The next day is a rest day, and never has Rilian been gladder. To set aside the responsibilities of the crown for one day, to have one day to spend just with Drinian and Ileana—and, he promises himself, this will not be like the last rest day. This day he will spend being grateful for what he has been given.

He thinks about taking breakfast up to his friends, but when he arrives to ask them what they'd like, he finds Peri already has. She's sitting beside Ileana, both backs leaning against the headboard, and Peri is talking as fast as an Eagle flies. Rilian watches from the doorway; he notes with a smile how Drinian is still lying down, his back to them. Rilian is sure without seeing that Drinian is wearing a scowl.

The older Drinian gets the more he likes to sleep in.

Rilian does not enter the room yet. He is glad someone thought to send word to Peri at her home—he himself had forgotten—and glad she brought breakfast. But there is something off in the room, and Rilian wishes to discern what.

"...mother kept saying I was fretting, and perhaps I was, but don't you think there was reason to? That voice still creeps me out. You don't remember it at all? Dark, and strong, and winding, like it had all the time in the world and we were playthings—"

Rilian sees it now. Ileana is listening, but there's no smile on her face. She's not leaning against Peri, she's leaning away. Rilian strides in the room.

"Good morning, Peri."

Peri jumps. "Good morning, Your Majesty! Mother said I could spend my rest day here, since I was so worried. And Ileana said she did not mind."

"You are welcome. But perhaps after breakfast? Drinian is recovering also, and he appreciates sleep in the morning."

"Oh. Oh, I see. I'll be back," she says to Ileana, patting her hand. Ileana dredges up a smile, but it's as dim as the sun behind thick clouds.

"I will see you then."

"Good morn, Your Majesty."

Rilian waits till Peri leaves, and then goes to Ileana's bed. He sits on it, taking both her hands in his. "Look at me," he requests, because she lets him, but she isn't responding.

Her eyes rise to his, and he forces himself not to flinch. There's drowning, haunted horror in them. It's like the first day they met, only worse. Then, she had been open with her pain, ready to see the light; he can see the walls around her right now.

She says nothing.

"Tell me what you need?" he asks, and she closes her eyes and shudders.

"I'm not sure I know."

"Then tell me what you want."

Another shuddering breath. "I want to hear the stars."

That is not something Rilian can offer her, not in the daytime.

But he rises, goes to the window two beds away from hers, and wrestles it open. She looks, eyes longing, as the curtains blow in the breeze, and before he can think too much Rilian bends, slipping an arm around her shoulders and another around her legs, lifting her close. He carries her to the furthest bed and sits on it, setting her beside him, his arm still around her shoulders. A breeze scented with apple blossoms wafts past them, and she closes her eyes. A deep breath through her mouth, in and out, before she leans against his shoulder. Leans in, rather than away.

He brings one hand up and strokes her head. Listening to her breathe, and be. Safely beside him.

"Is it a rest day?" she asks, a little later.

"Yes," he says, gently pushing her hair behind her ear.

"Tell me a story of Aslan. Tell me—tell me how He brought about your rescue."

"I wasn't there for the first part of it." He feels her begin to move away, perhaps in disappointment, so he lays one hand on her head to keep her in place. "But I've had it told to me many times…" He tells her of his father's last wishes, of Trumpkin's unbending stubbornness, and of the two children from beyond the world. He tells her of the Parliament of Owls hooting in the night, how Guhen was just a little chick listening in the corner at the time, and how they went to Puddleglum. He tells her of that tenacious faith, willing at once to leave all comfort and familiarity, just because two children said Aslan told them to go. He thins out the pessimism he'd heard in the tales and tells her the facts as he'd learned them from Puddleglum, from the walk in front of the Giants hurling rocks to the crawl through the caverns underground. He tells her of all the improbable things that had to happen, and all the hard things the three had to go through, just to set a wayward prince free.

He gets to the point he's told her before, the moment when he saw them, and they both sit and remember.

"What became of Trumpkin?" Ileana asks after a while.

"Trumpkin?" Rilian asks, trying to follow her train of thought.

"I've met Puddleglum, and very much enjoyed it, but not Trumpkin. Will I get to meet him, before—"

Rilian pulls her a little closer; he does not want to think about the day after the coming eight, not today. "I'm afraid not. He didn't live much longer than my father." He falls silent, thinking about those days. Ileana must feel him sigh, because she turns her head to look up at him, silently asking what is on his mind. "He was regent, while my father was at sea. But it was his stubbornness that made the children's secrecy necessary. By the time I came back, it was clear he'd remained steadfastly loyal, but that perhaps ruling was not right for him." Rilian rests his chin on Ileana's head. "That was my first hard task as a King. I wanted to give the old Dwarf thanks and honour, while taking away his position. I wish I had handled it a bit better. I announced before all the court that his faithful service of many years should be rewarded with rest, and tried to give him a scarlet banner. Trumpkin had no taste for ribbons, nor public announcements that he couldn't hear very well. But Drinian suggested changing the ribbon to a medal, engraved with 'Faithful D.L.F.,' and Trumpkin was delighted with that. He wore it till the day he died."*

"I'm about ready to join him," comes the grumble behind them, and Ileana smiles—a real smile—up at Rilian before they turn to Drinian.

"Good morning," Ileana says, and Drinian groans, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

"Nothing of the sort."

"But it's a rest day."

"That little maid coming in first thing in the morning is not restful."

"I am sorry—"

"You didn't want her here any more than I did. Prattling on about all the things we don't want to think about**—if you're going to be here long, lady, you will need to know how to draw the lines tight, even with your friends. Everyone wants to be friends with a Queen. Make sure the ropes are tight, and the sails will fill for swift sailing. Leave them loose, and no one goes anywhere."

"I'm not a Queen." Ileana begins to draw away from Rilian, but he doesn't let her go. She is not, not yet, and Rilian wants her to be stronger before they even begin speaking of it, or he begins pursuing her. Which he fully intends to do. And is somewhat doing now, he realises with surprise, for he still has his arm around her. But now is not the time to declare his intentions.

"That is a discussion for another day, when you both are better rested, and stronger," Rilian interjects. "And it's not a conversation you should be a participant of, when and if it happens," he adds to Drinian.

"Just pointing out which way the wind's blowing," Drinian argues back, but it's a muttered sentence and Rilian ignores it.

"Time for breakfast."

Drinian reaches for his food and yawns. "I could get quite used to having breakfast brought to my bed. I get to choose who to converse with this way."

"I can order the kitchens to bring it to you, if you wish," Rilian offers, but he bets within himself that Drinian won't take it, and from Ileana's slight smile he guesses she's thinking the same.

"Then I can't keep an eye on you at breakfast."

"Do I get up to so much mischief early in the morning?"

"You always have. I see no reason you'll start changing now." Drinian takes a bite. "That's a story I could tell you at another time, lady, if we come around to making a bet again."

"It would be my pleasure," Ileana says, but her voice is quiet instead of merry.

There's still horror lingering on her face, in the lines around her eyes, the firmness of her lips, and the way she glances away when the conversation doesn't keep her attention.

He remembers lifting it, that first time they met. She means so much more to him now, more than a Narnian he was King to. And he remembers she has always hated what he hates, and has loved what he loves.

And he remembers, suddenly, another place he loves, one that he has not shown her. Another place connected to Aslan, to victory, to triumphs over the dark.

This, he can do for her; he can give her this, at least. He can help her fight the dark, if she's strong enough to get there. He lays his hand on her forehead, checking for a fever, or sweat, but she feels normal. Maybe she's just weak, maybe he can arrange a way to get there—

He realises both friends are staring at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation for his sudden actions. Drinian appears worried, eyes flicking to Ileana and back, while Ileana is merely patient.

"I want to take you somewhere," Rilian tells the Mermaid. "But I'm not sure—" and he breaks off, because she's already moving to get off the bed. "Are you strong enough?"

"Yes, of course," she says.

"No," Drinian says at the same time. "I heard you in the cave. You need time."

Ileana closes her eyes. "I do not want—yes, I need time, but time is something I have little of. What little I have left, I do not want to spend in a bed, fighting images behind closed eyelids and feeling the dark drag me down. I wish to go, to do something, to remember what is real—and what is shadow."

Rilian knows that feeling. In the underground kingdom, he'd gone to get his shield, his horse, because he had needed to do something, once evil was defeated. He needed proof he could move and do Aslan's will once more. But he looks to Drinian, just to check. The man looks exasperated but understanding. Rilian reaches down and takes Ileana's hands. "Eat breakfast first," he tells her. "Then I'll take you somewhere."

Her smile fades a little, and she looks at the food with impatience.

It's then Rilian remembers something. "I will make you a bargain. Not a bet, that's for Drinian—but if you eat half your breakfast, I will fetch you the song of the stars."*** Because he can do that.

She gives a half-smile; clearly she has no idea what he means. "A group of musicians? Or will you sing to me yourself?"

He only shakes his head, and she sighs. "I will be good," she promises, taking away one of her hands and reaching for a roll.

"I will be back as soon as I am able," Rilian promises. "Try to have breakfast finished by then." He shoots a look to Drinian, a silent request to keep Ileana company, which Drinian answers with a nod.

Then Rilian is going as briskly as he can without raising an alarm; he is almost running towards her quarters. He opens her door, and there, on her dresser, is the white rock. He closes his hand over it and the song of the stars pierces his heart. He can hear them, here in the daytime.

And so can she.

He goes back, the rock held in his hand, the song thudding through his heart as he moves. He opens the door of the healer's room and sees she's eaten almost all of her breakfast. But he can also see it was a chore for her; she is not smiling, and appears even more tired.

Perhaps the rock is all he should give her today?

He still has it in his closed fist, so she can't see what he's bringing as he sits beside her on the bed, moving one of the blue plates out of the way.

"I can grant your wish," he tells her, voice soft. "I can give you what your heart longs for, because you were generous and loving and meant to give a gift to someone else." He wants to make sure she knows that, knows how the love she sends out is coming back to her. Even if darkness drove it gifts, generosity, and love from her mind, the love she poured out still changed things. He takes her hand and lifts it up, palm flat, and drops the rock into it. He closes her fingers over it.

The song cuts off for him, but she goes utterly, completely still.

"What's wrong?" comes Drinian's sharp question. Rilian raises his hand as he hears bedcovers rustle, but he keeps his eyes on Ileana.

"The light exists," she whispers. "I knew the light would exist." Rilian feels her fingers clutch the stone even more tightly. He lets go of her hand, reaching to pull her head forward instead. He rests his forehead against hers.

"You know the light exists now."

"Yes." She wraps both arms around him, fingers still tightly closed, and shudders. "The song is still there."

"In the daytime."

"At night, when we can hear it."

"And in our hearts, where darkness cannot put it out."

They stay that way for a few minutes, just breathing, remembering; Ileana listens. Drinian does not make a sound till the two of them pull apart.

"What'd you give her?" His voice is gruff, but Rilian can hear the relief in it.

"Shall we show him?" he asks Ileana instead, and she smiles. She offers him the white stone, letting him once again hear this music, and he takes it to Drinian's bed. The Captain looks at it and one eyebrow goes up.

"It doesn't look like much, just a pretty trinket."

"So it was, till Ileana made it something more. Touch it, old friend."

Drinian touches it with the fingertips of one hand, and he also freezes. "By the Lion."

Rilian does not take his hand away, letting the older man listen till his arm starts to tremble. Then he slowly lowers the rock.

"It's like all the nights I stood on the deck and stared at the stars. It's their song, isn't it? I heard the Queen humming something like it, a time or two, but this—"

"They let me wrap their song in stone," Ileana says softly. "It is a gift for my sister."

"Your sister, eh?" Drinian is recovering his poise. "How many siblings do you have?"

"One," Ileana says, looking away, and Rilian thinks it's time to change the subject. He puts the gift in his pocket and turns back to Ileana.

"Now that you've eaten, lady, are you ready to go?"

She answers by throwing her white blanket off, and Rilian strides quickly to her side, ready to catch her if she's unsteady. She moves slowly but seems to find her feet without trouble.

"You are staying here," Rilian says suddenly over her shoulder, because Drinian looks like he's getting up as well. And he is getting up even more slowly.

"I can make it."

"I am sure you can, but you needn't. Let us have this afternoon. Though I would ask one thing of you, old friend."

"And that is?" Drinian responds, sceptic caution in his tone.

"Release me from my promise about her company," Rilian asks soberly.

Drinian looks startled, but only for a few seconds. Remembering, Rilian guesses, the promise Rilian gave and broke and gave again. "You are freed from that promise."

Rilian smiles, and offers Ileana his arm. "Come this way, lady of the sea."

He takes her first to the wardrobe, asking its keeper for some new slippers, and for a warm, light cloak for her, just in case. He sets her down on a bench in the garden, telling her to look at the flowers while he gets things ready, and slips away to the stables. He himself readies a cart drawn by two horses (everyone being gone for the rest day), and fills the bed of it with blankets and pillows. He glances over it, satisfied, then remembers to get a mounting block. Word quickly spreads that this is for the Lady Ileana, and soon Birds fly down bunches of berries, and Squirrels offer a nut each. By the time Rilian fetches Ileana back, an entire corner of the cart is filled with food and individual flowers.

She smiles, and if it's not a sunrise, it's a lasting, true smile. It doesn't fade as she takes Rilian's hand and steps up the stairs, into the cart.

Rilian takes his time driving, going around the stones in the road as he can. Their destination is not a place filled with light, nor close. But they have the whole day before them, and Rilian relishes it.

To pass the time—and explain things to her—he tells her of the Narnia his father grew up in, the empty, fearful place under Telmarine rule. He speaks of the cruelty of his great-uncle, of the soldiers, of the way they murdered their own, but the way Caspian's nurse told him stories.

"Is that why you tell stories on rest days?" she asks, voice curious. "Because you know of their power?"

Rilian pauses. "I never had the thought, but now that you say it, it rings true. Perhaps, would then be my answer."

"What happened to your father? We only heard of Narnia's freedom long after he was crowned."

"You heard of it?" Rilian asks, beginning to turn around before he remembers he's driving two horses and probably shouldn't.

"From far away. The Telmarines did not love the sea and hunted us at the beginning. They feared we would help the Narnians, when they first came; or so I was told. We left and lived near Galma, till they started capturing us. Then we went to the Lone Islands, and it was there we first heard of Narnia's freedom, when the King sailed there on the ship with a dragon's head and tail."

Rilian smiles but continues the story, telling how his father was forced to flee and found Old Narnia; how he brought them together to fight. He speaks of the long siege, giving ground after ground, and how they sounded the horn. Aslan and the children came—other children, not the ones who freed him. He tells her how Aslan woke the wood and brought victory. Rilian speaks of Caspian's work afterwards, the restoration of Old and New Narnia into one kingdom.

"I'm taking you somewhere where a lot of these things happened," he tells her. "We call it Aslan's How."

"The place they retreated?"

"And sounded the horn, and took counsel; the place my father met the Kings of old."

Ileana says nothing more, and Rilian lets her think. These are better things to think on, he knows, than remembering her captivity.

He thought on it himself—as a child, he had begged for a description of the Kings over and over. Boys, his father always began—they were just boys in appearance. One taller and sturdier than the other. But their eyes, their tones, the way they moved—they were men, skilled, steady, and commanding. The High King led because he followed, followed completely, the Lion. The Just King followed his brother, and thus led his men. There could be no greater contrast to the King that Caspian grew up with. Miraz followed his own passions, and so he blew every which way, unsteady and unpredictable.

From behind him, Rilian hears a low, sweet sound. He gives the sound his full attention, trying to understand it, and realises Ileana is singing. Not for an audience, not even for him, but for herself. His heart aches; he cannot fully give her the stars, taking her to view their light; not till night falls. Yet she has the courage to continue singing herself. And it is beautiful.

Rilian pulls over for lunch, swinging his legs the other way on the driver's seat so he can face the Lady of the Sea. She hasn't sat up the entire ride, but Rilian can see that the shadows are lighter on her face. They talk about the different kinds of trees, the shapes of the leaves. Rilian tells her that some flowers only bloom in spring, some in summer, and some in fall. He tries to describe the summer and fall flowers, the colours and shapes, even the smells. She tells him about the fish that come and go with the seasons, the way the sea swells in spring, water pouring in from melted snow, and the way parts of it become quiet and cold during winter, under the roof of ice.

They drive a few hours more after lunch. When they arrive at the bottom of the hill, Rilian ties up the horses and reaches to lift his lady from the cart. She keeps her hand on his as she looks up at the mound. Rilian pulls her arm through the loop of his own, fishes a torch out from the cart (under the nuts), lights it, and takes her into the tunnels.

She pauses at the pictures carved into the walls first. She reaches one hesitant hand to touch it, and Rilian tells her the story of the Hare carved there, the one with ears to hear news in all of Narnia. They go from carving to carving, Rilian trying to make them come alive. Sometimes her questions are easy—"what is a Wolf?"—and sometimes much harder, about the why.

But every story is a story of struggle, sacrifice, and then, in the end, always in the end, victory.

Though sometimes, Rilian admits to himself, the victory only comes after many, many years.

They make their way slowly to the chamber where his father held counsel, ate unpleasant breakfasts, and killed one of his friends. Rilian tells her the entire tale, the beginning of the victory.

And then he takes her to the hall outside, to his favourite carving, his favourite story.

It shows a table, broken in two, and a Lion standing beside it.

Ileana looks at him, already knowing, he thinks, that this particular story will not be quite the same as the others.

"It is Aslan." He reaches out to touch it with the hand holding the torch, tilting the flame away even as his finger brushes over it.

"What happened?"

"One of the Four—the Just King—committed a crime. The White Witch claimed his life, and Aslan could not deny the justice of her claim. So the Lion took his place, the boy who betrayed his own family. The Lion died on the table, slain by the enemy He could defeat." Ileana reaches out to touch the painting now, her fingers trembling a little. Rilian continues, "It is said the two Queens were with Him, hidden by Him, the night He died. And it is said they would not leave Him, taking off His ropes and smoothing His fur. It is said they wept and walked in the darkness till morning."

"I know that darkness." It's a whisper. But she doesn't stay there, and he loves her for it, his brave lady of the sea, for she asks, "What happened in the morning?"

"The table cracked, the light dawned, and the Lion walked, living, towards the two who had wept for Him. He played with them, banished their fears, their coldness, their tiredness. He filled them with joy. And then He led them to battle, and from battle to victory, and from victory to their task of healing and ruling." Rilian shakes his head, still looking at the painting. "I've pictured that morning so many times. The two Queens, little girls, running back to find joy beyond what they could dream of. And the Lion plays with them, chases them, catches them, throws them up in the air, and reminds them the world is filled with glorious, laughing things. It is the moment I love most in the story. It is the moment I remember, when the darkness closes in during my own life—that morning."

"When all the shadows are banished, not by the light, but by the Lion who fills our hearts," Ileana says, and the same wonder Rilian feels can be heard in the ringing of her voice. She drops his arm and touches the carved table with one hand, the carved lion with the other.

And then she sings.

This is not the song of the clearing, a song of gratitude for everything she loves. This is a song of pain, of shadows and captivity. She sings of the chains on her wrists, her tail, and the voice that spoke in the darkness of coming pain to all she loved. She sings of the Lion, captive and compliant, dying for a boy who hated Him. She sings of the darkness so thick it seems light never existed.

But then she sings of the dawn.

She sings of a torch coming in the darkness, and the voice that called with it, called with love. She sings of two Queens, unbinding the Lion and weeping for Him, only to have Him restored. She sings of the sunlight and starlight that still shone on the world, even while she trembled in the dark. She sings of the promise of the Lion, that His own would always come back to Him, even if it was after death. She sings of her hope of the land of Aslan, where there are no shadows.

As she sings, as her voice fills the caves and echoes through the darkness, the Mermaid cries. Pearls slip from her cheeks to the floor. Rilian weeps with her, his hand on the arm resting in his.

When her song dies away, Rilian pulls her into a hug. She rests her head on his shoulder and breathes. He can feel the rise and fall of her shoulders under his arm, the deep steady breaths that mean she is fighting for control of herself.

"You are a wonder," he tells her. "A Mermaid of the sea, singing of the battles fought on land, and lighting the dark with tales of the light."

They do not stay much longer, for it is still dark and cold in the How. But they emerge from the darkness with light burning in their hearts, and the song still on Ileana's lips.

Only they must go slowly. Ileana leans on Rilian's arm, even more than she did walking in, and by the time they climb up the last tunnel to the surface, she is once again breathing heavily. She does not want to sit in back on the way home, she insists on sitting beside Rilian himself. He lets her, with the warning that if her breathing becomes worse, she will go back to the nest behind them.

She leans against him, eyes closed, for most of the ride home. He takes her back to the room with so many beds, only to find Drinian isn't there. But Peri is, and as he hesitates, unsure whether to leave Ileana with her, Peri runs forward. Ileana falls into her hug.

"You look so tired! Come, come back and rest. I was going to take you to the singing—everyone loved you last time, you know that, right?—but you're far too tired. Come and lie down." Ileana smiles as Peri fusses over her, and Rilian withdraws. He doesn't know if her struggle to breathe is because she's still recovering, or if it's because her time is running out, but either way, he only has eight days and a night left to find a way to save her. He bids both of them farewell—Ileana is almost asleep—and goes to the library.

Guhen isn't there yet, so Rilian spends the next two hours doing his own research. Most of the records are useless, tales of sightings and conversations from ships' decks. There's a few references to trying to catch Merfolk, but nothing at all about the Merfolk on land.

"That's the wrong pile," a voice advises him, and Rilian tries not to glare as he lowers the book. Guhen is blinking at him from the table.

"What?"

"That's the pile I have labelled 'not-helpful.'"

Two hours, Rilian thinks, but keeps his temper. "Have you found anything?"

Guhen bows his head. "No. I am sorry, my King." His feathers ruffle from his feet to his shoulders, and then fall flat. "I heard she was found. Is she—how is she?"

Rilian sits back in his chair. "Weak. Tired. And I don't know if that's her growing worse, or if it's that awful captivity."

"I've started looking into what the people did for the Mermaids who lived." Guhen shuffles to the right side of the table, and Rilian watches, noting the pile he picks. "But I've found nothing. I will keep looking. But—if I may ask—I daresay it's rude but it would be helpful—how much longer do we have?"

"Eight days," Rilian whispers. "A week and a day."

"Seven, then, if you take her back to the water."

"She says she won't go." She keeps speaking of her choice, he thinks, and he wonders if he was her choice. Because he's chosen her too now, though he hasn't said it, and having made the choice changes everything. It changes his actions, what is allowed, what his focus is.

"Then I will research as much as I can. May I call my cousin in to help?"

"If he can hold his tongue, then his help will be welcome."

"Good night, King Rilian."

"Good night, good cousin."

Rilian leaves the library and heads for his favourite tower, but he's stopped on the way by a Panther, a member of the guard.

"The Captain is looking for you, Your Majesty. He's in the armoury."

Rilian remembers there is still a manhunt going on, and perhaps Captain Etmun**** has welcome news that the squid (Rilian likes Drinian's insults) has been caught.

The Ambassador has not been caught, for when Rilian reaches the armoury the Captain is polishing his sword.

"You were looking for me?"

Etmun looks up and lays the sword aside. He bows. "It is perhaps disrespectful to say what I am going to say, Sire, but the Lord Drinian is still recovering, and it's better said and you safe than otherwise. Until we know what caused the Lord and Lady to go off by themselves, and how to fight against it, and until the kidnapper is caught, please do not go off on your own."

Rilian opens his mouth, pauses, and closes it. He wants to argue that it was for Ileana, that she needed it, that this is a day of rest and he doesn't have to be so much a king—but he knows all those things, though true, do not change the facts. He is a King, and there is danger, and he'd disregarded it.

"I think we'd better have three guards, for me and for the Lady Ileana at all times," he says instead.

"Because we do not know how many people this charmer may control at once."

"Exactly."

"A wise suggestion, my King. I will see to it at once." Rilian turns to leave, feeling weary, but stops at Etmun's firm, "Thank you."

"Thank you for being so thorough," Rilian says back, and feels a little lighter as he remembers he is King, but he is not doing this by himself. "And thank you, truly, for all you did to save the Lady Ileana."

The Captain bows, and Rilian heads to the guardhouse. He collects his three guards, ones he knows are on night duty, before heading to the tower.

The night is overcast, the stars muffled, but Rilian puts his hand in his pocket, fingering Ileana's magical gift. He hears their song just the same.


*SouthwestExpat suggested everything about Trumpkin and his retirement being a test of a younger Rilian's abilities, as well as the timing for Rilian telling this tale.
**I don't mean to imply it's not good to talk about events after they happen, just to be clear. But usually the one who suffered should be the one talking about the experience itself.
***A brilliant suggestion by trustingHim17. I hadn't thought of it.
****So, I like this Captain, but he would not tell me his name. SouthwestExpat talked about names being passed down, like they are in our world, and Frank, Peter, and Edmund, and I liked the idea. But the names also tend to change over the years, so this is now Captain Etmun.

Did anyone guess where Rilian was taking Ileana before he said it?

Response to Guest: Thank you, so much, for being so invested! I love reading your reviews, they make me smile.