The Heartland. Atlantis.
2792.
216th Year of the Reign of Emperor Beryl and Empress Opallyne.
Sapphyre.
Her father's Champion's breath was short, coming in strangled gasps.
He wielded his great-sword just as well as he played the lute, just as well as he wielded barbs and jokes when they had journeyed together.
The ground was splattered with blood, hastily cleaned of the prisoners remains; the metallic scent lingering in the air. But the citizens of the Heartland had gotten far greater spectacle than what they had even anticipated upon waking that morn.
A Challenge.
Steel clashed against steel, ringing through the amphitheatre. Sweat glistened upon Sapphyre's brow as she parried another powerful blow from her opponent. The towering man pressed the advantage, the sword whistling through the air. And Sapphyre danced backwards, light upon her feet, her own blade a blur as she deflecting blow after punishing blow.
Her arms ached, but she gritted her teeth and held her ground. She could not lose.
She would not.
She lunged forward, her sword seeking the gap in his armour where arm met chest – but he twisted away at her last moment, her sword glancing across his arm. Their blades locked at the hilt, their faces mere inches apart.
"Yield," he snarled.
She could not.
Sapphyre exhaled softly, meeting his violet gaze with a strange calm. "Never."
He'd been there with her as coins had been collected from the district of the poor; he'd been there with her as they had served as both judge, juror and executioner for the emperor. She could not afford to lose. How did they not see what she did?
With a sudden burst of strength, she shoved him back, breaking their deadlock. Her opponent stumbled, momentarily off-balance. Seizing the advantage, Sapphyre spun low, her blade singing through the air. The knight roared in pain as her sword sliced across the back of his knee, finding the weak point in his armour.
He dropped to one knee, his own blade wavering. But even wounded, he was far from defeated. As Sapphyre moved in for the finishing blow, he lashed out with surprising speed. The flat of his blade caught her in the ribs, knocking the wind from her lungs.
Gasping, Sapphyre staggered back. Her vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges. She could hear the jeers and shouts of the bloodthirsty crowd surrounding them. Her opponent was rising to his feet, favouring his wounded leg but still dangerous. Sapphyre knew she had to end it quickly before her advantage slipped away.
She feinted left, then darted right as the man's great-sword cleaved the air where she had been standing. In one fluid motion, she pivoted and thrust her sword forward. The slender blade found its mark, sliding between the plates of his armour and sinking deep into his side.
The man's eyes widened in shock. His great-sword clattered to the ground as he clutched at the wound. Sapphyre withdrew her blade, now slick with crimson. For a moment, the courtyard was silent save for the ragged breathing of the two combatants.
Then the man toppled backwards, hitting the cobblestones with a resounding crash. A deafening roar erupted from the crowd as Sapphyre stood victorious, levelling her blade at his throat.
Blessed by the Heart.
Apollyon's Heir.
The whispers rippled through the spectators; the same whispers that had followed her since her birth, since she had called to her the Heart of Atlantis.
She exhaled, watching the blood drip from the base of his throat.
She watched his pulse thunder, watched as the beaded sweat trickled down his brow.
He unclasped his Atlantean-blue cloak, letting it fall upon the dust.
She had won.
And then she felt the hand upon her shoulder.
"Sapphyre, it is done." Emerylda had joined her, her smile resplendent as she waved to the spectators.
And that tiny little, ever so regal wave, was met with thunderous applause.
"Sisters, stop this." It was Diamande, striding towards them, a frown upon his face. "That is enough."
"Sapphyre won, Diamande, stand down," Emerylda hissed at him.
"Knights, arrest them," he snapped, his almost-opal, almost silver eyes snapping. His face was twisted, more-so by the scars, but there was something bitter in his eyes.
But the Knights did not jump to attention at his order.
And the crowd roared, in disapproval, in disagreement.
For Sapphyre had won.
The Challenge had been successful.
The thousands watching were calling for Emerylda's crowning.
And then brightly-coloured movement caught her eye. And she turned, not at all surprised by what had caught her attention. Her parents, the secret guard leading them off the raised dais. Not even granting their children a glance.
"Cowards," she snarled, and she threw her sword – propelled by magic and anger, it struck – near-hilt deep into the wall before her father's face.
And only then did her father's emerald gaze slide to her own, though they were so far apart.
She did not doubt he could read her expression well. That he could see the anger and betrayal there.
But still the Emperor, the Sun of the Sapphire Seas and Great Lord of the Heart, said nothing. He simply took his wife's hand and followed the guard.
And her display had drawn the attention of the already raging crowd.
"Look what you've done," Diamande raged, and Sapphyre felt the shift in the air as his magic fluctuated with his anger. "You are no empress."
"No," Sapphyre regards him coolly. "You did this. You and them, with your complacency." Then she straightened her Atlantean-blue cloak, meeting Emerylda's gaze for a scant moment. "Knights to me!"
And they snapped to attention at her words, honouring their Code. Honouring their rightful Empress's Champion.
…
The Dark Castle.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Emerylda.
Emerylda kept her snarl in check as the dryad placed the food and goblet of wine in front of her.
Her trip to Archenland had been a complete and utter waste of her time.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
She drummed her nails on the table.
You are no queen.
She swiped her arm across the table, dashing the plate and goblet to the floor with a deafening crash.
I see you sitting on a throne that is not yours.
With a strangled cry she threw one of her glass jars into the fire, its shattered an sparked, a green mist arising.
I see you wearing a crown that belongs to another.
She threw another, staring into the flames as if they would give her some kind of answer.
I see you basking in the glow of a love that was never meant for you.
She snarled, her forked tongue tasting the air.
The deranged old hermit knew nothing.
NOTHING.
His mind had been addled by age.
The King of Archenland was a fool.
"Bring me Sapphyre." She did not look at the gnome who sat in the corner, his eyes so wide the whites were visible all around. The creature gave a small nod and hobbled off. Insipid thing.
Sapphyre would know what to do.
Her sister. Her Champion.
She sunk into the plush chair, staring into the blaze of the hearth.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
She tapped her nails against the arm of the chair.
Far above her she could feel the pulse of the Heart. But like always, she could not touch it.
She was not Blessed.
Though sometimes she felt as if it whispered to her, into her mind. Guiding her with its glorious light.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Where was Sapphyre?
What was taking the idiotic creature so long to find her?
The door opened, but it was not Sapphyre who stood there. The gnome was looking at the ground, the knight behind it was stoic, but bowed.
"Where is my sister?"
"My lady, your Champion went above ground with Rilian," the voice was distorted by the helm, and Emerylda could not discern if the voice was male or female – not that she quite cared either way. But she did not know who she was addressing, she did not know the knights. "She told us to expect her back before the weeks' end."
Emerylda frowned for a scant second before smoothing out her features. She had expressly forbidden her sister from leaving Underland in her absence. She dismissed both knight and gnome with a disgruntled wave of her hand.
What was going through Sapphyre's mind?
Never before had she disobeyed her. Yet it seemed that more and more her sister was doing just that. Or perhaps she was simply stretching her wings, for she'd never truly been given time to be herself. First, she'd been a princess, then a knight, then Emerylda's Champion.
The flames flickered before her gaze.
She did not yet have control over Rilian.
And she was losing control over Sapphyre.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She needed to get out of the room.
It was in the gardens that she found herself, seeking 'fresh' air. She did not crave the sunlight as Sapphyre had once told her she did. All Emerylda needed was the Heart.
And she turned her face upwards, towards the Tower of the Heart, where the beautiful jewel cast its light upon the City.
Yes, the Heart was all she needed.
But her solitude was not meant to be, for a moment later the ethereal frost fae – Eirwyn – entered her field of view. Her skirts seemed to blend in with the freshly-fallen snow, her wings mimicking the snowflakes that drifted into Underland in soft flurries.
And Emerylda turned and walked in the other direction, not wanting to speak to the frost fae.
She was not herself.
And she would not let the frost fae see that.
For those silver eyes already saw far too much.
Perhaps Rilian had lost his mind and attacked her, or more aptly recalled it. No, she amended that thought immediately, for she'd yet to meet one who could best Sapphyre in combat. The earthmen would find her.
But it was not until the next day that the red-capped gnome found her, holding onto the Atlantean-blue cloak, dirtied and torn that Emerylda truly grew anxious.
Had Rilian lost his mind and attacked her? Or more aptly, had he recalled it?
No, even if that was what had happened, she had met none who could best Sapphyre in combat. In any world.
"There were signs of a struggle," the gnome murmured.
"WHERE IS MY SISTER?"
…
The Den, within the city that surrounds Cair Paravel.
Diamande.
It was a slow night at the Den, the patrons mostly keeping to themselves. And as the little frost-fae danced, he listened.
"Our supply is running low."
"Of nightrose?"
"Hush, do you want everyone to know, you fool."
"That's all well and good, but the men we sent north have not yet returned, nor have they been in contact with us."
North?
Diamande leaned backwards slightly, to better concentrate on the hushed words.
"Has she contacted us at all?"
"The Emerald Queen? No, we've not had word."
Diamande started, spilling his drink as he missed his mouth. There was only one person who would name themselves such.
Emerylda.
Of course, her touch was upon that nefarious place.
Was it she who captured the frost-fae and the mermaid?
Was it she who had cast the enchantment upon the building to keep in undetected?
He met the eyes of the frost-fae as she smiled.
He would stop his sister.
For the frost-fae and the others he would.
He would succeed where he had failed last time.
…
Cair Paravel.
Caspian.
Looking into the gold-gilded mirror, he barely recognised the face that started back at him – a face battered by weather and wrinkled beyond recognition. If only he could reverse time, to reverse those wrinkles, to go back to when his dearest Lili was with him, to go back to before his son had been lured away from him.
Dear Aslan, he did not know what to do.
He missed Lili more than his words, or even his thoughts could express. He missed her spirit and her smile.
Aslan, help me.
He did not know what to do.
And then a single blue feather fell upon the table, though there was no bird it could have come from.
Was it a sign from Aslan?
Perhaps the great Lion meant for him to name an Heir and take flight; to leave the Court that burdened his heart so.
He knew there was something festering within the Cair and the city beyond.
Something dark and sinister.
He wished that Aslan would guide him.
He would await his old friend Drinian's return, and together they would find the answer.