The Dark Castle.
Sapphyre.
She'd polished her silver armour to a shine, the tunic below was the emerald green of her sister's banner. But the blue cloak was all her own – the only distinction between herself and the other knights who flanked the throne as their subjects paid tithe.
Payment for housing and protection.
It was to Sapphyre they handed their payments with trembling hands, whilst bowing deeply to Emerylda. She accepted the coins and weapons, appraising each of them before directing her knights to take them to the vaults.
Jewels mined by the dwarfs.
Armour and weapons crafted by the gnomes.
Sapphyre was admiring a dagger handed to her, the blade skilfully honed when her sister's scoff rang out through the near-silent courtyard.
The dryad knelt before Emerylda; his offering held forward with trembling hands. Beautiful, iridescent flowers that seemed to near-glow with their own light. Sapphyre took a step forward to accept them, to take a closer look.
Emerylda held up a hand and Sapphyre stilled.
"What is this?"
"The most beautiful of blooms from our grove, my Lady," the dryad near-whispered, his eyes wide. "From one of the first trees. Our greatest of treasures."
Emerylda stood, her skirts pooling about her, the deep jade satin spilling over the stairs. Her face was thunderous. "We cannot eat flowers. We cannot use flowers to defend ourselves." Then Emerylda's eyes met Sapphyre's, as hard as the jewels she was name for. "The dryads cannot pay. Take him away."
And Sapphyre could do nothing to stop it, her knights awaiting her cues. The guards hauled the dryad by his arms, and he stumbled as the flowers fell to the ground, beautiful white blossoms stark against the dark black stones. She reached out gingerly, picking up one that fell near her feet, deaf to the dryad's cries, blind to the next tithe offering that one of her knights accepted in her place.
She twirled the little blossom.
She knew what their storeroom looked like. Dust collected on the things towards the back, spiderwebs wove loosely around the barrels, dirtied shelves and stands. Bolts of bright fabrics, a heavenly silk that was like water through her fingers when she touched it.
The ground was littered with dirt, glass, books, and torn paper, footprints in the dust closest to the door. The crevices in the wall allowed small amounts light to filter inside along with thin ropes of ivy. Dust floated lazily in the air and every step she took towards the back put more of it into the air.
Tithe.
To their Queen.
Something bubbled within her.
They did not need the tithe.
"The dryads have by next moon to pay. Double," Emerylda's voice was flinty, and with a flare of her skirts she took her seat once more. "Or they will be cast into the Sunless Sea."
The rest of the tithe collection passed in a blur, Sapphyre simply held onto the pretty flower.
But that eve found the sisters in their shared library, the tension so thick Sapphyre could have cut it with an arrow-head.
"What is wrong sister? Will you not speak to me?" Emerylda seemed almost exasperated as she sunk into the blush velvet chair by the fireplace. She was loosening her braid, her crown absent, lending her a far softer look than anyone else was allowed to see.
Sapphyre watched the flames as they danced. "The dryads came to us before anyone else."
"The dryads are cowards who will side with anyone who gives them a place where they can dance and frolic, that does not mean we can be lenient," Emerylda raised her eyes to Sapphyre's own and then stood, grasping her sister's hands with her own. Emerylda offered her a small smile – but all Sapphyre saw were the dryad-mans terrified eyes as he was taken by their guards. "We must build our empire on order. On fairness and equality. Otherwise, we are no better than our parents and their corrupt system." She brushed a hair out of Sapphyre's eyes, tucking it tenderly behind her ear. "We must do better. He will be imprisoned, but he will be treated well."
Emerylda was right. Of course she was right. But surely, they could have sent that message another way? But Sapphyre did not say the words aloud.
Instead, she nodded her head and gave her sister a small smile.
Yes, they must do better.
Otherwise, all their actions were for naught.
…
Upon The Shores of the Sunless Sea.
Eirwyn.
The handful of her people who had accompanied her had made camp on the dark sands of the Sunless Sea, unwilling to reside within the Dark City. She could not blame them, for everything illuminated by the not-sun, felt eerie. It was a far cry from the bright, white lands that they called home. Even the cold was different – it was dark and damp and other.
They were operating under a truce of some sorts, Emerylda allowed her into her Dark City and the lands around. But she was not privy to her meetings nor her court. It had just been happen-stance had she'd stumbled upon the Emerald Witch's tithe collection.
Quite a normal occurrence.
And yet… She recalled the look of shock in Sapphyre's eyes as the dryad had been dragged away by the black-armoured guards. The way she had held onto the moon-flower as if it were her last tether to the world.
And then as if summed by her thoughts, Eirwyn saw the copper-haired woman ambling across the sands towards where a series of small boats had been moored. She had with her a pack, a bow and sword and little else it seemed – she looked to be departing, prepared for swift travelling.
Had the sisters quarrelled?
Was Emerylda so certain in her own magic that she would send away her strongest warrior?
Was she seeking more allies?
Eirwyn waited, knowing that the woman had sensed her presence, for though her outward composure had not changed, her hands had slowed in the uncoiling of the rope she had picked up. Was she preparing her own boat to cross the Sunless Sea? Was her hand closer to her sword than it had been a moment before?
She recalled watching her spar with the young Narnian man, the flash and the movement of her blade almost ethereal. It was a rare thing to witness such skill, as if the metal were just an extension of her own body. Eirwyn's memory was long, and she had met many warriors – both who had sought to learn from her kind, or to kill them – but very few stuck within her mind. She suspected that Sapphyre would be one of those that did.
What role did she play in the Green Lady's court? What role would she play if her sister assumed power in Narnia?
"If you wish to ask me something, ask," the warrior's voice was unwavering. "If not, do not hover."
Eirwyn let her feet touch the ground, making a soft sound for the first time since she'd approached the sapphire knight. "Have we chased you out of your own castle?" Eirwyn tilted her head to the side, watching.
The knight turned to her; expression almost unreadable. She wore the mask well. "You have done no chasing, frost fae. It was my sister who approached you. And I simply go where I am bid."
"Why did she not send you to us?" Eirwyn knew that it was usually the Witch's Champion who approached potential allies and bid them welcome to attend her sister in their city. But Emerylda had not sent Sapphyre north, instead it had been a shy little naiad with a scroll. Did the Emerald Witch think they would not follow her blue-bird? Or did the Emerald Witch fear that they would?
For Eirwyn did not doubt that the knight before her could convince people to follow her to the end of the world.
Bright blue eyes rested on silver, near black so far from the light of the magic crystal. Eirwyn could only imagine what she'd look like under the light of Narnia's sun, with those vibrant eyes and vibrant hair. Brilliant, was the first word that came to her mind. "Some are threatened by me. Others are not."
An answer. Almost.
And though it didn't entirely answer her question, it told her a lot.
The Knight wielded her words like she wielded her sword.
Eirwyn knew change was coming, she'd begun to feel it after she'd laid eyes upon the sapphire knight. She could feel it in the air.
Narnia was telling her that once more that the powers of the land were about to shift.
…
The Dark Castle.
Emerylda.
As soon as Sapphyre had returned, she would leave.
To Harfang she would go. To befriend the Giant King and Queen.
And indeed, she hoped that would be quite promptly.
Emerylda tilted her head as she swirled her goblet of dwarven wine – regarding the man who sat across from her at the table. By the Heart, she did not know how Sapphyre put up with him.
She'd been able to foist him off to the gnomes that morning, to get him to stop her from asking his insufferable questions. And in the afternoon she let him train with the knights, just as Sapphyre did.
She should not have been so hasty in sending her sister west. If only to keep the prince entertained. Once she had perfected the enchantment she would no longer have to worry about such a thing – for he would be under her complete control. He would speak only when she wanted him to speak. But she'd not perfected it, not quite. It was as if the enchantments just slid off his mind, unable to find purchase. She had long suspected his resistance was gifted to him by the blood of his mother that ran through his veins. A star.
Such a thing she'd not encountered until Narnia.
For in Atlantis that stars had stayed in the sky like they were supposed to.
She could only imagine what a full-blooded star would be capable of. For though his mother had not put up a fight all those years passed, she highly suspected that was because she had been caught completed unaware. She had felt the power within the body of the Star Queen, and she had been but half a star, her blood tempered by her mother.
He was a perfect blend of the two of his parents – he had his father's facial features, though with a softer cast. His eyes, though the shape of his father's, were the same non-human of the star she had killed.
She tapped the brim of the goblet, her breath in her throat as he drunk the contents of his. It was not the same dwarven wine that she drunk, at least not completely. But the potion within it he would not be able to detect.
He blinked.
Then blinked again.
Slower.
But then his eyelashes fluttered, and it was as if he'd consumed nothing out of the ordinary, continuing with the chatter that she did not deign to respond to.
Her fingers tightened.
It had been a love potion; similar to how she'd ensnared him in those days after his mother's death. For she'd always known that love spells were the most potent, the most powerful and so that was what she had used to lure away the Prince of Narnia. He had followed her quite willingly to the north, despite the death of his mother and the mourning of the Narnian Court.
But he had become aware of himself when they had been crossing the Sunless Sea. He had reacted violently, turning his blade on her. And when she had tried to subdue him with her magic, he had fallen in and the creature in the lake had dragged him down. And had he been anyone else, she would have let the creature feed upon him.
But Sapphyre, who had rowed out to meet them, dived in after him with her knife and freed him. It had been Sapphyre who had brought life back into the prince's lungs; but his foray into the lake combined with the force of her magic had cleared his memory.
Quite fortuitous, for she had soon discovered that the same enchantment which she had placed upon thousands would not work on his mind.
"Have you heard anything from her?"
His voice, quite earnest, jolted her from her thoughts and she glowered, suppressing the groan that wanted to emerge. "As I told you yesterday, I have heard nothing yet from Sapphyre. And nor do I expect to. She will return when her task is done."
But by the Heart, let it be soon.
…
The Western Wilds.
Sapphyre.
On the wind she flew, ever onward in the space between the clouds and the ground, graceful on blue-feathered wings. She had stayed in that form, shifting only to eat and sleep – both she could do as a bird, but she did not care much for insects.
She followed the witches from afar. None of them travelled together, and yet they moved as one. Witches, all, she knew. Even from such a distance.
She was drawn to an explosion of magics that rippled through the air, almost tangible. She had always been sensitive to the magic of other – Blessed by the Heart, both Emerylda and Diamande had said. But it was not a magic she utilised on purpose, it was a part of her, like another sense rather than a magic she used.
She watched from afar as the witches duelled, as the ground was ripped asunder and lightning flashed through the sky. And for some reason she did not wish to tell Emerylda. One of them is left near dead, the side of her face burnt, barely breathing as she tried to crawl to the stream that was little more than a trickle. Sapphyre approached her silently and left the woman with a flask of fresh water and some breads, very sure the woman would not be able to recall her face.
The winner of the duel travelled West, like the rest of the witches she had observed.
Though what called them, she did not know, for she did not feel it.
And so she followed, riding on the wind, towards the Western Mountains – the mountains whose ground were said to be cursed by a dark and ancient magic. It felt like fire and death. But it was in those forests she decided to make camp for the night, unwilling to spend the night in the ruins of the dark castle though it would have saved her hours the day after.
Branches swayed and groaned in the wind, their great trunks protesting as it steadily grew darker – silver fading into the deep blue of night.
She did not light a fire, instead climbing a tree high above the ground, storing her pack and weapons within the hollow of the trunk. Her hammock she suspended between two branches, settling in for the night with her cloak wrapped tightly about her body.
She exhaled softly, her breath forming a small cloud.
And deep within her she wished she were not so alone.
She'd seen many knights in those parts – completing their training exercises. She listened to the knights who laughed the loudest and the longest, the ones that the other knights gravitated towards.
In other life, that had been her.
She would never utter the words aloud, not to Rilian, nor to her sister. But she missed it. She missed her comrades, her knights-in-arms. She had never regretted her choice, for though all others in her family had chosen to study the magical arts, she had chosen the path of the Knights.
She had been but one and ten, but the words of her mother and her brother and her sister would not sway her.
She had known what she'd wanted.
And she had known what she didn't want.
Rilian reminded her of her fellow knights – steadfast and loyal. And alone in that tree, she could admit to herself that she missed him. If only for a moment before berating herself.
It served her no purpose to let her mind wander.
She needed to stay focused on their goal.