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WALKING IN THE WIND
xvii. SUMMER SNOW

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  THOUGH THE PRINCESS AND her lady had mended their conflicts, the war was far from over. As they returned to Aslan's How, they were harshly reminded of that fact.

  Stations were set up in their absence, where soldiers could have their wounds tended to, their weapons and armor cleaned, and a warm meal while they waited. Amidst the ruffling grass and hushed whispers, it twisted Hope's stomach to see how limp Narnia seemed. Alas, it was no surprise. Moving on after losing half their army last night would not come easily. Even less easily for those in grief for their loved ones. Moving on posed as such as preposterous thought. How much longer would this grim period of history last? Would it ever end?

  Although Hope and Odette had made up, the Pevensies and Caspian avoided one another like the plague. The foundations of their controversial union had never been so delicate. Surely, they would reconvene before the real battle began—well, ideally, at least. Until then, the Wysterians decided to touch base with everyone on their own, just to be on the safe side. Divide, conquer, reconcile.

  Odette sought out Susan on the training grounds while Hope, initially, searched for Edmund. They hadn't a minute alone since before the Night Raid, and he was all she could think about. She knew he was okay, but it would soothe her more to talk to him, hold him. That was until Hope spotted the youngest Pevensie by herself, frowning ever so subtly. Hope pivoted on her heel without question.

  Ignoring the watchful stares on her back might never become second nature. The spotlight had settled on Hope for nearly this entire trip, and it didn't help now that word was out about the fragmentary relationship between the Telmarines and the Wysterians. She wondered if this was how Odette and the Pevensies felt most of the time.

  Lucy was exactly where Hope would've suspected, perched at the Healers' Station, helping to the best of her ability. With her vial of fire-flower juice hanging off her hip, the Valiant Queen was working on a salve for Windmane diligently. She stopped only when she realized a shadow was blocking the sun for her.

  Lucy's freckled face brightened. "Hope!"

  "Hi, honey," Hope greeted. She gestured to the other salves, concoctions, and herbal remedies that needed to be prepared, mixed, and distributed. "Need an extra hand?"

  "That would be very generous of you. But first—" Lucy withdrew her vial and patted the spot in the grass beside her. Hope grazed her own neck, wincing again at the bruise Miraz had branded her with. "Let's take care of you first."

  The fire-flower juice required only a tiny drop for the greatest effect. Cinnamon was strong in Hope's nostrils once the topper popped off. Once it touched her tongue, warmth blossomed through Hope's chest in an instant. Her face flushed, and just when she went to fan herself, a certain coolness soothed her veins. When she looked again, all of her wounds were closed as if never there. The ache in her throat, as well as all the other pains she had gotten used to, were finally gone.

  "Out of every sword and catapult I've faced, I don't think I've ever encountered a tool more valuable than yours," complimented Hope. "Thank you." Then, she claimed a small pot and began to smash berries in them. From her peripheral, she watched the youngest Pevensie, smiling when she did.

  They worked for only a minute before Lucy quietly asked, "Did you really face Miraz by yourself? That sounds nerve-wracking."

  Hope hummed. "It was horrifying. But it didn't help his case that he was in his jammies and bunny slippers."

  It was, actually, the scariest quarrel of Hope's life, and she'd been alive for more than 1,000 years. But stretching the truth a little bit was worth it to see Lucy's jaw drop, a loud laugh escaping it. Even those eavesdropping stifled chuckles at the outlandish idea of a brutish king in his pajamas.

  "Bunny slippers!" cackled the Valiant. "You're messing with me, aren't you?"

  "Only a bit," Hope teased, "though he really was in his jammies!" She dropped a few herbs into her pot, blending them with the berries as Windmane instructed. It felt wrong, laughing after enduring such a devastating loss last night. Hope saw it in Windmane's tense shoulders alone how deeply the loss of her son was affecting her, as it would anyone. And still, she kept going. It wasn't fair, but what else could she do when another battle was imminent? "Have you spoken much to your siblings since our return?"

  "Mm, a little. No one really cares to converse right now," Lucy mumbled. She kept her attention fixed to her salve. "Shouldn't you be with them, planning our next battle tactics and whatnot?"

  "If a battle is to be anticipated, then we should take special care aiding our Healers. They bear a responsibility perhaps greater than the soldiers. If the next fight is anything like what we witnessed last night... we'll need all the help we can get." In the back of Hope's mind, the cries that concluded the Night Raid still echoed on. There was a chance some of those soldiers could've survived had they just made it past Telmar's gates... Hope cleared her throat. "Besides, I'm not sure any of us have any bright ideas, unfortunately. I don't suppose you have any, do you?"

  "I would say our best bet is Aslan, but," Lucy sighed, "no one else seems to agree."

  Hope shrugged. "Sounds like a better plan than either Peter or Caspian have suggested. Do you reckon we could lure Aslan to the next battle with a bit of catnip?"

  Lucy's face lit up again as she giggled. But her mood depleted just as quickly. "I didn't agree with Peter's idea to take the fight to the Telmarines, but... I understand he's doing what he thinks is best. You all were very brave to face that." Lips pursed, Lucy closed her hands into tiny fists, then opened them again. "I only wish... When I was older, I was more useful."

  Hope glimpsed up at her, then back at her salve. "You know, swinging swords and mouthing off monarchs isn't the only way to fight," she said, absentminded. This time, she sensed Lucy peer up at her wistfully. "In Wysteria, our militia was laughable. Feeble, miniscule. Felt like we lost battles every day against kingdoms and rulers I can hardly name now. Eventually, every loss blended, and it became a matter of sending soldiers off to their deaths, with very little faith in their victory. But do you know why our troops kept volunteering to fight?"

  Perhaps it was because no one had spoken much since last night, but a circle of Narnians was beginning to grow invested in the handmaid's story.

  An eavesdropping centaur chimed, "Pride?"

  A faun asked, "Stupidity?"

  Then a bear cub peeped, "Bravery?"

  "Obligation, I bet," said an older skunk.

  But Hope shook her head at these answers. "It didn't matter how far our soldiers went, how grotesque the battles were, for at the end of the day, they had a home to return to," she revealed. "A home with people they loved who were eagerly waiting to see them again. A home that served as an anchor tethering them to where they belonged. A lighthouse, if you will. They fought because they had no choice but to believe that they were fighting for their loved ones' futures. They had to believe their efforts were not futile, and spring would sing again."

  Trumpkin, who was nursing a headache and a cold cup of tea, grumbled, "Easier said than done, now, isn't it?"

  "Well, I speak as someone whose kingdom's demise was so devastating its echo can still be heard 1,000 years later, so I'm not sure how sound my word really is." Hope cleared her throat if only to stop herself from laughing at herself. "But that's not what this is. This isn't advice. It's about faith. Doesn't it speak volumes about Narnia's perseverance that its people have lasted as long as they have? They were shunned into closets and holes deep underground, and yet they can't get rid of you. It has to mean something, doesn't it?"

  "For how much longer can we continue like this though?" asked another dwarf. "It's beginning to feel like a waiting game."

  Hope could admit that was accurate. Weren't most wars a game of patience? "My point is, we all play a major role in this fight. King Peter is leading us alongside his siblings, Princess Odette, and Prince Caspian. And the rest of you who don't call yourselves frontline fighters are living reminders of what we're fighting for. A better tomorrow." She raised her salve. "Narnia isn't Narnia without its people. Who knows? What if this salve is what saves Queen Susan's life? Or King Edmund's, or Queen Lucy's, for that matter? What if this very salve is what saves your dear friend in the end? We're all soldiers here. Just because some of us don't wield swords doesn't make anyone here less important."

  Sure, they had faced a loss that would haunt them for years to come, but there was no point in giving up now. They couldn't let their losses go in vain. That defeated the entire purpose of what they were trying to do for Narnia!

  Lucy beamed shyly at the older girl. "You're right, Hope. Aslan would want us to keep our spirits as high as we can muster it."

  That was the first time—and Hope knew this for a fact—that the Narnians smiled at her without any animosity, without any bitterness regarding a past they never lived, without any judgment toward someone who they deemed a traitor without knowing the whole story. For the first time, they looked at Hope not as some bastard Queen, but as a friend. As someone who wasn't much different from any of them at the end of the day.

  The Narnians worked a little harder at their tasks after that, and they had Hope to thank.

○ ○ ○

  Whatever luster Hope put into the air, however, lasted no longer than an hour.

  Hope had been amidst a very engaging conversation with Trumpkin and Lucy about whether the trees still had thoughts—and what they thought about, if so—despite their hibernation when they overheard a rather panicked Edmund call for Peter. The three needed no reason beyond that to leap to their feet and rush to see what required Peter's attention so hastily. There was very little Edmund could not do on his own, after all.

  They raced into Aslan's How to discover the crime. There Prince Caspian was, standing in a circle drawn in the dirt, his bleeding hand extending outward toward what appeared to be a giant wall of ice. A scepter of sorts impaled the floor of Aslan's How, glittering with a blue energy that brought snow into the summer day. The eternal flame that danced around the How's perimeter prospered, but for how much longer, it was troublesome to say. And in the wall of ice, reaching for Caspian's blood, was the face of a witch Hope had only dreamed of.

  Jadis, the cold air seemed to whisper, raising the hairs on the back of Hope's neck, the White Witch.

  Her stark white hair floated above her, blending into the ice. Its cracks failed to make her seem like a monster of any sort, and that terrified Hope even more. With a porcelain face of sharp cheekbones and deep, insidious eyes, if Hope didn't know any better, she would've called her a fallen angel of sorts. As Jadis reached for Caspian, Peter, Edmund, Hope, and Trumpkin sprinted into battle, with Lucy hot on their tails.

  "STOP!" shouted Peter, drawing his blade.

  At once, the witch's three allies lunged for them. The werewolf leaped over Peter, targeting Edmund. Edmund dodged tactfully, whirling back around to swing his sword. Meanwhile, Peter darted for Caspian and the witch, Lucy and Trumpkin took on the traitorous dwarf, Nikabrik, and at last, Hope found herself face-to-face with a bird-faced hag in a tattered cloak.

  The hag snapped her beak at Hope as the handmaid's sword sliced toward her, a centimeter too far. The hag advanced on her with a cackle that was more patronizing than it was intimidating. Quickly, Hope side-stepped and grabbed the hag's cloak, jerking her onto her back. The hag wasn't finished yet, however. She rolled to the side, leaping toward Hope's legs. At the last second, Hope kicked out her leg, shoving the hag into a pillar, where the hag did not move again.

  It did not take Edmund long to overcome the werewolf, as Hope saw in her peripheral. She only heard the wolf's yowl as it died, and the sound of a dagger spearing into Nikabrik's back when the fighting ended. Or so Hope thought. But Peter had yet to banish the witch. He was motionless despite his raised sword. Beside him, Caspian was lying on the floor with his bloodied hand.

  Smiling, Jadis greeted, "Peter, dear... I've missed you." Again, she extended her arm. "Come, just one drop." Outside the ice, her skin was just as white, practically pulseless, needing only a drop of Adam's blood to rebirth her anew. It was wrong how falsely human the statuesque witch appeared.

  The stories of Jadis did not do her justice. Her voice sounded too soothing, her hand too suspiciously gentle. With every blink, Hope couldn't shake the image of a young Edmund Pevensie, lost in a realm terribly foreign to him, seeking solace with a woman who feigned friendship. She saw that innocent, doe-eyed little boy feeling seen, feeling heard by that witch, not yet knowing of her intentions to spill every last drop of blood he had. If it wasn't for Aslan, Edmund would have died for that demon.

  "You know you can't do this alone," pestered Jadis.

  Peter hesitated. Slowly, he lowered his blade.

  Hope's heart lurched up her throat at the idea of history repeating to Peter, as hopeless as he was in his current state to save Narnia. That sweet, summer child who only would do anything to help his loved ones, his kingdom. For a second, he was not the Magnificent King Hope once shook hands with all those years ago. She saw him as a desperate boy, much like his brother was, too considerate for his own good, and as Jadis reached closer for Peter, a blaze ripped through Hope.

  She did the only thing she knew would be quick enough to stop Jadis.

  She picked up a rock and chucked it at the ice wall.

  It echoed through the cavern with a bang, but pathetically, it did nothing more than chip the ice and cause everyone to look at her. The redhead dawdled there for a minute, startled. She wasn't really sure what she was thinking. All she knew was that she wouldn't let anything happen to the Pevensies. She didn't care how foolish that made her seem to everyone else.

  "And who might you be, my dear?" Jadis asked. "Care to share a drop of Eve's blood? Just one?"

  "You are pathetic!" Hope jeered. To their surprise, Jadis blinked flinchingly. She came to Peter's side, with half the mind to chuck more rocks at her until the ice came crashing down, no matter how many it took. "Praying on desperate, hopeless children for your comeuppance as if those very children weren't the ones who brought forth your demise. All those centuries, and you wait for them to bring you back to life? You're a pathetic excuse for a sorceress! How difficult is it to stay dead and leave Narnia alone!"

  Jadis opened her mouth to retort, but all that came out was a wheeze. A sword had pierced through her middle, sneaking through her spine. A long crack splintered the ice. Then, came Jadis's wail as the wall exploded. Peter grabbed Hope, shielding her from the shards with his body. Once the magic of the witch's scepter died, and the ice collapsed, all that remained was the Just King standing behind where Jadis once was, his blade in hand.

  Edmund's face was flushed as he stared at Peter, somewhere torn between outrage and understanding. "I know," Edmund quietly said. "You had it sorted."

  Edmund walked away. Hope spent a second sweeping the How with her eyes, ensuring the others were okay before pivoting after him. Susan and Odette were hurrying into the cavern as Hope left, demanding what happened, but the handmaid ignored them. All that mattered to her was her husb— boy— guy— friend— her Edmund! For Aslan's sake!

  The vigor of Hope's fury wasn't something she thought she was physically capable of. It corroded her bones and set her jaw, blurring the world as she hunted for Edmund. She couldn't believe the Telmarine Prince. She didn't care how desperate he was feeling to even consider summoning the White Witch. She didn't care that he might've regretted it after, which she was certain he did, judging the look on his face when she left. She didn't care because of how stupid he was to attempt such an offense! To disrespect Aslan's sacrifice! To allow Jadis into the space where the Stone Table was rightfully preserved! It was so unspeakable, Hope thought she might implode.

  There was a portrait of the Pevensies on their coronation day long ago in Cair Paravel. Hope had stopped to admire it before, taking in their little faces in a mixture of amazement and horror. Their round, freckled cheeks, their bright eyes, their sweet smiles. Flashes of that portrait kept pulsating through Hope's mind. Lion's Mane, they were just kids!

  Hope remembered learning of the White Witch's defeat all those years ago. She and her father had been so elated. For that sliver of time, they were practically kids together. Like Hope, her father was raised on stories, too, mostly about the glorious days of Wysteria and Narnia's pasts. She must've had her father repeat the story of how the Pevensies joined Aslan to defeat the White Witch over and over again once it spread overseas. And now that she knew the Pevensies personally, now that she knew how young and forgiving they were, it was mortifying to imagine that they were even younger in their first war against Jadis.

  Edmund, especially, was beaten, battered, and nearly killed because he thought he could trust Jadis, and here Caspian was—!

  Hope's seething waned as she found Edmund, alone, pacing at the back of the How. No one would disturb him there. No one would bother to even follow him back there, too busy with the aftermath of last night to bother. But Hope did. She couldn't help that she followed him wherever he went.

  Edmund paused in his step when he noticed her, as did she. Their gazes locked. Almost as if they were playing predator and prey, neither knew whether to move first. Eventually, it was Edmund who did.

  "Are you alright—?" he began, but Hope interrupted him. Throwing her arms around him, she forced him into a hug. He didn't return it at first. Again, he tried, "Are you—?"

  "We're not doing this again," Hope softly said. "The thing where you deflect, and I have to pull your thoughts out of you. We... We aren't doing that again. Just... shut up and accept the hug."

  Edmund didn't bother arguing. She read him well.

  His head lowered, face burying into the crook of her neck. His arms snaked around her, and he let a slow, shaky sigh slip from him. They didn't speak for what must've been ages. She only held him, listening to his erratic heartbeat grow tamer and tamer against her skin. They stayed like that for so long that they hardly noticed when they moved from standing to sitting.

  Edmund was the one to pull away. He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing methodically carefully. It was all he could do to keep a panic attack at bay. "That was a nightmare," he muttered.

  She twirled her fingers through the ends of his hair. "I know."

  "I really thought—" His face twisted. He hadn't cried. His eyes hadn't even watered. But he was finding it difficult to stay grounded. "I thought she was going to— to come back—"

  "She's gone, love. She can't hurt any of you again." Hope drew her hands beneath his chin, forcing him to look at her. His once frazzled eyes drooped. With a soft smile, she whispered, "Besides, there are plenty of rocks for me to throw at her if she tries again."

  To her satisfaction, a low, breathy laugh rumbled through his chest. "I really do wonder what goes on in that head of yours," he said "What was it you called her again? Pathetic, was it?"

  Hope's face burned. "Well, I was angry—"

  "Yes, and you called the bloody White Witch pathetic."

  His smile was weak, but it was there. That was enough for Hope. She knew this would weigh on his mind for the days to come, but if she could just stay with him a bit longer, if she could ensure he wasn't alone with his thoughts, maybe all would be okay. Maybe he would be okay.

  "I would've called her worse, but someone was a bit more proactive than I," Hope jested. She traced her index finger along his jawline, and his head tilted into her touch. She just wanted him to know that she was there. Present, as long as he wanted her there. If he couldn't ground himself to the world, she would be his tether. "How do you feel?"

  Edmund's eyes shut, and she allowed herself the pleasure of admiring how his long, dark eyelashes draped over his face as he considered her words. "She's gone," was all he said—because he was far more logical than he was sentimental. "She's not coming back. And I will be okay."

  "You will," Hope promised—because she was more sentimental than she was logical, and she believed in happy endings more than anything.

  He took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. Her skin tingled in his absence. "Thank you, dove," he muttered. "For being here."

  "Well, what else are soulmates good for?" Edmund's eyes darted up her face again. She shrugged. "Is that not what we are?"

  He smiled, a little wider than before. "I like how it sounds when you say it."

  "I'm beginning to think you just like the sound of my voice."

  "It took you that long to figure out?"

  "Either you need to be more forward, or I'm a complete idiot half the time."

  "Well—"

  "Hey!"

  He kissed her face. "I'm joking! I'm joking! Call me your soulmate again, please."

  "In your dreams, Just King."

  Of course, she was more of a romantic than she was reasonable, so she said it again. And when he asked her to say it a third time, she did. Again, again, and again.

  For whatever reason, calling him her soulmate instead of husband or boyfriend was so much easier. And it shouldn't have been. It carried too much weight, too much purpose. But wasn't that what they were? They'd signed their souls away to the Queen of Fairies a few centuries ago, binding them as one all for the sake of a birthday gift. How insignificant that all seemed now.

  But Hope was learning to feel okay with everything that had happened. Day by day.

  As long as it meant that she could sit in the summer sun with a stubborn, clever boy named Edmund Pevensie a little longer. Another day or week or month, even. Again, and again, and again.