(A/N: Woohoo! I live! Happy Spring Break, everyone. I'm so sorry this chapter is so late. But you've got to understand how hectic my life is. I started playing softball three or four weeks ago, I've been working on getting my Chemistry grades up, etc. I feel so bad for just neglecting my baby like this! I hope you all like this chapter, because it's my end of spring break present to all of you. Consider it a non-confrontational way of me coming to every one of your houses with cookies and ice cream and throwing myself at your feet and begging forgiveness. But I really like that cookie idea…no, bad Sushi! Write this chapter! No cookies until you're done!
On a sadder note, our very own Schmo moved to South Dakota over two weeks ago! That's over five hundred miles away! Therefore, this chapter is dedicated to her, in memory of her many contributions to this and many other stories of mine. Enjoy it for her sake!)
Even when one is suffering from the sheer exhaustion of weeks lashed to a ship's bowsprit, a mound of hay never allows for much sleep. Thus, Enna tossed to and fro the rest of the day and into the night, sweating and seeing shadow wraiths more than actually sleeping. Aramir was whiffling quietly with his arm as a pillow when she truly awoke. The dungeon was oddly quiet. The sconces on the wall flickered dimly, casting weird shadows across the floor.
Enna sat up and shivered uneasily.
It must be nighttime, she reasoned, brushing the straw out of her plait—it was more for something to do than for aesthetics. Who was there to care if she had bits of dried grass caught in her hair: rats and prison guards? Enna amused herself for a moment with the thought of the fat, smelly, bearded dwarves being offended at the sight of her disheveled self.
The rest of the castle above them was probably asleep on goose-down mattresses and silken sheets. Enna sighed wistfully. If her borrowed tunic was softer than any bed she'd slept in for a long while, she could only imagine the luxury of noblemen and ladies' bed sheets. They would be soft and sleek and scented…the tunic was scented. It smelled lightly of cedar and sandalwood.
She sniffed it quickly, then succumbed to the urge to inhale deeply of it. Someone must have kept this fine shirt in a wooden chest. Maybe the chest was delicately carved, or inlaid with gold and precious jewels. Maybe a nobleman kept it at the foot of his bed, and stored his polished armor and glittering sword in it with the shirt as a reminder of a certain fierce battle he had won. Maybe some gentlelady kept her cloth-of-gold gowns and precious gems in it, and the shirt had mingled with sachets of incense and silk slippers. Maybe—
Enna stopped herself. Her wicked imagination was what used to get her into so much trouble back in Galma, after all. It would only foster greed and envy if she continued imagining such finery. But what fun it was! She remembered when she had slept on soft sheets and owned a carved chest, once. Her slippers were emerald green with ruby embroidering on the toes. Then she grew out of them, and Mother wouldn't make her another pair—disrespectful to her dying father, Mother had said. So Enna wore leather shoes until those wore out, and then she went barefoot because Sabsestrin believed that leather was for making armor and hawking gloves, not children's shoes. The first time she'd gone outside to help Sabsestrin's menservants in the vineyard, there'd been a pile of smoldering ash from her uncle's pipe, which Enna did not see and as a result promptly stepped on. The burn blistered and burst and got so infected that it had had to be lanced with a hot poker from the fireplace. Then it turned purple and yellow and finally healed only because winter came and there was no farm work left to be done.
On my father's grave, I shall go mad if I am alone much longer! Enna thought vehemently, shaking her head heatedly to divest herself of the unpleasant memories. Mother always said I think too much and now I believe she was right!
As she sat in contemplation, there was a far-off screech, like that of a rusty door being opened. Enna sat up straight and tilted her head so as to hear better. Yes, there were footsteps!
She got a horrible sick feeling in her stomach. There was more than one pair of feet that made the distant echoes. What if Minodaurus' men had returned to finish the job they'd started with Aramir? They would thrash her, too, if she were to be found.
Without a second thought, Enna scurried to the cell door and called out, mimicking the voice of one of the guards from before, "'Ey! Stop righ' there, 'less you got yerself a piece o' aut'oriz-a-tion wit' the royal lion on it!"
The footsteps stopped.
"Does you, or doesn't you?" Enna continued, in the other guard's voice. "Yeh'd be'er, 'cause I've got meself a splittin' 'eadache and won' tolerate no nonsense. Ruddy ale."
"I say!" came a voice in response. "Who gave you clearance to demand authorization? And…where are you? Show yourself!''
Enna's heart began to pound in her ears. But she quickly rallied and called out, "'is Royal 'ighness King Pe'er, that's 'oo. 'n me 'ead is achin' like the dickens 'isself 'n I isn't wantin' ter 'show meself'."
"That's impossible!"
"'Tisn't. The king hisself handed me t'orders 'n told me as such!"
"In the name of Aslan, I am King Peter and never in my life did I authorize such measures! Gertrum, call the palace guards. There is an imposter in our midst."
Only then did Enna recognize the voice. It was the king! Her heart stopped still and her brain ground to a halt. What have I done? What have I done!
Suddenly, there was a hand at her elbow, moving her gently to the side, and Aramir stepped past her up to the door and called out…something—Enna's ears had stopped working. A mantra of By my life, I've affronted the high king of Narnia. By my life, I've affronted the high king of Narnia. was running through her mind. She felt oddly disconnected—strange—distant. Aramir's bandages were still white. There was a pink scar on her left palm. The torches hissed. The king himself and several subjects were coming towards the cell. Aramir was telling her something. The gash on his cheek looked better. He grasped her upper arms…
Right were Sabsestrin had left bruises so many times. Enna jerked out of her daze and out of his grip. The sickening feeling of being touched against her will sent shivers of almost-forgotten revulsion crawling up and down her spine once again. But the king was unlocking the cell door and beckoning his entourage inside. Enna pulled herself together with an effort. She bowed low, lower than usual, and to the goat-man, the centaur, and the…tree-looking thing that the king had brought with him.
"Lady Enna, did you hear the voices that were coming from this way?" the king asked. He was dressed much more elaborately than he had been before: a rich red and gold tunic draped his chest, cinched with an ornately decorated belt and a blood red cloak swathing his shoulders. "There were two men. Dwarves, by the sound of it."
Enna's jaw began to quiver of its own accord as she cast about for something to say. "Er…uh…yes, sire."
His dark eyes were boring into hers. "I see. And from whom did it come? Aramir here said it had been a misunderstanding, nothing more. But I should like proof that there is not another man running about claiming to be me."
"Sire," Enna began, stumbling a little over the word. The centaur was beginning to frighten her a little with his stoic, black-eyed stare and thick, crossed arms. "Sire…it was I. It was I who made the voices."
She expected flaming wrath from the high king. But instead, he gave her an astounded, slightly baffled look. "Come again? You say you made the voices?"
"Aye, sire," she whispered, wilting despite her determination to look him in the eye.
"Aramir, is this true?" the king asked.
Enna snuck a look at the doe-eyed youth beside her. He gave a firm nod. "Aye, Your Majesty, she tells the truth."
The king's expression turned to one of interest. "How, exactly, did you mimic them so expertly?"
Enna, to her absolute horror, felt her cheeks reddening. Now she was blushing in front of the high king! What next? But out loud, she said, "I don't know exactly how I mimic people, Your Majesty. I just…can."
"Show me," the king said next. "Mimic…my brother, King Edmund. Do you remember his voice?"
Enna thought for a moment, then nodded shyly. "Aye, sire."
"Then, please, we are all ears."
Enna could feel her knees trembling, but she cleared her throat. What would the younger king say? One thing he'd told her seemed especially evocative of the king: Guesswork, my lady, is what I thrive on. So she said, mimicking him to the best of her ability, "Guesswork, my lord, is what I thrive on."
The king's eyes bugged out. "Astonishing! By the lion, you sounded just like him! Bravo, my lady Enna, bravo." He and his troupe applauded her.
Enna felt rather proud of herself for a moment, before realizing that she could have gotten in serious trouble doing the same thing in another kingdom. She quickly felt horrified, and wished that the noble group would stop complimenting her.
"You must show my royal brother himself, tonight," the king said with a wide and handsome grin. "At palace sup. I daresay he will laugh until his sides split!"
"But, my lord," Enna protested, "I am still serving my sentence here."
The king looked puzzled, then slapped his forehead, making his crown wobble. "By the lion…I nearly forgot! That is what we are here for, my lady Enna. Your sentence has been served. Naeomi here will take you to your room, and help you…"
"Bathe and dress yourself, milady," said the tree-thing, curtsying—to Enna!
"Right," said the king. "I would very much like to see you at sup tonight."
"Y-yes, sire," Enna stammered. Her sentence was served! She was free! But there was a slight unhappiness in her elation. Aramir still had two nights to serve, by himself. She stole a glance at him, and he was smiling quietly. Poor dear, Enna couldn't help but think. Naeomi had taken her hand and was leading her away, but Enna made a solemn promise to herself to visit the poor battered youth as much as she could.
What better was there for her to do? After all, she was to remain in Narnia for the next two months.