XVI

GRACE

Living her life in Narnia had grown less difficult as more time passed. With two jobs and more space to explore, it was easier for Grace to distract herself from the harsh reality she had been feeling but weeks ago.

The lessons with Margrove progressed steadily with the Faun regularly praised her vocal skills and passion. Grace didn't let it go to her head. She knew she was no great singer but would be damned if she did not give it her all. There were only two jobs at her disposal and her mental health couldn't afford to lose either.

In just a week she had progressed to singing in tune to folk songs from the West that Margrove had gone to the trouble of teaching her. Beautiful melodies of rich lyrics that told enchanting tales of Narnia and its inhabitants.

Grace noted that many songs seemed to originate from the Western Woods. The very same place that Margrove had said the Kings and Queens had appeared thirteen years ago. Upon asking the Faun about the strange happenings in the West, he admitted that it had always been that way.

He told her of the story of Narnia's creation; of the great lion who had sung the country into existence and the first humans who had witnessed it. These humans who became the first King and Queen to rear the country into prosperity. Apparently, this had all happened in or near to the Western Woods; specifically within a place called the Lantern Waste.

Margrove theorised that all the strange happenings had come from the land of Spare Oom through the Lantern Waste, the same way King Frank and Queen Helen had nearly a thousand years ago.

The stories interested her to no end, and she found herself as entranced listening to Margrove as she had when she and Casys had spoken of the stories of the stars. There must be something in the Narnian way which inspired such love of their history. She'd never met a person on earth whose eyes burned as brightly when they spoke of their home. It made her want to learn it all, to embed herself in the culture which bundled her in blankets and sent her into the sweetest dreams of dancing fauns and centaurs galloping fast under the starlight.

But she couldn't. If she became too attached to this place and its people, the opportunity might arise for her to leave and she would hesitate. That was not an option.

So Grace viewed the stories with a distant heart, acknowledging their structure and beauty. In some cases, she even learned a lesson but she did not let them into her heart.

Every morning Grace would stare at the painted stars on her ceiling and remind herself of her mission – to make it home as soon as possible. She only hoped by the time she made it back; it would not be too late.

In an effort to keep sane, Grace had begun humming to herself. An action which she was sure only made sense to herself – she had caught Casys side eyeing her warily a few times now. She didn't mind, the constant smooth vibration in her throat calmed her.

Sometimes it was complete nonsense, a mix of tones and testing to see what she could comfortably hit. Occasionally it was the tunes Margrove had taught her, although she tried to avoid them for the feeling of longing they left. Most of the time, however, they were songs from Earth.

There was something gratifying about finally being able to sing the songs you had loved. To bring them to life in your own voice. Grace missed her music dearly, if she was on Earth, she would be plugged in and listening to a playlist, dancing around her room in a beat a Narnian could not dream of. But she was not on Earth and this would have to do.

Margrove had noticed this habit, eyes trailing after her as she attempted to organise the Music Room after their sessions. He often asked what she was singing, but Grace simply said it was music from her world and did not divulge more. It wasn't until Margrove began adapting her music that she relented slightly.

"You've got the key wrong, it's supposed to be in C Major," Grace chastised over a bundle of sheets.

Margrove shook his head but continued to play with the correction, "Like this?"

"Yes," Grace agreed, "But your tempo is completely off."

Margrove huffed, "This would be easier if you would just lay out the song for me directly."

Grace shrugged defeatedly, "What would be the point of that? It's not like any of it could be used."

"Why ever not?" Margrove asked, angling himself so that he was comfortably facing her from atop the piano stool.

"The type of music that I know isn't made for an era like this. It has a different sound, it's made with different instruments and a lot of it is quite vulgar," Grace's nose scrunched at the thought of any of the Kings and Queens hearing it.

"Words can be substituted. As for the instruments, we can work with what we have," Margrove insisted, "Narnia has had the same songs for near-on a millennium and new music is few and far between. This could be how we leave our mark on history."

"I'm not interested in making a name for myself," Grace grumbled.

Margrove waived his hand in dismissal, "Yes, yes, you've made it very clear that your only intention is to get home… but what harm is there in sharing your music? I can't expect you to sing tales of talking beasts forever."

"I wouldn't expect anything less, considering Narnia is a land of talking beasts," She returned snidely.

"And humans," Margrove added, punctuating his point with the tap of a piano key, "People often forget that whilst rare, humans do live amongst us. They rule over us, keeping the country safe and in order but so often don't have time to tell their own stories."

Grace did not respond, instead turning stubbornly to the sheet of papers in her hand. She was trying to number the pages so they did not fall out of order.

"You're the first human I have ever seen with absolutely nothing to do with their time," He added, "Surely you're up for the task."

"I have things to do," Grace bit back, wounded by the truth. Realising she had acted quite rudely, she looked up at the Faun to apologise but stopped when he caught his sympathetic but stubborn eyes.

He spoke softly, "What is the harm in sharing your world with us? It isn't as if no one is interested in Spare Oom; a compendium from the West is dedicated to everything we already know."

Grace sighed, dropping the stack of papers next to her as she admitted "The music isn't mine. It wouldn't feel right."

Margrove laughed lightly, as if her thoughts were trivial, "We can give the artist's credit. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if we borrowed their work for performances."

Maybe it was something in the Faun's eyes which convinced her, they were bright and sparkling as if they had been lit from within. Margrove was stubborn in the face of her denial; it reminded her of another look she'd seen six months ago. She understood the feeling of determination and knew that even if she continued to deny his request, Margrove would follow her every movement for months until he had what he needed in any case.

Perhaps she was worried about nothing. It wasn't as if those artists were coming to claim their songs. In any case, had she not begun humming music to remind herself of home? How was sharing the songs going to change that? If anything, it would probably help.

But the nagging feeling remained uncomfortably under her skin and Grace knew there was more to it. If she let people in and left an imprint of herself on the soul of Narnia, there was a chance that when she was gone, she would be missed. Was it cruel to integrate herself in such a way, only to leave later?

Margrove had held his befuddled expression for a long time when her mind returned to the room. It was Grace's turn to laugh at his perplexed brow, "Perhaps you're right. It wouldn't have to be a big deal. It's not like any of the artists would ever know unless they came to Narnia, anyways."

Margrove nodded with a wide grin, "Now you understand me."

Grace smiled back, feeling a sort of camaraderie with the brunette Faun.

"Now, how is it supposed to sound?" Margrove turned back to the keys expectantly.

Grace stood, mindlessly rubbing her hands together as she thought, "I'm not sure about keys or chords, you've yet to teach me anything about instruments."

Margrove waived a hand impatiently, "Don't think too much into it. Can you hum the melody?"

"I suppose," Grace wondered to the side of the grand piano and laid a hand upon it, "It's quite fast paced," She warned.

Margrove cracked his knuckles fearlessly, "It's nothing I can't handle."