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CAIR PARAVEL. SPRING 1014
The midday sun shone high above Nadora as she peeked her head out of her tent. The grounds around her were clear, and she had an unobstructed view of the melee arena. Round and clear, it looked quite large, but she knew the space would close in on her the moment she stepped out into it.
“Why did I agree to this again?” she asked, pulling back in to turn around.
Ilias and Halloran both grinned at her from the opposite end of the table where her armor rested. Each held a different piece, testing the straps and buckles. And while she was glad for their assistance, Nadora wondered why she’d ever let her brothers talk her into competing in the melee, of all events.
“Because you love us,” Halloran said.
“And because you owe us,” Ilias added.
Nadora sighed. She had no rebuttal. Her brothers had been understandably hurt that she’d chosen to spend the last six months at sea instead of returning home, even briefly, to see them. The truth was, she’d been disappointed in herself as well. Avoiding the responsibilities of court was one thing. But her brothers?
“Yes, well, if I die out there because of you…” she murmured, reaching for the padded gambeson off the table. “I will make sure Master Hakan runs you ragged when we get home after this.”
As much as she had initially hesitated in accompanying her family to Cair Paravel for the celebratory tournament thrown in honor of King Peter’s birthday, Nadora would be remiss to say she had not thoroughly enjoyed her time at the castle.
The tournament itself had been exhilarating, with a full range of events—jousting, archer, knife throwing, single combat duels, partnered duels, and the melee—along with a vast array of merchants and vendors around, selling their wares. Nadora had attended tournaments before—both in Galma and Archenland, but she’d never before seen the array of product and artistry as was available to her here.
It helped, she supposed, that Narnians in and of themselves were as diverse as the rest of the world combined. There were talking animals of various kinds, dwarves, a few centaurs, fauns, satyrs of all shape, size, and manner. And this was to say nothing of the humans who’d drifted back to the kingdom after the defeat of the White Witch—some had come from Narnian ancestry and decided to return once the Pevensies had been crowned; others came from the various lands to the south and west of Narnia; and even a few others had drifted in from the various island nations of the Eastern Sea.
But despite their differences—whether physical in nature or of birthplace—it was the way the Narnians all seemed to unite behind their representatives throughout the tournament that concerned Nadora most. Even beyond the kings and queens, who she had expected to have the encouragement of their people, there were other Narnian participants in the tournament who had garnered enough support from the crowds to drown out the possibility of external competitors, few that they were.
Given that she was one such external participant, Nadora was feeling anxious. No amount of skill could make up for momentum and encouragement, after all. And though she was plenty confident in her ability to wield a wide range of weapons—including the blunted swords provided for the competitors of this melee—Nadora knew she’d feel more comfortable if there were more than just the small Galman delegation cheering her on from the stands.
Consisting of her two brothers, her parents, and just five maids and servants, their party was one of the smaller of those visiting. Even Corin (who wasn’t even competing) had an entourage four members larger than hers family’s, not including his personal manservant.
And sure, Corin was a prince, requiring more than a duke’s family might. And yes, Nadora would be the first to scoff if anyone of her father’s council had insisted they bring a larger party with more staff to attend to them. But as she listened to the crowds outside, she wondered if she might have been wrong. She would have appreciated their vocal support, even if nothing else.
“Come on, sister dear,” Ilias teased, holding up her chainmail. He had a wide grin on his face, and there was a twinkle in his eye that told her he was thoroughly enjoying her current discomfort.
“You’ll be fine,” Halloran said, tightening her chest plate straps at her waist. “Just remember to keep moving.”
As much as she’d been the one to give the pair of them this advice when they were younger, it stung to have the younger of them turn it back on her. Still, Nadora bit back her retort upon seeing Halloran’s face. He was not nearly as amused as his brother. Instead, he seemed rather sympathetic and genuine in his encouragement.
“Quick thoughts make for quick feet,” he said, looking up at Ilias who was fixing her gauntlets.
Grinning, he prompted her for the next part of the mantra. “And quick feet make for…?”
“Quick hands,” she grumbled, though without nearly as much frustration as she’d felt before.
It was her own fault, after all.
In hindsight, she knew it had been silly to bet that she could beat the both of them in a practice dual, especially after all this time. Ilias was nearly as tall as she was now, and Halloran was taller. Perhaps if she’d fought them one on one, she might still come out on top and not been tricked into competing in the tournament altogether. But it seemed the pair had learned to cover each other’s blind spots exactly as Nadora had hoped they might, which was both endearing and frustrating.
It was just… she hadn’t expected them to accomplish it well enough to use against her. Nor had she expected her first tournament appearance in five years would be here, in Narnia, instead of at home, where she might have the comfort of her surroundings.
Outside, a horn blew, its pitch high and long, and the crowd grew raucous.
Halloran pulled the last strap of her gear and Illias held out the sword she’d been given.
“Ready?”
She was out of practice, and she was up against people she had no familiarity with, as far as fighting styles went. But she was here. She might as well give it her all.
Nodding, she allowed the two to escort her out of the tent and into the sunlit arena. And though they fell behind as she stepped onto the packed, rough dirt of the ring, others took their places.
She was shocked, but not surprised to find there were two other females standing with her among several other knights. And though there were no centaurs, there was at least one faun and two dwarves. Most startling, however, was to find King Peter himself standing just an arm’s length away from her.
“Curious,” she murmured to herself, taking a second longer to look him over before she turned her attention to the rest of her opponents. For a few brief moments, she allowed herself to take in what she could of them. Their stances, their height, the length of their limbs, the shape of their armor, and anything else she could tally up. She wouldn’t be able to make out their skills until after the horn sounded their official start, but she could take a good guess.
Even through their armor she knew the dwarves would be quicker than their height and girth might suggest. And the faun was sure to have quick, light footwork. The others were less obvious. But she did note one of the other women favored her left hand over her right. And at least two of the knights had leather-stitched guards, as opposed to metal. Which either meant they were quick and sure of their own skill, or weren’t accustomed to the heft of full metal armor. Either way, their movements were likely to be quicker than her own even if they might hold less weight.
Amidst her cataloging of observations, guesses, and hopes, Nadora took notice of her heart, pounding steady and firm against her ribcage, and was surprised to find herself rather calm.
She’d anticipated panic at her lack of practice. Expected the nerves she’d held in the tent to trail after her and build once she’d come out here. Instead, panic and nerves made way for anticipation and excitement. Pure adrenaline.
Lifting her head to peer out at the stands, Nadora realized she’d been worried about more than necessary, earlier. While she could clearly see the difference in those cheering and who they cheered for—the colors of their banners and ribbons gave everything away—it meant nothing the moment she was not looking at them.
The cheers of the crowd were just that: of the crowd. And the moment she pulled her helmet on, the sound blended together into a rattling static.
A slow smile spread across her face as she reached up to her visor and, as she waited for the call of the horn, Nadora looked around to the others. They’d spread out a bit, filling more of the open space in the arena, and many of them had already flipped their own visors down, or had helmets that obscured their faces entirely without the use of a visor. But across from her, several paces away now, she caught just one face looking back at hers.
King Peter’s face was one of concentration. There was a slight wrinkle between his brows, and his mouth formed a flat line. But as he saw her, looking at him, both eyebrows lifted and a sliver of curiosity and surprise flickered across his face just before the horn sounded.
The both turned down their visors at the same time, but even after his face was covered, she saw still saw his eyes. Bluer than she’d expected them to be, even from several long strides away, she swore there was a spark of amusement in them.
Those same blue eyes were the first thing Nadora saw when the visor to her helmet finally lifted again. Lying flat on the ground where she could feel her shoulder plates sitting awkwardly askew atop what was likely a lump of hard dirt, she peered up at the man who’d bested her.
They were the only two to remain in the arena.
That she’d manage to come in second amongst a group of a dozen competitors was a surprise. Later, she might recognize the luck involved—the melee was an open match, after all; who she had fought whilst circling the arena and biding her time had been determined by chance, not skill. She could just as easily have been eliminated earlier on if she’d come across any of the other final combatants.
And yet she hadn’t. Somehow, she’d come out of the match relatively unscathed. All her limbs were still attached and in good working order, though she expected to feel some soreness in her muscles over the next few days, and she hadn’t done nearly as poorly as she’d expected.
It took some time for the outstretched hand in front of her to fully register. Held out toward her from above, King Peter’s hand was no longer gloved as it waited patiently for hers.
Nadora blinked, eyes darting from his palm up to his face, and then squinted. Though the bulk of his form blocked out a good portion of the sky in her direct view, she could still see the bright light of the daytime shining behind and around his head. If she didn’t already know what he looked like while wearing a crown, she might have guessed he had it donned now for the way his hair seemed to glow and shine about his face. At least, the hair that wasn’t plastered to his forehead from the sweat of their fight.
After a moment, he tilted his head, and she finally registered the frown that bent between his brows. Nadora moved quickly, pulling her own hand right free of its glove before taking the king’s hand. She was certain she muttered a rushed “thank you” as he hauled her up, pulling her upright as though she weighed nothing even with all her armor, but she couldn’t tell whether he heard her.
No longer distracted by the chaos of the match itself, she could see that even at her tallest, it was his chin she held at eyesight, not the rest of his face. Once she tilted her head up to meet his gaze properly, she found him smiling.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Me? Whatever for?” she asked. With a slight frown, she glanced around nervously, wondering what she might have missed in the final moments of the melee—had she… actually won? Then how had she ended up on her back?
Suddenly, his hand gripped her still-armored wrist and lifted her arm straight up to the sky in clear declaration of victory. Whipping her head around, Nadora found Peter was still smiling, but if she expected an answer or explanation, he did not give one. Instead, all his attention was to the people.
The crowd’s cheering grew exponentially, and it wasn’t long before she found herself smiling—at first, to hide her confusion, but then because it was hard not to. She’d found her brothers’ faces on the sidelines, and their matching grins—face-splittingly wide—were hard not to see without reflecting back.
Grinning now, herself, Nadora turned back to the crowds. She’d sort out the story of her victory later, most likely. For now, the jubilation in the stands—particularly that of one fair-haired queen racing about snatching coins and payment from a few random spectors—was enough to push her confusion straight out of her mind.
When it finally was explained to her, Nadora was sorry to find she did not entirely accept.
“What do you mean he never takes the win?” she asked.
It was almost an hour to supper—wherein their last grand feast of the tournament would be held—but Lucy and Nadora were far from ready. From the moment Lucy found her in her tent after the tournament’s closing ceremony, she and Nadora had retreated to her guest chambers. Nadora had spent the majority of the last hour soaking in the bath whilst Lucy recounted the spoils of her various wagers amongst the crowds, but finally, she’d asked about the melee results.
Truth was, she originally had not expected the king to participate in any of the tournament events, given that the entirety thing was being held in his honor. It hadn’t seemed customary, at least, for the guest of honor to partake, at least so far as she was aware. But she’d chalked it up to a simple theory. One that actually seemed rather well substantiated now that she’d witnessed the kingdom and its people for some days—Narnian custom was different.
While she was willing to accept the King’s participation in the melee as a simple variance in tradition, Nadora was not willing to accepting her championship over the king when he had no intention of claiming victory to begin with.
“That’s just what he does, Nadora,” Lucy explained. “No matter the event he competes in, the other competitors will simply… allow him to win. He doesn’t appreciate it, but he won’t force them to stop, either.”
“That’s…”
Nadora knew that being given certain courtesies came with having rank and title within their society. She herself enjoyed her own privileges. In fact, she’d fought through more than her fair share of preconceived notions and misgivings amongst her crew when she’d first begun sailing. But that was just it. All she’d wanted was to prove her own worth, and so she’d fought for and proven herself worth of just that.
Did Peter not want the same?
“Well, I think he’s a fool,” she replied finally, before reaching for the towel folded on the bench nearby. “Maybe it would make sense to hand over his victory if I’d been a Narnian. But I’m not. I didn't allow him the win; and I take offense at simply being handed the victory because he assumed.”
Lucy laughed, “Maybe you should tell him that. He could use the…what did Susan call it?” she tapped her chin before barking out a laugh, “Ah right. Constructive criticism !”
Nadora, unfortunately, did not have the opportunity to address criticism of any kind to King Peter until much later that evening. After her bath, her maids had finally come in, fussing over how little time there was to get ready for the evening, and so she was corralled into preparations. Lucy, too, was taken away, and the pair only saw each other again after their hair had been appropriately done up and their gowns properly donned and fluffed.
Nadora, at least, did not mind the attire so much as Lucy did, though her dress was a far lighter fabric than her friend’s. The bodice of her dress was fitted, as per the usual style, but an outer layer of shell beads had been sewn all over the boning, giving the entire top of her gown a sparkling illusion. With her long dark hair pulled up and out of the way—twisted into an intricate knot to then fall in waves down to her neck, the top of her gown was modest and intriguing. The skirt was long and sleek, flaring only just slightly when she turned. Composed of a satin sheet and several gathered layers of tulle on top, it draped beautifully and did not winkle as she moved or sat. Of all her gowns, this was one of her favorites—its gray color shimmered someplace between a fading storm cloud and the mirrored surface of the sea in the middle of the night. Dark in some lights, paler in others. It was not overly adorned or fussy, but it was not plain, either. She knew she would be observed throughout the banquet tonight, as the champion of the melee, but she did not wish to call so much attention to herself that she could not escape watching eyes if she so chose. Essentially, the dress was perfect.
Queen Susan came by to tell her as much, after the initial course had been served and those in attendance spread through the great hall.
Others came by with a greeting or two, or a congratulations. And once they found her, Ilias and Halloran stuck to her like glue, unwilling to do anything but sing her praises to anyone who might stop and listen. One such observer turned out to Lady Asena, who Nadora now recognized as one of the other two women from the melee that afternoon. Without her armor and helmet, she was far easily to identify—dark skin, deep set eyes, bright auburn hair cropped short at a harsh angle just to her chin.
Even Corin came by, for no other reason, it seemed, than to play up her brothers’ already excessive boasting. And for awhile, she let them do as they pleased. They were no disruptive, and it was good fun, watching them chat. Eventually, however, Nadora tired of it.
“Ilias, that’s enough,” she scolded. “There’s no need to brag on my behalf.”
“On the contrary, Lady Nadora. It seems to me that if he does not, no one will.”
Turning, Nadora found that they’d been joined by King Peter himself, that same, pleasant smile on his face.
He wore a simple red velvet cloak around his shoulders, and the rest of his attire was rather understated, compared to the outfits he’d worn the previous evenings. But somehow, he looked more stately now than he had all week.
“Your majesty,” she greeted, dropping into a curtsy.
Behind her, she knew Ilias and Halloran had also bowed—not because she could see their feet, but because they were no longer talking.
“Please, call me Peter,” he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder in an effort to guide her back upright.
Rising, Nadora smiled gently. “Only if you return the favor and call me Nadora.”
“Of course, anything for today’s champion.” He dipped his head.
Her smile slipped, but only just. Fixing it back into place, she simply shook her head. “I had hoped to have a word with you ab—”
Ilias nudged her quite unsubtly in the side, likely trying to keep her from the topic of her tournament altogether, but it was a shout from the other side of their little party that truly interrupted her.
“Peter!”
The King had turned just as Nadora did, but where she was surprised by Lucy’s barreling arrival, Peter caught her simply and easily, without so much as a grunt.
The pair were a fused entity for a moment, and she could not tell where the chuckling came from, exactly, until Lucy pulled back.
“Sorry, sorry. But Susan’s only just set me free. I was in need of a hug.”
Peter gently set her down and ruffled her head, “It’s all right, Lu,” he said, before smoothing out the fabric of his jacket. His tone held a note of resignment, as if this were not the first time he excused such behavior. “It isn’t as if I wasn’t expecting it.”
Nadora almost laughed, watching the two of them. Certainly, it was not proper for a lady to launch herself into a man’s arms, particularly not if the lady were a queen and the man a king—never mind that they were siblings. But Nadora knew just from Lucy’s grin and the way Peter smiled good-naturedly back at her, that this exchange was nothing more than routine for them.
“You sure do get away with things you shouldn’t, Lucy,” Nadora teased. “What if we were in the middle of something serious?”
“Oh,” the queen replied. “Well, were you?”
It had been a joke, really. Nadora hardly meant anything by it. She simply wanted to give her friend a hard time.
But Peter took the opportunity to answer for her. “Yes, actually. Nadora was just saying she wanted something with me before you so rudely interrupted, Lu.” He turned to look at her. And though his expression was rather neutral—calmly expectant, perhaps—there was a bit of amusement in his eyes. “What was it you were saying?”
“Oh, never mind our sister,” Ilias butted in, causing Nadora to turn in slight surprise. Truth was, she’d briefly forgotten her brothers were with them.
“Yes. Yes.” Halloran concurred. “She’s spends all her time sailing, you see, and hasn’t had the opportunity to compete in a tournament in a good few years now.”
“She’s forgotten what—”
Rolling her eyes, Nadora knocked both her brothers firmly but lightly on the back of their heads. “Excuse me, but your sister’s forgotten nothing and can speak for herself, thank you.”
“Yes,” Peter agreed, a pleasant smile gracing his face. “I’m certain she can, and I’d like to hear for myself what she has to say.”
She turned too quickly, but returned his smile with a firm one of her own. “Thank you,” she said. “I was saying, I’d like to have a word with you about being named champion.”
Nadora expected him to be confused, to tilt his head or ask why. Instead, he smiled. “I was hoping you might.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You did?”
Giving nothing away, Peter extended his hand out to her. “Shall we?”
Much like the last time he’d done so, it took Nadora a moment to recognize the gesture for what it was. This time, however, there was an encouraging “oh, go on!” whisper at her back, followed by a none too gentle shove that had her taking Peter’s hand rather more clumsily than she had the first time.
He was kind enough not to comment on it, though she did she a faint rosy tint shade his cheeks as he led her to the dance floor.
When she’d thought through this conversation earlier, she had not expected it to happen quite like this. In the Great Hall, perhaps, yes—as it was one of the only places she was certain to cross paths with the king. But in the midst of a dance, surrounded by too many others, certainly not.
Peter dropped her hand the moment they fell into line with the other dancers, and it was only by luck that Nadora knew the dance they were to partake in. The pairs stood opposite each other in two long but staggered lines. They would turn about each other with hands raised together but not touch; they would take great care to tap their toes and step in sync with each other while holding eye contact; they would circle other pairs and even switch partners; all just to start the entire pattern again.
She had thought he’d been offering to guide her elsewhere for privacy. But Nadora had wanted a word, not a dance. He followed the dance pattern exactly—eyes on hers when they faced each other, but distinctly elsewhere when they were not. When they switched partners, his attention was on his new companion, and the smile he gave them was no more or less than the one he gave her.
Nadora, on the other hand, followed him with her eyes for essentially the entire dance, watching him for any sign he might give away. He’d said he’d hoped she would want a word with him, and then he’d led her out here with purpose. And sure, coming to dance meant they lacked the audience their siblings made, but no one could hold a steady conversation when they were across the floor from one another. Had he wanted a dance instead? And if, so, why not simply asked?
The end of the dance arrived before she could sort out all her questions, and she stood directly opposite Peter when they did. Less than an arm’s length apart, they stood without moving as the music settled around them. And for a second, even the dim chatter from the edges of the hall were overshadowed by the silence of the dance floor.
The moment was brief, but it was long enough for Nadora to take in the light in Peter’s eyes. It was not unlike Lucy’s, when she was particularly ecstatic about something. A new discovery, or a pleasant surprise, or a victory well won.
Peter looked like he’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted from this dance.
He tipped his head in a little bow of courtesy when the dancers around them broke form and cheered and mingled. Stepping forward to her, he reached for her hand and took it gently, loose enough for her to pull free with little effort, but firm enough to keep hold as he gestured toward the far side of the room.
She followed him without a word, saying nothing until they reached the open doorways out to the terrace. The evening air was cool, making Nadora realize just how warm she’d become during their dance.
They stopped at the second railing. The hall behind them sounded lively but they stood far enough way that the noise was muted. If anything, the crash of the waves below them was a touch louder. Though that might just have been Nadora’s ear for the water.
Peter stood with his back to the ocean and faced her, hand finally releasing hers. “Thank you for the dance.”
It was the appropriate response. The one she’d expect from anyone in this situation. But instead of the customary “of course” or “my pleasure” reply, Nadora said, “I didn’t have much choice.”
As if he’d expected it, Peter’s response came without hesitation. “Forgive me. I could not help it.”
For a moment, Nadora simply stood there, looking at him.
It was darker here than inside, but there was enough light filtering out from the castle to make out his features. He no longer had the stately expression she’d seen on his face so much over the past several days. No classic, pleasant smile. No grand sophistication expected of a king. Instead, his lips had curved into a rather boyish smile, and he looked surprisingly shy pushing the hair from his face.
“Perhaps,” she said. “If you’ll answer one question.”
Now, he tilted his head.
She could have asked for two. One for the tournament and another for the dance. But the answer she wanted would give her information enough for both those questions, and more if he was kind enough to answer. “When I asked for a word, you said you had hoped I would. Why?”
He glanced down and exhaled upon hearing her query, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. Or worse, claim some lie and dismiss her entirely. Instead, he looked back up with her with a full smile. “So I might have the opportunity to thank you properly.”
Her confusion must have been evident on her face, because he continued without her prompting.
“For competing in the melee. It isn’t often I get to enjoy a proper challenge during an event like this, and I appreciated it.”
Nadora frowned. “A proper challenge?”
He chuckled, “Is this a separate question, or part of the first?”
Despite herself, Nadora almost laughed too. “The latter.”
“Very well, then, if it’s for the sake of your forgiveness…”
She did laugh now, softly in exhale.
“I don’t remember the last time anyone fought me properly in a tournament event. Contenders often see me as a king first, and a participant like them, second. You didn’t, and I appreciated it.”
“Then why name me victor? And why not just order your people to treat you as they would anyone else?” She’d meant to ask the same of Lucy, earlier, but hadn’t. Now, she could get the answer from the man himself. “It might not work for visiting candidates, but amongst Narnians, surely they’d do as you ask?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Of course you could. You’re their king. It’s the entire reason they give you the courtesy.”
Peter shook his head. “That’s how they choose to show me how much they care and respect my leadership. How can I turn around and dismiss it?”
Nadora had misunderstood him. That much was clear now. Earlier, she had thought he didn’t want the opportunity to prove his worth. To earn his people’s trust and loyalty the way she would.
But that was exactly what he was doing. He was just doing it in a way she hadn’t expected.
“Allowing them to do as they want,” he added. “That’s my way of acknowledging their efforts.”
“And your naming me the victor today,” she asked cautiously. “That was your way of acknowledging… what, exactly? That I treated you like you’re human?”
He laughed and nodded. “Yes. Very few do.”
Nadora mulled the thought over, wondering if there was anything more she’d gotten wrong about him. And about having the sort of responsibility and obligation people of their status and station in life had.
“What of your other siblings? Is it the same for them in their competitions?”
“Well, not exactly,” he said, frowning slightly. “Susan often shoots with her non-dominant hand for competitions, and she’s lost almost as often as she’s won, I think. And Edmund only enters the lists for single sword duels, and since most know he isn’t likely to lose, when they enter they do so knowing they shouldn’t to take it easy on him if they want a fair shot at the title.”
Nadora thought on that for a moment, but eventually settled for shaking her head, wishing to call an end to the conversation.
“Well, in any event…” She turned to face him formally and dipped into a full curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me, your majesty.”
His brow furrowed and then widened all at once, while Nadora dropped back, neatly evading the hand he shot out to catch her arm.
“Wait, Nadora,” his tone was half-pained, causing her to linger just long enough to allow him the chance to catch her. Warm fingers wrapped around her forearm, just below her elbow, and he tugged gently, pulling her half a step forward. To him.
For a moment, they simply stood there, face to face.
“Nadora?” Peter asked softly, gaze locked with her own. “Am I forgiven?”
Her nod was a slight thing, the tiniest movement. But this moment felt monumental. Larger than it should have been, perhaps.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I forgive you, Peter.”
“Oh, I wish you didn’t have to go,” Lucy pouted. “I feel as though we’ve hardly had time to catch up.”
Nadora was just about to repeat the sentiments. The festivities lasted longer tonight than they had any of the previous evenings, but things were winding down now. The hall was quieter, with many of the older delegates—Nadora’s parents included—having already retired.
It was getting to be the time that she did as well, but after spending much of the night with Peter and Lucy (as well as her brothers and Corin from time to time), she wasn’t looking forward to it at all.
Suddenly, Lucy straightened in her seat, practically bouncing in her seat. “Maybe you don’t have to go!”
“What?”
“Stay. Beyond the tournament. Be our guests. We haven’t any company planned for the summer, and, oh, it’d be so much fun!”
“Lucy, I…” Nadora floundered. The prospect of staying at Cair Paravel was a pleasant one, but it wasn’t a question she could answer. Eyes darting around, she made the fortunate mistake of catching Peter’s gaze.
He did not look to encourage nor admonish Lucy for her hasty invitation. In fact, it was hard to tell exactly what he was thinking. All Nadora could decipher in his expression was the steadiness with which he looked at her.
“Please,” Lucy pleaded, but it was Peter’s voice that registered for Nadora.
“We would be honored to have you.”
It sounded like something he might say out of habit. But Peter’s eyes did not leave hers as he said it, and that alone made his words weightier. As if they held more meaning. Or perhaps their weight was the same, but he meant it for her alone to carry, as opposed to sharing it with her brothers. Whatever the case, Peter’s insistence burrowed its way into her mind and stayed with her as all the way to her parents’ chambers shortly afterward, where she’d gone to relay the request.
Despite the late hour, they were both still awake.
“I see, and who was it that extended the invitation?” Ilona asked.
“Queen Lucy, but King Peter was present as well and confirmed we would be more than welcome. And…” Nadora regrettably trailed off, suddenly aware of the pressure in her chest.
“And…?” her father pressed.
Taking a breath, Nadora forged on. “And the truth is,” she said hurriedly. “I’m not ready to leave.”
Ilona hummed, but it was Kotsireas who replied first. “There is much to do back home, Nadora.”
Her lips parted, but before she could say anything in her defense—some condition or another she might use to bend their will, her mother cut in.
“Oh, let the girl stay.”
Nadora and her father both looked to her, but Ilona only looked to her husband. A silent exchange passed between them, resulting in a deeper frown upon her father’s face, but nevertheless, he turned back to Nadora with a nod.
“Very well, you may stay—on two conditions!”
“Yes?”
“First, the boys stay too—and they are your responsibility,” he directed. “Second, you’re all to return the moment the Narnians deem appropriate, but no later than the Harvest Festival.”
Nadora blinked. The Harvest Festival wasn’t until the fall—meaning the entire summer was open to her to do as she wished where she might normally have spent that time on the island, biding away her time until she could sail again. Even if she had her brothers with her, this was a gift.
She straightened and nodded firmly, “Understood.” The word was all but out of her mouth before a wide grin broke the stoic expression on her face. Throwing herself forward, she cast her arms around them both. “Thank you! Truly!”
Her father grunted, but her mother simply chuckled, patting her gentle on the back.
“We’ll alert Varya and have your ship come dock here for the season. Come home when you’re ready.”
She nodded eagerly into their shoulders, hardly caring for logistics.
It was well past time to turn in when Nadora finally made it back to her chambers, but in an effort to quiet the chatter and noise within her brain, she pushed open the glass doors to the balcony in her room and stepped out into the night air.
Aside from when she slept, this quiet moment was the first she’d had to herself since coming to Cair Paravel, and as she looked out to the wide, dark expanse of what she knew to be the Eastern Sea, Nadora gently settled, thinking over what she’d told her parents.
She had not lied. Nadora wasn’t ready to leave yet.
Despite her initial hesitation at joining her family on this trip, Nadora was grateful to have come. And glad for how the visit had gone. Cair Paravel at tournament time was exhilarating in a way she had not anticipated.
Looking down over the railing of her balcony now, she followed the lights dotting the layers of rock and dirt and stone columns. They lit the various paths down to the town and the water. And off to the south, the docks were awash in a dim but warm lantern light, giving every boat an alluring glow.
Soon, the Drifting Noble would sit there, replacing the Swallow and other vessels. The very thought of it was enough to make Nadora smile.
She wasn’t able to see her boat from any part of the capitol building on Galma. But here, it would be simple. Natural, even.
Nadora sighed, contented. There were some things in life—like the weather and the seas—that were unpredictable, though many tried to make charts and graphs of them. This, though, an extended stay as the Pevensie’s guest… Given her family status, her position as one of Corin’s advisors and as Lucy’s close friend, Nadora was certain there would be plenty of future trips back to Cair Paravel. But with this first one extended, Nadora knew the summer would be one that would stay with her for years to come. And once she left the cliff-side palace come harvest time, the memory of her time here would call to her with a siren’s voice, pleading with her to return.