CHAPTER TEN:
TO ICE AND FIRE

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SOMETHING WAS WRONG. ROSALIE could feel it the second Edmund left. Her room was silent. The How seemed to be holding one collective breath; waiting, preparing for the worst. Rosalie couldn't help but find it eerie. In every shadowed corner, she expected to see Alysanne lying in wait, dagger raised to finish the job. Rosalie wished Edmund had stayed with her. After pouring his heart out in a puddle at her feet, sharing every detail from the Pevensies' first time in Narnia — betraying his siblings for Jadis, Aslan's great sacrifice, the final battle in which Edmund was stabbed by Jadis; her aunt, Alysanne's mother — he'd gone quiet. Cold. He didn't even wait for her reaction. In his eyes, she already had one foot out the door. Why wait for the sting of her rejection only to suffer in the meantime?

Rosalie's heart hurt for him. In fact, she was chasing after him when she realised something wasn't right. It was quiet, yes, but now there was a faint murmur. A muffled chant, followed by a male cry of fright. Instinct told Rosalie to flee. Instead, she forced back her concerns and followed the commotion, praying she was merely reading too much into every echo. All too soon, she reached the main room where Aslan's broken table lay. For once, it wasn't the centre of attention, but the towering wall of ice that had frosted over the archway was. Inside stood a woman. She was dangerously pale, her cheekbones jutting at unnatural angles, cold eyes sunken but vindictive. Her skin was white like snow. It reminded Rosalie of Alysanne, more so when she held out her hand for Caspian and smiled. At the same time, he was being circled by a wolf and a chanting hag while Nikabrik watched on eagerly.

Rosalie didn't think. She ran. She didn't conceal the hammering sound of her feet hitting the cobblestone, but no one followed her and she managed to make it to where Edmund, Peter and Trumpkin were discussing something in quiet but heated murmurs just outside the main entry.

"Edmund!" she shouted, feeling relieved when he reacted immediately.

"Rosie?" He whirled around in search of her, his alarm evident as he reached out to grab her shoulders with his hands. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"You've got to come quickly," she said through gasps for air. Peter's expression hardened as she caught his gaze. "It's Caspian! Nikabrik — I think he's summoned the White Witch."

Edmund froze. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

He didn't hesitate then. Releasing Rosalie, he sprinted for the entry without a glance back, desperately unsheathing his sword as time quickly dwindled. A panicked Peter rushed after him, leaving Trumpkin and Rosalie to bring up the rear, Rosalie's heart caught in her throat like a fish in a net. When they returned to where she'd last seen Caspian, they found him in a daze, hand outstretched, the White Witch's arm splintering through the ice. Something told Rosalie that if she touched Caspian's bloodied skin there'd be trouble.

"Stop!" Peter demanded, to which Nikabrik scowled furiously. He barked an order at his companions, leaving the wolf to lunge at Edmund while the hag, who was no longer chanting, rounded on Peter and Rosalie. This left Nikabrik facing Trumpkin, friends turned foes. "Rosalie, watch out!"

Rosalie narrowly dodged the vicious swipe of the hag's claws at her face, wincing when one ripped a chunk of hair from her scalp. Peter sneered and swung his sword at the hag's arm, forcing her to release her grip on Rosalie. For a moment, the young girl paused, wide-eyed gaze locked on where Caspian continued to stare dreamily at the White Witch.

The White Witch. Jadis. Her aunt.

She seemed to sense Rosalie's presence. She smiled, revealing pearly white teeth.

"Why, my own heart!" she breathed. Somehow, Rosalie heard her like she was whispering right in her ear. Rosalie tried her best to ignore her. She summoned her fire, scorching the hag's face in retaliation for the red strands of hair still caught in her claws. In the midst of the chaos, Lucy appeared and rushed to aid Trumpkin but only ending up in harm's way. Rosalie started to feel sick. Relentless, Jadis kept on whispering. "You look so much like your mother, my dear. Oh, my darling sister. How I miss her. It is a shame that this wretched prophecy drew us apart."

Rosalie's insides burned. Jadis' hands were coated in blood. Like mother, like daughter. It was Jadis who took Rosalie's parents away from her. She was the reason Rosalie ended up in Finchley, caught beneath the precarious thumb of the Hannigan family. Not to mention that she hurt Edmund. How could she forget the despondent look on his face when he confided in her, the bruising of hurt in the sharp cut of his mouth? Rosalie had never felt such hatred when she looked at someone like Jadis. Never longed so much to harm someone irrevocably. It was different to the night they attacked the Telmarine castle. There was no going back from here.

She watched on as Peter took down the hag, the wolf then Nikabrik following like dominoes. Peter shoved Caspian aside, raising his sword uselessly for protection. Control, Alysanne had mocked Rosalie that day in the woods when she unknowingly, foolishly, lead Alysanne right to her. Just like Peter and Jadis. We can work with that.

Rosalie raised a fist, oblivious to the words that poured from Jadis' mouth, her waxen features morphing with rage once the fire that opposed her started to dance on Rosalie's palm.

"My daughter failed me and she knows it," she snarled, making no real sense. "There is only one way our prophecy is going to end, dearest. Why fight me, us, when you have the chance to make things right?" Her eyes darted to Peter next, who — much to Rosalie's horror — was starting to falter in his fury. "You know neither of you can do this alone."

Rosalie and Edmund seemed to be thinking the same thing. Fire collided with ice as the steel blade of a sword tore through Jadis' stomach. She let out a shocked cry, her features peeling away like a candle dripping; then, all at once, the image of her shattered to pieces. Rosalie lowered her hand, cautiously scanning where Edmund stood on the other side of the altar, his jaw clenched.

"I know," he said, glaring at Peter. "You had it sorted."

Then, it was quiet once again. Edmund retreated from the room, head bowed, face tinted pink from the warmth of Rosalie's flames. Peter watched his brother go, a faint tremor shaking his hands enough that he had no choice but to drop his sword. He and Caspian shared a look, the first sign of understanding that Rosalie had seen shared between them. Soon, it was just her and the two boys left as Lucy and Trumpkin departed. She hoped Peter wouldn't stop her from leaving too, and for once was grateful for his indifference towards her when he didn't.

Somehow, she knew where she'd find Edmund. He was sitting on the ledge that overlooked the fields surrounding the How. He was alone yet he sat with his shoulders bunched like he expected Jadis to bleed out of the rocky walls again, cornering him with no way out. He didn't react when Rosalie sat down beside him, nor when she reached out and held his hand, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"You know I could never hate you," she whispered, just in case he didn't. "What you told me... I'm so sorry, Ed."

"Don't," he muttered. "Please."

At last, he looked at her. Every raw piece of emotion caught in his expression. Bravely, Rosalie grazed her thumb across the pink tinge that was yet to properly leave his face. She was just grateful she hadn't burned him.

"You have no idea how much you mean to me," he admitted in the receding space between them, for only her to hear. "I couldn't... I can't have you thinking different of me, Rosie. Not because of her."

"I don't," she insisted, and she meant it.

He leaned into her touch, so close that his forehead lowered to rest on hers. He was bent at an angle but didn't seem uncomfortable, returning her touch by cupping her cheek, his breath hot on her lips. She wanted him to kiss her, so much that she contemplated making the move herself, but it seemed Edmund knew what she hoped for. Rosalie let her eyes flutter shut just as soft lips brushed against hers, a feather-light touch that Rosalie feared she'd imagined for a second. Then, at the sharp exhale of air from Edmund's lungs followed by the lingering and eager press of his mouth on hers again, she knew that this was no dream.

They kissed for a few more seconds that felt like a lifetime, smothering their fears and uncertainties with newly unburied affection. When Edmund pulled back from her, he was smiling and gazing at her lips as if he was committing the touch of them to memory. Any coldness he had felt towards her after telling her about Jadis was gone. Rosalie suddenly felt incredibly shy.

"Edmund, I—"

She caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye and turned. Curiously, Edmund followed her gaze; this time, his sharp intake of air sounded different. He rushed to his feet, drawing Rosalie up with him.

"Get inside," he ordered, and Rosalie wasn't about to argue at the sight of Miraz' army expanding from the treeline. There were hundreds of them, far too many to count, to see even. And there they were, on their doorstep, marching in unison. They had various weapons with them. Horses. Giant catapults locked and loaded. Delivered by Alysanne, as Rosalie had expected. She didn't have to see the white-blonde hair of her cousin in the masses to know she was close by. Like called to like. The stench of charcoal was so sour to her senses that the taste of Edmund's lips on hers was but a forgotten afterthought. "Now, Rosie! Find Susan and Lucy."

Fortunately, she didn't have to look far. She found Susan pacing the hallway outside Caspian's quarters, brows drawn into an uneasy frown. At any other moment, Rosalie would've wondered what she was thinking, what she was even doing waiting for Caspian. But now, they had no time.

"Susan," she called from the other end of the hallway. Susan's head was quick to snap up at her tone. She paused, bracing herself for whatever Rosalie had to say. "You better come quickly!"

They reached the landing at the same time as Peter and Lucy. Edmund must've found Caspian first for he stood at the very edge. He was a King without a throne, a man without an army. He didn't turn around when the others joined him. He was grim-faced but determined. Like Rosalie, he stared down at their enemies and knew his uncle lead the charge. That the beginning of the end lay on their doorstep, and it was up to him what happened next.

"Come on," he urged, turning away when one horse separated from the others. Through the haze of the sun, Rosalie could just make out the soldier's golden armour and how it differed from the rest. This could only be Miraz. He was taunting Caspian even then. "We need to plan."

As they turned away, Edmund took Rosalie's hand, clinging to her for dear life. If he felt the pinpricks of heat blooming in her palms, he didn't show it. Together, they retreated into the How, their kiss remaining unspoken for the time being. It was hard for Rosalie to believe that, just ten minutes ago, she could fear nothing, think of nothing but this boy and her feelings for him. Now, she stood at the edge of the world with only Edmund's hand to tether her, unsure where she fit in this ending that drew closer each day.

Or if she was ever meant to fit in the first place.