A/N: Everyone enjoy last chapter's cliffie? Yes? Good, we may or may not see more of those in this last half of Part 4 😇 Enjoy!
Chapter 78 Content Warnings: N/A
Chapter 78: I lost the war
Addie
Opheodra's music stops, her thumb hesitating over the strings.
Addie wills away a sharp, sudden pinch in her stomach.
"You once said the right song can bring memories. You also said a song can make you forget."
Opheodra slides her index finger down the mandolin strings. "The right song, with the right musician to play it, can do many things."
"But can you do it?"
Without answering, Opheodra tests the mandolin.
Strum.
The notes evaporate like smoke, impossible to recall after they fade.
"It would be a substantial working," says Opheodra. She strokes the instrument's neck, long fingers gliding over polished wood.
"Working?" Addie looks between Opheodra, the mandolin, and the fire. "Like magic?"
Opheodra laughs, her gaze unblinking. "Music, Addie. Is there a difference?"
Addie nibbles her cheek, considering. Music, magic, a working… does it matter, if Opheodra can soften painful memories as easily as she summons Mum's diaries?
"I guess it doesn't matter," Addie says.
Opheodra's lips curl into a smile. "My thoughts precisely. Now then, what do you wish to forget?"
Weakness. Longing. The hollow ache of loving someone she can't have and trying in vain to leave the past where it belongs.
Whatever madness drove her to rush back to the castle instead of donning a yellow ring and returning to her proper place, it needs to be banished somewhere she can't feel it again.
Addie's teeth worry her lower lip. Forgetting Caspian entirely would be best, but how can she make better choices the next time she's stupid enough to pine over someone if she forgets everything that loving - and failing - Caspian taught her?
"Not everything," Addie finally says. "Just the memories that keep… that won't let me…" she sighs. "Anything that makes me feel things for him. I can't keep chasing a ghost."
Opheodra tilts her head, considering.
"You wish to forget how you once loved him, yes?"
Addie flinches. Despite how it all ended, so many memories of Caspian are sweet. In England, she clung to them even as she tried to let go.
If she'd detangled the mystery of the magic rings, she could be on her way to England now, and she'd hoard every memory like a dragon guarding its treasures. With a final goodbye looming, she'd clench the threads binding her to Caspian and Lola, Cesare, everyone until her hands bled just to carry those paltry pieces of them with her.
But the late Lord's library has turned up nothing. She's stuck in Narnia indefinitely, her only hope of escape - and peace - dwindling by the day.
Here, in the place she first grew up, the place she loved Caspian, the past is no dear and distant friend. It's a spectre looming over her shoulder, a snake hissing dangerously seductive what ifs.
Addie retrieves the throw pillow at her feet and grips it.
She doesn't have a choice; she has to settle in Narnia until she understands the rings and the Wood - or until Caspian changes his mind. Each one is as likely as the other.
She'd have better luck trying to anger Aslan into reappearing and roaring her out of Narnia, and the Lion hasn't been seen in years.
Accepting reality is her only option. She can keep her feelings for Caspian, or she can try to forge her own peace - but not both.
She can't watch him love someone else any longer.
You can make your life here, if you want. Don't forget that.
That is her choice: cling to her memories of Caspian, the man she loved and failed and who failed her in turn, or erase what she can't have and begin fresh in this land that was once her home.
"Yes," Addie says, pushing past the bubble in her throat. "That's what I want."
Opheodra smiles faintly. "Well, I suppose I could try. If you're certain."
Addie only hesitates a moment.
"I'm certain."
"Very well." The mandolin thrums, a low cascade of notes rolling like distant thunder. "Go to the library and fetch his letters."
Addie's on her feet before she thinks to question it. She stops halfway to the hall, frowning over her shoulder.
"Caspian's letters? Why?"
Opheodra strums once, twice. "Because we will have need of them. Unless you've changed your mind?"
"No," Addie answers quickly. "I'll… I'll be right back."
The fireplace smoke chases her halfway to the library, a silent call to hurry. The manor is cold, the fire is warm, hurry back.
Addie jogs to the dark library, wishing she'd brought a candle even if she doesn't need it to navigate the manor, and opens Opheodra's box.
So many letters… more than twenty.
Addie closes the box and returns to the sitting room. Smoke is creeping into the hallway like mist, and the low strumming has fallen silent.
Opheodra tosses a handful of green powder into the fire. Instantly, the smell of the smoke sweetens, thick as a butter cake. Sometimes, if Addie can't concentrate, Opheodra uses the powder when they work on her mother's diaries.
"Close the door," she says.
Addie shuts it with a click, the box of letters cradled against her chest, as Opheodra takes her seat.
"Sit by the fire," says Opheodra, her green eyes reflecting the roaring flames as her mandolin sings a greeting as soft as sheepskin.
Addie obeys, the polished stone floor warm through her shift as she kneels.
"Open the box."
With a click, Addie unlatches the catch and lifts the lid.
Twenty letters.
Twenty times she let hope dig its treacherous claw into her heart.
Addie looks to Opheodra and realises she's still playing, slender fingers gliding over the strings. The music is barely a tickle in her ear, like a mosquito on a summer night.
"Close your eyes."
Darkness cloaks Addie's vision, obedience as automatic and thoughtless as breathing. The fire's warmth mellows, pricks of heat smoothing into a comforting blanket, beckoning sleep as the storm carries on outside.
She can't even hear the wind.
The mandolin's music fades away, leaving heaviness in its place.
"You have told me of your love's beginning," says Opheodra. The air trembles with silent notes. "And you have told me of its end. Remember that ending now."
Addie shifts on her knees, the fire's heat sharpening. She doesn't want to think about -
"Addie."
Her own name echoes with a warning.
Addie clenches her fists and breathes deeply, welcoming the smoke stinging her nose and throat.
"Remember your confusion and shock when you discovered your family yet lived."
Your parents are alive.
You're mistaken. That's… that's impossible.
"Remember your fear as you ran to tell him," Opheodra says. "How desperate you were for a comforting embrace."
I love you. You have to know I love you.
Addie's throat contracts. She knew, somehow, that in telling Caspian about her parents, she was going to lose him.
She should've said nothing.
Thrum. Thrum.
"Remember what he gave you instead," Opheodra hisses.
A ghostly memory of Caspian's arms falling away chills her, shoulders cold despite the blazing fire.
What is this? What are you doing?
"When you needed comfort, he gave you disdain."
You still think I'm lying?
What else am I to think? You aren't in the habit of honesty, Adelina, not even with yourself.
"When you needed understanding, he gave you bitter accusations."
You still believe I am better off without you.
Are you so afraid of being happy?
"You needed his love," Opheodra continues. "And what did he give you instead?"
Run, Adelina. I will not stand in your way.
Addie inhales shakily, the fire's sweet smoke burning her nose.
"A goodbye," she whispers. "He gave me a goodbye."
Strum, strum.
"Rejection," Opheodra corrects. "He gave you the cruellest of rejections, did he not?"
Addie swallows, unshed tears a wet rasp in her chest.
Caspian wouldn't even look at her, and he walked out of the room like he was turning his back on her forever.
And yet, when the tree loomed before her, he ran after her.
"He tried to stop me," Addie says, each word heavy on her tongue.
Strum.
"Another cruelty," says Opheodra, voice as sweet as her fire. "Meant to keep you near while giving you nothing but heartache."
No, Caspian's not cruel, he's -
He was cruel.
How can she know his past intentions?
In her silence, Opheodra continues.
"Think how harshly he treated you," she says in a voice like moonlight on ice - cool, smooth, beautiful. "Then, and now. Tell me, has he been kind? Has he been tender?"
Images flash through Addie's mind, a march of the inevitable. Caspian holding Lilliandil's hand, Caspian dancing with her, Caspian murmuring with her on the boat, Caspian always so proud to have the star shining beside him.
"Yes," Addie whispers. "Just not to me."
The mandolin's notes ripple through the air, more feeling than sound.
"Yes," says Opheodra. "Not to you, who stood by him in the darkest hour, but to another. Think of his harsh treatment upon your return, when you sought nothing from him."
I'm sorry for intruding. I didn't mean to.
Yet here you are. An accident, I presume?
"Think how you moved through his castle like a ghost, clinging to the shadows that were your only refuge as he scorned you for your presence alone."
Enough! You will tell me why you returned. You will tell me why you have not left. You will tell me what you intend by lingering here.
I'm sorry. I'll leave as soon as I can. It'll be like I was never here.
Let us hope so.
If she hadn't braced for Caspian's anger, her heart would have broken all over again.
"Think how he has paraded his newfound happiness before you at every turn," says Opheodra, every word a melody. "On the ship, at Cair Paravel, in these very letters before you. Has he not tried to feed your folly while holding himself just out of reach?"
Addie wipes a stray tear. Caspian's initial disregard was…
It was a dagger in her heart. The heart he broke first.
But no, he's softened recently, and his letters -
"Not intentionally," Addie mumbles. The words blur together, barely comprehensible as the fire-smoke dulls her tongue. "He wouldn't… he's not…"
Strum.
"Oh Addie, my dearest Addie." Strum. "You have shouldered much you did not deserve."
But she did deserve it, didn't she? Caspian's anger, borne of pain she caused, is nothing she didn't earn. Yet, was it unjust to run toward home, family, her mother, when he dismissed her so utterly?
Run, Adelina.
"What do his intentions matter?" says Opheodra. "The injustice of your pain remains. Think how he has stoked your regard for him with every letter, all while he plans his proposal to another."
Addie fists her hands in her robe. Caspian is cruel, to -
No, he isn't, or at least never intentionally. Caspian is… he's…
"It's not his fault," Addie says, every syllable a chore. "He… I should know better. It's not his… he didn't…"
Strum, strum.
"Ah, but doesn't he? Who has known you more intimately than he?"
Addie opens her mouth, but her voice fails. She could say Lola, Josie, her mother, even Perla, but…
She's never let anyone get so close as Caspian did.
He does know her, or he used to. He must have known how deeply seeing his and Lilliandil's happiness thrust into her face would pain her.
But should he even care? She left, and she can't blame him for moving on from the wreckage she made of them.
Can she?
"It's not like that," Addie says, more whimper than certainty. "He's… Caspian's not like that."
Strum, strum, strum.
"My darling, tender-hearted Addie, have you never wondered if you've been more charitable than he deserves?"
Of course she's not, she's only ever been less than Caspian deserved, too fragile, too needy, too impossible to command, too…
Too much, too little, too everything. What would they have been, her and Caspian, if she hadn't made herself at home in his study?
She never belonged there.
"Less," Addie says hoarsely. "I was less than he deserved."
Strum, strum, says the mandolin.
"It pains me to hear you speak so," Opheodra croons. "Has no part of you felt ill-used? Ill-cared for?"
"Well…"
Of course she has - a little - because she has been trying to be fair to Caspian the best way she knows. She's stayed out of his way, stifled her jealousy, thrown herself into leaving Narnia again, yet Caspian's met her every effort with frustration or stalling.
Why has he pressed her about their past? Why reopen an old wound? Why draw her back into the pain she left behind?
What does Caspian stand to gain from dredging up mistakes long past, too far gone to mend? He'll be engaged soon. Why should he care about anything but his kingdom and his future queen?
Her chest pounds with a familiar rhythm - the staccato thunder of a breaking heart.
"Of course you have," says Opheodra. "While you have tried to appease him, what has he done? Lured you close for no end but his own base desires and self-satisfaction?"
Strum, strum, strum.
Smoke filters into her lungs like a balm, gentle and sweet and familiar.
Excuse after excuse, letter after letter. Why can't he just leave her alone, leave her to cobble together a life without him?
Why does Caspian have to make turning her back on him so goddamned difficult?
It shouldn't be. Ignoring him, being away from him, leaving him behind, it should be the easiest thing in the world.
She's done it before.
"You see? You were right to come to me." Opheodra's voice whispers serpentine into her ears, soothing and understanding.
Addie nods, her shoulders sagging. Who's ever understood her better than Opheodra? Who else has listened - truly listened - to her desires and regrets?
"Let these memories burden you no longer," Opheodra continues. "Give up this heartache, and be troubled with this thoughtless king no more. You needn't long for one such as him."
Opheodra's right. After all, what have the longings of her heart gotten her?
Doesn't she deserve relief after all these years?
"Take the letters in your hands."
Addie obeys, parchment crinkling against her palms.
"Look upon them."
Her eyes slide open, and Caspian's slanted handwriting stares back at her. How eagerly she awaited his replies.
How foolish she was. What do these letters hold but temptations to drown herself in heartbreak she's long outgrown?
"Are they precious to you?"
Addie frowns down at them, paper creasing as her grip tightens.
"They make me think of him," she says. "And I don't want to."
Through the smoke, Opheodra's eyes glitter, brilliant as twin emeralds. "Give this burden to the fire."
Addie blinks at her hands, willing them to obey.
These are the only concrete things she has of him. These letters bear ink from Caspian's quill, his penmanship, his words.
He's never given her a ring.
Only words.
The mandolin's notes shiver through the air, quickening.
"Must I?" Addie whispers.
Opheodra's gaze hardens. "If you would free yourself of this foolishness, yes, you must."
It's just ink and paper.
Addie squeezes her eyes shut and throws the first one towards the fire's heat.
Then another.
Another.
Another.
"That's it," says Opheodra, as the flames devour letter after letter. "Let it go, Addie. Let it all go. It's not such a terrible thing."
Addie breathes deep, her head pleasantly foggy.
Gradually, the thorn in her chest eases. The deep-seated pain fades to a sting, to a dull ache, to a tickle.
What a silly girl she's been.
She tosses the rest of the letters into the fire and watches them crumple and blacken, her weakness reduced to ashes.
Her eyes drift shut as Opheodra's music settles around her.
There is a muted pinch in her chest, the tug of a frayed tether snapping free, and finally, finally -
Peace.
Caspian
Lord Stefano's men have defeated a pirate ship and towed it to Redhaven, where the survivors are being questioned. The pirates' cargo was a hold full of captive Terebinthians, despite the plague supposedly ravaging the island kingdom.
Caspian sighs and sets the report on his bedside table. Unfortunately, Terebinthia is not part of the Narnian empire, so even sending a few healers to the island might offend the Terebinthian king and sour the delicate politics. The king rejected his offer of aid three months ago, insisting that Terebinthia's affairs were their own and needed no foreign meddling.
Yet for all their king's pride, Terebinthia can't seem to solve its pirate problem.
Caspian goes to his wash bin and splashes his sweat-sticky face and neck clean. Terebinthia's troubles aside, the matter of pirates trading with Ettinsmoor is his concern.
Always Ettinsmoor…
Trumpkin believes trouble will always haunt the moors by virtue - or vice - of its location. "Ettinsmoor's as close as you can get to Witch Country," the dwarf has said several times. "If it's not Giants stomping about, it's dark magic - mark my words."
Caspian dries his face with a soft cloth and changes into clean clothes with his formal burgundy overcoat. In his experience, dark magic is rarer than Aslan's appearances. Only twice has he encountered it - once thanks to Nikabrik's scheming, and once on the Island of Dreams, which Drinian calls Dark Island. Ettinsmoor's troubles seem to be from foes of flesh and blood - Giants, werewolves, pirates.
Lion only knows what Addie finds so pleasant about the north.
Dressed and as clean as he has time for, Caspian retrieves Lord Stefano's letter and leaves for the council meeting.
At sunset's first pink, a knock raps on his study door.
"Come in," Caspian calls without looking up.
The door creaks, and when he looks up, Doctor Cornelius peering down through his spectacles. The professor closes the door, cutting off the chatter of passersby.
Caspian re-dips his quill and continues his reply to Lord Stefano. While one pirate ship captured is good news, the Bight of Calormen is by no means free of piracy altogether.
With a grunt, Doctor Cornelius sits.
"Has Adelaine replied to your letters?"
Straight to the point, then.
Caspian sets his jaw and finishes his letter before taking Addie's latest report from a drawer and tossing it across the papers piled across his desk, obscuring a map of Ettinsmoor spread beneath.
"Her report, as always," he says. "Surely you received one as well. Is yours so taciturn, or is that a pleasure reserved for my person?"
Doctor Cornelius takes the letter without reading it while Caspian retrieves sealing wax from his desk.
"I received her letter just this morning. Has she -"
"Lord Bern writes that the Lone Islands' slave markets are nearly eradicated," Caspian interrupts, waving another letter as he waits for his reply to Stefano to dry. "The pirates cannot make easy prey of the Lone Islands' citizens anymore, and their most lucrative market must now be in Calormen. Yet Lord Stefano's men caught the last ship north of Muil."
Doctor Cornelius taps Addie's report against his palm. "As the council said, perhaps there is an underground market in the Seven Isles. Now, about Adelaine -"
"The Seven Isles are too sparsely populated to be a profitable market, especially under our increased scrutiny," Caspian says. He blows on his letter, the ink still shiny. "But they lay halfway between Terebinthia and Ettinsmoor. If the pirates are skilled sailors, they could navigate the shoals and sea caves around the northern Isles."
"A possibility Lord Stefano will no doubt investigate," says the Doctor. "There is little to be done presently."
Caspian leans back and passes a round, glass paperweight between his hands. "The pirates must have found customers in Ettinsmoor - richer than even Tashbaan's aristocrats. How can farmers and stone masons produce such wealth? Even Lady Opheodra can't have gold enough to tempt them, and her manor is not near the River Shribble. Who, then, can these pirates be selling to? We've heard no word of them in Ettinsmoor; where could they have been sold?"
Doctor Cornelius adjusts his glasses. "Perhaps into Witch Country? The lands beyond the Great Northern River are a dark, wild region outside Narnia's purview. However, I have every faith your spies will unearth the culprit by spring, if not sooner. That aside, my king, we must speak of Adelaine."
Gritting his teeth, Caspian folds his letter to Stefano and holds a red wax stick over his candle.
"There is nothing to discuss. Adelaine's research continues, with as little meaningful progress as ever, and she insists on remaining in Ettinsmoor. If you wish to speak with her in person, I expect her return within the month."
The Doctor unfolds Addie's report and skims it, stroking his long beard.
There's little to read. Addie said only:
To His Royal Majesty, King Caspian X,
Please see this week's report, attached.
Respectfully,
Adelaine
She hasn't replied to a single question or pleasantry, if she even reads his letters at all.
Or Addie has read every word and spurns his attempts at reconciliation.
As ever, he is too late to mend the wounds between them. He can rule a kingdom in peace and in war, yet he cannot make a friend of a woman once his lover.
That detail may be the issue entire. If Lilliandil's present - and perfectly understandable - avoidance is any indication, this cool distance is the way of dissolved entanglements.
Frowning, Doctor Cornelius refolds Addie's letter and places it atop the map of Ettinsmoor.
"And Lady Lilliandil?" asks the scholar. "How fare her travels?"
"She fares well, presumably. I haven't heard from her directly." Caspian drips wax onto his letter to Stefano and presses his signet ring into the red pool. "Regarding the pirates, it's strange their activity's increased. The rough winter seas should keep them nearer to port."
The Doctor rests his hands on his stomach. "Whatever their errands in the north - which shall soon be discovered - they cannot sail too far inland - parts of the Shribble freeze in winter. That aside, have you considered writing to Lady Lilliandil? She might wish to see the capital at Christmas."
Caspian takes out a second candle and holder. He has papers yet to parse, and the sunlight retreats earlier every night. Already, the sparse clouds are ringed in umber and scarlet.
"If Lady Lilliandil wishes to return for the holiday, I've no doubt she will write of her intention," he says flatly.
"Perhaps not," counters the Doctor. "You might suggest it yourself, so she may be sure she is welcome."
Shaking his head, Caspian finds fresh paper and taps the excess ink from his quill. He may as well write his reply to Addie now, brief as it will be.
"Of course she's welcome," Caspian says. "I expressed as much before she left."
Doctor Cornelius opens his mouth to reply, closes it, then opens it again. "It has been some weeks. A more active approach would not be remiss."
In fact, it might well be.
Caspian scrawls a quick, perfunctory reply to Addie's report.
"May I remind you, professor, that Lady Lilliandil ended our courtship. I will not impose myself upon her."
"Reiterating a welcome is no imposition," says the Doctor. "You should leave Lady Lilliandil in no doubt of your high regard or desire for her company. The holiday festivities will present the perfect opportunity to -"
"To what?" Caspian leaves his quill in the inkpot and leans forward, keeping his face impassive.
Doctor Cornelius takes off his spectacles and begins to polish the lenses. "Surely you can mend whatever misunderstanding has come between you? Reconcile your differences?"
If I give you my heart, I would expect yours in return. I do not think you can give me that.
"I think not," Caspian says. "Lady Lilliandil desired what I could not give. I believe all either of us desires is friendly regard - no more than that."
The Doctor scoffs, holding his spectacles toward the candlelight. "And what of Narnia?"
"What of it?"
Despite Ettinsmoor's troubles, Narnia is well. Lord Stefano and Lord Bern will continue hunting pirates, hopefully eradicating them by this time next year. Narnia's mainland is peaceful, the populace preoccupied with anticipating Christmas.
Narnia, his kingdom, is at peace.
Doctor Cornelius dons his spectacles, peering through them reproachfully. "Narnia can ill-afford another succession crisis."
This again? Caspian stifles a grunt of frustration.
"I am still young -"
Doctor Cornelius cuts in. "Yes, and you have faced many perils already. Now Witch Country may be stirring, our relations with Terebinthia are tepid at best, and Ettinsmoor's troubles continue. Your kingdom needs a queen, Caspian, and you need an heir - several, preferably."
Caspian clenches his jaw and summons his patience. He once thought as Cornelius does, and that is why Lilliandil ended their courtship.
"You forget one vital component," Caspian begins. "If - when - I marry, the woman at my side will not only be Queen of Narnia. She will also be my wife, and the mother of my children - heirs. I cannot ask so much of anyone without offering my heart along with my crown."
The Doctor scowls. "What is a king's heart but for his kingdom? Love is a fine thing, but for kings, it is not enough. Lady Lilliandil would make an excellent queen."
"Yes," Caspian agrees. "That is why I courted her."
"Then for the Lion's sake, make amends!" Doctor Cornelius leans onto the desk, crinkling the map of Ettinsmoor. "There is still time -"
"No, professor." Caspian raises a hand to stop the Doctor from interrupting again. "I courted Lady Lilliandil with little thought for my heart - or for hers. I sought a queen who would be an amiable companion in life. But I was wrong."
Cornelius straightens. "If this is about Adelaine -"
"This does not concern Adelaine!" Caspian slams an open palm onto his desk. Damp ink sticks his reply to Addie to his hand, a cool recrimination of his temper. Carefully, Caspian peels it off, though his brusque words stain his skin.
Caspian sets the ruined letter aside.
"I will continue to safeguard Narnia as I always have," he says firmly. "But in the matter of marriage, I will not be content with merely a queen, nor would I expect my wife to be. Duty is not enough."
Doctor Cornelius strokes his beard.
"I see you will not presently be persuaded otherwise." The Doctor stands, disappointment writ in his aged features, and turns to go.
Before he opens the door, the scholar turns back.
"Be careful, Caspian. You know the dangers of entangling hearts better than most."
Caspian takes a clean parchment from his desk and begins another letter to Addie.
"Good day, Lord Chancellor."
"Hmm."
Doctor Cornelius closes the door behind him, leaving Caspian alone with his thoughts and yet more words drifting in his head, struggling to be put to paper.
Adelaine,
I am in receipt of your report. You intend to return to the capital three weeks hence, do you not? Please confirm your travel plans so I may arrange your escort.
Cordially,
Caspian X
Addie,
I doubt you will read this, but it bears saying, for my own peace of mind if not for yours.
I am sorry. I am sorry for everything those years ago.
That is all.
Caspian
Addie
"Tell me about your homeland, Addie. You've said it's far from Narnia?"
The fire blazes drowsily as Addie signs her next report to Doctor Cornelius and King Caspian, dated three weeks hence. Opheodra declared her research project to be finished, but the king and his Lord Chancellor don't need to know that.
"Yes," Addie mumbles, head lolling as she sets aside her quill. "Very far."
Opheodra hums, lips pursed as her fingers delicately cascade over her mandolin's strings. "Tell me all about it, Adelaine. Leave nothing out."
With a shrug, Addie curls against the settee's arm and rests her head there. "You know almost everything already - Mum, Josie, the Shaws' farm, London."
"London?" Opheodra's strumming quickens. "What a peculiar name. Tell me more about this London."
Addie hides her face in her elbow. She's not supposed to talk about England by name, is she?
And yet, her tongue answers.
"It's… busy, like any big city. There are so many more people, all human, always rushing somewhere. No talking animals, no fauns or centaurs or satyrs." Addie lifts her head, nestling her chin in the crook of her arm. "I don't think centaurs would fit on trains, anyway."
"Trains?" Opheodra leans forward, curiosity bright in her face. "What are those, pray tell?"
Addie nibbles her lip. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to…"
"Come now, don't be coy." Opheodra resumes her strumming, slow and steady as England's spring rain. "We are friends, are we not?"
"Of course, but…" Addie casts about for a vague enough explanation. "Um, trains are just carriages. Made of metal."
Her stomach roils. She shouldn't be dancing around the truth, especially not with a dear friend.
Opheodra taps her chin, music pausing. "Metal carriages, and no Narnians? Why, it sounds almost fantastical, this homeland of yours." She tightens a mandolin string and tests it, filling the room with a gentle, coaxing note as sweet as the fire-smoke. "What is its name?"
The answer slips from her lips like oiled hands over dough.
"England."
Shit.
Addie snaps her mouth shut, shame heating her face. She shouldn't have said that, even if it's just a name.
"England? I've not heard of it," Opheodra croons, her brilliant green eyes locked on Addie's. "You really must tell me everything."
Words surge up Addie's throat. She clamps her teeth against them.
She promised not to, and… and it was important that no one know, because…
Because it was dangerous, somehow, for other people to know she came from England. But Opheodra is a friend, her dearest friend in the world. Friends trust each other, don't they?
But she promised.
"I shouldn't," Addie says, her tongue sluggish.
Opheodra looks at her askance, auburn waves cascading over her shoulder. "Why ever not?"
Strum, strum, purrs the mandolin.
Nausea rolls in Addie's stomach, twisting at the wrongness of keeping secrets from Opheodra, who's done so much for her.
"I made a promise," she manages.
"Oh? To whom?"
Addie breathes out the name, blessedly free of pain. "… King Caspian."
Opheodra's eyes narrow. "I see."
Opheodra stands, her song never faltering, and goes to the fire. Wordlessly, she takes another handful of powder from a box on the mantle and throws it into the fireplace. Smoke spills onto the floor, thick and grey-green, its scent thickening.
Addie sags against the settee, fighting to keep her eyelids open. Opheodra returns to her armchair and sits, her legs crossed at the ankles.
"Perhaps this will set your mind at ease: I, too, am not of Narnia."
Addie jolts upright. "You're not?"
Opheodra's smile curls over rosebud lips, soft with sympathetic understanding. "I am not. I suspect we share such a unique situation."
Someone else not from Narnia, a stranger in a magical land?
Addie covers her mouth, her eyes watering.
She's not alone.
Opheodra understands.
Addie crosses her legs and leans forward. "Did you come through the Wood?"
"The Wood?" Opheodra shakes her head. "I'm afraid my path was not so pleasant. I was cast out of my home to the dark places, through the cold and the emptiness between worlds. I think my exile was not meant to be in a land so comfortable as this."
"I'm sorry," Addie says. "To be exiled… I can't imagine."
Opheodra smiles gently, as if to a child. "No, I imagine you can't."
Silence falls, as thick a blanket as the fragrant smoke covering half the floor.
Addie tangles her hands together. An apology tickles her mouth, though she's not sure what for.
At length, Opheodra squares her shoulders and resumes playing, her music as effortlessly soothing as ever.
"It is of no consequence," she says. "The important detail is that we are the same. You seek to return home - as do I."
Addie picks at her finger, worrying a hangnail she picked bloody this morning.
"Then I can trust you?" she murmurs.
"Of course you can, Addie, sweet," says Opheodra. "After all, I'm trusting you."
"Yes," Addie says. "Thank you."
A thought strikes her, a memory of a twin-trunked oak splitting in two.
"Didn't Aslan offer you a way back?"
Opheodra's strumming quickens, the mandolin's notes climbing like a trilling birdsong.
"I think you will find that Lion does not favour all equally." Opheodra repositions her instrument, plucking the strings quick as a seamstress pulls stitches. "You can't mean to tell me that beast ferried you to and from this land?"
Addie hesitates. Something in her mind rattles, a door on rusty hinges, a box with its lock askew.
"I don't know," Addie says, swallowing a pinch of nerves. The fireplace crackles, smoke covering the room in a soothing haze, "I haven't figured out how world-travelling works."
"No?" The mandolin thrums. "Tell me, how did you travel between England and Narnia?"
Again, that rattling door, that rusted lock.
Silliness, that's all it is. Opheodra is like her - why shouldn't she share her troubles and travels with someone she trusts - someone who's travelled as far as her?
Addie's mouth moves before she thinks to stop it.
"Magic," Addie says. "And rings. Magic rings."
Inside her, something screams.
Meaningless, that - as silly as the girl that once pined over a faithless king.
Across the room, Opheodra's song pours into the silence like a wave on the shore, a fire consuming a well-dried log.
"Rings?" Opheodra's eyes glitter, unblinking and unyielding. "Tell me all, Addie. At once."
There was a reason she shouldn't, something so vital it sealed her lips for months, but was it truly so important? Surely the king didn't mean Opheodra; she's travelled between worlds, too.
Addie hugs herself and tries to remember why the secret was so important, but it's slippery, so slippery…
Opheodra's like her. That's enough.
When Addie summons her wits, the answers are already spilling from her mouth.
By midday, Addie's packed all the necessities. She meets Opheodra at the stables, where the two northmen tower over them. It's a bright morning, the air crisp from last night's snowfall. Compared to London's constant drizzle, Ettinsmoor's relentless snow is beautiful - white, sparkling, pristine.
Clean.
"Come, Addie," Opheodra says as a reedy stableboy leads her snow-white mare from the stable. "Our travels have just begun."
Addie waits for the stablehand to bring her docile bay. Any adventure is welcome, especially with Opheodra.
After Opheodra and the northmen have mounted, Addie swings into the saddle - with the stableboy's help - and leans into the brisk northern wind.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
Opheodra smiles. "To my realm. I have great need of you, Adelaine. You can't imagine how delighted I am to have your company."
Addie returns her joviality, as effortless as breathing.
"Likewise," she says.
Opheodra clicks her mare - Snowflake - onward, leading the way into the northern lands, and Addie follows, grateful for the northmen flanking them.
She will follow anywhere Opheodra leads.
A/N: Anyone who guessed Opheodra was up to something, pat yourselves on the back! Any guesses where Addie's going next? 😈
Next chapter is going up next Wednesday (~10 days).
Chapter 79 Preview:
"This is Narnia's concern," Caspian snaps, "if Narnian citizens are -"
A growing rumble silences him, a great noise rolling in from a distance.