The arched alleyway-like coach and carriage side entrance at Cair Paravel had two corners that went further inward-deeper marble and brick panels-than their matching parallel counterparts did. The one was fairly bathed in moonlight; anyone standing close to it at all would be seen at once. The other fell into the shadows, and it would have taken more than a double-take before you noticed the cloaked figure lurking there. He was gloating, although, of course, no observer would have been able to know this since his hood was pulled half-way over his eyelashes.
Another figure, uncloaked, stood almost directly on the line between the silvery moonlight and the purple-black shadows, half of him gleaming very white while the rest of him, because of the lighting, looked grayish.
"I told you we would soon be rid of him," said the half-gray man. Behold! He was the very same knight who had threatened Peter into leaving Cair Paravel, the nephew of the drawbridge guardsman.
The cloaked figure grinned and slowly lifted up his eyes and the corner of his hood. It was Lord Sopespian. "Excellent."
"Sir Peter will never testify against his sister," said the knight, smiling with wicked pride; "but he would not let his wife come to harm, either."
"I have to say, when Lord Glozelle told me he didn't wish to take the queen he'd helped place on the throne to begin with out of power, and I had to manipulate matters so that he was demoted to a general and thus couldn't stand in my way-not to mention having to blackmail my old comrade left and right to keep him from letting our private conversations reach the king's ears before the rebellion could be set in motion-I was reluctant to take on a new partner. Especially one demanding such a graciously-sized request of favors in return-no offence to your extravagant taste-but I see now that I made the right choice."
"That was nothing," laughed the knight, rolling his eyes. "Trust me, it was the mere tip of the ice-burg."
"And of course it doesn't hurt to have the man who did this to me-" Lord Sopespian stepped into the lighted corner, his hood still raised so that one could see the fine black eye he had "-out of the way."
"Well, there is one matter that still puzzles me greatly, Lord Sopespian." said the knight, sounding, as his words implied, confused.
"What's that?"
"Your plan of slipping an illness-inducing poison into the former Sir Edmund's goblet before it was taken down to the dungeon was easy enough to proceed with; but now that we've got ourselves a sick traitor, what exactly are we going to do with it?"
"We let the illness run its course," said Lord Sopespian, an evil gleam in his eyes. "Then we use him like a pawn in the game of chess that is our lovely court here at Cair."
"How?"
"You'll see."
With that, Lord Sopespian walked away, back through the castle doors. No one else was up at this ungodly hour, so he slipped in undetected. And so did the knight who hated Peter, a few minutes later.
Queen Lucy knew nothing of this conversation, nothing of her brother's departure as of yet, and of course nothing at all about the rebellion. All the poor disgraced young wife knew was that her husband, the king of Narnia, had been very angry with her, made her spend a night or so in a dungeon, and then had been good enough to take mercy on her-allowing her to return to something resembling a regular series of chambers. She felt his love-for sparing her the ultimate punishment-but she also felt his distance-his never coming to see her and not even once bothering to send for her-just as keenly. And while she knew it was a betrayal of mind, something unlawful, maybe even downright wrong, Lucy still wished to hear news of Edmund. Which was a pleasure, like all else ruined, that seemed would never be hers again. At least, she had thought, Peter was there for her, permitted to come and see her. But when he never returned, she wondered if he-her dear brother-had forgotten her, too.
Maybe that was it; perhaps she and her bitter ladies-in-waiting had all been forgotten as if they had never been there. Wouldn't it be so strange if it ended up like that story of the princess who was in a tower for seven years, under a king's command, only to finally run out of food, having to dig out with her bare hands? And then what would there be to find? That there had been another queen and other ladies in her place for years and years until Narnia had been taken over? Well, no, that was all rot, wasn't it? Aslan wouldn't let Narnia get taken over; and Caspian, even if he was still angry with her, hadn't stopped sending Trufflehunter at least once a day, though the badger never did bring any direct message from his Majesty.
I'm being silly, thought Lucy, glumly, and horribly lacking in sensibleness-I must be going mad. I know it must be so, I simply know it, because I don't sound like myself anymore-I sound like Lady Susan Philippe, with all this talk of good-sense. Even my own deepest thoughts don't sound like me right now. I wonder if I've lost myself.
The doors opened and Trufflehunter the badger came waddling on in, his rhythm less somber than usual, almost joyful, making Lucy's sprits rise a bit. There was a letter in the badger's paw; a letter with the official royal Lion-head-shaped seal on it. That had to mean it was from her husband, from the king himself.
Sure enough, "A letter from the king, Your Majesty."
Light gasps escaped from the ladies-in-waiting and the chambermaids as they flocked to their queen's side, with more liveliness and vigor than Lucy had seen in them since her return from the dungeon.
Excitedly, Lucy tore the seal off, not bothering with saving the envelope (perhaps that means I'm still myself after all, she thought), and read the letter once very quickly. Her brows lowered themselves and her lips pursed with confusion. The contents were very puzzling. The writing itself was puzzling, too, actually. It was, to some extent, written almost like a letter that would have been given to her before she was accused of treason-but it lacked a little of the warmth. And yet, what it said was the most curious thing of all. It seemed as though Caspian intended to let her leave these enclosed chambers at last; but how could she be sure? All that royal gibberish and fancy-speak didn't help. Oh, if only he'd thought to write in a less official manner so that she could understand at least a word or two! Perhaps doing nothing but making samplers and sewing shirts and sitting idly and asking unanswered questions and getting glares day in and day out had made her stupid.
"What do you suppose it means?" Lucy asked one of her younger, brighter-eyed ladies-in-waiting, one of the few who's glares seemed less sharp and who appeared to have knowledge of things that weren't merely tea-time etiquette.
The little lady-for she was rather short in stature, almost as small as the queen herself-took the letter in her hands, read it, smiled widely with all her teeny pearly teeth showing, and cried out, "Oh, Lion bless the king!"
Another lady read it over her shoulder. "He's forgiven the queen, we're free! Oh, bless his mercy!"
If that's what he meant to say, why didn't he just say it? Lucy thought irritably, flinching as a fly buzzed by, hovering a few inches away from the tip of her nose.
"Don't you see?" said the eldest of the ladies, unable to stop grinning. "The king has invited you to a masque, courtiers from other countries will be there-they'll all see you at his side and know that he's forgiven you. Don't you understand? King Caspian is not going to send you away, nor is he going to keep us here under house-arrest any longer."
"We'll all travel again!"
"Dancing and picnics!"
"New gowns? Surely if there's a ball we all get new gowns?"
"The letter does dictate an allowance to call in the royal tailor, but he doesn't say if it's just for the queen or also for all of us."
"Your Majesty," they appealed to Lucy, their eyes shinning eagerly.
She didn't care so much about new clothes as they did; if she could have given them all her pretty dresses and crowns and necklaces, she would have. All except the seed-pearls with the dagger, of course. Still, she was very pleased that Caspian was sending for her, that some of his anger had evidently subsided.
"My brother," said Lucy, after a pause, choosing for the moment to ignore the garment-scavenger ladies-in-waiting, appealing to Trufflehunter. "Is he coming?"
The badger looked very different all of a sudden-if he was a human person, he might have blushed from embarrassment. Animals don't blush half so often, or so easily, as humans do. "I was told, Your Grace, that Sir Peter has returned to his manor in the country."
Lucy felt her eyes welling up with tears. "He didn't even come to say goodbye,"
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," said the badger.
"Never-mind your brother, Your Grace!" said a lady. "Your problems are over; the court will show mercy, we all will be freed from shame, and there will be dancing! It's been so long since we had dancing."
The little lady who had read the letter before the rest, the one Lucy didn't think was quite so awful as the others, reached out as if she wanted to pat the queen's shoulder, though she only touched the air around it, and said, "I'm sure your brother had something to do with your being freed, Milady, everyone knows he spoke well of you even after..." her voice trailed off but then quickly picked up again; "...I'm sure he must simply have thought you would be quite well now and presumed to return to the countryside while you settled back into a comfortable court life."
Those words explained nothing, nor were they as comforting as they were meant to be, but Lucy sensed the honesty-something the others lacked, only liking their her now because they were all to return to the hustle bustle of courtly life they'd been groomed for, wasting with the imprisoned little queen all this time-so she muttered a thank you.
Now, naturally, the reader may be wondering how Edmund was holding up. Well, he had been, as King Caspian ordered, removed from his cell and taken to a guest chamber where he could rest. He seemed to respond well to the medicine the physician gave him, while still having occasional bouts of sweat, stomach pains, and hallucination-related nightmares that he might wake up crying from.
The former knight didn't say much when he wasn't in pain, he was rather quiet, just sort of sitting there. Sometimes Caspian wondered if he even ought to bother locking the door when he left, seeing as Edmund didn't seem to plan on going anywhere; but castle policy was castle policy. It wouldn't have looked right leaving a traitor-even a sickly one-in a room with an open door.
Upon locking the door and turning to walk down the corridor after going in to check on Edmund's progress, Caspian found himself face-to-face with a small group of courtiers, Lord Sopespian among them.
"Sire," he bowed, glancing up at the king with pretend-modesty, hiding a smirk.
"Greetings, Lord Sopespian," said Caspian. "Did you want something?"
"Actually, Sire, I came to speak to you on the matter of the royal visitors from the Lone Islands coming for the masque."
"Yes, what about them?"
They turned a corner, finding their way into another corridor, the other courtiers tagging along a few steps behind them.
"I was informed that they wished to occupy the guest chambers in the south wing."
Caspian looked very hard at him, his brows sinking. "I received no such notice. Besides, Edmund is in the south wing."
"He's a traitor, Your Grace. Can you not just move him to another location? Perhaps the small chamber near the northern ballroom would suffice?"
"Why that one?" asked Caspian. "We never put anyone in that chamber-it's a bit cramped."
"It is still better than a cell," said Lord Sopespian dryly. "More than he deserves, I daresay."
"True," Caspian agreed. "But surely the visitors from the Lone Islands wont take all of the rooms."
"Your Majesty is forgetting Prince Rabadash of Calormen and his most recent mistress, the Tarkheena Lasaraleen."
"Wait a minute," Caspian scowled, recalling the smug ass of a prince who did nothing but whine, brag, and drink, and the tittering tarkheena that never stopped talking her whole head off. "Who invited them?"
"They sort of invited themselves when they heard we were having a masque," replied a courtier rather timidly. "We were a little scared to say no."
"It really is all for the better, my king." Lord Sopespian said. "Think how gracious you will look, your wife pardoned and repentant, and you still powerful and in control of your kingdom. Your traitor locked up...it will be good to show you as strong again-Narnia without a blemish. Calormen won't mock us if they see our strength."
"Well spoken, Lord Sopespian." Caspian nodded. "So be it."
Falling back as the king and the rest of the courtiers walked out of ear-shot, the knight who had blackmailed Peter into leaving court whispered to Lord Sopespian, "But if the traitor is roomed so close to where the masquerade is going to be held, isn't there a greater chance of the queen finding him? And if the visiting countries' representatives were to see them together after Queen Lucy had been pardoned-"
Letting his smirk spread freely across his face now, Lord Sopespian cocked his head and nodded.
"Oh!" said the knight, his eyes shinning with admiration.
"Who would have thought a treasonous pawn could put a king in checkmate?" sighed Lord Sopespian.
"What of Edmund's illness?" pondered the knight.
"I told you, it will merely run its course as the poison goes through his bloodstream. It wont kill him. The traitor will die with his head rolling off the block, not from sickness."
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