CHAPTER 32

The Northern Lands.

Faelar.

Faelar awoke to a harsh light stinging his eyes and a pounding in the back of his mind – insistent and heavy. He groaned when a familiar shadow fell over him, pulling his furs up over his head. "Let me sleep."

If only Aslan would be so kind.

The covers were ripped from his body, leaving his pale skin bared to the chilly air and instinctively he drew his knees towards his chest in an effort to retain the warmth that was quickly fading.

"As amusing as this is, we soon must meet with the kings and queens of Narnia," Arianna's voice was aloof, detached; yet he knew there would be mirth shimmering in her emerald orbs. "A war council has been called."

"And High King Peter lets you sit in upon it?" Faelar sat up and stared at her; regretting it a moment later when the blood pounded through his head and the contents of his stomach threatened to rise and spill over the icy floor of his chambers.

"High King Peter had no choice," her voice was as cold and ice.

…

Where the Northern Lands Meet the Western Woods.

Edmund.

Edmund glared at the woman with unconcealed mistrust from where he stood in the shadows of the tent. He'd been scolded by Peter, Susan, and even Lucy. He'd treated the woman too roughly, they said, when it was obvious she'd been through much.

There was no mistaking the pleased look in her violet eyes as Peter spoke to her in soft tones. And he could not just believe that it was feminine pleasure – it was something more (though they called him paranoid). She had obviously wanted all of the High King's attention, for she had seemed uneasy at Asura's presence.

And that was why the Captain of the High King's guard, third in command of Narnia, was standing guard to the tent's door like a common soldier.

The woman, Lily she'd said her name was, was smiling very prettily up at Pete, and he could not help the scowl on his face as his brother grinned in return, offering her more grapes.

"She's very pretty," Lucy commented absent-mindedly at his side.

"You trust her?" Ed's scowl deepened.

"I said she was pretty, nothing more."

Those pretty violet orbs rested on Arianna the moment she entered – Edmund knew it was her by the goosebumps that rippled over his skin; he did not need to turn towards the tent flap. Through his mind played images of the night before, her small upturned face with the hint of a smile as they twisted around each other – dancing to the crass northern music that set a fire in his blood.

Then the woman's – Lily's – perfect mouth fell open and a blood curdling scream pierced the air as she scurried backwards into Peter's arms, eyes wide and terrified.

"Get her out of here Ed," Pete's voice was sharp and cutting as he attempted to sooth the quivering woman in his arms.

…

Arianna.

Arianna did not snarl or protest as they left the tent, but her eyes were blazing.

She didn't spare Faelar's startled face a glance as she strode through the Narnians who scrambled to get out of her way, Edmund trailing her. She could feel his sombre expression – his mistrust that boiled just below the surface.

"My King," Asura began, jogging to catch up with them, her pale blue locks catching the sunlight like glass or the surface of a lake. Arianna held no dislike for the pretty naiad who had once been a northerner. But at that moment she did not want to see those pretty sparkling blue orbs shining with mistrust.

This time she had done nothing to deserve it.

She hadn't been expecting them to sing her praises to the skies.

But it hadn't been that.

"It's ok, we're just going for a ride," Ed's voice was heavy and she could feel his eyes on him. But she did not pause in her stride, the snow soft beneath her feet. She felt, more than heard the silent exchange between Edmund and Asura. But she heard as the naiad left them as they wove through the tents, fury like ice in her veins.

She knew…she had known the moment she saw the woman who she was.

And she had Peter wrapped around her little fingers.

Lilyn.

Though she had shielded the colour of her crimson eyes, Arianna would recognise her anywhere.

She did not miss the startled expression of the faun that crossed her path as she bared her teeth.

…

Asura.

Asura felt unease and something akin to jealously prickle through her as she heard Pete's laughter through the tent. She did not blame the woman for wanting the High King – or blame her for her reaction to the Ice Queen.

But something was off.

Something was wrong.

She watched with mild interest as the dryad queen, Myriel, and the frost-fae, Eirwen, approached. With light steps they were before her in moments, Eirwen hovering mere inches above the snow-littered ground, her wings beating faster than a humming-birds. A strange interest shone in the icy eyes of the fae, whose glittering crown cast a myriad of light across her small face. Not for the first time Asura wondered if there was fae blood within Arianna. But then she remembered the blush that had arisen on Edmund's pale cheeks the last time someone had mentioned Arianna and cold blood in the same breath.

"Their Majesties are otherwise occupied at the present moment," Asura said softly, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. But she knew together, or even alone, the two northerners could easily defeat her. For they were far older than even the White Witch had been.

"We are not here for the Pevensie children," Eirwen's voice was like a chilling mist, creeping over her body. "We seek our Queen. The sorcerer will make his move soon. We can feel it in the frost and the air, in the trees and the rivers and fiords."

…

Lucy.

Lucy caught up with them, panting, her hem trailing in the snow. They were not talking, but Lucy could see they were speaking, their eyes meeting briefly, a short nod. A flick of a wrist. Their bodies almost dancing as they twirled around each other, steel flashing in the sun, capes discarded over a nearby tree branch.

Away from prying eyes they fought.

As if he were training with one of his knights.

No.

What she was watching was far more graceful. More sensual.

She felt the blood rise in her cheeks.

And they turned at exactly the same moment, weapons ready.

And Lucy froze, unsurprised that only the two of them had taken down Corradyn's castle. The Just King and the Ice Queen.

A fitting pair – perfectly in tune with each other.

"The meeting is about to commence," she said softly, watching as they both visibly relaxed.

It was with such each they fell into step together.

…

The Western Mountains.

Corradyn.

Corradyn watched the re-building of his castle with calculating eyes.

Perhaps Arianna and Edmund had done him a favour – for the walls were built higher, thicker. Impenetrable. When the Narnians attacked they would gain no entry to the Castle of Fire; he knew that Arianna would seek him out eventually. She would be his; the Pevensies would be dead. And Narnia would be free to do with what he willed.

Not even Aslan could stop him; for he was as old as the Great Lion himself. The pieces were falling together perfectly.

With a smirk Corradyn turned to the over-confidant sorcerer by his side. "You will not fail me again."

Tynan shook his head vigorously; for he knew another failure would mean his life.

Perhaps he would have been safer had he never betrayed the young Ice Queen who had spurned him. But he was in far too deep now.