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.

ARTIFICE

Lucy's feet were bare, but she stomped as hard as she could on her assailant's booted instep.

"Oww," he hissed. "Have pity, Lu."

She gasped and almost choked herself trying to keep from screaming as she spun to face him.

"Edmund!" She dared do no more than whisper, but she felt as if she were shouting. She needed to shout out all the joy and relief she felt. "Edmund!"

"Lucy."

Even in the dim glow of the candles, she could see the glimmer of tears in his dark eyes as he searched her face. She dragged him away from the window and drew the curtain. Then she pushed him into a chair and hurried over to make sure her door was bolted.

That done, she turned again, still the width of the room away from him, still with her back to the door. She put both hands to her mouth, hardly daring to blink away the blinding tears for fear he might vanish with them. Then she shot back and flung herself into his lap, covering his face with kisses, not knowing if the warm saltiness she tasted was from his tears or hers.

Finally she nestled against him, and he dropped his head to her shoulder, his breath shuddering warm against her skin.

"Lucy, Lucy. Oh, Lu."

He merely held her there, just held her. Then, laughing softly, he pulled back and smiled wetly into her eyes.

"Sorry you're not happy to see me."

She scrunched her nose at him, but the playful scowl was instantly swallowed up in another tearful, radiant smile as she stroked the tangle of black hair from his forehead.

"What are you doing here? You can't be here. If they catch you–"

"Who knows the Cair better than I do, Lu? Especially the sneaky bits." He smirked, the same snarky, know-it-all smirk she had ached for all this while. "There are a few secret passages I bet even you don't know about."

"But the guards, especially the Dogs–"

"As long as I stay out of sight, they'll never know I'm here. I have this powder that covers scent. I think it spooked Phillip a little when he saw me but couldn't smell me."

"What–"

"It comes from some flowers that grow in the mountains out west, but I'll explain about that later."

"But how did you get here? The pass to Anvard is guarded. I heard the orders being given. They're watching for you."

"I didn't come through the pass. I stowed away in one of good King Lune's merchant vessels and then, when we were close enough, rowed ashore into that little cove on the other side of our beach. After that, it was nothing to get in here, thanks to a little sprinkle of pixie dust."

His grin brought out her own. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

He took her hands in his, a sudden earnestness in his expression. "Lucy, all those things they said about me, all the evidence, it wasn't–"

She put two fingers over his lips. "Of course it wasn't true. I never once believed it."

He caught her hand and pressed a tender kiss into it. "Dear Lu."

She held him close again. "Oh, Edmund, we need you so much here. Peter–"

Her throat tightened painfully around the name, and he grabbed her by both arms.

"What about Peter?"

She couldn't hold back a sob. "Peter's dying."

He practically dumped her off his lap as he stood, though he kept his tight hold on her arms. "Go check on him."

"But I–"

"Go check on Peter, Lu. I need to know if there's anyone with him right now."

"I can't. That Snake Gilfrey makes sure I have to stay in here every night now."

"But Susan–"

Lucy shook her head. "Gilfrey has her so afraid and mixed up, she'll do almost anything he tells her. Edmund, she's agreed to marry him."

"Marry?" Edmund gaped at her. "Marry him?"

"It's bad, Ed. Everything's so bad."

"That'll have to wait for now. I have to get to Peter. Do you know if he's alone?"

Lucy shook her head. "Susan stays with him most of the time, but I think Gilfrey must be giving her something to make her sleep. He came in there in the middle of the night once, and she never even stirred. He didn't know I was there, too, and he had some kind of drink for Peter. I made sure it got spilt, but that Snake is poisoning him. He's–"

"I know." There was a cold fury in Edmund's dark eyes. "I have something that will help Peter, but nobody can know I'm here. Not yet." He glanced towards the door. "Do you think you could get Susan out of there?"

"I suppose, but she'd just send someone else in to watch over Peter. Someone who wouldn't be soundly asleep. You–"

"All right, listen." Edmund's expression was intense. "Keep watch from your door. Go and pester the guards if you must, anything so you can watch the corridor. If you see anyone going towards Peter's room, make a fuss. Insist on going to see him or whatever you think best, just make an awful row."

"I can do that." She gave him a little grin and scurried to unbolt the door. "But how are you–"

When she looked back, he was gone.

OOOOO

Edmund stepped from the narrow passageway and into the space behind the crimson velvet curtain that covered the windows in the chamber of the High King. How often had he and Peter used this little passage to play pranks on one another? But they had also pledged secrecy over it, knowing it might prove useful in case of treachery. Had Peter trusted this Sir Gilfrey enough to tell him about it?

Edmund listened for a moment, making certain there was no one present but his brother and sister. Then, silent as shadows, he stepped into the dimly lit room.

As Lucy had predicted, Susan was asleep in the chair, her fair skin almost glowing in the pale candlelight that fell upon her. He stole up to her, leaning close to whisper in her ear.

"Susan."

She didn't stir, so he carefully put his hand on her shoulder.

"Susan," he whispered again, but there was no response. She was only still, her breathing slow and even.

His blood boiled at the thought of this deadly Yew, this Snake, as Lucy called him, daring to drug his sister, but it did make his own task simpler now. It was best, at least for the time being, that she not know he was here. If she truly believed him a traitor and all the rest, she might reveal his presence before he was ready. And then Peter–

"Edmund?"

Edmund froze where he stood and then turned. Peter was sitting up in bed, his blue eyes wide and staring, his voice unbearably weak and broken. His nightshirt hung on his wasted frame, wet with sweat, and his hair, always the thick, tawny mane of a young lion, fell dull and limp around his face. A face that was so changed.

There had always been a pure beauty in his face, the beauty of eager youth and vivid life and, even in that Other Place, of golden majesty. It was a beauty not only of unflawed features but of nobility and honor and strength. Now the life was almost drained away, the strength driven out, but there was still a fevered beauty to it, the pale, fragile beauty of a first frost that knows it cannot survive the touch of the sun. Lucy had said it already. Peter was dying.

"Edmund?" he murmured again, but his eyes were fixed on the black nothingness at the other side of the room. He was dreaming. Hallucinating. Delirious.

Lost. Afraid. Dying.

"Oh, Peter."

Scarcely breathing the words, Edmund went to him, seizing the trembling hand that reached for something only Peter could see.

"Peter," he murmured, kissing that fevered hand and then pressing it to his cheek as he knelt beside the bed.

"Edmund," Peter murmured a third time, and this time it wasn't a fearful question. This time there was a hint of a smile on the ghost-white lips.

Edmund gathered him into his arms. "I'm here."

Peter sagged, trembling, against him, drawing whimpering soft breaths and then finally growing still, so still that Edmund feared he was forever lost.

"No. Peter, no."

He laid his brother back on the bed, feeling for the pulse that beat in his throat. It was there yet, but he'd wasted too much time already. He took the small flask from the pouch at his belt and uncorked it. With one hand, he lifted Peter's head, and with the other, he poured out a few precious drops of summer-smelling liquid.

Peter coughed weakly but managed to take it down. Then he drew a deep breath and exhaled, and some of the pain in his expression seemed to lessen.

"Aslan," Edmund breathed in thanks as he corked the flask and returned it to his pouch.

Afterwards, he glanced towards the door. Lucy would be watching. He knew she would be. Surely there would be no harm in staying just a moment more. He touched the back of his hand to Peter's cheek and then sat him up enough so he could sit down behind him, his back to the head of the bed. Then he settled Peter against him and wrapped him in his arms.

As he did, he noticed the heavy bundle at Peter's side. He put one hand on it, but he didn't have to unwrap it to know it was the broken remains of his sword, to know why it was there and why Peter hadn't let go of it. Guilt. Grief. Regret. What torture that Snake had put his brother through, all for his own greed and ambition. Again Edmund felt his blood heat to boiling. The oily, conniving, murderous–

Peter drew another deep breath, his face slack, his dark-gold lashes fluttering slightly against his pale cheeks. "Edmund?"

"I'm here," Edmund assured him. "Sleep now."

"Come home." Peter turned a little to his side, curling against him. "Come home."

Edmund had to strain to understand the slurred words, to even hear them.

"Don't care what they say you did. Come home, Eddie. Come home."

Edmund bent down to kiss the golden hair, tears welling into his eyes and then spilling down his cheeks. "I'm here. I'm here, brother mine, I'm here."

Peter's thin fingers clutched at Edmund's tunic, and his breath came more swiftly. "I'm not– I'm not like her. I'm not."

"Like who?"

"Never– never wanted to hurt you." Fine droplets of sweat formed on Peter's upper lip. "Edmund, I'm not like her. Never wanted to kill you."

"Shh, I'm all right. I'm right here. I'm right here."

"Tried to tell her. She didn't understand. Tried to tell her what she said. Wasn't you who put the spell on her. Wasn't you. She told me she did it. Heard her talking. She didn't believe me."

"Who, Peter? Who are you talking about?" Was this "she" one person or two? Or three or four? "Peter, who are you talking about?"

"Please, Eddie, come home." Peter's voice was growing weaker, exhausted. "I won't hurt you anymore. Promise."

Edmund wasn't sure how much of what he had just heard was meaningful and how much was merely the fever talking. He considered giving Peter more of the juice of the Canicule, but Stormseer had warned him of the danger of administering more than a few drops at one time to someone in Peter's weakened state.

"Shh," he soothed instead. "It's all right. I'm here, Peter. I'm not leaving you. Aslan sent me home."

"Aslan?"

"He was with me all the time."

"Aslan." Peter murmured the name, his breathing slowing as he finally relaxed, and he clung to Edmund's wrist, scarred like his own. "Bonds could not hold Him, r'member?"

Edmund whispered the response to the sacred litany. "For He is freedom."

"Fear . . . not hold Him."

Edmund nodded, heart torn at the growing frailty in his brother's voice. "For He is peace."

"Sorrow . . . not hold . . ."

Again Edmund nodded, barely able to choke out the reply. "For He is joy."

"And death . . . "

The words slurred into nothingness, and Edmund clutched him fiercely closer.

"For He is life, Peter. He is life. Oh, Aslan."

With a sob, he buried his face in the golden hair, darkening it with tears, but Peter only held on still.

"Kings . . . belong . . . to Him."

A weary touch of a smile tugged at one side of Peter's mouth, and Edmund drew a steadying breath.

"We belong to Him."

For a long moment, Peter was silent. Edmund would have thought he was asleep but for the still-tight grip on his wrist.

"Edmund?" Peter said finally.

"Yes?"

"Be real." Peter clung desperately to him. "Please be real."

Edmund brushed his lips against his hair. "I am, Peter. And I'm right here."

Peter squeezed his wrist and then sank into a peaceful sleep.

Edmund stayed where he was for a few minutes more, making certain that Peter's fever had eased at least a little. The corridor was quiet and he was sure Lucy was still keeping watch, but he'd already been here too long. If he were caught now, it would spell disaster for him, for Peter, for Susan and Lucy and all of Narnia.

"Peter," he whispered, but there was no response.

As gently as he was able, he slid out from behind Peter and laid him down in the bed, tucking the blankets around him. Then he went to where Susan still slept and pressed a careful kiss to the side of her head. She looked tired and harried. Obviously, she, too, had grieved all this while. Gilfrey would answer for that.

"For everything," Edmund muttered into the darkness.

He went behind the curtain and felt for the lever that opened the passageway. Then he froze. There was an unmistakable click, and it opened from the other side.

He sank back into the cover of the curtain, holding his breath as the deadly Yew, the Snake himself, glided past him and into Peter's chamber, goblet in hand.

"And how fares His High Majesty this lovely night?"

His dark eyes gleamed with malevolent humor as he leaned over the bed and tilted Peter's head forward, tipping the goblet against his lips. Peter took it, unresisting, as he had no telling how many times before. Edmund gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to spring out on the villain and thrust his dagger into his black heart. Instead he put his hand on the healing flask he carried, forcing himself to wait for the right time.

"Not too much, mind you, My King, not yet." Gilfrey set the goblet aside. "It wouldn't do to have you leave us too soon. Just enough to keep you out of mischief." He gave Peter's cheek a couple of rough pats, making his head loll to one side. "Excellent."

Fists clenched, Edmund watched as he went to where Susan still slept, circling her like a ravenous wolf.

"Soon, My Queen," he murmured, ghosting his fingers over her full lips and then stroking them down the white curve of her throat.

Edmund's hand went to the hilt of his dagger as the swine dared push Susan's gown partway down her arm and then leant over her, tracing his lips down her neck and along her slender shoulder.

"Soon," he whispered, nuzzling her ear. "Narnia and all its treasures will be mine."

Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews have once again gone above and beyond the call of duty to make this story work. Gold stars and extra sparklies will no doubt be in their heavenly crowns.

–WD

P. S. If anyone is curious, the litany Peter and Edmund repeat is shown in full in my story "At the Sound of His Roar."