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THIRTY-ONE DAYS pass before we reach the Lone Islands. Our rations and patience have begun to run low, but our hopes climb ever higher as the lush, green islands of Felimath and Doorn draw nearer.
Land, I think. Birds, grass, trees. All here. I can almost hear the wind-rustled leaves as I climb the forecastle stairs, joining Tavros, Drinian, Caspian, and Edmund beside the dragon figurehead. They're silent — tense, almost — as they watch Cas expectantly. This close to Edmund, I can feel what seems like embarrassment and frustration drifting across the link. What in Aslan's name are they talking about?
"We'll use longboats," Caspian says finally, turning to us. "Drinian, pick some men and come ashore."
"Aye." The Captain's gaze falls on me. "Grab your sword, Witchslayer."
A wide grin devours my face, exhilaration thrumming in my bones. "Yes, sir."
"Man the longboats!" Tavros shouts. "Furl the sail up, prepare to drop anchor!"
The crew launches into action with new vigour, enlivened by the sight of so much green and life around us. I can't wait to step foot on Doorn and explore the city.
I spin back to Edmund, my excitement slipping for a moment when I read the devastation concealed in his eyes. "You okay?" Our shoulders brush as I meet him along the balustrade, my hands curling around the metal.
He nods, forearms resting along the rail beside me, but I wait in case he wants to tell me.
"I thought I was High King," he mutters. "But it turns out that title only means something when it's Peter's, not mine."
Slowly, I start to understand what had happened. He must have given an order only to realize his word means nothing on a ship that belongs to Caspian and with a crew that works for him. I can imagine how he must feel: like a mere passenger, powerless, standing by while all the important decisions are made right before him.
First Peter, now Caspian. It breaks my heart that it makes him question his worth, wondering why he's always second to someone.
I reach for Edmund's hand, suspended above the ocean. With a gentle sigh, he turns it over for me to trace his palm with my fingertips, following the lines and the grooves.
Not to me, I think, and I hope he knows that. Never to me.
Edmund catches my fingers between his, turning my hand over and raising it to place a kiss on my knuckles. He squeezes — I know.
"Lower away!" Tavros orders from the maindeck, supervising the longboat disembarkment.
Edmund and I visit the armoury belowdecks along with the other men chosen to come ashore. We arm ourselves with sharpened blades, preparing for the worst — Edmund tells us he hadn't seen any Narnian flags flying in Narrowhaven. We definitely won't be receiving a celebratory feast when we arrive.
