13 - At The Faeries' Gate

The second Faeling rose from his seat. The king, Van supposed, but he'd never been allowed inside the court before now. All he'd ever known of the Faelings was that they offered safe harbor, and a place to hide the spoils The Phoenix gathered from its voyages.

The king he was concerned with stood calmly before the Fae queen. When Van gave him an accusing glare, the captain returned it with the same unruffled air. Something had changed in his face over the last few seconds. There was the same iron will Van had known as the captain's first mate, but now, it was as if a veil had dropped away. Van saw the weariness, the bravery, the battle scars and odd quiet moments for what they were.

What are you doing aboard a ship bearing no flag, Your Majesty? he wondered coldly.

He turned his stare on the woman—no Lady Kirke, for certain—and found it twice as difficult to look her in the eye. She radiated that same nobility—no, brighter, as if sunlight favored her even here, in this cavern of the earth.

Your Majesties, he corrected himself.

"There are no secrets in this court," the Fae king said. "The magic demands we each show our true faces here."

"Perhaps it is time," the Fae queen said to him, "to lay your own secrets aside." She stared at him as if she could look right down to his soul.

Van recoiled and gave Lady Kirke a last look, memorizing her face. Brave, indeed. Beautiful. And untouchable. A royalty he would never be.

She belonged with the captain—a man he would also never be.

The lady took a step toward him. "Van?"

Van turned to the Faelings and gave them a stiff bow, then retreated from the court.

- # -

"He's going to sell us out," Edmund rumbled, sifting wildly through the contents of the safe in his room.

"He won't," Lucy insisted.

"Missed that look on his face, did you? I'd have sworn him trustworthy."

"How do you know that look was directed at you? The Court of Truth, that's what the Faelings call it. Even here, can you not see the good in him? Edmund," she added gently, "I know why you do it, but sometimes I think you are too willing to mistrust."

That earned her a glare, as she knew it would.

She softened her words with a smile. "You are my brother, and I love you," she reminded him. "But Jadis has blinded you, and she blinds you still. You may see the good in others, but you look first for their deceptions. And the degree of that is always the string by which you measure."

He stayed silent, staring moodily into the half-empty safe.

Lucy studied him. "How long have you sailed with him?"

"As long as I've been captain."

"As long as you've been trying to deceive everyone," she corrected softly. She approached him and knelt before the safe with him, then laid a hand over his to stop his restless motion. "It almost worked, you know. Except for me."

Ed smiled, and she warmed at the affection in his eyes. "Do you know why I named her The Phoenix?"

She shook her head.

"Even in the midst of winter, a phoenix can be reborn. Ice doesn't matter. A phoenix still burns. From the inside, where it counts."

Lucy kissed his cheek. "Maybe he carries it inside, too, Edmund." She stood and exited the cabin, leaving her brother to his work.

She found Van at the dock with the ship. The rudder had come loose during their desperate flight, and a number of Faelings had cast a spell to lift the ship from the water for repairs. Van tossed orders high and low, and when she approached, he didn't stop. "I'd like to speak to you," she said.

He said nothing, made no indication of her rank in front of the crew swarming over the damaged ship, but followed where she led. Lucy climbed a flight of stairs that ended abruptly at a stretch of vines. She leaped to the nearest one and climbed it to a small cavern above the bay. Her quarters while she remained here. A courtesy of the Fae queen, with ample views of the ship and her crew—especially to watch over Kamus, who had begun to recover but refused to leave the ship, and Arrow, who perched on the mast beams.

Nalis and Darius had also recovered from their time at sea. By now, the centaurs would be close at Edmund's side. Though they were safe at the Faeries' Gate (for no vessel could enter who was not invited), Lucy felt better that Ed had someone he trusted beside him.

Although she believed he'd already had that, she thought, looking at Van.

Van seemed to realize where they were, and stopped short in the entrance to her quarters with a rare look of discomfort. "It's not a real bedchamber," she said with some amusement.

"It is for now," he said, hanging back.

She turned to a pile of dried grasses and moss that one of the Faelings had arranged for her bedding. They slept in pouches of vine and lichen, curled into balls like butterflies in a chrysalis, Edmund had told her. The notion of sleeping prone on the ground was alien and vulnerable to them—frightful, even—but Lucy smiled at the kindness of their effort to accommodate her. Ed might not mind the vine pouch. Van, either. Reminiscent of a hammock, probably. For her part, Lucy looked forward to stretching out her limbs after the cramped captain's bunk. "You may as well sit."

"No, thanks. Your Majesty." Van's voice rang with scorn.

She knelt in the bedding, studying him. He stood still as sculpture, waiting, watching her with something like curiosity. "I am Lucy Pevensie, Queen of Narnia and Lady of the Eastern Sea," she told him.

Van's bronze eyes gleamed in the dim light under the shadows of his tricorne. He gave a soft snort through his nose. "I sort of guessed the Narnia part." He kicked at a stone she couldn't see. For long minutes, he said nothing, then he rubbed the back of his neck. "You make a fine pair." His lip curled and, with a curt nod, he spun away toward the cavern entrance.

"Vandelar."

He stopped.

She stared at the broad-shouldered lines of his long coat. "That's what she called you, isn't it?"

He swiveled back, stiff and sardonically formal, then swept off his hat with a bow. His eyes and cutting sneer pierced her. Each word fell slow and deliberate from his lips. "Vandelar. Yuricson. Penrith. Ratten. M'Haven. My lady." And he started to turn away again.

"How are you better than me?" she called after him, and was pleased to see he stopped again. "How is it better for you to hide your identity than for me?"

Once again, he pivoted around. He clapped the hat to his chest and gave her another brief bow. "I am not blessed with a monarchy, Your Highness."

"Stop that," she ordered, angry now. "I'm not calling myself any better than you, either. We both earned our bruises today."

"Funny sort of husband you have, letting his lady damage herself like that."

She burst into laughter. "Edmund? Hardly." Unable to control her mirth, she hooted until it echoed off the walls. Van straightened until his sandy, ponytailed head almost brushed the ceiling. Her laughter only seemed to irritate him further.

She reined herself in and tried for a serious face. "I'll be lucky to marry on my deathbed, at this rate."

Van jerked his head toward the bay. "Then who's that?"

"My brother, Van. King Edmund. He might be willing to hand me off, but the eldest of us isn't so giving." She frowned at the look of confusion on Van's face. "Don't you follow politics? The Fae queen said you were a lord."

"Bit busy outrunning other pirates with your brother to pay much attention," Van said with an arched brow.

"All right," she said, patting the cushiony moss beside her. "Sit."

"That an order?"

"Will you just sit?" she huffed. He did so at last (but as far from her as he could get, and remain on the makeshift mattress), and Lucy heaved a breath of exasperation. "A lot like having Peter here. You could match him for stubbornness."

"You'd best him, whoever he is," Van shot back.

She laughed again. "High King Peter, the eldest. He was appointed by Aslan."

Van studied her without any trace of recognition of either name. "Aren't you worried you're telling this to a stranger?"

"I'm not giving anything away that isn't publicly known. There are four of us, including Susan, the second eldest. I'm the youngest. Doomed to remain unmarried, if Peter has his way," she added sarcastically.

Van's bronze eyes took on a softer gleam, and he actually smiled. "You ever think he doesn't want to give away his favorite?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Flattery?"

He snorted again. "Just a suggestion, Your Majesty."

"Since we're stuck on names and titles," she added in an acidic tone, "you might consider telling me about yours. What's 'Ratten?' "

He scowled, and Lucy thought he might leave. Finally he shifted his long legs and leaned back against the rock behind her mattress, then jammed his hat back on until she could hardly see his eyes. "Haggish. My great-grandmother. I'm not proud of it."

"Why not?"

He stared at her like she'd just grown another limb. "You ever seen a male hag?"

"No."

Van sneered again. "They trick men. Enslave them with spells. The females are born pure hag. The males are lucky enough to look human. Discarded like refuse." Lucy frowned, aching for him, but when he looked up, anger flashed in his eyes. "Don't play your sympathy on me. My grandfather rose above his dubious beginnings on his own."

"Why keep the name?"

"My father reclaimed it. Thought it might give him immunity from attack by Ettinsmoor. Much good may it do him."

"Your surname?" she prompted.

He crossed his arms and settled back further against the rock. "Man-of-Narrowhaven. He shortened it. Bit easier signing letters begging off attacks, I'd wager."

Lucy considered for a moment. "I think I might turn to piracy, too, after all that." She gave a wry smirk. "At least piracy is honestly dishonest."

Van's laughter echoed off the walls, a pleasant surprise after all his moodiness. Shaking his head, he crossed his legs and leaned forward to prop his arms on them. "What are you, Lucy Pevensie?"

She looked at him, and it warmed her through to see that his smile at close range was as wonderful as she'd thought it would be. She grinned. "Just Lucy."