I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I am home from Japan, though - this is the first of the chapters I hand-wrote while I was away. I'm typing them up as I go. I missed you all!
Lucy did not find out that she was supposed to be somewhere until an angry supervisor grabbed her arm as she walked past and began to berate her.
"What are you doing wasting time on guard's errands?!" the woman shouted, gesturing to the weapons on Lucy's belt in immense exasperation. "The gifts, the wedding gifts! They're to be in the Great Hall, every one of them, in but twenty minutes! Haven't you heard?! He's called an emergency assembly before the start of the wedding!"
Lucy ran off in the direction she hoped was the gift room before the woman could lecture her any further, her heart pounding – she had thought she was found out. But everyone she passed assumed the weapons were not her own, that she was in the process of carrying them elsewhere, and she of course said nothing to contradict them.
She joined the stream of empty-handed maids on the way to the gift room where it crossed the river of package-carrying maids on the way to the Great Hall. Some part of her protested the menial work – what was the point in keeping up this façade? But then the more reasonable, Susanesque portion of her brain pointed out that it was as good a plan as any; she could probably do more in disguise than she could from a cell, and perhaps now she might even be able to retrieve her sister's gifts. So she trouped along up to the present room. Unfortunately, when she arrive, it was to find that the guards were passing out the packages to each maid in line, and with a long blue box in her arms, she was swept back towards the Great Hall.
Once again, Lucy entered it to find it was full of people, but this time it was not servants who filled the benches but guards – it seemed that most of the army had assembled together, all utterly silent and focused on the front of the room where a smaller group of soldiers flanked three bound men. Behind this company, a few dozen odd-looking men and women of all shapes and sizes stood, some wringing their hands, others seeming indifferent. Abruptly, Lucy stumbled – the package slipped from her hands and began to fall, but another maid swooped in to catch it; she was too distracted to utter a thank you, for she recognized all three prisoners – one was Roche, Valin's would-be assassin, and the other two were her brothers. All stood stiffly, their hands tied behind their backs and their gazes level. Her stomach lurched. They had the look of men who knew they were about to die.
She took a step back, fading into the line of shuffling maids but keeping her eyes glued to the unfolding scene. She could see King Valin pacing before them, dressed in velvet and padded silk encrusted with jewels – clearly, he was dressed for his wedding, which would begin in less than an hour. One hand stroked repeatedly over something on his belt, hiding it from her view; she he turned to pace the other way, she could see Susan's horn dangling at his side with his sheathed sword. Abruptly, he stopped pacing and gestured to the guards who backed Roche; they pushed him forward.
"I have something remarkable to show you," Valin announced to the assembled ranks. "Would you like to see it?"
The guards all touched their right palms flat to their chests. This seemed to be a gesture of assent, for Valin took Roche by the arm and steered him roughly up to the front and center of the dais, where everyone in the room could see him. Lucy saw his eyes meet Peter's and wondered if they knew just how closely their fates were intertwined, now near they had each come to delivering the other from this fate. But now their lives, along with Edmund's, Susan's and perhaps even all of Narnia, lay with Lucy, who stood now stock-still, jostled by the shoulders of the maids who streamed around her, her mind scrambling furiously for a plan.
"Watch carefully," Valin told his guard.
And without warning, he drew his sword and rammed it through Roche's abdomen. The young tailor's eyes opened wide in shock as he was impaled to the hilt, and he dropped to his knees, mouth falling open in soundless agony. Two guards stepped forward to grab his shoulders and steady him there, the blade erupting from his lower back. A ripple of shock passed through the room. The maids stopped stacking presents, some clapping hands over their mouths. The guards stiffened in their seats. Lucy stifled a scream and turned dead white. Smiling slightly, Valin stepped back and turned to face the crowd of odd-looking people in the back.
"Has this man a hope of recovery?" he asked casually. Every eye in the room stuck to the dying man on the dais as Roche gasped for air, his bound arms twitching.
"No," answered one of the men, with some authority, keeping his voice dispassionate, though the others looked uncomfortable, even stunned. "We have no spell to mend such a wound."
Lucy suddenly realized that he and the other people must be the magicians. Her gaze moved again. Edmund was watching Roche with a sort of muted panic, his eyes flicking between him and Peter and strangely, Valin's belt. Peter had closed his eyes and bowed his head, but his back was straight and his jaw was set. Valin turned back to the army.
"No, the Head Sorcerer says," he called out, stepping to one side to avoid getting his boot bloodied. "And he is correct. In this world, nothing could prevent this traitor's death."
He moved up again, pulling something from his belt and lifting it up for everyone to see. Lucy gasped – it was her cordial. Valin smiled expectantly.
"But something from out of this world might," he announced. The crowd stirred. "in this bottle, I have a foreign substance, a potion that can cure any injury. I might give it to this boy if he swears his allegiance back to the true king."
He gazed down at Roche expectantly, but the tailor gritted his teeth and shook his head. Never mind that he probably couldn't have spoken anyway – clearly he would not have done as Valin asked even if he had been able. The king scowled. Lucy realized that if Roche would not beg for the cordial, there was a chance that the guard might not even believe him about its magic. Somehow, he would have to prove it could do as he said.
"Perhaps it could loosen your tongue as well," he suddenly growled, reaching down to yank his sword out of Roche's body – blood seeped from the wound as the blade unstopped it and Lucy had to avert her eyes. A second later, though, there came a gasp from the guards and she looked up to see the wound in Roche's stomach patching, Valin straightening out with the vial in his hands. He gazed down at Roche triumphantly and lifted his sword again.
"Now…tell me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Who is the rightful king of Caelan?"
"Vareth, eldest son of Lominne and Bucarus," spat Roche, still struggling to breathe. Though Lucy was expecting it this time, the blade's swift plunge was no less awful now, nor were the sharp gasps of agony from the dais any easier to hear. She could not understand how the maids around her could keep moving, just ducking their heads and pretending not to see, not to hear, not to know the nature of the man they served. She clenched her teeth and closed her hand over her dagger – if she could get close enough, get one clear shot, she might end all this here and now. But where was she, after all? In a hall utterly packed with guards, posing as a maid. She watched in disgusted helplessness as Valin again tipped the cordial to Roche's lips, healing him for a split instant before impaling him yet again and repeating his question.
"Who is the true ruler of Caelan?" he demanded, twisting the blade cruelly. Lucy felt her stomach turning over and over and inwardly wept to see her gift used for such ends.
"For the love of the Lion, stop!" Edmund cried out abruptly, and for a terrible instant Lucy thought Valin was about to run him through as well, but the tyrant just gestured angrily to his guards, who kicked her brother to the ground in front of the altar, forcing a length of rope into his mouth to gag him. He struggled, and she saw Peter's eyes reach out to him, suffering alongside him, but there was nothing either of them could do. She inched forward, sensing she needed to act soon, plan or no plan.
But before she could do anything, a hand closed over Edmund's sword on her belt and drew it, a body rushing past hers and out into the opening. She caught a glance of sun-browned skin and hard, dark eyes before Danya was away, charging past her and up towards the dais. It was impossibly far and Lucy knew she could never reach Valin in time, but her heart soared out with her friend anyway, daring to hope as the maid flew across the stone floor and hefted the blade before her with a cry of challenge.
Up onto the steps she leapt, taking them two at a time, but it was over before it began. Several guards rushed forward, drawing their own blades before she could get close enough to strike. They had every advantage – strength, skill, numbers – but she had desperation, and managed to smash past two of them before the third knocked her weapon aside (Edmund's eyes followed it, widening in surprise and flicking out into the room to look for its source) and threw her to the ground.
"That's the other, Your Highness!" a guard in the benches called out, standing up. "The one who escaped the ramparts! Those two, they were the ones who fired the crossbow this morning!"
"Ah," said Valin, stepping around to the front to look down at Danya, who was being restrained by two guards, her face mutinous and wrathful but somehow vulnerable, too. Lucy saw Roche's eyes from across the room, saw them light with terror for her as he tried to wrest himself away from his own captors, but he was much too weak, even temporarily healed by the cordial, and she realized at this point it was probably over for them. And it was over for them, it would be over for her family, too…
She took a deep breath, drew her dagger and lunged forward.
"Excuse me," rang a voice from the grand entrance, the rear doorway opposite the dais. Lucy turned her lunge into a stumble and whipped her head around, but of course, she could not have been mistaken – how could she ever not recognize that clear, strong voice?
Susan looked radiantly disdainful, dressed in a long gown of white silk and velvet, draped in pearls and opals and bearing an icy expression that could have rivaled any of Jadis's. The escort of palace guards behind her seemed almost afraid to stand too close. Her eyes took in the room – the assembled guard, the readied wedding decorations, the magicians, the altar, her brothers, King Valin, the blood, the prisoners, the cordial.
"You called?" she said, turning her frosty gaze to Valin again. He stepped away from Danya, his face twisting into something unreadable.
"My dove," he replied finally, apparently thinking fast. "I'm so glad you've arrived. Yes, then…this…this can wait for later. I've more pressing matters to address."