Chapter 10

Arianna looked once more at Cair Paravel, a multitude of twinkling lights, frosted with a delicate layer of snow. In the distance it looked like a beacon, a sanctuary beyond the forest. A sanctuary seemingly untouched by the looming war, a citadel of peace. The citadel she would once again infiltrate.

With the sun setting behind it, the castle looked as if it were one of the beautiful oil paintings that Charn had been famous for. The sky was striped with colour, the last rays of sunlight reaching through the thick cloud cover. Even from such a distance she could hear the waves crashing upon the beach, rhythmic and calming.

Across their small campsite she looked at Faelar, who was of the same ilk as Jenari, with his white-blonde hair falling across his pale face, his beard trimmed close to his handsome jaw. Though his eyes were darker, more midnight than sapphire. He was perhaps one of the few she could trust. For he served her not their cause.

In the crackling, dancing light of their campfire, he looked almost demonic. But in that moment he was looking at her with something akin to concern, though nothing showed upon her face.

There was an uneasiness deep within her; something that had nothing to do with the appearance of Aslan. Never before had she wished for the gift of foresight – she would have to consult with Moonshade when they returned.

"I miss her too," Faelar said softly. "Her death was not your fault. She wanted to go."

She looked into the crackling flames, seeing not Aslan's powerful form as others were wont to do. Instead she saw Myria's laughing eyes. Intelligent orbs the colour of a holly leaf when the first rays of sunlight fell upon it in the morning, surrounded by shimmering green sparkles. Her unruly russet hair, with holly berries strewn throughout, flying in the wind as she laughed, her sword swinging around her.

The dryad who had been her best friend. Who had left the castle, who Arianna had given permission to leave, to attack a Narnian village. And had been killed; set alight. Other than cutting down her tree, it was the only way to truly kill a dryad. Ari had never been fond of fire.

Her best friend who she had grown up with; her tree had been planted a few years before her own birth. She had not been lying to Edmund when she'd said that Myria had felt when she had not. Jadis had punished her if she showed even the slightest of emotions; so it had been Myria who laughed for her. Of course Jenari would have fallen for the lively dryad, who seemed so out of place in the frozen wastelands of the north.

"You should not mourn your friend-sister," Myriel said softly, her face in shadow. The dryad had been like a daughter to her, for she had planted the tree herself; never before had Ari seen such distress as when she'd informed Myriel of her death. Of course the dryad queen had known something was wrong, but she had not thought that her youngest would be dead. "She would not want you to."

She knew she was not to blame for Myria's death. Though within her heart of hearts she felt it; guilt, gnawing and chipping away at her resolve. Within her mind she felt Jadis laugh, even as slumber overtook her. The flickering flames did not hide her pained expression.

"You are as unfeeling as the winter you so perfectly control, dear Queen. You sent your best friend to death." Jenari's words, spoken in anger and grief haunted her.

…..

"You've changed, little Arianna." She was proud, and Arianna's stomach sunk. Older and able to understand, she knew that it was not a good thing. As a young girl she would seek praise – it was death that Jadis required, perfection with the blade that ended an opponent's life with a single stroke. She had become an efficient killing machine; a tool to be used.

Though at the time she'd not realised.

She was older now, perhaps wiser.

And yet…

She moved forward a step, seeing herself reflected by Jadis's side in the mirror; the crown of glittering sliver upon her head. She was surprised to see the long sweeping skirts when she looked down; heavenly and white, the colour of freshly fallen snow.

"The heartless Ice Queen who sent her only friend to death; who sent her lover away with no tears." Jadis laughed. "Is that not what they call you?"

"Shut up!" Arianna snarled. Though there was no satisfaction as Jadis's eyes widened in shock; white hot rage coursed through her. Unforgiving and dangerous.

Lightning cracked in the mist around them.

"You will not speak to me in such a way!" Jadis roared, her teeth pulled back in a vicious snarl, her eyes flashing. "It was I who gave you life! It was I who raised and cared for you-"

"You care for none but yourself and you'd have me become the same," Arianna's voice was a low growl, like that of a wolves, a hunter. A predator. "I do not fight for you, Jadis Empress of Charn. You are a plague upon this land. Under your rule nothing prospered but your own power."

Jadis laughed once more, her hand reaching out, pressing against the inside of the mirror. "What of you, dear Arianna? Are your intentions so pure? You are a monster. You have killed and killed again; you feel no remorse. You lead an army against the Narnians in your own name."

Each word was a carefully crafted knife, created to pierce her. But she felt nothing. She would not let Jadis win. "They fight under your influence, not mine. I will beat you Jadis."

"What of Edmund? You think he will take you as his wife, his queen? You think the Narnians will let him?" another bout of laughter, lost in the mists. "You will always be one the other side."

Arianna looked at her own reflection, visible beyond Jadis as it never had been before. She would not fall prey to the sorceress's taunts. She would never again do the witch's bidding of her own free will. She had felt the murderous intent in Jadis, had Arianna not ordered him to leave, she would have taken control of her body and killed him. She needed her daggers. For they were the lynch pin of her plan. "I will no longer bow to you, false Queen of Narnia. You have made me what I am. So none can be blamed but yourself. You've crafted the tool of your downfall."

…..

"You'd like her, Lu," he told her as she fixed his collar, smoothing out the black tunic he wore. The fine silver embroidery winked in the torch-light.

Lucy looked over her brother, taking in everything carefully. His eyes, normally hard and cynical, had softened slightly when she'd asked about Arianna of Charn.

"Do you love her, Ed?" she asked softly. She had to know.

His pause told her everything she needed to know, the slight frown that tugged at his lips only confirmed it rather than deny. "Perhaps I would have, under different circumstances."

She could not hurt her brother. She'd find another way.

For in the hours spent in the library she'd stumbled across an ancient text. One that spoke in detail about the spell she believed Jadis had used to attach her soul to Arianna's when she had been eight years old – too young to truly understand what was happening. The spell bound the two tightly together.

She had discovered that when Arianna grew stronger, so did the witch – perhaps strong enough to leave the young woman's body for periods of time. She would become a wraith, a shadow without true form. But she could not be killed.

For whilst Arianna lived, so did Jadis.

Lucy shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She could not tell Edmund that, she would find a way to free Arianna. If she truly did wish to be free as Ed believed.

"Come on, Ed, we'll be late," Lucy laughed, tugging on her brother's arms.

Another of Susan's parties beckoned.

…..

Corradyn turned to the auburn-haired woman by his side, her skin as pale as parchment, her eyes the colour of fresh holly leaves. Those pale hands covered in the glittering pigment of a dryad, a colour so unlike his own, that gripped the goblet did not tremble. They raised the goblet, slowly but surely, her full lips parting to accept the thick liquid within. The liquid that would bind her to him.

Surrounded by rock and suffocating darkness, the chanting began.

The flames soared behind her body as she tilted her head back; silhouetting her form that was clad in the dark leathers they all wore. Gone were the forest greens and white furs; gone were the leaves that had adorned her hair, blackened and dried by the fire that had claimed her life.

Before Corradyn and the woman, they all sunk to their knees, foreheads touching the ground. The very air seemed to hum – alive and anticipating. Their voices rose, in a strange language that none could truly understand for it came from far beyond the dawn of time. But their chanting was ominous, threatening. Corradyn felt a tingle along his spine in anticipation – the chant brought to his mind images of blood and death.

In the goblet she raised he saw his face reflected and the masses behind him. The angles of his small face were slender and beautiful; his wide eyes the colour of old blood. He looked over the eyes of those on their knees chanting – dark eyes that shone with fervour and adoration.

The blood trickled down her delicate chin, her eyes closed as if in ecstasy.

"Foolish Jadis with her belief in the Deep Magic," Corradyn laughed, fire flashing deep within his eyes as she straightened before him, the crowd hushed immediately. "Foolish witch who thought she could defeat me." Maybe she had sought to protect the little witch-child from him. But she was gone; it was done.

The dryad opened her eyes, a smirk on her lips, pert tongue darting out to lick the viscous liquid that clung to the soft flesh. The blood-red orbs shimmering in the light of the thousands of torches that burnt on the walls. The same colour of all those bound to him.

…..

With dark eyes she watched the stream of nobility entering the great wooden gates, adorned in their finery, bearing smiles and laughter. Even their horses were decorated with golden harnesses, groomed to a shine. In the light of the moon their coats looked like liquid silver, beautiful flanks filled with the power their riders lacked.

The amount of wealth on display could have fed her army for months; necks and wrists draped with glittering gold and sparkling jewels. Plush fur coats and shawls worn in attempt to stave off the cold. She could feel Jadis's disgust within her mind, a mocking laughter at their foolish preening. But it was an echo, not as overpowering as it once would have been.

The movement of her horse was steady beneath her, its steps lights as it took her towards the castle. "You look every part the Narnian Queen," Faelar said softly as he reached over and took her reins as if guiding her. Like a good manservant would.

"I am no Narnian," her voice was a whisper, unheard by all but him.

The guard was a centaur, certainly imposing to one who hadn't killed one of the creatures before. Beneath the light cast by the gate she could see him quite clearly, inclining her head slightly in acknowledgement. His eyes were the colour of cocoa, but there was no warmth in them, they were no match for Edmund's. His honey-coloured hair matched the colour of his equine tail, both were knotted with random plaits and beads; his coat was a shining golden-brown. Certainly a handsome face, but he was too stern, and it did not become him.

"Welcome, lady, to Cair Paravel," his voice was a deep rumble, almost like rough silk. And then she was inside the gates, with little more than a fancy gown to cover her and a cursory glance at the invitation. As easy as it had been last time.

She felt no guilt for the young woman and her rider who lay in the ditch with their throats slit, crimson blood spilt over her luxurious gown. The rubies she had worn were like droplets of blood against the snow that had become her tomb. To prevent any from finding them, Ari had told Faelar, though it was as if he'd seen right through her. It was how she would have liked to be buried when she died – encased in glittering ice.

They moved forward with the chattering crowd who did not notice the two outsiders. She paid no heed to where Myriel had gone – the dryad knew the plan.

…..

Jadis snarled. If she could pace she would have been. Her plans were crumbling around her – Arianna was no longer under her control. Try as she might she could not gain control of the woman's body, she had grown too powerful.

But her power fuelled Jadis's own. And soon…so soon she would be free. She would be able to leave the mind of Arianna, whose schemes were too complicated, too intricate. She had trained her too well.

She almost mourned the loss that was to come. But Jadis would not let her live. So she waited.

…..

Sliding into the shadows behind the stables, Arianna shed the disguise. With a simple tug of thread the sleeves unravelled, falling to the ground easily. The heavy skirt soon followed suit.

It was one her knives which rid her of the tightly-laced bodice – a single slice that rent the bindings useless and they too fell.

"Faelar," she said softly, bare from the waist up – for beneath the dress she'd already been wearing the leather breeches and boots the colour of night.

Wordlessly he passed her a simple cotton shirt which she donned, hastily tucking it into the breeches.

She moved into the background, hiding the heavy, decorative dress. No one save Faelar the know she'd been there. No one saw. To Ari it felt good to move with stealth once more, to dart in and out of the shadows as if she were one herself.

She would be wary of Edmund – for she could not predict his movements.

She would be more careful than last time.

…..

Edmund fought a growl as yet another girl latched onto his arm, begging him to twirl her around the ballroom. At Susan's glare he accepted with a slight nod, inwardly grimacing at the girl's smile.

His hand was light on her waist, even as his dark eyes scanned the crowd, searching for anything out of place. This was a celebration, Susan had told him, which was sorely needed. They needed a night to forget about the looming war, about the threat that hung over them all like thunderclouds.

The dryad he held was pretty he supposed, the glitter that was a part of her skin framed her wide eyes like a mask. But they were the wrong colour green, more like moss than the vibrant colour of light shining through an emerald. Her skin was too dark, her small hands too delicate, too soft, with the same glittery pigment as the skin around her eyes. Her hair was too wild, an auburn-like colour with a pink-ish tinge, with cherry blossoms tucked behind one ear.

She was not Arianna.

"Thou art distracted-worried-remembering, Your Majesty," the dryad said in her soft voice as she twirled around him once more.

Edmund started, embarrassed. Though the dryad was not angry, instead she had a strange little smile upon those lips. There was a twinkling in those eyes as she looked up at him, pulling away in a twirl of cherry-pink skirts and flying hair. Then she was in his arms once again, laughing as if oblivious to the glares the other ladies were sending her way. "I apologise my lady," he said softly. Peter would have laughed it off, extravagantly praising the woman's beauty to make her forget his lapse in concentration. But Ed was not Peter.

"Tis Rayla, not lady," she grinned.

Maybe he could like her. She didn't seem like the other air-headed women of the court.

…..

"What is she doing here?" Susan's voice was laced with surprise, her grey-blue eyes widened. She truly was resplendent in her deep plum gown with its intricate golden embroidery, a string of amethysts resting at the base of her throat. Indeed she was beautiful, she had drawn the attention of many men that night – they had flocked to her as if she were a rare and exotic flower. Lucy had done nothing but roll her eyes at her sister all night after being forced to dance with the noblemen who sought her hand. She almost scowled at the thought until she realised Susan's pretty smile was in place once more, for the object of her shock approached them.

Turning, it was all Lucy could do to stop her own shock from showing.

A dryad, that much was obvious from the sparkling pigment that covered her eyes, hands and bare feet. But her skin was paler than any dryad she had ever seen, the soft colour of fresh cream, her hair a mass of flame-coloured ringlets cascading around her small frame. A wreath of sharp, pointed leaves, the red berries matching the deep crimson fall of her dress perfectly. She had heard that the dryads of the north did not feel the cold, but never had she met one before to attest to it. The dress covered the dryad's breasts, but had no sleeves, her arms bare to the chilly air.

"Did you not invite her?"

"Of course I did, but none of them ever come," Susan whispered back. And then the dryad was before them; one of the elusive northern dryads who none ever saw, for whilst the other dryad's were active, they slept. She curtsied elegantly, the crimson dress spreading outwards like the petals of a beautiful flower.

"Your Majesties," her voice held the musical quality of all dryads, yet there was something more regal about her, a certain glint to her leaf-coloured eyes. Those perfect plump lips, painted the most vivid red, curled into a winsome smile. Lucy did not trust her. "Tis a lovely gathering-party-frivolity that thee doth host."

"Why thank you," Susan's smile was positively radiant and Lucy almost hit her forehead – she was too easily swayed by compliments and beauty. "I was not expecting your presence, dryad."

"My name be Myriel Holly, human-queen-beauty," the dryad said with another of those smiles. One that was too beguiling. She reminded Lucy not at all of Arianna, who did not try to hide who and what she was. But then Lucy paused in her thought. The suffix of Holly, the name of her tree, meant the pretty dryad before them was the Queen of Holly trees. "And I have an offer for thee and thine sibling-kings-queens."

Lucy's eyes narrowed.

…..

She knew where they would be, they called to her.

Like the cool touch of water to wet her throat, she needed her daggers. Too long had she been without them. She slipped through the hallways, unnoticed by all.

She eased through the heavy oak door, opening it just a crack.

But as she reached out to grasp them her eyes slid to him, as if by some unseen force. And she could not look away. He looked younger, free of burden, his hair tousled and falling messily over his forehead. Unconsciously her fingers twitched, itching to push back the locks she knew were silken to the touch. Her eyes memorised his face, the handsome line of his jaw, those soft lips, as if it were the last time she would ever see him. And perhaps it would be, for he could be killed in the carnage. Her eyes drifted down over his broad shoulders, exposed by the thick blanket he wore. He was more slender than Peter, she had noticed, but was no less handsome for it. For with it came a warrior's grace, a sureness of his own movements. His skin, like perfect alabaster, so different to her own was given a warm glow by the fire that warmed the room. Unbidden her hand reached out to touch him.

One last time.

"Ari," the warm voice froze her, as if he had her magical ability that Jadis so loved. But the soft word, mumbled through the haziness of a dream caused heat to flash through her in the next moment.

Her lips parted slightly, all thoughts of her daggers banished as she looked down at him; her emerald green eyes meeting his own dark ones. Liquid chocolate ones that burned into hers with an intensity that could destroy her.

He moved not with the grogginess of a sleeper; but with the swiftness of a trained warrior. Caught off-guard she stumbled, trapped in his gaze as if he possessed the power of the witches sceptre.

And in the next moment she found herself trapped between the wall and Edmund's body, her arms pinned above her head in a way that would have reminded her of their first meeting had her mind been able to form coherent thought.

But she could think of nothing but Edmund and his lips that were so close to her own, his body pressed against hers.

…..

Asura narrowed her eyes at the northern dryad who was sitting before them, her hands folded demurely in her lap. The private meeting room of the High King was riddled with tension following the dryad's pretty little speech.

"Where do your allegiances lie, dryad," Peter said, in the voice she recognised all too well. The voice of the High King, demanding, powerful.

But Myriel did not quiver, if anything she drew herself taller and Asura almost laughed – Peter was foolish if he thought to intimidate a northern dryad. For they were made of much sterner stuff than the frivolous children of the forests that surrounded Cair Paravel. "I serve Narnia, human-king-child. Thee hath no right to speak to me such a way." The words, spoken in such a soft voice had Peter blinking.

She could have liked the dryad, had she not been allied with the witch who'd killed too many of her men. As Captain of the Guard, a knight in her own right, Asura could not abide to have such a woman under her roof. Though she knew well of the witches charms, her own mother had served the White Witch freely.

If only Ed were there glare at the holly dryad, for he would intimidate her far more than Peter could ever hope to. He was not called the dark king for no reason. But he had retired early, pleading weariness.

"What of Aslan?" Lucy's voice, Asura was glad to hear, was doubtful. Gone was the trusting little child. She had not lost her faith, and yet…There was a light in her eyes that was absent in her older siblings.

"What of the father-lion-king?" the dryad titled her head to the side. Then her dark green eyes seemed to capture Asura's own ocean coloured ones. "What of thee, daughter of the river-north? Thee doth not belong here."

It was true; she had been born in the north. But she had been forced to flee south when the waters had frozen over. Soon there had been nowhere to go to; for the White Witch had destroyed her home and the homes of thousands of other naiads.

She looked down at her hand which was knotted in the light crimson of her uniform tunic. The hands of a warrior, though still creamy white and sparkling blue, the strange pigment catching the light from the crackling hearth. So similar to the skin of the dryad before her, yet so different. "This is my home now."

Those dark green eyes narrowed at her. "If thee doth not listen there shalt be no home for thee once more."

It was no idle threat. Asura did not doubt that Arianna could turn Narnia into a frozen wasteland just like the White Witch had. Yet there was something infinitely more dangerous about the self-proclaimed Ice Queen. With both hers and the witch's powers there was no telling what they could do.

Peter's summer blue eyes met hers from across the room, almost pleading. She would need to speak with him, they both knew. He could not march upon Arianna of Charn's ice castle, not with what the dryad had told them.

Perhaps it was best that they did what she suggested and allowed her to act as an emissary between them.

…..

He could do nothing but stare down at her small, her perfect face. It was as if she had been conjured by his very thoughts of her. Her eyes widened slightly, her soft lips parted. And he became aware of how very little either of them wore – there was nothing between them save the thin cotton shirt she wore, nothing but the breeches that encased their legs.

He realised, looking into those wide emerald eyes the colour of fresh leaves in spring, that the witch was not present. And there was no worry in her eyes of her surfacing.

"Ari," he said softly, a whisper, a caress. And then her eyes fluttered closed.

Fire raced through him at the cool touch of her lips, her body pressing against his as she captured his lips with her own. Dear Aslan, he wanted her.

"Ed!"

The door banged open with a crash, Lucy's voice startling him from the daze he had fallen under.

"Don't move," Arianna's voice was a cold hiss, but Edmund was not fooled. He'd felt her skin warm beneath his touch. He knew there was molten heat beneath her ice cold exterior. But the dagger was pressed into his neck, she must have moved fast.

Lucy froze in the door, her eyes wide. But her hand had automatically gone to her waist, where her dagger would normally have been strapped. Her mouth was open, as if she were going to say something. Whether it was at Arianna in that moment or the spectacle they had made.

"I don't want to hurt you Ed," she said softly, her stance one of deadly perfection, her breath blossoming across his cheek. "But I will."

He hesitated a moment too long and she moved, jumping through the open window in a single bound.