Ettinsmoor.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Sapphyre.
The rough and stony moor fell away before her, the many streams, and rivers of Ettinsmoor glinted in the half-light of the sun, trying in vain to reach through the clouds that rolled overhead.
The air smelled of rot and dirt, the kind of smell that clung to one's skin, that worked its way into their very bones. She could taste it at the back of her throat, that bitter tang of decay that only the marshes could give. The nightrose she sought grew in those same waters, wild and potent, far more powerful than the delicate varieties they cultivated under her sister's orders in the Dark City.
Her eyes scanned the marsh, searching for the familiar clusters of dark, violet petals that bloomed in the shadows. The plants grew low to the ground, their curling leaves almost black in the gloom, their stems stretching out like long fingers reaching for the depths. It took patience, careful steps through the muddy ground, but Sapphyre's gaze was sharp.
She could see the shimmer of the flowers hidden between the thick grasses, their petals faintly glowing in the dim light, almost as though they were alive.
Her fingers brushed over one of the flowers, and she paused.
It was perfect.
A wild bloom, its deep purple colour almost dark enough to swallow the light. She crouched down, her fingers trembling slightly as she gently plucked the blossom. The essence of nightrose pulsed through her fingertips, its magic sharp and biting, filling her senses with something dark and sweet, something both familiar and foreign.
But as she straightened, cradling the nightrose in her hands, something caught her eye.
A figure moved just beyond the mist – tall, armoured.
A knight.
Her breath caught in her throat, her body going still as she watched him, the edges of his armour glinting faintly in the fog, the steady rhythm of his steps deliberate and purposeful.
Sapphyre's heart quickened.
She needed to disappear into the shadows, but the sight of him – his movements, the stance of his shoulders, his posture – told her he wasn't just passing through.
Her grip tightened on the nightrose.
The knight drew closer, his horse's hooves stirring the muck beneath. Sapphyre's pulse quickened. The fog was thick enough to hide her, but she wasn't sure it would last much longer.
Her eyes narrowed.
He was searching for the lost prince, she was sure. There was no other reason he would be so far north. The Narnians had no love for the witches or the Giants that roamed the lands.
And the Giants had a little too much love for the Narnians.
And the witches, persecuted by Narnians for simply existing, had fled to the West.
The knight was vigilant, his eyes searching.
Alert.
But he did not see her.
They never did.
And so, she followed him silently.
Once more she was the hunter, her body hidden by the rocks, her dull leathers blending into the patchwork around her, her cloak shifting colour to match the surrounds as her magic willed it. And her prey never suspected that she was there.
They never did.
Marshes spread as far as she could see, with patches of tall grass. The river had lessened to a slow trickle, and the air was heavy, thick with the feel of death and decay, and goosebumps rippled across her skin. Fog weaved throughout the sparse trees which stood stooped over with little sign of life.
She had never liked the marshes.
The knight would press on, he would not go around she saw, as he began to weave his mare through the barely-visible path.
She placed the nightrose in her small bag, laying it and her bow upon the ground gently. And with a breath she started to shift. Arms became soft feathered wings; her body shrinking, changing and became less than a hand-span tall.
She left her pack behind the rocks and bushes as she took flight, her armour and her cloak shifting with her and melding with her skin.
A bluebird.
She whistled: a merry song, she thought. One she'd heard the Harfang giants sing while working. A song about a Dark King and a Queen of Ice, a great love story that went in and out of fashion every few years.
The knight smiled, and as he turned, he lifted a hand for her to land upon.
"You're a pretty little thing," he smiled as she chirped.
Chirped.
She would have gagged if she'd been in her true form.
But as a bird…She chirped again.
His finger stroked her feathers in that strange-but-pleasing way; but she would rather rip her own tongue out than utter such words aloud. "You know I fear this may be a lost cause. We never find anything, no matter how many times our King bids us to search," he sighed. Solemn. Perhaps he would leave.
She hoped he would leave.
He seemed almost nice for a bloodthirsty Narnian.
"But all our knights disappear every time he sends us up here. Our King thinks that a sure sign he is being held prisoner by the giants."
His fingers were so gentle, but her she felt her tiny heart fall.
He would not turn back.
Damn Narnian knights and their vows.
But that…that she understood.
However much she wished she didn't.
"You know you have strange eyes for a bird." He had stopped the mare and raised his finger to view her small form properly.
So gentle.
So kind.
Nothing like the other knights she'd fought.
Nothing like the other knights she'd killed.
"By Aslan," his indrawn breath was ragged, and Sapphyre knew it that moment what he had noticed.
The moment she always dreaded.
When they saw her eyes, the same eyes that she saw each morning in the mirror when she brushed out and plaited her auburn curls. In her bird-form they were not wide and thickly-lashed, they were not set beneath perfect arched brows. But no matter what form she took the colour remained the same – the bright, brilliant blue that she was named for. The colour than none other would have.
That no animal should ever have.
She left his body in the marshes to feed the animals, his throat slit with the blade she had taken from his own belt. She did not stay to look into those hazel eyes, directed towards the solemn sky but unseeing. She rid his body of the shiny armour he wore, pushing it into pool of mud and water where it would sink.
The armour, she buried deep within the earth.
The stones she placed, just so, above it.
How many knights' bodies had she disposed of thusly?
She slapped the mare on its rump, hoping that the fortunate soul that found it would treat it kindly.
Her bags and weapons were where she had left them and were donned quickly, her hair braided just as fast.
She almost sighed.
She would return home empty handed.
But she had to report to the Lady.
To her Queen.
…
Underland. The Pale Beaches and the Sunless Sea.
Sapphyre.
The Sunless Sea stretched out before her, its endless dark expanse swallowing every shred of light, the waves moving in soft, undisturbed ripples. There were no stars – no guiding heavens to lead the way.
It was just the silent, unforgiving sea, and the oppressive weight of the cavern above.
The darkness pressed in from all sides, thick and suffocating. It wasn't just the absence of light that made it oppressive, but the way it seemed to have a weight to it, an oppressive thickness that made every breath feel like an effort. It was a kind of silence that wasn't peaceful but unnerving – a silence that filled the spaces between every thought and pushed against her chest, making her feel smaller than she truly was.
Underland had always felt like that: an abyss where time and memory had no place.
A place where one could lose themselves, where shadows could grow long and deep, where even the strongest of wills might be swallowed whole.
She glanced upward, her eyes struggling to pierce the inky blackness of the cavern's ceiling. It seemed to stretch on forever, an oppressive weight, a reminder of the void above. It was as if the very earth above her was closing in, as if the stone itself were pressing down upon her, willing her to remain small, to remain hidden.
She watched the Pale Beaches become a speck behind her, the seaport – the only link to Narnia above – was gone. She faced the south, trailing her hands in the water as the earthman pushed the boat.
"Careful there lass, yer don't want anything biting off yer fingers," he said in his deep, gravelly voice. Laughing.
And though it was meant in jest, she withdrew her fingers and watched in the light of the small lantern, as a frill-like crest rose from the water, a little to the right of her small boat. Creatures of the dark and deep lived in those frigid waters, with teeth the size of her fore-arm. And though they preferred the colder bodies of those that dwelt in the water, there was no guarantee it would not pull her under merely for sport.
It would take hours to reach the other side of the lake, perhaps five or six. But so much faster than travelling over the land above. For there were no canyons or rivers to cross, no forests to traipse through. Just the vast expanse of water between the Pale Beaches and the City.
The Sunless Sea.
It had once been called the Shallow Lands – the gnomish name for the lands beneath Narnia. Renamed Underland by Emerylda upon their arrival.
Sapphyre knew that they were directly beneath Ettinsmoor and the Wild Lands of the North. In a few hours they would be beneath the rest of Narnia. But there was no life and laughter as there was in the falsely joyous Narnia. Underland was darkness and shadows, with the fiery lands of Bism even farther beneath.
But it was not up or down that she went. She travelled south, to where the lake ended in a rocky mountain that rose up into the cave. Whereupon Emerylda had built her Dark Castle and the city surrounding it.
The water beneath her was like liquid shadow, the surface too smooth, too still, reflecting nothing of the world outside. She could not see its depths, and in truth, she did not want to. She had learned long ago to distrust what was hidden in the deep.
The sea could hold secrets – things not meant to be found, things that were better left buried, like her past, like her sister's whispers in the dark.
The earthman did not speak again, but she could feel his presence beside her, a silent shadow in the boat, his eyes fixed on the water ahead. The boat moved forward slowly, gently – nothing in Underland moved quickly, not unless it was in pursuit.
The creak of the oar against the boat was the only sound, a faint, lonely noise that disappeared into the stillness, as if the very air here consumed every noise, every attempt at breaking the silence.
Sapphyre's hand clenched the edge of the boat, her nails digging into the rough wood. She returned to the darkness time and time again, and it was always the same – silent, endless, waiting. A part of her hated it, but there was another part, that darker part, that felt at home in it.
Underland had no questions, no expectations – only shadows.
Only the sea.
And lost as she was in her thoughts; Sapphyre did not notice when the first of the city's light appeared on the horizon. The false sun. White and dull, it was a cold unfeeling light, it could not rival the beauty of the world above.
She gazed upon the city as the earthman drew them closer. A perfect copy of the home that they had left so long ago.
The home that they had left deep beneath the waves with the rest of their people.
…
Underland. The Dark City.
Emerylda.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Her perfect nails drummed against the arm of her throne. With her other hand she held the polished silver goblet which showed her oh-so-perfect reflection.
She smiled, stroking her own soft cheek with the back of her hand, ceasing the restless drumming that belied her impatience. The perfect creamy skin, wide emerald eyes, lined with kohl to darken her already dark lashes. Her dark auburn hair was held off her face by a circlet of silver, inlaid with emeralds and diamonds, the perfect match to her eyes.
She would make the perfect queen.
A soft sigh escaped her lips.
She already was the perfect queen.
She had been for years.
She was so close.
So, so close.
But not quite ready. Her control over the prince was not secure; the spell did not settle at it should, it was as if the enchantments became unstuck from his mind.
She needed more time.
A horn blew in the distance, a boat approaching from across the Sunless Sea.
A smile curled upon her full plum-painted lips.
Finally.
Her sister had returned.
Her Knight.
Her Champion.
Her Commander.
Who would once more stand by her side and help her defeat another world.
…
Cair Paravel.
Caspian.
Caspian paced in his chambers, restless.
Another knight missing. Gone to search for the prince who had been gone for the past eight years. Many had gone searching for him at their King's bequest. And yet none had returned.
Not one.
He had thought that it had been a sign that he was surely in the Wildlands of the North. But his knights could have been taken and eaten by the giants of Harfang who had grown restless of late. They could have been kidnapped by the witches of the north, lured in by promises of riches and love. Or they could have simply given up and not returned.
A cry tore from his mouth.
Despair.
He missed his son as much as he missed his wife – both beautiful, brilliant souls that had been taken from him. Far too soon.
He had no wife and no Heir.
What would happen to Narnia once he had gone?
That thought haunted him more than all the rest.
Caspian gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles white, his breath uneven. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across the room, but there was no warmth in its glow. Only cold emptiness.
Rilian should have been here, standing at his side, learning how to rule, how to lead. Instead, he had vanished into the unknown, swallowed by something Caspian had no name for. Eight years. Eight years of silence, of knights riding off on hopeful quests and never returning. Eight years of whispers in court, of doubt creeping into the hearts of his people.
He could not even blame them.
A king without an heir. A father without a son.
He squeezed his eyes shut, the weight of his crown pressing heavier with each passing day.
He had fought so hard for his kingdom, had built it into something strong, something worthy. And yet, without Rilian, without Liliandil, without the future he had planned, it all felt like sand slipping through his fingers.
Would Narnia remember him as a great king?
Or only as the one who lost everything?