The last time she was here, Susan didn't get to marvel at Telmar's beauty. But now that she could, she saw that it was a very charming city indeed.
A vast terrain of mountains stretched before her, their undulating peaks dotted with buildings of brick and sepia. Some of the cottages were blanketed with ivy, while town squares displayed blossoms of blue and purple, red and orange. There was a note of celebration in the gentle breeze that caressed her cheek, a distant song to which several townspeople were probably dancing.
Much to Susan's astonishment, the people had welcomed the Narnians with cheers and applause when they marched into the city yesterday. Perhaps they were glad that Telmar would now be reigned by the rightful heir to the throne, or maybe Miraz was simply a terrible king, and they had had enough of him. Either way, Susan didn't mind.
The Telmarine army had trailed behind them, heads lowered and shoulders hunched. Caspian was adamant that the defeated were returned to their families and not killed—another proof that he would make a noble king.
Caspian. She winced at the thought of his name. Susan was not worried about leaving Narnia in his capable hands, it was just...
She hated this part the most. The farewells. The tears. The sinking feeling in her heart, impossible to ignore, telling her she would not see the people she loved so dearly ever again. Narnia was the embodiment of all her most wondrous dreams, and so much more—but the pain of saying goodbye was almost not worth the adventure.
Almost.
"Susan!"
He skipped across the sandy flagstones and into the palace garden, kicking up white petals as he went, a light spring in his step. The gray jacket that he wore was emblazoned with gold, fine tailor-made trousers tucked into polished boots. His face was free from the blood and grime of war, and in the light of the setting sun, he seemed to glow.
"Caspian," she said.
He drew in a breath. For a moment, they simply stood there, staring. All of a sudden she felt very self-conscious—her hair hadn't been brushed since that morning, not to mention that her freckles had doubled after the blazing heat of yesterday.
But the smile on his face told her that he didn't care about all that.
"Do you have a moment?" he began, slightly breathless. "I thought we could go riding and—"
"Caspian."
Slowly, his face fell, a thousand possibilities dying on his tongue. She wasn't very good at hiding her emotions, and she knew that Caspian could read them now.
Susan turned, unable to watch his despair. "I'm not staying."
She could feel his gaze on her, questioning, searching, disbelieving. And finally, understanding. "When?" he asked quietly.
The word was a hollow shell of her voice. "Tomorrow."
A long, shaky exhale. Caspian's stillness seemed to last an eternity, and Susan wished that she could stop time, trap them both in this day and hour. But she knew that was wishful thinking.
He stepped closer, gently lacing his fingers together with hers. His face was in shadow, and bleakly, Susan was glad that she couldn't see it. "When... when will I see you again?"
Sharp pain sprung to her eyes, seizing her chest. Aslan's conversation with her and Peter drifted back into her mind, unwelcome. You have learned all that you can from this world. Now it is time for you to live in your own.
"Never."
Caspian said nothing, merely tightened his grip on her hand, as if by doing so he could stop her from disappearing and keep her here forever. How she longed for that to be true.
Eventually, she found the courage to look into his eyes, bracing herself for the sorrow and pain awaiting her there. But when she did, she saw that there was more than that. Sadness, yes—but also a form of quiet acceptance. A gladness for all the things that were, instead of longing for all that could be.
"Well," he smiled, "at least we have today."
***
Ina was not used to beds that didn't creak. So when she flopped onto the enormous four-poster bed in her room and it didn't make a sound, she was pleasantly surprised.
The room was lush, and exceedingly so—the Telmarine royals loved decorating. Ina's eyes roamed over the rich curtains approvingly, noting the brass candelabras, glossy wainscoting, a wardrobe so large she could walk into it—like the one Peter told her about. And her favourite, the sturdy mahogany table at the end of her room, upon which were laid more fruits and cheese and wine than she'd ever seen.
Of course, the food was her favourite, not the table.
The room itself was assigned by Caspian, who insisted that the Narnians and herself were given the best of all guest rooms. He'd wasted no time putting his house back in order; already his uncle's colours were replaced with his own, the bright purple and gold banners flying from every flagpole in the citadel. Ina was relieved to see that though Caspian was young for a king, his advisors and staff—loyal, faithful people they were—had accepted him as their leader as soon as he returned.
But even as Ina lay there, surrounded by friends and comfort, she knew there would always be a hole in her heart that was not quite filled, a nagging feeling of discontent.
"My lady."
She scrambled up, reaching for the hilt of her sword, but it wasn't there. She wasn't at war anymore, she reminded herself, and there was no need for weapons. No need for battle.
She took a deep breath.
The two petite faces that greeted her looked surprised, but they quickly schooled their features into calm smiles. Ina had been buried too deep in the comfort of her bed to hear the servant girls enter. They made a slight curtsy now, heads bowed in perfect etiquette.
"Can I help you?" Ina asked.
"His Highness has ordered your servants to help you dress," one of them said, gesturing at the gown that hung from the dressing screens. "For the ball tonight, my lady."
"Oh, him!" Ina harrumphed. "He's only been back a day, and already he's bossing you around." She crossed the room and linked arms with them. "It's all right, girls, I prefer to dress myself."
"But my lady!" The girls looked appalled. "It's an order from the king!"
She clicked her tongue impishly. "Pay him no mind."
"Disobeying the king's orders?" said a voice from behind. "I hope you're not planning a rebellion."
Ina had never seen Edmund so finely dressed. He wore a fitted jacket held together by jewelled buttons, the midnight blue velvet woven with silver motifs. There was a healthy glow in his cheeks, the kind that was robbed by worries and war. She could tell he even made the effort to comb his hair, though she liked it better messy.
She stammered, "I... I thought..."
"That I was Caspian?" He supplied, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Then he dipped his head at the girls and said kindly, "Thank you." They left in a swirl of curtsies and murmurs.
Ina narrowed her eyes at him. "You're king of Narnia, not Telmar," she said lightly.
"So you keep reminding me." Edmund sauntered into the room. "But thanks to Caspian, the two are united now."
She cocked her head to the side. "No thanks to me?"
He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Of course. How could I forget?" Then, as quickly as it came, his smile drooped. "I... I'm sorry for leaving you. In the war. Someone dragged me away, and when I woke up, it was chaos and I couldn't—"
"It's fine, Ed, really." Belatedly, Ina realised he was referring to the moment they got separated after falling from the horse. Although she didn't see why he felt the need to apologise. "I'm just glad you're alright."
"And I, you." He smiled, bashful in a way Ina had never seen before. Then he cleared his throat, changing the subject. "How's your leg, by the way?"
A blissful sigh. "Wonderful," she said. After Aslan destroyed the bridge with the river and ended the war, Ina made it her first priority to find Lucy. One drop of the queen's medicine had made her leg whole again, much to her relief. She didn't know what she'd do if it remained limp forever.
Ina twirled now, savoring the steadiness of her feet beneath her. "Oh Edmund, I'd rather die than break my leg again," she said melodramatically.
Edmund murmured something that Ina couldn't hear, but before she could ask, he turned to the dressing screens. There, a beautiful gown of copper satin hung, its wide collar and cascading sleeves adorned with golden stitching. The material tapered at the waistline, cinched by a belt of floral embroidery. Ina had never seen—much less worn—anything so beautiful.
"The seamstress made clothes for us, as a gift." He shrugged. "Thought I'd ask her to make you one."
Ina's fingers glided along the garment; she swallowed the tight heat that constricted her throat. "You're too kind."
"It's your first ball, isn't it?" Edmund's face held a smile. "You deserve to wear something nice."
"Yes." She grinned. "We can't have you outshining me tonight, can we?"
Ina was pleased to see that she made Edmund laugh. But when his laughter faded, he dropped his voice, sliding a hand into his jacket. "Listen... I thought you should have—"
"Ina! Ina!"
It was Lucy. She barrelled into the room excitedly, her gown an elegant medley of lilac and maroon. Tugging on Ina's arm, she begged, "Oh, please let me do your hair. Susan wouldn't—" She stopped when she saw Edmund. "What are you doing here?"
"Nothing." He straightened hastily.
"Up to no good, I bet."
Peter came into the room behind Lucy, smirking wanly at his brother. He was dressed in an outfit as handsome as Edmund's, except his was red and gold where his brother's was blue and silver. Even without crowns, the siblings carried themselves with every bit of splendour a king or queen should have.
"There's nothing wrong with saying hello," Edmund muttered.
Before the brothers could quarrel, Ina spoke. "Trying to outdress everyone at the ball?" She waved a hand at Peter.
At this, a sad smile crossed the High King's face, one that Ina hadn't seen since the war ended.
His gaze dropped. "It's my last night here, after all."
Their heads swung to him as one.
"We're leaving? Already?" There was a sob in Lucy's voice that wrenched Ina's heart. The girl crossed the room to clutch Peter's arm, her pretty face contorted in sadness.
"Yes."
"Are we coming back?" Edmund's expression had turned so bitter, it hurt Ina to look at him.
With a sigh, Peter closed his eyes. "You two will." It hurt to look at him, too. Suddenly, Ina didn't know where to look, because the siblings were all suffering from a grief that she did not share. She didn't want them to leave, of course, but...
She couldn't see what was so bad about going to their world.
Lucy's lips were trembling. "You and Susan..."
"All good things come to an end, Lu." Peter took her hand and managed a smile for her. Then, his gaze shifted to Ina. "He asked if you'd like to come, you know. Aslan."
Ina's breath caught.
"You mean... to your world?"
Peter nodded.
Everyone's eyes fell on her then, their stares a mixture of hope and curiosity. But Ina's mind was no longer in the room. In fact, it was no longer in Telmar, or Narnia, but somewhere far beyond the lands she had traced in her maps, with a name foreign and unknown to her. Somewhere that wouldn't remind her of her father's betrayal, or the Narnians' deaths. Somewhere new and free of all the sorrow she'd lived through.
And yet...
"If I go," she breathed, "I can't ever return, can I?" It was a question, but she already knew the answer.
"Yes." Quietly, Peter sank his gaze. "And..."
"And?"
"You won't remember Narnia, or your life here. Your whole past would be... gone."
She would not remember her friends. Caspian. Trufflehunter, Trumpkin, or any of the Narnians that she had come to grow fond of. She would not even be Ina anymore.
While there were some memories she would gladly leave behind, she didn't think she was ready to trade her entire life for a new one.
"I'll stay."
She could tell the others did not expect that, but they said nothing. Forcing an empty smile, Ina said, "Who else is going to see that Caspian keeps his promise?"
Lucy's face softened. "You'll make sure he looks after Narnia, won't you?"
"Of course."
"I suppose he'll ask you to marry him, then. Be his queen," said Edmund.
The mildness in his tone surprised Ina more than his words. It was a ridiculous idea—so ridiculous that she snorted a laugh. "That will never happen."
"But why not?" Lucy seemed disappointed.
"Because... because that's like..." She cast her glance around. "That's like if you married Peter."
"UGH!" Lucy recoiled, pulling away from her brother with an exaggerated shudder. "That's disgusting!" Peter was unamused.
"Well, what are you going to do then?" Edmund's frown had cleared; his eyes were trained on Ina's face, and she had the sudden urge to squirm.
"I... I want to see the world," she said, the wistfulness in her voice not unfamiliar. "The world outside Telmar, and Narnia—all of it." Just the thought made her feet tingle with excitement.
"I have no doubt you will." Peter listed his head. "But have you told Caspian?"
The words brought a sharp stab to her chest, making Ina wince. It was the same every time she thought about this, and she'd been trying not to think about it for a while. "No."
"Well, you should," said Lucy. Her slender hands found Ina's own calloused ones. "But for now, let's enjoy tonight. We deserve it." Then she clucked fondly at her brothers and announced, "Now if you'll excuse us, Ina and I have much to do."
The boys groaned when Lucy herded them out of the room, but Ina couldn't stop grinning at the sight. She wondered what it was like to have a sibling, someone you couldn't stand but whom you also loved. Someone you couldn't imagine living without.
With a pang, she realised that she did love someone like that.
As Lucy's fingers threaded her hair, Ina let her voice wash over her. On the dresser by the door, a silver, cylindrical object that wasn't there before caught her eye, winking in the shafts of fading daylight. Ina couldn't recognise it immediately, but when she did, she felt a wide grin spread across her face and a strange warmth fill her heart.
It was Edmund's torchlight.
***
The cook had been lying.
When Ina and Lucy snuck into the kitchens to scout the menu for that night, he told them that they could only prepare a modest dinner on such short notice. Now, feasting her eyes on the roast venison and glazed meats, stuffed chicken, grilled vegetables, marmalade and honey loaves, baskets full of juniper, Ina knew that the cook had been lying.
This was a banquet.
The throne room had been transformed into a large dining hall, and nearly all the Narnians were invited to the celebratory feast. In a far corner, minotaurs were arm-wrestling each other while wolves and dwarves placed bets, the food on their plates long wiped clean. A band of fauns were playing lyres and flutes, their music a soft tinkling in the air. Blocks of cheese were stacked before Reepicheep's merry band, though Ina knew they would be reduced to crumbs before the night was over. And right at the front of the vaulted hall, beneath the stained glass windows and golden chandeliers, Ina dug into the delicious meal with her friends.
"You mixed my healing cordial with water?" Lucy stared at Susan in disbelief, a spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth. "But when did you do that?"
"When you weren't looking." Susan shrugged and cut another slice of venison. Ina knew the Queen had always been beautiful, but she thought she looked especially stunning tonight in violet silk and an elaborate coiffure. "Thought it was good to have backup. Besides, I didn't have a vial to store just a few drops."
"It was very clever," Ina said around a mouthful of roast potatoes. "I don't think I'd survive without it."
"Such is the wisdom of the Queen of Narnia." Caspian glanced sideways at Susan, and they shared a secret smile.
Beside Ina, Edmund whispered to Peter, "They're disgusting."
"So don't look." He thwacked Edmund's hand before he could reach the last buttered roll and snatched it up himself. The way Edmund grumbled at his brother suggested that they did this a lot.
"My friends." Caspian rose from his seat and raised a glass of wine, beaming. "Let us have a toast. To Narnia!"
"To Narnia!"
"And to Caspian the Tenth," Peter said warmly. "King of Telmar and Narnia." Caspian was speechless.
"To Caspian!"
When everyone had either finished with their meals or were too stuffed to eat any more—it was the latter for Ina—a space was cleared for dancing, which Caspian began by asking Susan for a waltz. Soon, the musicians struck up a lively tune, and everyone—creatures and critters alike—was dancing, some hopping wildly to the music, off-beat, while others spun gracefully around the hall. The room was filled with the sounds of joy and laughter; it was a long time since Ina was surrounded by so much happiness.
A fair-haired figure, tall and strapping, stood before her—Peter.
"May I?" He extended a hand, which she gladly took.
"I don't think I've thanked you properly," Ina said as they whirled onto the floor. She caught a glimpse of Lucy giving Trumpkin a twirl, Kerissa prancing with Finnius, and further away, Caspian and Susan swayed gently to the music, seemingly in a world of their own.
Peter guided her with a light hand, their feet never crossing paths. "For what?" he asked.
"For saving my life. From Miraz." Peter merely shook his head and smiled. "I would've done the same for you, you know," Ina added.
His blue eyes met hers earnestly. "I know."
When they reached the side of the hall, Peter glanced over her shoulder. "My brother's not a great dancer," he murmured, grinning. "But I think you'll find his company enjoyable enough."
"Ina!" Edmund appeared, his hand held out. She took it before he could ask.
"You haven't told me how it works." Ina quirked a smile at him. "Your gift." She was close enough to see the freckles on his face, ivory skin washed gold by lamplight. He carried with him an airy scent of lavender and pine, remnants of what must be a long, pleasant bath.
Edmund's shoulders shrugged beneath her fingers, a mischievous look sliding onto his face. "When you push the switch, it draws energy from the stars and channels it into a beam of light."
She rolled her eyes. "You're many things, Ed, but not a liar."
"How would you know I'm lying?" he laughed.
"I have my ways."
They chuckled and danced, weaving nimbly between the crowd. Ina couldn't help feeling disappointed when they neared the edge of the room. But before he let her go, Edmund said quietly, "You should go and see Cair Paravel. You would love it."
"The old Narnian palace?"
There was a faraway look in his eyes as he nodded. "It's in ruins now, but... It was my home."
Ina said softly, "I will."
A warm hand tapped her shoulder, drawing her attention.
Caspian looked slightly flushed from dancing, but otherwise handsome in his finery and brushed hair. He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted on his feet; his discomfort made Ina frown.
"I'm sorry, Edmund, but..." Caspian breathed in, his gaze on Ina. "The stablemaster told me that a riderless horse showed up at our gates." His eyes widened meaningfully. "A white horse with a Narnian saddle."
Ina blinked, understanding. She turned and squeezed Edmund's hand briefly. "I'll be back."
Then she dove past dancing figures and out into the hallway, her skirts swishing as she ran for the stables to find her father's horse.
***
Moonlight had bathed the courtyard in a silvery sheen of gray; the clacking sounds of Ina's shoes could be heard as she raced across the cobblestone floor towards the stables. She faltered when the large portcullis came into view, its unrelenting black grilles striking painful memories. There were no bloodstains on the ground, no trace of the cruelty that took place here—but Ina would never forget the slaughter. No one could forget.
The stables were lit by guttering torches, and a waft of manure hit Ina as soon as she entered. She quickly found the horse Caspian told her about. He whickered when she stroked his coarse mane, a weary noise after what must have been a long journey.
"He's a smart one, miss," the stablemaster said, making her gasp. She didn't realise he was here. "Came home all by himself."
"Yes," she managed, though she knew the horse didn't wander here on his own; Elias had sent him, she was sure.
Ina said sweetly, "Master, why don't you go and get some rest? It's late already."
"Very well, miss." He nodded and left.
As soon as he did, she flipped open the saddlebag and groped within, cursing that sliver of hope she felt in her heart. Elias was simply returning the steed, he couldn't have left—
A brown piece of parchment, without an envelope. She swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled it out.
"Ina." Caspian hovered at the door, a respectful distance away. Her heart warmed at the sight and she smiled; he was always considerate.
She motioned for him to come closer. "It sounds stupid, but... I think Elias left this for me." Ina handed him the letter. "Can you read it out loud?"
He peered at her. "Are you sure?"
Nodding, she said, "I'm not very good at reading."
"Alright." Caspian unfolded the parchment and revealed a page of scrawled letters, of which Ina could only decipher her name. He cleared his throat and began.
"Ina,
"You were right in saying that I lied. I am a liar, but not everything I told you was untrue. And so I will give you the truth now—the entirety of it—that you may do with it as you see fit."
Caspian glanced at her.
"Go on," she croaked.
"I left, not because I hated you, Ina, but because I hated myself. I was a worthless drunk who could not provide for his daughter. My actions were selfish, and there is no excuse for me. But then I met Sapphira, and she saw me not for the man I was, but the man I could be. Her love taught me how to live again.
"You were right—I lied about not being able to find you. The truth is, I have always known where you were, your usual haunts, the ruckus you caused." Ina snorted at that. "But I never spoke to you because I was afraid. I feared your anger and your hatred, though that does not excuse me for being a coward.
"And so I hid from you, until Miraz dragged me from my home and took my family. You know the rest.
"I never thought you would seek the Narnians, but you are braver than I could ever imagine, Ina, and a better person than I could ever be. I do not ask your forgiveness, for I know I am undeserving, but if you would ever like to find me, or—if I may be so bold to suggest—live with me, ours is the house on the outskirts of Telmar, the cottage by the windmill.
"Your father, if you would have me."
Slowly, Caspian dragged his gaze up to Ina.
"He never said he loved me," she breathed, hardly above a whisper. In the stables, moths flitted about the air; the straw beneath her thin-soled shoes made her feet smart. Though the night was warm, Ina felt cold.
Caspian folded the parchment. "From what he wrote, I think he did, Ina," he said gently. He slid the letter into his jacket coat, knowing that she would be too stunned to take it. Then his voice shifted, deepening. "Will you go?"
Ina looked at him then. She looked into the eyes of her friend and her brother, and saw that they were a world of concern. She knew there was no easy way to say the words. But she did, anyway.
"Yes. But not to find my father."
Ina expected to face accusation, hurt—even anger. But Caspian's dark eyes held her steadily, trusting her to say whatever she had to.
"Remember the night when we first met, Cas?"
"You mean the night you hit me on the head?" His lips twitched.
"Yes." She smiled despite herself. "And you said if I helped you, you'd give me enough money to leave this place. Well, I don't need the money anymore. The Pevensies left me some treasure—they couldn't take it back to their world, anyway." She bit her lip and steeled herself to continue. "But I still want to leave Narnia."
She weighed Caspian's response, noting the ticks in his jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, pain flashing across his face, too sudden for him to hide. She was hurting him, she knew, and she hated it. She hated the selfishness in her, that inability to silence her desire for adventure, that yearning to live for herself.
But what is life if it is not lived for oneself?
"I want to go where no one has gone, see places no one has seen, do all the things I couldn't do before," she went on shakily. "You will make a great king, Caspian, greater than anyone has ever seen. You belong here, but I don't. I can't even walk across the courtyard and not think of...of my dead friends. Or ride through the streets and not think of my father."
She swallowed. Caspian was still watching her intently, unspeaking.
"There's too much pain here for me to stay, Cas." Her voice had dropped to a fragile whisper.
For a long moment, Caspian was silent.
Then, slowly, very slowly, he mouth curved into a weak smile. "I could make you captain of the royal guard."
He was joking, Ina realised, for both their sakes. Caspian could see this hurt her as much as it hurt him, and he would do all he could to lessen the pain. The thought stung Ina's eyes.
"You know I could never take orders from you," she said.
"You could be leader of the thieves' guild."
This surprised a laugh out of her. "Why on earth would you want to have a thieves' guild?"
"There's nothing I can do to make you stay, is there?"
Ina's chest tightened with a jolt. Come with me, she wanted to say. Come and see the world with me. She wanted to take Caspian with her everywhere she went, for him to be there every day of her life.
But she knew, no matter how much he loved her, that was too much to ask of him.
"I'll miss you, Cas. I really will."
His hands found hers and she gripped them back tightly. "So will I." Tears were welling in their eyes now, but neither moved to brush them away.
"Go and see the world, Ina," he murmured. "It was made for your eyes."
Ina couldn't stand it anymore. She threw her arms around Caspian and allowed herself to cry like she never did. His embrace felt safe, safer than she had felt in years, and she tried to commit the feeling to memory—that sheer joy of knowing that she could love and was loved.
"Take whatever you need," Caspian was saying, his body shuddering with sobs. "Gold, a horse, a carriage, a whole ship if you need it." Then he pulled away so that he could look at her. "Just promise me one thing."
"Anything."
"Tell me all about your adventures if you see me again."
Her hands tightened on his. "When I see you again," she said firmly, meaning every word. Bashfully, she added, "I'll stay for the coronation."
Caspian chuckled, the sound strangled by tears. "You'd better." Then, he ruffled her hair affectionately—at which Ina groaned in protest—and said, "We should get back to the party. Don't want to keep Edmund waiting."
Her wry gaze slid to him as he dragged her out of the stables. "You mean Susan."
Ignoring her, he said, "I always knew you liked him." A silly grin crept onto his face.
Ina punched him in the gut and ran towards the hall, chortling. Caspian was on her heels, proclaiming vengeance in the form of unending tickles.
And above them, the dark sky lit up with brilliant fireworks, same as the ones that were released on the night Ina first met Caspian, when she was a just scared thief and he, a prince escaping death.