A/N: I had SUCH fun writing this chapter - basically, I got to throw book, movie, and some angsty shenanigans in blender and cackle wickedly. We're seeing some familiar faces very, very soon! Please know I make no apologies for how this chapter ends, though I ought to. 😅
Chapter 37 Content Warnings: physical injury, blood and gore, battle violence, mentions of death
Chapter 37: i feel alone here and cold here
Addie
Fire crackles, echoing in the cavernous room and glinting off Nikabrik's dark eyes as he emerges from the shadows. Caspian scrubs a hand over his wet cheeks and straightens, tucking the worst of his grief behind a mask of princely resignation. His eyes still look so… hollow. Scraped raw, dark and heavy with defeat.
"You haven't done everything," the dwarf repeats. "There are stones yet unturned."
Caspian sighs, his gaze drifting to the ceiling where it vanishes into darkness.
"We're trapped, Nikabrik. What would you have me do?"
Caspian's brow is smooth, his posture straight, but his voice is flat, lifeless. After a year of hearing Caspian's hope teetering on a knife's edge, that fragile dance of optimism and reality, it's cold to hear him speak without it.
Addie squeezes his hand, slots their fingers together and silently curses her sling-bound arm. She can't reach up and tuck back the hair in his face without giving up his hand.
"If you're supposed to be our leader, what's your plan to lead us out of this?" Nikabrik gives the Stone Table a wide berth as he walks closer, boots scuffing in the dirt.
Caspian's silence is a yawning chasm.
"Nothing?" The dwarf hums. "I expected as much. Never mind, then - I have a proposition for you."
Nikabrik throws his hands wide, his back to the Stone Table.
"You want your uncle's blood? You want a free Narnia?" asks Nikabrik. "Well, that horn's brought us nothing. Aslan," he waves at the carved stone lion, thrown in stark relief by the flickering torchlight, "has brought us nothing, and we're past hope that long-dead royals will appear and save us."
Addie strokes Caspian's hand with her thumb. It was never very likely that the old legends were true, but she can't blame him for hoping they were. The Narnians turned out to be real - just not the rest, it seems.
Caspian's gaze falls to the Stone Table. Its strange heat has dissipated, melted away into fantasy and wishful thinking. Caspian frowns and stands taller.
"Or they are on the way. Perhaps our hour of greatest need is still not here."
Greatest need… Addie regards the Stone Table, a cracked slab of rock two feet high and so thick no one person or creature could have broken it without a thousand sledgehammer blows. In the storybooks, Aslan had a habit of waiting until the story was almost over to appear.
She assumed Aslan never showed until the end because if he was there to fix everything, the author wouldn't have had a story to tell. Or maybe because if Aslan really was an all-knowing, all-powerful god as the Narnians believed, how could he be there and do nothing while trouble unfolded? But that explanation never seemed quite right either; if Aslan was all-knowing, he would've known about the trouble anyway and waited to let everyone else learn something by trying and failing before he swept in to save their skins. Maybe the authors needed everyone to fail in their version so when Aslan came, he seemed a saviour.
Addie's head throbs. There's no making sense of Aslan or belief; it's just old stories telling people what they needed to hear – or what the writer wanted to say. For Caspian, those stories must've offered hope he desperately needed growing up in Miraz's castle.
"Greatest need?" Nikabrik spits into the dirt. "I'd say our need is dire enough to warrant miracles."
Caspian's shoulders tense. He must agree; he was bent in half with desperation not five minutes ago.
He doesn't say so. Instead, Caspian defends a god who might not exist.
"In the legends, Aslan only came at the time of utmost need," Caspian repeats, stone-faced.
But for all the put-on confidence in Caspian's posture, anyone could tell he doesn't believe it. He speaks with the flat tone of unrewarded faith, of a young man holding onto familiar things because he needs the anchor.
Addie scoots closer, pressing into his arm. She can try to be an anchor - something real to hold on to, if he wants.
Nikabrik paces slowly, running a hand through his thick beard.
"How many more losses would you have us take?" the dwarf asks. "When will our sacrifices satisfy your - that is, Aslan's - greatest need?"
Caspian flinches.
"We still hold the How," Caspian says.
"For now," says the dwarf. Nikabrik stops pacing and casts a probing glance at the Stone Table. "No one living knows the truth of the ancient times. We don't really know if Aslan was benevolent at all, or to whom, or under what circumstances. Why, we don't even know if he was a talking lion or a myth."
Caspian's shoulders sag – a barely perceptible shift, and Nikabrik's beady eyes glint.
"The Narnians have worshipped Aslan for two millennia," Caspian says. His protest simmers like a dying ember, haunted with belief almost given up.
Nikabrik shrugs. "And the Calormens worship Tash, and you Telmarines worship no god but power. What does it matter who worships what when we're staring down Miraz's dogs?"
Addie tilts her head, considering. There's sense in what Nikabrik says – she might've said something similar – but it won't be a comfort to Caspian.
Addie rests her cheek against his arm, light as a whisper. A reassurance she's here, but she won't get in the way.
To Nikabrik, Caspian says nothing.
The dwarf nods to himself and gestures to the Stone Table.
"As I was saying, we tried one ancient power, and it's done us no good. Well, when your sword breaks, draw your dagger. The tales spoke of other powers, too – why not try calling them up?"
The firelight flickers dimmer. A chill slithers up Addie's spine as the shadows by the entrance darken and the warm spice on her tongue fades to the taste of damp, cool stone. She fights a shiver and clutches Caspian's hand.
What other powers? Tash? She assumed the claw-footed bird-god was as much a figment of the Calormen collective imagination as she thought Aslan was for the Narnians.
Caspian's eyes flick around the room, his arms stiffening.
"What powers do you speak of?"
Still wearing a slight smile, Nikabrik turns toward the entrance where the shadows are deepest.
Something stirs in the dark.
Caspian angles himself in front of her, blocking her view. Addie leans forward to peer around his shoulder.
The shadows growl.
Two cloaked figures melt out of the shadows as if formed from darkness itself. To the right, a furry, wolf-like muzzle protrudes from the creature's hood while a curved beak and round, oversized eyes define the figure on the left. They look nothing like the Narnians at the How, nor the sketches in Caspian's treasured storybooks. His books mentioned wolves and some fallen Narnians, but they largely focused on the heroes.
These creatures are no storybook heroes. They approach with the slow, purposeful creep of predators, the firelight gleaming off the wolf's teeth. The wolf walks on two legs, its back hunched high as if it got caught somewhere between humanoid and four-legged wolf and its bones couldn't decide which species they belonged to. The left figure stands straighter, but it – she? – too is strange, a bird-humanoid with mottled grey skin and bald but for sparse feathers and strings of dark, oily hair. She sways side to side as she walks, like her taloned feet aren't used to her weight.
Addie's blood hums a warning with every step they advance around the Stone Table.
Beside her, Caspian stiffens and steps further in front, his palm clammy. Does he recognise these creatures? He glances at Nikabrik only to look back to the cloaked figures, carefully tracking their movement.
"A hag and a werewolf are the help you've brought?"
A hag? Addie leans around Caspian again and stares at the bird-creature. Few of Caspian's stories mentioned hags – but one mentioned them in passing at Aslan's sacrifice.
The cloaked werewolf speaks, his yellowed teeth shining with saliva.
"I am hunger," he rasps, "I am thirst. I can fast for a hundred years and not die."
The hag sways nearer, her owl-eyes blinking unnaturally slow. She, at least, is silent.
"I can drink a river of blood and not burst," continues the wolf, its snarl echoing dark promises off the walls. "Where I bite, not a single morsel escapes my jaws. Show me your enemies!"
With a growl, the wolf throws off its hood, jaws snapping closed.
Even from behind Caspian, the stench of rotted meat and soured blood wafts from the wolf's mouth. Addie clenches her teeth and tries to breathe shallowly to calm the shivers sticking between her ribs.
"What you hate, so will we." The hag peels off her threadbare hood with a bow, her voice rasping dry like a winter wind. "No one hates better than us."
Addie leans further around Caspian to consider the hag. She's a wheedling, wrinkled, half-rotted wisp of a thing, with a hooked beak for a nose and owlish eyes that blink less often than they should. Unlike the wolf's consuming stench, the Hag smells sickly sweet, like rotting leaves in a hollow log or old fruit left to ferment in the sun.
This isn't right.
Addie grips Caspian's hand until her knuckles pop and her bones ache.
"Cas," she murmurs. Nothing else, just his name.
Caspian's gaze darts from the hag and werewolf to Nikabrik, back, then back again. With a roll of his shoulder timed to appear as a stretch, he bumps Addie further behind him.
"I see the power you mean, Nikabrik," he says. His fingers tighten to a vice-grip, though his words are steady. "You intend to call on the White Witch."
Addie's spine stiffens. The room felt unnaturally warm when she found Caspian kneeling before Aslan's mural, but the underground chill is racing back.
Addie hears rather than sees the dwarf's scoff; Caspian's tall frame blocks her line of sight to anything but the Stone Table and the werewolf.
"Don't fret over the name like a schoolboy," says Nikabrik. "Yes, I mean the Witch. We need power – real power – on our side for once. Well, I'd say a hundred-year rule is power aplenty. She'll wipe out your uncle's men as easily as you wave your hand."
Addie forces measured breaths as the wolf rumbles approval.
That's a good enough reason to refuse. What use is an old witch with a hundred-year rule? Caspian's supposed to be the one ruling now. Even if Nikabrik intends to help the Narnians, what will happen to Caspian if the Witch wants to add another few decades to her record?
Caspian shifts his weight, his right foot forward. Addie peeks around him again. As much as she appreciates having him between her and these three, it's worse to not see everything for herself.
"I've read the stories," Caspian says. "I know what she was."
"A great lady," chimes the hag, torchlight glinting off her beak.
"She cast Narnia into a winter without end, without Christmas," Caspian counters. "Her magic left fields of frozen dissenters in her wake."
The werewolf growls, but relents with a wave of Nikabrik's hand.
"You read the stories her enemies told," says the dwarf. "What would your uncle write of you, I wonder? What did your ancestors write of us? Victors write history, but the Witch was good to us dwarfs and any who followed her."
Addie tucks herself into Caspian's side. Good to the dwarfs doesn't mean good to all Narnians – nor to a Telmarine king, which is what Caspian will be. As removed as she's been from the How's politics, Addie knows from Vanus that Nikabrik rarely has anything good to say about Caspian and holds nothing but venom for Telmarines in general.
She doesn't blame him, not really, because who wouldn't hate centuries of being hunted, but…
Caspian's Telmarine. The maids and everyone Addie loves are Telmarine. Would the Witch differentiate between Telmarine soldiers and common-folk? Between Narnians who opposed her (assuming any would) and her enemies?
"She was a tyrant worse than Miraz," Caspian is saying. "How many Narnians did she slaughter or turn to statues?"
Nikabrik sneers. "And who are you to throw stones? Your people nearly wiped us out! Now, thanks to your leadership, Miraz is about to finish the job!"
Addie gapes. Thanks to Caspian? He's led the Narnians into battle after battle, ground himself into exhaustion and heartache to fight this war, and Nikabrik thinks he can speak as if Caspian hasn't given up everything for them?
Addie rushes into the open before she thinks better of it, because Nikabrik does not get to talk to Caspian that way.
"He broke away from his own people for you!" she snaps the second the dwarf is in view. "He's leading a war to save all of you!"
Caspian grabs her wrist, but Addie pulls to stand her ground. Caspian waited until that baby was born to flee, and he kept going when she abandoned him because if he died, the crown would fall to Miraz by blood right. He could have fled with her the second they knew Lady Prunaprismia was expecting, could have left Narnia to Miraz and never looked back. But he didn't. Instead he's here, pushing past failure and doubt and impossible odds to try to lead these people to victory.
Nikabrik's lips curl, baring his teeth.
"From what I saw, he ran to save his own skin, girl. If not for him, Miraz would have no idea we still exist."
"There've been stories of you for years," Addie says, faltering a step as Caspian tugs her arm. "It was only a matter of time. Everything Caspian's done has been to save Narnia!"
Caspian murmurs her name and pulls her back to his side. Addie keeps her eyes fixed on Nikabrik. He can rage against Aslan all he likes, but not against Caspian.
"Save Narnia?" Nikabrik gestures around the room, lingering on the cracked Stone Table as the hag and wolf creep closer.
"He can't even save you," Nikabrik taunts. He points at her and turns toward Caspian, jeering. "She'll die here with the rest of us when your uncle smashes in the door. Is that what you want?"
Caspian's arm snakes around her waist, holding her in place as he steps past her. Puts himself between her and the others, again.
"You'd have me summon the White Witch, another enemy of Narnia, to crush us instead? She'll spill Narnian blood as much as Telmarine!"
"What would you know of her enemies?" Nikabrik counters, glaring. "You with your schoolbooks and bedtime stories spinning Aslan as some saviour. Well, the Witch got on all right with us dwarfs. We were far better off with her in charge!"
"Dear Majesty," the hag chirrups with a shallow bow. "Don't fret over the White Lady – that's what we call her. She can be merciful."
That's far from comforting, Addie decides. Caspian grips her waist when she steps forward, but she speaks up anyway.
"So, bare our throat to the wolf and see what happens?" Addie says, glancing at the werewolf as it growls long and low. "Just because she can doesn't mean she will."
"Worried for your soldier friends?" Nikabrik advances and Caspian's grip tightens to bruising.
"It's not just soldiers in that castle," Addie says. "Some of us Telmarines want Miraz gone as much as you do."
If the rumour mill is right, Miraz has been slowly killing off any disloyal lords for a decade, and life in his castle was always edged with nerves. She never thought much of it before Caspian – it was normal and she didn't know any better – but looking back, it was a dangerous place to be. And Lola and the others are still there.
Nikabrik chuckles darkly, the room's echo stretching the sound. "Much good that's done us Narnians. None of you ever lifted a finger against him," he says. "While you lot sat snivelling in Miraz's castle, we -"
"Enough!" Caspian's arm is tense as a well rope, his shoulders a stiff line.
He's afraid.
The wolf's fur prickles, its claws scraping deeper against packed dirt and stone. The hag looks at Nikabrik with narrowed eyes, but the dwarf is already speaking.
"We need real power, princeling," says Nikabrik. "Our forces are dwindling, your uncle's army is at the doorstep. The White Queen will bring a winter no Telmarine can survive. Her magic will freeze them in their tents, solidify the summer muds to stone around their boots. Their drinking water will turn to ice, their crops will shrivel and die."
Addie grips the hand at her waist, her thumb pressed to Caspian's thundering pulse. No drinking water and no crops would kill anyone, not just the soldiers. Not just the Telmarines, either; how will Caspian rebuild Narnia if everyone is starving and Narnia is frozen?
"Doesn't sound too great for us either," Addie says.
"I can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze," growls the werewolf.
Addie scowls. That's convenient for the wolf, but no help to anyone else.
The hag sidles into a pillar's shadow. Addie stills as owl-eyes settle on her and the hag tilts her head like she's examining a specimen.
"The White Lady will destroy our enemies, dear," says the hag, like she's explaining it to a child. "The Telmarine army will freeze to stone and we'll grind their very bones into dust."
"Every one of 'em," adds Nikabrik, eyes gleaming. "There's power for you."
"Perhaps the Witch could defeat Miraz," Caspian says. "But she'd plunge Narnia into another endless winter. You would have us trade one tyrant for another."
"I'd have us survive, boy!" Nikabrik shouts, one hand straying to his sword hilt. "I have no intention of bleeding my last under a crumbling lion statue, led by a fool who can't save us anymore than he can save his woman!"
Warning spikes low in Addie's stomach as Caspian stiffens and shoulders her behind him. His hand slides to his sword, leaving a chill around her waist. The hag, wolf, and Nikabrik advance as one, slow and steady.
"What are you proposing, Nikabrik?" Caspian asks. "The Witch has been dead a thousand years."
He retreats with measured steps, knees bent in a sparring stance. Addie backs up to spare her toes.
She's unarmed. No armour, no sword, not so much as a dagger if this turns ugly.
Tash, she's helpless.
The hag laughs, a high-pitched crowing.
"What a negligent tutor you've had. Dear Sire, who ever heard of a witch who truly died? A little spell of mine – nothing to be afraid of, you'll see – will bring her back."
Addie's heel bumps stone. She stumbles onto the first step, then the second.
"One drop of blood, Son of Adam," says Nikabrik, sinking into an exaggerated bow. "Haven't you spelled a thousand times that of Narnian blood already?"
Caspian's next breath comes sharper, and he doesn't follow her onto the steps leading to Aslan's mural. Addie touches his shoulder, the armoured vest cool beneath her palm.
"Don't listen to him," she breathes, so quiet her own ears barely hear it. "You did your best."
Not quiet enough.
"Look where your best got us, boy!" Nikabrik shouts, advancing. "Thousands of Narnians are dead, and more to come because you don't have the spine to do what needs to be done! You're happy to spill our blood, but not one drop of your own when it matters." The dwarf is raging now, spittle flying from his lips.
The hag and wolf maintain their advance as he continues.
"Well, if you won't do something, I will! If you won't give your blood to save our skins, we'll have to take it!" Nikabrik draws his sword, the dull ring as it leaves its scabbard accompanied by a low chuckle.
"The Witch may need only a drop, but I can't promise not to take more."
Caspian's breathing turns shallow and staccato. When Addie slides her hand to his shoulder, the muscle jumps at her touch and Caspian draws his sword.
"Addie, you're late for Rainroot."
Rainroot? Addie almost misses the third step. Caspian can't mean –
Addie shakes her head and ignores the wobble in her knees. He can't mean that, can't intend for her to leave him here, injured and outnumbered while these three try to call up some ancient ghost?
"I'm not leaving you," she whispers.
"How sweet," rumbles the wolf.
"No need for a mess," whines the hag. "Come along now, there's a good prince. We don't need her, you know."
Caspian's gaze darts between the hag, wolf, and Nikabrik and he settles deeper into a fighting stance - right foot forward, like Falmus once showed her.
"Addie, you promised," Caspian says as he ascends the steps without looking. Addie rushes onto solid ground to give him space. Caspian's heel bumps the third step, but Addie's there to right him.
Addie's stomach lifts into her throat as Caspian reaches the top of the stairs. What if he stumbles again and she's not here?
Stupid, how stupid she is for not carrying a weapon around the How. They're in the middle of a war, for gods' sakes.
Addie stays where she is, her eyes catching on the bandage around Caspian's left arm. If he wasn't injured, he'd have his dagger in his other hand. But Caspian is pulling the narrow blade from its sheath and pushing it into her hand, the leather-wrapped hilt a stiff and foreign weight in her palm.
When she looks up again, Nikabrik isn't beside the hag.
He's slipped behind the pillar and into the walkway to the left, cutting off that path of escape. The right path behind the pillars is the only route left.
"I need you to trust me."
Addie's chest stutters around a breath as the trio converge. If Caspian was rested and uninjured, she'd have agreed already. But he's not, he's exhausted, and he's moving stiffly and if he tears those stitches one more time -
She knows Caspian must be thinking of how he found her, like she's thinking of every cut and bump and bruise slowing him down. Didn't she once make this choice? Leave so Caspian could focus on keeping himself alive?
Never again, Addie.
You nearly got us both killed!
Addie chews her lip until pain cuts through the fog of fear. This time, Caspian has a few hundred allies a tunnel's dash away. If she runs, Caspian just has to survive long enough for her to bring aid.
She's not abandoning him. He's asking her for help.
"Please," Caspian hisses.
Addie grips the dagger like a promise and lays a hand on his shoulder, wishing she could kiss his cheek, but the wolf and hag are creeping closer.
"Be careful."
Caspian doesn't take his eyes off the three. His jerky nod is the best she'll get right now.
"Go."
She runs.
The hag shrieks, and Addie hears the clash-ring of sword meeting sword as a ringing war cry tears from Caspian's lips. Addie doesn't linger to watch. She runs, boots pounding on stone and pants chafing her thighs.
Don't think, just run, get to the tunnel, call for help -
Her only warning is a growl.
A dark streak of fur cuts across Addie's vision, yellowed eyes locked on hers as a sharp claw slashes toward her face.
Tash's shits! Addie's knees buckle in a graceless dodge. It's a mistake; she knows that the moment her balance fails.
Her back slams into the ground and fresh pain rips through her shoulder.
Addie screams.
A moment later her wits return and she bites her own tongue, clamps her teeth to trap another cry but it's too late, there's a snarling snout inches from her throat, foul breath gusting over her face and she should've run sooner like Caspian said -
Inevitability tightens her throat as Addie scrabbles away, because this wolf is too fast and -
Leather-wrapped metal sits heavy in her palm.
We don't need her, you know.
Addie slashes blindly, squinting in the precious last moment before the wolf's gaping maw is the last thing she sees.
She doesn't see the strike, but she feels it, the blade catching in her hand as the wolf's snarl breaks off into a yelp. It recoils, and she scrambles back.
"Addie!"
A hand fists in her shirt and drags her out of reach just before the wolf recovers and lunges again, its teeth snapping where her throat was seconds ago.
Caspian throws her behind him and lands a clean slash over the wolf's eye, sending another yowl ricocheting off the walls.
Pain makes her clumsy and fogs her head, dulling her hearing with the pounding of her heart.
Before Addie can stand, there's a blade to her neck.
She still has the dagger. Addie drives it into the boot-clad foot by her hip, relishing Nikabrik's shouted curse as she throws her head into the dwarf's stomach. It wins her precious inches to duck under his sword, costs her nothing but a small cut on her jaw. Addie rolls away, tumbling in a heap over the edge of the stairs.
She lands face-to-toe with the hag's ashen, half-webbed feet.
For a creature reeking of rot and marsh-grown fungus, the hag is strong - she hauls Addie upright without hesitation. Nearby, the wolf's snarls dance with Caspian's grunts and the ring of his sword finding stone instead of fur and flesh.
Addie brandishes her blade, the dagger unwavering in her grip as she tries not to choke on the hag's smell.
A stab of pain lances her shoulder, prodding at reopened flesh.
Again, Addie yelps before she can stop herself. The dagger clatters to the ground.
Bollocks.
By the time she forces her eyes open and wills herself to breathe through the pain, the hag's gotten wiry arms around her - one mottled hand wrenching Addie's head back and the other holding a frigid knife to the tender flesh under her jaw. No matter how hard Addie pushes, her neck isn't strong enough to budge the hag's grip.
"Lay down your sword, princeling," Nikabrik calls, shouting to be heard over Caspian and the werewolf. "We've got your lady."
Caspian whirls to face them. Addie strains to meet his gaze, because even from here she feels the searing heat in his eyes, the panic roiling in his stomach.
Or is that her own fear churning her innards?
The wolf's growl lowers in pitch, coils over itself. Mocking them.
"Caspian, don't." The words warp as her throat arches, the hag's knife breaking skin. "They'll kill you!"
Wide eyed, Caspian says nothing. His sword lowers by a fraction.
"Don't!" Addie yells.
Didn't he make her promise not to be reckless, not to be stupid?
"Come, come," says Nikabrik, tapping his sword against the nearest pillar. A swell of pride rises in Addie's chest as she notices the dwarf favouring his bleeding foot. "We don't have all day. What's it to be?"
Addie swallows against the knife's edge and keeps her eyes glued to Caspian. She wants to tell him it's alright, just run, get out of here, don't look back.
Instead, Caspian sprints, leaping down all three steps at once.
The hag hisses. Her blade slides.
It's a strange feeling. Usually, cuts hurt - even Perla's best knives leave a sting in their wake. But the hag's knife is so sharp, so thin, that the pain doesn't reach her immediately. In the moments before Caspian's yell splits the air, the wet trickle down her neck is Addie's only clue the knife moved. It feels shallow, but she knows from Caspian's last meeting with Lord Arlian that neck wounds bleed a lot.
"Stop, stop!" Caspian skids to a halt and throws his sword to the ground with a ringing clatter, raising his hands in surrender.
"Stop," he says through a ragged breath. "Let her go."
Damn fool! They'll both die now; what is he thinking?
Tears prick her eyes as Addie watches Caspian kick his sword away. Behind her, the hag titters in triumph.
She doesn't want to die watching his death.
"Stand tall, prince," the hag wheezes, her beak tickling Addie's hair. "Zerzam, draw the circle!"
Addie grits her teeth as blood seeps into her shirt, her eyes darting between Caspian and the wolf.
The werewolf obeys, growling as it digs a claw into the dirt and carves a circle around Caspian's feet. Addie braces for the creature to pounce, but it never does. Meanwhile, Nikabrik limps down the stairs, crosses the room, and climbs onto the Stone Table.
Addie's eyes flash to Caspian and she finds him staring at her, standing ramrod straight with a sheen of sweat over his face.
If they haven't killed him yet, what do they need him for?
The hag's blade leaves her skin, its edge stained red. Crooning nonsense in her reedy voice, the hag loosens her hold, but Nikabrik grabs Addie's chin before she can pull free and wrenches her head even further back.
Now the cut hurts. A sharp, burning ache takes hold as Addie's skin stretches too tight and Nikabrik settles his sword at the open wound. The dwarf's blade is thicker than the hag's, and not so sharp. Its intrusion starts another trickle of blood that pools in her collarbone.
The hag chants in a strange, senseless language as she follows the wolf around the circle. When she reaches the doorway framing Aslan, the hag pulls a spear with a broken end from her robes.
The whole time, Caspian never looks away. His dark, worried eyes are Addie's anchor, a tether amid the awareness of her blood seeping from her skin. Even when the hag shrieks and drives the spear into the second stair and ice explodes from the spot, Caspian's eyes never abandon her.
"Nikabrik, I'll do as you wish." Caspian says, his breath puffing in the sudden winter's chill as a wall of ice overtakes the doorway. "Let her go."
In answer, the dwarf jerks Addie closer.
"Not yet," he snarls.
Behind Caspian, the wolf growls as a strange shadow takes shape in the ice wall. At first, the shape is a blur of white and blue, its amorphous silhouette distorting the fire beyond. As Addie squints, the apparition takes the shape of a towering woman with long white hair floating in a halo around her head.
The White Witch - it has to be. The wolf is bowing, and the hag is sinking into a curtsy before she sidles up to Caspian brandishing her thin, blood-stained stone knife.
"Your hand," she wheedles.
Addie's breath quickens, her voice scraping up her throat.
"Look out!"
Caspian glances over his shoulder at the ice. His posture goes rigid, and he falters a step. The wolf's growl halts him.
"Your hand," repeats the hag. Her voice is stronger, carrying an echo like a stone thrown on a frozen lake.
Caspian hesitates, his hands clenched into fists.
The Witch speaks.
"One drop of Adam's blood will free me," she croons. Her voice carries a deeper echo than the hag's, warped by the ice wall. "Then you may use my power as you wish, my king."
Caspian's shoulders soften ever so slightly. He turns to the hag like he's moving through molasses, face frozen in a muddled frown.
"Don't listen to her! They'll kill -" Addie chokes as Nikabrik's sword cuts deeper. Her feet scrabble for purchase as the dwarf yanks her chin, forcing her back into a painful arch.
She doesn't mean to whimper, curses the sound the second it falls from her lips. Knows it'll only alarm him, that Caspian will do whatever Nikabrik wants to stop him from hurting her.
Caspian jolts and whirls to face her again. His eyes are as deep and dark as ever, unmarred by whatever magic the Witch's ghost wields. The relief of Caspian's gaze almost steels her against Nikabrik's next move.
Almost.
The dwarf's elbow drives into her shoulder, directly on her wound. Addie bites back the worst of her shriek, but the damage is done.
In one fluid motion, Caspian grabs the hag's knife and slices his palm.
Three, Addie counts dimly. That's three injuries. Three weaknesses in battle.
At least it's his left hand and his right is still strong. But his left was already questionable and now he won't be able to hold a weapon in that hand at all -
"It's done," says Caspian through gritted teeth, a line of bright red cutting across his hand. "Release her."
Nikabrik's hold does not waver, his sword at Addie's neck a cold reminder of his capacity for treachery.
"Not done yet," says the dwarf. "Your blood must be willingly given. Funny how magic works, eh?"
Caspian's jaw tightens. "Is this not willing enough?"
He slowly turns to the Witch. Addie has no voice left to urge him again to run, to save himself because how can he trust these people to keep their word?
He's only playing along because of her. Because she couldn't fight off some rotted hag or a dwarf half her height, and now there's a witch ghost waiting to be set loose.
Tash, she should've trained harder, or rested like Rainroot and Caspian said.
A chill shivers over Addie's skin when Caspian faces the Witch fully, his bloody palm raised in offering.
The ice wall parts to let the Witch's hand slide through, and Caspian's shoulders soften again. What little Addie sees of his profile is frozen in that strange frown from before.
Addie's vision darts around the room. Caspian's sword is behind the wolf and out of reach. His dagger lies beside the stairs. Maybe if Caspian steps closer to the Witch, pretends to reach for her outstretched hand, he can dive for the dagger before the hag could stop him; surely he can destroy her quickly. But the wolf would pounce.
It all happens too fast. One moment, she's watching Caspian lift his hand ever higher to the Witch, her pitch-black eyes shining like spilled ink.
The next, a voice Addie's never heard breaks the tense quiet of creaking ice and her own ragged breathing.
"Stop!"
Nikabrik yells something in reply, and the sharp pressure of his blade slides aside. Leaves a wet trail in its wake, warm and slick down the side of her neck.
Addie's knees buckle as her hand flies to the tender skin under her jaw. Her fingers come away sticky and red.
That's unfortunate, Addie thinks as something hard bumps her back and the ground rises to meet her cheek. Her shirt feels wet, and red stains are the worst to get out. Or so Bruna said, one time at the castle. Something about the monthlies.
She should probably call for Caspian. The Witch is too close, and the room is ringing with shouts she doesn't recognise, swords she can't see; what is Caspian still doing in the circle?
Addie tries to say his name. Tries to lift a finger, to point at the dagger within reach now that the hag and wolf and Nikabrik seem busy.
Her tongue won't cooperate. She tries, really she does, but she's so tired…
Before Addie can try for the shape of his name, she coughs into the dirt and the world goes dark.
A/N: Cliffhangers are truly some of my favourite things. 😇 I just finished editing Chapter 38 with extra pain and suffering, so get excited for some angst! (Or yell at me, that's fine too; I deserve it.)
Chapter 38 Preview:
What other recourse does he have? Caspian can't lay down arms, can't accept death and defeat. Kings don't surrender; kings use their power to take what they must.
Right now, Caspian must take Narnia back from his uncle. This woman of ice, the White Witch, is the best chance he has.