Even in the layers of warm fox and beaver furs, and rich fabrics, huddled under the most luxurious coat of a soft, cream-and-gold colour that could be managed, Susan shivered from the bitter cold of Svalbard and had to remind herself that she was supposed to walk in with confidence, not shaking all over.

She tried to remember the look on her mother's face during an audience with somebody she was trying to impress or-more often-persuade. Sweet, wide-eyed, small smile; was that all? There had to be more to it than that, but she could think of nothing else. Her heart was pounding.

Maugrim's fur stood on edge, much as his mistress willed it to go down with all her might. Perhaps, if she could only not think about what she was doing the whole time…if she could think of something different…something that would make her smile...

She thought of Lyra's words before they left her behind at Jordan.

The girl had, at first, been cross enough to be left out of their upcoming venture; all the more so since the reason appeared to be nothing more than that she looked like her father and might be recognized by the bear king. However, in the end, the mention of her father had reminded Lyra of something she had been meaning to do; or, rather, say.

Seizing Billy Costa's hand without warning, she marched right up to Lord Asriel and said, "Uncle Asriel," (though she thought of him as her father, knowing the truth for a long, long while now, she still had never quite worked up to out-right addressing him as such) "I've decided I'm going to marry Billy Costa. I ain't asking your permission, just tellin'."

Coolly, with barely a half shrug at Stelmaria over the matter, he'd replied, "Good God, what makes you think I would stop you? What do you want?" His tone became sarcastic. "A dowry? Fine, he can have my old machine for showing lantern slides for a wedding present." His snow leopard snorted. Perhaps Lord Asriel was cross at his exclusion from the plan to rid Svalbard of Ragnar's rule as well.

Lyra's part of the exchange, so bold and sure of herself, made Susan smile; and Lord Asriel's part, indifferent and cold, made her angry enough not to feel her fear of Ragnar so intently.

Reassuring, too, was the fact that she was not entering into the bear king's throne room on her own. It was true that there were three remarkably thick-set white bears in bright gold-and-brass armour (one of them had a chain of coppery-red metal with a golden half-sun pedant, underlined with a thinner piece of silver carved to look like a flat cloud; truly horrendously out-of-place jewelry for such an ancient and powerful race) marching along at her sides, which made Maugrim snarl and hold his tail out rigidly, refusing to let it slide even briefly between his back legs so that they wouldn't think he was cowering to them. But there was also Lucy and Edmund trotting along at her left.

Edmund's face was, of course, well hidden by the hood of a blue velvet cloak that had once belonged to the Master of Jordan. He pleaded a deformity when anyone asked him to show himself; Ella, covered in ashes, was hardly recognizable as a snowy owl, and looked rather like an over-grown, thick-waisted seagull or other similar scavenger breed of bird. Susan, when questioned, had, through trembling lips, managed to pull off a near-perfect imitation of her mother's voice, insisting that he was only her helper, slow-witted, and of no consequence to King Ragnar. She was the one who had come all this way to speak with him on a matter she felt certain he would be keenly interested in.

As for Lucy, she wore a winter coat of white, green, and bright red, with a fur-lined hood that did not cover her face all the way; Reepicheep secured in a decorative bag sewn with green beads and fake pearls.

She wished she could be as concealed as Edmund was, but knew that wouldn't work. What good would Ragnar see in a dæmon that would not show its face? He might, his mind turned more cynical than was good for him due to the humanization of the court as a whole, suspect that she was a hideous monster rather than a desirable assent, and that Mrs. Coulter's daughter was trying to pull off a deception for no other reason than to rid his enemy Iorek of a nasty, extra limb when all was said and done. Edmund thought Ragnar would be so desperate for a dæmon he wouldn't care if Lucy had green skin and a foot-long nose; but they knew they mustn't take that chance.

Lucy's own heart was beating faster even than Susan's at the moment. Every time she came within so much as the most distant rage of a human guard, she thought their dæmon would sense Reepicheep. Ma Costa had put shavings of cedar-wood at the bottom of the bag after she finished sewing it for her, which would help keep Reepicheep undetected, but Lucy still felt wary. Not that it would matter, really, as they wouldn't know what Susan was there to talk to Ragnar about-yet if they should wonder why anyone would keep their dæmon in a bag…well, that looked fishy straight off.

Oh, Reep, thought Lucy, clenching her jaw in an attempt to look uncharacteristically stern, I wish Peter were here, too-I wish he could hold my hand and tell me it will be all right.

Judging by the strained, forced superior smile plastered on Susan's face and matching one spread artificially across her wolf-dæmon's jaw in a tight line, she gathered her sister-in-law wished that as well.

But of course Peter couldn't come in with them. He'd had to pose as their dumb servant, the sled driver, holding Doe, knowing that no one would pay him mind and notice, just as they weren't likely to notice a slave with a wooden limb.

They'd toyed, for a while, with the idea of bringing Peter along and saying that Susan had been the one to successfully separate him from a former dæmon, only that seemed to be spreading it on a mite too thickly and they knew they daren't risk that. Peter had offered, after a bit of thought, to pretend to be the dæmon himself; he didn't have one of his own, besides, so the disguise would be within a slightly smoother transition so to speak. But, then, Edmund and Susan had to remind him that he was not as appealing as Lucy as far as a potential dæmon went, and that since King Ragnar was so keen on dæmons, the news of a person in that world roaming about at large without one would have interested him. If that were the case, he would know who Peter was quickly enough, especially if Mrs. Coulter had said anything about it to him, and their cover would be thrown to the wolves altogether.

Maugrim dry-heaved; this was understandable as the royal hallway leading into the throne room might have had several crude imitations of human things, but it still smelled like bear and spoiled meat, mixed with what was probably frozen perfume.

Ragnar himself sat on a beautiful throne made of silver and ice. There was gold leafing on his sharp claws and he wore what-Edmund thought-was an extreme example of a heavy, not very attractive, European-style crown, far too busy with way too great an abundance of inlaid jewels and precious stones. How Ragnar, mighty and powerful-headed as he was, did not get his skull crushed in from the weight of that ridiculous crown, was rather a mystery.

He's too strong, Susan thought, we can't do this. Then, she saw a doll on the side of his throne; a big vacant-eyed doll.

What did a king-any sort of king-want with a child's toy? That was when it came to light. This wasn't a child's toy, not in Ragnar's eyes. To him, it was the dæmon that he could not have because he was a bear and not a man. The silly little doll was dressed, Susan couldn't help noticing, sort of how her mother dressed; the fox coat over the elegant clothing was very like a coat she remembered from Marisa's closet all those years back. That was when she knew she was safe.

Daring to exchange a smile with Lucy, Susan felt her confidence grow for real, no longer put on, at last. Edmund was right; Ragnar would believe her. He would believe each every word she uttered if only she could convince him she was like her mother.

"Who is this woman?" roared Ragnar, rising ever so slightly up from his throne, looking more like an amused nobleman than a disturbed bear.

"All greetings to you, King Ragnar of Svalbard," said Susan, very prettily, making herself flash a coy smile at him. "You do not know me, great sire, but I know you."

A white-gold brow raised at her. "Eh? What's this? You know me, Lady? Tell me, is it for good or for bad?"

Flattery, flattery, flattery, we're not as safe as you might think-remember, flatter him! Maugrim sent the thought to Susan, reminding her to concentrate and not get carried away or cocky.

"Your Majesty, I've heard of you from my mother," she said. Her coat's hood was already well away from her face, but now she pulled it all the way off, relieving herself. For a passing moment, she almost wished she had fair hair, instead of dark, so as to be more reminiscent of her mother; she would have to make do, however, with what she had.

"Your mother is?"

"Marisa Coulter, Your Majesty."

Ragnar's big eyes widened. "I thought she had a son…they said he turned traitor."

"A son?" Susan pretended to look slightly confused, pursing her lips. "Oh, yes, my brother. There is no reason for someone as high as yourself to bother with a missing nobody such as him."

Edmund couldn't help but be impressed with how she said that. She spoke so surely, so firmly, yet calmly and airily enough so that it didn't seem like a big deal; she seemingly put him down to the king of Svalbard, but in reality this was her way of protecting him, of keeping him safe from recognition. He hadn't told her that part of what she ought to say, though the rest was largely a general play-by-play of what they had practiced earlier. Good old, Su. This really was kind of her, as well as sensible and wise.

Their only fear, however, were the few human guards who were still loosely stationed here and there about the throne room. If they sensed Reepicheep, or picked up on who Ella really was…

Susan knew it would be foolish and would only raise suspicions if she asked for all the human guards to be sent away, without explanation, and didn't concern herself over the dæmonless bears.

"Great king, please, I've come to speak with you on a secret matter; it's dreadfully important. Do, if it pleases Your Majesty, send everybody out-my assistant is trustworthy and dumb-you needn't worry about him." Susan allowed her eyes to flicker to her brother for a split second. "And the girl," –here she looked at Lucy; "I'll explain her in a moment." She took a few steps forward, Maugrim right behind his mistress, never letting on how dear it cost her not to tremble-nor to avoid wrinkling her nose from the dead-seal-and-flowers smell wafting off of Ragnar's far-too-combed-looking fur. Her voice low, she added, "It's about dæmons"

Immensely interested, Ragnar cried out more than he properly roared, "Get out, all of you! At once! You guards! Leave this room, do you hear? I wish to speak with the visitor alone-royal business. No one is to re-enter the throne room before my bidding them to do so, or they'll be killed and then kept on fish heads and sharp ice for six weeks."

Once they were gone, he looked at Susan and said, "Well, Lady Coulter's daughter? What is it?"

"I know, great king," she said, "that you have been told it is an unspeakable heresy to be an alethiometrist, and surely you believe it because you think my mother was wholly in league with the Ruling Powers. I assure you she was not as devoted to them as she appeared, nor do I think she would have kept her promises to you."

"What promises?" He seemed to be on-edge now, his dark eyes squinted almost crossly.

Susan knew her mother had promised him a great many things, but there was only one she was aware of in particular, and she hoped it would suffice. "Well, she promised you your name could be written down in the human directory at the royal arctic institute, of which she was one of the few female members, did she not?"

"She did," he confessed gruffly. "Are you telling me that blessed woman, that wonderful beauty, in her tragically short life, deceived me?"

"Great Ragnar, I believe she did, though perhaps not intentionally." She paused. Then, "I think she admired you deeply and wanted to give you what she promised, only it was not in her power. More than that is in mine, although I beg mercy from you when I tell you what I am now."

"What are you?"

"An alethiometrist, Your Grace."

"Alethiometrist, eh?"

"Yes, and I know things about Dust, too-I've studied."

"And?"

"They would never, however my mother tried to plea for you, let your name go in the directory, because you don't have a dæmon and creatures without them aren't allowed in the institute, you know-not even dwarfs…or fauns."

"I see."

"But, Sire, I have given an ice bear a dæmon." Susan inhaled deeply and pointed to Lucy. "Here she is. A human form, not animal, but it suits a race so magnificent as yours."

"Come here, little thing-I mean to say, dæmon," said the bear king, laughter in his tone. "Speak to me. Is this lady speaking truth, did she and others give you to a bear? And which one?"

"I give you my greetings," Lucy said, approaching the throne and curtsying. "But not his."

"Not who's? Who do you belong to?"

"Iorek Byrnison's, King Ragnar." It was the most dangerous thing Lucy had ever had to say; she could, even before the name died off her lips, see the bear king's face form an expression of disgustingly human lividness.

Lifting a paw, all of his claws sticking out more sharply than ever, he screamed, "Vile little thing! If you are his dæmon, I will kill you right now and be free of an enemy!"

Edmund couldn't help himself, he ran forward, ready to fling himself in front of Lucy. He would not have protected his dear one, his love, for all this time, simply to have her savagely murdered by a beastly usurper right before his very eyes. The Alethiometrist would sooner have given up Ella-his own dæmon, his own soul, who he could not live without-than let Lucy be harmed. If she lived and he died, it wouldn't matter because the greatest part of him would still be living; her, his Lucy.

Seeing all this reasoning of Edmund's in little more than a flash, Maugrim stood in his way, stopping him from coming any closer. Ragnar would not kill Lucy; he knew his mistress would stop him before it came to that. Edmund must not take so foolish a risk; not yet, not when he didn't have to.

If he could have seen the look on Edmund's face (he couldn't, as it was still hidden by the hood) the wolf would have known at once that the only thing written in his expression was, "I'm not afraid to break the taboo, don't stand in my way."

Maugrim appealed to Ella, urging her to calm her human. She finally managed, though it was a struggle for her to give in, fighting against her own nature, her desire to save Reepicheep, and do so.

Susan had, meanwhile, stationed herself in a perilous manner between Ragnar and Lucy which Peter would not have permitted for so much as a second had he been in there with them.

"If you kill her," shouted Susan, "she can never be your dæmon!"

Ragnar stopped, lowering his paw and calming down considerably. "My dæmon?"

"That's why we've come here," Susan said, "don't you understand? They said they would never let me give another bear a dæmon when they realized the advantage it gave Iorek; but if only one ice bear can have a dæmon, it should be you. You're clever and rich, and passionate; better than Iorek in every way. And she-his dæmon-has only agreed with me on this. I've told her about you. She wants to be yours. Can't you see she's come willingly? At her own risk? And you would kill her!"

"I wouldn't," amended Ragnar, looking fondly at Lucy. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," Susan all but gushed. "That is why we love you best, for your strength and bravery." Of course it was cowardly more than anything else to, in cold-blood, kill an enemy's dæmon as he had tried to do, most humans would have gone so low, but they didn't dare say that.

"Where is Iorek now?"

"He's on his way here," Lucy managed feebly, her heart still pounding from the near-death experience. "To…to fight you."

"He's mad!" laughed Ragnar. "What on earth does he want?"

"Me," murmured Lucy, looking down. "He wants me back. He's coming to get me."

"Nonsense," scoffed Ragnar. "You're mine, you stay with me."

"Not yet she isn't," said Susan, pretending to be forlorn about it. "You must defeat Iorek in single combat. Only then can she become yours."

"But how can I tell my subjects I am fighting an outcast? They would find it too odd not to ask questions and think rebellious thoughts about me. I would look weak. Is there no other way?"

"Great king," Susan tried, "if you will give us leave for a half hour, into another room-a private one-undisturbed, I could consult the alethiometer and see if there is not an answer. You'll still have to fight him, but perhaps we can come up with a reasonable excuse for your subjects."

They were led into an antechamber with a shaggy royal blue rug and a multi-coloured, mosaic-tile oriental table in the middle.

"Susan," Edmund said, whispering through his teeth, not daring to pull back his hood just yet, "is Ragnar still watching us?"

"Yes." Susan could see this, whereas Edmund's back was currently to the bear king so that he could not.

"All right, don't look at me; pretend you're talking to Lucy."

Susan turned and did as he ordered.

"Take out the alethiometer from your pocket and set it on the table." He continued to speak under his breath. "Open it."

"He's gone now," Susan told him.

Only then did Edmund show his face, now that they were safely alone, flinging back the hood. "Let me see the alethiometer."

"Ask it how far away Iorek is now," Ella said, fluttering a bit anxiously.

"What are we going to tell Ragnar's subjects?"

"Iorek is close," Edmund informed them, reaching over and closing the silver-and-gold alethiometer now that he had his answer. "Ragnar will have to tell everyone that it was his idea for Iorek to come back, as a way of making his kingdom more secure."

"So no matter what, if Iorek wins," Lucy cried, "he'll be king right away; no matters to sort afterwards, no misunderstandings, because it's an official duel for Svalbard. Edmund, that's brilliant!" She reached over and flung her arms around his neck.

"Thanks, Lu," he said, gently prying her off of him, wishing he could hold back the slight blush rising to his cheeks, all too pleased to have her admiration.

"But what if that insipid usurper says something about the duel only being for the gaining of a dæmon?" Maugrim growled questioningly.

"Su will have to tell him not to mention it," said Edmund. "I'm sure she can." Then, to Susan herself, "Did you see the look he was giving you in there? He adores you."

"Great," muttered Susan and Maugrim at the same time, sarcasm dripping heavily from their voice.

"How did Iorek know to come?" Lucy wanted to know.

"Ramandu's daughter told him," Edmund explained. "Lee Scoresby is bringing him as close as he can, then Iorek has to run the rest of the way here."

"Oh," said Susan, somewhat despairingly. "He'll be so tired, while Ragnar will have servants and everything he needs to see that he's ready at once and perfectly outfitted. Oh, Edmund, this is dreadful! Is there any real chance of success? I wish we hadn't come."

"Courage, Susan! Of course there's a chance. There's every chance in the world-and it's for all the worlds. We have to do this, remember?"

"You're right, Ed, of course you are."

"Thank you," he sighed heavily. "Now, for pity's sake, don't cry or Ragnar will eat me as punishment for 'making you sad'!"

Despite her own fears, Lucy lifted her hands to her mouth and giggled. She couldn't help it.

AN: #Reviews accepted#...Please...