Daggers of Ice

Chapter 25

The Western Mountains.

Arianna.

Her head was resting against his chest, his arms encircling her small frame – how she had taken to sleeping for the past week, her body curled up against his as if they were meant to be. It was comfortable; much more so that the stone walls that lined the cells.

And it gave the appearance of her exhaustion when the guards came to give Edmund his food and water, water that she was not permitted to have but he gave her unbeknownst to them.

The guard would be coming soon, she surmised, listening to the sound of Edmund's breathing.

Even and steady; the calm before the storm.

She relished in the gentle caress of his hand on her upper arm, his thumb tracing circles over the skin which was dirtied, more mud-coloured than golden brown, streaked with grime.

They did not need to speak, for they had already decided what they were to do. All they needed to do was wait.

So she waited; content in Edmund's arms for that moment.

...

The Great Woods.

Lucy.

Lucy hugged herself tightly as she sat astride her horse, the harsh wind blowing against them, for even in the spring it grew colder the further north they went. The barren peaks offered them no protection from the cold gale, and she was ever grateful for her fur lined cloak and the fact she had chosen to wear breeches, lined with down, rather than a gown.

Her horse's movements had become slow, weary from travel. Susan, by her side, had said not a word since leaving the castle.

She had been quiet and Lucy could not blame her – for she too worried for Edmund.

She kept her hand tight on the hilt of her sword as they rode in an endless stream towards the north, through the forests. They would make their camp at the edge of the frozen lake, bordering on the Western Woods, where Arianna had headed towards.

Faelar, the handsome northman who led them, tried to tell them stories to lighten the mood.

But they fell on Peter's deaf ears.

The wagons creaked as the days blurred together, the land slowly changing. They all spoke in low voices, as if unwilling to disturb the silent air. And Lucy could not bring herself to laugh at the foolishness of it all.

Why could Peter not see that Arianna would never harm Ed?

Did he not understand that perhaps, without the witch's control over her, she may wish for peace and a truce that was more solid?

Did he not see that Aslan would never let the woman that Peter thought Arianna was capture Ed's heart?

She shook her head, her eyes drifting to Faelar once more. Cornflower blue met deep sapphire and a blush suffused over her cheeks in spite of the cold.

...

The Western Mountains.

Edmund.

The guard's ke

ys shook in the lock for a moment before he entered, pulling Arianna away like he did every day, leaving her there. She seemed so small, huddled beyond his reach.

The gate rattled shut behind the guard. There was no water today.

Edmund watched her with sharp eyes as he tore a part of the stale bread off.

Wondering how she would do it.

He watched as she unfurled herself, like a flower blossoming in the spring. He watched as he guards eyes snapped to her and froze – caught like a mouse in the hypnotic gaze of a serpent. He wondered, strangely detached, if it was what he had looked like when caught in the gaze of the White Witch. But there was something infinitely more dangerous about Arianna's gaze, for it held not only the same charm that Jadis possessed, but her own killer intent.

At another time he would have pitied the guard.

But Arianna was raising herself, the trembling of her limbs almost undetectable.

"What is it that you most desire?" Her soft voice was like a song: a haunting melody, her soft voice like the echo of a dream, speaking words that should not be spoken, words that took root in his very soul.

Edmund felt a rush spear straight to his heart.

"Shut it!" The guard snarled, his hand on the sword at his hip, his knuckles white. His pale cheeks were flushed, his lips drawn back in a snarl.

But Edmund could see that his irises had dilated, his nostrils flaring.

The guard wanted her.

He wanted her more than anything he'd ever lay eyes upon, caught in her enchantment.

"I could give you the world," the words pulled at something within him, the tones teasing the edges of his mind, tugging at something intangible beyond his grasp.

It was as if he had heard it before; and he could not take his eyes of Arianna.

Perhaps it was not so inconceivable that she could be the daughter of the former Empress of Charn – for she could have ruled the world.

The guard blinked. "The world?" A breathy whisper escaped his lips and then he was reaching for the door, his keys in his other hand. "I just want you."

Edmund dared not breathe for fear of breaking the spell Arianna had cast over the guard, whose crimson eyes were vacant, as if he saw nothing but her. Wanted nothing but her.

But what he saw Edmund could not fathom, for Arianna looked little more than a street urchin. And the way he was staring at her lit a fire in his veins and he wanted nothing more than to throttle the guard.

Her eyes flickered to meet Edmund's the moment the guard entered the cell, raising his hand as if to stroke her cheek. To touch her.

The guard had surely not expected her hand to capture his, challenge shining in her emerald eyes, a smirk on those cracked lips. He could not see the guards face, but he watched as his body stiffen, becoming rigid, a strangled gasp leaving his lips.

Throaty and dry.

And then he was falling backwards, making no move to break his fall. He glanced at Arianna; her eyes were glazed, the colour had returned to her face.

And then she pounced, taking the keys from the man's belt and unlocking the heavy chains that kept him close to the wall.

"How did you do that?" He asked her, as the cuffs fell from his wrists, the skin red and raw beneath.

Arianna appraised him for a moment, as if deliberating to tell him or not, her face more guarded than it had been in the past week. "Do what? Draw the water from his body or enchant him?"

Edmund looked back at the guard who lay on the dusty floor of the cell, his face drawn and cracked. Like parchment, his paper held no moisture within it. A mere shell. Lifeless crimson eyes staring unseeing at the dry prison roof. For some reason it did not bother him; she had done what she needed to survive, like he had countless times. Even if it was in a somewhat disturbing manner. "Both."

"The gift of my blood," she answered softly, slipping through the door.

The gift of the blood of Charn.

He watched her a moment.

The Empress's daughter.

He followed Arianna into the corridor.

To freedom.