Daggers of Ice

Chapter 7

The Northern Lands.

Edmund.

The Just King of Narnia stared out the window, a scowl upon his face as he looked out over the never-ending fields of ice.

The nights had grown longer, and the days colder as true winter had settled over the rest of Narnia. And still he was no closer to finding out what Arianna of Charn was planning. He attended her court, watched as she dealt with her 'subjects' grievances, provided them with aid for food and housing. He watched as she organised more clothing for those further north where the blizzards raged and watched as she sent out her Secret Police to protect the villages to the west.

He watched as day after day more flocked to her castle, pledging their allegiance to the Ice Queen.

She said nothing more of her dryad friend – whose tree had been set alight by some enemy unknown.

She said nothing of the tears he had seen. And she told him nothing of her plans.

And so he had searched her castle of ice in hopes of gleaning any answers from its walls.

The Hall of Remembering.

It was what the frost-fae had told him when he'd questioned them about the room. Bare of any decoration save the remnants of destroyed paintings – nothing but burnt canvas clinging to golden frames. And when he stretched that canvas slightly he could make out small details here and there – a dragons wing, a golden tower. A golden crown. Paintings reminiscent of the tapestries that adorned Arianna's chambers.

Someone had destroyed the histories that had hung upon the walls. Perhaps the hall should have been renamed, for whoever had done it had very clearly not wanted to remember.

What was the significance?

It was a mystery to him as much as Arianna herself still was. He turned, intended to ask the frost-fae who visited the hall, and took a small step back, met with eyes of forest-green instead of starlight-silver.

The Ice Queen, those of the north called her. And never before had that name seemed more appropriate – for her body was sheathed in a gown that was almost-pale blue – the colour of the ice atop of a deep, frozen lake, the colour of its depths just peaking through. She did not wear her crown, but wore her hair loose, with clips of diamond holding back the braided front.

She did not need the crown.

"Jadis destroyed them," her voice was soft, almost detached. And though she turned as if to face the near-empty frame before him, her eyes did not leave his. "She could no longer bear to look upon the images from her world."

Something, something glimmered in her eyes, something she was trying to tell him. But it was a message he did not quite understand, for he could not read emotions that she did not show. And she had shown him nothing since she had sobbed within his arms, as he had held her small frame to his chest and whispered meaningless nothings into her ears.

Her friend had died.

Her icy exterior had cracked.

If but for just that moment.

He wasn't quite sure what had prompted him to move to her – she had seemed so small, so fragile and so utterly alone. With that, he could empathize. He had just wanted to stop her pain. He had acted on instinct alone.

And he did not regret it.

Not even in the slightest.

Not when he could still feel the outline of her shoulders on his fingertips, imprinted into the whorls and lines.