Throwing his hand over his eyes, Rilian wonders why Kings aren't given the power to turn off the sun. Another full day of sleeping sounds like the best holiday in the world right now, and Kings are allowed to proclaim holidays, aren't they? So the sun should cooperate, shouldn't it?

But then his brain wakes up a little more and he remembers he's counting down the days. He remembers he only has six; she only has six. Rolling out of bed, he heads straight for his wardrobe.

It's only when he's got his shirt halfway unbuttoned—because he'd buttoned it wrong and didn't realise till he got to the end, and why'd he pick a buttoned shirt anyway? Horrible left-over from something a tailor had seen on one of the Narnian kings, once, according to his father—that Rilian realises he doesn't have any plans for the day. Leaving his shirt alone for the moment, he sinks back into bed and stares at the ceiling. Plotting. That's what he's doing, he's plotting. What should he do today? He thinks of the married or courting couples he's seen around the Cair; he thinks of the way his father treated his mother. The main point seemed to be to plan something that would make the girl—Ileana—happy. He'd bought her shoes. He could take her to see trees, but she'd seen most of the varieties already; and travelling was not such a good idea, with her weakness and with danger on the loose. She'd seen most of the Cair. She liked flowers, but she seemed to like them living, growing in the ground, not the pokey bunches of them that most women liked.

Maybe he should get a plant for her room. But she liked sitting on the windowsill, and that's where it should go. Unless it was a shade plant. But he didn't want to get her anything associated with shadows.

It was at that moment that the perfect idea occurred to Rilian, and he popped right out of bed. Shoving his feet in boots as he stripped off the silly buttoned tunic, he grabbed another out of his dresser and ran down the hallways towards the garden. The gardeners were already up and about, as he'd hoped, and he stopped to talk to the Chief Mole for a few minutes, getting things ready, selecting a place, before he made his way back to Ileana's rooms. She wasn't in them, and so Rilian headed to breakfast.

A hand grabs his wrist in the corridor, and Rilian is spinning before he thinks, twisting his wrist to grab the hand back and pulling. Drinian falls into him, sending him sprawling. Rilian grunts as they both hit the floor.

"Ow. Your Majesty."

Rilian flops one hand over his eyes. It is too early to deal with this. "If you want my attention, Drinian, ask for it."

"I tried. You didn't hear me."

Groaning, Rilian sits up. "I'm going to have bruises."

"Your bones left bruises on me." Drinian tries to sit up himself, but falls back. "Ow."

Reaching over, Rilian pulls his counsellor to a sitting position. "What did you need my attention for?"

Drinian heaves a deep sigh, looking at the floor. "It's another ship, Your Majesty."

"Another ship?" The question cuts across the air, but Drinian doesn't flinch. He gives a solemn nod before sighing again.

"The other skeleton?" Rilian whispers.

"It's in pieces. Strewn up and down the beach, as far as a man would pace. Some of the smaller beams were hammered through the smaller boats, so they're unusable as well."

Rilian thinks of the boat he used just the night before, and leans forward, resting his head on his hands. "Put the other four ships in the water."

"I already took the liberty of doing that, Your Majesty." He can feel Drinian's hand rest on his shoulder, warm and big.

"Drinian—I should go and look."

"I have the best eyes—and noses—in Narnia looking for clues. Just the dratted rotten smell again, but—"

"But?"

"There were sixteen sailors with hurting hands this morning."

Jerking his head up, Rilian stares. "Sixteen?"

"Which means the villain's either getting stronger—or careless. It might be a good thing."

"How many small boats were ruined?"

"Four."

"Four boats and a ship doesn't feel like a good thing."

"I know." Drinian squeezes Rilian's shoulder before using it to get to his feet. Rilian doesn't grunt, though he thinks to himself that Drinian is heavy. "Now off to breakfast."

"For both of us," Rilian agrees, also getting to his feet. He makes a show of wincing and patting his shoulder. "I could use it."

"Oh, hush. Show an old man some respect."

They fall into step, and it lasts for a hall before Drinian casually asks, "Any headway on your end?"

"Not much."

"Have you tried asking her?"

Please, Rilian hears in his memory, that horrible sound of her begging him. "Yes."

"Ah. Well, she'd be less a woman if she didn't keep her word. But we've got to find an answer!"

"I found a little bit of one. She said she's not the only one who has to make a choice."

"I don't suppose she's said who else has to make a choice?" Shaking his head, Rilian gives a sigh of his own. "Well, let's think about it. She has to go from the sea to the land. Maybe she has to choose to lose the sea, but someone else has to choose to welcome her to land? Like when a sailor chooses to leave a ship, but if he's on foreign shores he'd better hope he's welcome."

"That makes quite a bit of sense. So—I welcome her?"

"If anyone should be able to welcome her to the land, it should be the King, right?"

"I'll try it at once." He opens the door and lets Drinian go first; when he follows him in, he sees Ileana over Drinian's shoulder, leaning down to talk to one of her Dwarf guards.

It's like seeing a star-lit sky, reassuring and beautiful. He didn't realise he'd stopped walking till Drinian jerks him forward. "Stop gaping."

Rilian thinks, But she's so pretty this morning. Still, one doesn't say things like that to Drinian.

And it kind of sounds like something Peri would say. Rilian is not a maidservant. He is a King, and he will act like it. So he collects himself and goes to sit by her. "Good morn."

"Good morning." She reaches for his favourite foods and begins putting them on his plate before he's fully seated. "What are we doing today?"

"Before that—" Rilian tries to think of way to phrase it, to test out Drinian's theory. "I chose to welcome you to the land." It sounds pompous even to his own ears, but he waits, hoping, truly hoping, that's what was needed, that this might save her.

It doesn't seem to be; she only looks startled.

"Thank you?"

Rilian looks down at his plate, with two eggs, a bit of bacon, and a roll. It's a delicious breakfast, and suddenly he doesn't want it. He wants answers.

Cool fingers brush over the back of his hand, and he looks at his lady. "You were trying to save me?" The quietness of her question keeps others from hearing, but Rilian can't trust himself to respond in kind. His voice might break. So he nods. She wraps her fingers around his. "Keep trying," she tells him. "You're—closer than you've been before."

"Close—so I have to make a choice? Or someone else has to welcome you to land? Or—" but she's taking her hand away, and he breaks off.

"I can't tell you."

"I know, I know. I just—I'm trying. Ileana, is there any help you can give me?"

She looks at her fingers, where she's tearing her own roll into tiny pieces. Rolling them in her fingers, back and forth, till they're like miniature white worms. "I thought about it all last night. You're—this is so different from the stories. I think we presumed you still had the stories, the legends, passed down from the sailors. That you would know what to do. But I have not heard any tales of the Merfolk since I came here."

"No," Rilian admits, thinking as he speaks. "My father's people feared the sea. Most of the stories of Old Narnia were lost, except the most famous ones. The only stories we have of the water are the warnings. Can you—tell me the stories? The ones you think may help?"

"I don't know! Rilian, I want to live. But I bound myself to tell you nothing but what you already know."

"You've told stories of where you've travelled—"

"I may tell stories of the sea. But not my people."

"Rubbish and rotting boards." Rilian starts; he'd forgotten they weren't alone, and Drinian's voice startles him. "Why do they require a promise like that?"

"You were held with me in an underground cave by a Son of Adam, and you ask me that?"

"But this is King Rilian, and if you love him—"

Ileana cuts him off. "Love does not always follow wisdom," she retorts sharply. "The promise is required of those who may allow love to overcome wisdom, for there is no guarantee they gave their hearts to good people. Indeed, Sons of Adam have used love as another trap in our past. My people must have their defences."

Drinian pauses; Rilian waits. "Fair," the counsellor allows, swallowing. "I'll stop pushing for you to break that promise you gave. But it might help everyone concerned if you think of a way around it."

"I'll try," Ileana answers, voice dry. "But the promise and the choice are very thorough." She drops the bread in her fingers, picking up a spoon of porridge instead. "To return to my first question, what are we doing today?" She's looking at Drinian as she asks, an apology and offer of peace.

"I'm spending the day at the seashore."

"Oh—by the ships? May I come? I'd like to see them again."

"No!" chorus Drinian and Rilian together. There's a clink as she drops her spoon into her bowl and stares at them, one eyebrow raised.

"What fills you with fear?" she asks, prodding with a little more sternness.

"Another of the ships was destroyed last night. If the creature still lurks around, it will no doubt be quite happy to see you away from a crowd."

"Another ship gone?" There's water in her eyes, and Rilian watches her turn her head, keeping them from falling. "I want to go—I want to see if I can find anything."

"No," Drinian says, hitting the table with his fist. "You're not. And His Majesty isn't going either, so don't think you can argue me out of it. I'm not a target; you are, and he probably is. Neither of you is going near there."

"I had another plan instead." The King keeps his tone easy. "If I may have my lady's time today?"

Ileana smiles, though there's a sadness in her eyes. "You may have all my time."

"Then finish eating, if you would. I will go have a word with Captain Etmun to see if he has made progress, and then be with you." Standing, Rilian leans over to whisper, "Make sure to keep your guards around, or Drinian will fuss even more." He brushes her hair behind her ear before leaving.

Captain Etmun is in the armoury, taking dirty armour off with a slowness that speaks of deep weariness. Rilian stands silently in the doorway till the breastplate and chain mail are piled on the bench. "Anything?" he asks quietly.

His guard turns his head slowly towards the door. "Your Majesty." He starts to bow and stumbles; Rilian darts forward to catch him.

"Easy, my friend, easy. Sit down." Sitting beside him, Rilian leans him to the side, letting him rest against the wall.

"Sorry." Eyes closed, tone exhausted—Rilian doesn't bother correcting the Captain. Disagreeing would take too much energy right now.

"Shall I take you to a spare bed?"

"No. Just a bit of rest here. The Dogs are still on the trail—blasted weasel keeps changing directions, it'd be easier to follow the wind." Etmun slowly turns his head from side to side. "It's like he wants to meet someone, or like he's on a hunt of his own. There's no sense to his trail!"

"Easy, easy, you have a trail. That's news to me, and well done!"

"We'll keep being behind unless we can predict where he's going, though—he's got at least three horses he keeps switching out."

"Rest. I'm sure you left someone capable to follow his trail."

"Pretty capable. Good fellow in a fight. A bit like that young Jarmu, actually. Use a troublemaker to catch a troublemaker."

"Then rest. As King I'm ordering it; at least eight hours of sleep."

"The hunt—"

"Has others following it. Take a lesson from an older King, Captain, and let good people do good work so you have something left to do your own work with."

The Captain opens his eyes and looks at Rilian. "I keep picturing you as the young thing you were when you came out of that hole in the snow—but you are older now. And I was pretty young then myself." He pushes himself off the wall. "I'll rest."

Rilian knows he means it, but the King still sees him to a chamber before heading back to the garden, checking to make sure everything is ready before collecting Jarmu and Piram from the entrance, Peri from the kitchens, and then Ileana from her room.

"To the gardens!" he orders with a smile, Ileana on his arm, and the group of friends chatters, Peri telling Piram all about the best places to go in Cair Paravel and where the guards usually rest. Jarmu asks Ileana for another story of her adventures, but she flips the demand and asks for one of his instead. The discovery of the cave where Ileana was held captive is the first one that comes to his head. Rilian is not thrilled with his choice, but allows it, since Ileana does not wince or grow pale. Still, he is glad when they arrive in the gardens and he can cut the tale short.

"I brought you here to work today," Rilian announces. "But pleasant work, I hope. These good gardeners—thank you, Henrick—everyone, this is Henrick the Mole, our head gardener, and Blossom the Dryad, who will check our work today. They've brought new apple trees to plant in the orchard."

"To replace the dead ones," Peri thinks out loud. "Oh, good! I would have missed the cider in the fall. All the servants talk about it."

"These will likely not bear fruit for another two years," Henrick informs her gravely. "But much of gardening is to bless the future as well as the present. You shall have to wait for your cider."

"Everyone pick a tree, and Blossom or Henrick will show you where to plant it." Rilian moves with Ileana. Placing a hand on her arm, he keeps her close. Shovelling would not be the greatest idea for someone weakening, and he intends to do that part of her tree-planting.

Henrick clears his throat, drawing himself up to his full height—which isn't taller than Rilian's knee. "Now listen here, you all. We've dug up the dirt when we took out the old trees, but there's plenty of roots left. Take a shovel and pick-axe, you'll need them. And don't lift the trees! That's better done by Dryads, they've more fingers to hold weak branches. Just pick one, and a Dryad will come help."

"Which tree does my lady like?" He surveys the thirty or so sapling trees in a circle, ringed by Dryads, Dwarfs, Moles, and a few other gardeners. There's one with a branch that bends out and then up, exactly like a saluting arm; Rilian likes that one the best.

"That one." With her left hand, Ileana points to a completely different tree. "It's already in flower." Rilian surrenders his choice willingly, and is rewarded when Ileana stoops to cup an apple blossom in two hands, breathing deeply, and smiling that glorious smile.

Yes, Rilian thinks, this was a good choice.

"Come on," he says as Blossom wraps large hands around the thin stick and its roots, "let's pick a place to plant it."

"To bring back a little life," Ileana says, still smiling. She picks up a shovel; Rilian reaches to take it from her, but she smiles and shifts away. "You get a pickaxe."

They walk back and forth through the newly turned up dirt, watching as their friends and all the gardeners select their own spots. Jarmu seems intent on following them, but Ileana doesn't notice, too busy looking for the perfect place for her tree. "Here," she says at last. "This is the place with the tree I liked to climb."

"Well chosen, lady. There is a great deal of sun, but it's sheltered from the wind." Blossom sets the tree down carefully. "Dig out a place twice as large as the roots, and deep enough the dirt will rest around it up to this height." She put one gentle hand perhaps two fingers above the top roots.

"Thank you, good Dryad." Curtsying, she goes to where Jarmu is bent over, tracing a circle. Rilian holds out his hand for the shovel, but Ileana ignores him.

"Lady of the sea." She is still deliberately not looking at him. Down in the dirt goes the shovel, and she lifts her first scoop. Rilian stops her with one foot on the shovel. "You should not be doing this."

"I need to," she answers, voice soft. "I need to."

Rilian reaches down and lifts her chin with one gentle hand, looking right into her eyes. "Why?"

"Because this isn't my fault, but I can help to mend the harm. I need to do that, at least."

Hesitating for a moment, Rilian decides and lets his hand drop. "The instant you are short of breath, you take a break. I will give the shovel back to you, when you have rested a while. But rest when you need to, Ileana. Or I cannot let you work."

"Fair." She tries to mimic Drinian's tone from that morning, and it makes Rilian smile. "Why don't you find the roots with the pickaxe, till I need your help?"

The dirt is soft under Rilian's feet, and it isn't hard to find long, hard things that have no give. He hacks away at them for perhaps half an hour, keeping a sharp eye on his Mermaid, but she seems to be adjusting her pace to her strength; Jarmu's hole is nearly twice the size of theirs. Rilian, for once, is not bothered; he'd far rather make this a good memory for Ileana than win a race against a boy.

Ileana thrusts the shovel in the ground, but pauses before lifting it up. Rilian rests the pickaxe on the ground; her loads have been growing smaller, and he wonders if she'll have the wisdom to stop on her own. She glances over at him and sees him watching. With a rueful smile she straightens, leaving the shovel in the ground, and walks over to the nearest tree. As she sits, a Dryad brings her water, and Rilian smiles before going to shovel.

He works for an hour before the hole is big enough; by then his lady has come back, though he does not realise it till he accidentally hits her with some flying dirt and she laughs. "Better?" he asks.

"Better than you."

Glancing down, Rilian grins at the dirt spotting his arms, and the sweat shining between it. "I think this is a healthy look."

"It's certainly not a common look in the sea. But you do look good." She blushes after she says it, and Rilian would bet that wasn't meant to be said.

"I think we're ready for the tree itself. Think you and I can carry it?"

She turns towards the tree as her answer, and together they lift it and set it in the hole. Jumping back out, Rilian kneels and begins filling the hole. She joins him on her knees, pushing dirt back around the tree, picking out the old roots and tossing them aside. Two Moles bring several buckets of water, and it runs into the soft dirt, turning it to mud. "Done," Ileana says with satisfaction.

"Lunch, then, before we plant another?"

"I've lunch here, Your Majesty, my Lady," pipes a small voice behind them, and Mouse offers them two plates.

"Many thanks, good cousin!"

"My thanks as well." Ileana brushes her hands on the grass before taking the plate. Her eyes stay on the tree, rather than her food, and Rilian edges closer.

"What are you thinking?"

"That it's good to have planted something that will grow long after I'm gone."

Rilian looks away. Not at the tree, so young and with such a good chance to thrive; not at the dying Mermaid at his side. He knows now, with sickening clarity, why Drinian did not let him promise to save Ileana. What if he can't?

"What are you thinking?" she asks of him.

"Of my own limits," Rilian responds, bitter and short.

"Don't," Ileana says, dropping her plate. "Don't. This morning, sitting, having to rest—Rilian, I know I'm dying. I can feel it, and I hate it, I'm fighting it with everything I have. I don't like being this weak, being the one who has to sit while everyone else shovels. When Peri spoke of drinking cider, whatever that may be, two years from now—all I can think is that I won't be here." Rilian's own hands are clenched around his plate by now, listening to her list everything, and he can feel the rage building up in him, the why? "I know it's hard. But I don't regret it; I could never, ever regret this choice, regret how much I've learned to love. I love so much, I am loved by so many, so deeply, that I'm not afraid anymore. I'm grieving, but I'm not afraid. Rilian, my choices weren't your fault. You can grieve, we all need to grieve, but please don't grow bitter. You cannot help your ignorance."

A short, sharp laugh escapes him before he can stop it. "Ignorance kills, especially in the mind of kings." His plate clicks against his nails and he sets it down, gently, before he breaks it. "My tutor used to say that often."

"All right, enough, enough," Ileana says, taking one of his fists and trying to unclench it. She runs her fingers over his hands. "Today, let's—let's plant things. Let's do the things we can, and do them well, to mend what evil did. Let's do that today."

So they do. They finish lunch, and Rilian is careful to take the shovel when Ileana grows tired, but just as careful not to take it from her if she's not ready. When she rests he tries to speak with her, or send her to check the trees already planted, to work as they do, even if it is lighter work.

They are all tired at supper—Jarmu especially, who planted two more trees than anyone else. Rilian sends Ileana to rest and goes down the shore. His favourite boat is still intact, though he only feels tired relief when he sees it whole. He is too tired, his arms aching, to go far from the shoreline at first. But even there, he catches glimpses of Merfolk, jumping out of the sea on the horizon. He rows for all he is worth, trying to breach the waves and get out past the tide, but he can't. His arms are too tired; another limit he cannot pass.

When he drops the oars, his arms shaking, he suddenly hears their song. It's a piercing, sorrowing, crying melody, as if the entire ocean caught the tears of a weeping sky, and Rilian curls on the bottom of the boat, weeping.