Authoress's note: Many thanks for your patience, dear readers. An extra long chapter as compensation for the wait. Hopefully you enjoy it in these strange times.
Chapter the Thirty-third: Diplomatic Perils
9 Fairdawn 2076
"Huzzah!"
A cheer rang out in the warming mid-morning air as a terrific crash echoed against the stone courtyard walls. Splinters of wood twisted through the air, peppering the soft dirt below. The armor-clad knight who had shivered his lance against his opponent's shield nodded in salute to the courtiers seated in the viewing box above as he passed.
"Terebinthia's best seem to do better when your highness is present," the Duke of Terebinthia chuckled as he applauded the bout.
"And why not, for the chance of receiving an approving glance from such fair and noble eyes?" The Duke's chief military advisory, Lord Eleran, added with a glinting smile.
"You flatter me, your grace, my lord," Princess Lyra responded to each in turn, standing straight and proudly along the parapet, her manner relaxed. "But you well know, gentlemen, that my favor is not easily earned." The Archen princess's voice carried a note of levity, but her sharp eyes did not share it. The courtiers laughed heartily.
"Mayhap one may succeed in earning it nonetheless," responded the Duke. A moment passed in relative silence, the happy sounds of hooves, creaking armor, snapping pennants, and a songbird or two flavoring the air.
"What think you, Sir Galen?" The Duke inquired as the two competitors lined up for another pass.
"Your warriors do you credit, your grace," the Narnian responded evenly, "as does your hospitality in arranging this demonstration."
The Duke, quite pleased with himself, thanked him. Truthfully, the young Narnian had never seen a joust before and was thoroughly enjoying himself. Lyra did not turn her eyes from the field during this conversation, and as the knights reset for another bout her eyes strayed thoughtfully to the horizon. The Archen princess wore a navy blue linen dress of similar style to her burgundy dress of the previous day, with a pointed neck widely embroidered in gold and sleeves that puffed from the shoulder before fitting closely with fine brass buttons amid matching embroidery. The full skirt flowed gracefully about her brown boots, while her leather-gloved hand rested comfortably on the hilt of her sword, which she made no effort to conceal.
At that moment, the two knights on the field below spurred their mounts on and lowered their lances. This time, the knight who had won the previous bout succeeded not only in shivering his lance but in sending his opponent tumbling to the ground. Loud applause sounded in response, and the victor acknowledged the courtiers as he passed, looking to where Lyra stood. The Archen princess, however, merely arched a challenging eyebrow.
"Is my lady dissatisfied?" Galen inquired facetiously, a mischevious glint in his eye.
"As I said, my good sir, my favor is hard won. But mayhap"—it was Lyra's turn to carry a glint in her eye—"you might care to try your hand, sir knight?"
Galen reddened as the courtiers laughed, but he recovered himself well.
"A tempting invitation, your highness, but I am content to serve at your side," the Narnian's lips played at a smile as he bowed slightly, and the courtiers laughed anew.
"Shrewdly answered, my Archen friend," Lord Eleran clapped Galen on the back. "In all the years the princess has graced Terebinthia with her fair presence, never have I seen a knight win her favor, save her brother the crown prince."
"Perhaps instead your highness would favor us with a turn of swordplay," a portly Terebinthian general suggested.
"My sword is reserved for battle, not for amusement, my lord," the princess replied without deigning to look in his direction.
The chastened general stepped back, and Lyra turned to face the Duke.
"Your grace, we are grateful for your hospitality in demonstrating anew the skill of Terebinthia's knights. We will retire for the remainder of the morning," she spoke in a gracious tone but did not ask his leave, and, inclining her head briefly, turned on her heel to depart the jousting arena. Galen and the rest of the Archen party followed closely behind. As they descended stairs and turned into an adjoining courtyard, they happened upon the victorious Terebinthian knight. Without his helmet, his hazel eyes glinted piercingly, well-complimenting a dark shock of hair.
"Princess," he bowed as Lyra passed.
"Sir Valentin," she responded coolly, inclining her head as she passed without slowing her stride.
"Perhaps my lady would favor me with a dance at the Duchess's party this evening," the Terebinthian knight spoke brashly.
"Your lordship would be better served devoting the time to improving your lancework," Lyra answered without turning.
The Terebinthian knight reddened at her sharp words, and Galen stifled a laugh. As the party continued briskly out of the courtyard, the Narnian looked to his friend to share a mirthful glance, but he straightened soberly upon realizing that the princess's hard-set countenance carried no mirth at all.
Not to be left out, the Duchess (who had not been present for her husband's military exposition) invited Lyra to luncheon. For the hour that remained mercifully unoccupied, Lyra sought refuge in the Terebinthian palace's gardens. Ambassador Brevain remained at the embassy that morning, so only Galen, Colonel Grey, and the Archen marine escort accompanied her. The officer and knight walked a few steps behind the princess, while the marines followed at a respectful (albeit watchful) distance. She thoughtfully strolled the manicured garden paths, stopping here and there to admire a particularly attractive flower or two, but her silence concerned her Narnian friend. Galen was about to make a quick step to join her, but her uncle restrained the young knight with a gentle hand.
"Prithee let her be for now, Sir Galen," the Archen marine spoke softly, and the firm earnestness in his voice convinced the Narnian to heed him without question. Nodding his head in agreement, Galen continued to walk at his side.
After a time, the princess made for the palace and the Duchess's luncheon without a word to her companions. Throughout the Duchess's ebullient, pastry-rich affair, the men of Lyra's party made every effort to stay out of the ladies' way. The Archen marines stood stolidly about the elaborately decorated terrace, while Galen and Colonel Grey took seats to the side. The duchess and her large entourage of ladies filled the remainder of the table. Galen thought their frilly, lace-embellished dresses (designed, no doubt, to accentuate their womanly qualities) contrasted sharply with his Archen friend's practical elegance.
As the ladies around him traded opinions on the latest fashions and Lyra obligatorily feigned interest, Galen's mind wandered to the puzzling reserve that tempered his friend's usually sunny demeanor.
After the Duchess's luncheon, the Archen party returned to the embassy for the afternoon, which passed without incident. Lyra retired to her room immediately and did not emerge until the time came to return to the Terebinthian castle for the Duchess's ball. Galen spent the afternoon sparring with a few of the Archen marines and took a brief opportunity to inquire of Colonel Grey if he knew what troubled the Princess Lyra. But Lyra's kinsman had shaken his head with a melancholy look in his eyes. Galen suspected that the weathered Archen marine concealed some insight out of respect for his niece, but the Narnian refrained from pressing him. Once the evening grew dark save a rosy glimmer at the western horizon, the Archen diplomatic party again embarked for the Terebinthian castle.
The ball proceeded with all the pomp Galen had come to expect of the Terebinthians. As the guest of honor, Princess Lyra was expected to be the first to dance. As protocol dictated, Ambassador Brevain received this honor, although the Narnian (to his surprise) found he begrudged the ambassador that dance. Shaking off this momentary thought, Galen busied himself keeping watch with Colonel Grey and his marines, who discretely took positions at every advantageous corner in and around the ballroom. Lyra's kinsman expertly navigated the ballroom, easy in his manner and keen in his gaze. Once, Galen noticed the Archenlander's hand wander briefly to his sword hilt, and the Narnian's sharp eye did not fail to see which Terebinthian knight prompted this reaction. From then on, Galen watched this knight closely.
As the night wore on, Galen offered his regrets to not a few Terebinthian courtesans, erring to their eyes on the side of his duty as part of the princess's escort. After a while, he noticed Sir Valentin approach her, and the Narnian drew within earshot.
"I believe you owe me a dance, your highness," the hazel-eyed Terebinthian knight slurred his words slightly, his bow ungraceful.
"I owe you nothing, my lord," Lyra responded curtly, "prithee begone, and return to your wine glass."
Insistent, Sir Valentin seized her arm. Her eyes ablaze, she wrenched it from his strong grasp. Instantly, Galen was at the princess's side.
"May I have the honor, my lady?" He asked, his withering gaze not turning from the Terebinthian.
"You may, my lord," said she with equal gravity, taking the hand he offered. The two moved promptly away from the Terebinthian, who returned to the banquet table. His gaze, not so stupefied by wine as it had seemed, continued to follow the princess.
"My thanks," Lyra spoke softly as they danced.
"Who is yon brute, my lady?" Galen asked, still looking suspiciously in the Terebinthian knight's direction with his brow furrowed.
The princess could not restrain a chuckle at his tone.
"Nothing more than that," she smiled at last.
The next morning offered a pleasant respite from the diplomatic engagements. The dawn's pale light saw Galen and Lyra sparring enthusiastically in the embassy courtyard. The Archen Princess threw herself into the match, but presently they called a truce and went to the nearby pump to quench their hard-earned thirst.
"What dread diplomacy have we on the schedule today, my lady?" The Narnian asked wryly.
"Only a state dinner this evening, and that is here at the embassy," she replied with a twinkle in her eye. Galen was glad to see it return to her.
"You mean we have the entire day to spend as we please?"
"Most of it," Lyra answered. "I have some administrative tasks to complete with the ambassador this morning, but I rather fancied a seaside picnic for lunch if you'd care to join me in exploring some of Terebinthia's most beautiful coastline."
"Aye, my lady, that sounds capital!" The Narnian answered enthusiastically.
Soon enough, the two returned indoors to dress for breakfast, the princess absentmindedly rubbing her wrist as she ascended the stair.
The noon sun's warm light saw the princess and her entourage on horseback, following a narrow path above rocky cliffs that overlooked the sea. Lyra and Galen lead the way, flanked and followed by the Archen marine escort. To avoid unneeded attention, the group had left the embassy through its garden gate and picked up the riding track on the other side of an olive grove that lay beyond it. An hour's easy ride brought them to a narrow path that descended to a warm beach ringed with sandy stone outcroppings. She drew her mount to a stop at the edge of the deserted beach, while several marines rode ahead and above them to establish a secure perimeter. At length, Lyra dismounted and leisurely began to lead her horse along the water's edge. She wore a peacock blue linen dress hemmed to fall at her knees in front and just below her knees in back, with short puffed sleeves that left her arms bare to the sun's warm rays. Sensible brown riding pants tucked into her brown leather boots, and a sleeveless brown suede fitted bodice embroidered in gold gave support to her sword-belt. Her golden hair was bound in a braid to crown her head, which kept it safe from the capricious sea breeze except for a few stubborn strands that refused all command.
To Galen's happy relief, the princess conversed cheerfully, her carefree manner and twinkling eyes returning.
"How do you find the Terebinthian seaside, my Narnian friend?" She asked at whiles.
Galen took a deep, contented breath of tangy sea air before responding. The ocean, shallow and clear, reflected a brilliant blue-green hue, sparkling in the early afternoon sun as a gull here and there voiced its wanderings.
"It is more beautiful than I could imagine, my lady."
She laughed. "I am glad of it."
After tarrying a little longer, the two friends and the remaining marines who followed at a respectful distance moved to a rocky outcropping just beyond the beach where a few stubborn olive trees gave a sparse shade suitable for picnicking. The embassy cook had packed a generous hamper, which Galen proceeded to unpack. Opening the hamper, Galen brought out the first item on top—a large white-petaled daisy.
"I don't believe this is meant for lunch," Galen remarked with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he gave the flower to his Archen friend.
"You know, I don't quite believe the cook is responsible for packing that," replied she with a knowing glance, but she accepted the flower and tucked it behind an ear.
Galen smiled guiltily and busied himself with laying out the simple, hearty lunch.
"It is good to see you smile again, Lyra," the young knight remarked as they ate.
A slight flush colored her cheeks. "I hope you will forgive my manner these few days past. I will admit that yesterday was not one of my favorites."
"Indeed," Galen murmured wryly. "It was that foul brute that ill deserves his title, I'll warrant."
Lyra could not contain a sputter of laughter at his indignant tone.
"I appreciate that sentiment more than you know, my friend."
Galen smiled sheepishly and decided not to question Lyra further. He did not wish to spoil the day by prying. Instead, he produced his flute and began to play a cheerful tune.
The friends devoted the rest of the afternoon to exploring the coastline's varied rocky sculptures, which here and there threw up grottoes and spires amid the warm, sparkling water. At last, Lyra indicated they should start their return to the embassy, and the friends made their way back to their horses. They walked at a leisurely pace, though, along the water's edge. As they walked, Galen noticed Lyra unconsciously rubbing her wrist.
"Are you injured, my lady?" He inquired.
She returned a quizzical gaze.
"Your wrist troubles you," he clarified.
"Oh, that," she responded, averting her eyes. "'Tis nothing. Just a little sore. I don't think I did any favors for it sparring this morning."
But Galen's eyes were sharper than her words hoped, and he perceived greenish bruises just beginning to develop.
"That's no sparring sprain, Lyra, I've had enough of them to know." His voice carried a tremor of anger. "That Terebinthian poltroon seized you last night far harder than I thought."
"Aye. He meant to," she responded in a soft but matter of fact tone, continuing to walk.
A moment of heavy silence passed as the Narnian's gaze darkened and his hand unconsciously grasped his sword hilt. At last, Galen could bear it no longer.
"What history lies between you and him, Lyra? Surely this is not mere discourtesy."
"No, indeed," His Archen friend sighed. "Sir Valentin thinks very well of himself, as you could see, and he brooks no rival. Thus began our long antagonism."
"What do you mean?"
"It was some years ago—about five. I was young and eager to prove my mettle. He was arrogant and resented a woman with a sword. The Duke hosted a demonstration, much like yesterday morning's, and invited me to participate. Valentin did not care to share the field with a maiden and made his mission to prove I did not deserve to be there."
"What happened?" Galen asked with alarm.
"I was too young to realize that I did not need to prove my ability to anyone and too young, also, to realize my weaknesses. And so he beat me soundly in the match. That I could endure well enough, but he fought ungentlemanly and proclaimed his victory unsportingly."
She paused to chuckle.
"Ayden well-nigh took his head off for it and made a point of besting him soundly in the jousting tournament the following day. Father was not with us, or I doubt Valentin would have had a head left at all."
"What do you mean he fought ungentlemanly?" Galen asked suspiciously.
"Ah, well," she hesitated. "I'll say only that medics were necessary, and while I gave my brother a token to bless his competition in the tournament the next day, I was abed and could not see his victory."
Galen said nothing, practically seething.
"The entire affair was most embarrassing to me, but I did learn, at least, that I should not look for my dignity in the esteem of others. All the same, visiting the Terebinthian court is difficult for me, and Valentin likes to remind me, in one way or another," she indicated her wrist, "of his opinion that I do not deserve my sword."
"I should like to show him who does not deserve a sword," her Narnian friend fumed.
"Nay," she laughed, "if anything it is you I have to thank for alleviating my discomfort of mind last night. You reminded me that he really is nothing more than a brute, and he deserves nothing from me, not even the time and effort of anger."
"Very well, my lady, as you wish," Galen relented with a soft smile.
By this time, the two friends reached their horses and, mounting up, began to make their way back to the embassy.
"A pleasant afternoon, niece?" Colonel Grey greeted warmly upon their return.
"Indeed, uncle! A well-nigh perfect afternoon," Lyra responded with a sunny smile.
"Then, perhaps you might complete it by joining me for tea?"
"Delighted, uncle," she agreed happily.
After thanking the princess for the outing, Galen withdrew to his room, pondering the afternoon's conversation with more concern than he had owned to his friend. For her part, the Archen princess seemed in high spirits and joined her uncle in a cozy sitting room on the second floor after changing from her sea-spray-stained clothes.
The second floor parlor was small, but comfortably appointed and flooded with warm afternoon sunshine. Tea was already laid out on the low table when Lyra entered, and her uncle rose to greet her.
"My lady," the Archen marine bowed stoically, but a smile lit his bright eyes.
"Oh, Uncle Edward," his niece laughed merrily, embracing him lightly and kissing his cheek. "It has been too long since we had a proper chat."
"Indeed, Lyra," Colonel Grey resumed his seat comfortably, his customary formality now suspended in this private setting, "it seems you've hardly had a moment's rest on this brief journey."
"I'll admit these few days have been a bit taxing," she averted her eyes momentarily. Her uncle poured tea for them both as she spoke, adding the sugar and cream to his niece's taste without requiring instruction. Nodding her thanks, the Archen princess took a comforting sip and relaxed against the back of the sofa, the peony-patterned cup and saucer resting in her hand.
"I regret dragging you and your marines around these dull, diplomatic functions," Lyra chuckled wryly. "Your noble profession deserves more dignified tasks than guarding petticoats."
"Nay, my lady, there is no more honorable duty for any marine than to lend his sword and body in his sovereign's defense," her uncle smiled fondly. "No man under my command would trade this honor for any other post."
"I am most grateful, uncle," the Archen princess replied with quiet gravity, "beyond words."
"And for me, it is a special honor," the grey-haired officer leaned forward in his seat, continuing earnestly. "Because I never married and have no children of my own, my sister's children would have a fond place in my heart, even if she was not my queen as well. But because she is my queen, I have had the pleasure of watching her children become Archenland's bright future." Colonel Grey paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "I know the weight you have carried these days past. But, my dear niece, you bear your duty with your mother's grace. Nothing makes me more proud than to watch you blossom into the high office for which Aslan made you. And it is my profound honor to stand ready to give my life in your defense, both as my sovereign and as my kinswoman. For as both, you are dearly beloved."
Tears welled up in Lyra's eyes at his heartfelt speech. She could not muster a reply, except to embrace the stalwart marine tightly.
Soft strains of violin music wafted through the embassy garden as the sunset's golden light warmed the terrace. Clad in a shimmering garnet-hued gown, Lyra moved deftly among her guests, greeting each in turn. About fifteen Terebinthian dignitaries, along with a handful of foreign ambassadors, gathered on the terrace to enjoy their cocktails in the mild evening air. The Calormene ambassador was notably absent, having not received an invitation.
"Narnian red becomes you, your highness," Galen complimented softly as they walked along the terrace rail.
"And Archen green becomes you, my friend," the princess returned. At that moment, the two happened upon the ambassador from the Seven Isles.
"A lovely party, your royal highness," he greeted warmly, bowing and lightly kissing the hand she offered.
"It is a pleasure to see you again, my lord," Lyra inclined her head graciously. "Indeed, I look forward to visiting your fair country in the coming weeks."
"Redhaven shall be the brighter for your radiant countenance," the ambassador bowed graciously, before continuing to mingle.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Archen princess moved toward the double doors leading from the terrace to the embassy's interior.
"Friends," Lyra's voice, though not strained, cut through the conversation with ease. "We thank you for joining us for dinner this evening. It is our pleasure to welcome you as you have welcomed us. If my lords and ladies would make their way to the dining room, dinner will be served shortly."
As the guests began to make their way as she requested, Colonel Grey pulled Lyra aside.
"By your leave, my lady, I must attend to some business during dinner."
"Very well, uncle, at your discretion," the princess answered with a gentle smile, before making her way to her place at the head of the table. As the dignitaries took their seats and began the first course, Colonel Grey made his way through the main hall and stepped out the front entrance into the evening air. Two of the marine contingent stood guard there, and they snapped crisply to attention at the officer's approach.
"Good evening, men," he greeted, "as you were."
"Good evening, sir," they greeted in return.
"Anything to report?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary, sir," one answered.
"Very well. Inform me if that should change," Grey replied, then strode to the edge of the wide, shallow stairs that lead down to the courtyard between the embassy and its front gate. The Archen officer proceeded to walk the grounds at a purposeful but unhurried pace, checking in with each of the soldiers stationed about the grounds. After a time, he entered the quarters that housed the off-duty marines, a building situated behind the embassy opposite the carriage house.
"Good evening, sir," the lieutenant on duty greeted upon his entrance. "What can I do for you this evening?"
"With my apologies, lieutenant, keep the entire contingent on alert this evening."
"At once, sir," the lieutenant answered promptly. "Is aught amiss?"
"Not yet. Hopefully this will prove unnecessary."
"Very well, sir," the junior officer answered and proceeded to carry out the colonel's orders.
Grey returned to the embassy and reentered the main hall. Conversation still hummed from the dining room, and Lyra's kinsman took the opportunity to take a brief dinner of his own in the parlor.
At that moment, several figures clad in black emerged from the nearby carriage house, where they had remained concealed after arriving beneath the Terebinthian dignitaries' carriages. Their leader's piercing hazel eyes shone even in the pale evening's wan light. Stealthily, they crept along the embassy's wall until, still concealed, they could see the entrance. Then, they waited.
At last, the evening waxed late and the dinner party wound to a close. Lyra and Ambassador Brevain stood outside on the wide entrance steps to farewell the departing dignitaries. Galen remained inside the embassy well out of the dignitaries' way, while Colonel Grey stood outside in the courtyard near the base of the steps, his eyes ever sharp. The duke and duchess's carriage departed last, and as soon as it cleared the open gate, the concealed bandits seized their chance. Two of them rushed the Archen guards standing at the entrance, overpowering them and barring the embassy door. At the same time, two more bandits rushed toward the princess, knocking the ambassador down in the process, but Colonel Grey swiftly intercepted them and held them off while calling for the marines on guard.
Simultaneously, the bandits' hazel-eyed leader emerged rapidly from the bushes behind Lyra and dealt her a stinging blow to the temple. Dazed, she hung limply in his arms as he bound her hands behind her, then heaved her over one shoulder. Looking up, he could see his four comrades engaging Colonel Grey fiercely.
"We don't have time for this," their leader muttered under his breath. Unceremoniously, he drew out a long dagger, took a few steps into the Archen marine's blind spot and stabbed him in the back. Lyra's kinsman fell to the ground, gasping. The entire exchange had lasted only a few seconds.
At that moment, the embassy's marines converged on the embassy entrance, blocking the bandits' escape with many drawn swords. At the same time, Galen at last prevailed in beating the front door down from the inside.
"Stay where you are!" The hazel-eyed bandit ordered sharply, pulling a half-conscious Lyra off his shoulder and placing his dagger point sharply against her ribs. "Or Archenland will have no princess."
Immediately, the lieutenant ordered his men to hold their positions.
"Valentin," Galen growled, his countenance dark as a thundercloud and his hands itching to draw his sword.
"That's 'sir' Valentin to you, boy," the hazel-eyed bandit haughtily replied. "Now, get out of our way, all of you!" He again brought the dagger point menacingly to bear.
"No," the marine lieutenant calmly answered. "If you make good on your threat now, nothing will protect you from our swords. But we will spare you if you lay down your arms."
Valentin's haughty eyes narrowed venomously, realizing the young officer's point. Instead, he pulled the princess toward the embassy entrance and motioned his comrades to follow closely. As he did so, the lieutenant, whose name was Grant, knelt beside his prone superior and checked for a heartbeat. Upon finding one, he ordered some of the men to tend him, then stood and took a few steps toward the retreating bandits.
"If you attack us, she will be the first to die. When the ambassador comes to himself, I will speak with him," Valentin ordered sharply as they retreated into the embassy and pulled the princess into the parlor, then barred the door. He shoved her roughly to the floor.
"What are we supposed to do now?" One of the bandits anxiously demanded.
"Stop worrying," Valentin instructed crossly, striding across the room to check that all the windows were latched and the curtains drawn.
"Stop worrying? You said we would overpower the guards and escape immediately. We should be halfway to the Calormene embassy now, not trapped by half the Archen marines!"
"If Calormen can afford to pay a bounty for the princess, Archenland can afford to pay a ransom," Valentin dismissed his comrade's worries with a wave of his hand. "You'll still get paid."
Outside the embassy, Galen was making every effort to restore Ambassador Brevain to consciousness, while Lieutenant Grant dispersed his men to secure all the embassy exits and posted a large remainder in the main hall. The marine medic attended to Colonel Grey, who could not be moved. Presently, Galen's efforts proved effective, and the Archen ambassador came to himself. The Narnian briefly apprised him of the dire situation.
"Hostage?" He puzzled. "What does a Terebinthian knight want to kidnap her for?"
"We have good reason to believe the Calormenes placed a sizable bounty on the princess's head," Galen answered. "Please, my lord, let us make haste. That brute said he would treat with you."
"Very well," Ambassador Brevain nodded, standing up and mastering himself despite his spinning head.
Taking him by the elbow, Galen led the ambassador to the parlor door, which he proceeded to pound upon twice.
"The ambassador is here, Valentin," Galen spoke shortly, "speak your piece."
"Ambassador Brevain," the knight-turned-bandit called out.
"I am here. What do you want in exchange for the princess's safe return?"
"A thousand gold pieces and safe passage from the embassy. I will release the princess when I have the money in hand and am outside the gate with no soldiers behind me," came the prompt reply. "You have fifteen minutes."
"I understand," responded the Ambassador, who drew away from the door to confer with Galen and Lieutenant Grant.
"These villains just killed two of my men—and likely my commanding officer as well, stabbed in the back," the young marine whispered angrily. "And I little trust his word that he will return the princess unharmed. We cannot let them escape."
"I don't believe we will have to. Ambassador, can you stall for a little time? I have a notion," Galen replied.
"I think so, but what do you have in mind?"
"I won't waste time explaining—you'll have to trust me. Lieutenant Grant, stand ready with your men to charge the door, and if you hear music, cover your ears."
The Archen marine and the ambassador looked quizzically at the Narnian, but he was already halfway up the stairs to the second floor and soon disappeared from sight. With a shrug, the two remaining men set to their appointed tasks.
Inside the room, Lyra came to herself at last and, blinking, made out Valentin's hulking figure standing over her.
"Your highness," he mocked, "I will never quite understand why you first picked up a sword. You're nothing with it. But, then again, you're nothing without it either."
"You will pay for what you've done," Lyra vowed, managing to sit up even as she struggled with her bonds. Her head throbbed terribly with each heartbeat.
"Pay?" Her captor laughed. "Archenland will pay. Calormen too. You're quite the commodity, your highness."
Meanwhile, after stopping briefly in his own room, Galen made his way down the back staircase to the kitchen and other service areas below the embassy's main floor. He had discovered in his explorations a number of narrow service corridors and stairwells, which he now put to good use. One of them ran behind the parlor where Lyra was captive, and a small grated air vent allowed him a partially obscured view of the room. Steadying himself, he took out his flute and readied to play. At that moment, Ambassador Brevain knocked on the parlor door.
"We need a few more minutes, but your money is almost ready," Galen could hear the ambassador's muffled voice speak. As Valentin gave his harsh reply and was, thus, distracted, Galen put the flute to his lips and began to play.
The music that wended its way from his flute belonged to another world. Thick and syrupy, the throaty melody seemed to twist the air itself and filled each listener's chest with an uncomfortably heavy warmth. The Narnian focused all his energy on his tune, deepening it and strengthening it.
"What is that?" One of the bandits exclaimed. "Where is it coming from?"
Lyra recognized her friend's flute, and suddenly, she could see the fire in the fireplace dancing to the song—the flames not just moving with the music, but forming the shapes of faun-like dancers. Irresistible drowsiness swiftly enveloped her, and she lost consciousness.
Outside the parlor, the ambassador and marines covered their ears at the first notes and now understood Galen's instruction. The tones reverberated unnaturally and it took their full strength to block its influence from their minds.
After a few moments, the music faded, but they remained transfixed, not sure what, if anything, to do next. Momentarily, Galen stumbled into the main hall from a side door, panting heavily.
"Go—quickly! They're all asleep but may not remain so for long," the young knight stammered before collapsing against the wall, his strength spent in weaving the spell his faun mentor tried for so many years to teach him to play correctly.
Lieutenant Grant and his men needed no further urging. Immediately, they pounded the parlor door down. True to Galen's word, the princess and bandits lay crumpled on the floor unconscious. Without hesitation, Grant carried his sovereign from the room. While his men disarmed the sleeping bandits, the young officer carefully laid the princess on a settee in the hall. After cutting her bonds, he assured himself that she had a strong pulse and gently rubbed her wrists to restore the circulation.
Suddenly, a shout rang out from the parlor. Rushing back to his men, Grant found four of the bandits bound in a row, barely conscious. The fifth—Valentin himself—lay dead with his dagger still clenched in his hand.
"He awakened and charged us, sir," the corporal reported, his sword stained with the Terebinthian knight's blood.
"Well done, Corporal Boyle," Lieutenant Grant responded, shaking his hand. "You have avenged our fellows. And the colonel."
Looking back at Valentin's body briefly, anger still setting his jaw, Grant ordered his men to secure the prisoners, then returned to his sovereign. Wetting a handkerchief from a pitcher of water from the dining room, he carefully pressed it to the princess's temple, where Valentin's blow had drawn blood. Presently, she began to stir and tried to sit up.
"Nay, your highness, prithee rest a moment," the young officer entreated. "You've suffered a hard blow."
Her head still throbbing painfully and the room spinning before her eyes, she complied, leaning back with a wince and closing her eyes. Solicitously, the Archen marine unbuttoned his green uniform coat and laid it gently over his sovereign's shoulders. Satisfied as to her comfort, Grant moved down the hall and took a knee beside the Narnian, who sat on the floor against the wall with his head resting in his hand. He breathed more easily now, though.
"Sir Galen, are you well?"
"Aye," the young knight answered weakly, looking up.
"Are you wounded?" The lieutenant persisted.
"Nay, good sir," Galen responded. "Only weary."
"Very well. Whatever magic you wrought, my Narnian friend, you have my profound thanks."
Galen inclined his head, and the young officer stood, then exited the embassy to see that the grounds were secure. Taking a deep breath, Galen leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
An hour later, Lyra awoke, her head still throbbing but much improved. She could hear the low murmur of voices, which ceased as she sat up.
"Your highness, are you well? Is there anything I can get you?" Lieutenant Grant approached promptly and inquired kindly.
"Thank you, lieutenant, only your hand, if you please," she answered. He promptly helped her rise, as requested, and accepted with a nod of thanks the uniform coat she returned to him.
Following the young officer into the adjoining library, she joined the group where several Archen marines, Ambassador Brevain, and Galen stood over a map of Terebinthia.
"With respect, your highness," Lieutenant Grant began, "we do not believe it is safe for you to remain at the embassy tonight. We have signaled the Jewel to put to sea, double the north cape, and anchor near the beach northeast of here. If you can endure the ride, my lady, the surprise and late hour will offer us the best opportunity to protect you if any foes remain with designs on your life."
"Very well," the princess assented. "When do we depart?"
"Once the scouts report back that the beach is secure, perhaps an hour."
"Thank you for your skillful preparations." Lyra nodded. "Can you tell me where my uncle is? I wish to speak with him as soon as possible."
The men in the room shared an uncomfortable glance, and at Lieutenant Grant's slight nod they withdrew to the hall.
"Your highness, Colonel Grey suffered a mortal wound in the attack. He died not long after you were taken," he spoke quietly at last.
The princess heart sank and she did not immediately reply, bowing her head, closing her eyes, and clenching her hand tightly.
"Bring me to him at once," she commanded at last, and Grant obeyed promptly, leading her outside the embassy to the marine barracks. A six-man marine guard accompanied them closely. As the princess entered the barracks, the low murmur of voices stilled. Most of the marines were not present, but the few who were stood respectfully.
In a room at the end of the hall, Colonel Grey's body lay on a long wooden bench beside the bodies of the other two men who fell in the attack. Two young marines kept silent vigil over them, and tall white candles lit each narrow window, their light mingling with the moon's.
"Stabbed in the back," Lyra murmured, placing a hand on her kinsman's lifeless shoulder. "My dearest uncle you did not deserve such an end."
"If it is of any small consolation, your highness," Grant spoke quietly, "the villain responsible is dead at one of my corporals' hands."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Justice is indeed a consolation." she inclined her head. Pausing a moment, she continued, "You will bury him with all due ceremony, I trust?"
"Of course, your highness," the young officer replied. "Colonel Grey was one of the best marine officers I have ever known. We feel deeply his loss, and shall honor well his memory."
"You have my thanks," said she, turning back to look at her uncle's face one last time. Stooping, she kissed his brow. "May Aslan welcome you to His fair country."
The princess turned to leave the room, but Lieutenant Grant spoke.
"I beg your pardon, your highness," the young marine began gravely. "I wish to express the condolences of both myself and each man under my command. We are deeply honored to defend you."
Lyra's gaze softened at his heartfelt words, and she thanked him for his kindness and his service. Without further words, they returned to the embassy.
Some time later, the midnight moon's milky rays found the Archen princess seated beside the large diamond-paned window in her quarters. A knock sounded at her door, and at her bidding Galen entered. He could not mistake the tears that glistened on her cheeks, though she hastily brushed them away upon his entrance.
"We depart soon, I take it?" She stood abruptly and turned away from her Narnian friend, her spine straight as an arrow as she rested her clenched fist on the window sill and looked sternly into the garden's flowering foliage below.
"Soon, but not immediately," Galen answered quietly. "The scouts should return within half an hour, I expect, and then we can depart."
"Very well," said she as though to end the conversation. Silence hung in the air for a few moments. Even the crickets' voices were hushed.
"My lady—"
"Please, my lord," Lyra interrupted brusquely without turning to face him, "leave me to my sorrows."
Her sharp words took the young knight aback, but after a moment he recovered himself and approached his friend, determination and compassion mingling in his countenance.
"Forgive me, my lady. I will not leave you to suffer alone."
At last, the princess's stern facade cracked. Closing her eyes through fresh tears, she drew a shuddering breath. Galen rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. At his touch her stiff frame lost its iron will, and she wilted, overcome with weariness and sorrow. The young knight embraced her as she wept, at last, without restraint.
Authoress's note: many thanks for reading! A review would be lovely if you're so inclined.