Will Briar begin a new era of witches, or will history repeat itself? Either way, Edmund won't be tricked twice.
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"If I perish, I perish. You can take my life, but you can't take my will." In which a girl born of Narnia's two greatest adversaries...
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A haze of sleep had hung over her when Windmane had gently risen her from her slumber. Normally a light sleeper, Briar had been thrown into a panic, afraid the scroll was still open somewhere. Thankfully, it was rolled up and safely tucked beneath her pillow.
It was dark out. She'd gotten up and lit one of the lanterns on the table. In the dim light, she readorned her clothes and armor. Unfortunately, she wasn't unable to fit her corset on; she needed to enlist help before the meeting. She slid her braces back on carefully. Her nimble fingers drew her short, silver blade. It was the size of her hand, and the haft was lightweight, like carrying a sharp, double-edged needle between her fingertips. Briar rolled it around her wrist before slipping them back into its sheath.
As she assembled her gear, she felt her thoughts slip to yesterday afternoon. Guilt pricked at her conscience, recalling out she'd lost connection with Edmund.
Maybe I should reach out to him.
It wasn't entirely a bad idea, but now it wasn't appropriate. She didn't have the time right now and besides, he was probably asleep, anyway. By the time she'd secured her chainmail, and convinced herself not to try and contact Edmund, there was a whistle by the tent's entrance.
Buckling her archery braces into place, Briar idly called, "Come in."
The dark-haired boy ducked into the tent, hesitantly making his way in. "Your tent is nicer than mine," he remarked, before his eyes flitted to Briar. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, as much as I can be, anyway. Can you tie this?" Briar pulled at the strings of her corset, which had not been tightly secured yet.
She lifted her hair, which covered her back halfway down to her waist. Caspian approached, carefully weaving the thread between the leather. He worked quietly. His fingers were gentle but firm as he fitted the corset over her chainmail. After a few moments, she felt the light tugging pause.
She heard Caspian suck in his breath. "Were you unable to outride the horsemen? Did they give you trouble?"
Briar shifted her weight between her feet as her brother brushed his hand gingerly across the bandages that wound around her arm. The sleeve had pulled back to reveal where Windmane had cleaned and wrapped the wound. Her heart beat steadily, waking up, as she recalled last night's escape - or a few nights ago, rather.
"No. Everyone knows I'm the best rider in Telmar," she replied, "and probably the best shot, too."
Sighing, Briar let her hair drape down over her back again. She snuck a glance to her brother before taking a deep breath. "Uncle Miraz followed me."
"What?" Caspian repeated, alarmed. His black eyes suddenly intensified, turning from their warm, liquid night sky into a sharp, glinting raven.
"I don't want to talk about it," she added quickly. "Besides, it's very minor. It doesn't even hurt anymore." Briar twisted her lips, chewing the inside of her cheek. She promptly sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothening her dress over her lap. Caspian followed suit, sitting down next to her.
