When I finally release the hold on the magic, I let us drift softly to the ground, my knees nearly buckling as I adjust to the feeling of solid ground.

"I've never felt anything like that." Peter smiles.

"I don't even remember the last time my magic obeyed like that; with the winter, it's been like coaxing a weasel out of its burrow, that was like falling, swept away on a current."

"You're incredible."

I look at Peter, unsure what to say next, though my smile doesn't drop. He brushes his thumb over the back of my hand, and a thrill like electricity shoots down my spine. I could stay here suspended in time forever, it's so still, so quiet.

But it's not to be. A shiver runs down my spine this time, and I know something's wrong.

"It's her." I breathe.

"What?" Peter asks, his voice faltering as though snapped out of a trace.

"Peter, it's the witch, she's coming."

We wait lined up to the left of Aslan's tent. A line of Jadis' soldiers stretches as far as the eye can see, the witch herself carried at the front of the procession, seated on an iron throne.

"Jadis, the Queen of Narnia," Ginarrbrik calls in his grating raspy voice. "Empress of the Lone Islands."

His helmet shines in the bright sun, and despite the heat, he still wears his fur coat. His proclamation is met with jeers and discontent from Aslan's Narnians while Jadis' soldiers snarl.

The witch's throne is placed on the grass, flattening the earth beneath its weight. Jadis stands, and her half-giant blood lets her tower menacingly over the crowd. She's even taller than some of the female centaurs.

"You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan." Jadis coos.

I can see Edmund bristle in my peripheral vision while Peter tenses his shoulder, hand around the hilt of his sword.

"His offence was not against you." Aslan remarks, quieting the murmurs of the crowd.

"Have you forgotten the laws on which Narnia was built?"

"Do not cite the deep magic to me, witch," Aslan growls, pawing the ground. "I was there when it was written."

"Then you'll remember well that every traitor belongs to me. His blood is my property." Jadis looks down at her nose at the great lion.

"Try and take him then." Peter says, drawing his sword effortlessly as he steps before his siblings.

It may be a useless gesture in the face of such a force, but it's brave nonetheless.

"Do you think that mere force will deny me my right, little king," Jadis sneers. "Aslan knows that unless I have blood, as the law demands, all of Narnia will be overturned and perish in fire and water; that boy," she turns a long slender finger to Edmund, "will die on the stone table. As is tradition. You dare not refuse me."

I've heard her use the same voice many times before. The commanding tone that can silence a room, can strike fear into the hearts of any enemy, and convince a crowd of nearly anything.

Jadis plays no games; she'll have Edmund's blood before the day is out.

"Enough," Aslan commands, "I shall talk with you alone."

Jadis saunters forward towards Aslan's tent. She looks at me, and I straighten my back, pulling myself taller. She says all she needs to without uttering a word.

Don't think I've forgotten about you.

Aslan and the witch disappear into the tent, and the tension covering the valley seems to snap.

Murmurs and whispers quickly turn to regular conversation. Many Narnians keep a close eye on Jadis' soldiers, who stare towards the tent unbothered by their surroundings.

"Cressida." Peter's voice cuts through my thoughts as he and his siblings gather around me.

"There must be some way out of this; she can't seriously have a claim like that on Ed." Peter fumes.

"He was rescued. She can't take him back now, can she?" Lucy asks, looking terrified.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you differently, but all she says is true."

"But I betrayed Aslan, not her." Edmund argues in a hushed voice.

"According to the deep magic established in Narnia's first years, any traitors to any side are to be dealt with by the witch. The magic commands that traitorous blood be split. The stone table has deep magic inscribed, and the laws are absolute."

Edmund half-collapses onto the grass, tucking his knees up to his chest. Susan ducks down to wrap an arm around him, but he shrugs her off.

"You didn't have to scare him like that." She snaps at me.

I'm confused; I told the truth they wanted, "You asked if it was true, and I spoke true, I am sorry."

"And we just have to let him die?" Peter asks angrily, his voice rising.

"Hush, come now, you can't be seen breaking under the pressure in front of your people." I urge quietly, touching Peter's arm.

He jerks his arm away before stepping close, bending down to look at me.

"Do you ever stop with the reserved courtier act? This is my brother's life we're talking about, not some court scandal."

"I'm trying to help you," I snarl through gritted teeth. "Aslan must have a plan. He has to. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gone into a discussion with her."

"So which is it, Edmund is going to die, or he's not? I'd appreciate a straight answer from you." Peter sneers, his face mere inches from mine, his sword in hand.

"I can't give you one; I don't know all the answers."

"Then stop acting like you do."

"Of course, Your Majesty, I'll stop when you start acting like a King." I snap.

I can see hurt flash in his eyes for a moment, and to think no less than an hour ago, I was showing him my magic, getting lost in those godsforsaken eyes.

Why, then, if I'm so angry, do I still find myself being drawn in deeper and deeper?

"Stop it, both of you." Lucy pleads.

"Lucy's right, this is all my fault. Cressida was just trying to help, Peter."

I settle myself next to Edmund, wrapping a hand around his. He looks up at me; this time, there is no expecting look in his eye, no jealousy or insecurity, only quiet resignation, and it breaks my heart.

"I'm sorry I scared you," I pause, unsure how to proceed, "I've lived most of my life in Jadis' palace. I barely knew anyone my age, and I hardly ever saw any children. Even before I came here, I was the youngest of six, with five older brothers, most of whom weren't very interested in their baby sister."

Peter sinks in the grass next to me, listening but pretending not to be too interested.

"For a year after I was captured, I refused to be broken by Jadis. She would withhold my food, dunk me in cold water, and have healers break and mend my fingers more times than I could count until, finally, I decided it would be easier to play the part she wanted. Show her what she wanted to see. But all along, I held a little spark deep in my soul, a little bit of hope that things would change. Then, you appeared," I turn to Lucy, "And I knew I hadn't held on for nothing."

"I'm sorry, Cressida," Edmund whispers.

"Don't be; that's not why I told you. I don't need your pity, Edmund; I need your strength. You have to have faith; Aslan will find a way. The witch won't have you; we won't let her."

Lucy wraps her arms around Edmund, and he rubs his hand gently against her arm, reassuringly. It's a sweet gesture, one that, a few days ago, I'm sure Edmund wouldn't have given.

"May I speak with you?" Peter asks, pushing to his feet.

I nod, and he extends a hand, helping me up. We move just out of earshot of his siblings, and I clasp my hands in front of me, the picture of composure as many Narnians surreptitiously glance our way.

"I need to apologise for my behaviour." He speaks softly.

"You were scared for your brother, I understand."

"I was an arse, acted a complete and utter fool."

"You don't have to be so hard on yourself," I argue.

The interaction is odd; I've never had anyone apologise to me like this before. Usually, I'm the one grovelling on my knees for the witch's forgiveness.

"I do. Like you said, I need to start acting like a king. You make it look so effortless to act like royalty, and I haven't the faintest idea what I'm doing."

"Peter, I was trained to be this way; Jadis trained me to be demure and proper, a fine lady of the court, and before that, I was court-trained by my parents. You will learn."

"I am sorry."

"My forgiveness is yours, I promise; besides, my temper didn't help matters."

"Not a great start to a friendship."

"No, it's a good thing; I've never had the chance before to say what I'm thinking; you let me do that."

"You're happy that I argued with you?"

"I'm happy I had the opportunity to, I don't enjoy arguing with you." I laugh, reaching out to place a hand against his shoulder.

"Right, yes, well, um, I'm glad we got that all sorted out." Peter says, suddenly flustered.

"Come on, your brother needs you, and we're doing him no good standing over here."