Daggers of Ice

Chapter 4

Cair Paravel.

Edmund.

Edmund growled, pacing to and fro before the table, unable, or more aptly unwilling, to believe she had escaped. Killing seven – SEVEN – of their men in the process while he had been stuck in ice; killing them as easily as if she had been slicing through butter with a warm knife, not cutting through centaur and faun flesh.

Whenever he closed his eyes, it was emerald orbs that haunted him – defiant and burning. Her eyes.

Arianna of Charn.

To make such a claim...

Bold.

To claim any connection to the false Queen of Narnia. Whether is was true or a lie, he could not deny it was bold of her. And within himself he was surprised of how little he thought of the White Witch herself.

It was Arianna of Charn who filled his mind.

He was questioning how much of her was controlled by the White Witch, not the how, nor the why. Though those questions he would address, for Jadis would not simply just reside within someone else's body.

He did not delude himself into think that it had been Jadis in control of the woman's body when she'd sliced through his men. For Jadis had never been one for close combat, not truly – she preferred the occult arts. But Arianna of Charn...was it she who had ordered raids on their villages? Was it she who set farms alight in the night? Was she raising an army for Jadis once more?

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at them in frustration.

Oreius had told him of the unrest in the air that the dryads spoke of, of the foreboding things the stars; the naiads that were left spoke of turmoil in the water. Of new magic in the air.

Why had she been afraid of him? Specifically him?

He had seen her eyes, he had recognised that almost-frantic expression. He'd seen it too many times on those at the other end of his blade.

Why had she been targeting Pete and why had she let herself be captured?

Too many questions, too many possible answers.

Earlier that morning Asura, the Captain of the Guard had entered his study, practically snarling. The naiad had told him of yet another attack on one of the villages along the River Shribble. Minotaurs. Known servants of the White Witch.

It was practically a declaration of war, the furious naiad had said. And no doubt Pete had told her about Arianna of Charn. Ed had no doubt they had discussed it at great length.

Those beautifully crafted daggers looked at him from their position on his bedside. He knew, though it defied all reason, that they were crafted from ice and magic. And he also knew that Arianna had not meant to leave them behind, for he had seen her eyes dart towards them before she had launched herself through the open window and disappeared into the darkness; to the shadows who had embraced her as if she were one of their own.

"You're going to worry yourself sick you know." Lucy's voice was almost a chortle, in complete contrast to the turmoil that boiled within his mind. She was lounging idly upon a chair that she had dragged beside the window, the very same window that Arianna had jumped from. Though the moon was high, she did not wear her nightgown, opting instead to don her favourite breeches and cotton shirt, much like his own. Even bleached of colour he could see the concern in her eyes. She was as troubled as he; she just hid it better.