XXXV

EDMUND

Touch the Sky – Julie Fowlis

As Edmund sat at his desk he could feel the seconds pass by in sluggish progress. It was as if time had found itself drenched in a mud swamp and had decided on the slowest possible route to claw itself free.

The strong morning sun beamed coloured light onto his back, light which had travelled just as slowly; creeping from his bowed head to his hunched shoulders then finally to his curved back. He'd poured over his desk in an effort to distract himself but his work did little effort to stifle his only companion, impatience.

It had been an hour at most since Edmund had left Grace in the stables, the latter staying behind to tend to Maiden before joining the King in his study. It did not take an hour to groom a horse. Or did it? Edmund was used to grooming a Talking Horse, not a dumb one. Perhaps there was something Phillip did which make the task easier.

Hand in hand with impatience was a twinge of fear. Easily hushed but nonetheless present. It whispered in the opposite ear, coaxing images of Grace halfway to the Western Wood, the same sun that filtered upon his back, shining on her hair in full force as it billowed in the wind.

But Grace didn't know how to gallop yet and in any case it took far longer to reach the Western Wood than that. She would – at most – have cleared the Eastern Wood by this point and likely with little provisions to sustain her journey.

No, there was simply no way that she had run. Edmund forced his eyes to refocus on his handwriting, it was sloped and as neat as the mind he'd had when writing it yesterday. On the other hand, his notes in the margins we're the near opposite. Scribbled and hasty, a clear reflection of his current state of mind.

When Edmund had first agreed to teach her to ride yesterday, he had made a small incursion on his proposal. Unbeknownst to Grace, he'd enlisted the help of a Stable Hand to watch from a distance and report her movements back to him.

He'd felt a little guilty when Arasavus had informed him that Grace had groomed the horses then alighted straight for the Music Room in Cair Paravel. No detours, no whisper of treachery. Silently, Edmund had cursed the voice in his mind that persistently argued that she was playing the long game. He'd hoped that their argument on the cliffside had signalled the end of his internal struggle. Clearly, there was still more work to be done to trample the voice entirely.

A clear knock reverberated from the other side of the Study Door.

Edmund jumped, the unexpected noise jarring his corrupted state of mind. All at once, relief began to pump in his veins.

Grace was here. She hadn't run away. He hadn't made a mistake.

"Enter," Edmund called, the silence of an hour making his voice crackle slightly. He coughed to clear it.

Seconds passed; Edmund could feel the air returning to his lungs in a steady flow, the quill in his fingertips no longer bending under the weight of his grip, the devils on both shoulders quietening at the arrival of their point of torture.

When the door opened, however, Edmund was not greeted by billowing locks of auburn hair.

The locks were golden and significantly shorter. Swept in wispy waves over his elder brothers skull like woven thread.

He tried to breathe, to remain calm as Peter crossed the dark carpeted floor.

Where was Grace? Had Peter come to announce her departure? He did not look frantic as his boots treaded in equal rhythm. A stack of cool crisp sheets of parchment in his calloused hands.

Peter stopped at the edge of the desk, holding a single page aloft to his younger brother, "Lucy's daily letter."

Edmund took it eagerly, "It's shorter than yesterdays."

"I think she's running out of things to write about," Peter replied pointedly, "There's only so much that can happen in a day."

As Edmund's eyes swept over the familiar bubbly cursive of Lucy's hand, he hummed in agreement, "Still, it is better to know she is safe for another day."

If it was all that was available to her, Edmund would take a scrap, a corner of a sheet even. Anything to confirm she was alive.

"It came with this," Peter continued, holding the remaining stack aloft.

Edmund eyed the topmost page carefully as it was placed upon a desk. Upon the sheet, in lightly sketched pencil was a map – it was well positioned and tiled. Each square relative to the space of ten miles.

The sheet was moved aside to the next, similar in quality and positioning. The sketch marks were different here, the edge of one sheet matching like a puzzle piece to the one that had been placed beside it.

More sheets were moved. The knowledgeable hands of Edmund and Peter placing them across the desk in order. Like a giant puzzle of straight edges. When the last sheet was placed, it became clear what the sheets were.

A map of the land space between the Stone Hills and the Northernmost Reaches of Narnia.

Edmund sighed, "She's supposed to be there to establish the medical tent, not to interfere with the Cartography team,"

Peter crossed his arms, clearly also perturbed by their sisters defiance of orders, "Her letter says she's dabbling. Apparently there isn't much else to do."

A grumble of annoyance reverberated in Edmund's throat. It was just like Lucy to do something like this. She always found a way to get what she wanted whilst managing to align it with what everyone needed simultaneously.

Peter eyed him knowingly, "Who's being the worry wart now?"

Lucy's letter was bunched into a ball which was then launched precisely at Peter's head.

As the High King moved to retaliate, another crisp knock broke the heavy air in two. The brothers both paused, with the elder looking to the younger in question.

"Enter."

Edmund was greeted by the sight of an auburn braid catching the light of the hallway as its owner slid into the room. The tension in his shoulders released minimally at the sight, still holding worry for the fate of his younger sister.

There was no offer of apology or explanation as Grace closed the door behind her. There was, however, an expression of slight shock as the study door clicked to a close behind her. She stared between the brothers, the unexpected presence of the High King throwing her pupils wide.

"Where have you been?" Edmund chewed out. He was still stung from her lateness, Lucy's defiance and his older brothers teasing. There was little room for kindness in his heart at that moment.

Grace had the temerity to look surprised as she dropped into a curtsey, "Seeing to the horses, your Majesty."

"For an hour?"

Peter gave him a warning look from the other side of the desk.

Grace's head shifted between them nervously, "I had an agreement with a friend to see too and needed to clean myself up afterwards."

She didn't look untruthful. A wide honesty held her eyes in a manner which Edmund had begun to pick up on – or at least he hoped he had.

He sighed as he instructed Grace forward with a silent wave, sharing a look with Peter as he did so. The High King did not show any signs of disapproval, nor any emotion for that matter. Peter's face was schooled in the manner it always was at Court. Relentless in its indecipherability.

Grace came forward, stopping only briefly to retrieve the balled parchment of Lucy's letter on the floor.

"My Royal Brother and I were just reviewing some maps which have been recently drawn," The High King invited her closer, "Tell us, what do you think of them."

The Daughter of Eve paused, an unsure look on her face as her eyes flickered between Edmund and his brother. Eventually, they stuck to the Just King; her questioning gaze was decipherable to him only in that moment.

Is this okay? She seemed to ask.

Edmund was touched by her consideration. The emotion washing over the irritability he was still holding. He let the wave take him, feeling any aggravation fizzle away under the surface of cool rationality.

He supposed there was no harm in telling her now. Lucy had all but announced there was trouble in the North when she'd barged into the study that day. Not to mention Casys was at the forefront of training the new recruits to Aslan's Army.

It was only a matter of time that she became aware of the situation with Ettinsmoor, and Edmund would prefer it if he were the one controlling the facts.

The voices of his mind protested. Surely he was not considering trusting Grace with this so soon after he'd started teaching her to ride. It was like setting up a line of domino's, the expectation being that they would eventually fall.

Edmund pushed them down, the task less simple than he'd found it on Emperor's Beach the day before but it's management became easier under the concerned weight of Grace's gaze.

"Come and see," Edmund consented.

He should have felt happy when Peter gave him a proud look, but Edmund found he had little space for it aside the anxiety he felt.

Grace's shoulders lowered, as if she'd been bracing them for the worst. The movement softened the lines of her neck and collarbones which peaked minimally from the top of her dress. She stepped forward, hesitantly at first then with a new boldness when Edmund did not stop her.

As she leaned across the desk, Grace was careful not to touch the sheets with her fingers directly for fear that she might smudge the pencil marks. Her curious eyes swept over the parchment slotted map at a speed which should have generated enough breeze to whisk them away.

"It's well drawn and precise. Like a map should be," Grace commented, "I can't speak much to its accuracy as I've never seen the place. Where is it supposed to be?"

Peter circled the lower area with two fingertips, "The Northernmost Reaches of Narnia," then he circled the area above the line running through its centre, "and Ettinsmoor."

Grace nodded slowly, "Ettinsmoor is the land of the Giants?"

"It is," Edmund confirmed, unsurprised that she had pieced together the information.

"We are trying to establish a border between our two countries, due to some rebellion in the Northern Reaches," Peter explained.

Grace's shadowed brow furrowed, "But, if you are two countries then how do you not already have a border.

Edmund and Peter shared a look, the elder clearly signalling for the younger to take the lead. As Edmund had been appointed the Daughter of Eve's supervisor, the choice was up to him.

He began delicately, "The lands of the North used to reach much farther than they do now. During the Hundred-Year-Winter, the Ettins would consider themselves a part of the Narnian Kingdom."

"Oh," Grace's lips pursed in thought, "Why would they decide to rebel now, then?"

Peter took over, "The change in leadership has caused a stir over the last thirteen years. They feel their ways have been overlooked."

A spark of knowledge lit behind Grace's stony irises, "A change in leadership? You mean when that Witch lady was killed and the four of you ascended?"

Edmund felt his blood run cold at the mention of Jadis. Claws of ice wrapping around his shoulders as they hunched against the feeling. There was no fear, at least, not of the White Witch herself – Edmund was well beyond that. The panic that gripped him lied in another thought entirely.

He looked to Grace's knowledgeable eyes in search for a specific kind. But there was no sign of it in her deep grey irises, no glare in his direction or look of disapproval. She simply looked to the High King for affirmation of her suspicion.

There was an ease to Peter's face which Edmund found he could not replicate as he confirmed, "Yes."

Grace's expression smoothed into that of understanding, before she returned her focus to the map upon the desk, "Is there no way that you could be amenable to their ways so that they do not feel the need to rebel?"

"Their ways involve the killing and consumption of Talking Beasts," Edmund frowned, "The Law of Narnia considers both acts abominable."

Her eyes flickered to him in shock, then Grace began to look a little green. Edmund could understand the feeling. To think of any Talking Beast harmed was sickening and the act of eating one was unthinkable.

She didn't speak again, disquieted by the explanations they had provided. Peter droned on to fill the silence, listing places of note which could be used to mark the border.

The idea of a wall was left in the dust as they assessed the unstable terrain of the Stone Hills. In order to place such a thing, the area would first need to be levelled and that would take too long to see through.

Edmund's eyes were once again drawn to the line running between the two lands. It could not signify the top of the map, for it curved and weaved about multiple pages in heavily covered pencil. It also could not signify the border, for there was not yet one.

"Do you know what this is?" He asked Peter.

Peter leaned forward, eyes wrinkled as he squinted at the small text, "The River Shribble."

"It seems to run through the whole terrain," Edmund added thoughtfully, "Perhaps it would be an adequate marker."

His elder brother hummed noncommittally. He traced his finger lightly over the line, as if testing the true length of the waters by memory. Edmund supposed his brother would be the one to know, having visited the Northern Reaches many times over the last thirteen years.

Peter's fingers stilled at a small dot, planted just over the River Shribble into what would be the land of Ettinsmoor, "There is a village here. I remember passing through it a few years back. There are one or two giants among its population but the majority are Narnian."

Edmund drew a deep steadying breath at the implication.

"That's on the side that would be Ettinsmoor," Grace voiced, her concern laced with startling realisation, "If the River Shribble is the border, they will be on the opposite side."

"They will need to be uprooted to a settlement close by," Edmund inserted.

Grace looked between the two brothers, "But that's their home. You wouldn't ask them to leave, would you?"

"Sometimes, difficult decisions need to be made for the greater good," Peter resolved, sharing an understanding look with Edmund as he straightened, "We'll need to determine if the village has already been evacuated."

"With its proximity to the previous attacks, I would be surprised if it hadn't," Edmund rubbed at his face tiredly, "I'd order a scout party just in case. If these are the complete maps then I'd imagine a cheetah or two could be spared to clear the village."

Grace's mouth held agape but she did not speak. The only tell of her inner turmoil being the incredulous look she threw between the brothers.

Peter sighed as he rolled the tension in his shoulders, "I'll write to Lucy, if you could deliver the map pieces to Mascan for formal printing, I'd appreciate it."

Edmund nodded, already gathering the rectangular sheets in his hands.

His elder brother turned to Grace, an expectant hand in her direction.

It took her a moment to understand, to look at the crumpled ball in her palm and drop it hesitantly into the High King's hand.

In return, Peter took the hand and politely brushed a kiss atop her knuckles.

Edmund scowled.

Little else was said as his brother left the study, the air settling over Edmund and Grace filled with contemplative silence.

Grace stared after the study door long after it closed, her hands at her middle wringing in unease.

As Edmund watched her, the sheets of parchment continued to collate in his hands. Their silent scratch the foot hole that kept him grounded amongst the myriad of thoughts in his skull.

When they were all collected, a mismatched order of left to right, top to bottom, Edmund straightened them atop the desk. The tapping motion finally breaking Grace from her reverie.

"The High King said the Giants are rebelling," Grace entered softly, "I assume things like bombs and riots would be inconsequential to them?"

Edmund puzzled at her words, bombs – he'd heard of such things before but he wasn't quite sure when.

"They are attacking villages in the Northern Reaches," he explained.

Grace looked to him with fear drenched irises, "Are they moving further south?"

"They were. The attacks underwent a brief hold until the one Lucy mentioned a few days ago."

Her focus returned to the map sheets in his hands, "Should I be concerned?"

"You shouldn't be," Edmund's face crinkled in concern, "Not unless you mean to travel to the Northern Reaches yourself."

Grace was not comforted by his words. A more solid question persisting in the wring of her hands and the fear in her eyes. She looked as if she would flee the room, or more likely the Cair itself.

"They won't make it to Cair Paravel," Edmund added resolutely, "Not whilst I live."

It worked minimally, her hands stilled to a white knuckled grip as she nodded.

Edmund placed the stack of map sheets atop the desk, silently vowing to deliver them later. For now, he and Grace had work to complete and a bargain to uphold.

As Edmund began rustling through the wooden drawers of his desk, he let his lips steer the topic, "Besides, if it's death you are afraid of there are much closer evils to fear."

Grace's intrigue peaked, "Like what?"

And there it was, wrapped in bright blue ribbon – the colour he used to mark and track matters of trade – sat the most recent letter from King Ventotene. He figured it was best to start on a topic she knew well and if Edmund was honest, he was interested to see how her diplomatic ideas would be greeted by the cold-hearted King of Terebinthia.

The small stack was slapped upon the desk with gusto, "Boredom."

The Daughter of Eve only stared at the stack warily, the size and volume clearly putting her off. Edmund wanted to grin, was she having second thoughts already?

"This is the true most recent correspondence from King Ventotene," Edmund continued as he planted his palm atop the neatly tied ribbon, "Still sealed. Not even I have opened this yet."

The wry smile upon Grace's face was unmistakable, "Scared of what you might read?"

Edmund shrugged, "I've been putting it off. King Ventotene may always be late on his deliveries but I am always late in my letters."

The sheets were deftly plucked from beneath his fingers, "Seems the two of you are a match made in heaven."

"Don't even joke."

Grace met his gaze, eyes half shrouded in fear that he was actually upset. Only when it became clear to her that Edmund had not taken it personally did she relax and tugged on the ribbon.

It fell into a soft blue pile upon the desk, barely making a noise as it did.

Edmund breathed deeply, the softer of the two voices battling to keep it's oppressor at bay. It was worth it – the lapse in his strict morals – to see the soft crinkled interest on Grace's brow.

"He's calling you out for your lateness," Grace murmured as she flipped the top sheet.

Edmund plucked a pencil from a jar atop the desk, "An oversight you'll need to remedy."

Grace's softened blues flickered warily from the letter to the pencil, "You would have me draft something without you reading the base material first?"

The smile on his face came easily, "I would."

"How will I know what to say?"

"You've drafted five fake letters by my count and they were all satisfactory," Edmund encouraged, "I think you can handle it."

His words took root in the form of a sparkle in Grace's eyes, "Right, thank you."

This bright flicker lasted only a moment, before Edmund felt his anxieties tug on his mouth strings to sour it, "As a token to our vow of transparency upon Emperor's Beach, I feel I must warn you that if any of your work were to leave this room there would be dire consequences."

Grace cocked her head in an insincere manner. Her face a faux mask of heightened concern, "But then how am I supposed to ferry this business to your enemies?"

Edmund rolled his eyes, "I would suggest that you keep that line of humour to yourself, lest I take you seriously."

"Or what?" Grace continued in her unserious tone, "You'll lock me in my room? Take away my horse-riding lessons?"

Edmund caught the end of her jeers with interest, a reminder of a thought he'd had earlier that day, "That is another point I wish to speak to you about."

Grace's humour turned to ashes on water, "Wait… You aren't actually going to take away my lessons, are you?"

"No, but we will need to discuss their priority in your daily routine," Edmund answered, "It takes many hours to become an accomplished rider. A feat which I'd imagine you'd want to complete as soon as possible, correct?"

Grace nodded eagerly.

A sheet of scrap parchment was plucked from the desk drawer on his right. On it, Edmund began scribbling down a list of to-do's.

"I normally take my rides in the morning. If you want me to teach you, you'll need to do the same."

Grace shuffled nervously on her feet, "But I have kitchen duties in the morning, your Majesty."

"I know," Edmund agreed, adding another prominent task to the list, "Which is why I am pulling you from them until further notice."

Grace's mouth fell agape in his peripheral vision but Edmund did not let it deter him.

"I've already made enquiries with Mrs Badger and she's assured me that Kit is up to the task of taking on your work."

"But I can't just leave," Grace protested.

"Why not?" Edmund challenged, "It's the perfect excuse. You need time in the mornings to learn to ride or else you are never getting any farther than ten steps from Cair Paravel."

"I made it farther than ten steps that night," Grace grumbled.

Edmund chose to ignore the statement, "There's no time after your kitchen duties as you are working with me and the rest of your day is filled with Orchestra work."

The Daughter of Eve's mouth twisted uncomfortably as she weighed his words.

"Face it, Grace," Edmund concluded, "You have overbooked yourself."

Her answering glare had told him all he needed to know of her surrender.

"Cutting my kitchen duties will ensure I learn to horse-ride faster?" Grace asked in a small voice.

Edmund grinned brilliantly, "If I have it my way, we will have you galloping before Lucy returns"