XXIV

GRACE

Paris, Texas – Lana Del Rey, SYML

Grace grimaced as the ink spluttered in small dots. It was an inconvenience she did not have time for, nor the paper to spare. The splotches stood unevenly over the thin lines of the staff, easily confused with the purposefully placed notes. Grace sighed, she'd need to re-do the entire score sheet from scratch now.

The paper was folded, the motion accentuated with a short and exasperated huff as she tossed it aside. It would be used as scrap later.

As a new sheet was grasped, Grace felt the chair sink with a weight next to her. She needn't look up to determine the source.

"How was it?" Margrove asked. One hand gripping his crutch, the other placed on his good leg.

Grace looked up from her work sparingly, "How was what, Mar?"

"Your first day of working for King Edmund."

Her confusion was replaced with incredulous suspicion, "The matter was only decided last night, how on earth do you know?"

Margrove's lips upturned in a sheepish smile, "Word travels fast in Cair Paravel. There are little secrets within its walls."

Grace eyed the group of Dryads as they weaved amongst themselves in varying blurs of green and brown. A few had given her odd looks when she'd entered, but Grace had thought nothing of it initially; her presence in Narnia had stirred the court gossip wheel and she'd naturally grown accustomed to the stares.

Her true shock came from finding more souls than Margrove inside the music room. It seemed that the first week of private lessons had been for her benefit. Now with her established entrance into performance, there was no longer a need to coddle her.

As the lingering stares of the Orchestra continued, however, Grace almost wished they had.

She lowered her voice to a nonchalant murmur, "It was fine."

Margrove's coal eyes burned with interest as he leaned forward, "Only fine? Surely you have more detail than that."

Grace deposited her quill in the inkwell gently, instead picking up her pencil and the straight piece of wood the Narnians had the nerve to call a 'ruler', "I'm not sure I want to speak out loud. If – as you say – Cair Paravel has no secrets, then perhaps it would be best if I kept my thoughts to myself."

This halted the Faun. He looked past her thoughtfully to the dozens of eyes she could already feel. In fairness, what else where the instrument players to do on their pauses? Stare at the wall? Grace would not begrudge them their sight of her, as long as looking is all they ventured for.

"Perhaps holding your silence is a good idea," Margrove agreed. His actions did not correlate his statement, however, as he settled into the chair comfortably, "And yet, one finds themselves less burdened when they confide in a friend."

Grace rolled her eyes good naturedly, "Is that what one does? I thought one bottled it up until it exploded."

Margrove lifted a finger in warning, "It was one time."

"How was I to know it was your favourite chair?" Grace murmured defensively.

"Perhaps by my scarf hanging over the arm?"

Grace snorted, "I've never seen you wear that scarf."

Margrove huffed but let it go. He continued to stare at her interestedly whilst she traced lines on the page.

Grace breathed a deep and steadying breath, "The last thing I would want is for word to get back to him."

Margrove frowned, "I would never betray your council."

Grace's eyes raised to him involuntarily, "Even if my opinion of the King is unfavourable?"

"I would probably refrain from saying anything too degrading in mixed company," Margrove agreed, eyeing the dancing troupe thoughtfully, "You will not find a soul in the West that is not fiercely loyal to King Edmund."

A ghost of a smile passed across Grace's face, "Does he truly inspire such loyalty?"

Margrove nodded, "All of our fair Kings and Queens do, but the people of the West take the honour of their hailed very seriously."

Grace nodded in understanding. The few Westerners she'd spoken to had nothing but praise for the Just King. She cast her gaze thoughtfully to the circle of dancers.

From the blurry circle of greens and browns a figure emerged. Her weave of evergreen vines flowing gently in the breeze as she departed seamlessly. Lilis danced in their direction, her steps never missing a beat.

She reached them quickly and seated herself on the other side of Grace, her whistly voice a whisper of warning, "Your voices are carrying."

Grace's eyes widened in alarm, "Are they?" Her eyes flickered to the troupe, but none were looking directly at her, solely focused on their steps and the music.

Lilis's small smile cracked at her bark-like skin, "They are listening. Perhaps this discussion can wait until later?"

Margrove tilted his head perceptively at her interruption. He leaned across the back of the chaise to mutter, "You're only saying that because you also wish to know the answer."

Lilis's attempt at a coy expression was not successful.

Grace smiled warmly at her friend, "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"What about me?!" Margrove protested from behind her.

The outburst drew the attention of the dancers; some losing their focus and running into each other, some blatantly staring and causing the blockage. Grace froze, witless in the face of being the centre of attention. Thankfully, Margrove was smarter.

"I think that will be all for today, dancers," He ordered as he stood wobblingly from his chair, "The Orchestra must begin preparations for the Christmas ball in four weeks."

There were a few dejected faces amongst the group. Some of the dancers even dared to look at Grace longingly as they left. Clearly, they had wanted to hear the latest tidbit of court gossip.

When only the Orchestra remained, Margrove set them to work on The First Gifts of Christmas. He hobbled about the room, leaning on his crutch heavily between steps. Grace watched with concern but didn't interfere – she had offered multiple times to help already, but the stubborn Faun had declined.

Margrove returned to his seat with a huff, laying his crutch beside him, "That takes care of that."

Lilis laughed silently, the motion shaking errant vine leaves into the air.

Grace shook her head and returned to drawing lines. There was a song she had in mind for the Christmas Ball, but every time she attempted to put it to paper, something went wrong.

On the small table before them was a list of music that they would present for Queen Susan's approval. Margrove had requested music from Spare Oom specifically, stating that it need not be Christmas music if it held the appropriate magic. Grace knew the song she had thought of met this criteria but wasn't sure that the instruments available would be able to capture the magic effectively.

The Faun leaned towards her in anticipation, "So?"

"It was fine," Grace replied evenly, "Rather uneventful and boring actually."

"That's good, isn't it?" Lilis asked, her whistly tune barely legible amongst the robust music in the room.

"Uneventful is better where Grace is concerned," Margrove agreed.

Grace reflexively let her hand fly in the Faun's direction.

"Tell us more," Lilis commanded.

"Well," Grace sighed, "First off, he was late."

Lilis's expression wore intrigue, "He was? That's odd. King Edmund is known, generally, for being punctual."

Margrove agreed, "What time did you both say to meet?"

Oh.

Grace closed her eyes in realisation, "We didn't. It was stipulated that I'd meet him after I finished work in the kitchens. I suppose I never told him when that was."

"Never mind, you both will have a better idea of when to meet now. What happened then?" Lilis probed.

Grace shrugged, "We spoke briefly about Casys's release. I was quite surprised that the King let him go. It was half expected that Casys would be glued to the door until I was finished."

"It doesn't surprise me," Margrove interrupted, "His Majesty is generally thoughtful of others. I'd imagine Casys was only appointed to be your Guardian out of necessity to begin with. He'll be needed less now as you gain the Just King's trust."

Then Grace remembered something that made her latch onto the Faun's arm, "I learned that he has a hoard of books in his study! But Casys told me books were rare in Narnia?"

"They are," Lilis established strongly, "The cutting of Sentient Trees is forbidden and there are very few normal trees to be found."

"Most of our parchment comes from Archenland," Margrove added, "Their trees have the best texture for it and the craftsmen there do well at their trade. It is well known that the Royal Family have been slowly collecting books for years. You probably saw but one deposit of them in that study."

Grace nodded slowly. His words reasoned with what Casys had told her previously, but Grace had not known that the prevention of cutting trees was due to their sentience. She wondered what Sentient Trees were like. Did they speak? How did they show emotion?

She tucked away her questions for a later date, when the topic was not one that Lilis felt so strongly about, "After that he simply gave me some work and left me to it. There was no spat, no warnings of a serious nature. He didn't even look at me, really."

"Ah, so that's why you seem troubled," Margrove jibed with a cheeky grin, "King Edmund did not look at you."

"After I spent so much time on your hair too!" Lilis complained, her thin fingers tucking an errant strand back into Grace's braid.

Grace rolled her eyes, "This isn't funny. We're supposed to be getting to know each other. How is he supposed to trust me if he won't speak to me, let alone look at me. I suppose the work is sensitive and that alone shows promise in a friendship but it isn't enough to guarantee his regard."

Lilis and Margrove shared a look.

Grace looked between them with thinly veiled impatience, "What?"

A silent conversation passed between the two but when Lilis spoke up she looked apprehensive, "Out of curiosity… did you attempt to speak to the King?"

Grace's brow furrowed. Now that she thought about it, she had not.

"It's not a mark against you," Margrove added gently, "But you do have a tendency to recluse when working, Grace."

"Do I?" Grace asked softly, her eyes picked a spot and unfocused as her mind connected dots she hadn't realised existed.

Lilis intertwined an arm through hers, "Perhaps he was letting you show yourself in your natural state. He may have wanted to see you as you are before revealing himself."

"I'd say it's a good start in any case," Margrove asserted, "Working in silence is far more favourable to working in aggressive chaos."

Grace's eyes narrowed at his expression; knowing he was referring to their first week of work together.

Margrove had tried many tactics to pull Grace from her comfort zone and found none worked so well as pressure. It was better now that she was in a comfortable place within the Orchestra. The Faun had to push her less and less every day.

Secretly, Grace was glad. Though she loved her friend, she never willingly wanted to see that side of him again.

"Perhaps you might ask him more questions about your work?" Lilis suggested.

Grace's brow furrowed, "But I don't need any help with my work?"

There was an obvious look to the Dryad's face, "I'm only saying that it might be a good way to start conversation."

Grace glared, offended by the Dryad's suggestion, "I'm not going to act dumb just so a man will speak to me."

"She's right," Margrove agreed as he leant forward on his crutch, "It won't help in this situation in any case. The Just King is has no favour for falsity."

Lilis's throat whistled with an aggressive outflow of air, "I'm only saying that if you have a question, ask it. Don't be stubborn and try to figure it out yourself."

Grace shook her head. Stubbornly refusing to look at either of the devils-on-her-shoulder as she continued drawing lines upon the page.

Margrove juggled his crutch between his hands and patted the newly freed one on Grace's knee, "You're clever, Grace, you'll work it out. I'm sure that before long you and the King will be swapping notes on trade deals with our neighbours. You'll be such good friends that you'll completely forget about us down here."

Grace's stubborn stare broke into the beginnings of an exasperated smile, "I could never."

Margrove only smiled in return. He stood shakily from the chaise, barking orders to the Orchestra playing across the room as he returned to hobbling about.

At her right, Lilis tucked another tendril of loose hair behind Grace's ear, "I need to fix this braid."

"It's lasted really well today," Grace murmured thoughtfully, "It was only the vigorous exercise that really threw it out."

By this point, Lilis had positioned herself behind Grace and had begun loosening the twisted mess upon her head, "What vigorous exercise were you doing? You weren't enlisted to dance today."

"Just a bit of running," Grace replied mildly.

The hands working on her hair stopped and Grace looked up at the knowing dark eyes of her friend.

"You thought you were late this morning, didn't you?" Lilis asked.

Grace sighed and returned her sight to the blurred lines of pencil, "Yes, I did."