"There are a few settlements in the north," she says quietly. "and the west." He lifts his head and turns his attention to Serena. She bites slightly at her bottom lip as she stares at the branches above them. "Narnia to the south, obviously, and there's traders from the east." Edmund's forehead creases in confusion. There's nothing to the east of Corsecant except the Giant lands, unless…
"An island?" he questions, dropping his hands and turning to face her. Adan had said the men smelled of the sea. The princess glances at him, but she quickly lowers her eyes to her own hands.
"That's… possible." Edmund inhales slowly and brushes his fingers through his hair, rubbing his palm on his forehead as he rests his elbow on his knee. "No one trades directly in the capital," she adds quickly. "Everything goes to the border provinces and then Corsecan merchants disperse the goods from there." He nods, dropping his hand and leaning back against the tree trunk.
"What comes from the east?" Edmund questions. He tries to remember all the islands in the Eastern Ocean and what their main exports are. The East is Lucy's domain, but it's Edmund who negotiates and maintains most of Narnia's trade agreements with other countries. He's not sure how any of the islands would actually reach Corsecant to trade— or maybe he does know, since these men don't seem to have a problem traveling through the Giants' lands. And one of them had called himself a merchant.
"Mostly spices?" Serena replies after a long silence. "Salt, fabrics, and dried fish I think." Edmund sighs, his hand finding its way to the pommel of the sword resting beside him. That doesn't narrow it down at much. The island nations all have strong fishing trades. Spices are less common— most of the islands don't cultivate their own, except for salt— but he's fairly certain all of the islands purchase spices from Calormene traders. The fabrics, though, might be something-
"I'm sorry," Serena says quietly, her chin ducking even closer to her chest. Edmund squints at her, not entirely sure why she's apologizing. She keeps her gaze averted, addressing the branches when she says, "I wasn't involved in these things. Mael was supposed to-" She breaks off suddenly, and Edmund sees her press her fingers to her lips. He leans forward, realizing she's said something she hadn't meant to.
"Supposed to what?" he prompts. Her eyes meet his briefly, uncertainly, and then her gaze slides to the side again before she twists her hands around the blanket, pulling it tight across her shoulders.
"Supposed to deal with all this," she says quietly. She waves her hand vaguely before clutching the blanket again.
"All this," Edmund repeats. Maybe she means the trade agreements, or maybe she means their situation. She stares at the branches for a long while, though, once again biting her bottom lip. Edmund waits, hoping she'll continue if he doesn't, and his patience is rewarded when she finally whispers an answer.
"Everything," she whispers. "He was supposed to-" She stops herself again and swipes a hand down her face. She presses her fingertips against her temples for a moment, but then drops both hands to her lap. "Mael is two days older." Edmund props his elbows on his knees, this time folding his hands together against his lips as he frowns at her, not understanding the sudden announcement.
"Two days older than-"
"We're not twins," she interrupts, only furthering Edmund's confusion. He watches as she twists the blanket, rolling the edges tightly. They're not twins, and Mael is two days older…
"My father— before he even knew my mother was pregnant— I don't know who she was, but he…" She trails off, waving her hand as color spreads across her cheeks.
"Oh," Edmund says flatly, looking away. So Mael is her half brother. He rolls this information over in his mind, considering it carefully from all angles. "No one knows?" he eventually questions, wondering why he'd heard they were twins, and why she'd gone along with it last night.
"Very few, I think." She shakes her head once, then stares at her fingers, flexing them slowly while Edmund watches. "My mother," she whispers, then swallows hard before continuing, "she knew, or found out I guess, and she-"
She struggles to find the words, and Edmund decides that this must be the first time she's ever discussed it. The Calormene have no issues with the Tisroc's horde of heirs from multiple wives and concubines, but that's clearly not the case in Corsecant. Edmund suddenly isn't sure he should make her say more, but he feels certain this has something to do with all that's happened the past few days— and he can't deny his curiosity— so he waits for her to continue.
"It was her idea to pass us off as twins." Her anxious movements have stilled now and she sits completely motionless with her gaze lowered to her hands. Her voice is hardly a whisper, though, and despite sitting right beside her Edmund strains to hear as she continues. "She took something to induce labor after Mael was born. They kept everything quiet, and then announced twins and—" She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. "I didn't even know. I always thought…" She trails off again, and after a few moments of silence Edmund decides that's probably all she'll say.
"That's… a complication," he says slowly. He presses his knuckles against his chin, analyzing everything she's divulged. "But I don't think this has anything to do with trade," he says carefully. The princess winces slightly and shifts her gaze toward the branches in front of them. Edmund can see that the information was not easily shared, but he can't figure out its relevance at the moment, or why she chose now to tell him instead of last night when he'd been asking about Mael. Perhaps if he'd had a full night's sleep and a clear head he could puzzle it out, but he doesn't feel up to the task this morning.
"Mael would know," she admits miserably. "The trade agreements, what countries. He paid attention, he always has, but he can't-" She sighs and starts twisting the blanket again. "My mother was born a princess-" Serena starts, but then branches to Edmund's right part and Adan slips into their shelter before Edmund has time to even flinch.
"Cellox is near," Adan says without preamble. Edmund glances past the Wolf, his mind a bit sluggish about switching conversations so quickly. Adan shakes his head, though, and some of the snow clinging to his fur comes loose. "Not here," he explains, "The trees are too close. We need to get somewhere open."
"You spoke to him?" Edmund gasps, leaning forward eagerly. This is the best possible news Adan could have brought. With Cellox nearby, they should be able to slip away from their pursuers instead of being trapped in this dead end valley. Adan nods once, peering around at the interior of the shelter.
"Briefly," Adan answers, looking back over his shoulder. "There should be enough space to slip through," he adds, talking now about the other humans, Edmund realizes. The Wolf is agitated and pacing now. "There's too much space between them, more than they can cover in pairs." Edmund nods, managing to follow Adan's train of thought.
"Alright," he says, heart pounding with excitement and relief. He silently thanks Aslan for this good fortune and turns to pull the pack toward him, spying the slightly messy bedroll. He pauses, again inspecting the very basic knots tied around the bedroll. He sees the princess stiffen beside him and decides her knots may not be pretty but they'll hold well enough, and he doesn't want to waste time fixing them. It's probably not necessary to bring it at all, but the thought of leaving it behind when the princess clearly was trying to help feels cruel. Besides, the bedroll doesn't add that much extra weight.
"Is there somewhere Cellox can land nearby?" Edmund asks Adan as he quickly attaches the bedroll to the bottom of the pack.
"The southwestern edge of the valley." Edmund stills, remembering what the men had said about cliffs. He turns his head to the Wolf, who gives a nearly imperceptible nod. "He agreed that one at a time would be best," Adan adds. Edmund notices the Wolf's glance at the princess, and Edmund decides that not mentioning more than that is probably a wise decision.