XXVII
GRACE
Heaven Is Here – Florence The Machine
"That's it! Keep moving," Margrove shouted.
Grace bent and twisted to the pulse of the music, her limbs as free flowing as leaves in the breeze. A dryad circled an arm through hers and gripped at her thin wrist, using the tension to spin them both.
The grip was released and Grace was unprepared for the loss of tension. Her body spiralled backwards, ending in a tumbled heap upon the stone floor.
"Ow," She groaned, already feeling the bruises painting her flesh blue.
The music did not stop, nor did the sound of hard feet against stone. Such is the way of Narnian dance, one must continue in order to thrive. There is no stopping the beat of life.
A shadow darkened the light over her closed eyes and Grace cracked them open to the disapproving face of Margrove.
"You're distracted today," He observed, "You need to focus or you'll lose a limb."
Grace groaned, "I can't help it. It's been a long day."
The Faun made a noise that stood somewhere between acceptance and suspicion. He turned and called towards the group of dancers, "Continue, Grace will be pulling out!"
On instinct, Grace protested, "I never said that!"
Margrove grabbed her arm to help her off the floor, "You're right, you didn't. I'm pulling you out."
"But that's not fair," Grace whined, her voice barely louder than the sound of his cloven hooves atop the marble, "I've only fallen out twice today."
"In an hour," The Faun corrected, "You've fallen out twice in an hour."
Her cheeks grew hot with frustration, "Regardless, I don't think that is worth an ejection."
"As the leader of the Orchestra my word is final," He gave her a stern glare, "If you have any complaints, please take them up with me after you are promoted."
Grace sighed, "Mar, please-"
"Enough," Margrove took her by the elbow and ushered her into a cushioned armchair, "Sit and work before I eject you from this room. Your energy is unpredictable this afternoon and it's disrupting the flow."
Grace sat, a stubborn frown on her face as sheet music was thrust into her hands. The Faun hobbled away immediately, as if escaping an impending bombshell.
There was no use in arguing the point further, her words would only seem rash and childish against the truth; She was distracted. She had been since the moment Lucy had burst through the study doorway. Her eyes big, blue and brimming with tears.
Grace didn't know how to react. Her heart ached to stop the offending water leaking from Lucy's persistent eyes… but she'd never seen the Queen in such a state before and didn't know what to do. The suddenness of her emotions shifted the mood of the room entirely and – apart from shielding her friend in her arms – Grace was ill equipped to assist in returning it.
It seemed that King Edmund had the situation in hand. Dropping everything at once to do the same thing Grace had. The embrace of a friend is vastly different from that of a brother, she observed, as Lucy settled into it and sobbed.
At that, Grace made her exit. Seeing Lucy in such a way made her want to sob with her and she hardly thought that was appropriate given her displacement from the situation.
King Edmund had looked relieved to see her go. Atop that, his words were short and unmonitored. A dismissal as automatic as artificial intelligence. Grace tried not to let it get to her, after all what reason would he have to act differently with their scant acquaintance and his sister crying in his arms.
Grace did not remember the words that proceeded the moment. Lucy had spoken so quickly it was as if Grace had blinked and then was outside in the hallway. There was something about going North, some giants – Grace decided to dissect that later – and a friend dying… Ritilian. Someone who was clearly important to Lucy and held meaning to King Edmund as he'd rushed to her side as soon as she'd said it. Although, from knowing the Queen as she did, Grace wondered whether Lucy held the same love for all she touched, even an enemy.
Grace worried for the moment she would have to leave. She didn't want to hurt her friend in such a way, but how could it be helped? It was not as if she could take Lucy with her!
Her only solace was that she would miss her friend just as deeply, if not more. Grace had never had a friend such as Lucy before. Someone who was kind and caring without judgement. Who supported Grace, despite the pressures to the opposite from her brother. There was a debt owed between them that she could never repay, a debt which she knew Lucy would not collect upon.
Perhaps in their shared grief of each other they would be connected forever? Grace dearly hoped so.
At the other end of the coin sat the ever-present question of King Edmund. His outward appearance of cold scrutiny and hard accusations a shell for… what? It was clear he had been hurt, further than by the actions of King Ventotene. In the light of the study, there was a resemblance between him and his sister which she could not place until the latter burst through the door.
Their expressions of sadness were the same, but the difference was how often they wore them. Lucy, she had not seen cry once since her arrival to the Cair. Her grin of mischievous kindness constantly displayed on her features, the look reminiscent of a smile she'd seen on the High King's face.
When Lucy had surged across the carpeted floor of the study she was the very image of King Edmund. Stoic and sincere with the slightest tinge of sadness – the very expression he always seemed to wear in Grace's presence.
At first Grace didn't know what she had done to bring on such a reaction from him, however, as time wore on, she began to realise that the problem may not lie with her.
Was that why she pushed him today? When had she decided to push past the barriers the King had so clearly placed? Was it when his expression had dipped further than its usual level of despair? When his eyes hardened against her questions? Did she simply like the challenge? What was wrong with her?
Questions upon questions encircled her mind and Grace gripped the auburn mess atop her head to keep it from imploding. There was a dull ache radiating from the base of her skull that made her wish ibuprofen existed.
"Surely the music isn't causing you this much anguish?"
Grace started, her wild eyes landing on the relaxed form of Margrove. He was sitting across in his favoured armchair, a scarf woven around the curves of his wrist. It was a habit of his to play with the knitted article, twisting it this way and that around different limbs of his body like a constricting snake.
"I have a headache," Grace muttered, her throat scratchy with emotion.
The Faun only raised an eyebrow, "I'm sure. Does this headache have a name?"
"I was thinking, Bartholomew?"
His lips pursed like he'd eaten something sour, "I have a cousin by that name, nasty bloke. Tried to trip me over a lot when we were children."
Grace leaned forward curiously, "Your uncle has children?"
"Adopted," Margrove explained, "The Battle of Beruna saw many an orphan made. Many were rehoused with relatives. Those that weren't were taken in by my Uncle."
"Is that what happened to you?" Grace asked.
Margrove looked past her, his eyes clouded and unseeing. They crinkled at the corners subtly, as if tears would pass from them if they were available, "Yes."
At once, Grace regretted the question. Clearly her foot had lodged itself firmly in her mouth today and it refused to rescind, "I'm sorry, that was too personal. I'm asking all sorts of questions I shouldn't lately."
He waived her off, "It's fine. I don't mind talking about it, however, it's been a while since I last did."
Grace's lips lifted in a small grateful smile and the two fell into silence, their thoughts heavy in their minds.
"Sometimes I forget about it amidst everything going on," Margrove admitted lowly, "and I feel guilty. Surely, he deserved better than that."
Empathy tugged at the strings of Grace's heart, "You aren't alone," she murmured, "but whenever I feel like I am failing to remember, I remind myself that that is what they would have wanted for me."
At first, Grace wondered if she'd said to much, but Margrove didn't probe further and she found herself grateful for his restraint.
Her hand reached across the empty expanse between them and settled on the Faun's wrapped ones, "Your Father would have wanted that for you. He would have wanted you to live in the present; creating songs and dances that will be remembered in Narnian history forever."
A hand released itself from under the expanse of knitted wool. Grace felt the warm calloused skin atop her own.
"Thank you."
She smiled, it was small but present. A testimony to the hope she held deep down, the hope she longed pass to those who needed it.
Margrove returned it, his eyes warm and cleared of cloudy mourning. Then, they sparked and Grace knew she was not yet clear of his curiosity, "What other questions have you been asking today?"
Her expression dropped, the dull ache of the afternoons memories returning to the forefront of her mind. She withdrew, huddling herself back into the cushioned armchair, "Stupid ones."
The smile on the Faun's face grew, "There are no stupid questions."
"There are where I am concerned."
"Was this question by any chance," Margrove continued, balancing his chin atop his hand purposefully, "Directed towards King Edmund?"
Grace did not move, "I do not wish to speak of it."
"So it is!" The Faun grinned, "Isn't that good? You're supposed to be getting acquainted with each other. I'd imagine questions play a crucial role in that transaction."
"Not when I take them too far."
Margrove stared pointedly, he waited for her to proceed until it became clear that she wouldn't.
"Must I beg?" He asked, "Please use your big human words and explain."
Grace glared at him, "I wrote a letter that caused some friction."
Margrove didn't move, his expectant expression persistent and irksome.
Her long sigh threaded the air, "His Majesty, King Edmund was insistent that the tone of my letter did not match it's urgency, I disagreed. In proving my point I treaded on an emotionally sensitive matter."
Margrove's eyes widened with a hint of recognition, "What emotionally sensitive matter? Who was the letter for?"
Grace froze for a moment, unsure whether she should proceed. The conversation with King Edmund had been… delicate. The matter seemed too personal to discuss with others.
But because Grace could not make sense of the moment she'd witnessed this morning or the millions of questions whirring in her head, she decided to trust Margrove, "It was for King Ventotene."
A brief look of relief passed over the Faun's face, only to be replaced by slow creeping realisation, "What did you ask?"
Grace winced, "King Edmund was reluctant to speak about his aversion to the King. I pressed him on it."
Margrove observed warily, "Define 'Pressed him'."
"I offered him a trade of his secret, for one of mine."
The Faun's jaw slackened, "And his Majesty agreed?"
Grace shifted in her seat, a sickening guilt curdling the contents of her stomach, "I may have guilt tripped him a little."
Margrove whistled in awe, "I'm surprised your head is still atop your shoulders. King Ventotene is a very sore subject for the King."
Grace blanched at his recognition, "I thought that wasn't common knowledge?"
"It isn't. I overheard he and my Uncle speaking about it."
"Margrove!" Grace admonished, eyes wide at the casual nature of his statement.
He grinned cheekily, "I did that a lot as a child. It wasn't long before my uncle pulled me up on it."
"Were you punished?"
"Bed without supper for a week."
They laughed, the noise light and tinkling against the boisterous noise of The First Gifts of Christmas being played across the room.
When the moment passed, Grace's friend looked at her with sincerity, "You didn't listen in, Grace. You asked and the information was given. Curiosity is a natural part of life and should not be frowned upon."
"It is not only that which I feel guilty about," Grace admitted lowly.
"What is it, then?"
"It's that I want to know more."
Margrove's head tilted, "If the King has told you everything, then there can't be much else to ask for?"
"But he didn't," Grace replied, "I want to know why King Ventotene acts so unjustly towards him. I've come to understand that he heard something before he'd even met the King but I can't – for the life of me – understand what would be so horrible that a King would seek to belittle a teenager."
There was an expression that passed over the Faun's face, akin to the recognition she'd seen before but somehow going further than that. It bordered on reluctance.
When he spoke, it was with a delicacy she'd never seen from him before, "The people of Terebinthia are very proud and their customs are set in stone. Their culture has survived with little change for hundreds of years."
Grace nodded, gathering the information between the lines, "Are you saying that King Edmund has done something to offend these customs?"
"In a manner of speaking," Margrove's eyes were guarded as he considered his next words, "The Terebinthian's respect family above all else. Any act against that is considered an act against Aslan himself."
Confusion marred the picture she'd painted in her mind. King Edmund was heavily devoted to his family – she was proof of that. What did this information have to do with King Ventotene's dislike of the King?
"I don't understand," Grace voiced.
Margrove's eyes narrowed and his expression turned cold, "It is not for you to understand, Grace. I must be perfectly clear when I say this, you are not to ask anyone else about this. To do so would hurt your cause."
Grace's eyes widened, "But-"
The Faun held a warning finger aloft in her direction, "Do you understand?"
Grace deflated, her heart constricting in her chest at Margrove's shift in behaviour, "Yes."
"Good," The Faun gave her another pointed look before he wobblingly stood from the armchair and leaned over the writing desk situated behind it. His calloused hands shuffled through the sheets of music as Grace watched.
The silence dragged and she could feel it crawl over her skin to the uncomfortable beat of her heart. Grace couldn't imagine what she had done to deserve such a warning. Had she stepped too far again? Over lines of which even Margrove would not pass?
At last, the Faun located the sheet he was after. He plucked it from the pile with his nimble fingertips then failed to display the same amount of grace as he hobbled back to the armchair.
With a grunt, he collapsed into the chair and held the sheet aloft, "Here."
Grace took it warily, eyes casting over his expression with anxiety fuelled speed. It was more or less the same as it always was, cheerful, but there was something more behind his eyes now. A guarded care had taken up residence in those onyx irises.
"Margrove, have I done something wrong?" Grace asked tentatively.
"No, but there are some things we do not speak of," He looked meaningfully towards the sheet of The First Gifts of Christmas in her hands, "You need to learn that for the Christmas Ball. Give it a read and let me know how you feel about it."
Grace glossed over the music sheet, confusion setting in as her eyes flickered between the inked notes, "I can't sing in this key."
The Faun smiled wryly, "Then consider it your education."
