snapped his fingers. "The Feast of Beruna."
Khasis was surprised by the swiftness of the answer. "Are you certain you wish to attempt such a thing in so public a setting?"
"There's no other that would be so fitting," Edmund stated, a hard edge in his voice.
"Very well then," Khasis said. He looked about for any witnesses. Once he ascertained that they were alone, he withdrew a sleek dagger from the folds of his robes. "All your majesty need do is contrive a reason for your chosen stranger to be within striking distance of the king. Then, embrace your brother and drive this dagger into his back. When he stumbles against you, cry out and make a show of searching for who could done something so terrible. And the stranger will be there and you will point him out and he will be beheaded for his crime. The country will mourn and you shall have his crown, High King Edmund."
Edmund concealed the blade in his own tunic, grinning deviously. "I thank you for your assistance, Khasis. When I take Peter's place, you will surely be rewarded handsomely."
Khasis' face lit up with greed. The noise of approaching hooves startled both conspirators. Edmund pointed to the rear of the building.
"There is a back door. Take it, quickly, before my general finds us conversing together," he said.
Without hesitation, Khasis took the offered escape route.
AFanofYourStory: Thanks! We're halfway done so you'll find out soon the rest of what's in store for them. *hopes the now empty whipped cream bottle went to good use calming your nerves* *squirms under scrutiny* *sighs in relief* And yes, I think you did! XD
Girlsayswhat: I hope these don't disappoint! There are six more chapters after this one. Thanks!
NarniaGirl: Thank you! That makes me soooooo happy! :D