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Warning: this chapter references a rather horrifying captivity from the past.


A subdued chatter rouses Rilian at daybreak. Groaning, he buries his head in his pillow. Something—perhaps his grumpiness, or perhaps something else—had his skin prickling uneasily the night before, and he'd dreamed of being buried beneath ground, scales slithering over his skin, trying to reach his neck to squeeze his throat.

It is not a morning where he wants to be King.

But Kings do not have a choice in the matter, he reminds himself, and rolls off the bed. He heads for the water basin again, and tries to wake himself up.

It doesn't really work. Looking at his reflection, he gives up. He has no chance of looking regal today.

If he ever does look regal, he thinks, but admits that's a separate discussion.

He slips out his door and goes the opposite direction of the noise. The quiet, creature-less library sounds second best to bed right now.

Guhen is on top of his table, hooting disconsolately. "There, there, it was there! But now it's not, tuhoo! Bother, bother, all is a bother. If they keep doing this—"

It's the last thing Rilian wants, but Kings don't get to choose when they help people. "Is something the matter, Guhen?"

"If it was you—oh, no, it's you. It wouldn't be you. You want me to read them, you wouldn't take them yourself. But every single morning, some of my books are gone. And there's one in particular I wanted to show you!"

"Perhaps the librarians put them away," Rilian suggests. "If you tell me where it may be found, I will go check for you."

"No, no, I usually find them, and they're never away. They're on tables, or stuffed in cushions, once! Most detrimental to the scrolls. No, I'll fly up and circle, and see if I can find it."

"A moment, good cousin," Rilian says, putting out one hand. A cold thought turns his stomach, and he wants to ask now, to know if Ileana is, perhaps, stopping their research now that she knows it's happening. "When did the books start disappearing from your table?"

"As soon as I started, my King; that very first night," Guhen responds, his third eyelid sweeping across his eye.

Rilian breathes out. Not Ileana, then, he knows. But who else would be taking away books on Mermaids?

"Thank you, then. I'll wait for you to find the book. Or scroll," he adds, for Guhen can be fussy about the difference.

"Then wait for me—wait for me!" The owl launches himself up with a flurry of wings and wind. Rilian brushes his hair back from his eyes and looks at the table. There're seven books in one stack at the very edge and a small pile of three scrolls right beside it. The rest of the table is strewn with open books and unrolled scrolls, all with enough space beside them large enough for the owl to walk. Rilian pulls one scroll towards him at random and begins reading where it's unrolled.

they seldom cry. In the sea their tears mix immediately with the sea water, dissolving without taking hard form. But when they hold their hands over their face and keep the sea from their skin, their tears change, by their own choice. Therefore the solid tears are considered of great significance under the water, and it is said that if one Merman or Mermaid wishes to say goodbye to someone dear to them, they will cry tears with their hands before their face, and give their tears to their loved one as a farewell, a touchable representation of their presence and their love.

A flutter of wings draws his attention upwards, and he hastily returns the scroll to its former position. Guhen lands on one leg, wings flapping at first to keep his balance, a book held out in his other leg.

"Here it is, here! Let me find the place," as he drops it gently on the table and noses it with his beak, flipping to the second or third chapter. "Ah, yes. My King, I found something that may prolong the life of a mermaid. Though I don't know yet what causes the breathing problems, exactly—"

"What helps?"

"Water, my King. Specifically, water in the outside world. Not a bathtub or pool inside, I don't think—though they hardly tried, their purpose—" and the Owl's feathers all ruffle.

"Perhaps if you begin at the beginning, good cousin?"

"Of course. A good scholarly approach. This is a record of the Galman Mermaids. The first died as the Archenland Mermaid did, though she—was locked in a cell. Her breathing got worse, she grew progressively weaker, and after thirty days she died. This book—it's a horrible book—is on how to make one's fortune with a Mermaid. The first one brought only short term wealth, since she died. The former fishing family were wealthy aristocrats by then—such a terrible word, much too much like cats—and they were upset that their source of wealth ended after so short a time. Not a single mention of murder, of course, even though it was. But they wanted a way to keep their captives alive, and seeing as she always tried to escape to the sea—when the second Mermaid began to struggle to breathe—" He stutters to a stop.

"Guhen?" Rilian asks it quietly, but he must ask.

"They chained her in a tide pool," the Owl hoots, pain wringing his words. "Both her wrists, so she could never swim away. They gagged her, so no one could hear her cries."

Rilian's hearing grows distant. The Archenland Mermaid had alarmed him, made him wonder if that is what Ileana would face, but this—

He sees her, in his head, golden hair still shining in the moonlight, legs instead of a tail, but a gag in place and chains on both wrists, wedged into the rock like the punishment of the Merfolk, only on the wrists instead of the tail—

He hears Guhen and tries to pay attention through the layer of darkness falling his soul. "They tried a pool in a cell, first, but I don't know if it was that the water wasn't salt, or that there wasn't enough power to draw—there are some winds that cause Birds to sail and some that freeze our feathers and make us fall—I don't know. I just don't. She still grew weaker. So they—well, they built a rock wall, with chinks, on a tide pool. It let the water in and out, always with enough in the bottom she remained in Mermaid form, but no sea creature could see in."

Guhen stops, and Rilian is grateful, grateful to be spared more details, but—inside him there is in a demand to follow the story to its end, to know. "What happened to her?"

"After two years and ten months, an earthquake happened at sea. The wave rolled inland, swamping the island. No one knows what exactly happened, but they found her body on the highest point of the island, broken chains on her wrists and a wound on her head. The author speculates that boulders were washed inland and broke the chains." Guhen pauses. "Freedom and death all at once, all at once—it breaks my heart."

"Don't," Rilian says with heavy comfort. "There are some captivities where death is a welcome freedom." He rubs his face.

"If you say so, my King," Guhen hoots, a touch of misery in his voice.

"Do they still look for captives to make them wealthy? Is that how the book ends?" Rilian thinks of the ships (one in splinters), and if the navy would be enough to make a quick strike to Galma, to free any Narnians there, but Guhen whirls his head back and forth.

"No, my King, no indeed! The Galmans viewed the wave as the wrath of the sea, sent because they had a Mermaid captive. They dropped her body back in the waters, and the waters calmed. They dropped the family overboard, too, and, well…all four were adults and party to the captivity, the last one at least, but I might have wished for a cleaner execution."

"To drown them in the waters as they drowned the Mermaid in air." Rilian does not shudder, for this too is a part of being King, but he understands what the Owl means.

He brings his thoughts away from the dwelling on the darkness—though he will need a night with the stars to settle his heart—and thinks of Ileana. He wonders if her choice—whatever her choice was—means she couldn't live in a pool of water by the sea, even if she has to stay on land.

"But the other Mermaids found ways to stay alive without water," Rilian thinks out loud.

"Partly, partly! The one who married a sailor spent much time in the sea, if you remember."

"Yes, but the other didn't."

"There is no record of her doing so, my King. It is useless to guess without all the information.* Neither one of them are recorded as having trouble breathing, either. But the captive remained in the water all the time."

"So we've found a possible solution, perhaps. I can ask Ileana if it will save her."

"Ileana?"

"Oh, by the Lion's mane. I didn't mean to say as much. You are to keep it to yourself," Rilian commands sternly.

"I swear to heed you, and to speak of this to none." He pauses, every feather still. "I heard a few rumours of her, my King." Rilian raises his eyebrows, for he is curious as to what those rumours are. "A lovely golden lady, often laughing, and often with you." Rilian nods. "Another Mermaid who fell in love with a King?" Guhen asks quietly.

"So she claims."

"Do you believe her?"

"I want to. But in my mind, I have—there are doubts."

"Ah. I see, I see."

"I don't know anything of her," Rilian hurries, for he suddenly wants the Owl to see how his doubts are reasonable, valid. "Not her family, nor her past. Nor can I be sure of her true purpose."

"Not when you are a King," Guhen mutters, nodding. "But I have heard no evil of her. And that is an impressive thing, after ten days."

"She is having trouble breathing," Rilian says quietly. Guhen freezes, large round eyes fixed. Then his feathers slow fall, his figure becoming smaller, and he nods one more time.

"A pool of water, outside, connected to the sea," he reminds the King, and Rilian sighs.

"If she'll do it."

"She won't?"

"She has refused many of my suggestions and questions, though she cannot tell me why, other than it being the rules of her kind. Or a choice, or a promise, or something similar."

"And so my research. I will look harder, my King," Guhen promises. "We will—I will look for something without chains."

Without chains, because if Ileana says no to the tide pool—Rilian wonders where the line rests, how to walk between saving her and letting her make her own choice. Especially since being caught and held is a nightmare Ileana has already lived, if only briefly.

"Oh," he says out loud again.

"Oh, my King?"

"No, only—I had wondered…Ileana spoke of making a choice, before she came here. She said it's a choice she can't unmake. And I don't think it was the choice to come on land, I think it was something different. Something in her tone—and now I wonder. Merfolk can be held captive, both on land and underwater. It is hard to imagine it, as they swim through so large a sea, but…they can be held against their will."

"And?"

"I have not ever heard her speak of her family," Rilian explains in his quietest whisper.

"And if she is afraid for them, or making a choice for them—if they are the threat held over her head"

"I would not mention mine either, if they were threatened."

"I will also look into ways they have been held captive under water, my King. Would you go to rescue them?"

"They are Narnians," Rilian answers simply. Though his mind fills with questions about how to rescue something in a world where he can't breathe…and his mind pictures again a Mermaid in chains, and the one before her, gasping for air. He shudders. "Guhen, I think you should take the next evening off; that, and the one following the rest day. Go home," he adds, when the Owl blinks. "I am not upset with your work; far from it, my good scholar. But I think time in your own tree, with family and friends nearby, would give you fresh cheer to come back with. Come back after the next rest day."

"Your Majesty is wise beyond your years," Guhen says in thanks, bowing. "I'll take my leave now."

"I'll order that this table be undisturbed," Rilian says as he stands. "Thank you, Guhen."

"It is my honour and my pleasure, my King."

Rilian stops on his way out, making his request, and then he goes to Ileana's door. Peri is standing there, knocking, and Ileana opens it while Rilian is still halfway down the hall.

"Ana, you'll never guess! There's been such a stir this morning, the oddest thing—why, what happened to your hand?"

"I cut it last night, working on my gift."

"Oh, I can't wait for him to see it! But do be careful. He won't be glad to hear you hurt yourself."

"I am not happy to hear that either," Rilian says, coming forward. "Show me your hand, lady."

She holds it out, and there's a shallow cut running the length of her index finger. "It's shallow, as if I brushed a rock while swimming up a mountain," she says cheerfully.

"Still, it is better wrapped."

"Why?" and it's curiosity, not petulance, so Rilian smiles.

"On land, lady, things may get in it and make it grow worse, in both pain and weakness."

"Oh, I see. That happens with deep cuts underwater, but shallow ones usually heal before such things become a problem." She brings her hand to her face, looking at it. "It's a small shame; I was so close to finishing."

"Finishing what?"

"A surprise," she says, and her sunrise smile lights the entire hall.

"Then I shall wait to be surprised by it. But, Peri, would you excuse us? I have a question or two for the lady."

"Of course," Peri says, and her smile is not nearly as bright—there's a bit of knowing gossip about it, Rilian thinks uncharitably, but she curtsies and leaves. Ileana shakes her head.

"She'd reroute the tides to smash us together. So foolish," she finishes with a sigh. "As if such smashing made anything happen but bruises. Come in," she adds as she stands aside.

Rilian bows slightly. "Please leave the door open," he requests, partly to satisfy his promise to Drinian and partly to stop gossip. He makes his way to the open window, sitting on one side of the sill and inviting her to the other. "I…am still looking for ways to help your breathing and strength," he begins, for if he can, he will leave the darkness out of this tale and just tell her of the solution that might work. "Guhen found a story of a Mermaid who lived much longer than thirty days, nearly three—"

"Years," Ileana says, and her face is pale, her fingers trembling. Rilian lays his hand over hers.

"You know the tale?" he asks in a low voice.

"She was from my school—my clan, I think humans would say. I've heard the story over and over." Ileana looks away and begins reciting a story she must have heard told many times before.

"We'd come to find her. The day before the wave, we thought we'd heard her tail beating at the water. That's our—drum, is what Peri calls it. We followed the sound and called to her, called over and over, and didn't hear her voice answer back. We wept till the rocks were covered and white, trying to climb, till we heard the soldiers. We meant to go at night. I can't forget that waiting; darkness had a hold of all of us, in that wait. And then—we felt the ground shudder. We heard the roar of the water, and we knew what was coming. We rode the wave, all of us, burning muscles and arms so heavy, fighting the pulse of the water to stay a little longer, against the push, looking for her everywhere. We couldn't find her. So we swam back towards the island, and saw the ship. We saw her body fall, like a bird falls into the sea. We caught her. We turned to go, and the others fell. Three of them sank, the sea's curse written on their wrists and foreheads, and so we did not touch them. But one, the young boy, barely a man, only had ropes on his wrist. We could not take him back to his ship, for they had cast him off. But we quickly brought rocks to the tear-covered land, and fed him breath enough to last. We took him to the Mountains Alone, and let him on the shores of a good man, one who often walked the shore looking at the sea, a lord named Bern. For the rest of his days, from then till now, the boy walks the shore and speaks with the Merfolk, warning them when men might go out to fish. Heed the warning. The last part was especially for me," Ileana adds, her tone changing. She brings one hand on top of Rilian's holding hers. "I was most prone to go where I should not."

"You saved one of them," Rilian says in wonder.

"He was innocent."

Rilian laughs, a little of the darkness falling away. Though human eyes had not seen anything beyond the five deaths—the four, in truth—Aslan had worked good out of it, saving the Merfolk from sailors on the Lone Islands for an entire generation, till slavery was ended.

It was not enough to silence the ache of the Mermaid's suffering. But it reminded Rilian that the darkness did not win.

"So, lady—without the chains or the wall, of course—would that work for you? You cannot return to the sea, but could you stay in a pool, rather than perish?"

Ileana hesitates.

"Ileana, it would save your life."

"Yes," she says softly. "If I stay in water connected to the sea, I will be able to breathe, and swim; my body will not weaken. But I cannot stay there. And I cannot tell you why that is so either."

Rilian looks away. He does not let the muscles in his hands tighten. He does not speak the frustration, aiming at her for something she says she cannot help. "I suppose you cannot tell me how the Mermaids gave breath to a boy, or more about the curse of the sea?" He tries to say it in jest, but he hears himself, and his words are flat.

"I cannot tell you anything of the way the sea works, nothing you have not already found on your own. I can only tell tales—and perhaps I should not be telling those, but I want to share my world with you. I'm learning of yours. I want you to learn of mine. I wish you could see the coral pools, the way the currents ripple under the surface, the gleam of silver on a swimming school of haleh. But I made a choice," she finishes, and this time there's frustration.

"So you cannot speak of the things of the sea when you are on land."

"Nor can I go in the sea, dragging you with me, and tell you all these things there. If I do that, I cannot return to the land. And that is no longer a choice for me," she says more softly, resigned.

"Ileana—is your family safe?"

She looks at him, eyes going wide. "My family?" He nods, and she asks, "Have you heard anything about them?"

"No?"

"Then—why? Do you think they're in danger?"

"I thought you would know if they were," he responds quietly.

Just then a knock, sharp and loud, sounds on the door. "King Rilian?" Drinian calls, short and curt, standing in the doorway and looking at them.

"Yes?" Rilian asks, standing at once. Surely Drinian isn't upset with him just speaking with Ileana; he'd left the door open—

"Your Majesty had better come to the kitchens at once," Drinian says, and Rilian begins to run.

He knows his counsellor, and he knows that tone. This isn't about Ileana.

Rilian has been running to the kitchens since he was five, he knows the fastest way, and it is only minutes before he runs down the last hall. Many of the servants stand gathered in the hall, guards and guests among them. They all move to the side to let him through.

Two cooks, a Daughter of Eve and a Badger, stand just beside the door. Rilian looks at their hands and paws, and the four limbs are covered in cuts, the fingers and palms dripping red, and the Badger's fur soaked. He looks in the kitchen, and the floor shines white, everywhere, where splinters of plates and cups lay destroyed.

"Get a healer," he says quietly to a Squirrel hovering on a tapestry, and the Squirrel bows and runs. "Get some cloths, but take care around the glass," he says to a Mouse maid he knows works in the kitchen, and she scurries past him.

He bends and takes the Badger's face in his hands. "Do you remember what happened?"

He hears more footsteps, slower than a typical run, and knows Drinian has caught up. The Badger begins to shake her head, but stops as she remembers he's holding her.

"No, Your Majesty, I don't—I don't remember. I swear it by Aslan's name."

"We really don't," the other cook says, and Rilian can hear her holding back her tears.

"I believe you," Rilian reassures them both. "Tell me what happened."

"Before that, you lot, go off to your chores. If your work is in the kitchen, begin the clean up. If your work is else, go elsewhere," commands Drinian, around a few deep breaths. Rilian pats the Badger's head and the girl's shoulder. He turns, and Ileana holds Drinian's arm, helping the panting man stand upright. Drinian notices his look and shakes Ileana's hand off with a scowl. She moves forward just as Rilian hears a light patter and turns, the Mouse approaching them with a stack of white, coarse towels. Rilian takes two off the top and Ileana reaches past him to take two more; together they wind the cloth around the bleeding hands.

"We'll wait for the healer," he tells them both. "But don't worry."

"Such an odd thing," says a smooth voice behind them. "Such a very, very odd thing."

Rilian knows that voice. He takes a deep, quiet breath before turning to see the Ambassador. "We are looking into it, sir."

"They thought it was an earthquake," the Daughter of Eve says, shock permeating her voice. "They came to find us, to tell us, and—we were sitting by the passage to the dungeons. Our hands were bleeding, and we were asleep. But I went to bed in my room—" She reaches with one towel-wrapped hand and takes Ileana's arm. "How did this happen? What happened? Why?"

"Do you remember anything else?" Rilian asks, and she begins crying.

"No! No, I don't—I don't remember my hands being hurt, or, or anything."

"I remember a strange smell. I was just nodding off, Your Majesty, in my den, and that's the last thing I remember," the Badger said, still staring at her paws.

"Where is that?" Drinian asks.

"In the gardens. I'm getting old, and so the Housekeeper said I could make a home for myself in the back corner that no one else uses. I was all set to sleep, and I smelled…it's hard to describe. Like rotten cucumbers, perhaps; I smelled that one summer and I won't forget it."

The sound of brooms sweeping up glass filters into the hallway, and Rilian glances at the kitchens. "Drinian, why did you tell them to clean the kitchen up? Shouldn't we look at the detritus first?" He keeps his voice low, as his counsellor usually has a good reason for things.

"We already did, Your Majesty. The only thing we found was this." Drinian glances at the Ambassador, at Ileana, and holds a closed fist out to Rilian. Rilian opens his hand, and something small and cold falls into it. He closes his fingers around it without looking, as the Ambassador is still close by.

"If Your Majesty, whose wisdom surely rivals the greatest of your ancestors, wishes to know what happened, perhaps I may join you? After all, the arrival of an eyewitness may make such things plain."

"An eyewitness?" Drinian and Rilian chorus, and the Ambassador nods.

The healer arrives just as they ask, and Rilian explains the injuries he's found and sends the two cooks off, before jerking his head to the next corridor. He leads the way—Drinian will follow, the King knows without checking, and the Ambassador seems keen on inserting himself too, but Rilian notes Ileana following as well. He hopes it's just because she's curious, and not for other reasons.

Rilian leads them into a room, sweeping them forward with a wave of his hand before shutting the door. He sits, and they sit with him.

There is still something small and cold in his hand, but he will look at it when the Ambassador is gone.

He also hopes, quietly, that this decision comes from wisdom and not from the jealousy he cannot fully quench.

"Please tell us what you saw," he requests.

"Beginning at the beginning," Drinian adds curtly, and Rilian gives him a subtle look to remind him that the Ambassador is not Narnian, and may not be treated as such.

"It pleased the—powers over us, that my sleep be disturbed last night. Feeling the pull of hunger in my stomach, I asked why must I lie awake, when Narnians are generous and skilled? I made my way to the kitchens and saw there but two servants. I paused to ask—politely, of course—if I might have some food, but the words did not leave my mouth, for I saw them doing a strange thing. The girl would take a plate out of the cabinet, raise it high above her head, and throw it on the floor. The beast would then take a long wooden instrument, the one used to flatten bread, and hit the largest pieces. Sometimes they would reach down and pull the pieces under tables or near barrels to the middle of the floor, to hit them again. I watched them treat three such dishes this way, and then asked what they meant by it. They did not pay me any attention, seeming as people in a dream. I thought perhaps it was some strange Narnian custom, a sacrifice to the gods, and as such things are best not meddled in, I left."

"You left?" Rilian asks, before shaking his head, remembering this is not his citizen.

"There was no one else in the kitchens?" Drinian laces his hands together, his thumbs tapping, eyes on the Ambassador.

"Oh, I did not say that. Such a statement would be untrue."

"You said you only saw two servants," Rilian points out.

"At first, O King, at first."

"Then who else did you see?"

The Ambassador's eyes turn towards Ileana, sitting quietly in her chair, and gives her a meaningful smile. "A beautiful lady," he says.

Drinian is on his feet, stalking towards Ileana, before the Ambassador adds, "But I do not say it was her."

"Enough of your trickery! Was it?" Drinian demands, and Rilian can't breathe.

"I do not say it was. I merely said it was a beautiful lady. Surely, in a land renowned for boasting of its justice, a lady cannot be imprisoned just because she's beautiful." The Ambassador smirks at Ileana. Rilian represses a shudder. "If you do not wish to trust the justice of this King, lovely lady, I could offer you the sanctuary of Tashbaan."

"She will remain with us," Rilian cuts in, voice resolute. "Thank you for your account. If you saw nothing else, please excuse us." Because something is still bothering Drinian, the King knows, but he does not want the Ambassador here for this.

"I will take my leave then. Remember, fair one, that my offer always stands. I would be delighted to have you accompany me." The Ambassador bows to Ileana—bows to her first, Rilian notes distantly, unusual for someone usually so obsessed with protocol, but then perhaps he wants to emphasise Ileana's importance to him—then to Rilian, and leaves.

Drinian does not sit. Ileana is watching, not him, but Rilian. She looks confused, the corners of her mouth pulled down in a puzzled frown, but not alarmed.

"You believe the words of such a weasel?" Rilian asks his counsellor, tone quiet. He's trying, with all the control he has, to keep his tone even, to slow his heartbeat, to stop the thudding he can feel all the way to his fingertips.

"Look in your hand and then tell me I don't have reason for thinking he told the truth."

Rilian opens his hand and sees a scale. Pale green, pointed to a delicate tip, and perhaps twice the size of his thumbnail, it's cool against his hot palm.

"We found it in the corner of the kitchen, as if its owner stood and watched, watched all that was going on."

A dozen explanations race through Rilian's mind—perhaps the Ambassador planted it there, to chase Ileana out of Narnia; perhaps it had fallen on an excursion with Peri—

But another part of his mind thinks, this is about Ileana, and he knows he was waiting for this, waiting for the day everything he wanted came crashing down like the witch's realm, and this time there would be no way out. He thinks of the small cut on her hand, the way her singing enchants, the scale in his hand, and he knows it's her, that it has to be.

But why? She liked the plates. She wouldn't, she wouldn't—

Rilian wonders which of the voices is that of a King—and which one is right.

"May I see what you are speaking of?" Ileana's voice breaks into his thoughts. "I have a right to see the proof against me," she adds, but that is to Drinian who stands scowling at her.

She has a point, and Rilian passes her the scale. She weighs it curiously in one hand, then taps it with a fingernail. She looks up, first to Rilian, then to Drinian. "You think this is mine?"

"There isn't another scaled creature in the Cair. What did you do to those cooks?"

Ileana laughs, light and easy, and Drinian draws himself up.

"I'm sorry, I am truly sorry, I just—there are two reasons it cannot be mine. One, how could I wear my scales on the dry floor of your kitchen? Unless I stood in a water barrel—but then how would the scale fall out? I am sorry for laughing, but the idea of standing on my tail on the floor—I should not have laughed. I'm sorry. But two, this cannot be my scale." She holds it up between her thumb and finger, standing on its pointed end. "A Merfolk's scale is round." She brings the scale closer to her face. "Though this could be the right colour. And the density is similar; our scales are thick, as we swim—no, sorry, I am talking too much about our secrets."

"It's what? It's round?" Drinian's posture begins to deflate, and he rubs his eyes.

"I can go down to the sea—or in a tub, if you think that is too dangerous and I would swim away—and prove it," Ileana offers quietly.

"There is no need," Rilian says, and it comes out a little rough. He clears his throat and tries again. "I remember your scales from the day we swam." He does remember, remembers the flash of sunlight on them, the way they had turned his stomach—but he also remembers they are round, like the bottom of an ink-drawn teardrop, and not this diamond shape.

This isn't about Ileana, and he feels himself blinking, just in case his eyes tear up, and it's suddenly easier to breathe.

Ileana is watching him. he can't think of what he looks like, or what to say, or how to explain he is so glad this isn't her, and perhaps he should be sorry for thinking it might be. But he doesn't know how to say that, because as a king he has to be wary, he has to be. He suddenly wishes he was just a man, and Ileana was just a girl, and the two of them resting by a streambed (without the feeling of being watched at the end) would be their daily life.

"Are you all right?" Ileana asks, and Drinian turns sharply to look at him.

"My King?"

Rilian pulls himself together. Though these are both his friends—or more—he is still their King. "I am well. Drinian, there were no other clues?"

"None but this. If it's not a Mermaid's scale—and it can't be—I don't know what it is. Or where it came from. It's too large for most reptiles, Talking or otherwise, and I seriously doubt a Dragon got into or out of the kitchen unnoticed."

"It looks like a tiny sea serpent's scales," Ileana says. She offers it back to Rilian. "Though their scales are often a darker green."

"A sea serpent would have been even more noticeable than a dragon, because of its trail of slime," Drinian points out dryly.

"With that said—do we give any credence to what the Ambassador said?" Rilian asks.

"A beautiful lady?" Drinian snorts. "Fat lot of help that was."

"I am wondering, if we asked for details, if he would be more specific." Rilian looks at the old captain. "You can usually tell the difference between a spun story and an actual tale. Perhaps asking him for details would be a good idea."

"It's a start. But if that weasel doesn't have ulterior motives, I'll be a Talking Mouse. But you'd better not come, Your Majesty. He seems to enjoy baiting you."

Rilian nods. He checks Ileana's reaction, but she's tapping her fingers up and down her arms again. "Ileana?" he asks, and she starts.

"I'm sorry, King, what was that?"

"What are you thinking?"

"I am wondering at the way he changed his hunt," Ileana says, words coming out slow and thoughtful.

"Changed?" Drinian asks.

"Before, he hunted the way we hunt shoal fish, chasing to corner them between the reef and ourselves. But now he hunts as we hunt eels with our pets, using them to chase the fish towards ourselves. Only—what is his pet?"

"His threats? Or perhaps, making us a threat?" Rilian thinks out loud, remembering the conversation and dropped hints.

Drinian laughs, a weary sound. "If he was using us to corner her, he'd look a lot more thwarted when he left. No, he's quite pleased about something."

"I do not know what it is, but it has changed the way he hunts." Ileana frowns. "I must be much more careful to avoid him now." Something in Rilian's chest eases, though he is not sure if it's because she will be safe, or if it will be because she just won't be around the Calormene, the one who keeps flattering her.

For horrible reasons, Rilian is sure.

"Perhaps I should not work with Jarmu and Bethava the Kitten tonight, then," Ileana says, but her voice is disappointed and her hands pluck at her skirt.

"I will stay with you," Rilian says, and her face is filled with her smile.

That's enough for Rilian to ignore Drinian's muttered, "Oh yes, that's a great idea."

The captain goes off to interrogate their annoying guest, and Rilian and Ileana check on the two cooks. Their hands have a few very deep cuts, and Rilian gives them several days off.

They spend some time in the gardens, enjoying the flowers, and Ileana does not run, Rilian notices, but seems to have no trouble moving or breathing. He remembers the Archenland Mermaid had inconsistencies, too, and it's hard not to grumble at all the mysteries around him. Ileana sings to him, trying to lighten his mood, Rilian guesses. For her he makes the effort.

After lunch the group of truants arrive. The Captain of the Guard spends the first hour and a half training them on defensive moves and breaking out of holds, in case they are caught during the coming chase. Rilian works with Piram, the red-headed leader, and finds him a responsible boy falling in love with the idea of the Narnian guard. He likes its authority, its structure, and its daily routine interspersed with adventures (he's been staying after hours to clean armour and listen to soldiers' stories), and Rilian enjoys training with him.

He does not enjoy watching, during odd breaks, Ileana training with Jarmu, and the look of hero worship on Jarmu's face that borders on adoration. Sometime in the past few days, when Ileana has been with them and he has not, she's won another heart.

Rilian tells himself Jarmu is just a little boy, and it's normal, and Ileana (provided she isn't an evil enchantress bent on taking Narnia) makes a wonderful hero.

But he almost wishes she wasn't quite so pretty, or so wonderful, or at least that he was the only one to notice.


*Stolen from Sherlock Holmes, "It is useless to theorise without all the facts," I think is how he said it. And yes, he'd probably not be terribly fond of the word "guess."