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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At first glance, Aslan's How looked like a rock in the middle of a clearing. But, as the troupe drew closer, an entrance opened to a fortress carved into the earth. Miraz's castle had also been created from stone, but it was cold and lifeless. The How was beautiful. Overgrown vines leaked out of old, stone walkways and spilled out like a waterfall over its edges. They trailed down lookout posts, which were divided into multiple levels that wrapped around the fortress like balconies. Fauns equipped with bows paused patrolling when they spotted the group, calling down to likely inform the others of their arrival.
Briar's heartbeat bloomed in acceleration. She pushed down her shoulders in determination. Yet, the growing squirm of her muscles persisted. For the first time in a long time, she couldn't will her body to calm down. Every step sent a tremor through her bones all the way up to her eyes. It shook the breath from her lungs and dampened her palms.
What's wrong with me?
Centaurs assembled at the entrance as they neared. They formed two rows, each one clutching their sword at their side. Curiosity suddenly numbed her. There were so many of them–not that Briar had stopped to think about how many Narnians might be at the fortress.
A quietness stifled the air, the kind that only came from minds occupied by questions. It rippled down from ahead and spread down through the company so that they thinned out to observe. They were slowing down to watch the royal children... including Briar.
She, too, lingered behind. Caspian had the same instinct, however he looked a great deal more hesitant. He carried himself like a tightly-wound coil of rope. He seemed aware of it and was trying to relax his posture, but she knew the look on his face.
Her brother hadn't been forced to master a gambler's resting face. Unlike me.
The gathering crowd of scouts and soldiers stopped to observe the arrival of the royals. Caspian's dark eyes glanced in her direction. He looked as apprehensive as she felt. He's worried about them, she realized.
Right on cue, the whispers started. They floated through the air and prickled her ears. She distinguished the word "princess" among them. Briar's gaze averted, her raven hair shielding her face from the attention. Caspian seemed to hear it too, because the distance between the two of them began to shrink.
Briar did not know why, but her mind reached out to him. She took a deep breath as her mind curved through the air and found her brother. It felt like she was immersing herself in a cool, still pool, sinking slowly to melt down into the mirror of water. Yet, the water resisted. The weight lifted her up, refusing her entry. A blockade of dense, cold air suddenly blocked Briar's thoughts so that sweat formed on her brow.
Why is this so hard?
She imagined parting the water, her body sinking like lead to merge into the glass-like liquid. After a few moments, her vision snapped back, and she had connected to Caspian's mind.
