Chapter 1: Sweet and Spice

Something strange about living at Anvard—well, there were many strange things, as it was incredibly different from her life in Calormen—but one marked thing was the absolute quiet at night. Save for the occasional feast, all retired early in these northern countries, and Aravis' chamber was completely dark. No light from a soldier's fire, nor from the brothels so often found in Tashban, it was such a different life here. Glad to have the opportunity to reside in a country where she was not only cared about, but valued as an equal—as a person of intelligence, whose opinion mattered—she did count the blessings of living here, as opposed to worrying about what might happen in future.

Four years was, indeed a long time to live somewhere, and one might think she was used to it by now. Truth be told, there was more activity in one day in these Northern lands than a fortnight in Tashban. Calormines talk of greatness… They boast of battles and doings, but their speech is nothing more than words. The poetic maxims of the Calormine people glorify thought and luxury—but seldom do they praise any real action.

Here… in Archenland… Narnia… the Seven Isles… what a wonderful contrast is made.

And… speaking of contrasts, Cor was one of great interest to Aravis. She remembered meeting the boy—she could not have been angrier to have to travel with him. He seemed so incredibly dull-witted and unintelligent. His ignorance was a vile thing to the well-educated Tarkheena. She realized now more than ever the stuck-up prig that she was.

But in little more than a year, he'd caught up to Corin, his brother, on all the knowledge he needed to acquire, and now… there was no comparison. His brain is first rate, and he often stumped the lot of Anvard's Court in any strategic sport. The only thing his brother could truly beat him in is fighting with his hands. But with the sword and lance, there was no equal to Cor—both deadly and calculating when he needed to be.

But… he also had such… grace in his ways—his movements were unhurried, his thoughts beautiful. It was as if the shrewdness of the South and the merriment of the North mingled together inside him, causing him to fast become Aravis' every waking thought.

She wondered… was there any point in showing him how she felt toward him? Would he notice it? Sometimes she thought he must see something, must share something of her thoughts. Why, at the Christmas festival not three weeks since, he'd asked her to dance any number of times. Of course… he'd danced with Queen Lucy as well, and various dryads, and even Queen Susan.

Aravis looked at herself in the mirror often these days, wondering if he preferred the pale women of the North to her olive complexion and almond, slanted eyes. What must he think, when he saw her? At least, having grown up in Calormen, he sounded somewhat like Aravis—though he'd lost most of his accent. To hear him speak now was like… how could one put it into words… fresh apples topped with curry… a mixture of sweet and spice to the ear. But Aravis… she was all spice. Sometimes fiery spice that burned the pallet, and wounded the pride.

Why couldn't she learn to hold her tongue when annoyed?

Once, while coming back from helping King Lune to feed the dogs, she passed by the tilt yard, watching Cor and Corin spar with swords. She watched as they parried, enjoying it somewhat, for both were fine swordsmen, when Corin leapt backward, knocking her to the ground, which was covered in mud from cold winter rains.

Oh, the curses that issued from her mouth… she blushed even now as she recalled calling on the more colorful Calormine gods, cursing his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren to the ends of time. Corin was shocked to say the least, and simply stood there, staring at her as she tried to pull herself from the sticky mud, with little success.

Cor, in full armor, walked over to Aravis, stuck his sword upright in the soft ground, and tore off his helmet, revealing long golden locks, dampened and darkened with sweat, and reached down for her hand. "My Lady," he said, a kind smile on his face that held nothing of mockery in it.

Instead of taking his hand, Aravis chose to see insult where none was meant, and shouted, "Watch where you're walking, both of you! You're just as bad as him, Cor!" She struggled for a moment, and with a great squelching sound, managed to pull herself up from the mud, her pride hurt more than her backside, and she walked straight-backed into the castle and demanded hot water for a bath.

As she soaked in the luxury of fine-smelling soaps and rose petals, she realized how unreasonable she'd been, and made a promise to apologize that very evening.

Unfortunately, it was the next morning when Cor happened to be leaving to visit the old Hermit of the Southern March, and he'd retired early that night. Now, when Aravis wanted nothing more than to make matters right with him, he was gone from Anvard, and she wondered if he thought she was mad at him still, when, really, she felt foolish, and wished she hadn't acted so childishly.

One bright thing illuminating an otherwise darkened sky was Prince Corin finding Aravis as she broke fast that morning and apologized for knocking her down. She forgave him hastily, and said she was sorry as well… but the more she tried to make it right, the more he told her not to mention it. Such chivalry in this country—unlike anything She'd ever known in Calormen. Even after four years… she still could not believe it.

Oh, Tarkhaans will be gracious enough if they want something you can provide… but no real courtesy resides in their hearts. The thought that Aravis came from a country that she now scorned filled her with shame at times. Certainly, Cor had been raised in Calormen, but he was as Northern of blood as one could be. She wondered occasionally if they thought her as somewhat of an interloper. Certainly, they were friends… but somewhere she wondered if they harbored prejudices that their courtesy would not allow them to voice.

The day seemed long with Cor gone—part of Aravis wished to ride out to the Southern March, to visit the Hermit—after all, he was her friend as well as Cor's, was he not? No one would think her strange. But the more she thought it over, the more she realized it was not the Hermit she wanted to see just now. She wondered… did Cor think on her when he was alone?