Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.

TRADUCEMENT

"I pray you, calm yourself, My King. You mustn't assume anything without proof. Sometimes these prophecies are not at all what they at first seem."

"Sir Gilfrey is right." Tears stood in Susan's eyes. "We have to think about this logically, Peter. Without proof–"

"Proof?" Peter shoved the dead Falcon towards her, hot blood throbbing in his temples, pounding inside him. "Ask him about proof."

"We don't know Edmund was involv–"

"Don't we, Su? On top of everything else that's been happening, don't we really?" Peter clutched the table, almost blinded with the pain in his head. Edmund. Edmund. How could you? He forced his voice to calm, forced his expression into some measure of control. If only he could force his thoughts into clarity, too. "Gil, uh, I want you to take some of our soldiers and make a thorough search of Edmund's chamber. If he's hiding anything, I want to–"

"Me?" Gil's dark eyes were wide. "Oh, no, I beg you, Sire, let it not be me. If there is any such proof, and I cannot believe it true of the brother of Your High Majesty, would it not be better if you saw it with your own eyes? Or, better still, saw there was no such thing to be found? I beseech you, My King. Go yourself. And Her Majesty as well. Set your minds at ease on this matter at the least."

"Lucy needs–" Susan began, but Peter cut her off.

"Cerise or one of the other healers can stay with Lucy for now. It's important that you and I both go. We have to know for certain."

Diplomacy. Cunning. Guile. Sneakiness, Edmund liked to call it, and he always seemed rather pleased with himself over it, too. He had used his sharp wits on behalf of his brother and sisters, on behalf of his kingdom, more times than Peter could remember. Was he using it against them now? And if he was, would he be foolish enough to leave behind evidence of it? Or did he think his family so utterly beguiled and for so long that he had grown careless of such things?

Peter wiped the sweat from his upper lip. He had to get out of this suffocating room. He was burning from the inside out.

Gil was right. Gil was always right. Peter had to see for himself what Edmund was hiding. Maybe, somehow, there really wouldn't be anything. He didn't want there to be anything. Oh, please, let there not be anything.

"Send for Oreius, Gil. Tell him to bring three or four of his best soldiers along with him to Edmund's chamber. Make sure at least one of them is a Dog." Peter looked down at the limp, bloody mass of feathers there on the table. "And have him send someone to bury our Falcon with as much honor as may be."

His eyes all sympathy, the Knight bowed.

OOOOO

Edmund stood just inside the door of his chamber, a discarded bag of walnuts at his feet. Everything in the room had been pulled apart, opened, pawed through, exposed. His personal possessions and private papers were all set out. His feather bed with all the bedclothes lay on the floor. His wardrobe stood with the doors flung open, his clothes and boots piled everywhere. Even some of the floorboards had been taken up. This couldn't be happening.

The twin Tigers from Peter's guard sat ramrod straight at Edmund's right and left. The Gryphon stood in the doorway behind him, grim and silent. He knew them as friends and fellow soldiers and was used to having them nearby, but not like this. Not keeping him under watch.

Susan sat on a little footstool by the fireplace, her heavy skirts swirled around her feet, her graceful white hands folded in her lap, her eyes closed, her head bowed, silent tears flowing down her pale cheeks.

Oreius stood at the other side of the room, near the balcony that looked out towards the great Western Wood, stoic and still. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, and his dark eyes were fixed on the space just above Edmund's head. Beside him, golden and terrible in the sunlight that poured from the windows, stood the High King. Edmund had to force himself to face those blazing blue eyes and not look away. The only thing worse would be looking at the growing collection of letters and documents laid out on the desk, weighted with a gleaming ruby the size of a pigeon egg and red as blood.

"I believe that is all, Your Majesty." The sad-eyed Hound bowed his head. "Shall I check again?"

"That's enough, good Sagepaw." Peter nodded briefly. "We thank you for your aid."

"Go now, all of you," Oreius ordered his soldiers at a signal from the High King, "and keep what you have seen here to yourselves."

Soon only he, the two Kings and the Queen were left in the room.

"Your guard is within the sound of your call," the Centaur told Peter, and he, too, left, shutting the door after himself, never once looking towards Edmund.

Then Edmund was alone with his brother and sister and the crushing silence. The younger King kept his eyes fixed on his brother's, hard as it was not to look away from the cold fury that was there.

"Tell us, Edmund." Peter's voice was soft, carefully controlled, taut as piano wire. "What is all this?"

"I don't know." Edmund's heart pounded inside him. "None of it is mine. None of it."

Peter picked up the ruby, turning it so it glimmered in the light. "I suppose you have the Dwarf's gold stashed somewhere, too. I hope it was enough to be worth murdering for."

"Peter . . ."

"And our friend Windswift. He did nothing but carry a message. Pity the message got through anyway, isn't it?"

"I didn't even have a bow with me today."

The High King's face was flint. "One was found abandoned in that part of the forest along with a quiver full of black-fletched arrows."

"I was with Phillip the whole time. We were gathering walnuts."

Ignoring Edmund's pleading expression, Peter took one of the papers from the desk and glanced over it again. "Among other things. Like arranging for ships that would eventually be sent to Calormen, giving them strength enough to attack Archenland by land and sea at once. Lune's practically been a father to us all, and you'd sell him out? As you did your soldiers?"

"I didn't–"

"Explain this, Edmund." Peter picked up a tattered old book and shoved it into Edmund's chest. "Strange it should be marked at a spell for freezing someone to death."

Susan dropped her head into her hands. "Oh, Edmund."

Edmund shook his head. "I was just–"

"And don't tell me that's not your handwriting there in the notes."

"It is, Peter. Of course it is. I was trying to research what sort of spell might be being used against Lucy and how to counter it. I told you-"

"And this?" Peter's lips trembled, Edmund didn't know if it was from fury or disbelief, as he picked up one of the letters from the pile. It was written in intricate Calormene script, beautifully wrought. "I'm sorry, Susan, but you must read this one."

Susan lifted weary, red-rimmed eyes to his. "No more, Peter. Please. We've been over and over all of this. I can't–"

"You have to."

Peter gave her the letter, and as she read, her face went from pale to fiery red.

Edmund looked at her, baffled. "What is it?"

Standing, she wadded the paper into her hand and struck him full force across the mouth with it. Then she let it flutter to the floor. Without another word, she left the room.

"Susan!" Edmund flinched as she slammed the door behind her, and then turned back to his brother, wiping a trickle of blood from his stinging lips. "I don't–"

"Read it." Peter seized the paper and thrust it into Edmund's hand. "If you want to carry on pretending you don't know what it says, go ahead and read it."

Edmund could hardly focus on the words, but he forced himself to read what was written there.

Ekrem Tarkaan to the Most Excellent and Just King Edmund of Narnia, in the name of Tash the irresistible, the inexorable, greetings and good fortune. Be it known to you that I have received your most agreeable offer. Here in our desert land, such fair beauty is rare, and I will happily pay all that you ask, to the last minim, so I might myself possess it. That our bargain clears your own path to happiness makes my delight all the greater, for has not one of the poets said, "Shared benefit smooths the way to friendship as bloodshed smooths the way to a throne"? The Tisroc (may he live forever) has himself praised you before all the gods for your wisdom, discretion and boldness. Seeing how you have turned your opportunities to advantage, I see he speaks no less than true. Calormen will have a firm ally when you alone rule Narnia. Accept my felicitations on your coming marriage to your gentle Queen, for as you have said, her beauty is beyond that of mortals and no man can live long in her presence and not desire it for himself. Indeed, did not our own great Tash marry his sister Zardeenah? No doubt they will bless your union and bring prosperity to your land. Send word when I may expect delivery of your golden-haired King, and payment will be awaiting you. May we each be happy in having what we wish for and be favored by Tash himself.

Edmund read it over three times before it all sunk in. Your gentle Queen. Your golden-haired King. Susan and Peter couldn't think he–

"How long have you been planning this?" Peter demanded. "How long? A year? More?"

"I haven't–"

"How long have you been after Susan?"

Peter's voice dripped with disgust, and Edmund shook his head violently.

"Never. Peter, she's our sister. I swear I've never once thought of her as anything else. I'd never do anything to harm either of you. What do you think I am?"

"I don't know." Peter pressed one hand to the side of his head and took a wary step back. "I don't know what you are. I don't know what to think. You'd force Susan into some abomination of a marriage? You'd sell me to–"

"No!" Edmund grabbed his brother's shoulders, shaking him. "You have to listen to me. You have to! It's not true. None of it."

Again Peter drew back. "Then explain all this. Explain it."

"I– I don't know, Peter. I swear it, I don't know. It's all a plot. Someone has set this up to turn you against me. I never–"

"How would anyone else even know about EkremTarkaan?"

Edmund remembered the look of anger and revulsion that had been on his brother's face when they had last gone to Tashbaan. He remembered the covetous Tarkaan eyeing Peter, lamenting the rarity of golden hair and sky-colored eyes in his country. And he remembered wanting to slit the pig's depraved throat when Peter told him later that the Tarkaan had suggested more than a political alliance.

"I never told anyone." Peter looked at Edmund with that same anger and revulsion now. "I never told anyone what he said to me but you."

"Peter–"

"No one, Edmund. Only you. Only my trusty and well-beloved brother. My King." His eyes brimmed with sudden tears. "My dearest friend."

"Please, Peter, you have to believe me–"

"I have believed you!"

The tears spilled down Peter's cheeks now, and Edmund felt his own well up.

"I have believed you," Peter said agin, scrubbing his hand across his wet face. "I've believed you and excused you and not wanted to see the truth. It's too late for that now. It's too late for any of it."

"No. No, it's not. Not yet. Stop and think. Just listen to me." He clutched Peter's arm. "Remember–" Edmund hesitated. He hadn't spoken of this since that day. "Remember when we were on the beach? That day the Dwarf was in court?"

Peter's eyes flashed. "You swore–"

"I did. And I've kept that oath. I'll keep it still, I swear. But here between you and me, Peter, have you considered that maybe you're not thinking clearly now? Perhaps–"

"Don't." Peter jerked his arm free. "Don't dare suggest all this is due to madness in me and not treachery in you."

"Peter, I swear it's all a lie. All of it. I swear by Aslan Himself, I haven't done any of this."

"By Aslan?" Peter's laugh was bitter and hollow. "You play in black sorcery to try to kill Lucy and expect me to believe an oath before the Lion means anything to you?"

Peter may as well have struck him, too.

"Prove it." Edmund's breath caught, and he pressed his trembling lips together. "Prove that one thing, and I'll grant you all the rest. May as well, if you think I could be false to Aslan."

Peter wavered for a moment, but then his expression hardened again. "Did Aslan ever mean anything to you, or was it all a lie? All these years? Everything? Everything we've been through together? I'd have died for you, Edmund. I'd have done anything for you. Anything. And now–"

"Peter, it's been ten years since I went to Jadis. Ten. Years. I'm sorry for it still, believe me, but that was the last of it. Aslan forgave me. I thought you had, too. What do I have to do to prove I'm not what I was? What haven't I done already?"

A tear slipped down his cheek, and Peter reached out and wiped it away with his thumb.

"'Afterward he wept and repented his evil and swore oaths to never again do them wrong.'"

His voice was soft, heavy with grief, and with a low cry, Edmund threw his arms around him, ducking his head against his shoulder.

"Peter, it's a lie! It's a lie!"

After a moment, he felt Peter's arms go around him, felt his hand stroking his hair.

"Shh, Eddie," he whispered. "I suppose we can't help being what we are."

"No," Edmund sobbed against him. "No, no, no, no. Peter, no."

"We can't help being what we are," Peter repeated, his voice calm and grave. "No more than we can help doing what we must."

"Please, Peter, stop and think before you do anything. I would never hurt you or the girls. I lo–"

"Don't." There was something harsh and hurt in that word, and then Peter's voice was calm and grave once more. "Don't lie to me anymore, Edmund. Ten years is enough."

His movements cool and deliberate, he took Edmund's arms from around himself and stepped back. And at that moment, Edmund knew he was lost.

OOOOO

It was well past midnight, but Edmund hadn't bothered to undress. He knew he wouldn't sleep. Not with a Wolf lying in front of his door and a Hawk perched atop his wardrobe, their eyes fixed on him, gleaming red in the flickering hearth light. Not with a Bat hanging at the top of the curtain behind his bed, listening for any hint of treachery. Whoever had chosen them for this duty had chosen well. Each of them had lost someone dear to him at Lantern Waste.

Edmund sat huddled on the floor, leaning against the foot of his bed, staring into the fire. It had burned down to little more than embers, but he didn't bother to put more wood on it. Nothing could warm him this night. Not with those screams coming from the room across the corridor.

As they had several times during the past hour, the screams broke off. Edmund exhaled heavily and rested his forehead on his knees, closing his eyes, trembling with sheer exhaustion.

"Aslan, where are You?" he whispered. "Aslan, please."

He jerked as the screams began again, hoarse and terrified. He knew the sound too well. More and more he had heard it these past few weeks. In the small hours of the night, he had heard it and had gone to soothe it into silence. But despite his pleas, tonight he was not allowed to offer any comfort.

Tonight, Peter would battle his nightmares alone.

Author's Note: Once more, I owe great thanks to OldFashionedGirl95, especially for naming Sagepaw, my Hound, for the Calormene aphorism, for the most clever plot with the ships, and for brainstorming lots of stuff, and to Laura Andrews for reading and not passing out. You're both awesome!

–WD