A/N: I'm so sorry this chapter's a little late! I drove across several states today and just got back.
Alrighty, we're focusing on Caspian for a little bit! I'm trying something different from canon here, mainly because this was a showdown I really wished we'd seen in the movie. Narratively, I get why we didn't, but the beauty of fanfic is I get to play 'what if' with...pretty much anything I want. So, let me know what you think! I'm super curious if anyone else wished we'd seen something like this.
Chapter 40 Content Warnings: discussions of faith, mentions of family trauma
Chapter 40: will you break these chains?
Caspian
When he convinces his legs to move again, Caspian heads straight to the war room. Addie is gone - safe. She can hate him if she likes - and she will; how could she not?
Let her. Let her rage and struggle and cry, let her shout that he had no right to send her away if he sees her again.
So long as she survives, he can live with the rest.
Now, he must banish all thoughts of her and set his mind to the war - to the Kings and Queens and their intentions, how they came here, why they have only come now. He must ask for their help, ask if Aslan, too, will come to help his people. And then, Caspian must do whatever is necessary to end these centuries of Telmarine oppression and make penance for his ancestor's sins. He must think of nothing else.
Nothing else.
King Edmund stands outside the war room, hands clasped behind his back. At Caspian's approach, he meets him just beyond the council's earshot.
"Before we join the council, Caspian," he begins, in a voice deeper than a boy - a young man? It's hard to tell - ought to have, his dark eyes too piercing. "I must ask you, what happened at the Stone Table?"
Shame heats Caspian's neck. If the Kings and Queens arrived as late as he suspects, they might have only seen him with his cut hand extended to the White Witch. He must seem a traitor.
"Nikabrik sought to bring back the White Witch," Caspian answers. "I… almost aided him."
King Edmund's eyes bore into Caspian's. "By choice?"
"No," Caspian says quickly. "I fought them until they…" Caspian's hands tremble as the image of Addie bent backward with the hag's knife at her throat flashes through his mind. "Until they threatened Addie."
King Edmund's stare softens. "Your lover? Future queen?"
"Yes," says Caspian. "Both."
Both, he realises. He's only been able to imagine his future with Addie in it for months, but to hear her called his future queen…
It should have been obvious; his wife will also be his queen, but somehow, amid these months - this year - of surviving, they never discussed it. Never spoke of crowns or lives together beyond escaping and going on the run.
Caspian blinks, a gust of torch smoke searing his eyes. He should have told her that now, when he thinks of a throne, a crown, he sees them in pairs. Two instead of one, companionship and love where he once saw another stretch of loneliness. Her at his side, growing old with him, watching each other's hair fade to grey, the smooth skin of youth giving way to wrinkles and hands spotted with age, with a long life well-lived.
Even now, such things feel impossible. But he is allowed to dream, to hold these desires in his heart.
If he ever sees Addie again, he hopes she will want these things, too.
After this war, assuming he and the Narnians survive, he will ride to Marcos' village to find her, kneel at her feet, and ask if she will ever forgive him.
If one day, some way, she would be willing.
"Where is she now?" asks King Edmund.
You said we'd do this together.
Caspian's hand curls into a fist.
"Gone," he confesses. "I sent her away."
King Edmund's pensive expression shifts closer to relief, to understanding. After a moment, he nods.
"Good. You can't afford distractions."
With that, the young king enters the war room, leaving Caspian blinking in the tunnel.
King Edmund is right. The Narnians need his full attention, and now he has no excuse for not giving it.
Caspian hurries in after the young king.
He finds the war room at capacity, occupied by Glenstorm and his usual council, Trumpkin, the Kings, and Queen Susan.
And - no, how is it possible?
Shock roots Caspian in the doorway long enough that the familiar figure raises a bushy grey eyebrow and adjusts his spectacles.
"Professor?" Caspian asks.
The kindly face of Doctor Cornelius crinkles into a smile. "Just so, my boy."
Caspian rushes into the comforting arms of his tutor and chokes back tears. It wouldn't do to cry in front of the Kings and Queens, but Lion, what a relief to know Doctor Cornelius survived!
"I thought you imprisoned or executed," Caspian manages through a tight throat. "I heard nothing for weeks."
Doctor Cornelius gestures toward the Kings and Queens clustered across the stone slab in the centre of the room.
"I escaped the same night as you," says the Doctor. "I was fortunate to cross paths with the Kings and Queens northwest of Glasswater."
Caspian hugs his tutor again. At least something about their escape went according to plan.
Trufflehunter and Reepicheep were right; Aslan sent help in his own time.
Caspian tries not to think that Aslan's time feels too late. What matters is that Doctor Cornelius is here, Addie is as safe as he can make her, and the Kings and Queens are -
No, one queen. Queen Lucy isn't here.
Caspian hurries through the formalities of properly introducing Doctor Cornelius to the war council before asking after the youngest queen.
"Where is Queen Lucy?"
Instantly, the atmosphere in the room brightens, hope shining nakedly on wide-eyed faces. High King Peter is the one to answer.
"Queen Lucy is with Aslan. They've ridden off to awaken Old Narnia."
Caspian blinks. "Aslan was here?"
"It was wondrous, Sire," chimes in Reepicheep, standing tall on the stone with a wistful eye cast toward the tunnel leading to the Stone Table. "We - that is, everyone here presently - gathered to dispose of the traitors. No sooner had we cleaned the Stone Table than Aslan himself stepped from the wall, shining as if the sun were at his back."
Caspian looks to Doctor Cornelius and finds him similarly awestruck and reminiscent. The tutor nods, beaming through his overgrown moustache.
If this is true - and it must be, Caspian can't look into their faces and deny it - why would Aslan appear now only to disappear again? Why appear only after Caspian was occupied with Addie? If Aslan is all-knowing, as the legends say, he must have heard Caspian's desperate prayers.
Caspian listens as Trufflehunter and Doctor Cornelius recount the miracle, adding details and theories as to the meaning of "awakening Old Narnia." He smiles and hums and displays all the appropriate relief at Aslan's presence.
Silently, Caspian's mind whirls.
Perhaps Aslan is only a friend to true Narnians. Perhaps he heard Caspian's prayers and did not care to listen to a Telmarine prince vying for a Telmarine throne - never mind what Caspian intends to do from the throne once he has it.
But no, Doctor Cornelius is Telmarine too - well, half-Telmarine. What, then, did Aslan intend?
Caspian leans over his maps, his mind turning to war as High King Peter explains the topography in the Golden Age, when the trees themselves used to dance and the woods were filled with all manner of Narnians. By the High King's estimation, Aslan will take Queen Lucy eastward, roaring the land to life before looping south through Glasswater and calling out any Narnians who still survive in the Southern Mountains.
"How long will that take?" Caspian asks, a finger hovering over the How's position, surrounded by the stones marking Miraz's troop positions. They've been surrounded for a while now.
He ought to trust in Aslan's time, trust that he and Queen Lucy will return at the precise moment they're needed.
But needed according to whom? How much more blood must water the earth until Aslan returns?
"Aslan's time is not our time," says the High King. "But I expect no more than a day. Aslan's quite fleet-footed, you know."
Caspian considers the stones and thinks of the report a few days ago that Miraz is finally coming to join his army.
"Is Aslan the reason Miraz hasn't attacked yet?" Caspian taps the camp near Beruna. "It's strange the Telmarine army hasn't struck this morning."
"Maybe," answers King Edmund. "Do they attack every day?"
"We have not fared well of late," Caspian admits, his face heating with the weight of failed leadership. "I expected my uncle to push for our annihilation."
If Aslan and Queen Lucy are awakening Old Narnia, maybe the Telmarines are distracted trying to attack or track them down. The woods to the east are thick with soldiers.
"Perhaps they wait for Miraz," says Glenstorm.
"Much as I dislike him holed up in his castle," grumbles Trumpkin, "I like him travelling here even less."
"It's possible," Caspian says. Miraz prefers the shadows, but he likes to bask in his victories. "If the Telmarines think the next battle is our last, Miraz will want to oversee it. He must, if he expects to claim the throne."
Miraz will wish to gloat, to make an example of them all.
Queen Susan trades looks with the two Kings, the torchlight flickering over her pensive expression. "What do you mean?" she asks.
A proper battle victory, out in the open, said Lord Arlian. A king has to hold his own.
"Telmarine kings gain legitimacy through war," Caspian explains. "If my uncle is to secure the crown, he and his army must defeat mine. It's tradition, of a sort. Any would-be king has no true claim until he's proven his strength in combat."
Caspian's nine predecessors all won a battle before or soon after ascending to the throne – mostly minor battles among lords, but the blood spilt has watered his family tree. Caspian's own father defeated two rival lords vying for the crown.
Sins of the fathers.
"An open battle will be ugly," says High King Peter. "We aren't strong enough to meet the Telmarine army head-on. True, Caspian?"
"Yes," Caspian answers, guilt heavy on his shoulders. "We wouldn't survive it."
The High King drums his fingers at his belt. "What about single combat? Would that satisfy the Telmarine traditions?"
Caspian tries to remember if his history books mentioned a king's duel, but every example he recalls is among the nobility.
"It may," Caspian answers. "Miraz's strength is in his army, not in his own sword. Professor, is there a precedent?"
Doctor Cornelius strokes his beard, blinking owlishly through his spectacles. "Caspian III duelled Lord Movror as their armies battled, though I don't expect Miraz to know his history so intimately."
"We need all the time we can get," says King Edmund. "It's worth a try."
High King Peter nods, eyes fixed to Caspian's maps. "Even if he refuses the challenge, we'll spend the better part of the day trading heralds, and by then Aslan may return. Doctor Cornelius, have you paper and a quill?"
"A scholar is never without them, Your Majesty," says Doctor Cornelius as he pulls a neat roll of parchment, a small inkwell, and a quill from the pocket at his hip.
Caspian furrows his brow in thought.
"Very good, I'll dictate," says High King Peter. "One king to another, that's the way of it." He nods to himself, staring at the wall. "Now, if you are ready, Doctor?"
Doctor Cornelius unrolls the parchment beside Caspian's maps, quill dipped and poised to begin.
"I, Peter," begins the High King, "by the -"
"One moment," Caspian interrupts. High King Peter is right that a duel will buy desperately needed time, but the council won't trust a challenge from a long-dead king. They'll see it as cowardice on Caspian's part - a ruse to avoid open battle.
"My uncle won't honour a challenge from a, forgive me, a ghost," Caspian says. "As far as he knows, the Kings and Queens of Old vanished or died 1,300 years ago. Most of the council have never heard of you."
King Edmund straightens, dark eyes boring into Caspian's. "You want to issue the challenge."
"I must," says Caspian. "If I am to be king."
"Of course you are," answers High King Peter. "To that end, I urge you not to risk yourself in single combat - you're injured, and we can't chance your death."
Caspian stands taller.
Addie would agree.
But Addie isn't here. He is free to do as he must.
You're happy to spill our blood, but not one drop of your own when it matters!
"If I issue the challenge," Caspian says, "Miraz must accept or lose face to the entire council - no one will stand a coward on the throne. But if I stand back to let you fight this battle for me, I'll have no legitimacy as king."
He has led too many Narnians into battle, lost too many. It is past time he put himself between his people and the Telmarine sword.
"A worthy argument, Sire," says Reepicheep, paw resting on his own sword.
"No offence," says Queen Susan, arms crossed over her chest, "but it's a big risk."
"She's right," adds King Edmund. "Where will the Narnians be if you're killed?"
Caspian thinks of Aslan coming to life, of the sudden last-minute appearance of the Kings and Queens. Of how he is the only person in this room who has yet to see the Great Lion in the flesh.
"They have you," Caspian answers.
The Kings and Queens' late arrival, Aslan's appearance and departure with Queen Lucy - and her cordial - may be signs that Aslan wants no Telmarine on the throne. Perhaps Caspian's role is not to rule, but to eliminate his own people who occupy Narnia. Then the Kings and Queens will set Narnia to rights and rule as they did after the Age of Winter.
Perhaps that is Aslan's will.
Look where your best got us, boy!
Thanks to your leadership, Miraz is about to finish the job!
Caspian's shoulders ache, struggling to maintain his posture.
He has failed them. The stain of his ancestors is too great, his attempts to lead the Narnians to victory fruitless. Aslan tested him, and found him wanting.
It was not for lack of trying; at least he has that comfort. But his best was not good enough.
Caspian exhales slowly. Releases his clenched fist.
"That is why you've come, isn't it?" he continues. "To save the Narnians."
The Kings and Queen exchange a glance, their youngest sister's absence conspicuous.
"Put simply, yes," says the High King. "Putting you on the throne is part of that. We've no idea how long Aslan intends us to stay this time."
Caspian ignores the nerves churning in his stomach and Doctor Cornelius' pointed stare. Maybe in a world Aslan had deemed him worthy, he could believe that.
"His Majesty is right," says the Doctor. "Miraz knows enough of the old tales that he may believe the challenge comes from High King Peter."
Caspian shakes his head. "It only matters what the council believes. Miraz will deem a challenge from anyone but me a cowardly ruse, and the council will believe him."
"All of them?" asks Queen Susan.
Lord Arlian's death rattle echoes in Caspian's memory.
Caspian swallows. "All who still live."
In the thick hesitation of silence, the torches crackle and release puffs of fragrant smoke as a draught stirs them brighter.
"Sire," begins Trufflehunter, "I must agree with their Majesties. What good can come of this war if Narnia loses her rightful king?"
Caspian turns to Glenstorm. Of all his council, the centaur knows the heavens best. If the stars and Glenstorm's own wisdom warns against this, Caspian may reconsider.
"You are needed as king," answers the centaur after a long pause. "But the decision is yours. There will still be Telmarines in Narnia."
Caspian meets the eyes of the Kings and Queen. He thinks of all the cruelties his uncle has dealt to Narnia, to his own family.
When Caspian finds his voice, it's rough, hoarse with the awareness of Miraz's crimes and his own determination to set Narnia to rights. If that means facing Miraz in single combat, so be it.
If that means either killing his own uncle or accepting death at his sword and leaving Narnia to the care of these monarchs of old who proved themselves as leaders centuries long before he was ever born, then he will.
"How can I be a worthy king," Caspian asks, "if I refuse to take risks for my people?"
To that, there is no protest.
Caspian breathes through a spike of anxiety.
So be it.
After the battle plans are finalised and King Edmund, Glenstorm, and Wimbleweather leave to issue the challenge, Caspian retreats to a ledge on the How's exterior, returning the on-duty guards' salutes before they leave him to his solitude. Only a few minutes, then he will don his full armour and finish his preparations.
Miraz will accept; if he wants the crown, he must. Even fear won't keep the lords in line if Miraz humiliates himself - and by extension, them - by refusing.
Caspian leans back against the moss-covered stone and stares across the open field. He strayed into the Stone Table cavern after the war council and found the wall carving of Aslan gone. It might be the closest thing to proof he'll ever see.
He'll draw out the duel, buy time until Aslan and Queen Lucy return.
Caspian scoffs. What High King Peter calls a duel, Miraz would call a family squabble.
His stomach churns, his hands itching with blood he has yet to spill. Miraz likely has no qualms killing family; Caspian would be foolish to care for ties of blood. Whatever the outcome, this duel is a variation on the royal Telmarine tradition of killing for the crown. It's natural to kill family, to eliminate others with a claim to the throne. Yet…
Caspian clasps his hands until they ache, elbows on his knees. He had hoped Telmarine brutality would end with him.
Footsteps interrupt Caspian's scattered thoughts. When Caspian looks to his company, he finds Doctor Cornelius emerging from the How. The tutor is preoccupied with cleaning his spectacles, wiping away a puff of condensation with his loose sleeve.
Caspian holds his peace as Doctor Cornelius sits on a square stone beside him and settles his spectacles on his nose.
"I commend your courage, Caspian," says the Doctor. "But I urge you to listen to the High King's counsel. You're already injured."
Caspian flexes his left hand, the cut stinging as his eyes stray to the ruins in front of the How.
"The challenge is already issued."
Doctor Cornelius sighs heavily and crosses his hands over his belly.
"Have you considered what will befall Narnia if this duel goes ill? You will leave her leaderless once again, doomed to the same fate of Telmarine occupation she has borne for three hundred years."
"That's not true," Caspian protests. "The Kings and Queens are here now. If I fall, they will lead Narnia. Perhaps…" Caspian trails off, his breath stuttering through a hollow ache in his chest. He forces it down, a bitter medicine. "Perhaps that is Aslan's will."
"None of us know Aslan's will," says the Doctor. "Not you, nor I, nor even the Kings and Queens. All any of us can do is answer his call the best we can."
Caspian tangles his fingers together. Is that not all he has done since he found the Narnians - since they found him and accepted his leadership despite his ancestry? Caspian has many reasons of his own to fight his uncle, but surely fighting a war to return Narnia to her people counts as trying?
"I have done my best, professor," Caspian manages. "But I am not of Narnia."
Doctor Cornelius' tone sharpens. "What should that matter? Do you think I risked my life teaching you of the Old Days if your bloodline is all you are?"
Caspian swallows through the growing lump in his throat. Doctor Cornelius may feel that his intentions outweigh his ancestry, but does Aslan agree? Does Aslan want him on the throne, or are the Kings and Queens here to take up their crowns and lead Narnia into another Golden Age?
Perhaps Caspian's only role was to blow the horn, and now his time in the story of Narnia is done - or will be, after the duel.
"You are a noble contradiction, my prince," continues Doctor Cornelius, his storm-grey eyes blazing when Caspian finds the courage to meet them. "Telmarine by blood, Narnian by heart. You are the only one who can bring peace between the Telmarines and the Narnians."
Look where your best got us!
A fine job he's done of brokering peace - letting Lord Arlian bait him into a disastrous offensive, losing half his army inside a week, nearly summoning the White Witch. If Aslan was testing him by not coming sooner, Caspian has no doubt he failed by every possible measure.
"I've already failed them," Caspian says. "I led them to a disastrous defeat that wiped out half our army. I failed to win over any of the council of lords."
"You know as well as I that no Telmarine lord would back you with the Narnians at your side," says the Doctor.
Caspian stares at his hands, his knee bouncing erratically. "I almost brought back the White Witch because I lost hope in Aslan. I doubt him still, Professor. What Narnian king would do such things?"
Yet, how can he help doubting when Aslan shows himself to everyone but him? When yes, the Kings and Queens arrived, but not in time to change the war's course? Only in time to pick up their crowns when the duel is done.
Clearly, Aslan does not intend the crown to fall on Caspian's brow.
Doctor Cornelius exhales. His disappointment itches at Caspian's neck, a heavy reminder that when Caspian accepted he would never have his uncle's approval, he turned instead to his tutor.
Sparks follow the disappointment, flaring in the cool breeze.
"The Kings and Queens told me," says the Doctor. "Where is Addie now?"
Caspian pulls at a knot of moss. "I sent her away. This isn't her fight."
Perhaps his rush to see Addie out of the war's reach is another mark of doubt. Another reason for Aslan to pass him by, to deem him unworthy.
Is it so wrong to do what he thought right, regardless of Kings and Queens' return? If a man of stronger faith would have kept Addie here, trusted the war would turn out alright with Aslan's servants here for guidance, Caspian is glad his caution overrode faith because Addie is safer for it.
Perhaps that displeases Aslan.
"The night of the escape," Caspian says, "when Addie pulled away, you didn't seem surprised."
Again, an old man's sigh.
"Seeing you safely out of the castle was of the utmost importance," says Doctor Cornelius, index finger tapping his own knuckles. "In her mind and mine."
"You knew, then." Caspian tears the moss from his stone seat, the greenery soft and spongy between his fingers. "You should have told me."
"I considered it," says the Doctor. He sits motionless aside from his tapping finger and stares into the treeline. "After I failed to dissuade her. But I know you, my boy. You would have endangered yourself to see her safe. Had you sent her away sooner, you would have alerted Miraz that you intended to flee."
Caspian's nails bite into his palms. He thought Addie was safest at his side, where he could take care of her, and he was wrong. He should have sent her away, damn the consequences. Miraz suspected he would run anyway.
Why is he always expected to sacrifice the people he loves - to do nothing but watch and mourn and carry on as they die for him? Should he just accept the losses, roll over for the knives and poisons, the lost loves and friends until the grief is too heavy to bear?
"I could have stopped her had I known, Professor," he says. "The only reason she survived was because of a defecting soldier."
The frown on his tutor's face deepens. "Either choice presented a risk."
Caspian grits his teeth. Whose choice was it to make? Addie believed it was hers, and now Doctor Cornelius thinks it was his own. Their choices, trampling Caspian's own.
Better than anyone, Doctor Cornelius knows how he barely found it in himself to ride off without her. How close he was to tearing away and throwing himself between her and Miraz's soldiers. Keeping him in the dark endangered them both more.
"That was not your choice to make," Caspian says.
Doctor Cornelius hums.
"Perhaps not. But you must understand; it was clear her goal and mine were the same: your survival. It was also clear that our goal diverged from yours."
Caspian raises his voice to deny it, but Doctor Cornelius interrupts sharply.
"By the time she came to me, your first concern was her," the Doctor explains. "Not yourself, not even Narnia. Her. You would have done anything to keep her safe, and she knew that."
You had to survive. For Narnia.
You were afraid that if you left the choice to me, I would choose Narnia over you.
I couldn't risk you getting hurt trying to look after me.
Caspian shakes his head. "She left for my sake, not for Narnia's. She gambled I wouldn't chase her."
The sting of old failure burrows like a thorn, aggravating his already sore heart. Addie left him no choice. He could not leave Narnia to its fate as he left Addie to hers, couldn't throw away his kingdom and all its people. Addie guessed he would choose his own survival - and his kingdom - over her life, and she was right.
She was right.
Doctor Cornelius' eyes fall heavily on him, appraising.
"You were wise not to," he says. "You could not have reached her in time."
Caspian breathes through the memory of finding Addie bloodied and near-delirious from fever, his tongue clumsy with the truth.
"I should have tried."
But you didn't! I knew you wouldn't, Addie cried, the sun shining on her wet cheeks.
She was so sure. So broken.
Wise or not, there was nothing right about that night - Addie's choice, the Doctor's, his. A sea of wrong, the consequences still churning.
"You would have died trying," snaps Doctor Cornelius, his usual tutorly patience cracking. "Such sacrifices are a luxury, Caspian. Even young love is nothing compared to the future of Narnia."
Caspian's temper rises before he can stop it, lashing past his gritted teeth. Is this the great wisdom of his childhood tutor? This cold calculation, this… duty to country above everything? Above even his own heart?
He chose Narnia in the escape, and it was nearly the biggest mistake of his life. It nearly cost him her.
"If you would see me on the throne, she is as much the future of Narnia as I am," Caspian says, uprooting another fistful of moss.
For so long, all he had was loneliness, duty, and Doctor Cornelius' stories. Then in she came, stealing into his life like a thief in the night, snatching his heart with furtive glances over candlelight and giving him hers in return - a treasure greater than the sum of any fortune. How could he rule without Addie at his side, without her there to remind him that there are things beyond books and legends and intrigue and swords aimed at his neck?
If there is home without Addie, he can't imagine it - doesn't want it. Addie isn't separate from his hopes for his future and for Narnia; she's crucial to both. One day, she will be his queen.
If she is willing. If she will ever forgive his betrayal.
"I need your word, Professor," Caspian says lowly, "that you will never again keep such secrets from me. If you believe in me at all, you will trust me enough to tell me the truth. No matter how ugly."
Doctor Cornelius rests a warm hand on the mess Caspian's made of his fingers. His jaw aches from too much clenching, attempting to keep his temper in check.
"Everything I told you," says the Doctor, "and everything I didn't was because I believe in you. You have a chance to become the Telmarine who saved Narnia. You must. No one else can give Narnia back to her people."
Caspian traces his scabbed knuckles, the cut on his palm. He can't promise Doctor Cornelius he'll succeed, but he can promise to do as he has always done.
Try.
"I'll try," Caspian murmurs.
"No," says the Doctor, fiercely. "You will. Have faith in Aslan; he will not see us lose this war."
Caspian falls silent. Have faith in one who shows himself to others, but not to him?
Sins of the fathers…
Doctor Cornelius regards Caspian's disquiet with a pointed stare, the one-eyebrow-raised look he uses when Caspian is missing something obvious.
"I can't give you faith, Caspian; you must find it within yourself. And if you cannot find it, you must decide if you will have it anyway."
Still, Caspian has no answer. What is there to say when the only faith he has is a fool's hope in an ocean of doubt?
He can only march into the circle of ruins on the morrow, buy the Narnians as much time as he can, and pray Aslan returns even if Caspian is not here to see it.
A/N: Yeahhhh so WGCBS Caspian is an angsty lil prince, isn't he? Anyone else as excited for this duel as me?
Chapter 41 Preview:
Miraz's triumphant grin is all teeth, gleaming yellow-white between their crossed swords.
"After I've finished with you, I'll hunt her down, too. My son will be the only living heir by sundown." Miraz's grin widens. "Does she carry yours, I wonder?"