Author's Note: A long while, I know, dear readers. I have the next chapter well on the way, though, and it is spring break, so I hope to have another chapter up by next week (hopefully).
Also, a very happy birthday to Fierce Queen!
Disclaimer: You know the drill. Narnia does not belong to me, no copyright infringement is ever intended. Thank you, and goodnight.
Enjoy! I'd love to know what you think!
Chapter the Twentieth: Moonbeam Vigils
9 Mayblossom 2076, Southern Archenland
"Knights to arms!" Sir Ferian's voice pierced the morning air.
Galen woke with a start and jumped to his feet from where he had been resting against Aiolos, drawing his sword along with Ayden and the other knights. They ran towards the knight's voice, bursting out of the woods to find Sir Ferian, a torch in hand, standing over the body of a Calormene soldier. The pre-dawn air was still dark, with only the slightest hint of light at the eastern horizon to herald the approaching day.
"What happened?" Ayden asked as he shook the remnants of sleep away. Galen and the rest of the knights looked around quizzically, on their guard lest the Calormene's companions lingered nearby.
"I came across this as I was walking in the last watch. I am afraid I gave a false alarm. He has been dead many hours."
"Nay, I am glad you raised the alarm, Sir Ferian!" Ayden leaned closer to the dead Calormene, discovering the knife that slew him. "This is Lyra's boot-knife, I would know it anywhere! She must have escaped!"
"Let us hope so!" Sir Ewan answered.
"We might as well get the horses and begin to search," said Ayden, removing the knife from the Calormene and cleaning it before stowing it in his own boot.
"Agreed. I will continue to examine the tracks," Ferian replied.
Galen returned with the other knights and helped ready the horses. As soon as there was sufficient daylight, the party began to search the woods. They returned to the camp empty-handed, but Sir Ferian awaited them with the results of his tracking.
"What news, Sir Ferian?" Ayden asked.
"I found two more slain Calormenes. From the tracks, it looks like the princess escaped and took the horse of the first Calormene, but was somehow dismounted and tried unsuccessfully to take the mount of another. That one is dead at the foot of the hill, there," Ferian pointed as he continued. "She ran afoot, but at least six Calormenes pursued and caught her. She killed one, but it is safe to conclude they still have her.
"Blast!" Ayden exclaimed, his fist clenched around his sword hilt.
"How much of a lead do they have?" Galen asked.
"From the looks of these bodies, I would estimate that they have a little less than a day's lead."
"A day?" groaned Ayden. "Then we have to cut into it!"
"At least we know Lyra is her same old self," Galen chuckled.
"Aye," agreed Ewan, and the rest of the knights smiled as they cued their mounts to match Sir Ferian's pace.
Later in the morning, Sir Ferian slowed as the Archen hills began to merge into a plain. Before the knights lay the glaringly bright golden expanse of desert.
"What now, Sir Ferian?"
"The tracks disappear, my lord. Sand does not retain a reliable trail."
"In your opinion, where will the prince be heading?" Ayden questioned.
"Well, my lord, we have been traveling steadily southwest since we left Anvard. This puts us leagues away from Tashbaan and the Great Oasis. It is unlikely he is heading there."
"Where else would a prince of Calormen go?" Sir Torban puzzled.
"Did not the prince hold other titles? Landed titles?" Galen asked.
"Aye!" Sir Ferian answered. "I had not thought of it before, but Prince Karim referred to himself as 'Tarkaan of the Three Lakes'. Would that not entail a manor of some kind?"
"Sounds likely," Ewan observed. "Where would these three lakes be?"
"That I do not know," Ferian answered grimly. "However, there is a smaller oasis slightly to the southwest. I daresay our best option is to travel into Calormen via that oasis, and find Prince Karim's whereabouts once in the country."
Ayden looked down for a moment, his head resting momentarily in his hand in weariness.
"My lord?" Torban looked at the Archen prince, puzzled at the delay.
"Yes, very good," Ayden looked up and nodded. "The desert will not be kind. Let us take care not to overexert the horses."
The Archen party looked a moment at the sand and at each other, then of one accord spurred their mounts towards the sandy expanse in a column of two abreast. The rest of the day they paced their way through the glaring sands, even as Lyra watched the sand melt away into the sunny valley vineyards of the Calormene wine country. By late afternoon, both pursuer and pursued reached their destinations.
The sun dipped behind the horizon in oppressive golden glory as the horses drank deeply from the pool of the oasis. Palm trees tossed before the breeze as Galen looked out towards the purpling eastern sky. Aravir shone brightly there, a silver jewel to light the way to Aslan's Country.
"They stopped here to rest!" Sir Ferian exclaimed, pointing to the swirls of footprints in the packed sand around the oasis.
"Good. We are on the right track," Ayden nodded, dismounting.
"What now?" One knight asked.
"Now we eat and rest. When the moon rises we will continue onwards," Ayden responded wearily, sinking down to the sand beside the water and refilling his water container. The knights attended to the horses and began to eat the dried meat stored in their bags.
Galen sat on a rock beside the pool, finding himself staring at the reflections in the rippled surface. Conflicting thoughts coursed through his mind like the ripples colliding on the water's surface. Finally, the Narnian closed his eyes and took a deep breath to clear his mind, remembering in whose Paws he was held.
"Aslan," he thought, "I do not understand why such things happen, how I could have let both the Stone Knife and my friend fall into enemy hands, but I ask only that Thou wilt show me the way. Please protect Lyra, and give me the strength to win this battle, to take the adventure Thou wouldst give me and to behave for Thy glory."
Galen opened his eyes, his confidence renewed, and found himself looking down to the sand at his feet. A silver gleam caught his eye, and he leaned down to brush away the stray sand. In the heel of a particularly well-defined footprint lay a silver ring.
"Ayden!"
"What is it, Galen?" the Archenlander answered.
"Come look at this: I've found a ring in the sand here."
Ayden walked over and looked.
"By the Lion! You're right," he took the ring from Galen's hand. "It's Lyra's! There can be no mistake now that we are on the right trail!" Ayden answered excitedly. "Was the crest facing a particular direction?"
"Why, yes, now that you mention it. It was pointed - " Galen paused to look at the sky and work out the direction, " - to the southwest, I believe."
"Wonderful! To the southwest we continue, then!"
"How can you be sure that this was the princess's handiwork? How can we know she left it intentionally as a direction?" Sir Ewan asked.
"I know," Ayden chuckled. "When we were younger, my sister and I would play hide and seek in the forests near Anvard. She was always terribly good at it. She takes after mother, and could disappear in the forest without leaving a sign. I, on the other hand, did not inherit mother's talent, and could almost never find her. So she took to leaving me a clue: her ring, laid on the ground with the crest facing the direction she was hiding. She knows we follow, and she will be prepared. Let us not disappoint her!" Ayden finished with zeal, his eyes gleaming with excitement for the first time since they had departed Anvard.
The Archenlanders began to prepare the horses to leave, but Galen took a moment and looked back toward the east. Aravir shone back and he smiled, knowing the Lion guided their path. The last glow of sunset gleamed in the west as the silver-white moon rose from the far-off sea. The knights embarked into the desert once more, heading for the southwest and the low, hilly shadows on the horizon.
Lyra, too, watched as the moon rose, looking out from the white-walled palace to see the slender crescent bathing the gardens below in soft milky light. The caravan had arrived that afternoon at the small palace nestled in the low mountains of northwestern Calormen. True to the manor's name, three small viridian-hued lakes lay in the valleys that spread out from the manor, and vineyards covered the hillsides in a lush green carpet. The palace itself was made of white stone and built long and low, more of a sprawling mansion than a fortress, and gardens full of flowers and little trees surrounded it.
"What think you of my palace, my love," Karim had asked as Lyra stepped out of the carriage upon their arrival, a hint of triumph coloring his voice even though she eschewed his offered hand.
"I think it a pity that one such as yourself has been allowed to darken its door," Lyra had returned icily. Karim had only laughed in response.
"You speak harshly now, but I think you will come to think of it fondly. After all, it is your home. As the poets have said, 'a sparrow may fly far and wide, but at last she will find a nest.'"
Remembering the prince's voice made Lyra's skin crawl and she shuddered as a night breeze blew through the window and tossed her hair.
A group of female servants had taken charge of her, leading her to a beautiful suite of rooms on the eastern side of the palace and busying themselves around her like a hive of frenetic, annoying bees in preparation for the supposed wedding. Silks and chiffon and jewels arrayed the rooms, and a multitude of fruit, ices, and sugared nuts covered the low table beside the cushioned divan. Niusha had endeavored to help her, bringing her a fresh dress and helping with her hair. As the servant girl had helped her with the lacing, she had noticed the Archenlander's bandaged shoulder with alarm.
"What happened, your highness?'
"Oh. Suffice it to say it was a battle wound. It is nothing worth bothering about," Lyra had brushed Niusha's concerns aside hastily.
The servant girl had not responded, but paled slightly as she finished tying the lacing of the Archenlander's dress.
Lyra did not care for the sleeveless, deep-necked Calormene dress made out of azure blue chiffon, but since the dress she had been wearing was stained with dirt and blood from her escape attempt she had little choice. The Archenlander had quickly tired of all the servants and had thrown them all out before retiring to the bedroom. Niusha had followed and closed the door behind her.
"Niusha, I need to know what is going to happen tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, your highness, is," she had hesitated, "the first day of the wedding celebration."
Lyra had paled a little, but asked her to continue and explain.
"You will be expected to remain in seclusion here until the late afternoon, when the formal celebration feast begins."
"Good. That will give us time," Lyra had decided thoughtfully, mind whirring to analyze what she had seen of the palace and plot escape routes. Niusha nodded.
"If it is alright with you, your highness, I need to see to my duties."
"Of course," Lyra had replied, finding herself finally alone to ponder on the moonlit windowsill where she now sat, the soft curtains pooling around her.
The moon had risen considerably when a small rustling sound reached the Archenlander's ears. She looked down from the large window to see a slight, feminine shadow beneath the nearby tree. Soon another shadow joined the first, this one taller and straighter, the tell-tale gleam of metal winking from the hilt of the scimitar at his side. The two embraced, and Lyra was about to turn back into her room when she heard the whispers.
"I missed you, Emeth*," Lyra heard the young woman speak in an oddly-familiar voice.
"And I you, Niusha," the young man whispered in return, tightening his embrace as though he never wanted to let her go. "I was so afraid for you back in Archenland when Prince Karim ordered the lash."
"A warrior of Calormen afraid?" Niusha chuckled, smiling up at him and pushing a stubborn lock of hair out of his eyes. He smiled a little and looked down.
"I don't know what I would have done if the barbarian princess had not intervened. I could not have borne the agony of seeing you so hurt, my love."
"Nor I the agony of seeing you suffer the same for challenging the prince's orders," Niusha returned.
"Well, now that we are home and safe it does not matter now," he said as though to brush the memories away, but Niusha interjected.
"Emeth, the Archen princess has offered me the chance to escape from Calormen: to live in Archenland where I would never have to be a slave again."
"Niusha, it would mean death if you were caught!"
"I know, but Princess Lyra is not like anyone I have ever met. She is kind, yet has a resolve as though to challenge the gods. She says she will not be wed to the prince, and I cannot help but believe her."
Emeth looked down a moment, then looked back into Niusha's eyes.
"The prince did not even bother to give the soldiers she slew a proper burial, but she would have taken your place at the mercy of the whip. I would have to have the eyes of a fool to fail to see the difference. I will trust her for your sake, my love."
"I cannot ask it of you to come with me, considering the cost if we fail."
"Nay, my love. This is what we have dreamed of doing. How could I not come with you?" Emeth smiled. "Besides, I could not let it be said that a serving girl outmatched a soldier for courage," he chuckled
Niusha smiled. "Good. I have no idea what the princess is planning, so stay as close as you can."
Emeth nodded.
"I should go now," Niusha said, leaning forward and kissing the soldier's cheek. "Be careful, Emeth. If anything should go amiss, meet me here."
"Of course, my love. Promise me you, too, will be careful."
"Always."
Lyra heard the last whisper fade away, still watching as the pair of shadows left the cover of the tree, each moving in a different direction. Lyra looked back up at the moon, now at the apex of its journey through the star-strewn sky. She took a deep breath as the warm Calormene breeze blew through the curtains and tossed her hair. She continue to craft several different escape plans, but what she had heard in the garden below troubled her. If the soldier proved untrustworthy, her escape attempt could be very short-lived indeed, and the thought of that made a twinge of fear stab at her heart.
A little while later, the Archenlander heard the creak of a door and a light footstep. Lyra turned to the door of the comfortably appointed bedroom, quietly opening it to reveal the large sitting area. Despite the dim interior, she could see Niusha close the door to the corridor and begin to tidy the sitting area, picking up the colorful lengths of fabric that the other servants had left after preparing for Lyra's wardrobe. The Archenlander silently stepped into the sitting room, crossing her arms.
"Niusha," Lyra said quietly, but firmly.
Startled, the Calormene girl jumped and spun around.
"Your highness! I thought you were asleep."
"Come," Lyra only said in response, turning back to the bedroom. Niusha followed, puzzled.
Lyra stopped next to the window, waving Niusha forward. The servant girl stepped up to the window and followed the Archenlander's gaze down to the tree. Lyra turned and leveled a firm gaze at Niusha.
"Who is he?"
"I...um...don't know what you mean, your highness."
"Do not take me for a fool. I heard your whole conversation."
"Forgive me, your highness, I should not have told anyone."
"Niusha, if your beloved truly wishes to seek asylum in Archenland with you, then it is to our advantage to include him. You do not have anything to fear from me unless he is duplicitous," Lyra replied, her words gentle, but the undertone of her voice carried a harder note.
"Oh, Emeth would never betray me. We met a few months after I came here. He does not care that I am a servant, nor I that he is nobility." Niusha smiled. "He is different than any other Calormene I've known. He's kind, and he does not enjoy being a soldier. It is not by his own choice that he fights in the Tisroc's name (may he live forever). We've always wanted to go far away, where Calormene authorities could never find us, but we never thought that was possible, until now."
"Good. Now, tell me exactly the layout of the palace so I can properly prepare a plan. Of your courtesy, tell your friend as little as possible, but have him prepared to move quickly."
Niusha nodded. "The palace is laid out on a terrace in the middle of the lake valleys. Vineyards surround the majority of it. The construction itself is long and rectangular, spreading from east to west. There are only three levels: two above and one below. The breezeway goes through the center of the palace from south to north. The stables are to the north of the building."
"I see. This does offer some possibilities. What else is to the north of the palace?"
"The valley of Lake Azar. A road goes around the lake and then turns northeast toward the little towns on the edge of the desert."
"Very good. This may well work. You said I will not be expected anywhere until tomorrow evening?"
Niusha nodded.
"I do not think it would be wise to attempt an escape in the daylight. I am too recognizable, and an escape attempt without cover of darkness would most likely end in failure." Lyra sat back and contemplated. "We'll need traveling clothes, cloaks, provisions, and horses. Horses can come at the last minute, though."
"I'll have little trouble obtaining the clothes and provisions, your highness. We can stow them here until we need them."
"Good. What is Emeth's usual assignment? Can he get us weapons?
"He is usually part of the prince's guard, and I believe he can obtain proper weapons, your highness. All soldiers are expected to have an extra scimitar, and any number of knives."
"Perfect. Then all he needs to do is stay in his normal position and be ready. Tomorrow should prove quite the adventure," Lyra declared with a smile, eyes flashing.
Morning's pale light saw the Archen horses' hooves pounding the dirt of the small road leading southwest away from the desert. Finally in Calormen, the Archenlanders hid any standard belying their allegiance, and pulled their cloak hoods up to keep from alerting any passersby as to their identity. Galen thought he was glad of all the riding he had done to escape the Narnian borders, else he would be far sorer. This was far from a pleasant journey, though. The dry jerky that the knights brought along for meals he found sorely lacking, and the sun was becoming hot even at this early hour.
"Wretchedly hot country, this!" Ewan exclaimed.
"Aye," another agreed. "A nice mug of ale sounds capital right about now."
"Do we even know where we're going?" another chimed in.
"Alright now, stop your belly-aching before the Calormenes figure us out for sure. We'll stop in a little bit," Sir Ferian chided.
A little ways down the road, they found a little building that appeared to be a tavern. There the knights dismounted and allowed their horses a rest.
"Remember, this is not a friendly place. Keep as silent as possible and Lion's mane try to look intimidating," Ayden instructed the sand-dusted group.
The party burst into the tavern, Ayden stepping with a confident air of authority. Galen stood directly to his left, and the rest of the knights followed them. As they entered the building, a short portly man with a dark beard stumbled out of the back room and scraped a groveling little bow.
"What pleases my masters to have this fine morning?" said he.
"Breakfast and mugs of ale for everyone, proprietor," Ayden ordered.
"Of course, o my exalted guest, immediately. Please rest yourselves," the man replied, turning into the back room once again and barking orders. The knights found seats around a large table and sat, waiting for the proprietor to return. They glanced nervously at each other as they waited. In a few minutes, the man returned, followed by two serving girls who carried platters. They set the plates of food and mugs of frothy ale in front of the Archen knights, and silently returned to the kitchen. The proprietor scraped another bow.
"Is there anything else my good northern guests wish? You are from the north, are you not? What brings you so far south, if I may so humbly inquire?"
Ayden stiffened, and several of the knights exchanged glances. Before Ayden could speak, Galen surreptitiously gestured for him to be silent, and answered the Calormene man himself.
"We are renowned soldiers of fortune, proprietor, and you have no right to question us, lowly person that you are. We have business in the Valley of the Three Lakes on the orders of Prince Karim himself. We require nothing else but our privacy. Continue to question us and there is nothing to keep us from mounting your head on a spear in front of your own tavern, leave us in peace and keep your tongue from wagging after we are gone and we will see that you are well rewarded. Now leave us."
"Of course, your excellency, my apologies. I am but a dog in your noble presences, and I will see that my great and excellent guests are not disturbed." The terrified looking man began scraping bows again, and bowed all the way back to the kitchen.
Once he was gone, Galen looked back at his companions to see all the Archenlanders looking at him aghast.
"Galen, what just happened?" Ayden leaned over. "That seemed very unlike you, although I must admit it was very clever in getting us out of quite a scrape."
"Sneakiness was a requirement for survival in Narnia. I learned to adapt to the circumstances, and in this one I imitated a Telmarine. They do act remarkably similar to Calormenes, I've found, just without all the platitudes and formalities."
"I see," Ayden replied, impressed.
"Here's to Galen, then, my fellow mercenaries!" Sir Ewan grinned, raising his mug, and the others followed suit, their laughter filling the little room.
The Archenlanders finished their meal, and the proprietor nervously returned as the knights stood to leave. Ayden motioned for the rest to go outside and ready the horses, while Galen turned towards the proprietor.
"Your hospitality was to our satisfaction," he said brusquely.
"I am delighted, o great and noble guests. Is there anything else that my pitiful self can do for you?"
"You may direct us toward the manor of Prince Karim. We have business to conclude."
"Of course, my lord. Follow this road to the south, then turn towards the southwest at the first fork. That road leads into the valley of Lake Azar, and you will find the place you seek at the other end of the lake."
"Good," Galen answered curtly.
Ayden handed the man several gold coins. "For your hospitality and our privacy," he said as Galen kept a stern gaze at the man.
"Of course, excellencies, of course. Thank you!" The man bowed again, and the Archenlander and Narnian turned and swept out of the tavern.
Once outside, they let out a collective sigh of relief. Galen did not much like acting so Telmarine, but at least they knew where they would be going now.
The party remounted and continued their journey, Archen hooves pounding the dirt road beneath them.
The morning dawned bright, golden light spilling through Lyra's window. She dressed and went into the sitting room in search of breakfast, finding that the bothersome servants had returned and busily worked on a dozen different things, although the most prominent (and disquieting) was the monstrosity of silk brocade that Lyra supposed to be a wedding gown. She found a bit of breakfast, and slightly before mid-day a loud knock sounded on the door. A servant scurried to open it, and a tall, dark-skinned man with a white turban and gold armband entered the room. He carried a platter covered with a silk napkin, and on the napkin lay a large, intricate filigree necklace of gold and sapphires, the prince's standard at the center of it.
"I bring tidings from the Prince Karim, your highness," the man spoke. "He hopes you will accept this token from him as a sign of your impending marriage."
"I will do no such thing!"
"I beg your pardon, your highness," the man blinked.
"I will not accept anything from that miserable excuse for a prince, and I will not be married to him!"
"The prince hoped you would not speak thusly."
"Then he is to be disappointed. Begone with you," she ordered the man, who bowed stiffly and complied.
"Why do you act so childishly?" One older woman questioned Lyra.
"I beg your pardon?" Lyra answered crossly, surprised at the servants brazenness.
"You behave as though marrying the prince is a horrible thing and as though you have a choice. Behave as the woman you are! You have been given a great opportunity, you have no choice but to take it, and if you take it graciously it will spare us all a great deal of trouble."
"I see," Lyra replied icily. She looked around the room and saw all the servants staring at her. They were obviously dumbfounded by their companion's bold chiding, but they also obviously agreed with her. "Listen closely to me, then, Rasha," Lyra addressed the woman in steely tones, "I am no Calormene. I am a princess and free citizen of the sovereign state of Archenland and I will never marry your prince were he the emperor of the entire world. You may keep your opinion to yourself."
Rasha glared a moment, then curtsied and murmured an apology before moving away.
Lyra went back to her room and checked the provisions and supplies she and Niusha had gathered early that morning. After a little while, a knock sounded at the door.
"Yes?" Lyra answered. Rasha stepped in, her face inscrutable.
"A servant came with this," she held out an envelope for Lyra to take. The Archenlander raised an eyebrow as she opened it and began to read:
"My dear princess,
It is unfortunate that you still remain so stubborn as to refuse the token of my esteem and of our impending union. I had hoped you would come to accept what is, o delight of my eyes, and that further persuasion would be unnecessary. But, since you insist on behaving as dry and intractable as the desert itself, the servant for whom you have shown such concern will be held in confinement until after the celebration. She need not come to any harm, should you decide to leave your stubbornness in the barbarian north, where it belongs. I await you at the wedding celebration this evening. For your handmaid's sake, I hope you do not fail to come, my bride.
~ Prince Karim ~"
Lyra looked back at at Rasha, her eyes wide. At that moment, the Archenlander heard a scream from the other room. Pushing Rasha aside, she hurried back into the sitting room, where two guards had seized Niusha by either arm.
"What have I done?" Niusha pleaded, struggling.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lyra thundered.
"The prince's orders, your highness," one laconically replied. The guards continued to pull Niusha towards the door.
"I will not allow it!" Lyra declared, but to no avail. She rushed forward and would have pulled the guards off the servant girl, but one of them pushed her to the floor.
"Please, Lyra, don't let them hurt me!"
Before she could do anything else, the door shut behind them, leaving only Niusha's whispered plea hanging in the air.
Lyra stood back up, nearly crying for all the anger burning inside her heart. She crumpled up the prince's letter and threw it savagely against the wall as she turned back to her room and forcefully shut the door behind her. She found herself with the insatiable desire to hit something, but instead stood beside the window. She sighed frustratedly and rested her head in her hand as the tears of fury and frustration came.
"He calls me barbarian, and yet this is what he does to his own people," she fumed in thought. "Aslan, what do I do now?" She prayed, looking towards the eastern sky once more. There she stood for some time, lost in thought. Tonight would bring a thousand dangers, and if it were only the dangers of battle she thought she would not worry so. Nothing made her feel as frightened as the thought of being trapped in this place, the slave of that horrible excuse for a prince. She watched the shadows grow longer as the sun dipped toward the western horizon, and a sigh escaped her as she saw Aravir shining in the east.
Another knock sounded at her door.
"Your highness, it is time to prepare for the celebration," the servant declared nervously. Lyra did not reply, but followed the servant into the sitting room.
"That is atrocious," she said, pointing to the brocade dress Lina, another serving girl, held.
"You will only have to wear it a little while," the girl replied nervously.
Lyra merely arched an eyebrow. After a moment spent glowering at the monstrosity, she took it from the girl's hands and swept back into her room.
"Your highness, do you not wish any help preparing?" Lina called after her.
"No!"
Lyra then changed out of her blue dress and into the traveling clothes Niusha had provided: Calormene pantaloons, a soft bishop-sleeved cotton shirt, and a sleeveless linen tunic. Over these clothes she donned the dreadful Calormene dress, but she wore her boots instead of ball slippers. Inside the back seam of the dress she tucked a knife, and in her boot she concealed another: the Calormenes had never searched her, to their detriment. She made sure to pin her hair up carefully, securing it well and out of the way with the large golden hairpin that concealed her last knife. Looking into the mirror, Lyra huffed in momentary disgust. The dress was made of a white and gold silk brocade, and the skirt had many layers of fabric. The enormous sleeves draped across her arms and the fabric trailed towards the floor.
"Aslan help me," she thought as she took a deep breath and steeled herself for the adventure the evening would bring.
The Archenlander stepped out of the bedroom into the sitting room of attendants, confidant and collected, looking (even in the Calormene garb) every inch the princess she was.
Author's Note: On using the name Emeth, I've always liked it ever since reading The Last Battle, and surely there were other people to go by that name in the rest of Narnia's time, so I thought it fitting. I leave it to your judgement, dear readers, to decide on the merits.
It would be just wonderful if you could leave a review on the way out! Thanks for reading!