Elinor had gotten the message completely wrong. The man had not said a word, but instead had taken his own life within the holding cells below Cair Paravel –cells that had never before been used. It had been a gruesome find for the guards taking him his meal; a corpse in a pool of blood, a dagger deep in the man’s chest. It appeared he had thrown himself on it, at least this was what Peter guessed to Edmund as they stared down at the scene.

“Your majesties, what shall we do with the body?” a faun, Pilmer, asked.

“Bury it, please, but not in the cemetery,” Peter instructed. “Clean the cell as best you can.” He motioned for Edmund to walk with him, and waited until they were near the central conference room to explain, “We got nothing from him. We know nothing, not what instigated the attack or who the attackers were, nor what the purpose was.”

“So . . . what are we going to do?” Ed prompted. He knew his role in such manners. Peter thought out loud to him; he asked inane questions to keep Peter’s brain rolling. Eventually one of them would stumble onto an observation or detail they could work with, and so the process would continue in this new direction. Edmund, the right-hand man, the high king’s support, and he had grown to like the position quite nicely. Perhaps Peter got most of the recognition, being High King and all, but he also bore the brunt of the stress, and Ed didn’t envy him that. It was a valid question Princess Cordelia had posed, perhaps, but Edmund could honestly say, as he watched Peter’s jaw clench and eyes narrow in thought that he was glad they had worked out as they had. Peter was good at what he did but he clearly still needed Ed around. The balance was good.

But of course this was not something Edmund would go saying to his brother’s face, even if they were getting along better ever since becoming kings and putting that whole White Witch nonsense behind them. Instead he listened as Peter tried to think of adequate responses to this threat.

“We can’t do nothing,” he reflected. “We’ll have to send scouts out to see if we can find any sort of concentration, perhaps a leader. Don’t you think?”

“Sounds sporting, Pete.”

“The owls at night, you think? And the eagles during the day. For prelimenaries.”

“Right. Sounds proper.”

So the eagles were dispatched that afternoon but returned with nothing and the owls had no news, either, to report in the morning. There had been nothing out of the ordinary anywhere in the land that they could see; no sons of Adam or daughters of Eve that their sharp eyes could spot; no strange clusters of animals or new buildings.

“It’s as though they’ve disappeared into thin air.”

Peter sighed, tapping the arm of his chair and looking around the table at the centaurs, fauns, and Edmund. It was difficult to discuss a plan of action when so little was known. A dozen men had attacked the girls but not with the intention of killing them. The captured and killed man had not sported any design or coat of arms; their weapons were crude but capable; no trace was left of them in Narnia, apparently, except for the dead bodies.

“Perhaps they have some magic we know not of,” the headguard centaur Edonus suggested.

“That may be so, but we must figure out a way to see them, if that’s the case,” Mr. Tumnus noted.

Knocking his knuckles on the table for attention, Peter decided, “We’re not getting anything sorted as it stands. I say we break for lunch. We’ll send the eagles out again, and perhaps the squirrels. Edonus and myself will go look around the field where the attack happened to see if we’ve missed anything. Agreed?”

The girls and the visitors had already eaten, though Susan wanted to be quickly caught up on everything. She liked being in the know, but she never cared to sit through the meetings. Peter used to resent having to fill her in on all the details, but he had learned to take it as a helpful final summarization. Susan accosted him in the hall shortly after he had picked at his lunch, and from there he headed towards the courtyard to wait for Edonus and whoever else meant to accompany them.

On the way, though, he glimpsed through the open window all of Lir’s children sitting in a tight circle on one of the verandas. Curiosity got the better of him, and quickly Peter walked up a floor to listen from a window directly above their meeting. It was difficult to hear much, but Peter could figure it out mostly.

“I don’t think they know what’s going on any more than we do,” Drystan shrugged.

“Why didn’t you go to the meeting this morning?”

“Well I wasn’t invited, Delia. One doesn’t just barge into a king’s meeting.”

“I know, but I think we have a right to know as much as they do.”

“We’re guests. We don’t have a right to know anything,” Moira insisted.

“I agree with Delia. If we’re in danger, we deserve to know.”

“But we don’t know that we’re in danger. I’m sure High King Peter has it all sorted—“

“You put a lot of faith in someone you’ve never seen in action,” Cordelia argued. “And it’s not distrusting him to want to know what’s going on. The reason Papa sent us here was to be safe. If we aren’t . . .”

Moira shook her head, “But it’s clearly not safe to leave, either. We don’t want to look like we’re doubting Narnia’s abilities, not when Papa puts so much faith in them.”

“Faith in them in peace times. I highly doubt he would have sent us here if he had known there would be war here,” Caedmon argued.

“So what, you’re recommending we go to Archenland? If there’s war here, what’s to say it won’t follow us there?” Moira retorted. “We don’t know that there’s war here. Maybe it was an isolated attack. And even if there is war . . . Papa trusts King Peter. I’ll stay here until King Peter tells me it’s better to go.”

“But if there’s war here and war at home, wouldn’t you rather be at home with Papa?” Cordelia pressed.

“Naturally, but you’re assuming we could safely get from here to there. I think we’re safe here, whether Narnia—“

“You trust Papa, don’t you, Delia? Caedmon?” Drystan finally asked. The twins both nodded. “Then don’t you trust him in trusting Peter?”

“First name basis, are we? And yet you still aren’t invited to the meeting?” Cordelia teased, but Drystan argued, “You aren’t the only sisters here. Peter cares about his people and his sisters, and I’m sure he’ll treat you girls with the same concern—“

Caedmon glared, “I’m assuming you aren’t including me—“

“Don’t you two start at it,” Moira interrupted, holding a hand out to each of them.

Cordelia pointed out in the pause, “I just mean, Moira, that Caedmon and I have spent enough time as hostages. I think that if there is danger, Papa would wish us within arm’s reach and not relying on the skill and compassion of another king, no matter how friendly our kingdoms are.”

“And I think it would be more dangerous to move than to stay here,” Moira retorted. “If King Peter thinks we’re in danger by staying here, I’m sure he’ll arrange an escort to take us elsewhere. Without Papa here, I trust King Peter.”

“I go where Cordelia goes,” Caedmon shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing against King Peter but I doubt our safety is much to him.”

“No, you’re right. High King Peter isn’t our brother, you are, Drystan,” Cordelia pointed out, leaning forward and putting her hand on her older brother’s arm. “What do you think, honest? Are we in danger here?” Peter was surprised to hear genuine fear in her voice. Her constant criticism of him as a king somehow gave her an air of being fearless and capable and in control, but she sounded genuinely fearful.

Drystan sighed, “I think you girls are getting worked up too soon. I’ll see if Peter will let me sit in on the meeting this afternoon and we’ll go from there.”

“Drystan . . .“

“I promised, Cordelia. If you don’t trust Peter, trust me and these stone walls.”

Peter stomped off in a furious fit too quickly to hear Cordelia sigh, “I don’t know why everyone’s so determined that I don’t trust him. If you had been in that hole, you would be a bit jumpy, too!” Caedmon shuddered.

Needless to say, Peter was not surprised when Drystan found him shortly after the search party finished scouring the field with no result. They found a necklace that turned out to be Cordelia’s, and Mr. Tumnus returned it to her in exchange for a hug.

“Peter.”

“Drystan,” Peter greeted. Drystan was the only of the visitors now on a name-only basis with him. Really, any of them could have called him just Peter and he wouldn’t have cared, but Drystan was the only one that had asked.

“So . . . I was wondering if perhaps I could sit in on the next council meeting. I realize I’m not a councilor of Narnia, but with my family—well, truthfully, my sisters are nervous – Caedmon included.”

“I think you mean, Drystan, that your sister Cordelia is skeptical of my ability to protect my palace in the event of an attack.”

Drystan made a face and offered, “Well you have to understand, she and Caedmon were hostages and—anyway, that’s beside the point. The thing is, I don’t know what to do. My instinct is to stay here, if that’s fine with you, but Father will skin me alive if something happens to them. If it were you and your sisters, what would you do?”

“It is me and my sisters. Lucy and Susan are here and in the same position as your sisters.”

“That’s what I tried to say!” Drystan insisted, throwing his hands in the air with frustration. “Cordelia just doesn’t get it!”

“Right, well, if I was in your position, I would stay put. We don’t know anything right now,” Peter explained, lowering his voice. “Not who attacked or why or where they are right now. Going out there right now would be . . . I wouldn’t advise it.”

“Right.”

“In the meantime, you’re welcome to the meetings, as are Caedmon, Moira, and Cordelia, if it’ll appease them.”

“I don’t know that anything will appease Cordelia and Caedmon,” Drystan chuckled. “But they wouldn’t be any good in the meeting anyways. Useless when it comes to stuff like this. Caedmon’s good at building stuff, I guess, and Moira works with the healers at home sometimes, but Cordelia? Absolutely useless. That is, useless for anything that’s not gossiping or lolling about.”

There was something in his voice, not to mention the words themselves, that actually made Peter wince for Drystan’s sisters. Of course, Susan and Lucy weren’t useless, but even if they were, he would never say so.

Unable to think of anything else to say, he offered with a forced smile, “Well, I’ll make sure not to put them on the front lines.” Drystan laughed and slapped his back and asked to be informed when the next meeting was before wandering off. The exchange left Peter with a bad taste in his mouth, though, and he liked Drystan a little less.

But then he realized he was picking at his lips. If Cordelia was his sister, perhaps he would call her useless. If the shoe fit . . .

“Put me on the front lines. Oh, that’s a riot,” Cordelia fumed, slamming the dresser door and plopping down on the vanity chaise. “Really very funny to be making jokes in a situation like this. And yet my comments are the ones questioned!”

Elinor carefully removed the bone clip from Cordelia’s hair and let the long ringlets fall down her back. The servant would be in soon to help her change, but in the meantime Elinor wanted to brush her hair. She loved the way the auburn locks looked between her fingers, the way the candlelight caught onto strands of gold. The long curls twisted around her fingers as she gently tugged the comb through, and Cordelia’s eyes closed at the feeling.

“Perhaps he didn’t know what else to say after your brother called you useless,” Elinor suggested, but Cordelia scoffed at the idea.

“Drystan calls me useless all the time. I’m sure King Peter has heard it by now. No, I think it’s simply that he agrees with Drystan, and more than that, hates me. Is it any wonder I don’t trust him to keep me safe?”

“Well I don’t think he’ll be serving you up on a platter to the attackers, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’ll protect you for your father’s sake.”

“Until my father’s friendship is no longer worth it,” Cordelia retorted, raising her eyebrows at Elinor through the mirror. “It’s not as though they have any sort of alliance or shared border or even shared concerns. Father is far enough that he isn’t really a threat if I do get offered up . . .”

Elinor pulled Cordelia’s hair back and rested her chin on her mistress’ shoulder so that their faces were beside each other in the mirror and suggested, “Then perhaps you should give him another reason to value your safe-keeping.”

“Such as?” Elinor shrugged and Cordelia snickered, “What, throw myself at him? Offer to kiss his feet or something?”

“Is that what girls are supposed to do to impress a boy?”

Cordelia laughed and pulled Elinor down onto the chair to hug her tightly and insist, “No! If Edmund ever asks you to kiss his feet, pour your drink in his lap and walk proudly away.”

Elinor looked at her hard for a moment before admitting, “Perhaps you’re not the right one to get advice from about boys . . .” Cordelia tickled her until she fell off the chaise in a fit of giggles.