CHAPTER 30.
Where the Northern Lands Meet the Western Woods.
Peter.
His eyes swept over the form sitting in the sleigh, swathed in voluminous folds of ice-coloured silk, with a crown atop her head that twinkled with the light of a thousand stars. But it was not platinum hair that fell around her body in a cascade of gentle waves; it was dark mahogany locks and skin golden brown where Jadis's had been parchment white.
She looked far different from the last time he had seen her, when he had thought her a simple assassin.
She looked every inch the cold and untouchable Ice Queen of the Northern Lands.
The giant King-killer.
And he could easily see what had Edmund so enraptured. But those emerald eyes, so beautiful and lined with dark gold, glittering with a cold intelligence as they looked down upon him. One that he knew to be wary of – it was the woman who was responsible for the raids on their villages, the attacks on their farms. It was because of her that they were open to attack from Corradyn.
The northerner, Faelar, sat by her side in pale blue silks, his clothes lined with snowy fur, his eyes cautious.
They were not fools.
But neither was Arianna, Peter knew, for the camp was silent, awaiting her every move.
What was she playing at?
"I am Arianna of Charn, Queen of the North," her voice was true and clear, commanding in a different way than Jadis's. For everyone hung onto her words, and like cold water they sent shivers down his back. Yes, she was truly a queen. In a way that perhaps even Susan and Lucy were not. He could see it in the eyes of those who surrounded her, the frost-fae Eirwen, the two Minotaurs, the dryads, the werewolves who watched her every move to protect her and the single centaur. They would die for her. "And I bid you welcome to my lands, Kings and Queens of Narnia."
She swept her skirts to the side, Faelar holding her slender hand as she stepped down from the sleigh.
From the corner of his eye he could see Oreius resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, eyeing the female centaur that accompanied Arianna with an expression akin to bewilderment.
They had not known that any centaurs had aligned themselves with her.
Her steps were slow as she approached, the Minotaurs flanking her every step, the werewolf's muzzle drawn back in a slight growl. And Peter watched as his army fell under her spell – eyes widened slightly; jaws slackened.
But it was Edmund's reaction that stunned him – for his younger brother did not rush to his lover, instead he stood by his eyes, his face a severe as ever. His dark eyes unreadable. But Arianna's emerald orbs flickered to the Just King's for the briefest moment, and something that was almost relief rippled through them.
The image of her stumbling through the tent flashed through his mind once more – the queen looking nothing more than a street urchin, getting Edmund to them with the last of her strength. She had been broken and bruised only the day before – and like Edmund she bore not a mark of their trials. But she had none of Lucy's magic cordial to heal her.
The water had healed her. In that mysterious, magical way that the frost-fae had said it would.
And then she was before him, in all her beauty and glimmering white.
"I believe we have things to speak of, High King Peter," her voice was not mocking, not condescending. And he remembered Edmund's words of wisdom from only moments before.
Listen.
Just listen to her.
I owe her my life.
"I believe you are correct, Queen Arianna."
…
Edmund.
Edmund watched as they disappeared within the tent, unease gnawing deep within him. Though with it was a deep relief that Arianna was unhurt; but he knew he could not talk to her yet, let alone embrace her. He could see the mistrust in the eyes of the Narnians, who were eyeing the northerners warily as if expecting an attack.
"Do not worry so, Ed," Lucy said softly at his side, her smile cheerful despite the heavy atmosphere that hung over them like a storm cloud.
"What if Pete does not listen to her? You know as well as I that we cannot defeat the Flame Sorcerer by ourselves and neither can she," he was pacing now.
He could only imagine the harsh words that Peter would be firing at her. And it was all too easy to image her small face, the perfect image of a queen, taking it all in and preparing a counter-attack without betraying a single thought.
She would cut him up with her words.
If he miscalculated, Peter would be ruined by her.
"Faelar says that she could convince a man to do anything," Lucy said, not in the least bit worried as she spread her skirts around her on the soft snow, watching as the water seeped into the hem. "He says that none have more right to rule than her." She turned her too-intelligent gaze to his. "What did he mean, Ed?"
Edmund paused, if only for the briefest of moments. "Do you remember the ancient scrolls, Lu? The magic of water and ice runs deep in the veins of those in the royal house of Charn. I think…I think she is the daughter of the last Empress, Jadis's sister. I think she is Jadis's niece."
He would think of no other reason that Jadis would save another.
Unless it was her own blood.
He waited for the laughter to come, for her to tell him to stop being ridiculous. But instead she looked at him with thoughtful eyes, those bright cornflower blue eyes that saw more than anyone thought.
"That actually makes a lot of sense Ed," she said softly, turning her gaze to the tent where their brother spoke with the object of their musings. "And it explains so much."
…
Arianna.
Arianna felt as if her patience was hanging by a single thread, though she kept her face void of emotion.
He showed her what lay behind those sunny eyes and charming smile.
He was a boy.
Terrified.
And alone.
But even understanding that she wanted to hit him.
For being so foolish.
"You think you can just announce yourself a queen?" Peter demanded. "You think that and a pretty castle make you royalty?"
"Those that follow me make me a queen, Peter Pevensie. You should know that better than any." She did not pause to let him speak and he stilled at whatever he saw in her eyes. "You were nothing but a boy when Aslan made you king; I was born to it."
She watched as every muscle in his body tensed and she knew that he would gladly run her through with his blade – to taste her blood on the shining silver. But he also knew of her skill, perhaps he would not be so hasty to draw the famed sword that his hand rested so precariously on.
"Do not be foolish; to defeat Corradyn we must work together, no matter how much either of us loathe it," she said, calmly and slowly keeping her gaze on him as if she were the predator and he the prey. She watched him process the words, stepping closer in perhaps an attempt to regain his power, to intimidate her. "He is far more powerful than even Jadis was; it was only through deception that she defeated him – but only temporarily. And it was I who unknowingly awoke him – for it was my magic, my blood, which she used to bind him. It was my blood which bound him and my blood that freed him. So I must rid Narnia of him."
Peter scoffed. "A witch with honour. There is no such thing. You want something in return."
Arianna glared at him, her eyes like the daggers she so perfectly wielded. Sharp, cutting and freezing. "Do not be foolish, High King Peter. You know what I am capable of."
"Are you threatening me?"
Arianna laughed. She couldn't help it.
She'd be starved and dehydrated, she'd almost been killed, and she'd seen Edmund almost die.
And he thought he could scare her.
It was as it everything bottled up inside her was released. "When I threaten you, Your Majesty, you will know it."
"What is it that you want, Arianna of Charn."
"I want peace, King Peter. I want a place that my people can call their home."
She wished she could paint, for she wished she could immortalise the shocked look that fell upon his face.
…
Unknown.
The woman stumbled through the forest, her limbs shaking with cold and exhaustion. Her lids grew heavy over squinting violet eyes, her hair streaming around her like a curtain of tumbling caramel curls. The gnarled branches caught at her thin cloak, as if it sought to tear through to her perfect porcelain skin.
Had it not been for what lay behind her she would have turned back, or lay down in the snow never to rise again.
She had to find the Kings and Queens of Narnia, she had to tell them… her foot caught in a tree root covered by snow, sending her sprawling, a soft cry escaping her lips.
And it was through those last trees that she glimpsed the crimson tents in the distant, like flecks of blood across the snow-covered landscape. Relief flooded through her feet when, through cracked lids, she glimpsed the cloven-hoofed legs of an armour-clad faun.