Archenland. Anvard.
Emerylda.
The rooms of Anvard were just a plain as the castle itself, the bed far too hard for her to welcome slumber. She sat there, staring at the red-bricked roof as she was roused from sleep's embrace.
She let her thoughts wander as she delayed rising from that uncomfortable bed; in a way she not often did; for she did not like to dwell upon the past. At least, she never had before, though more and more often she found herself doing so.
Dwelling.
Remembering.
Perhaps it was her advanced age that had begun to make her prone to such things; the thought put a small smile on her face as she closed her eyes once more.
It was a sweet golden-brown heart-shaped face she saw, with eyes of deep green. Surrounded by a halo of dark cocoa curls. A friend she had made happenstance when she had been going through the portal-pools. The World of Charn was one of the first worlds she visited, and one she kept going back to. A place nearly as beautiful as Atlantis. She'd been enchanted by their deep magic lore, more than happy to have someone who shared that passion.
For though Emerylda had chosen the Path of the Sorcerer, there was only so much she could learn from the library of Atlantis. She knew the Heart had given her such a magic to achieve great things and those around her did not push the boundaries of magic and enchantments like those of Charn did.
So, she had found a friend in Jadis, the sister to the Empress of Charn.
Like all of Atlantean royalty, Emerylda was in possession of two magical rings that opened doors between worlds. And she and Jadis had often joked about how easy it would have been for the two of them to take over and rule all of those worlds.
But never would she be able to leave Sapphyre, not even when her friend had asked her to stay in Charn when she had fallen pregnant to a man who had chosen her own sister, the Empress, over her.
She could not leave her own young sister who was so quick to smile, so quick to laugh.
Her sister, who had chosen the Path of the Warrior, rather than the Priesthood, or Sorcery, despite her immense aptitude for the magical arts. But she did not try to persuade her otherwise, unlike the rest of their family, and Emerylda could do naught but watch as her carefree sister was Knighted. She saw the pain in those pretty blue eyes each time the Knights of the Heart ignored those in need, as they took from those already suffering. She watched as her sister's smile became more and more rare as she watched the Priestess of the Heart took the money of those already in need of coin.
Emerylda would never forget the day that Sapphyre had confronted their parents.
It is how it always has been. It is how it always will be. It is how Atlantis stays afloat.
Something inside Sapphyre had broken at their parents' words, Emerylda had watched that spark leave her eyes. Her sisters words had been so bitter, so cold, and a different kind of fire had been lit in her eyes; then perhaps Atlantis should sink. So, she had comforted Sapphyre, telling her that together they could rule better than their parents, who did not see anything wrong with the system.
So, they'd visited the crimson-eyed Priestess of the Heart, a future-seer who had told her of a vision of Emerylda ruling over Atlantis.
And they'd hatched a plan to challenge their parents' rule.
But they would do it properly.
And they did, they did it publicly, with Emerylda challenging her father for the throne before all of Atlantis. And it was Sapphyre, the knight prodigy, who stood by her side as her Champion when their father accepted.
It was Sapphyre who won, besting the knight who fought for his king, for their king. Who had fought side by side with Sapphyre.
It had gone perfectly.
Until Diamande had spoken and told them to stop. He broke the Code of the Challenge, inciting a civil war. With the sisters on one side and their parents and brother on the other.
A knock upon the door stirred her from her musings and Emerylda sat upright in the bed.
"The King requests you join him for the morning meal, Lady Emerylda."
Soon, they would call her queen, as befit her.
…
In the city around Cair Paravel.
Diamande.
It had been near the Owlwood that Eithne's mother had met with the unknown Atlantean – a spot not too far from where Diamande himself had appeared in Narnia when he had stepped through the pool that served as a portal into the world.
It would behove him well to start there, to see if the presumed priestess had stayed in that area. He'd not felt her presence, so it was safe to assumed she was not practicing any magic. All Eithne wanted to do was compensate her for saving her mother – she felt as if she owed the mysterious woman. And had worked all the years passed to ensure she had the means to do so.
But the selkie could give him little in the way of information.
With a small sigh he left the Parlour, the brisk air hitting his face only a moment before the first snowflake did.
There was someone watching him, he could feel their eyes on him from somewhere in that street, barely lit by torches. The hooded figured peeled itself from the shadows and fell into step with him. He glanced sidelong at the figure, unable to discern any of their features beyond a chin and red-painted lips.
"You look like a smart man," she – he assumed by the sound of her voice – smiled a not-quite-smile, red lips twisting. "One who could stay silent, and one who seems to have particular interests."
Had the strange woman note of his visits to Eithne?
Had someone made note that it was just the selkie he spoke to, each time he visited the Parlour?
Was this another player in the game?
Wary, but intrigued, he followed her. Through the streets that he was not yet familiar with.
The door they stopped at was nondescript, nothing that would bely what was inside. He prepared himself to draw upon that well of silvery magic within himself. He had no weapons, no combat training beyond the mere basics.
Perhaps it was not too late to return to the musty apartment he'd rented.
But then the door opened, and his magic-sense was set alight. The air around him was practically alive with magic.
"Welcome to the Den."
He was led through a dimly lit interior and a drink was pressed into his hand. It was not the sparkling gold of the mead he'd been served at the Parlour – it was more akin to what they served in roadside taverns, but with a distinctly sweeter scent. Almost like rose.
He turned to look for the woman who had led him there, but it was as if she had vanished into the shadows once more.
It is a wild party, so different to the faux sophistication of the Parlour. It was a far different side of Narnia than he had come to expect. He skirted the room, sticking to the shadows and watching the stage. He could see the glee on the faces of the patrons, the unconcealed lust on their faces as they gazed upon the dancers.
Dryads, naiads and from the tank of water at the end of the stage, one of the mer.
Particular interests.
Had the hooded woman thought his interest in Eithne stemmed from…something quite other?
He took a heady swig of the drink, blinking rapidly as it burnt a trail of fire down his throat. And then he recognised that sweet taste.
Nightrose.
He'd seen the effect of it on others – the heady lust that fell over them, the euphoria, the lowering of inhibitions. However, he was not Narnian. It set his heart pounding and his mind awhirl, and his felt his magic flare, as if he'd stepped into the glow of the Heart.
"Welcome, to our Snow Queen."
A hush fell.
Her wings were like snowflakes, crystalline and delicate; and they hung limply at her back. She was so small, her eyes wide and unfocused – made even more ethereal by the white lashes that matched her snow-white hair, which had been coifed and coiled. It drew attention to the golden ring around her neck, attached to a slim golden chain.
A collar.
His breath caught.
A frost fae.
Clearly drugged out of her mind – for she moved as if she were walking through water, sluggish, slightly off-balance.
But the other men who watched her did not notice, or clearly didn't care. They stared at her with rapt attention, eyes stripping her of the flimsy chemise she wore.
Diamande felt the bile rose in his throat.
How was such a place operating?
Surely the Knights of Narnia would not let such a thing continue, right in the middle of the city. The women, they were Narnians too. Surely, they had family who missed them, who was searching for them.
He'd not planned on revealing himself so soon, but perhaps…
And then a boisterous laugh filled the room as a new group entered and Diamande pressed himself into the shadows even more – if such a thing were possible.
It was a laughter and a face he recognised.
Sir Dustan.
The Knight Commander of Narnia.
…
Archenland.
Drinian.
He'd used the letter from Caspian, to get an invitation behind the closed door of the king. Who was the woman? What did she know of Rilian?
And gazing upon the face of the woman who sat beside the king at his table, he was breathless. And wary. He had always been an excellent judge of character and the woman before him put him on edge – far more than any woman should.
She was laughing as the door had been opened for him. A beautiful sound. But it was a hollow, empty sound, no matter how beautiful.
And though her eyes did not rest on him for more than a second, he knew she was observing him as he joined them to break their fast. He remained silent beyond the customary greetings, choosing instead to watch her. Just as she watched him.
And the King of Archenland remained completely unaware of their silent battle.
Then as she spoke, a buried memory surfaced.
Rilian, young and full of life, wearing a dazed smile. Smiling for the first time since the death of his mother; telling him of the woman he had met. With hair of auburn and eyes of the deepest emerald. He had even introduced him – and Drinian pulled that memory from the depths of his aged mind.
The witch!
Green mist tinged his vision.
His vision faded, and all he saw was the face of the woman in front of him.
He blinked.
Those eyes, so stunning, so perfect.
She was so beautiful.
Slowly, an emerald mist seemed to spread through his mind, blurring his vision.
"For I am to wed Prince Rilian," her words, spoken through such a perfect, plump mouth, reached his mouth as if through water.
Rilian.
Who was Rilian?
"The King has known of his whereabouts the entire time. He banished his son for our love," her voice was so enchanting. And a woman such as she, she would not lie. "We want only to live in peace. But Caspian will not allow that."
The King of Archenland was speaking, but Drinian did not hear him, he could do naught but stare at the woman before him, caught in her gaze like a bird in the gaze of a serpent.
"It's true isn't it, Lord Drinian? I have never been any threat to Narnia, it is the King that is wrong."
She was speaking to him!
"Yes, my lady." He would say anything she needed.
And she smiled at him.
He'd done well.
"And you, Lord Drinian, what business does the mighty King Caspian X have with my humble court?"
Surely, he was in Archenland only to please her. For the life of him he could not remember why he was even there. It was a vague, non-comital answer he gave the king.
He nods along as the king tells her to visit the hermit; that he would too and if the hermit foresaw that it was right for them, he would align their lands.
…
Beyond the Western Mountains.
The Ruins of the Witch City.
Rubi.
Troubled still by the outpouring of magik she had felt, she knows her smile was a little too forced as she greeted the witches who arrived at their small tent-city that had been erected in the midst of the ruins of the old Witch City.
Her own grand tent was snuggled amongst the ruins of some throne room she presumed – the walls higher than most, the glass-less windows higher of arch than the other building ruins. And she found herself longing for her small but comfortable bed as her head pounded. A pounding that that not relented since that magic had touched her mind.
"Would you like me to brew you a calming tea?" it was Ardisia who spoke, of course it was. Such a kind, soft soul. The exact reason that Rubi had created the tent-city. For not all witches wanted to live in recluse, moving from one place to the next, their lives filled with duels and nefarious deeds.
"Yes, please," Rubi said with a smile as they moved inside her tent; grateful for anything that would calm both her pounding head and her pounding heart. Her tent welcomed her, though it was only slightly warmer than the bitter winter air outsides. Reds and golds and purples. The colours of Narnia. So different from Atlantean blue.
With a wearied sigh, Rubi sunk into her chair, looking at the charts before her. They would need to erect more tents soon. Or perhaps look at making more permanent buildings for witches were arriving in droves. Many more than Rubi had even dared to think would answer her invitation.
She took a sip of the tea that Ardisia handed her, a small smile on her lips as the warmth spread through her. "Thank you, Ardisia." Placing the tea on the table, she looked up to see the witch's soft blue eyes turn from hopeful, to confused, to disappointed. "Ardisia, the tea is lovely."
The young witch shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "I think I'm losing my magic."
Rubi snorted. "What do you mean, child?"
"The tea is enchanted; it is meant to make you sleep. I've never had any problems with my magic before. Enchantments are my specialty. They always worked before," she sniffled slightly, clearly distraught. "But on the way here, there was another witch. My magic did not work on her either." Then she frowned, as if a sudden thought had occurred to her, tilting her head. "She looked kind of like you, but with eyes like sapphires."
Rubi's heart thudded, skipping a beat.
No.
"This witch. With the sapphire eyes, what was her magic?"
Ardisia paused. "She could shift her shape."
"Into a bird. With wings like her eyes?"
Ardisia blinked and nodded slowly.
No.
No.
It couldn't be.
Why was she in Narnia?
Breathing deeply to calm her beating heart, she grasped at the brilliant crimson stone she wore on a chain at her neck. A magical stone from her home-world that she could use to channel her magic. She cast her vision far and wide as in her minds-eye she pictured the object of her search.
No, not an object.
A person.
A young, bold and brash knight, with an infectious smile and eyes of sapphire.
It cast her vision far and wide and she thought of the object of her search.
A young, bold and brash knight, with an infectious smile and eyes of sapphire.
She thought of those eyes blazing as she pulled back her bow, letting the arrows fire one after another, besting all others, even the most seasoned of knights.
Princess of Atlantis.
Sapphyre.
And then Rubi saw her in her mind.
Saw her in that moment.
Older, her features more refined, had lost the roundness of youth. Her lips, once so quick to smile, were turned downwards, her brows drawn into a frown. But it was her, with a quiver of arrows across her back; it was her, in a room that looked all at once familiar and foreign. The colours too dark and gloomy to be Atlantis, but there was no mistaking the design of those columns, nor the domed-shape of the roof.
And Rubi saw what she was looking at.
A map of Narnia, with Cair Paravel circled.
And then Sapphyre turned, and it was as if those Atlantis-blue eyes burned into her.
Rubi fell back with a startled cry.
The magic she had felt.
She hadn't been wrong.
It was her.
The Destroyer of Atlantis.