Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.

Summary: A sorcerer challenged by Aslan. Love and friendship alike are tested by his presence. And the Gentle Queen faces her own challenge when the sorcerer's true colors are unveiled.

A/N: If you have not read the first eight stories in the A Light in the Darkness main story arc (Awakened, Shadowed, Revealed, Concealed, Rekindled, Refracted, Reflected, and Veiled), I highly recommend you do so for the full experience. However, I have included a quick summary of the previous stories so if you want to give this one a whirl on its own, you can.

A/N2: High T for this chapter.

Chapter Thirty: Prelude

The boy crept into the practice room, the one that his father had his older students use so their spells could not be detected. He clambered up onto the large stone chair and put out his hands, focusing on the mirror as he chanted the words for the seeing spell. Otec had refused to tell him what was going on, why the soldiers kept taking the older students away, except to reassure him that he would not be chosen. He focused on his father then gasped as the magic's caress pulled the image to the mirror.

His father was standing before the queen. He was speaking. The boy frowned then chanted the listening spell. "—must be cautious, Your Majesty. Your sister's teachers were mages known for their unscrupulous practices. Even your father objected to them once he discovered the extent of their leanings toward the black arts."

"Yes, and we know what that led to . . . Jadis attempted to seize the throne from our father. I stopped her and drove her into the ruins." The queen raised her head, her beautiful green eyes looking weary now. "For sixteen years Jadis has attempted to tear Charn apart. Two years ago, she broke the treaty against using magic in combat. But still our forces hold her back."

"She grows desperate." His father paced the area before the dais. "Desperation will make her even more dangerous."

The queen shook her head. "So history will record that I, Artemis, fought my younger twin to keep her from driving Charn to destruction." She leaned back in her throne, the diaphanous green robes gleaming beneath the torchlight, and lifted the golden scepter with its rearing gryphon, rotating it in her hands. "Do you still care, Arctus?"

The boy watched in silent fascination. Surely, Otec would not betray Matka's memory. His father bowed low. "Words spoken long ago still carry truth, My Queen. As are the facts that diverged our paths. I live to serve you."

"And that shall have to be enough."

"Your sister's tactics—"

"Our numbers are greater, far greater. Many of Jadis' followers flee once they learn what sort of queen she would be." Queen Artemis paused then added, "Those that survive the attempt. Jadis has never cared for failure or mercy."

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Pounding. Frantic beating on the main doors. He sat straight up in bed as he heard his father's heavy footsteps pass his bedroom and then stomp down the stairs. He heard the door open and a frantic cry before his father hushed whoever had come.

Creeping out of bed, he glanced at the veiled mirror but immediately dismissed the idea. His father always knew when he used magic. Instead, he eased the door open and crept to the top of the stairs. The main doors were shut but a short, round man was clinging to his father's robes. His own dark brown robes of an under-mage were rumpled and there was panic shining in his round face. "You do not understand, Master Arctus! She went to Master Jotham a week past and told him she has found a way to end the war forever."

"Nonsense. Jadis' army has suffered heavy losses and the people she tricked into supporting her attempted usurpation are turning against her. She cannot win this war."

"No! She can even if she must trample our blood to do so. She has learned the Deplorable Word."

His father stepped back. His tanned face had drained of all color and, for the first time in his lifetime, Markus saw fear in his father's eyes. He grasped the under-mage by the arm, forcibly breaking the man's hold on his robes. "Go to the palace. Warn Queen Artemis. Now! Go! Run!"

The under-mage scurried out into the courtyard.

"Otec?" He crept down the stairs then joined his father as he still stood in the doorway. "Otec? What is it? What is happening?"

The taste of magic lay thick in the air a split second before he heard the agonized screams. He stared in shock and horror as the under-mage flapped his arms, trying in vain to put out the flames now eating at his robes. The man screamed again then staggered back into their courtyard, racing for the large fountain, still screaming, still burning. The flames were green, unnatural and bright.

His father's voice cut through the screams even though his words were barely above a whisper, "She knows. She is coming."

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31 Twirleaf 1009

Markus' eyes opened when he heard the door open and the whisper of velvet brushing against cold stone. The soft tentative steps that signaled the doe's approach. She was hesitating again. He feared if he sat up too quickly, she would flee. Be gentle, she is Lily. The thought lent an edge of caution to his movements as he shifted his legs off the bed and then slowly sat up, still not quite looking at her. "You received the note?"

"I did." Her voice was soft, modulated, and hid her feelings more than he expected. "You asked for me to come and speak to you."

"Over a week past." The words slipped free before he could entirely free of them of the hint of accusation. He rose then strode to the basin and pitcher, pouring lukewarm water into the basin, and then he bent and splashed his face. The time waiting in the dungeons had begun to wear on him. Even the Kings had not been visiting as often, no doubt the life above demanded more of their attention than a sorcerer who could not bring himself to be fully cooperative no matter how he tried.

"Considering the nature of our last conversation, I had to decide if I truly wanted to risk such an insult again."

"If you were so easy to offend, you would make for a poor queen. Not to mention ill-fitted to the title of 'Gentle.'" Markus patted his face dry with his sleeve (he had forgotten that the towel had already been removed for the day) then he finally turned to face her. The delicate pink of her undergown peeked through the front slit in the skirt of her muted purple gown. His gaze swept over her, taking in the slight pink flush warming her porcelain cheeks and matching her lips, the blue eyes sparkled with a determination that matched the gracefully determined pose she'd assumed, and her black hair was unadorned even by the golden crown this time as it fell down her back. It seemed the Gentle had not felt it necessary to appear completely made up as queen but it would take a fool to mistake her for anything but royal even in the absence of the crown.

Queen Susan raised her chin, meeting his gaze with just a hint of temper joining the determination in her eyes. There was a distinct touch of frost in her voice as she reminded him, "You were the one who made such remarks that no lady could help but take insult. Those who care would, at least." She looked away from him suddenly and the doe was back, shy and uncertain whether she should linger with a stranger. Markus didn't want her to flee just yet. But he didn't say anything for fear that his words would do just that, especially since he had been struggling to resist the temptation to goad the Narnians whenever they came to talk to him. The Gentle Queen sighed then murmured almost as much to herself as to him, "I am more than my face. What must I do to prove it?"

The words jolted him. The sense of guilt they invoked surprised him. He had spoken in anger and annoyance but he had not expected the barbs to fly so truly. He had not expected them to affect her. Perhaps what little he watched of her in the mirror had only scratched the surface of the oldest queen, the one who seemed put-together (unless her brothers did something foolish then she would fuss and scold even as she sought to take care of them) and who could easily dissuade the diplomats from their threats or at least see there was no point in pursuing them. He had not paid close attention to her. She did not present the same conundrum as her brother and Lew's Daughter nor had she been as obnoxiously bright and sunny as the High King and the Valiant. She had been a name and a face, no more, no less.

Markus bowed his head. "I was unkind to speak thusly to you, Queen Susan. It is often the case that outward beauty can disguise either ugliness of spirit or the truest and most valuable sort of beauty. I judged you on appearance and that was cruel of me."

She looked down, her mouth turning down in a slight frown. "You are not the first. And I am resigned to the knowledge that you shall not be the last."

He wanted the frown gone. It was like seeing Lily brokenhearted and shivering. "Only blind men never learn to see beyond the obvious." He spun around, hurrying over to the low table where he kept the books. Picking up the oldest one, he reverently opened the pages to a passage he had read some days past. The words once again leapt out at him.

Mortal eyes are tempted to look first at the appearance to determine friend or foe, fair or foul. But we must keep in mind, my children, that the Great Lion does not look at the thickness of fur, sheen of scale, brightness of feather. He does not look at the cleverness of wit or depth of wisdom. For all beauty, all wisdom, all strength, all that is good comes from His paws. The Great Lion is not fooled by our performances or beautiful face and appearance for He sees to our very hearts. And if we do not walk in His paw prints, our hearts are as grim and dark as those of the Fell creatures. But do not despair, dear ones, for Aslan awaits us and He Himself shall cleanse us and create in us hearts as pure as the song by which He sang all Narnia into being. And the beauty of our hearts shall surpass the most beautiful of appearances.

Do not mistake my words. There is no wrong in being beautiful in appearance or taking care to present yourself at your best. There is no wrong in that so long as it does not take over your heart, becoming your chief concern over even Aslan Himself. Aslan created beauty. Use it to glorify Him. Use it to inspire your praise of Him. Use it as a mirror of the beauty growing in your heart.

Yes, it was just what Lily . . . the Gentle needed to read. Markus handed the little book to the queen. He watched as her eyebrows rose but, after a half a moment's hesitation, she turned her attention to the open pages. The guards were glaring at him. Markus resisted the temptation to taunt them by reaching through the bars again but he did not doubt the Centaur would take the initiative to follow through on the General's threat to remove his hand if he attempted to grab anyone on the other side of the bars once again.

"Do you believe this?"

"Yes." He glanced at her face. "The truth of the words stands before me. I can see the two beauties in you, Queen Susan. Only a fool would miss this fact."

Her lips tilted in the faintest of smiles. "Then all who call on me are not very observant for they never see anything of my character."

"It is difficult to be judged on your appearance."

The Gentle sighed then held out the book. "Yes, but sometimes I fear these men look at my attempts to ensure they feel welcome enough that they do not arrive at the negotiations fully on guard against the strangers hosting them and think I offer far more than hospitality."

"Avarice will take any excuse to cast its gaze on that which is not for sell. You are kind. The blame for their behavior and thoughts does not fall squarely on their shoulders." Markus stepped back from the bars, refusing the little book. "Keep that one, Your Majesty. I think it will help."

She hesitated then held the book close as she offered a regal nod. "Very well. I thank you for this kindness."

"Will we speak again?"

"Perhaps. It will depend on my brothers and the council."

"Do you not have a voice in the council?"

She blinked then a hint of a smile appeared. "Of course, We do. But We provide one vote and wisdom dictates We should not confide to the subject of the council's next meeting Our leanings in the matter."

"You are indeed more than a beautiful shell, Gentle Queen." Markus bowed low, more than a little pleased when she responded with a true smile. Even after she departed a few moments later, he reflected on the oddity that helping the Gentle, on how much pleasure he derived from helping someone. Perhaps he had finally let go of his anger and boredom enough to be of use as the Great Lion intended. Perhaps the Great Lion was showing him the reward of fulfilling His service and helping without expectation of recompense. It was something new to consider, in either case.

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It had been over a week since she first had to join her in-laws for every single evening meal. Despoina had even gotten the Four to agree to her absence from three banquets due to some tradition. So far, the meals had only served to put off Alambiel's appetite as Despoina brought up various points of Centaur etiquette she seemed to be breaking on a daily basis. Underlying it all was the distinct sense that Despoina did not approve of her as Oreius' wife.

Alambiel poked the brisket with a bit more force than necessary. She had even left her daggers, except for one strapped to her ankle, in her quarters. Tempting fate and all that. Last night it was her clothing that offended (shockingly Despoina did not approve of seeing her great-niece-in-law in leggings and a sweat-drenched tunic after she ran into the grand dame once she finished a late bout of sparring with Deianeira). Tonight she was just waiting for the explosion.

Stormwind, still trying to run some interference, cleared his throat. "Oreius mentioned that you are also a healer, cousin."

She shot him a grateful smile. "I've trained with Tuulea, yes. I am not officially a healer, though."

Firemoon grinned. "He said you were scary."

She laughed. "The Kentauri is the worst patient in Cair Paravel and in the army. I'm one of the few other than Tuulea and Alithia who doesn't pay attention to his growling in order to tend his injuries."

"You continue to address your husband with a disturbing amount of disrespect, filly." Despoina's tone was cool but her dark gaze was hard and calculating. "Does Oreius know how impertinent you are?"

Alambiel clenched her left hand underneath the table as she forced a patient smile. "He informs me of my impertinence frequently. When he becomes annoyed, he throws me into the sea. It's an amusing diversion since he also knows I mean no true disrespect."

"No wonder you haven't been properly introduced to the herds." Despoina looked her over then her full mouth turned down into the now familiar scowl. "You do not even attempt to adhere to the traditions for a Centaur's new bride. For a year and a day, the new wife of a Centaur is to wear her hair loose, flowing, and with the barest adornment as a symbol of beginning her new life in a new herd."

It took everything in her not to reach up and touch the simple chignon she had opted for that day. Instead, Alambiel poked at the brisket. She was about to the point of wanting to poke Despoina with something sharper than a fork. "I thank you for sharing this tradition, Lady Despoina. I will keep it in mind from now on." It did explain some of the odd looks she had been getting from the Centaurs around Cair Paravel whenever she put her hair up.

Despoina huffed. "How insufferable. It is a wonder that Oreius was ever distracted by your charms enough to propose, much less marry you. And Alcippe accepted you? She used to show more sense."

"Grandam!" Stormwind interjected. "That was unkind."

The Centauress sniffed as she rose then circled the table to stand next to the chaise lounge she was sitting on. Her grip was not ungentle but there was no way to resist without resorting to a true altercation as she grabbed Alambiel by the upper arm and dragged her to her feet. Alambiel bit her tongue. She didn't know how much Despoina was crossing the line of politeness, so she endured it. Oreius hadn't replied to her letter yet or at least she hadn't received his reply yet. She wished he were home. He, at least, would know just how far Despoina was allowed to push. She wished Tuulea were back already. Then she could go to her for advice and comfort.

"Completely unsuitable," Despoina declared. "You never should have been accepted into Alcippe's herd and you certainly won't be accepted into-"

A knock rapped and then the door opened, interrupting the Centauress' declaration. Temper flared in those dark eyes but Alambiel seized the opportunity. "Come!"

A Naiad poked her head in, her blue hair tumbling like a waterfall past her shoulder. "Your highness, Linus requests your aid in tending a patient. The girl is in very grave condition and she is most afraid."

"She cannot."

Alambiel frowned. "I am coming. Lady Despoina, will you and the others pray excuse me? If it is important enough that I am being summoned, I dare not tarry."

Then she left without another word. The Naiad's swift strides did not lead her to the healing wing as she had expected. Instead, they wove through the corridors until she spied two familiar figures ahead. The Faun Linus, who looked incredibly nervous, and Thalia. Alambiel suddenly had a bad feeling about how this was going to turn out. The Faun turned to her and stuttered, "Y-y-your H-h-high-ness! I c-c-cannot g-g-go! You m-m-must!"

She raised an eyebrow as the Faun handed his healing kit to the Naiad then scurried away as fast as his little cloven hooves could carry him. Alambiel turned to Thalia. The Beech Nymph looked anxious. "We must hurry! Before we run out of time!"

They entered the Calormene guest wing. A slave girl opened one of the doors and Alambiel caught her breath at the destruction that had been wrought. The rich, elegant furnishings had been toppled, torn apart, and smashed to pieces. Feathers and broken glass littered the rich rugs but they did not completely hide the ominous red stains. Alambiel fixed a mask in place as she picked her way toward the cracked doors. She could hear ragged breathing and a woman's whispered words of comfort. Pushing the door open, she stiffened for only a moment as she spied Shirin lying facedown on the bed. A sheet covering her back was already stained with blood. Paniz was sitting on the bed next to her, gently running a hand over her tangled hair.

Thalia gasped and Alambiel hushed her. Taking the healing kit from the Naiad, she signaled for her to stay at the doors. She would watch for any intruders. Alambiel's gaze swept the room. There was no one else in the room aside from the two lesser wives. That was telling.

Alambiel knelt on Shirin's other side and opened the healing kit. She hoped there were enough bandages. Glancing at Paniz's pale face, she murmured, "Where are they?"

"Dining. The rest of the slaves and guards are waiting attendance on them as they refresh themselves."

Peeling back the sheet, Alambiel stifled the involuntary cry at the sight of Shirin's back. There was so much blood she could not even tell the exact extent or nature of the wounds just yet. The child was so weak that she didn't even whimper as Alambiel started cleaning up her back. Phantom pain skittered down Alambiel's back as she remembered the fiery burn of the open wounds. A memory that was not so distant anymore thanks to Mordad. She shuddered then took a calming breath. She wouldn't be able to help if she descended into her own panic attack right now. But she needed a distraction from the memories crowding to the fore. "Why did he leave you here?"

Paniz's hand stilled in Shirin's hair. "Because he does not want to punish me physically so he makes me watch this child suffer in my stead." Her other hand rested on her rounded belly. "He will not risk losing a son no matter how displeased he might be with the mother."

"Tell me the ranks."

There was silence for several long moments as Thalia came up to exchange the red water for a clean bowl. Bruises. A lot of bruises. Those she would have to tend after stitching the wounds close. And when she would check for broken bones. Then Paniz whispered softly, "Zinat is Babak's declared Tarkheena but she only bore him two living daughters early in their marriage. She bore two more stillborn girls before she was declared barren by the healers. She will do anything to keep her place over us."

She paused but Alambiel did not press as she stared at the damage to Shirin's back, long cuts slashed diagonally from shoulders to waist and down the back of her legs as well. Scimitar or dagger. She examined the wounds again. Scimitar then dagger. "Why was Shirin added?"

"I am the daughter of a Tarkaan who outranks Zinat's brother who arranged her marriage to Babak and my father still lives. I am Tarkheena by right of birth and I have given Babak two healthy sons."

"Then you should be at the top of the pecking order." Alambiel stitched as carefully as she could. Aslan willing, the poor excuse for a man who did this to her would be content with the company of his viper of a wife long enough for her to finish tending Shirin. "What did Babak do?"

"He . . . I believe he takes pleasure in setting us against each other. So I am treated as a lesser wife and Zinat constantly fears that he will depose her from the place of Tarkheena and head wife in my favor. She persuaded him to take Shirin as a wife in order to ensure his favor did not fall too heavily on me. If Shirin ever gave birth to a son, Zinat would claim the child as hers and dispose of the girl." Paniz sighed. "And she also knows I will risk our husband's disfavor by protecting the girl as much as I can, so she ensures that his wrath, especially if directed at herself, is channeled to Shirin."

A heavy silence fell as Alambiel focused on Shirin's injuries and Thalia and Paniz helped as best they could. Her mind now raced with the possible implications of the power plays being conducted in the Tarkaan's harem. It was possible that the solution to rescuing Shirin lay in the complicated politics governing the Tarkaan's household. Something she could use, maybe. Hours passed and her hands began to shake but she dared not stop until the last deep cuts were closed. Of the cuts to Shirin's legs, there were only three that needed stitches but she doubted the girl would be able to even walk if . . . when she woke. Not with the cuts on top of bruises and four broken ribs.

After applying the bandages, Alambiel handed Paniz a jar of ointment. "Use this on the bruises and aches. It will help numb the pain." She pulled out some herbal tea as well. "Have this brewed when she shows signs of waking. It will make things more tolerable too." She paused considering Paniz. "You're not six months along, are you?"

The Calormene woman started and then wide eyes fixed on her. "No."

"How far?"

Paniz glanced at the doors then leaned close and whispered, "I am now eight months."

She had a sneaking suspicion . . . "Was it Zinat or Babak's idea to lie to the Narnians about the advancement of your pregnancy?"

"Babak is who ordered me to give no hints."

"But Zinat planted the idea."

It was not a question but Paniz still nodded. "It was not until after she presented herself to him that he approached me with that instruction." Then she clasped Alambiel's hand, ignoring the dried blood she hadn't had the chance to clean off yet. "If there is anything you can do, do it."

The Naiad stepped back from the doors just as the slave girl who had shown them in entered and prostrated herself before the women. "O My Mistress, My Master and his Tarkheena have woken. They speak of coming to see you and Mistress Shirin."

Paniz turned to them. "Go quickly. He will not take offense if he does not see you."

Alambiel nodded, gathering the healing kit, and then ushering the other two women out the door. They picked their way across the destruction that would set the housekeeping staff and Susan in a tizzy and then left the guest wing swiftly. Alambiel gave the kit to the Naiad and then dismissed her with a quiet word of thanks. Thalia was staring back the way they had come, her lower lip trembling as tears swam in her eyes. She wrapped an arm around the Beech Nymph's shoulders. "I know but we can't yet. Come on, let's find Peter."

The High King wasn't nearly as far away as she might have guessed. He was marching up the corridor, determination in every stride, when Thalia saw him. The two ran toward each other, Peter catching his wife in his arms as she cried, "Peter, Peter, Peter."

"Shh, Flower, shh."

Thalia's entire frame shuddered. "It was so horrible as though I had watched them take an axe to her."

Alambiel followed quietly as Peter picked his wife up and carried her to their chambers. She waited in the sitting room with Sekhmet and Peter's Tigers. She looked at the Jaguar. "The Princess Consort is not to approach the Calormene delegation without her husband or the Just or myself present. If she keeps poking around, Babak might try something."

"Yes, Dame Sepphora."

"Is it that bad, Kat?"

She looked at Peter only to realize his gaze was fastened on her hands, her blood-covered hands. Clearing her throat, she stuck her hands behind her back. "It could be that bad. There's a lot of things happening behind the scenes that makes me leery of letting any of our people be with the delegation in their wing for long. And I'm worried about Thalia. She's taking all of it hard." The phantom pain was back. Alambiel bit the inside of her cheek. "Maybe you should take her away for the day. Just to the gardens where she can get her feet in the dirt and enjoy what's left of the sun before winter comes should help."

Peter nodded. "I will." He started to turn toward the bedchamber then paused and looked over his shoulder at her. "Is there something else?"

"Yes." Alambiel sighed. "If Babak gives Shirin another beating like he did today, he's going to kill that girl. And her death will be painful and slow and it will be here in Cair Paravel, Peter. Shirin is running out of time for us to do something."

"I know. We're all working on it, Kat. You know that."

"I know." Alambiel pulled her hands out from behind her back and stared at the stains as she added softly, "But I fear it won't be enough this time."

She left almost immediately after that, once again hiding her hands in her skirts. Pain licked up her back and her world started to close in. The one person she wanted to run to and take comfort from was not there. Alambiel swallowed hard as tears pricked her eyes and remembered fear and pain pressed down on her, reminding her of when she had been Shirin. Yes, she had been Shirin and she knew almost every horror the girl suffered. Bursting into their quarters, Alambiel frantically scrubbed her hands and forearms clean then she ran a bath and scrubbed every inch of herself until her skin was raw but it wasn't enough. She felt lost and tainted by the blood of the innocents she had left behind when she ran from the Monster and by the blood of the hurt little girl she was continually forced to leave to the hands of her own monster. How she hated it. How she despised her inability to pluck the child from danger.

Still it was with surprisingly little strength that Alambiel, clad in a clean shift, staggered into the bedchamber. She only somewhat bemused to find a tray of chamomile tea waiting in the sitting room. No doubt, Peter had talked to Susan, who had sent chamomile to both Thalia and her. Alambiel willingly drank a cup then forced herself to sit and write a letter that was more professional than she felt. She would send it with the next batch of reports due to reach the Kentauri's patrol as they continued to fight along Cherry Bluff and the rest of the land at the western mouth of the River Shribble. Strange how just writing the Kentauri's name reminded her of how much she missed him, especially now when she needed him most.

"Completely unsuitable." Alambiel flinched as Despoina's most recent expression of disapproval echoed through her thoughts. She rubbed her face. She should have taken the time to ask Tuulea to teach her what she knew about the more detailed Centaur etiquettes. She should have tried harder to conform. She just hadn't thought she was such a poor wife for not knowing everything a normally-raised Centaur-kin nymph would know. She rubbed at her eyes again. Her mind filled with the recriminations of the Monster, of her unworthiness to be loved, of how little Oreius talked to her or even touched her now. She had done everything he asked but still he drew away from her and held her at arm's length. She rubbed her eyes as they prickled with unshed tears. Oreius, his kin, the Monster, Mordad, Shirin, and her failures all marched across her mind's eye in an unending parade.

Alambiel swallowed hard then pushed out of her chair, leaving behind the second cup of chamomile. She dropped to her knees in front of the Kentauri's chest and opened it. His tunics were folded neatly inside. She grabbed one and held it to her nose, inhaling the scent that was distinctively Oreius'. Clasping the tunic to herself, she crawled into bed and then huddled beneath the coverlet with her cheek resting against the red wool. Oh Aslan, show us the way. There has to be a way. Don't let this monster win.

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A/N: Please Read and Review!