It's the earliest morning, when the clouds over the Eastern Sea are burning pink in dawn, and the cove is still dark where the brook meets salt water. Peter knows where to find Susan, bathing in a pool, dress draped over one of the surrounding rocks.
"Am I interrupting your ritual?"
She looks up sharply but when she sees who it is her face relaxes into a smile. "No, I'm just bathing. How is Edmund?"
"Asleep still, thank Aslan. Lucy's cordial works wonders but he'll take a lot of rest. I saw your empty bed when I went to check on him; I thought you might be lonely out here."
She shakes her head. "It's too beautiful this morning, to be lonely."
Peter pulls his shirt over his head and pushes his breeches down, slipping into the water that laps his skin just above his hips. It's quite cold, since spring is only just reaching its later stages, and the sun hasn't yet grown strong enough to warm the creeks and lakes. But Susan likes bathing outdoors whenever the weather permits, and today is a beautiful, beautiful morning.
"We're up before our guests," Peter says. "I wonder how long they sleep in Terebinthia."
"Long, I hope," she says.
"Does it worry you?"
She doesn't say anything, at first. She's crouched down in the water so only her head and pale shoulders poke out. They haven't yet freckled, but by the end of summer they will, despite how she might worry aloud about the harsh sun on her pale skin.
Peter ducks under and comes up with a gasp from the chill.
"I don't have any reason to worry about them," she says.
He quirks an eyebrow. "Has that ever stopped you before?"
Rolling her eyes, she arches her back to soak her hair. The tops of her white breasts curve just above the surface, and Peter is reminded of a painting he saw back in England, of pale nymphs drawing a golden-haired young man into a pool.
"Edmund spoke with me about Prince Talmin," he says without warning. Susan submerges herself entirely, and Peter follows her under, reaching out to feel her hair suspended in the water, finds her cheekbone, her jaw, and cups her face with his hand.
When she surfaces he does too, still cradling her cheek, their heads alone bobbing above the surface. "What's there to speak of?" Susan says defensively, frowning at him.
"Susan," he says softly, "I wish we could talk."
"We're talking right now."
"I've seen the way you and Lucy look at him. I've heard how Lucy feels. And I've seen how he looks at you."
She stares at him boldly, and he stares back.
"I only want to know what you think," he says,
"I enjoy his company. That is all."
"Susan, if you love him, even if I think you're young, even if Ardamin wants to make some royal treaty, I want you to do what makes you happy. I want you to be happy." His chest hurts, and these words shouldn't he bard to say but they are. He sees her swallow hard.
"I don't know." She turns her face to kiss his palm and then rises, exiting the pool and picking up her dress. Peter averts his eyes.
-
After a brief shower in the warm afternoon, the rains have moved up along the coast. The air over Cair Paravel is the freshest air Susan can imagine, with the sea at high tide and the breeze coming from over the budding forest. The atmosphere is still and warm, so that the covered space of the throne room is perfect for a festive dance this spring night.
The Terebinthian noblewomen have overcome their initial shyness, and have made a habit of seeking out Peter on these nights with music, asking for dance upon dance, competing among each other for his favor. Susan thinks sourly, It's only because he's High King, but she doubts all the young women have overlooked his golden hair and piercing eyes. She never thought so much of political ambition as an aspect of dance until now, when she herself is thinking more of the diplomatic distribution of dances than any real interest in her partners.
Edmund, whose dreamy gaze belies his sharp attention, is well sought-after too, though not to the same degree. It may be a result of his tired state after the cordial's healing, but Susan knows he disappears whenever he can to avoid the bold young women. Peter is hardly more satisfying, though; he is polite but distant, as a High King should be, skillfully balancing his partners, never dwelling longer with one than the other. Susan does not know whether his situation or hers is the more unenviable: he may be confronted with many ambitious social butterflies who he will never see again, but she is confronted with two serious suitors – both of whom she cannot help but seriously consider.
As the night grows long, Edmund, to Susan's eye, shows his restlessness. Susan knows how he feels uncomfortable at these formal parties, though it only shows to those who know him as well as she does. He's not as obvious as Lucy, who Susan worries will someday get herself into a situation where her youthful caprice won't excuse her, if she doesn't learn to conceal her emotions in front of handsome Princes and foreign dignitaries. Right now, fortunately, the Terebinthians have taken well to her gregarious nature.
"My pardon, your Majesty," Edmund says as King Ardamin finishes telling Susan of the traditional Terebinthian musical instruments and their similarity to the fauns' pipes. "May I borrow my sister for a dance? This is a Narnian folk dance I know she likes well."
"It would be rude of me to keep her from her brother's affections," he replies. "Please, Queen Susan, do dance if you so desire."
"Thank you, dear brother, your Majesty. I would love to." She rises from her seat and takes Edmund's extended hand as he leads her into the familiar steps.
"Tired?" she asks him.
"Not particularly," he says. "Did you want to stay with him? I'm sorry if I took you away too soon."
"No," she says. "I do love hearing of Terebinthia, but I can't help but think about his intentions towards me."
"Does it bother you?"
"A little. But I shouldn't be bothered; I have a Queen's duty to make the diplomatic decision that will best benefit Narnia, do I not?"
"You mean to say that you're considering his proposal?"
Susan frowns. "He hasn't yet proposed. But if he does, yes, I will consider it."
"You're considering this a decision of state? Have you no desire to marry for love, as any civilized English person would?"
"We're not in England, Edmund," she says. He feels the mild sting of the underlying reprimand in her voice. "A Queen does not marry for love."
"In Narnia, no one would think the worse of you for it."
"I won't marry without love," she says. "I'm still a woman beneath this crown, surely you know that."
Edmund smiles. "How could I forget?"
They hear Lucy's laugh in the crowd of dancers, and Susan says, "Lucy is not so far from womanhood herself."
He knows too well. It has been gradual but strange, to realize that holding your sister close is not like holding a child close anymore. The press of a curving body against his could be a lover's. And yet she is still Lucy, and they still wrestle together when she is feeling restless, and he has learned the balances of her new body better than her old. Lucy is still his favorite to dance with and to watch dance, his favorite to see smile and to see sleeping.
Again, he says, "How could I forget?"
-
The King dances with Susan, once and again, letting Edmund then Tumnus take her hand, dancing slowly and holding her close, letting Prince Talmin (who bows low) take a lively dance with her while Ardamin talks to the High King. Then, before she can stop to let her feet rest, Peter takes her hand and leads her in a slow waltz. Ardamin takes another dance with Susan, and when a Lord asks for her next dance, he is gracious and understanding as a King must be. Susan can see, though, the flash of impatience in his eyes with the momentary interruption of his plans to woo his bride, but only so briefly that it is replaced the next second by pure benevolence, so that Susan wondered if she saw any reluctance at all.
As Susan and the Lord begin to dance, King Ardamin remarks to Peter, "The Lord Alcasy spends little time dancing with his own wife. One might think he is trying to relive the cavalier days of his youth. And the Queen Susan, need she partake in dance with so many men? Surely they cannot all think to compete equally for her hand."
Peter does not meet his gaze, looking instead to his sister. "In the joy of dance there emerges her gentle and generous spirit that is so beloved to us all. Dancing, in Narnia if not in Terebinthia, is an art of socialization primarily. It engages her finest qualities. Would you ask me to keep her from it?" Peter does not speak lightly; he truly loves to see her glow, laughing now, her hair loose and swinging. But he knows her finest qualities are not in here – he knows that they look like archery and riding and the pursuit of the hunt and that this ballroom pageantry is only a weak mimicry, a farce of real dancing. He knows she dances best in bare feet beneath the stars and on the grassy knoll with the dryads and naiads and fauns. "In dancing, my royal sister does not think on affairs of marriage as much as many do."
"As you are her High King and guardian, then, I must address my question of marriage to you. May I ask her hand, so as to unite our glorious countries and make each land greater by such a union?" Peter is taken aback. It shouldn't surprise him but it does; he had never thought that he would be seen as the deciding party of such an arrangement as his sister's marriage.
"The Queen Susan is her own sovereign, King Ardamin. I cannot make her decision for her, and however she may decide I will honor it."
But heis her older brother still, and he knows best when Susan smiles brightest, when she dances most beautifully. The Terebinthian king will never see this – should never, Peter thinks with a twist of jealousy in his chest – but worse, if she cleaves to Ardamin and Terebinthia, Peter fears that he will never see it either.
-
The sun is setting, and the Kings are dancing with their Queens.
Peter plays the flirtatious courtier, smiling and making flourishes as he bows over Susan's hand. She laughs and covers her smile before laying her hand on his shoulder as he presses her close to him, a large hand on the small of her back. He holds her, and the music starts.
She enjoys the warm, close sensation of dancing with Peter, better than an embrace; it makes her flesh feel sweet with yearning. One might think a Queen's pleasure comes in dancing with the fine gentlemen who would lavish her with affection, that dancing with the High King is a familial and royal duty, but Susan finds her old ideas of Queens distant and irrelevant in Narnia. She feels safe and happy in Peter's arms, Edmund's and Lucy's too but especially Peter, who has always been taller than her and whose shoulders have grown broad and firm, whose eyes look on her warmly and whose skin is still smooth.
She draws closer to him and rests her cheek against his chest, inhaling the scent of his clothing, a little of the sweat beneath his chin. Sweet. Like home.
"Tired already?" he murmurs in her ear.
"Mm," she hums contentedly. "No, not really." Sometimes she just wants to lean on Peter.
Edmund whirls Lucy around, the way he knows she likes to dance. There are few words spoken. In dance they let their bodies hold the conversation: a push away that turns into a pull, a parting and meeting, a tender grasp on her wrist, a fleeting embrace. Parting, passing; parting, rejoining. The longer the separation, Lucy thinks, the sweeter the return.
-
Many songs later, Susan wonders whether it would have been more prudent not to let Tumnus choose the wine. She isn't sure - this late in the evening it could be fatigue, tipsiness, anything, but to Susan Talmin's body seems particularly close, his hands particularly warm. His eyes are half-lidded, and the dancing is slow now that sun has set and the stars are visible in the night sky.
"Do your people have stories of constellations?" she asks.
"Come back to Terebinthia with us," he says, mouth hovering above her ear.
She doesn't know what to say to this. Come to Terebinthia? But she can't pretend she hasn't thought of it, since the first letter arrived. She wants to see the world, this beautiful place that Aslan has given to them, to touch their hands and feet and hearts. Narnia is not the only country here. Aslan lives over the sea in the East; even the borders of Narnia are indefinite through the mountains in the North, the mountains of Archenland, the endless Western Woods.
"Come see the world outside of Narnia. Your eyes light up when I talk of the sea. I can see your desire."
"Queen Lucy –"
"What of Queen Lucy? I am asking you."
"What of our duties? As Queen, and you the brother of the King who would ask me to come to Terebinthia on his arm?"
"Has he asked you?"
Susan snips impatiently, "You know as well as I that he has planned to do so since before he stepped foot on Narnian land."
"Then come," the Prince says. "Come as a Queen of Narnia, and forget this whole business of love and politics, if only it will bring you."
The dance ends. She doesn't know what keeps her from saying yes, but she lets him lead her outside where a tree is growing close to the wall and they can stand unobserved in its shadow.
"You said you wished to travel south. Let me show you the land of my stories." He holds her hands, and Susan feels him tall and warm, leaning over her. She looks up, and their lips touch, glance off, touch again. His hands move along her arms to cap her shoulders, and he kisses her, smelling of impossible flowers. As soon as it starts, Susan thinks, it's over: he's moved away and her body is tingling.
"Think on it," Talmin says, brushing his lips against her knuckles briefly before backing away, into the crowd of festive dancers.
-
Lucy, small and in her youth, becomes rash after a cup too many of Tumnus' wine. Susan knows she should have been watching her more closely tonight, but the whirl of partners and diplomatic obligations has kept her away from her little sister until now. Now, Lucy approaches her, red-cheeked and with a look in her eye that can't bode well. Susan pulls her into a corridor, away from anyone who might hear.
"What do you think you're doing?" Lucy hisses.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know, you know exactly. Prince Talmin has danced with you four times tonight, and only twice with me. When you're there he turns toward you, talks to you. What do you mean by taking him from me?" Lucy has shoved her face close to Susan's and Susan can see the tears welling, the ugly twist of rage.
"Lucy, please, I'm not taking him from you, I don't want to dance with him," and this is true, she can't stand the trouble of this anymore, she wishes this weren't so complicated, that her heart weren't so fickle and she didn't have to think about marriage as a Queen, as a state. "I can't say no, though, we're hostesses and Queens and we can't be rude. I can't control what he does."
"But you don't think I should love him."
Susan sighs and pleads, "We're too young."
"You mean me, I know you mean it. I am sick of everyone telling me that."
"Please, be careful –"
Lucy storms off.
-
For the rest of the night the Prince is not to be found, and Lucy will dance with no one but in a wild whirl among the fauns, light on her feet but intoxicated, nearly stumbling with Tumnus' strong wine. Edmund lets her fall laughing into his arms as the song ends, leading her away toward her bedroom before she draws too much attention and embarrasses herself in front of the foreign dignitaries.
"Oh, Lucy," he says sadly, supporting her weight against his full body as he opens the door with his good hand. "You've had too much to drink."
As he wraps his arm around her waist, she mumbles, "You don't want me to be happy," and Edmund wants to cry or shout or challenge this fickle Prince to combat, but instead sits with Lucy on the edge of her bed and says, "Come lie down."
He lies back on the pillows and she curls up against him. "You don't, I know you don't" she pouts. Edmund sighs and pulls the blanket up around her.
"I'm afraid, little sister. I don't want him to hurt you," he says as she rests her head on his chest.
"He would never hurt me."
"But if he were to ask, would you leave us for him?" He feels his eyes sting.
"Oh Edmund," she sighs, and lifts her face to his. Her sweet smell and the scent of faun wine and her lips kiss him, he can feel them firm and soft against his, and he kisses back. He holds her body and moves against her mouth as though he would a woman's, for she is a woman, a young woman, sweet and warm, soft and pressing.
Soon enough her breathing slows and deepens, and she is asleep on Edmund's chest. He lies there for a while, but before he falls asleep himself, he gently moves out from under her. He knows the wine will probably keep her well asleep as he lifts her head and places a pillow under it. She hardly stirs when he brushes her hair back from her face, and leaves for his own bed.
-
When the King pulls her aside under the shadow of the same tree, Susan knows what to expect. This whole time she has been playing by the plan and it comes to this, as she knew. But it's not that at all, it's not what she thought would happen. She expected have some sort of love for this man and to say yes, or to have no love at all and say no. She did not expect to see him standing there and to think of what he stood for: secrets to be uncovered. A new world, one outside Narnia. She's surprised to find she wants this, wants new constellations and new trees, new smells of food, new seasons and songs. She wants to bring the distant close, to see real what she's pictured in her mind while talking to these men and women from a strange land. She wants to find these beautiful stories in their roots and make them her own.
And so she falls headlong into a decision she had been planning so rationally: she lets herself be kissed. She commits and lets herself be kissed by both men who want her womanhood, who want her for their Queen, but the body she wants is the body of the solid land, the kiss she wants the wet kiss of the waves.
He asks her to come as his bride and she has no answer for him. He tells her to think on it and she has no answer, no words for the alien force that pulls her, makes her hollow and hungry for the East.
-
Peter approaches her as she finally emerges from the crowd of mingling partygoers. She sees him bend at the waist and open his mouth as though to ask a dance of her, and Susan can't take it. "No, no," she pleads, and turns in flight.
Peter is so surprised he doesn't know what to do, but as she disappears from view he instinctively pursues her. Upstairs, down a corridor, the sound of her leather shoes thudding on the stone and rugs, he follows until he emerges on a balcony where Susan stands, leaning over the rail.
"What's wrong?" he says. Her face looks lost.
"Oh, Peter, I'm just far too tired after tonight. I can't stand the thought of another dance, another go around that crowded room. I can't take another drop of attention."
Peter crosses the space between them and takes her hands, but she takes them back and turns to face the sea. "There's something more, isn't there. Please, don't hide things from me."
"I'm not hiding anything. Why are you interrogating me?"
"He asked you, didn't he?"
Susan is quiet.
"Susan," Peter says, anguished. "You would leave us?"
"Leave? No. Just, for a little while. Narnia needs to branch out into the world; you heard the King's talk of markets. We would benefit from royal connections, treaties."
"We can have those things without you going to Terebinthia. There's something more."
"What more is there? I must, Peter. I am for the Southern Sun," she says, looking out over the water where morning will first glow. The curve of her neck, the set of her mouth, her eyes: Peter's feels his throat ache with grief.
"We are for Narnia," he says.
"I will breathe the same air, sit under the same sky. I am still myself; Narnia will follow me wherever I go." She believes it, too, but when she sees the sea it pulls her in like undertow. Aslan, she thinks. Aslan and a new land in the East.
"How can it? Terebinthia is nothing like Narnia. It has no mountains, it has no snow or dense forests, no pines or blackberries or beavers or badgers, no fauns or centaurs. Isn't this your home? Did Aslan not make you Queen of this land, and no other? Do you forget your country?"
Susan rounds on him, struck pale with eyes like daggers. "How could you even think such a thing? Have I ever – what have I ever said or done against Aslan? Have I ever done Narnia wrong? I am learning what it means to be Queen. I will serve my country even if it means I must leave." She storms out before Peter can speak.