Daggers of Ice

Chapter 30

Where the Northern Lands Meet the Western Woods. 

Peter.

 His eyes swept over the form sitting in the sleigh, swathed in voluminous folds of ice-coloured silk, with a crown atop her head that twinkled with the light of a thousand stars. But it was not platinum hair that fell around her body in a cascade of gentle waves; it was dark mahogany locks and skin golden brown where Jadis's had been parchment white.

She looked far different from the last time he had seen her, when he had thought her a simple assassin.

She looked every inch the cold and untouchable Ice Queen of the Northern Lands.

The giant King-killer.

And he could easily see what had Edmund so enraptured. But those emerald eyes, so beautiful and lined with dark gold, glittering with a cold intelligence as they looked down upon him. One that he knew to be wary of – it was the woman who was responsible for the raids on their villages, the attacks on their farms. It was because of her that they were open to attack from Corradyn.

The northerner, Faelar, sat by her side in pale blue silks, his clothes lined with snowy fur, his eyes cautious.

They were not fools.

But neither was Arianna, Peter knew, for the camp was silent, awaiting her every move.

What was she playing at?

She swept her skirts to the side, Faelar holding her slender hand as she stepped down from the sleigh.

From the corner of his eye he could see Oreius resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, eyeing the female centaur that accompanied Arianna with an expression akin to bewilderment.

They had not known that any centaurs had aligned themselves with her.

Her steps were slow as she approached, the Minotaurs flanking her every step, the werewolf's muzzle drawn back in a slight growl. And Peter watched as his army fell under her spell – eyes widened slightly; jaws slackened.

But it was Edmund's reaction that stunned him – for his younger brother did not rush to his lover, instead he stood by his eyes, his face a severe as ever. His dark eyes unreadable. But Arianna's emerald orbs flickered to the Just King's for the briefest moment, and something that was almost relief rippled through them.

The image of her stumbling through the tent flashed through his mind once more – the queen looking nothing more than a street urchin, getting Edmund to them with the last of her strength. She had been broken and bruised only the day before – and like Edmund she bore not a mark of their trials. But she had none of Lucy's magic cordial to heal her.

The water had healed her. In that mysterious, magical way that the frost-fae had said it would.

And then she was before him, in all her beauty and glimmering white.

"I believe we have things to speak of, High King Peter," her voice was not mocking, not condescending. And he remembered Edmund's words of wisdom from only moments before.

Listen.

Just listen to her.

I owe her my life.

"I believe you are correct, Queen Arianna." 

...

Edmund.