Daggers of Ice

Chapter 11

The Northern Lands.

Jadis.

Jadis scoffed with contempt at the painting. The woman, so beautiful, so dangerous. Dead. With slow, deliberate movements she touched the face of the woman. The Room of Past – where she had stored the few things salvaged from Charn. The fire, so perfectly controlled, spread out from her fingertips. The woman's face, so beautiful and perfect, disappeared as the flames engulfed the fragile parchment which cracked off and fell to the ground at Jadis's feet. The oil that had once been lovely pictures melted, bubbling sickeningly, the paintings indistinct.

As the fire spread to consume the entire painting, Jadis watched, remembering another fire she had fanned which had soared into a raging inferno.

The clouds over Charn had been black, tainted by the smoke that billowed up from the fires that had raced through the city. The mesmerising flames had been reflected perfectly in the crystal clear lake beside the city which should have been hers. The spiralling towers were lost in the smoke, the beautiful stone charred and blackened. Even the marble gates were streaked with charcoal and grime, the bodies heaped before the entrance as her sister's warriors desperately trying to fight back the attackers. They seemed trapped, with only a single bridge over which they could retreat.

Of the bodies littered across the hills, the emerald eyed woman gave no pause. Casualties were to be expected. The beautiful rolling hills were strewn with bodies, blood running in rivulets. Her own army, amassed behind her were a force to be reckoned with.

Turning to her General beside her she had opened her mouth to speak.

"JADIS!" she did not recognise the voice, but the alarm and fear that laced through the tone made her spin, sword out to face the oncoming threat. Her mouth opened in a snarl at the sight that met her.

Her sister; her precious sister at the head of her army. Emerald mists swirling around her.

She used magic!

"Jadis! Surrender!"

Lost in her memories, Jadis felt the heat of the flames warming her face. The frames of the paintings, heavy wood, still smouldering crashed to the ground.

It had been so easy to use the Word; to see her dear sister's eyes widen in shock when she had realised what was happening.

She had known it would win her the war; win her the crown. But she had not truly understood what the cost would be.

Walking through the Room of Past, with her sister's precious paintings falling about her, Jadis smirked. The flames licked her body as she strode through. Though the furs she wore matched the icy walls that did not melt; her corn-silk hair seemed too pale, almost the same colour as her parchment-white skin. Her emerald eyes glittered cruelly; there was no need to hide the fact she felt no remorse. 

Charn was dead and gone. 

She ruled Narnia; those Pevensie children would not take it from her.

The flames billowed outwards as she opened the door. Without a backwards glanced she slammed the heavy oak door shut, leaving her sister's precious memories to burn. Nothing could stop her.

The cold air raised no goose bumps on her skin, she did not feel it.

"Jadis," the young voice was soft, questioning and she paused, looking down at the child who stepped from the doorway. Clutching a blanket in her hand, wide emerald eyes looking up imploringly. The very picture of childish innocence – at odds with the skill the child had with a blade.