chapter 21

                                    

                                          
Chapter 21
The Mess We've Made
Throbbing pain pulled Dahlia back to consciousness. She blinked the haze from her eyes. Soft sunlight peeked through blurry trees. It was morning. Her neck creaked as she straightened it. Caspian shifted behind her in the saddle. "My lady, you're awake."
"Dahlia," she croaked. "Just Dahlia, please." An ache spread up her tailbone from riding through the night. She swayed slightly as she tried to adjust her position. Caspian released the reins to steady her. His horse trotted on unguided. Two others flanked them. One bore an unconscious Trumpkin. The other carried a rotund, greying man in simple robes. "Who is he?"
"My professor." Caspian's thick accent rumbled through her chest. "I couldn't leave him. He gave me the horn."
"How many did we lose?" Dahlia received no answer. She struggled through a breath and grabbed the reins with her good hand. Dried blood had crusted on the right side of her armor. She guided Caspian's horse to the front of the thinned army, where she could see Peter's bowed blonde head. He wouldn't look at her. "How many are dead?"
"Enough." Dahlia looked down. Susan had fallen into step with the horse. She took the reins from Dahlia's hand. "Don't strain yourself." The queen guided the horse the rest of the way to the How. Wounded creatures leaned on each other as they crossed the field. Centaurs carried those who could not walk, of which there were few; most had not managed to escape the castle. A crowd gathered outside the fortress to greet their pitiful numbers. They looked for their loved ones among the wounded and wept. Each fallen tear doubled Dahlia's pain.
Lucy sprinted out of the darkened archway. She met the meager army at the end of the stone path. Her bottle of fire flower cordial was clutched in sweaty hands. Caspian dismounted and lifted Dahlia to the ground. Edmund was released from Figaro's claws. He went to his knees so Dahlia could lean against him. Susan knelt before the mage. She braced one hand against Dahlia's bloodied shoulder and wrapped the other around the arrow shaft.
"One, two..." Susan ripped the arrow out. Dahlia's flesh tore as the arrowhead was dislodged, drawing fresh blood. A juvenile whimper nearly bubbled from Dahlia's throat. She swallowed it down and gripped Edmund's hand. Lucy tipped a drop of cordial into Dahlia's mouth. A sweetness more pure than honey with the warming spice of cinnamon dripped down her throat. Relief tingled from her shoulder to her fingertips. She rotated her arm and felt no pain.
"Thank you." She reached up to caress Lucy's cheek. A tear streaked the girl's freckled face. Dahlia wiped it away. With Edmund's help, she staggered to her feet. Lucy waited. She seemed to want Dahlia to drink the rest of the bottle. "I'm alright. Tend to the others."
"But there are so few," Lucy whispered. "What happened?"
"Ask him." Peter spat the words at Caspian's feet.
"Me?" The prince took a challenging step towards the High King. Dahlia widened her stance. She called to the Deep Magic beating within the earth. It hummed at the edges of her senses. "You could have called it off. There was still time."
"No, there wasn't, thanks to you. If you'd kept to the plan, those soldiers might be alive," Peter pointed back the way they'd come.
"And if you'd stayed here like I suggested, they definitely would be. Dahlia nearly died with them!" She frowned at being used as a tool in this petty argument.
"For that, I'll take the blame." That was why he refused to look at her. His orders had sent her, vulnerable, into the sky. "But she's strong. She knew the risks. The five of us protected Narnia for fifteen years." Peter jabbed a finger at his family. They exchanged harried glances in silence. "You called us, remember?"
Caspian's dark eyes narrowed. "My first mistake."
"No." Peter shouldered past him. "Your first mistake was thinking you could lead these people."
"Hey!" Caspian's shout rang out in the open field. A few Narnians stepped back. "I am not the one who abandoned Narnia." Disappointment settled in Dahlia's chest. This was the first time he'd implied that the Pevensies were at fault for leaving. They had given him mercy for his heritage. Until now, he had done the same for their history.
"You invaded Narnia." Peter spun, jabbing his finger in Caspian's face. The prince smacked his arm aside. Shoulders heaving, he stomped down the path to the How. "You have no more right to lead it than Miraz does! You, him, your father!" Caspian stopped. Rage tipped his ears red. Peter drove in one final stake. "Narnia's better off without the lot of you!"
A cry of fury erupted from the prince's throat. He drew his sword and whirled on the High King. Peter matched his stance. The two stubborn young men stood amid their mourning subjects with swords pointed at each other's throats. More spilled blood would rectify nothing.
"Stop it!" Dahlia stamped a foot against the earth. The ground rumbled. It shook the royals where they stood. Neither sword was lowered, but she had their attention. Actual smoke coiled out of the mage's ears. "I can't begin to fathom the stupidity it must require to think that now is the time to start a fight." Silver cast its glorious sheen over her eyes. She stalked forward. With each step, she grew more untethered from the earth until she was hovering. "I knew it would be a massacre. I'd seen it. We never stood a chance." She pointed back at Susan. "We warned you, Peter, and you didn't listen. Not until everything went wrong." Genuine fear flared in the High King's eyes. His sword fell away from Caspian's throat. 
Dahlia turned to the prince. "You have no right to blame the Pevensies for the fall of Narnia, especially when you haven't blamed me." The bite in her words blinked the haze from his obsidian eyes. His sword arm dropped. "We've done you the courtesy of separating you from your people. Just as you aren't responsible for the tyranny of your ancestors, the kings and queens had no say in their departure." Dahlia moved to take another step. Her foot struck the air and she realized she was a good distance from the ground. She landed, raised her hands, and pushed. A gust of wind knocked the swords from their hands. "Half of us are dead. The other half are mourning. Our people need unity and strength. They have seen enough blood."