A/N: Thanks for everyone's words of encouragement! I'm going in for an endoscopy and biopsy next week, so please keep me in your prayers.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter—we'll see whose guesses as to Gyneth's real identity were right!

Chapter Twenty-Six

After the hermit left, Cor stood by Aravis in silence as she finished her chocolate.

"Well," he said at last. "Have you recovered sufficiently?"

She nodded stiffly.

"Then we really must speak to Dar."

Aravis nodded again and struggled to her feet; Cor took her arm and let her lean against him as he led her off down one of the paths.

Dar was polishing his sword in front of his tent; so focused was he on scrubbing away a spot of rust that he didn't even see them approach. Cor cleared his throat, and he looked up. "Ah! Your Highness and Your Ladyship. Such a pleasure to see you up and about, Lady Aravis."

"Thank you, Dar," she said, gratified.

"And it is equally pleasing to hear that your spunk and strong lungs have gone back to work as well!"

She flushed painfully and looked down at her feet.

"We should talk about…well…you know," Cor broke in, diverting the attention from Aravis. "Have you seen Corin?"

Dar nodded. "He told me to tell you, and I quote, 'Bugger your meeting, Cor, it sounds dull.'"

"…Ah."

"I gather he won't be joining us, sire?"

"No. No, he won't."

"Well, then." Dar motioned to Ram. "Ram, my friend, find the lady Aravis a seat to rest upon, and we shall seek out a place to confer together."

Big, red-bearded Ram tucked a three-legged stool under his arm and the four of them went off into the gardens, eventually finding a cool, shady place under a spreading oak that was surrounded by ivy-covered stone walls. Ram set the stool among the roots and Aravis settled down on it, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her upper lip.

"Now that I have you both here," Dar said, "I can explain in more detail."

"In full detail," Cor said demandingly.

"That is not going to happen, sire," Dar answered firmly. "I am under strict instructions. What I am about to disclose to you both is, for all intents and purposes, a state secret, and I can tell you no more than is strictly necessary."

Aravis had been watching Cor while Dar spoke, and she saw his eyes flicker uncertainly to Ram, who stood behind Dar like a giant ginger shadow.

"Ram is quite allowed to be here," Dar said, noticing Cor's hesitation. "He is one of my best men and is granted certain…privileges as a result."

Cor's eyebrows shot up into his red-gold hair, and Aravis glanced at Ram, whose ruddy face was impassive. "Very well, then," he said at last.

Dar nodded and folded his arms. Aravis recognized the pose—it was the one he always took before launching into a story. She put her hands in her lap and listened closely.

"Do you remember your cousin Finn?" he asked Cor. "A distant relation on your father's side."

Cor furrowed his brow and thought. While he struggled to recall the name, Aravis said, "From which house?"

"Oh, the house of Bogton, to be sure."

Cor frowned. "Bogton? That is a very distant relation, then."

"Your fourth cousin once removed, to be exact. He is only just younger than your father."

"Yes…I recognize the surname, of course, but 'Finn'? It doesn't ring a bell."

Dar spread his hands out and shrugged. "Nor should it. The only notable thing Finn Bogton has done to deserve recognition is that, at one point, he was in line to inherit your father's throne. As a matter of fact, he still is in that line, but quite far down it by this point."

Cor looked confused. "All right, yes."

"As of now, he is a minor baronet in the southeast, a very unwilling payer of taxes and lord of a stronghold hardly bigger than a boathouse."

"Why the hard luck?"

Dar deferred to Ram, who cleared his throat and said, "His father and grandfather were avid losers of card games, sire."

Cor laughed, then sobered in light of his relations' poor judgment. "So poor Finn Bogton. I feel quite sorry for the man. But why is he so important right now?"

"You won't feel quite so sorry after you hear this," Dar said grimly. "Ram, do tell them what you know—you were around for this before I was."

"Right. Well—as you know, sire, your return from Calormen reorganized the chain of succession, starting with your brother."

"Yes. I seem to remember there being some controversy about that—I felt quite bad."

"Before you returned, the line stood as follows." Ram began counting on his thick fingers. "Prince Corin. Your first cousin the duke of Welsbury. His younger brother Sir Walrick of Welsbury. Your mother's nephew the earl of Lockwood. The earl of Sittingham and then his son, the viscount, and his niece, the baroness of Hammin. And then? Finn, baronet of Bogton."

Cor looked surprised.

"Well, by some unhappy coincidences, Duke Welsbury died of old age shortly after your fifth birthday." Ram began to lower his fingers, marking off the deceased. "Earl Lockwood was next—he caught pneumonia from a winter hunt and died in your seventh year. Sir Walrick lost a shady tournament in Narnia and died of injuries there in your tenth year, and Baroness Hammin died giving birth to her heir, and the babe and her house died with her. By the time you and Corin were nearing your eleventh birthdays, the only ones standing between Finn and the throne were Earl Sittingham, Viscount Sittingham, and Corin himself.

"Earl Sittingham was getting old, and the viscount had a reputation for being weak-chested. The likelihood of Finn succeeding to the throne was very high. Do you follow?"

Cor and Aravis nodded.

"And then, sire, you returned. Corin was removed to second in line, and Finn was made fifth in line. Not too bad in and of itself, but instead of dying out, the Sittinghams found themselves rejuvenated by the return of their lost prince, and both men married (the earl for the third time, and the viscount for the first) and produced a host of new heirs, your cousins Sittingham."

Aravis suppressed a shudder; she and Cor had spent many a dull holiday playing with the Sittingham brood, a motley crew of nearly-identical uncles and aunts and brothers and sisters all screaming and drooling and seeming to desire to tear every page out of every book Cor and Aravis owned. They were a bit older now, but not much; the youngest son was still in a dress, last Aravis had seen.

"Finn is now seventeenth in line for the throne," Ram concluded. "His chances of acting as regent are only slightly better—he is thirteenth in line for that."

"Rotten luck," Cor mused again. "But still…"

"Ah," Dar broke in. "Here you must try to understand the mindset of Finn Bogton. Here you are, so close to the throne of Archenland that you can taste it. The only ones standing between you and absolute power are a fat king, a belligerent prince, a thin old man, and his weakling son. You need only wait. And then—suddenly—the young hero arrives, golden and fresh and seeming to snatch the potential right out of your closing fist. You have lost. Your hope of ascending from a damp stone hut in a hot swamp to the golden seat of Anvard is gone forever."

Aravis shivered despite the warm air, and Cor also looked uncomfortable. "What are you trying to say, Dar?"

Dar eyed him carefully. "I am saying that it did not take Finn Bogton long to decide to assert his claim to the throne.

"He began by convincing several of his more powerful lord-friends that you should be declared unfit to rule on account of your 'foreign education' and 'clear slowness of wit.'"

"I remember that," Cor said grimly.

"When that didn't work, Finn set about trying to prove the Sittingham brood illegitimate, one at a time, by bribing young men to claim they had slept with the Sittingham wives. After all, how could Earl Sittingham still be producing heirs? Well, to prove them wrong, both men had themselves locked in the estate with their wives for a year with only a few female servants to tend them, and by the end of the twelvemonth had two new Sittingham babies, identical to all the others."

Aravis laughed—she hadn't heard that story before!

"Ah, you laugh now," Dar said regretfully. "But when Finn was foiled, he turned to extra-legal means. And here is where you must start listening closely and tucking away in secret places—you must repeat this conversation to no one from here on out. Understood?"

Aravis and Cor nodded breathlessly.

Dar closed his eyes briefly. "We have certain evidence that may prove that Finn began to sabotage the Sittingham family. We believe that he made multiple attempts at poisoning the older children, and several times hired poachers to shoot at grouse near the Sittingham estate and try to 'accidentally' kill one of the heirs."

Aravis gasped despite herself. "How horrible!"

"That is why your royal father invited the Sittinghams to stay in Anvard so many times, Cor," Dar said bluntly. "It was a fear for their safety, rather than a desire for their company."

"And he never told me," Cor said wonderingly.

"State secrets, remember, my boy? There are some things that should be kept even from the ears of the high prince himself."

"Ah."

Ram redirected the conversation. "Obviously, Finn's attempts haven't worked so far. So he's taken a different tack of late."

"And what's that?" Aravis asked curiously, though something told her she didn't really want to know.

"A common movement," Dar answered. "It's small right now, but Finn has made himself seem the beaten underdog, a very empathetic figure to outlaws and disgruntled farmers and ousted guildsmen. They have been active the last few years, recruiting and agitating but remaining very much low-profile—it is very hard to find a cell if you aren't already in one."

"And what do they do?"

Dar shrugged. "Very little at this point, but that's what concerns us—we have rumors that they're planning something big, but there's no way the crown can crack the movement apart without giving away that we're onto them. And then we're lost. We know very little about them as it is—their name, their identifying marks, and their goals are really the only concrete facts we have."

"What is their name?" Cor asked.

"They call themselves the Finnii," Ram replied with a grimace. "The worst name for a rebellion I've ever heard—"

"Yes, it is rather bad," Dar rejoined.

"And their identifying marks?" Aravis asked, a heavy, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Dar looked pointedly at her. "There are several variations, but they are all based on the ancient Bogton arms, a single crimson gryphon with two heads."

Suddenly, the ground seemed to warp and twist around Aravis, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden thoughts and memories and realizations. When she opened them again, she was flat on her back, and Ram and Cor were hovering concernedly above her.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said breathlessly, gripping Cor's hand as he helped her sit up slowly. "I just…got woozy for a moment."

Dar handed her a skin, and she took a gulp of cool red wine to settle her stomach and ease her spinning head. "You looked very pale at the mention of the Finnii, Aravis," he said pointedly.

She nodded, pressing her lips together. "You said—the two-headed gryphon," she said slowly, turning over the image in her mind. "That is the Bogton crest."

"Yes."

"And so the Finnii insignia is the two-headed gryphon…crushing a golden stag in its claws. Is it not?"

Cor looked blankly at her, but Dar and Ram traded glances. "How do you know this?" Dar asked quietly.

So it is true. Aravis nodded to herself. "Gyneth. That insignia was in her kitchen—it was on cloak pin she always wore—the two-headed gryphon was a pendant on a necklace she gave Cor." Cor looked startled. "And she had a box in her satchel—it had a dozen of those pendants in it."

Dar looked at Ram again. "Do you remember this at all, Cor?"

"I don't know anything about the box," Cor said, "and I wasn't paying very close attention to the interior of the farmhouse, but…Aravis is right, she did give me a gryphon pendant."

"Do you still have it?" Ram asked urgently.

"I haven't worn it in days," Cor answered, "but it might be in my pocket still—wait—ah, yes, here it is."

He pulled the leather strap from his pocket and dropped it in Ram's waiting palm. Immediately, he and Dar bent over the item, examining it with furrowed brows. Aravis and Cor waited patiently, and soon enough, the two men straightened and fixed them with somber gazes.

"Yes, this rather confirms our fears," Dar said soberly.

"Which are…?" Cor asked.

Ram returned the pendant. "We're now quite sure, sire, that Gyneth and her brothers and father are all Finnii. It was no accident, sire, that Gyneth made herself so amenable to you when you met."

"Finnii?" Cor sputtered. "But she—she was just—a girl—"

"Let that be no measure of her capability," Aravis said sharply. "I thought something about her was off—she never liked me, not from the very first."

"No, I imagine she wouldn't've," Dar mused. "Pardon me, my dear, but you do give off an ambience of sharp observation and suspicion, something a subversive radical wouldn't particularly like."

Aravis flushed.

"A 'subversive radical,'" Cor repeated, looking confused. "Are the Finnii particularly so?"

"Well, common folk agitating for a complete change of the law of succession can only be so conservative," Dar said dryly. "But yes, sire, I do think you're on to something here—the Finnii in and of themselves are far less radical of a movement than one might see in another kingdom. But there are pockets here and there of very dangerous cells, ones that are actively seeking to destroy the existing line. The best way to set Finn Bogton on the throne, as they see it, is to…well, sire, if I may be completely frank—the fastest way to crown Finn Bogton is to murder you and your brother. Then the Maegenhart line dies out with your father, allowing Finn to make a stronger claim against the Sittinghams."

Aravis threw a glance at Cor. His face was impassive as he nodded, but his cheeks were ashen. "I see," he said calmly. "So Gyneth was clearly of this persuasion."

"We think so."

"That would explain why the bandits always knew where we were," Aravis said. "And why she tried to kill me when I insinuated I knew about the Finnii—and then why she disappeared with the bandits."

"Indeed." Ram inclined his head. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but you did us quite a favor—flushed the pheasant from the furze, so to speak."

Aravis smiled at him.

"So what are we to do?" Cor asked Dar. "I must complete my fledgling year or forfeit my throne. And Corin is ineligible to rule if he doesn't complete one, either. But if we're both murdered—"

"Ah, yes—there's the sticking point," Dar replied, rubbing his hands together. "The Finnii think that if they can't murder you, they can at least frighten you and Corin into abdicating."

"That will never happen," Cor said hotly. He slammed his fist into his palm to emphasize the point, and Dar patted his shoulder.

"I would never expect you to give in out of sheer cowardice," he said soothingly. "So the only solution is to outsmart them. Gyneth's word and description of you and Corin are all they have to go on, other than those terribly outdated royal portraits."

"I'll grow my beard back," Cor said eagerly, grinning at Aravis. "It'll hide my scratch marks, and Corin and I look so much more alike with them."

"Better yet," said Dar, "you grow yours and I'll have Corin shave his off."

"Very clever," Cor agreed.

"And then," Ram broke in, "here's where you must start making sacrifices, sire. You will be safe at Roscommon, but it is a two-week journey from here, and the land in between is rife with Finnii. Gyneth is with them now, and she knows where we are headed."

"So we must split up the companions and take separate routes to Roscommon," Aravis said. "It seems quite obvious to me."

"Exactly!" Dar answered. "Have Corin, masquerading as Cor, leading one band, and Cor, masquerading as Corin, leading the other."

Cor started to laugh. "The last time we did this, Father had us both sent to our chambers without supper."

"This is more than a game," Dar assured him. "So we must make the transformation more convincing. If we really were to split up the band, how would it be divided?"

"I would take the strongest men," Cor answered matter-of-factly. "And Aravis."

"Exactly," Dar said as Aravis blushed and elbowed Cor in the ribs. "So we must do the opposite."

"Ye—what?"

"Give Corin Aravis and the strongest men, and trade horses. Raider is very recognizable."

"But—but…Raider will kill Corin!" Cor protested. "And give him Aravis? Never!"

Aravis lifted her hand, and Dar and Cor fell silent at once. "What if I dressed as a man and went with Cor?" she suggested. "Ram, I saw that one of your men has long hair the same color as mine. Of course, I would know he was not a Calormene, but we all look the same to you Archenlanders, don't we? He might dress in my clothes. That way, Corin will look as though he has both women with him, which is logical because he has more men to protect them."

"Not that you especially need it—"

"Thank you—"

"No, that is a very keen observation, my lady." Ram looked at Dar. "I shall ask Stig if he wouldn't mind dressing like a woman for a few weeks."

"I'll find him a few of my frocks," Aravis said. "Heaven knows I wouldn't mind it."

"And we'll find you some tunics and trousers and a sturdy pair of boots," Dar assured her. "And a peasant's hood for your head. You'll be quite warm, I'm afraid, but it will hide your hair and shadow your face."

"It is nothing I am incapable of enduring, I assure you," Aravis said dryly.

Dar nodded and clapped his hands together again. "There we have it. Sire, you must inform Corin of our decision—I'll work out the separate routes tonight, and in the morning—if her ladyship is feeling up to it, that is—" He inclined his head to Aravis, who smiled. "—in the morning, we can divide our resources as you see fit."

Cor put his shoulders back and gave a decisive nod. "I think we shall be quite safe now, thanks to you, Dar and Ram."

"It is only my duty," Ram said as Dar bowed deeply.

Aravis allowed Cor to help her up, but she watched Ram closely. "You say it is your duty," she said slowly. "Why is that? I thought you were one of Dar's drinking fellows."

Dar laughed. "Nothing escapes you, dear Aravis. Well, what can I say? State secrets, my delightful children. I have disclosed to you all I can, and will say no more."

"But Dar—" Cor sputtered.

"Perhaps I'll tell you when you're king, Cor," he replied with a grin. "But only then."

Aravis could tell that, even though Cor was the high prince, Dar had ended the conversation, so she curtsied to both Ram and Dar and led Cor away, patting his trembling arm. "All in due time," she assured him. "Meanwhile, watch them both very closely…"