Authoress's note: the last little bit of the story for you, my friends! I do intend to go back and revise some of the earlier chapters. After sixteen years, my writing style has changed, and I want to clean up the story a bit. But, notwithstanding that, the tale is completely finished. I hope you enjoy this last bit.

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply.

Epilogue

In the depths of darkness she awoke, suddenly aware that the long-awaited opportunity was at hand. She could see with deathless serpent's gaze a glimmer of light through the black cloak that surrounded the island of her exile. A bright, warm lantern twinkled into the night, and the steady beat of oars reached her ears, sending a tingle of excitement down her spine. Over two hundred years she languished in this prison, locked away from all light and goodness. Here she had waited, subsisting on the flesh of her one-time servants and hibernating for long years. Her malice grew with each sunless day, and her power sharpened with the centuries of meticulous practice.

Hunger filled her as she greedily beheld the dragon-prowed ship. The last ship to venture into her waters had left her but one prisoner. This one brought the promise of a hundred more. A sudden shout and splash echoed upon the hidden rocks, and an irritated frown crossed her face. There had been no need to chain her captive for years, and at long last he thought to try escape. The smirk returned to her satisfied lips. He would not live to see the freedom for which he dared to dream.

Dream. Such a lovely word. It fell from the tongue like a cascade of silver. She chuckled quietly, caressing the shimmering silver throne beside her. It glowed with a faint green tinge, its intricate metalwork reflecting back her own poison. How many ceaseless hours had she kept her captive upon this useful seat, her magic weaving through the fabric of his mind and remaking it to serve her will? How many long nights had his cries echoed against the oppressive darkness, begging for a mercy that would not come? She laughed as she remembered it. At the end he would have done anything for her, but the long years she had spent honing her skill had left him utterly spent for any use save sport. But now, she exulted, she would have a king and an army of slaves to do her bidding. With this Dark Isle at last behind her, she would have the world at her feet, a Queen of unmatched power.

The green-eyed woman turned her attention to the ship whose dragon prow gleamed in the lantern light. Closing her eyes, she reached out with her mind, sending tendrils of poisoned magic through the air unseen. She could feel them now, each living soul that braved her waters. The first she felt was a noble heart, an unyielding courage that feared nothing and resisted her attempts to reach his mind. No matter. Not everyone is useful.

The next was also a noble heart, but she found he harbored a fear that no one knew. She laughed. This young king was still afraid that he was not ready to rule, and she reached out more forcefully. She could feel his mind stumble and pause, take a breathless gasp and try to assert courage. A good start.

Ah, dear sailors, she chuckled once more as she continued to explore. How fearful were they of fanciful horrors, of serpents and spiders and krakens. Too easily done! She breathed deeply, reveling in the panic that rose to a fever pitch as she planted her nightmares into their minds.

Next, she could feel a stronger mind. For such a young mind, he resisted her with the steel of a battle-hardened warrior.

"What is it you fear?" She whispered intently, focusing her power fully upon him. He did not crumple as she expected, but bore the weight. Yet, the mind will always betray, and at last she found the chink in his armor. She nearly chortled when she saw it: a snowy forest and a little silver candy box. Turkish Delight, thought she with glee—the Traitor's price.

"Is this not what you want?" She whispered to him. "I can make you a king," her sweetened words curled around his defenses.

He fell back as though wounded, and his mind faltered for a moment. "I will never serve you," he snarled, new resolve meeting her onslaught. "Never again."

She chuckled. "We shall see."

She reached out once more, this time to the only woman she could feel on board. She shuddered in momentary anger. She despised other women. This one was afraid, yet it was not like her brother's fear. Instead of reaching, like his, into her very bones, her fear was superficial and her courage drawn from great faith. The green lady hated her for it. This fear would not serve her. Nay, it threatened her. She reached out with all of her power, summoning it for the mortal blow she would need to deal swiftly. Yet, as she prepared to target the Valiant queen, a Name sounded in the darkness.

"Aslan, help us," the girl called out in her mind, her faith rising.

The Name struck the witch with a force she had forgotten, and she fell back, the air gone from her lungs. A shaft of piercing light broke the darkness. The brilliant gleam of gold burned her like a red-hot brand. The Great Lion stepped toward her, shining like the sun. She rallied the last of her strength and lashed out towards Him like a snake.

"I will have them," she snarled. "You cannot stop me!"

"No, Juliana," He spoke simply, but His voice fell like the weight of an anvil, reminding her of the name she had forgotten was her own. "Your time has not yet come. Begone!" The last word He roared, shattering her silver instrument of torture into shards of glass and seeming to crush her beneath the weight of mountains. She felt herself swept away and knew no more.

Juliana awoke upon a hard and rocky shore, vaguely remembering a tossing sea that coiled and battered her serpent's form. She blinked, and the dreary landscape began to take shape. Grey skies, grey rocks, and grey heather surrounded her. All she had was the green dress she wore, and she stumbled through this wilderness aimlessly. Even this grey light felt harsh to her eyes, so accustomed to the darkness. As she wondered through the moor for days, she longed to find relief from the light. But the evil still lurked in her mind, and she longed above all else to taste the sweetness of revenge and conquest.

Suddenly, a great foot landed beside her, then another. She stumbled back, and looked up to see a party of giants surrounding her.

"Blimey, what've we got here?" One of them spoke.

"Good sirs, pray tell of what kingdom be you?" She asked sweetly.

"We are the scouts of His Majesty the King of Harfang," their leader answered with a darkened brow. "Who are you to dare trespass in his land?" He demanded.

Juliana straightened to stand proudly, a sinister ambition gleaming in her poison-green eyes.

"I, good scouts of Harfang," she spoke with regal pride, "am the Lady of the Green Kirtle."

Authoress's note: Perhaps Juliana's acquired taste for manflesh contributed to the Harfang cookbook. And to avoid leaving you on that unsettling thought, the prologue of the sequel, where Galen and Lyra's story continues, will follow shortly.