A Prison of Ice and Fear || Peter Pevensie x OC || Narnia

Chapter 15

When I wake, I'm face down on a hard wooden bench. I feel nothing at first, my senses returning to me slowly. Sight, sound, touch. Then, everything hits me all at once.

My back burns, and pain ripples through my body. My cries warble and splutter from my still sore throat.

"Ah, you're awake, good of you to join us." Jadis waltzes into the dim tent.

I try to speak, but my words are garbled and shaky.

"I'm sure you'll get your voice back soon, or perhaps for your sake, you should pray to remain mute; it'll be easier to hold your tongue."

I look up at Jadis, tears pooling in my eyes. I swallow hard, which does more harm than good to my throat.

"This is what your insolence will buy you, Cressida; any more outbursts, and I'll add more scars on top of the old."

"You're..." I whisper huskily, "a...monster."

Jadis bends low to level her eyes with mine,

"I've been called worse, little princess."

"Why...are you...so cruel?"

"You have to be ruthless to get what you want in this world." Jadis' lips pull into a small smile. "Have her bound to the tree next to the human."

I notice Otmin standing in the doorway. He chuffs some response before crossing the tent towards me. Another minotaur lumbers in behind him.

Each takes one of my arms in their massive hands, hauling me off the table.

I scream as the skin of my back pulls and burns. Curiously, no more blood drips down my skin despite the freshness of the wounds.

The minotaurs drag me over towards Edmund. My feet trail through the hard dirt, and my head swims. My vision turns fuzzy, and my ears ring. For a moment, I'm sure I'll dip back into unconsciousness until I'm dumped before a tree.

Otmin binds my hands around the tree in front of me, a small mercy. As soon as he steps away, I let my face slump against the trunk, trying to breathe through the throbbing pains in my back.

"Are you all right?" Edmund asks quietly.

I open my eyes a crack to read his expression. He looks terrified, about ready to wet himself, in all honesty.

"It's fine," I pant, "Looks worse...than it is."

"It looks pretty bad."

"Is there...any skin hanging off?" I ask.

Edmund's eyes flare wide before again looking at my back.

"No." He manages to stutter. "Only cuts nothing, uh, hanging off. You're not bleeding anymore either; it's dried on your skin."

"Good," I sigh, "told you, looks...a lot worse...than it is."

"Okay."

"Did they...get to..twenty-five? I only counted...nineteen."

"Yes, you must have passed out, but they did twenty-five."

I nod, too tired and angry to respond.

"I threw up." He confesses. "When you collapsed."

"Don't worry, I did too."

"I wasn't the one getting whipped."

"Sometimes we see horrible things, and they make us feel horrible. It's okay to admit you were sick." I look sidelong at him again, "It's okay to admit you were scared."

"Peter wouldn't have been scared."

"Maybe...maybe not, you know your brother better than I do." I offer slowly, my breaths short and chest tight.

"You like him, don't you?" He asks sadly.

There it is, that hint of jealousy. I recall back to the things I said when I first met him, the things I told him to get him on the Witch's side.

"I like all your siblings...including you, Edmund."

"But Peter's different."

"Edmund, those things I said to you during your first time in Narnia," I pause to heave a breath, "Jadis wanted me to get you on her side; perhaps it was partly my fault you were so desperate to get back to her. I'm sorry."

"Do my siblings hate me?"

"No, no, Edmund, the farthest thing from it." I try to catch my breath. "All they want is to get you back."

"Really?"

"Yes," I sigh, "Really, they're so worried about you."

My words slow as my mind lags and fogs. Everything starts spinning, and I can feel the contents of my stomach – again – threatening to make a reappearance.

"Cressida, are you all right?" The words seem so far away.

The voice who spoke was male, Edmund, or perhaps Peter. Maybe he'd come for us.

"Cressida, you have to stay awake." The voice begs.

"Trying." I mumble.

But my head feels too light, my eyelids too heavy.

"Peter." I sigh.

I feel the rough scrape of bark against my cheek, and then, nothing.