Cressida's whole world is one frozen prison.
The land of Narnia was long ago plunged into eternal winter by the White Witch, Jadis Queen of Narnia. The powerful sorceress who stole Cressida from her home and her people. Cressida is little more than...
Sleep clouds my senses and makes me feel heavy and warm. I almost feel myself drift off completely when something brushes against my cheek, but definitely not my imagination. I swipe at my face, eyes opening lazily.
I shoot forward, sword singing as I free it from its sheath. I see Edmund jolt in my periphery, but there is a more pressing matter.
A dryad, made entirely of cherry blossoms, stands at the mouth of the tent, or perhaps hovers would be a more apt description.
The petals shift on a phantom wind as she holds her hand out towards me.
"Be still, my princes; I bring grave news from your sisters." Her voice is soft, like the morning breeze.
I feel my heart beating in my chest, my hand white-knuckled around the hilt of my sword.
Edmund speaks, "What is it?"
The dryad looks to Ed, then back to me, her expression sombre and her form ever-shifting.
"A message, relayed to me by Princess Cressida on behalf of the Princesses of Narnia, Aslan is dead."
"What?" I demand.
A mistake, surely, some kind of trick. But why would Cressida send a message like that?
"The truth, my Prince, I swear it. Your sisters and the lady Cressida are at the stone table, where Aslan traded his life to pay the debt of Prince Edmund's blood."
Ed bristles. He stares at the dryad for a long time before sinking his head into his hands.
"It can't be true." I mutter.
I storm out of the tent, the petals making up the dryad's body shifting and reshaping as I bluster passed her. My feet are bare, and the ground is cool and damp with dew.
Throwing back the heavy flaps of the girl's tent, my heart sinks. The beds are empty, boots are missing, and weapons are gone.
No, no, no.
I set off in a sprint towards Aslan's tent, sword still gripped tightly in hand.
"Peter!" Edmund calls as he emerges from our tent.
"Find Oreius!"
Bursting into the large war tent I hope to find the lion, sleeping or perhaps pacing with the upcoming battle, but all is quiet. The tent is empty.
The girls knew Aslan was going; they followed him and said nothing.
They watched him die, and now we're alone.
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"She's right, they're gone." I say defeatedly, walking towards Oreius and Edmund.
The pair stand near a table spread with maps and plans, tiny figurines dotting the paper landscape. Oreius towers over Ed, shifting on his hooved feet.
"Then you'll have to lead us. Peter, there's an army out there, and it's ready to follow you."
I look at Edmund, "I can't."
"Aslan believed you could, and so do I."
"The Witch's army is nearing, sire; what are your orders." Oreius' gruff voice cuts through the early morning air.
I look between my brother and the centaur. A prince and a general. And they expect me to lead. I wish Cress were here; she'd know what to say. I take a breath.
"Show me the battle plans."
Oreius nods and sets about explaining the maps and spreadsheets. The camp awakens around us, and I have the sinking feeling that this may be my last sunrise.
