Underland. The Dark City.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Emerylda.
Emerylda tilted her head, studying the man before her as she swirled her goblet of dwarven wine. She could admit it—he was a striking specimen. Broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, with that unruly dark hair that curled at the ends, as if even it refused to be tamed. His eyes, dark and brooding, might have been considered soulful if he wasn't so insufferable.
No matter what world she found herself in, Emerylda had always appreciated beauty. And he was beautiful.
Had he been any other man, she might have welcomed him into her bed and between her legs, if only to enjoy the view. Might have—until he opened his mouth.
By the Heart, he was exhausting.
He never stopped talking.
She'd been able to foist him off to the gnomes that morning, to get him to stop her from asking his insufferable questions. And in the afternoon, she let him train with the knights, just as Sapphyre did.
She should not have been so hasty in sending her sister after the witches. If only to keep the prince entertained. Once she had perfected the enchantment, she would no longer have to worry about such a thing – for he would be under her complete control. He would speak only when she wanted him to speak. But she'd not perfected it, not quite. It was as if the enchantments just slid off his mind, unable to find purchase. She had long suspected his resistance was gifted to him by the blood of his mother that ran through his veins.
A star.
Such a thing she'd not encountered until Narnia.
For in Atlantis that stars had stayed in the sky like they were supposed to.
She could only imagine what a full-blooded star would be capable of. For though his mother had not put up a fight all those years passed, she highly suspected that was because she had been caught completed unaware. She had felt the power within the body of the Star Queen, and she had been but half a star, her blood tempered by her mother.
Rilian was a perfect blend of the two of his parents – he had his father's facial features, though with a softer cast. His eyes, though the shape of his father's, were the same non-human indigo of the star she had killed.
Emerylda tapped the brim of the goblet, her breath in her throat as he drunk the contents of his. It was not the same dwarven wine that she drunk, at least not completely.
Not even the sharpest of noses could scent the nightrose powder that it contained.
Her lips twitched, though her expression remained unchanged. She couldn't help herself—she was curious to see how long it would take for him to notice. To feel it. Would he be aware of the slow haze clouding his mind, the gentle pull of forgetfulness weaving through his thoughts? Or would he continue to drink it, unwittingly sinking deeper into the spell she had so delicately cast?
He blinked.
Then blinked again.
Slower.
But then his eyelashes fluttered, and it was as if he'd consumed nothing out of the ordinary, continuing with the chatter that she did not deign to respond to.
Her fingers tightened.
It had been a love potion, laced with nightrose to addict him to it; similar to how she'd ensnared him in those days after his mother's death. For she'd always known that love spells were the most potent, the most powerful and so that was what she had used to lure away the Prince of Narnia. He had followed her quite willingly to the north, despite the death of his mother and the mourning of the Narnian Court.
But he had become aware of himself when they had been crossing the Sunless Sea. He had reacted violently, turning his blade on her. And when she had tried to subdue him with her magic, he had fallen in and the creature in the lake had dragged him down. And had he been anyone else, she would have let the creature feed upon him.
Sapphyre, who had rowed out to meet them, dived in after him with her knife and freed him. It had been Sapphyre who had brought life back into the prince's lungs; but his foray into the lake combined with the force of her magic had cleared his memory.
Quite fortuitous, for she had soon discovered that the same enchantment for control which she had placed upon thousands would not work on his mind.
But she was not one to let such a minor setback deter her. Her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. She had other ways to bend him to her will.
Rising slowly from her chair, she set the goblet down with deliberate grace. She moved around the table with the poise of a predator, her eyes never leaving him. When she reached him, she let the silence hang between them, the faintest hum of power radiating from her.
Rilian, in his moment of stillness, would not see it coming.
With a delicate motion, she raised her hand, letting the soft tendrils of her magic weave through the air, a silky thread winding around his mind. She whispered the words in a voice barely above the sound of breath, an ancient incantation she had perfected over the years. The words themselves were simple, but they carried the weight of centuries of mastery.
The enchantment wrapped around his consciousness like a fog, clouding his mind and dulling his senses. Slowly, like a hand tightening around the throat, his will began to bend under her power. It was subtle at first—a faint hesitation, a slight stiffness in his movements as if something had shifted within him.
But then the magic took hold, deeper and deeper, until she was sure his thoughts were no longer entirely his own.
His indigo eyes, so sharp and piercing, suddenly lost a glimmer of clarity. A slow, almost imperceptible blink, and his gaze wavered, as if he were seeing through the fog of a dream.
Emerylda watched him closely, noting the shift in his posture. His mind was no longer his own, clouded by her enchantment, but she knew well enough that such spells could not hold forever, especially not over someone with the strength of will that Rilian possessed. Her magic, however powerful, was not invincible.
It would enchant him for a few hours at the most, even with the assistance of the nightrose he had consumed.
But at least that gave her a few hours without his incessant chatter.
She exhaled softly, the cool air settling around them as she stepped back, her fingertips trailing over the surface of the table.
A faint disturbance in the air pulled her attention from her glass. The temperature in the hall dropped slightly, a whisper of frost curling through the air as the great doors parted. Eirwyn entered, her presence commanding, her snowflake wings unfurled in glacial splendour. They caught the light, shimmering like ice beneath the glow of the Heart. She did not walk – she hovered, carried by unseen currents, her feet never touching the stone.
Emerylda leaned back against her chair, one brow arching as she regarded the frost fae with open curiosity.
"A rare sight," she murmured, just loud enough for Rilian to hear—not that he would respond with anything beyond vacant agreement. "Tell me, Eirwyn, do you always make an entrance so… ethereal?"
Eirwyn's wings stirred the air as she drew closer, her frost-laced presence a stark contrast to the emerald firelight.
"I do not care for theatrics," the frost fae matriarch said, her voice as smooth and cold as the ice she commanded. She hovered just beyond the edge of the long table, her hands loosely clasped before her. "But if you insist on grand halls and watchful eyes, I will oblige you."
Emerylda smiled, slowly. "Watchful eyes are a necessity in Underland, not a luxury. You must know that."
Eirwyn tilted her head, her gaze flicking briefly to Rilian, who sat motionless beside the Emerald Queen, his expression vacant. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing of him.
"I assume you did not come merely to darken my threshold with your presence," Emerylda continued, gesturing lazily with a hand as if she were simply commenting upon the weather. "What is it you seek?"
Eirwyn's eyes, an icy blue so pale they nearly glowed, met hers with an unreadable expression. "I seek understanding," she said evenly. "Your court is… strange to me."
Emerylda chuckled softly, a low, knowing sound. "Strange, because it does not bend to your expectations?"
"Strange," Eirwyn corrected, "because it operates on power, I have not yet seen wielded in such a way."
Emerylda inclined her head slightly. It was no secret that Eirwyn was both wary and intrigued by the forces that ruled Underland. A wise reaction. The frost fae was a ruler in her own right, and though the air between them was cold, neither had yet drawn the line that would make them enemies.
And Emerylda had no desire to.
Not yet.
"I had hoped," she said, voice measured, "that we could find common ground."
Eirwyn's wings twitched, a glimmer of frost falling from their tips like snow in the dim light. "Hope," she said quietly, "is a fragile thing, Queen Emerylda."
"And yet, it survives even in the depths," Emerylda countered smoothly, holding the frost fae's gaze.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Not hostile, but tense. A thread pulled taut, neither willing to sever it, nor allow it to slacken.
Eirwyn's wings fluttered gently as she tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "You sent your Knight Commander away," she remarked, her voice quiet but firm. "Your strongest piece."
Emerylda leaned back in her chair, fingers trailing idly along the stem of her glass. "Sapphyre has her duties," she replied smoothly. "Not all battles are won with swords, matriarch."
Eirwyn narrowed her icy eyes. "No," she conceded. "But I did not think you were so willing to weaken your hand."
Emerylda's lips curled. "Do you believe me weak, Eirwyn?"
The frost fae studied her, then shook her head once. "No. But even the strongest blade can break if its wielder miscalculates."
Emerylda exhaled a quiet chuckle. "And you think I have miscalculated?"
Eirwyn did not answer immediately. She glanced once more at Rilian, the hollow vessel of the man he had been, then back to Emerylda.
"I think," Eirwyn said at length, "that I have not yet decided."
"Take care," Emerylda said, her voice smooth as silk but carrying the weight of iron beneath it. That perfect tone that she had perfected so long ago. "Do not forget that these are my halls."
Eirwyn's wings shifted, the crystalline patterns catching the dim glow of the enchanted light. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips, though it did not reach her frostbitten eyes, but between those parted lips Emerylda glimpsed those razor-sharp teeth. "Oh, I have not forgotten," Eirwyn murmured. "How could I, when the very walls hum with your presence?"
Emerylda inclined her head slightly. Both flattery and warning. "Good," she said. "Then you will remember that hospitality only extends so far."
Eirwyn did not flinch, nor did she break eye contact. "And I would not ask for more than is offered."
For a moment, the tension crackled between them, cold and sharp.
Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Eirwyn turned away, her wings carrying her across the chamber with effortless grace.
Emerylda watched her go, exhaling softly through her nose.
One day, perhaps, they would be allies. But for now, the frost fae remained an unknown—a piece on the board that Emerylda was still determining how best to play.
…
Somewhere in the Western Wilds.
Sapphyre.
The fire hurtled towards her as a golden ball, igniting the night like an inferno.
And Sapphyre dove to avoid it, her feathers trembling with the force of the wind as she spiralled downward, her body cutting through the night sky.
The witch had spotted her.
Another fireball exploded into a brilliant flash behind her, lighting up the world in blinding waves. She heard the impact, felt the tremor of the explosion ripple through the air like the roar of a beast.
She let her form shift, her body warping and contorting in midair, as the ground rushed to meet her. And she landed, her boots touching the grass like a lovers' touch as her wings spread behind her, softening her landing. She had no weapons; nothing but the clothing upon her back – remnants from her home world that stayed with her. The threads, spun with magic as they were, would not protect her from the balls of fire the witch blasted at her.
And so, Sapphyre tucked her wings tightly to her back and she danced. Twisting and leaping as the flames shot past her, edging ever-closer to the witch who rained fire down upon her.
The scent of the burning grasses behind her filled her lungs – smoke heavy and acrid, curling into her throat and mixing with the fresh, earthy scent of the night air. The wind carried the tang of the witch's magic, sharp and metallic, as it crackled through the air like a warning. The very atmosphere seemed charged, thick with energy and anticipation.
Sweat beaded on her brow, her legs ached.
And she grinned.
Sparks fettered in outstretched palms and beneath that deep hood, Sapphyre saw the woman's mouth open in a soundless 'O'. She imagined those eyes were tracing her wings, poised for flight as she gripped the witch's hand. She could only imagine what her face looked like as the last of the flame disappeared – her face alight like one born of the fiery pits of Bism.
And it was as if she moved slower than she ever had before – time suspended in that moment, or perhaps she moved faster than time itself. As she twisted the woman's arm behind her back and pulled off the hood with her other hand; her foot swept the woman's legs from under her.
With her face pressed into the ground, with Sapphyre's knee pressed to her spine, the woman gasped. Sapphyre used that moment to study the witch, for even in the darkest of night she could see. A shock of wispy curls, of a colour she could not discern (but looked somewhat pale), a pretty face with a full mouth twisted into a grimace, a shining silver band across her brow that burned to Sapphyre's magic-sense.
It was not a face she knew.
A stranger, then.
Who had sensed her presence, even in her shifted form. She must have been powerful; if not in the traditional sense, for Sapphyre felt no outpouring of magical energy from her.
"Who are you?" The witch's voice was light, airy; not what Sapphyre would have expected.
"Not exactly in a position to be asking questions, are you?" The witch's body stiffened beneath her, the last of her magic fizzling out, and for a moment, the silence between them felt thick, heavy, like the calm before a storm.
"I won't attack. Please let me up."
"I would ask for you word. But I do not trust the word of strangers," Sapphyre murmured. Nor the words of not-so-strangers, she thought to herself, even as she let the witch up.
The witch brushed herself off. "Join me by my fire."
"What fire?"
A grin. And then the clearing flared with light, a campfire crackling merrily. And Sapphyre was able to see what she'd only glimpsed earlier from above. The witch had a small caravan, a horse tethered nearby. Sapphyre studied her, for she had met many witches in her time – some powerful, some dangerous – but something about the one before her was different. She had none of the guardedness Sapphyre had come to expect. No air of secrecy or dark purpose hung about her. She seemed... naive, almost.
"My name is Ardisia." The witch sat, cross-legged before the fire and gestured for Sapphyre to do the same. "I will not attack you."
Sapphyre sat, her wings folded to her back. She would not shift completely. Not yet. The last thing she wanted was to relax her guard – she had no intention of being taken by surprise. "How do you know I won't attack you?"
The witch – Ardisia – shrugged, and in the light of the fire, Sapphyre saw her eyes were a strange almost violet-blue. Like Rilian's – but where his were the dark colour of the night sky, the witch's eyes were the colour of the sky before dawn. "I don't," the witch offered her a little smile that accompanied her chuckle. "But I figure, if you do, I would rather be comfortable while I die. For clearly, I am no match for you."
Ardisia pressed a cup of liquid into Sapphyre's hands, and a small sniff revealed it to be mead; not of the finest quality, but she took it, nonetheless. The woman's hands were delicate, and the gesture was so sincere it caught Sapphyre off guard. Ardisia's mannerisms and kindness were at odds with what Sapphyre had expected from a witch – someone manipulative, who would speak in riddles or with an edge of cruelty. The balls of fire that she had cast had been quite impressive, and if she knew any more offensive magic, she would indeed be formidable on the battlefield.
But Sapphyre felt no threat from her.
"Do you travel West, to heed the call?" Violet-blue eyes held unabashed curiosity. "Perhaps we could share the road together."
The call?
"Not yet."
And then they fell into silence, the crackled of the campfire was all that could be heard. Flames sent red sparks dancing into the soft breeze, the smoke twirling heavenward. And Sapphyre found herself closing her eyes, allowing the heat of the blazing fire to simmer over her face and neck. She knew Ardisia was watching her, she knew there were questions on the tip of the witch's tongue. Just like Rilian.
"What are you smiling at?"
Sapphyre cracked an eyelid at the witch's question and smoothed her face into one of cool indifference. Ardisia was watching her carefully, her face open, curious. "Have you no mind magic, witch? Can you not pluck the thoughts from my mind?"
Even with mind magic, she would not have been able to – for not even Emerylda could pass the barricades she'd placed around her mind – thanks to her training with the Priestesses of the Heart, before she had joined the Knighthood. But Ardisia simply snorted. "I have no magic of the sort. And naming me a witch is no insult. The Narnians call anything they do not understand a witch; they would say the same of you."
Ah, so it was apparent she was no Narnian. "Then your magic is simply of the fire kind?"
Ardisia narrowed her gaze and raised a brow. "I will tell you of my magic, if you tell me of yours."
Sapphyre inclined her head, taking that deal without words.
The woman grinned at her then. "I'm afraid there is not much to tell." She held out her wrist, showing Sapphyre the delicate bracelet that adorned it. Plain silver save for some sort of inscription that she could not discern, a language that she did not know. "This helps to channel and hold my magic, for I can really only hypnotise and enchant. The fire spell you saw earlier took me years to learn, the spell is imbedded in these bracelets for I cannot simply call it upon a whim. And the circlet upon my brow allows me to see magic."
Perhaps the witch was a fool; or was simply incredibly naïve to share such information with a stranger.
Either scenario was likely to get her killed.
Sapphyre inspected the bracelet with interest. Could Emerylda use a similar thing? Something that could hold her enchantments so they would stick? Could she fashion a crown for Rilian and enchant the crown? Unease tugged at her heart as Rilian's empty eyes flashed through her minds' eye. Pushing it down, she looked into the witch's eyes. "Enchant me."
"What?" Ardisia blinked. "What?"
"I want to see it. Enchant me."
"Are you sure?" Ardisia bit her bottom lip, her brows furrowed.
"Quite."m
And then without preamble, Ardisia closed her eyes and Sapphyre watched with piqued interest as a violet-blue mist rose around her. It was an ethereal thing, a fog that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow and it settled, ghosting across her skin.
And then, Sapphyre felt the fluttering against her mind, like the touch of a birds-wing, or a butterfly's kiss. Soft but insistent. Probing, seeking her mind.
Seeking to learn her secrets.
Her past.
Her history.
Her walls would not crumble. But that violet mist did not reach that far, it did not even touch upon those walls.
Sapphyre had braced herself for the force of it, for the weight of magic pressing against her mind like a storm seeking to uproot the foundation of her thoughts. But the mist – Ardisia's magic – was gentle, almost hesitant, never quite reaching deep enough to touch what it sought.
Sapphyre exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the cup of mead Ardisia had given her. The tang of honeyed liquor filled her mouth as she took a sip, but her mind remained focused on the foreign magic.
It curled around her like a whisper, like a question left unanswered.
She had felt magic of its ilk before, the kind that sought to unravel, to see. But the violet mist was different. It did not carry the same force as Emerylda's enchantments, nor the raw power of her sister's will.
Emerylda's voice echoed in her mind. Magic from different worlds does not blend easily.
It was part of the reason why her sister used nightrose to supplement her enchantments.
"By Aslan, what is happening?" Ardisia's frustrated voice brought her to herself, and Sapphyre's eyes snapped open, looking into those pretty eyes. Sweat dotted the witch's brow, and her hands where they lay in her lap, trembled. "This has never happened before."
"What has not?"
"My enchantments always work. I can't do other things very well. But my enchantments always work."
Sapphyre stifled a grin. "Do not be disheartened. My sister is a great enchantress and even she cannot get through my defences."
Another groan. "I do not think it is that. I cannot even get to your defences. I cannot even feel your mind."
Interesting.
It was something she would ponder later with Emerylda – perhaps it had something to do with how her sister's magic was not as strong in Narnia. Or perhaps Emerylda was correct in her theory that the magic of Narnia and the magic from other worlds worked against each other.
The fire crackled, sending golden sparks drifting into the cool night air. The scent of scorched grass still lingered, mixing with the damp earth beneath them.
Beyond the fire's glow, the darkness pressed in, thick and restless, shifting with the distant sounds of unseen creatures.
For a time, neither of them spoke. Ardisia traced lazy patterns into the dirt with a fingertip, her expression unreadable. Sapphyre, seated opposite her, let the silence settle, her wings tucked neatly behind her. The mead in her cup had gone tepid, but she sipped it anyway, her sharp eyes watching the witch across from her.
Then, almost absently, Ardisia glanced at her wings.
"They're beautiful," she murmured, her voice thoughtful rather than admiring. "Not like any wings I've seen before. Are they real?" The question seemed to burst forth, and once again her eyes were riveted on Sapphyre's wings, her magical endeavour seemingly forgotten.
Sapphyre fluttered them slightly, stretching them out and then folding them back to her back. "Of course."
"They are not an illusion? Not magic?"
Sapphyre allowed a small smile to touch her lips, a very small smile. Perhaps the night would not be so bad. Perhaps the witch was a little naïve, but Sapphyre felt no ill-intent.
"You are magic, but you are not a witch," Ardisia said softly, her tone not accusatory, but observant, like a puzzle piece she had finally placed. "I can feel it, you know. The power that hums beneath your skin. It's not like ours."
Sapphyre's gaze flickered briefly to the witch, but she said nothing. Her fingers, curled around the flask, tightened just enough to remind her of the weight of her own past.
"I am a knight," she murmured, her voice quieter now, the words soft but deliberate. "And I always will be."
Ardisia blinked at the solemnity in her words. The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows over the camp, but for a moment, everything else fell away. The trees, the night, even the faint undercurrent of magic swirling through the air – everything fell silent in that space.
Sapphyre looked into the swirling flames of the fire, the shifting embers casting an orange glow over her face. The fire's dance seemed to mirror the turmoil inside her – an endless ebb and flow of thoughts, regrets, and memories.
Her gaze hardened as she leaned forward slightly, watching the flames flicker and writhe, their heat brushing against her skin. She had once stood before the Heart, the sacred place of magic and power, and felt the pulse of the Heart call to her – a promise of unmatched strength, dominion over the forces of nature.
Even at her tender age it had been intoxicating.
Tempting.
But she had rejected it, turned her back on the Heart and its offer. She had chosen the oath of a knight instead, the discipline, the duty, the honour – things that, in the end, had cost her everything.
There were many things she had come to regret in the years that followed.
The deaths, the destruction.
The weight of a thousand choices pressing down on her heart.
But that choice – that one would never be a regret.
She would always be a knight.
A Knight of the Heart.
A Knight of Atlantis.