A/N: Surprise, I'm alive! I'm very sorry for the late upload. Work kicked my butt, and then Friday, my planned writing day, was a day of grand discoveries in the world of food allergies. And of course the last scene simply would NOT END, so this 6k chapter is brought to you by the dose of steroids currently keeping me breathing and several cups of the caffeine I wasn't supposed to drink with the meds. Please forgive and alert of me any typos or weird phrasing, lol I'm on my last brain cell here and she's struggling. 😅
Chapter 66 Content Warnings: N/A
Chapter 66: fake a smile
Addie
Two weeks, and nothing to show for it. Doctor Cornelius insists the timeline of Narnia's rulers, delineated by dynasties, will help them discern the most useful records, but it feels woefully inadequate. The Doctor thought to focus their search on specific dynasties, but Addie skims every record in its entirety no matter its epoch of origin. So much history was lost in the Telmarine Conquest that she and the Doctor simply don't have enough information to know which rulers may have known of the rings.
Assuming any of them knew about them to begin with. Monarchs don't know everything that happens in a kingdom, and if anyone used the rings before, there's no telling if they came to Narnia or another kingdom - Calormen, Archenland, Galma.
She sighs in frustration.
If they find nothing, she's stuck here indefinitely.
No, she can't think like that. There's an answer in here somewhere, they just have to find it.
And if not… if not, maybe she can convince Doctor Cornelius it's worth a little experimentation.
No, if she's wrong and the pools do change, she could trap someone with her in England, or God only knows where else. Even if someone volunteered, she would be going home at the expense of someone else losing theirs.
Addie curls over the library table, head in her hands.
Breathe. Last time she left, no time passed in England, even though she'd spent ten years in Narnia. While she's here, it doesn't matter how long this puzzle takes to solve. As long as she and the Doctor figure the pools out eventually, the rest will take care of itself.
Keep searching. Keep out of the way.
She can do that.
The library's double doors creak open, old wood and iron hinges squeaking in protest. Addie stands, a finger marking her place in the book (a thick tome, red cover, four crowns embossed in gold - Golden Age). A passage about Cair Paravel's apple orchard jogged her memory.
"I just remembered the box had an apple tree carving," Addie calls to the Doctor, carefully cradling the book in her elbow. He must've finished his meeting on the Cair Paravel restorations early. "It's a stretch, but it might be worth looking for anything about apples or apple trees, just in case. Did any royal families or nobles have a crest with -"
Addie looks up and almost drops the precious book several centuries older than she is.
It's not Doctor Cornelius.
Addie sinks into a one-armed curtsy, wobbling thanks to traitorously unsteady knees.
"Your Majesty. My Lady. Forgive my…" Distraction? Informality?
How she hates formalities, the constant guessing and dancing around with stiff language and stiffer posture.
Leave. That's polite, isn't it? Leave the library to them, stay out of the way.
"I'll… right. Excuse me."
Addie closes the book on her finger and turns toward the side door she frequents, because it connects to the servants' passages.
The glowing lady is already smiling and waving away her apology. Caspian - King Caspian, she mustn't forget his title - still hasn't said a word, frozen between doting on the woman on his arm and the stiff disdain he bore in the throne room.
Addie fights for a blank face. She's done so well these weeks, staying out of sight, out of mind. How was she to know they'd come waltzing in right before lunch hour?
Silly, she's being silly. This is his castle, and therefore his library. She's just been lucky until now.
"- seemed busy, please continue," the lady is saying, shining bright as a full moon in the dim library. "I believe we'll only be a minute." Her blue eyes brighten, recognition dawning, and Addie barely stops herself from sprinting for the nearest exit then and there. "You must be Doctor Cornelius's assistant?"
The lady squeezes Caspian's - King Caspian's - arm. He snaps out of his strange trance, dark eyes sharp and focused.
"Yes, she is," he answers, before Addie finds her voice. "Lilliandil, this is Doctor Cornelius' new research assistant, Adelaine. Adelaine, the Lady Lilliandil, Eastern Star and Daughter of Ramandu."
That is all she is, then. A research assistant.
Addie swallows the irrational sting and narrowly avoids meeting King Caspian's eyes. It's a kinder introduction than detailing their old, messy history. She should be thankful.
Lady Lilliandil dips into a curtsy, though etiquette surely doesn't require it. Addie curtsies again and lower, praying her face is less red than it feels.
"A pleasure," says the lady, all charming manners and perfectly amiable. For God's sake, must she be so… friendly?
"Pleasure's all mine," Addie manages. There, words at last! "Can I help you find anything?"
Keep looking at Lady Lilliandil. Not him, anywhere but him. Just the lady star.
Lilliandil smiles again, too gentle and accommodating and impossible to dislike. "Have you a collection of songbooks? Anything of Maying music would be most welcome."
Addie drums her fingers on her book. The Maying festival predates even the Hundred Year Winter, and those records are scarce at best. The songs played nowadays are likely from the Doctor's Golden Age research.
"To the left, within the Golden Age collection," King Caspian cuts in, gesturing to the shelves in question. "Correct?"
It takes her an embarrassing stretch of silence to realise he's asking her.
"Fourth shelf up," Addie says. "Your Majesty."
The double doors open again, and in bustles Doctor Cornelius, a trio of scrolls tucked under his arm. His steps slow at once, eyes darting between the three of them.
The Doctor bows before the silence stretches into further awkwardness. "Ah, my king, Lady Lilliandil. I was just coming to collect my assistant. I trust I'm not interrupting?"
"Not at all, my lord," says Lady Lilliandil. "Miss Adelaine was very helpful."
"We won't keep her," King Caspian adds quickly.
"Very good." Doctor Cornelius turns to her, his eyes inscrutable behind his spectacles, and gives her a list of record boxes. "Adelaine, please retrieve these. We will study Queen Swanwhite's reign today."
"Right away."
Queen Swanwhite - a queen in the Dark Ages, possibly the second of her name, speculated to be the last acknowledged ruler of Narnia before the land fell into anarchy before the Telmarine Conquest. Yesterday, Addie debated with Doctor Cornelious whether Swanwhite was named after a Queen Swanwhite the Beautiful (who might have ruled before the Long Winter), or merely after a legend of the same name.
Addie leaves her book on the table (page 37, she'll find it later), takes the list, and rushes for the door. Bless the Doctor and his penchant for sending her on errands.
"It was lovely to meet you!"
The worst thing about Lady Lilliandil's manners is how genuine they sound.
Addie grits her teeth and dips into a shallow curtsy, one hand already on the door.
"You as well, my lady," she says before slipping out into the hallway and scurrying between servants and messengers. Her heart only slows to normal when she's comfortably in the records room, surrounded by nothing but stacks of boxes, shadows, and the underground chill.
She will not think of the library. It was an unfortunate encounter, barely salvaged by Lady Lilliandil's impeccable manners and King Caspian's brief introductions. Best not thought of again.
It is a slight comfort that King Caspian has finally found someone whose easy gentility and courtly manners outstrip his own.
Caspian
For all Addie's faults, today, he is grateful for her discretion. Had she even hinted at their former acquaintance, either out of spite or slighted pride, she could have sabotaged his budding courtship.
But she did not. He will give her credit for that.
Fortunately, Lilliandil speaks and erases any further thought of Adelaine or her small kindness.
"How fares your research, my Lord?"
In Addie's absence, Lilliandil has focused her pleasantries on Doctor Cornelius. Whenever greeted with any face new or familiar, Lilliandil strikes up a conversation, any prior task of hers forgotten. A good trait in a lady.
"Slow and steady, my lady," answers Cornelius. "There is much still to untangle of Narnia's history, particularly before the Golden Age."
Caspian breathes easier at the vague answer. Thus far, only himself, Doctor Cornelius, and Addie know the truth of the rings and the purpose of their research. For Narnia's safety, such knowledge should not reach any more ears, no matter how trustworthy.
"Many Narnians fled to Archenland throughout the Dark Ages and the Telmarine dynasty," Caspian says. "Perhaps King Nain will have something of use to us."
He will not divulge the full purpose, of course, but a request for copies of records of the Age of Conquest would not be remiss. Caspian spent many a night in Anvard Castle's library during his visit two years ago. Narnia's ambassador will return from Archenland's court by summer's end and can bring whatever King Nain allows.
"A fine idea," says the Doctor.
Caspian nods. "I will write the letter today."
"Excellent."
Cornelius leaves his scrolls on the table Addie abandoned. Her books form a neat half-circle framing an open scroll, quill, and inkpot.
"And how are you settling in, my lady?" Cornelius continues, refocusing on Lilliandil. "Have you found these western shores to your liking?"
"Very well, thank you," Lilliandil answers. "I have a most gracious host. We intend to visit Lantern Waste in autumn."
Caspian's ears warm at her compliment. Lilliandil is more gracious than he deserves; despite his best efforts, he only spends two hours at most with her between his duties each day, and never all at once.
"So late?" Doctor Cornelius' eyes linger a moment too long on Caspian. "Chippingford is charming in summer, and I hear Caldron Pool is a popular swimming spot."
"Explain that to Trumpkin, if you would," Caspian says ruefully. Though the dwarf has served as Lord Regent thrice now without complaint, Trumpkin would have several things to say about Caspian departing the capital yet again so soon after returning.
"Perhaps early autumn," Lilliandil says, the picture of amiability. "His Majesty spoke so highly of the foliage, and the days will still be warm."
A fortnight in the castle, yet Lilliandil does not use his name.
Caspian wills the thought away. He's being unfair - he refers to her with an honorific.
"That will be well," he says. He touches Lilliandil's elbow, gently nudging her toward the shelves. "Excuse us, Professor."
Cornelius bows, though he shouldn't leave until they do. It's technically improper for them to go anywhere without a chaperone, though Caspian forgets that piece of etiquette more than he ought.
Lilliandil wanders ahead of him, running a hand over the polished bookshelves. The library door clicks, and when Caspian looks over his shoulder, he finds an empty room at his back.
He fights a sigh. Doctor Cornelius made no secret that he considers chaperones an outdated tradition of the Telmarine court, especially given Caspian's past liberties.
"That was different," Caspian told him through gritted teeth. "I was not a king, and she and I were not technically courting. Now, if I appear too friendly, the entire court will gossip."
He and Addie were lovers, they met in secret, and in the How, neither he nor the Narnians cared one whit for etiquette with the war to occupy their every waking moment. His court may be two-thirds Narnian now, but rumours are the currency of every castle.
The Doctor scoffed at his concern. "Courts always gossip."
"All the more reason for a chaperone," Caspian said.
To no avail, judging by the professor's departure.
"So many," Lilliandil murmurs, her fingers casting a blue-white glow across rows of books. "I feel I could get lost between these shelves."
"As a boy, I often did." Caspian breathes in the musty smell of the place, old paper and aged leather untainted by the candle smoke that defines his study. He learned every inch of this library in his youth, from its Telmarine histories that now only cover half the shelves, to more… intimate writings.
He has no use for the latter anymore, not until his wedding night.
Caspian shakes off the whispers of memory and finds Lilliandil looking at him expectantly, curiosity writ plain on her features.
He's told her precious little of his days before the kingship. Some things should remain buried, and the pain in his past is one such thing.
Instead of answering her unspoken question, Caspian clears his throat and reaches for the first songbook he sees, scant inches from Lilliandil's shoulder.
"Perhaps this has what you seek." He holds out the book - thin, bound in brown leather with six ribbons tucked between its pages.
Lilliandil takes it, her cool fingers brushing his as she murmurs thanks.
It is by far the least formal touch between them.
Within days, Lilliandil has devoured her armful of songbooks and hums and sings wherever she goes. Her music ripples throughout the castle, drawing sporadic listeners in her wake and announcing her arrival to any room long before she reaches it.
The castle has never sounded so… joyful. So alive.
More than once, Lilliandil's Maying songs float under Caspian's study door and coax him from his chair, momentarily erasing the never-ending headache of a kingdom's paperwork. If Caspian closes his eyes, he is back on the Dawn Treader, the floor dipping rhythmically beneath his boots as ocean spray fills his nose and a red dawn rises over the horizon.
Lilliandil's voice reminds him of peace. Freedom. A fresh start.
How sorely he needs it.
Absurd, that he can't walk the corridors of his own castle without seeing her. Courtiers and guests walking off dinner pass him by, servants bustle in and out of their passageways, and there she is, frowning down at a book, lower lip between her teeth and quill tucked behind her ear.
Caspian squares his shoulders and walks on. This is his castle, and Addie has already proved adept at making herself scarce.
Perhaps he's being… unkind. She did him a favour in the library.
Just before he passes her by, Caspian speaks her name.
Addie's gaze snaps up, her eyes wide and her neck tense. She dips into a shallow curtsy.
"Your Majesty."
Caspian clasps his hands behind his back. Seeing her unnerved brings him less satisfaction than he supposed it would.
The slight discomfort is the product of royal manners trained in him from birth - that's all.
"My Lord Chancellor tells me you've made some progress."
Addie straightens slowly, glancing to the nearest servant passage before answering.
"We… yes, a bit." Addie inhales and gathers herself. Her face is carefully blank when she meets his eyes, nerves shuttered behind polite distance. "We found evidence of two Queen Swanwhites - one who ruled around the year 300, and a second who ruled in the Dark Ages. Swanwhite II was the last known ruler before the Telmarine conquest."
"I'm sure Narnia's historians will be glad of your findings." Caspian nods to a passing trio of courtiers - a lady and her two sons - and does not linger on how stiffly Addie holds herself. "Good luck with your continued efforts."
Addie blinks. "Thank you."
There, he has been civil. Repayment enough for Addie keeping their past to herself.
Caspian resumes his walk. The courtiers have moved on and the servants have quieted, leaving the hall momentarily deserted. There is nothing to cover her rapidly retreating footsteps, nor her quiet exhale.
To Tash with it.
Caspian spins around and finds Addie nearly vanished into the shadows, half-swallowed by the servant passages she apparently still frequents.
"Addie."
She halts and slowly turns back, book clutched to her chest.
Caspian glances around the hall.
Still empty.
He closes half the distance before he can talk himself out of it.
"Thank you," he murmurs. "For your discretion."
Addie's brow furrows and something in her expression flickers, gone too quickly to pinpoint.
Haltingly, she nods.
"Of course."
Damn that softness in her voice.
Caspian bids her goodnight and leaves before he can decipher the look in her eyes.
Addie
"The Maying festival is tomorrow! Honestly, what else would you use your coin for?"
Addie scrunches her nose and occupies her mouth with another bite of tart, green apple - the last of her lunch. She's been looking for a toy dragon for Cesare's birthday. She might not be here for it, but Lola will give it to him if she's not.
If her research continues at this pace - painstaking and fruitless - she might well be here come autumn.
"What about marrying?"
Addie's stomach lurches as Sellea skips out of the kitchen, apron and cap in hand. Sellea just finished the morning and afternoon shift, so she's done until tomorrow. Much to Perla's annoyance, two shifts is now the maximum anyone - including Perla herself - can work in a day. Yet servants still receive room, board, and coin as if they worked dawn to night.
Three years, and only half the staff are used to it. If not for her mornings and nights researching, Addie wouldn't know what to do with so much free time.
"Maying," Lola corrects as she lightly kicks Addie's ankle. "This one hasn't got a dress yet."
Sellea gasps, eyes wide in exaggerated shock. "Addie! Why not?"
Addie shrugs. Weighed against time spent in the library, a festival seems trivial.
"I have research."
"That can wait," says Sellea, crouching beside her and casting them in shadow. "What are you researching, anyway?"
Addie picks at her cuticle, skin dry after an afternoon doing dishes. Lola knows she's looking for a way out, but Doctor Cornelius wants even that much kept quiet. Apparently, too many people knowing they're looking for a magical path out of Narnia could be troublesome, even though the entire kingdom had the chance to go through one four years ago.
"Mostly Narnian history, with Doctor Cornelius. Lately, the old tree," Addie says. "The twisted oak, down in the city."
Sellea looks at her funny, squinting as she shields her eyes from the afternoon sun. "It's gone now, didn't you see?"
Addie swallows a sting in her chest as Lola takes her hand.
"I saw. Just curious how it got there in the first place."
"Fascinating, I'm sure," Lola cuts in. "But books and research can wait an hour or two."
"Exactly!"
Before Addie summons an excuse, Sellea hauls her to her feet and loops their arms.
"I'm finding you something lovely, and that's that. And don't think you're getting out of dancing."
God forbid.
Addie pinches her mouth into a half-smile as Lola takes her other arm, neatly corralling her between them.
"Half an hour, then I'm back in the kitchen."
Sellea rolls her eyes - more attitude than she ever showed before - but she looks to Lola and sighs.
"If you say so."
Addie hasn't seen this much joy since King Caspian's return.
Most of the city has emptied onto the green fields stretching from the city to the forest. Humans and Narnians in flower crowns chatter and drink wine and pass around honey bread and fresh fruit - a far cry from the forced, tentative mingling Addie remembers from the coronation ball. Lilting pipe music - courtesy of the fauns - floats above the cheerful din as dryads sing old Narnian poems and folktales in voices delicate as spun glass. At the centre of the festival sits a painted pole wrapped in daisy chains and ribbons of every colour. At the top sits a thick ring of more ribbon with a single gold braid dangling a metre and a half above the grass.
"And at high noon, the couples will lift the ribbons while we - us unspoken-for folk, that is - dance around the pole."
Single people dancing around a trussed-up pole in the heat of the day?
"Whose pole is that, exactly?" Addie says.
Sellea's mouth drops open, petal-pink lips forming a perfect O. Lola barks a laugh, though she glances to Cesare, who's fortunately occupied tugging Alfonso toward the nearest tray of honey bread.
"There you are," Lola says, lacing her fingers with Addie's. "I missed your jokes."
Addie's face heats. She's only been… cautious since returning.
Well, since leaving in the first place.
"It was a perfectly legitimate question," Addie insists. "I meant who… put it up?"
Sellea bumps her shoulder, all youthful conspiracy and sunlit mischief.
"The city mayor, I expect. But as for whose it is, use your imagination. I certainly will."
Addie chokes on wildflower-perfumed air. When did Sellea get old enough to make off-colour jokes? She can't be more than sixteen, maybe seventeen.
No… eighteen? She was fourteen last Addie saw her, but it seemed such a young fourteen.
Sellea's become more like Claudia.
Lola relents first, humour calming into explanation. "It's not like that. I think the pole represents life, and the ribbons are the sun's rays. After a few dances, everyone holding one will weave them around the pole. I think that represents - Cesare, don't you dare!" Lola sprints for her son, now perched on Alfonso's shoulders with his honey-covered hands poised over his father's curls.
"Hey." Addie takes Sellea's arm before she rushes into the crowd. "You don't have to grow up so fast."
Sellea glances back, head tilted quizzically. "I am grown up."
Is she? Is this vibrancy what eighteen is like without wars and princes and impossible choices?
Maybe Sellea's just better at being young. She lived through the war too, here, and she must've faced impossible choices by now - and she knew enough of herself and what she wanted to make the right ones.
The touch of Sellea's warm hand pulls Addie back to the festival and the lively beat of the drums.
"Come on," Sellea says. "We're dancing."
Addie hesitates. "I don't think I… I don't know the steps."
"So? It's easy, you'll learn."
Sellea tugs, and Addie lets herself be led toward the circle of dancers behind the May pole. The steps are simple, but the pattern is intricate, a whirling dervish of linked arms and laughter, a single circle that dissolves into pairs spinning round and round, changing partners so quickly it's impossible to keep her eyes on any one person.
She'll never be able to keep up.
Sellea jostles her by the shoulders, grinning. "Don't look so scared."
"I'm not, I just -"
"Good, off we go!"
Before Addie can protest, Sellea sprints into the circle. The dancers part easily to accommodate them both, and there's no time for worrying or doubting her steps. There is the music - drums, flutes, lilting pipes - and there is the next step, and the next, and the next, on and on in an endless swirl. The dance sweeps her from partner to partner, stranger's hands clasping hers, strangers' arms spinning her round, strangers' laughs when she steps on a toe and shouts to make her apology heard over the crowd.
Addie can't help it; she laughs along with them. It starts as a bright bubble in her chest, creeps up into a smile, and then she's laughing like a girl, buoyed by celebration, sudden joy taking her by surprise as the dance and music pound through her.
This feeling, this was what she tried to describe to Josie, when they were children running through the Shaws' fields and picking wildflowers for the breakfast table. No matter how Addie tried to explain, no matter how much Josie laughed and danced with her in the morning sun, she never quite captured the feeling again, the same she found on this same field years ago, dancing under a summer's full moon. She was always reaching, never catching. Over the years, she almost forgot what she was reaching for.
Until today.
Josie would love this.
First thing after the festival, Addie promises herself she'll start a diary. She'll write every detail, sketch what she can in the margins while it's fresh, and give it to Josie when she returns to England.
Without warning, the music crescendos and then peels off, the dance stops, and the crowd's laughing morphs to deafening cheers. Addie teeters for balance, then stands on tiptoes to see the reason.
Two horses leading a small parade ride onto the field - one snow-white bearing Lady Lilliandil, Lady of the Stars and probably soon to be lady of more. The other…
The other is black as midnight, groomed to the shine of fresh ink, bearing King Caspian.
Addie stands flat-footed and weaves toward the nearest sweets table, glad for the thick crowd and taller people - human and Narnian - to hide her. If Lola and Cesare are nearby, that's where they'll be.
The crowd parts as King Caspian and Lady Lilliandil dismount and walk to the pole, arm in arm.
They look well together - regal. Everything a royal couple should be.
Ah, there's Cesare, sitting on Alfonso's shoulders and preoccupied with another honey roll. Addie slips through the crowd murmuring "excuse me" until she reaches Lola, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.
King Caspian and Lady Lilliandil grasp the gold braid, tug, and dozens of ribbons in every conceivable colour cascade from the woven band atop the pole. The crowd cheers and descends, couples of fauns and humans and talking animals taking up the ribbons as the music resumes.
Addie nudges Lola toward the merriment. "Go on. I'll mind Cesare."
"Are you sure?"
Alfonso overhears too and nods toward the dancers slipping under the canopy of ribbons.
"Go ahead, Addie. I'm a terrible dancer."
"So am I." Addie squeezes Lola's hand and elbows Alfonso. "Go dance with your wife."
Doting parents though they are, they must need time to themselves too, and if Alfonso can refuse Lola's poorly hidden, wistful glance toward the dance, he's a fool.
Lola touches his waist as Alfonso steadies a squirming Cesare. "Just one?"
Alfonso's gaze softens into agreement.
"Cesare, behave for Aunt Addie, alright?"
The boy giggles, mouth and cheeks smeared with honey and glee. "But she's shorter!"
"You can stand on my shoulders," Addie says, reaching for him. "Test your balance, hm?"
Cesare's chubby hands are sticky, but it's nothing water and soap won't wash off later. Addie holds him steady while Alfonso plants the boy's feet on her shoulders. Fortunately, farm work with the Shaws built her muscles again, so Cesare has a solid base.
"Be good," Lola says, already melting into the crowd with Alfonso. She mouths, "No more honey rolls," sound advice Addie fully intends to follow. As it is, Cesare will be bouncing with excess energy for long after the festival.
So much the better; he's young, and he should enjoy his life.
"Oof, careful there." Addie holds onto Cesare's waist as he pulls a sticky, sweaty hand from hers and almost pitches forward, laughing and pointing at his parents.
Lola and Alfonso are skipping with the other couples clockwise around the pole, blue ribbon in hand and a circle of single dancers ducking beneath. The flutes climb in pitch, crescendo to a high, piercing note, and descend again, chaotic as a stream babbling over stones. The dancers change direction with the notes, occasionally stumbling but all laughing through their mistakes. Sellea twirls past the king and his lady, almost crashing into a faun before she pulls back, cheeks pinker than the ribbon she ducks under.
"Papa!" Cesare tugs his other hand free and claps off-beat as his parents dance by again.
"Cesare, careful!" His left foot slips, and Addie strains to lift him higher. "Plant your feet, there you go."
"Can we go dance too-o-o-o-o?"
"When your mum and dad are done, you can ask them. Ow!" Addie bites down a curse and pulls her hair from under Cesare's foot. "And only if you're good."
"Sorry, auntie." Cesare settles until Lola and Alfonso dance by again, then he's back to waving and yelling, this time, "Look, momma, I'm taller!"
Addie smiles through a grimace. He's taller because he's on his tiptoes atop her shoulder bones.
When the song ends, the dancers pause, some kneading their sides and a third ducking out. Lola and Alfonso return, wrapped in each other's arms and both waving to Cesare, who jumps to greet them.
"Easy, Cesare!" Addie catches him by the waist and holds him aloft, where his stamping feet can't deal any more damage.
Alfonso rushes up and takes Cesare, settling him onto his hip as Lola scolds him. Cesare remains unrepentant, already distracted as another song begins - lower, earthier, led by drums instead of flutes.
"Momma, papa, can I dance too?"
Lola licks her thumb and wipes his cheeks. "Were you good for your aunt?"
"Uh huh!"
When Lola looks for confirmation, Addie nods. He was as well-behaved as can be expected, given the day's excitement.
Alfonso boosts Cesare onto his shoulders again, holding both his son's hands as Lola clings to his side.
"Wait, I want Aunt Addie to come too!" Cesare squirms and fusses, tugging Alfonso's hands and pouting over his shoulder. "Auntie!"
Addie waves him along and hangs back, though Lola beckons her. "Go on, I'll see you later."
Alfonso resumes walking, and Cesare screeches.
"No, I want Auntie Addie!" Cesare's pout deepens to a frown, warning of an impending tantrum. Too much sugar - he's wound up, too demanding.
Lola arches an eyebrow and waits, hand extended.
For God's sake.
Addie weaves through the thickening crowd and takes Lola's hand.
"Just one," she says.
Lola tugs her close as Cesare cheers, then points to the top of the pole. A humanoid silhouette formed of swirling white petals has perched atop the pole's flower crown, peering down at the dancers.
"Papa look, a petal fairy!"
"Dryad, my love," Lola says.
"What's dryad?" Cesare stares up at the dryad, brown eyes wide with wonder.
"A dryad is a spirit of a tree," Addie explains. "They take this form when they want to visit."
"Can they dance?"
"Very well," Addie says. "They're said to flow like the wind."
Cesare squints up at the dryad, who's waving down at the dancers calling hellos.
"Why's she not dancing with us?"
"Maybe she wants to watch first," Lola says. "Or she's waiting for friends."
"Ohhh!" Cesare grins anew and cups a hand to his mouth. "I hope you find your friends, Miss Fairy!"
The song ends again, thumping drums softening to a slower pipe-tune that dips and swells like a lazy river. Lola grabs a green ribbon from a departing faun couple and offers the end to Cesare.
"Addie, there you are!" Sellea materialises from the inner circle, hair falling from her braid and cheeks bright with exertion.
"Only one dance," Addie warns.
"Yes, yes, just one, you sourpuss." Sellea drags her under the ribbons, and the circle sweeps them away.
They dance a little hunched under the ribbons, now woven halfway down the pole. Addie stares at her feet, determined not to tread over any more toes, and does not look at the outer circle unless Cesare's shrieks of joy are close.
She tries.
On the fourth pass, Sellea pulls her into a twirl, the world spins dizzyingly past, and when Addie finds her balance again, she's passing Lady Lilliandil, and -
The pipes sing low, stop, then ascend, and the circle sweeps her back the way she came. Addie twirls and smiles and melts into the dancers, and if she sees a flash of dark eyes and a smile frozen on a tanned, bearded face, she does not think of it again.
She finishes the dance, kneads a stitch between her ribs, and escapes into the crowd when the song ends. She'll find Lola in a moment, just has to catch her breath.
Addie pushes past the revellers until the crowd thins enough she can breathe without jostling someone and the afternoon breeze stirs her hair.
"Overwhelming, isn't it?"
Addie straightens and turns. To her right stands a noblewoman smiling sympathetically, her pale hands clasped and her auburn hair flowing down to her waist.
"A little, my lady," Addie says, curtsying.
The lady leans closer, green eyes twinkling as if sharing a great secret. "It's my first festival of this sort, too."
"It is?" Addie follows the lady's gaze to the circle, where another song has begun - this one is high and frenetic, dominated by flutes and piccolos and frenzied drums.
The lady hums. "I hail from Ettinsmoor. It is a harsher land, and participation in Narnian festivals is sporadic at best."
Ettinsmoor - Giant territory, the chilly moors and foothills between Narnia's northern border and the Wild Lands of the North. King Caspian won a war against the Ettinsmoor Giants three years ago and solidified the territory under Narnia's protection, but the Wild Lands are still rumoured to be a haven for any loyalists to the White Witch that have survived the centuries - hags, werewolves, boggles, ogres, and the like. With danger ever at its border and a harsh, frigid landscape, Ettinsmoor isn't known as a safe or joyous region.
"I thought the festivals were spreading to all the territories?"
The lady purses her red lips, eyes fixed on the dance. "Slowly. Ettinsmoor is a different sort of land, and our traditions developed on their own long before King Caspian's reign."
From Addie's readings, regional traditions have been one of the stickier cultural shifts of the last few years. King Caspian declared four kingdom-wide holidays, but some regions - Ettinsmoor, Telmar, and the eastern islands - prefer their own traditions, whether for historical or religious purposes.
"I'm sure Ettinsmoor's traditions are lovely," Addie says. "Do you celebrate the four seasons that far north?"
"Some of them. Every winter and summer solstice, our sacred fires can be seen from miles away - our only reprieve from that dreadful cold. There is the snow dance, the first frost, and the first thaw, of course." The lady falls briefly silent, her eyes appraising. "You seem familiar. Have I seen you around the castle?"
"I'm… a recent arrival." Addie glances away from the dance as the king and Lady Lilliandil pass by.
"Ah, the Lord Chancellor's new assistant?"
Addie blinks. She's stayed well out of sight these weeks, and she thought Doctor Cornelius was keeping her presence as quiet as possible.
Apparently, gossip still stalks the halls of the castle, no matter how mundane.
"Temporarily," Addie says. "I'm just visiting."
"You've travelled far?" The lady leans in again, as if they're old friends. "Your accent. Your vowels are long."
Bollocks; she's tried to mimic the Narnian accent's softer vowels and more pronounced consonants. Lady Opheodra either has a sharp ear, or Addie's worse at accents than she thought.
"Yes," Addie admits.
"Then I wish you a pleasant stay and safe travels when you depart." The lady turns, court manners softening into a genuine smile. "I am Opheodra, Lady of Ettinsmoor. Should you need a friend, you would be welcome at my door."
Addie curtsies again, in case Lady Opheodra is a stickler for manners.
"Thank you, my lady. I'm Addie."
"My lady?" Lady Opheodra waves off the formality. "No need for that. Among friends, I much prefer the sound of my own name."
At last, a reprieve from court etiquette! Addie's shoulders relax, though they still ache from Cesare's exuberance.
"Come for tea tomorrow, if you like," says Opheodra, her trilled r's even more pronounced. "I'd be fascinated to hear of your travels."
Addie chews her chapped upper lip. Is that wise? God knows she could use a friend who doesn't know her from before, but the less said about her travels, the better.
"If it's alright, I'd like to hear about Ettinsmoor," Addie says. "I've read so much of it, and I doubt I'll have the chance to visit."
Opheodra agrees amiably. "I'd be glad to tell you all about it. But I warn you, Ettinsmoor is more pleasant in stories than in person."
Addie swallows a bitter taste. "Isn't everything better in stories?"
Opheodra tilts her head, as if the dancers - now dwarfs, badgers, mice, and children short enough to duck under the ribbons - skip and chant to a lively drum beat.
"Quite so," she says, sighing. Opheodra stands taller, trading her distracted stare for easy friendliness. "I maintain a residence near the castle. Look for ivy in the windows, and a green door."
"Thank you," Addie says. "I'll be there."
"I look forward to your company. Now then, I shan't keep you. I think your friends are missing you."
Sure enough, Cesare's mop of curls is peeking through the crowd, both his hands waving.
"Do dance again," Opheodra adds. "I hear the steps come easier with repetition."
Addie flushes. She's had enough dancing for one day.
"I think I'll leave that to my friends."
Opheodra glances across the crowd, lingering on Sellea, who's clapping near the king and Lady Lilliandil.
"A pity. I think more than one pair of eyes will miss you."
Addie spins, but Opheodra has melted into the crowd, Cesare yells for her, and Lola is reaching around a tangle of children minded by a stern woman.
"You disappear too much, you know?" Lola says. "Hungry?"
"Very, actually." Addie follows Lola back into the festival, determined to enjoy everything apart from the dancing circle.
A/N: Finally, we got those two idiots in the same room! Do we think Lilliandil noticed anything amiss? How much has Caspian told her? 👀
Chapter 67 Preview:
Caspian's curiosity gets the better of him. "What is it like, in the sky?"
Lilliandil's ease of manner falters, and that look… he knows that look. He has seen in it staring back at him in the mirror many times.
"It was beautiful," she says. "Truly, it was. The sky was full of song and dance. But it was… to spend so long watching the world below from such a distance… it was lonely."