Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Well met, honored reader. As I write this, I approach the end of my life's work, nearly a century in the making. In that time I have had the occasion to be many things to many people… but never have I allowed any of them to get close enough to truly know me. I have thus decided to leave behind this journal as the sole record of my life, as complete a narrative as I can compile in the time remaining to me.

Please forgive my dramatic streak, I often fall into… "exaggerated" language. I expect this habit to only worsen as I begin my (well-earned!) retirement. With a lifetime of mistakes under my belt, the prospect of being left alone with only my thoughts for company never appealed to me. In fact, I fought bitterly against this fate! Now that it has come for me… I find myself in a strangely peaceful state of mind. I have been forced to be strong for so long that the idea of lowering my guard at last brings only relief.

If you are reading this, then there is a slim chance that you already know of me. In that case, I humbly beg that you rid yourself of all prior knowledge and absorb my tale anew from the beginning. My life led me down many difficult paths. Some I have not cared to recall until this very journal, and the majority of which I find... distasteful. My circumstances did not allow me the luxury of atonement, but neither did they offer the respite of disregard. I will account the lot, successes, and failures in equal measure, in hope of leaving some record behind of my true heart; the piece of me I showed to no other. This will be a biased narrative, will reveal secrets better left unknown, and will touch on events that concern my many enemies, a myriad of strangers, and my precious few friends. May history have mercy on all that I became… and all that I failed to be.

My name is Lilleth Elizabeth Snow and this is my story.

Chapter Breakdown (By Arc)

1 - 4: Early Life
In which her world crumbles apart and she must find something worth striving for in the ashes. 

5 - 8: War Times: Revolution
A unique perspective on Galbatorix's rise to power; methods, madness, and manpower. 

9 - 11: Lessons of Many Kinds
Growing pains, first love, and lessons learned the hard way. 

12 - 14: Cost and Reward: Succession
Surda makes a stand with unexpected allies. 

15 - 17: Place in the Family
After years of fighting the inevitable, our diarist falls in line at last.

18 - 21: Darkness Infects
“Darkness infects. You can't expect to wallow in it and come away untainted and pure. And it is addictive – no conscience, no morals. Want. Take. Own. That's a liberating way to live." (Peppermintquartz, FF.net and AO3, both in "Contact" and "Touched")

22 - 24: This is How it Ends?
Distance begets clarity, clarity insights uncertainty, and a single misstep is enough to ruin everything.

25 - 27: New Friends, Old Enemies
Reorienting herself in the world requires making peace with the past and facing down the future. 

28 - 30: Weaver
A simple mission becomes a moral quagmire. 

31 - 34: Eyes of Starlight
Someone turns our diarist's world upside down... and she may never see things the same way again.

35 - 38: Tarnished Silver
Her new lease on life is frightfully fragile: a young man who must walk a dangerous road. 

39 - 43: "Wind howled through the night...
"... carrying a scent that would change the world." 

44 - ???: All Roads Lead to Hell
Small joys at steep prices.

Chapter Text

My earliest memories are of a grainy wooden floor, cushy knit pillow forts, spiced tea, and an indulgent smile. Security, safety, warmth, and love. I grew up with my sister Veronica and our mother, Marie. We shared a small home in a small town and lived small, pleasant lives. I didn't get along well with my sister (even then we were too different), but Mother had a deft hand with both of us. These days I have to strain valiantly to remember even a dim echo of her voice, or a hazy dream of her face… but the feelings even these create are wholly kind.

Our mother spoke little about our father. We knew she had loved him and that he was gone. She said he was lost, and he left to "find what truly mattered." We always wanted to push her for details, but she steadfastly refused to say more. Even then, we knew that we looked like our dad; everyone in town would talk about it when they thought we wouldn't hear. It never bothered us, but I wonder if it ever bothered Mother.

I only lived with my mother and sister until the fall after my sixth birthday. A normal day suddenly careened into disaster and changed my life forever.

"Lillyyyy!"

The plaintive cry hurt my ears. I clapped mud-sticky hands to protect them from Verra's wailing, but it wasn't enough to fully drown her out. "Whaaaat?" I moaned back. It served me right for thinking that Verra would ever play fair. Even though rolling around in the wet grass and mud patches had been her idea, she still had an indignant pout as she glared at me.

"You ruined my hair!" she said at last, drawing out each syllable with exaggerated care. It was true enough, the pretty little twist Mother so carefully put in her hair had been replaced by only fuzzy black fly-aways. A leaf stuck out here, a twig there. In all likelihood, we had never looked so close to identical. We were both messy, dirt-streaked, and flushed with the combination of nipping fall wind and hours of play. Even the little crescent scar on her cheek was concealed beneath the muck, and her brown dress was indistinguishable from my green. Her dark eyes narrowed to a comical imitation of our mother's rage as she planted hands on her hips. "You better say sorry!"

"I didn't mean to," I replied sheepishly.

"You ran into me on purpose!" Her stubby finger poked me hard in the chest.

"But I didn't mean to ruin your hair," I rubbed the sore spot, grumbling another half-baked apology when my voice died in my throat.

Just behind the treeline over Verra's shoulder, a cloud of black smoke rolled into the darkening sky.

"What are you… looking at…" Verra trailed off as she turned. "What is that? Rain?"

"Trouble," I guessed grimly. Verra bit her lip. "I'll find Mom. You wait."

Verra just nodded, frozen in place. I ran towards home.

-:- -:- -:-

By the time I reached our street, the whole town was in a blind panic. All around, people were running and screaming, houses burned and market stalls lay in shards. A horse careened down the main road, the flaming wreck of a cart still attached to its harness. The blaze threw scenes into sharp relief as it passed: bodies collapsed in the doorways they tried to guard, figures curled up in pools and splashes of what could only be blood, limbs disconnected from their hosts. All around the acrid burn of woodsmoke, blood-copper, and the vile stench of burning meat assaulted me.

Through the dense cloud of smoke, I could see figures, hulking giants with massive horns that faded back into the darkness. I kept low and to the sides of buildings, pausing whenever the clamor came too close. It was all I could do to see through the haze. My single thought was to get home. If I was with Mom, nothing could hurt me. We could get Verra and leave this place. Everything would be just fine.

An explosion of shrapnel from the side of our home had other plans.

One of the massive shapes flew across the street and through our neighbor's window. Another followed the first, this one smacking its heavy head on the way out of the opening. A smaller shape jumped through the hole, just barely missing the thick arm that followed it out of the house. The new form shouted a word I didn't recognize… but using a voice that was very familiar. The smoke cleared just enough to show a golden mane dusted through with rubble, and a bloodied face contorted in a snarl that seemed so very alien.

I'd never seen my mother like this!

I pressed low to the ground and shuffled behind an ailing willow tree. My eyes stung with the effort of staying open in the gloom, but I couldn't rip my gaze away. More of the shapes were out in the open, slowly surrounding Mom. She crouched low, grabbing a stubby axe from the ground. The shapes came on, in turns and in rushes. Every time they retreated, they left more of their number in the dust at her feet. Until a new challenger approached their isolated battle; much larger than all the rest. It strode through its fellows and straight up to Mother, not even breaking stride as it met a heavy club to her pilfered weapon. Its companions backed off as they fought, preventing escape but not interfering in the duel. Mother obviously strained under the onslaught, but she fought like a cornered animal. Finally, the axe handle splintered in her hands. She was utterly defenseless to the next devastating blow leveled at her chest.

I had to literally bite back a scream. I tasted blood in my mouth, but even the pain in my lip was fading fast into horrible, numb terror.

She crumpled to the ground, joining the bodies she'd put there just moments before. The largest of the shapes put its arms out wide and bellowed its victory. Then it joined its fellows in the next chase.

A motionless hand stuck awkwardly out of the pile. That sight consumed me beyond sense, urging me forward to… to … to what, I could not say. I slid cautiously out of my hiding place, crawling through the bloodied ground and bodies until I was close enough to touch that hand, close enough to see the bloodied, misshapen body beneath it.

It was motionless.

"Mom?" I wasn't sure if any sound actually came out. My throat burned, tightening until even air could barely escape. I felt my world caving in. "Mom?" Maybe if I could pull her to safety, she would wake up when she felt better. Maybe she just needed to get out of the smoke? I remembered her saying that breathing smoke was bad. But she didn't seem to be breathing at all.

I didn't have time to make any decisions. Out of my peripheral vision, I just barely saw a woman running towards us. I waved as I sat up… directly into her leading foot as she jumped forward.

I collapsed to the ground, vision swirling and ears echoing distant screams.

-:- -:- -:-

I awoke in the early graying of dawn, though I wasn't immediately sure why. My head throbbed where it had met the oncoming boot; a steady pounding. Then I noticed a counterpoint to the beating in my head. At first, it was slight, almost imperceptible, but it was building with each passing moment until each thum shook the whole world. I tried to shield my ears from the pressure, but it just kept growing! Suddenly, the ground rumbled and shook as a massive thud brought the concussions to a halt. I glanced up and saw a huge, blood-red splotch amid the ashes of my home.

The Riders. relief poured into me at the sight, and I closed my eyes. Dragon Riders were heroes of legend, they could handle any more of the monsters. Maybe they could even help Mother!

Two figures approached me, and the first thing I noticed was how different they were. One was tall, almost as tall as the monsters had been, and wearing a bright red tunic. He was broad-shouldered with long dark hair, and his face was set in a cocky sneer. His companion was all sanguine grace; black hair, eyes, and clothing with easy confidence known only to the very rich or very powerful. His expression was more guarded than the other's, but his eyes were haunted; like he had just woken from a thirty-year nightmare.

I sat up. My head spun violently and I nearly threw up from vertigo.

"Well, what is this? Seems they missed a spot!" The tall, red-shirted man spoke first, his rough voice dragging over my ears.

"It is of no consequence-" the other man trailed off as he got closer, stopping midstep about three feet from me.

"That's true. We can just- …. Daddy?" but his friend was not responding.

"Daddy?" I couldn't help but parrot the strange affectation.

"No, not exactly," The larger man grinned down at me, "See, he's-"

The man in black quirked a sardonic smile. "Come closer, girl." His voice took on a musical elegance. Even through my pain, I felt the irresistible urge to comply. Once I closed the distance between us, he hooked a finger under my chin and tilted my head back until our eyes met. "What is your name?"

"Lilly, sir. Well, it's actually Lilleth but-"

He released me and I let the thought die in my throat.

"Torix, c'mon, talk to me. What's going on-"

"This woman here was your mother, yes?" Again he brushed off his companion, though this time the big man didn't seem to mind. In fact, he took a step back and put a hand on the hilt of his sword, releasing a slow breath and turning his stare back and forth between the man in black and me in raw fascination, "Her name was Marie?"

"Yes sir." I sniffed back tears as his words sank in. Was… then they couldn't help Mother. She…. she couldn't really be….

"And your father?"

I shook the horrible thoughts away, mumbling, "He left. I don't even know him."

He fell silent then, just closing his eyes in some kind of apparent resignation. Then, he opened them and spread his hands, "You do now."

I stared at him blankly.

At his side, the man in red let out a grating laugh.

After this, they strapped me to a saddle and flew me into the mountains. They refused to even consider searching for Verra. Turns out that neither Morzan nor Galbatorix had any qualms about crushing the fleeting hopes of a freshly traumatized child. I did not see my native region again for nearly two decades, but that was of little consequence. Everything I had cared about was long gone. Verra was most likely either killed in the onslaught or perished in the wilderness thereafter; my mother was gone, and all that remained of the village was a quickly eroding patch of soot.

Nothing that anyone said or did could prepare me for the shock of the coming years. No child is ever "prepared" to join a small militia populated by madmen, criminals, and homicidal, flying lizards.

Chapter Text

Only in recent years have Galbatorix and I discussed what went through his mind that day. I will save the fullest explanation for now, but to grossly summarize, it was nothing more or less than a whim. He and Morzan saw the smoke, he recognized the area, and pure happenstance reconnected him to the child he never expected (or wanted) to meet. He can be a deeply sentimental soul at his best… and a total lunatic at his worst. Still, even his moods were easier to navigate than his eclectic band of followers.

This may be surprising, but my feelings on most of the thirteen are… complicated, to say the very least. My first days in their "hideout" (a manor house they'd appropriated from minor nobles sequestered in the foothills of the Spine) were some of the most frightening in my entire life. Galbatorix took only enough time to explain that I was his creation, and now I was everyone's problem. This was (unsurprisingly) an…. unpopular order. Every single one of them took the task differently… Some certainly did better than others. In fact, I was strictly forbidden from interacting with three of the forsworn in particular.

The first was Idril; a small, fairy-like woman with a blank stare. She would often wander the manor humming to herself. Even as a small child I learned to be very wary of her. Once, she offered to show me my lungs. I believe with everything in me that she would have done just that if Galbatorix hadn't been nearby.

The second was Beren, the stocky follower always attached to his wiser companion's belt. He was nothing special on the surface… but his dark, beady eyes made me want to bathe in boiling water and scrub until there wasn't even a memory of him. Later in life, I would come to understand why. He was a pathetic creature, scavenging at the fringes of society for powerless victims to subject to his whims. I happened to fit the "criteria" of his preferred prey back then… and I have only Galbatorix's orders to thank for being spared direct experience with him.

The last was Amroth, a somber outcast of the wandering tribes. He took over the attic space and filled it to bursting with gadgets of a truly fiendish design. He was not himself a threat to me, like the other two, but rather I would have endangered him, myself, and the rest of the house if I bothered him at an inopportune moment. He preferred to work with incendiary devices after all, and possessed a notable indifference to safety measures.

The other ten rotated shifts watching me. I will restrain myself to only sharing the memories that stick out most from this period, otherwise, I will consume the rest of this volume only speaking of it… perhaps, someday, I should do just that. Though I am sure, Vidira iet would have much more to say on the subject. I was only a child after all.

"What do you eat?" Morzan stared down at me, hands planted on his hips. He was nothing less than a monstrous giant to me, dark hair curtaining his face and casting it all in a threatening shadow.

I blinked up at him, not really sure what he wanted from me. "Food?"

He grunted and strolled across the room. A thick mattress had been shoved into one corner and piled high with pillows and blankets, all clearly dragged from somewhere else in the house. A plush, deep-maroon rug filled most of the wood floor. Morzan plopped into an armchair that had been carelessly shoved into the corner and stared at me with obvious distaste. "Well, I was going to feed you horse shit and orphan blood, but I guess your way is fine."

I swallowed hard. "I.. like bread?"

"Fuck, you're boring." Morzan leaned in the chair, balancing on the back legs, "Ok… bread and…. Wine? Do you like wine?"

"I've… never had it?"

"Well, that explains everything!" He slapped his hands on his thighs and rose, crossing past me in three impossibly long strides to the main feature of the room. One wall was inset with shelves enclosed behind decorative glass. Each shelf held bottles of various sizes and shapes, one of which he grabbed out. "Wine fixes boring parties and boring people alike."

"I'm not supposed to-"

"Who says?" He bit into the cork and yanked it free with a sharp pop. "I'm in charge of you, and Mommy-Morzan says drink," he spit out the cork, took a deep gulp from the bottle, and stretched it out to me.

I grasped it in both hands, sniffing at the dark liquid. I glanced up at him one more time only for him to ignore me as he retrieved a fresh bottle. I sipped at it…

And immediately choked. It tasted like rotten oil!

"Hey!" Faster than a man his size should have been able to move, a knuckle came down and rapped the top of my head. My hand came up to rub the sore spot, and as it did I felt the smooth glass bottle slipping out of my hold. I had to scramble to keep a grip on it, just barely clinging to the neck. Morzan watched the whole thing, unmoving. I couldn't stop my hands from shaking under his gaze. Again his hand came down, but this time with a rough pat. "Better. Don't waste good liquor, kid. Life around here is much worse without it."

I grimaced down at the awful stuff. If what he said was true… I may need to develop a taste for it someday very soon.

And thus, a seven-year-old alcoholic was born! Gods, I wish I was kidding… but I actually did develop a bit of tolerance for "Mommy's" drink of choice. It numbed some of the pain; made it easier to sleep. And it was easier to sleep through Morzan's watch shifts back then, especially when he was in a foul mood. He would provide some "medicine" and I would take a very deep nap. Not exactly A-class guardianship, but it was far preferable to some of the other's tactics. I was never a particularly outgoing child, but I grew used to moving quietly and speaking as little as possible to give them fewer excuses to lash out. Formora in particular stands out in a negative light…. She didn't earn the name "Sea Hag" for her people skills after all.

I ran my fingers over the page of my stolen treasure, tracing the contours of the illustrated tree with utter fascination. I wasn't a strong enough reader to make out the cramped text next to it, but even just holding the heavy tome felt good. I'd decided to sequester at the top of one of the narrow servant stairs, for the best chance of remaining hidden.

A mistake I would soon have corrected in grandiose fashion.

The next few minutes are a bit of a blur to me. I remember hearing stomping footsteps completely out of proportion to the tiny body making them. I only knew to whom they belonged because she spouted a fountain of profanity that would make a demon blush, and loud enough to wake the dead. Before I could even turn, I felt a sharp pain in my back and then the sudden vertigo of toppling forward… The next thing I knew, I was lying on a sofa in the main drawing room.

My surroundings were a blur of bright white, mostly due to the werelight hovering over me. Kialandi bent low as she examined my wounds, her blonde curls tied back in a sloppy knot. Her fingers poked and prodded over my head and I winced. "You're lucky she lived." she shot a deathly serious glare over one shoulder.

A stick-thin redhead leaned against the wall. "She's lucky I let her. Brat needed to learn not to be in the way sooner or later. I picked sooner." I closed my eyes against a swirl of nausea.

"I suppose just saying that wouldn't have sufficed?" Kialandi grumbled. The glow of her gedwey ignasia was visible even through my lids as she ran her palms down my body. I yelped as a pop sent waves of tingling down my leg. "There now, this should be the last of the serious stuff. Sit still for a while."

I nodded once and stared up at the ceiling. Everything hurt to a greater or lesser extent, especially my head… it felt like an army of woodpeckers had set to drilling from every direction.

"Forget life or death, you're damn fucking lucky Daddy wasn't here." The last voice you want ringing in your head while nursing a concussion is Morzan's. "When he and Siyamak get back from their little field trip, you're going to have to explain why the kid's all banged up." He flashed a wicked smile at Formora. "Oh, and next time you feel like kicking someone down a flight of stairs, why don't you give me a try?"

Formora scoffed and pushed away from the wall, already turning her back to the larger man. "Because I don't want to break my foot on your fat fucking skull." She slammed the door shut behind her, not quite managing to cover up Morzan's mocking laughter.

It sounds odd, looking back… Morzan defending me? But, really, he was just trying to piss off Formora. The two of them were always at each other's throats. Sometimes they would fight for real… and, when that happened, it was best to be as far away as possible. (Morzan didn't care anymore for me than the rest of the Forsworn… he just got a kick out of calling himself my "new mother" I wouldn't really get the punchline until I was muuuuch older).

Morzan did make Formora fess up to her little tantrum. And what did my father say? "You're lucky to be alive. It's better you learn this now: never start what you can't finish." That rule became sacred in our 'family'. No one would be punished for "disciplining" me, no matter how shaky their reasoning was or how severe the injuries became. If I was in trouble, it was my responsibility to get out. In my adult years, this rule would eventually shift into a more favorable light… but for the next decade, it was nothing more or less than an open invitation for the thirteen to do whatever they liked.

I have no desire to languish in further details of their abuses. It was so very long ago, and my memory has blurred it all into one unpleasant haze. This was a group dedicated to bloody revolution, not to babysitting. Is it really any wonder they proved unequal to the task? Though there is one notable exception to this trend. One member of the thirteen went out of his way to take care of me when no one else would.

I knew every inch of the room before me better than I knew myself.

A small house on the outskirts of town. Warm-toned, worn wood showed through the cream-toned plaster. Wood cabinets formed a counter, each one piled high with pots, plates, and a leaning tower of rainbow-glazed mugs. A wood stove stood proud, never did I see it rest except in the very height of summer, and even then we would huddle around it to tell stories at night. Three chairs composed of natural wood, bark still attached, sat around a heavy table our neighbor had kindly gifted to us when he made his wife a new one. It matched nothing at all in the room, but it was stained a beautiful cherry and had the image of a flower carved into the top.

Verra perched in her usual seat closest to the little window, propped up on her knees so she could trace the carving with her finger. She'd gotten her scar in this very room when she fell from her chair and scraped her cheek on the window sill. Mother had to offer her an entire pie to herself to stop her wailing. Now Mother was humming to herself, tending an ancient teapot on the stove.

My stomach twisted in dread as the screaming started off in the distance.

And then the shadows danced along the walls, all larger than life. Some of them laughed like Formora, or leered like Beren. Flames licked at their feet. I tried to tell Verra, but she ignored me. I reached for Mother but she was getting farther and farther with every step I took. The fires finally consumed my vision and I bolted upright.

Alone in my room in the forsworn's hideout.

The darkness didn't bother me, it was almost a relief after the glow of the fire, but the crushing silence ate at me. I could hear my heart beating, my breath rasping out in short, choppy gasps. I never liked sleeping in a totally quiet room. Left alone in the dark, my mind was free to roam… and it so often veered into frightening places. Lucky for me, Verra was a very noisy roommate; always snoring, mumbling, and tossing.

Verra… The weight of my grief and guilt combined with the residual terror of the nightmare was overwhelming. I couldn't take it anymore. I tossed aside my blankets, shoved my feet into my slippers, and crept like a ghost down the hallway.

The center floorboard squeaked, so I placed each foot carefully along the wall. At a large, shuttered window I had to cross to the other side to keep my balance. The dark paneling made the space feel narrow and threatening. I passed by Eltereth's closed door holding my breath. Eltereth wasn't cruel, but she was a notoriously light sleeper. Small cracks of moonlight offered just enough light to reach my destination and I pried the door open in tiny movements.

The room was much brighter than the hallway. One of the thick drapes had been pulled back to allow a view into the tree line. A quarter moon hovered just above the line, offering me silhouettes of the furnishings. Of particular interest was a mound of blankets, rising and falling in time with its resident's breathing. I padded over to the bedside and reached a hand up to Xanist's back. "Papa?" my tiny fingers jabbed into the plush comforter. Even my prodding wasn't enough to rouse the death-like sleep of my de facto guardian. Like any brave adventurer, I squared my shoulders and began the treacherous ascent up the slope of his back. My knee rested on his side just as a particularly loud snore rumbled from deep within the mountain. I froze, sure my mission was doomed.

Rookie mistake.

With an exaggerated yawn, he began to roll, tossing me from my perch to the empty swath of bed next to him. His heavy arm dropped onto my back, a barely-restrained smile my only hint that my captor was perfectly awake.

"Papa!" I whined heroically, kicking him in the shin in quiet frustration.

"Hm? Thought I heard something..." he murmured more to his pillow than anything. " Oh, hello, Lilly. I didn't see you there. Did you need something?"

"Mmhmm!" I nodded up at him, doing my best to wriggle out of his trap and under the blankets. "I had a bad dream..."

"Same one?" I nodded. The smile faded from his lined face as he focused on me. Even in the darkness, I could make out the streak of grey in his charcoal hair. He insisted that I was the sole reason it grew ever more apparent these days, and that made me even more fond of pointing it out whenever possible. "You want to stay here?"

"Yes, please." Usually, even Papa Xanist would insist on removing me back to my assigned room. Galbatorix didn't like me wandering about and anybody that enabled it was liable to get in trouble right alongside me if discovered. Even worse, I was well-reputed to sleep like a possessed squid; limbs tangling up in anything that strayed too close. I could tell the jig was almost up, so I blurted, "I don't wanna be alone," I chewed my lip and soldiered on in the face of his frown, "It's quiet. I don't like it."

Papa sat up slowly, joints popping and cracking. "You were used to sharing a room at your old home, weren't you?" I nodded again and snuggled deeper into the duvet. He sighed and plopped a heavy hand on my head. "As was I," He hesitated, "Do you remember the story?" I mumbled a snoozy assent and pressed closer to his safety. "She was a lot like you, my Emelia. She had trouble sleeping in the dark, so I made her a crystal that would glow. Perhaps we ought to make one for you that can sing?"

"Butyouc'njus'singforme.." I yawned.

"I will for tonight, but I may not always be here when the nightmares come." I pretended not to hear the touch of sadness edging his words, "Now, which song shall we choose…"

I didn't even last to the first note before tumbling into a deep, dreamless, sleep.

For many years, Xanist was my only confidant. He read to me, protected me, and made life seem almost "normal". Once he even stopped me from making a very foolish decision… which I shall not recount here. Suffice it to say, I learned a valuable lesson:

"There are no bad reasons to keep living ."

He even promised that, after the war, he would ask to take charge of me completely. That hope was more than enough to keep me alive. Though, not quite enough to keep me from doing foolish things.

Chapter Text

The years between six and ten were a repetitive blur. I saw little to nothing of my father, which I suppose is more of a blessing than a hardship. My memories have a distinctly unclear edge of youth to them, barring any major upsets. I remember the feelings though, the sense of listless unwantedness and endless anxiety. I remember feeling attached to these frightening people who did not want me. I remember always feeling a sense of unrighteous betrayal when the inevitable outbursts would drag me in. I would limp away from the scene and hide under my covers until Xanist could return to me. In particular, I remember the night that I reached the end of my limited fortitude and decided to do something very dangerous.

Coals glowed ominously, casting the drawing room in a sickly orange light. Several of the forsworn were passed out in various friezes all around the fireplace;  a grisly tableau of their previous celebrations. Shadows clung heavily to every wall, leaving that tiny patch alone in an endless night, centered around my resting place near the hearth. I sat up slowly. My newest set of bruises protested the motion. I almost cried… almost. It would only make things worse if I woke the slumbering monsters surrounding me. I choked down the sounds and hobbled through darkness to the kitchen.

I groped up on a high shelf. My fingers curled around a round loaf of bread with relief. They didn’t always bother to make sure something remained, and if I had to wait for them to wake to get a meal it could yet be many hours. I took tiny bites at a time to not aggravate my swollen lip, but even then the loaf didn’t last long. I dusted off the crumbs and looked out the window in the east wall. Pale spots of grey between the tops of the pines showed the oncoming dawn. Otherwise, the world lay in the soft hush of winter darkness.

Just then, an absolutely mad plan struck me with such force that I was moving before the thought even fully formed. My hand was on the door handle with a long, heavy cloak draped on my shoulders. My racing thoughts forced me to freeze in that position. This may be my only chance. Xanist, Siyamak, and Galbatorix are busy, and the others are too drunk and exhausted to follow me. More importantly, why should I stay? I don’t have to get very far, just to a road maybe… and then I’m bound to run into someone… anyone.

I yanked the door open. A rush of cold air sliced into me, and I breathed it in. It stabbed into my lungs, but it also numbed some of the pain just enough to add strength to my resolve. I ran. A tiny crystal pendant from Papa Xanist was my only light against the impenetrable darkness all around.

-:- -:- -:-

The myriad of flaws in this hair-brained scheme became evident within the first few steps. It may have been the end of winter, but in the Spine, it may as well have been the solstice itself. I was shivering before I reached the treeline, and shaking before it had even been an hour. Even then I kept walking because I knew that the very moment my foot touched snow there could be no turning back (unless I wanted the beating of a lifetime).  The darkness slowly lifted, grey light filtering down through the clouds and snow-covered boughs. Now and again a patch of bare branches allowed a larger share of sunlight through, little pockets of dazzling white amid the semi-darkness. It was eerie; trudging alone through virgin snow, with endless quiet all around. Not even the birds bothered to be out in such cold. ( I would have done well to heed their wisdom.) 

At ten years old, I hardly had the knowledge to recognize the true peril of my situation; all I could do was commit to my path. I walked on until my shivers turned to shakes, then became tremors, then stopped altogether, and then even on until my numb feet simply fell out from under me.  I face-planted gracefully and lay there, burning with cold and disappointment and something more, something strange and wholly new to me… rage .

Get up .

My legs twitched, but my feet barely moved.

Get. up.

My fingers dug into the icy ground, scrabbling at its unflinching surface.

Get up!

I forced an elbow under me and leveraged up to my knees. If I can’t walk, then I’ll crawl. I braced a hand on the nearest tree, expecting to drag myself forward. Instead, my hand sank immediately into fragile, half-rotted bark. I fell forward, which of course knocked an even larger chunk of debris off the poor tree. Inside there was a hollow; the former den of some creature long since departed. I pulled myself into the burrow head first, tucking my legs up to my chest. It was a tight fit, but not as much as one would expect. The scent was unpleasant, but also strangely familiar: animal musk, rotting leaves, and acidic dirt. I tightened the cloak around myself until the sensation came back to my legs. I regretted that action though since the feeling came back first as stabbing agony. (Looking back now, it’s a miracle I didn’t lose my legs from this foolishness.)

I slept. It was a shallow, uneventful rest. I realized the mistake when I poked my head out, stomach growling, only to see the sinking sun. If wandering in direct sunlight had done that much harm, then surely trudging through the night would kill me all the faster. I knew I couldn’t make any more progress so I tried to build up more of a wind-block in front of my shelter and fill in any gaps with snow before darkness fell. In the process of circling the tree, my foot slipped against something hard.

I glanced down to see a sort of…orb? It looked black in the poor light, but with marbled lines of white and light blue. I had never been permitted to see such a thing, or I may have known it at once. As it was, something tugged at me to take the object along into my new shelter. By the time I pried it free, the sky was rapidly fading to near-total blackness. I tugged it into my hovel after me and used it as a sort of door to keep the entrance sealed.

All in all, it was a miserable night we passed together, my treasure and I. The darkness was total, the cold almost unbearable, and hunger grew steadily by the hour. Despite all of that, it was the safest I’d felt in a long time. Dying alone in a tree would at least be more peaceful than being beaten to death back at the estate. I found myself petting the object’s smooth surface, more to reassure myself that I wasn’t totally alone. Somehow, I managed to once more fall into an uneasy sleep.

When I woke up again, it was to a sharp, icy, blinding pain in my left hand. I panicked, assuming that it was the cold finally coming back for me in force. I yanked the limb back, smacking something small but hard in the process. The shriek of protest that followed rang in my ears. Finally, the pain faded enough for me to get my bearings, and I almost passed out again.

The glow of my little crystal pendant was just enough to illuminate my burrow’s new occupant. Crouched in the dirt, pawing at the ground with tiny claws and chirping in indignation was… was…

A dragon.

I couldn’t believe it. What I was seeing should have been impossible. No dragon would leave an egg in the middle of nowhere, buried under snow, and all alone. Let alone an egg enspelled to bond with a rider! Then again, no sane person would ever wander into the woods on their own either…

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you?” I had only ever met the grown and bonded dragons of the thirteen. The hatchling clearly did not have much use for my words, though it did cock its head at the sound of my voice. I realized that it was still sticky from its recent emergence. Apparently, it realized this too as it dropped to the ground and rolled on the den floor, getting chunks of dirt and leaves stuck all over its glimmering body. I laughed, drawing a little huff of smoke from the creature.

“Well don’t be angry at me . I didn’t do it,” I reached over and started to pick crumbs off of the poor thing. They seemed to appreciate the grooming, even offering the underside of their chin for more thorough pets. I gladly obliged my new companion, marveling at every exquisite detail. Their underbelly was a charming purplish blue that faded into the richest and most glorious indigo on their back and limbs. Its wings were still tucked tight to its scaly body, with no real room to do otherwise, but they seemed to lean somewhere between the two extremes. The creature’s eyes were stunning, vibrant blue, and strangely piercing.

I sat petting the hatchling. It tucked its scaly body on my chest, sharing its warmth with me and purring until morning broke.

I had just started to kick away some of the drifted snow when I became aware of a person making their way toward my location. I wanted so badly to flee… but I knew as I saw that peppery gray streak that I didn’t need to.

“Papa?”

Xanist spun around, a look of pure relief plain on his drawn face. He scooped me up and tucked me into his chest. He didn’t say a thing for a while. I thought he was angry until I felt the tears. A wave of guilt crashed through me; he’s probably been so worried .

“I’m sorry.” he managed to speak clearly, if only just, “I shouldn’t have gone with Siyamak. Those damnable-” He muttered oaths as he stroked my dark hair. 

“It’s fine, Papa. I’m okay.” True enough, all memories of my hurts had long faded in light of recent developments. I wasn’t exactly sure how to begin, or what his reaction could be. Luckily, someone else had a very good idea of how to broach the subject.

The dragon gave a tinny shriek as it vaulted into the air. It glided rather than flew over to us, claws hooking in my hanging cloak as it climbed up my back to rest its glimmering head on my shoulder.

Xanist stared in naked amazement.

“I… made a friend?”

I am beyond lucky to have survived this madness, let alone acquire the one and only thing that could spare me from the forsworn’s wrath. (I may have used up my life’s allotment of luck in this very venture, as it happens). The introduction of a dragon into my life marks the end of my listlessness and absence of purpose. I learned how to fight for myself in that journey; the power a reserve of raw, unadulterated spite can provide. I gained a companion I would treasure always, and who could understand me at a glance. However, to my young mind, the most important development was simply this: I now had a place in the group. It was one of servitude and endless learning, but no longer was I an impulsive decoration a madman had insisted on salvaging; I was the first rider made outside of the order, and the first student of the forsworn. 

It took a few weeks, but Galbatorix and the others worked out how the dragon (Hereafter referred to as Katana, the noblest and most elegant of companions~) could have come to be in that place. Two months before, the forsworn had ambushed a pair of elder riders, a pair that were responsible for ferrying eggs around the known kingdoms in pursuit of their riders. They were both killed in the attack, but no egg was recovered. Here we have only conjecture, but it seems likely that one of them hid her precious cargo before she was caught. I know not exactly how events contrived to put Katana and I in line with each other… Unraveling the mysteries of skulblakan would take a much more thorough dissertation than this journal. And besides, I had more than enough on my hands just trying to understand one dragon.

Chapter Text

My first and truest companion, my serpentine shadow in that lonely fortress of waifs and wayfarers… my Katana. She was the most incredible experience of my life, without contest, and I will hold her in my highest esteem as long as I draw breath. I have not always been the best partner to her… but I have always loved her more than life itself. 

Our ebrithil would not have it any other way.

I stared down at my shoes. They were crudely-worked leather, boxy slippers with simple cut-outs on the top. They were starting to get a bit uncomfortable as I grew, but they were thin enough that I could probably stretch another year of wear out of them. The lightly tanned hide was stained with oil and dirt, darker and darker towards the soles. I kept my toes perfectly aligned, terrified as I was to move even an inch under the intense gazes of fourteen senior riders. Katana curled protectively on my shoulder, staring them all down with imperious dislike. 

The dining hall of the old manor house had been repurposed into a meeting room. It was long and narrow, paneled in dark wood and lit by candles set every few feet. Rarely were all of the forsworn available at a given time, so a rippled bronze mirror had been appropriated from one of the bedrooms to sit above the head seat. Today it was blank, as every single member was in attendance.  

Morzan sat cross-legged on top of the table, grinning like a hound that had just been tossed a meaty bone. “Who gets her then?” he asked with obvious relish, “Because I have dibs on teaching her to fight.” 

“That seems… an imprudent place to start,” Kialandi slid in politely. She was seated near the middle of the row, giving her the perfect angle to fix her sapphire eyes on the big man. Her full, dark lips curved into a disapproving frown, and she tapped the table pointedly. “Your skills are better suited for a more skilled combatant.” 

“She’ll learn,” He promised cheerfully, “And, if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll learn quick.” 

“I can help,” The first of two identical men spoke up. This one was Gildor; his dusty brown hair was the tiniest bit shorter than his brother’s. Their builds were equally lanky but Gildor’s was better filled in by muscle, and his pale green-grey eyes sparkled with easy confidence. The scrawnier and shyer of the two was perched in the first’s lap. Gelmir nodded along without bothering to interject, though I got the vague impression Gildor only spoke at all at his brother’s prompting. “Morzan’s a hell of a first fight. I’ll tag along and make sure he doesn’t accidentally turn her into paste.” 

“If I pulverize the kid, it won't be an accident,” Morzan chipped in, leaning back on his hands. “Hey, if you want to come and waste some time with the kid and me, I don’t care.” He reached back for the nearest goblet, realized it was a little too close to a short, blonde-haired she-devil in disguise, and retracted the hand. “Anyway, the real question is who’s going to be stuck teaching her everything else?” 

A bit of shuffling betrayed the group’s dislike of the assignment. 

“I’ll take responsibility for her general education,” Xanist cut the silence in his signature bored monotone. He was always careful not to seem too close to me when the others were around. He was only one wolf in a particularly savage pack, after all. His soft spot for me may have been common knowledge, but he didn’t need to flaunt it. “She can read well enough, so proceeding with her traditional learning should be simple enough.” 

“And I can help her study while you’re out on work,” Gelmir offered kindly. I relaxed a little. The twins tended to isolate themselves from the rest of us, but they were gentler by far than the rest. The tension in my shoulders eased and Katana puffed a smoke ring to celebrate our shared relief. 

“Which leaves magic,” Kialandi put in. Here several members averted their gazes as if to avoid being implicated in the statement. Some needn’t have bothered; even I knew that Balor was only a perfunctory mage, Beren could hardly cast at all, and Amroth would rather roast me over an open fire than give up his solitude. 

“It is my opinion that Kialandi would be best suited for this task,” a tall, willowy man entered the conversation. He spoke in smooth, cool tones with all the authority of someone who expects to be heard. His waist-long white hair was bound back in a braid. His crisp blue eyes reminded me of Shruikan, particularly when he was angry… which they both very often were. 

“I agree,” Kialandi put in graciously, “I have some experience tutoring younger mages from my days on The Island. I would be happy to-” 

“No.” A single word is all it took to draw every eye to him. He reclined comfortably at the head of the table, a spot of even darker darkness in the already shadowy room. His black locks had grown long after weeks of constant travel. He flicked them casually over an ebon-draped shoulder, tapping one long, sun-bronzed finger against the stem of a goblet as he thought. “I do not doubt your abilities Kia, but we have not the luxury of doing things properly.” His voice lulled me into looking up at him, though when I met his intense, black eyes… I wished I hadn’t. I somehow felt like he was plucking me apart, examining each muscle and bone, and stitching me back together. I felt a ripple of unease at the back of my mind; Katana was similarly unnerved. “I will be her primary instructor in this. Siyamak, you shall assist me once she has mastered the fundamentals.” 

If the older man took issue with this order, he resisted the urge to object. “Very well, though I take no responsibility if she cannot keep up.” A few dark chuckles resonated through the room. I shifted in my seat, cringing as it creaked. 

I thought I saw the ghost of a smile prick his lips, “I would expect nothing less. As for the rest of you,” Torix stood, meeting every one of their eyes, particularly an ornery redhead who had previously been scratching at the wall. “You will all end up teaching her something before all is said and done. She will need to start helping provide for the house; Formora and Eltereth can see to this.” The former’s groan of displeasure contrasted sharply with a tall, distant woman’s nod of acquiescence. “Kialandi, you are still the most accomplished medic. You will share mine and Siyamak’s burden once her strength has built enough. Balor, Beren… eventually, you may end up assisting Gildor and Morzan in combat training. Until then, don’t bother yourselves with her.” Two rotund men, one with dingy bronze curls and the other with a flat greasy mop of brown hair gave vague acknowledgments of the words. “ Amroth and Idril, the two of you have deeply specialized knowledge. This may come in handy at some point, but until then-” 

“I’ll teach,” a dreamy voice floated up from the petite blonde. Idril stood (barely 4’ 11” at her fullest height) and roved empty, hazel eyes over the room. “And she’ll learn,” She smiled. It would almost be a kind smile, if not for the way it lingered, lifeless and insincere on her cherubic face.

“Or die,” Morzan added helpfully as he flicked over the goblet from which he’d nearly drunk. Its contents sizzled where they touched the wooden table. In no time at all, they’d eaten right through to the rug below, bubbling an unpleasant grey-black smoke. “She’s a very persuasive teacher.” 

I gulped. 

“Meeting adjourned,” Galbatorix clapped his hands together once and pushed his chair. “Lilleth, follow me. The rest of you may do as you wish; I have no further leads for the day.” I hastened to obey the retreating form of my new teacher, adding an extra step for every two of his. 

-:- -:- -:- 

“Please, sit.” He entered the cramped office, propping open the door just enough for me to squeeze in behind him. The space had once been refined and elegant, but since the current resident took up occupation it was less of a “study” and more of a dragon’s hoard of loose papers and half-read crumbling volumes. I inched through the quagmire until I found an empty nook near the window. The portal was small, latticed with lead, and frosted around the edge. My perch was clearly meant to be more of a decorative alcove, but it had been retrofitted with a thick red cushion (courtesy of Morzan, no doubt). Father took his own seat, a high-backed chair upholstered in velvet that may once have been a deep emerald, but had faded to a dingy gray. Katana crawled from my shoulder and scurried along an empty patch of the upper shelf, sticking her snout out occasionally to judge distances and releasing plumes of warning smoke to ward off spiders. I glanced at Torix, but his attention was completely fixed on Katana’s antics. We both waited in patient silence until she was situated. 

He cleared his throat, crossed his fingers, and gave me a once-over. “I imagine you have many questions. The majority of them must wait, trust that you will know what you need when you need it; no more.” 

“Yes sir,” I answered, trying to sound serious. 

“Not sir,” he said. It was quick and simple, like the snap of a riding crop. “ Ebrithil is acceptable, or ‘Master’ if you find the ancient language too difficult.” 

“Ancient Language?” I asked. 

He lifted a brow, his thin veneer of patience clearly waning. 

“Apologies s-, Master.”

He released his tension, like unstringing a bow. His hand flexed on the arm of the chair, tapping a slow rhythm to gather his thoughts. “There is no use to these proceedings until you have more context. Are you prepared to listen?” 

“Yes, Master.” 

He nodded. The first part of his narrative flowed easily; as if he had often repeated it, “Long ago, Elves and Dragons were at war. This war likely would have ended both races, had not one particular elf intervened. He took it upon himself to found the Order, the Riders, wherein elves- and later humans- would form a magical bond with dragons in order to keep the peace. This bond is unique; a feat of magic and mind that has never been replicated. The pair are bonded more deeply than an outsider observer could know. They share one heart; one soul. It is this legacy that the two of you have inherited,” here he paused, eyes closing in some inner meditation. I leaned forward in my seat. 

“The Order could not hold to its lofty ideals. Over the centuries, they slipped into petty power struggles, among other failings. Much of this is beyond your ken, so for now it will suffice to say that they are no longer a force of good in our world.” I wasn’t exactly shocked. Even as a kid, I had sense enough to observe the doings of my housemates. He carried on, yanking me out of my musings. “And now, you enter this battleground. Your very existence defies the precepts of the order, and gives us the opportunity to begin anew.” He leaned forward. His eyes held me, glimmering with barely restrained passion. “For this reason alone, Katana’s hatching is a monumental achievement for you, for us, and for Alagaesia as a whole.” 

I fidgeted uncomfortably. “Master, may I ask a question?” 

He nodded his consent. 

“What exactly will you expect from me? I’m not like the rest of you. What good am I going to be in a war?” 

He sighed, resting his head on a propped-up hand. He took a moment to collect an answer, and when he spoke it was with uncharacteristic gentleness. “This is much larger than war. We are aiming to build, not just destroy. And, more than that, you are my daughter.” He caressed the words with a tenderness he’d never offered me before. He even favored me with an encouraging smile, “I have every confidence that any girl able to survive us this long will be perfectly capable of whatever challenges we conceive.” He rose, sitting up on the desk and casually swinging his legs over. He put a hand under my chin, just as he had that first day. “Your primary objective is to grow, individually and together. 

“Lastly, you must take one lesson as paramount to all others,” His voice dropped so low that I had to strain to catch it. Even at a whisper, every word was heavy with emotions I could not fathom, “Nothing in this world, nothing, is more important than your survival and Katana’s. No other command, no act of heroics, not even if means the death of every other being you know,” He released me, brushing gentle fingers through my hair and smiling at me with utter misery in his eyes, “Any atrocity is better than the loss of your soul.” 

I nodded up at him, overcome to the very brink of tears. 

Then, like a summer breeze disturbing the surface of a mirror pool, his emotion vanished behind an implacable mask. He pulled from me and turned his back, lifting a hand in obvious dismissal. I gladly accepted it. Even Katana could sense the sudden tone shift, gliding down from her perch and straight out the door ahead of me. 

The two of us spent the rest of that night huddled close together, twirling our amorphous thoughts around each other like drifting clouds.

You will never catch me defending this man, my ebrithil. In fact, no one else in all of Alagaesia knows the true depths of his cruelty, with perhaps a single exception. That man is the only other that my master took into his personal tutelage. As such, he is the only one who may commiserate with me over that…. singular misery (and he often has). No one will ever hate and fear this man as we do, as a childish part of me always shall. After all, few things can match the intensity of Galbatorix’s expectations, or the penalties for disappointing them. 

Still, through all the agony and anxiety, I would be remiss in failing to acknowledge my education for what it was: a gift greater than any treasure in mortal imagining. The years of study were painful, more often than not they were all but fatal, but merely surviving them has made me more capable than I had ever dared to believe I could be. I don’t know who I would be if not for their lessons. So, though most of them have shuffled off their mortal coils, I offer a sincere, somber, and humble thank you for their time and tutelage.

It made defying them in my later years so much more... interesting.

Chapter Text

I spent the next years of my life working constantly. Mornings began with a hasty breakfast and then training with Morzan and Gildor while Katana shadowed their dragons. (I often barely escaped these lessons with all my limbs intact.) I spent afternoons with Papa Xanist; gentler but no less strict. We’d break for dinner and then I would face down Galbatorix’s door. In those early months, we prioritized lists of vocabulary in the ancient language.  Master expected perfection, nothing less. His methods for obtaining it were… extreme. Even my dreams were held hostage by my ebrithalar . Many a night I would struggle against my tutors only to wake up and have to begin the process anew. But, somehow, the structure brought me a sense of peace. It was the happiest I’d been since my arrival, the most productive, and I confess I enjoyed the challenges. 

Well… most of them. 

The glare of sunlight burned my eyes. 

The forsworn kept their living space dark by preference, (half of them were drunk or hungover at any given moment) and the transition into the brightened courtyard was always jarring and painful. My lids shuttered against the pain, and Katana puffed an angry smoke cloud beside me. In just a few weeks she’d already outgrown my shoulder, now traipsing at my side. She was roughly the size of a hunting hound, albeit with a much longer tail and neck. Her wings rustled as they unfolded, shadowing her face against the glare. 

“Coward,” I remarked flippantly. She snorted in indignation and refolded her wings. She still preferred to speak with fluid thought rather than language, but she was well on her way to understanding my meaning. I caught a rush of, anger-humor-judgment, over our bond as she stalked forward. I reached and caught the underside of her jaw, rubbing along the line of muscle that made her hum deep in her throat. “Oh hush, I’m just jealous. I don’t have shade of my own, you see?” 

Use your nub-paws ! She retorted. I giggled and scritched more enthusiastically so she would not notice my amusement. She preferred to use the most ridiculous explanations of things. I didn’t fully understand it, but Master explained it as the way a dragon’s thought process differed from our own; they observe in their way and then must translate those observations to our tongue. It was a confusing train to follow, but one full of myriad amusements. 

“You two chuckle fucks done cuddling? We’re losing daylight!” Gildor stood, sheathed sword over his shoulder, with both hands draped over it. Morzan was fashionably late. (He was perhaps the most infamously slow to rise, as he’d often begin the day with liquor and then rest as it kicked in. It was often said that Morzan was twice as dangerous sober, if only because he was in such a foul mood. Nobody grudged him his beauty-rest in the interim.)

“Yes!” Katana and I both chorused in our own ways. A glittering, burnt-orange shape rose over the trees, turning lazy circles as he waited. Katana crouched down and I beat a retreat. She launched into the sky, snapping her wings down as fast and hard as she dared. She rocketed up before easing into a glide, no more than a speck of midnight in the mid-morning sky. 

“Good. Now, warm up and then we’ll get started,” Gildor’s grin was tinged with contagious excitement. He had a love for fighting unmatched by even Morzan. To him, it was an art, a sport, and a meditation as much as a weapon. He leaned his pride and joy, his sunset-tinged blade, Dagi against the courtyard’s far wall and joined me for stretching. This was the only part of my lessons I found enjoyable. The past weeks were focused entirely on physical fitness; with not a shred of combat in sight. I was always a pretty active kid, but not to the level of “child-soldier” as they were intent on making me. Just as I finished my last stretch, the door to the house slammed open. 

“Good morning, kiddo!” Morzan never, never , had this much energy so early. His wolf smile was almost childish with joy, his normal swagger had a bounce and levity that put me on edge. “We got the green light from Daddy. Today, we’re going in for real.” 

“Yes!” Gildor jumped up, pounding Morzan’s back with a fist. “You want to, or shall I?” 

“You go get the victim, I’ll do the teaching,” Morzan said. He gestured for me to follow as he made his way to the center of the field. Dirty white stones marked walking paths through swaths of bare dirt, overgrown in patches by wild grass and weeds. A chipped and moss-coated statue was shoved carelessly against one wall, leaving a central plinth empty. Morzan stepped up to it, not even a strain for his much longer legs, and put his hands on his hips, “You’ve never fought a day in your life, have you?” 

“Unless you count my sister,” I shrugged. 

“Did you kill her?” I shook my head. “Then I don’t. See, we need to turn you into a killer before this war thing goes to hell. That could be any day now, so we don’t have long to do it.” He looked over my head and beamed. “Good job Gildor! Didn’t even have to drag him!” 

I turned. Another man followed behind Gildor. He was shorter, less muscled and thin as a twig. He had a carved jaw, sandy blonde hair and doe-like, green eyes. He projected an air of superiority that came off as condescending. He started bragging as he stretched his shoulders,“Of course you two would need my help. I am classically trained by a variety of tutors even befor-” 

“Thanks very much Ellessar, couldn’t do it without you.” Morzan said ‘sincerely’. “He’s going to be your training buddy. Or, dummy, rather,” as he spoke, Gildor picked up his follower and carried him, struggling all the way, to a wooden pole shoved into one patch of dirt. “This place isn’t exactly equipped with training dummies and I don’t feel like making ‘em, so Ellessar will have to do.” 

“What?!” He yelped indignantly. Gildor wound rope around his torso, whistling a merry tune. 

“Relax, she can’t do much harm yet,” Morzan added, picking his teeth disinterestedly. 

“YET?” He pouted mightily, putting on a good show of kicking at Gildor. His target inched back and fell over laughing. 

“Sir-” I tried to interject, but Morzan waved me off. 

“What did I say about that sir shit?” 

“Sorry. Mommy ,” I didn’t conceal the heavy sarcasm dripping from the word, but Morzan didn’t seem to mind, “how exactly does having him here help?” 

“Oh yeah, I didn’t get to that part!” He crouched low until he could comfortably sit on his perch, “We don’t have time to turn you into a master. Hell, we probably don’t even have time to make you a foot soldier. But there is something you can learn fast that will help a lot, in the fighting and after.” He leaned in, a conspiratorial glimmer in his mismatched eyes, “We’re going to make you a murderer.” 

I blinked. 

He beamed, “It’s good, huh? You’re too small and scrawny to fight like we do. But you are fast, and sometimes you’re even clever. You won’t become a duelist in just a few weeks, but you can learn to kill fast and kill easily.” He reached down behind him and groped at the ground. He came up with a thick stick about as long as his hand, still wet where one end had been lodged in the earth. “This,” he said proudly, “Is going to be the first weapon you use. If you can land a fatal blow with just this, you can kill with damn near anything.” 

“But, I don’t want to kill,” The objection finally bubbled out of me. It was such a… jarring prospect. I’d seen what death looked like, heard the horror, and smelled the gore; I wanted as little of that as possible. I was so focused on my thoughts that I didn’t register the way Morzan’s smile dropped, or the whistle in the air… 

Until I was on my back, head throbbing where the stick had struck. 

“Then you’ll be killed instead, and you won’t have to worry about it,” Morzan offered the end of the stick. I accepted and he yanked me to my feet. “You don’t get a choice in whether or not you want to fight anymore. Survival is all that matters. If you want to live,” he paused and meaningfully looked off where the two dragons danced in the sky, “then you have to kill.”  

His fingers dropped off the stick. I stared down at it. Nothing else matters . I nodded and weighed my weapon in each hand. I could sense some other piece was missing from all this, but the specifics eluded me. Instead, I asked, “Am I actually killing Ellessar?” 

“No!” our ‘volunteer’ training dummy added in a huff.

“If you think you can, go for it,” Morzan ignored the disgruntled grumbling, “But then, he’s got wards. Oh, and one other thing,” Morzan’s hand dropped to zar’roc’s hilt, drawing his beloved sword out in one smooth motion. Behind me, I heard Gildor copy the action. “We’ll be trying to stop you.” 

Surprisingly enough, Morzan proved to be an incredible teacher. He could convey a point in as few words as possible, had a catching sense of humor, and always knew which mistakes to correct versus punish. Gildor kept him from losing his temper on the few occasions it got out of hand. Eventually, poor Ellessar was even unbound from his pole and allowed to defend himself. It didn’t do him much good. 

Evasion was my strongest weapon back then. I was small, and I discovered early on that I was faster than Ellessar without really trying and could just about keep pace with Gildor. Morzan was the real danger (he moved with shocking speed for his size) and his blows were absolutely devastating, even barehanded. It was this very combination that allowed me to pass my first lesson. I jammed the stick into the ground after a particularly savage punch from Morzan laid me out on my back. I rolled to my feet, then jumped back. Morzan was so focused on continuing his assault that he didn’t catch the hazard until he’d stepped straight on it. He overbalanced his cut directly into my target instead. Gildor managed to block zar’roc from halving Ellessar, but Morzan was grinning like a maniac. “I’ll count it,” he said, “but next time, you better do your own dirty work.” 

My “mother” showed encouragement in strange ways… but not nearly as strange as the other parent. 

I followed behind my master as quietly as I could. Every snapping twig betrayed my inexperience. My path especially contrasted with his, each step light and careful to maintain the peace of the forest. Spring had finally broken through the ruthless winter, though a chill still lingered in the air. Katana longed to be free of the cave where all of the forsworn’s partners rested, but Siyamak had detected a rider patrol a few miles out. A few humans in the woods could be missed; several dragons darting around the sky and munching their way through flocks of migrating birds could not. So, she sulked in the back of my mind until her presence faded and disappeared entirely. It was eerie, the sudden quiet after weeks of contact. My own head felt echoey; uncanny. 

“Stop,” Master said, breaking the silence. He stepped over a fallen log and pointed down at it, “Have a seat.” 

I obeyed despite the dampness that quickly ate through my leggings. My calves burned with the effort of tiptoeing at his heels all afternoon, and I was grateful for the rest. I heard him moving until he was standing just behind me. “Ebrithil?” 

For a drawn, tense moment he did not speak. The forest shivered with freshly waking life. The air was clean, sunlight kissed the tips of the boughs around the clearing. And yet,the air was heavy, thick with something… intangible . Goosebumps ran down my arms. I felt that, whatever that “something” could be, it must be awful; too ugly to be seen. 

 Master broke the spell with a simple shift of his feet. He said, “My purpose for bringing you here is two fold. It was customary, once a rider reached a certain point in their training, that they would meditate. The primary function of this is yet beyond us, but I think its secondary purpose will serve you well.” He rested a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t particularly like when he touched me, so often it was only the precursor of his delicate temper,  but I knew better than to resist. “You must learn to still your mind. Your thoughts flicker about like sparrows in a gale wind. It leaves you vulnerable to attacks from a master mentalist.” 

“Like you?” I finished the unspoken thought. We had a few, very short lessons on the subject of mental defense. He’d determined I could not learn anything more advanced until my mind was well and truly safe from outside influence. I struggled mightily with this lesson. Quick thinking and memorization came easily, but focus was another thing altogether. 

He accepted the compliment with a hum of approval, “Like our enemies, rather.” He crouched lower, voice dropping to a whisper, “You will meditate here as long as it takes. And just to be sure,” his hand slid down from my shoulder to grasp my wrist, mirroring the hold on the other side. I tried to pull away but he tightened his grip to the edge of pain. He continued speaking as he tied my hands together, “You will be unable to leave until I retrieve you.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked deeper into the woods. 

Hours dragged by. 

I took to reciting my lessons, then songs, then poems, then imaginary arguments I’d love to have with the forsworn when I was big enough, then finally to counting needles on the tree in front of me. I lost my place early on in the three hundreds, and by then the sun had long since begun its decline. It was already dark as nigh beyond the clearing. My little pocket of waning light grew dimmer and colder, and I wondered if Master would even bother to come back before nightfall.

My self-pity was interrupted by the sudden, sharp crack of a stick behind me. I jumped, but the chords held me fast. My thorough instructor had hitched them to the log beneath me, and I had no prayer of dragging the whole tree along. I sat, frozen in the following quiet. That aura; that awful creeping presence had returned. I glanced over my shoulder, but I could hardly see anything through the gloom. 

Another stick broke off to my left. 

I pulled on the bindings. They were only cord, weren’t they? And surely, my ebrithil hadn’t intended for me to die out here. He said himself that survival was more important than orders, even his orders, so if I was in danger I could escape. But, as much as I strained, the rope wouldn’t budge. I thought I could hear breathing mixed in with the breeze, heavy steps closing in from all sides. “Master?” I called, hoping more that my voice would frighten off the strange presence than actually bring asistance. 

“No.” I shuddered in horror. The vowel was mangled, the voice deep and croaked with age and malice. It laughed, a choking garbled laugh that I was shocked to recognize from the deepest corners of a nightmare. I’d heard a laugh like this… but only once. Only on one awful day. I didn’t learn the name of its source until my studies began, but I would never forget the sound. 

Urgals. 

I redoubled my efforts, pulling and yanking at the chords with all I had. The steps grew closer, and there were more of them now. They closed in behind me, heavy breathing tinged with that awful laughter. I swore as the friction of chord on skin burned, but nothing in all the world could stop me from fighting. 

I felt a heavy paw tangle itself in my hair. My very soul rejected the touch, recoiled at the prospect of ending up another bloodied smear… of leaving poor Katana all alone to end up like Torix. I felt strong for the first time in my life, adrenaline coursing through me. I screamed the first word that came to mind, “ Thrysta !”

Several things happened in rapid succession. The log shot out from under me, flying backward into the tree line. The chords snapped with a sudden force, as did one of my wrists. I fell forward from the lack of resistance, tumbling face-first to the forest floor. I heard a panicked shout of, “ Skolir !” from off to the side of the clearing. Then came the monumental cracking screech as one of the pines toppled from on high. 

Everything went dark.

I open my scrunched shut eyes. A pale green werelight lingered over the silhouette of a man. Even though I struggled to see him, his identity could not have been plainer. “Master?” I tried to sit up, but my vision flickered. My entire body ached like I’d been pounded with tiny mallets, and my stomach had long surpassed growling straight into an untamable roar. 

Torix braced a hand on my shoulder, “Stay down, thrim . You haven’t much strength left.” I noticed a thread at the back of my mind connecting the two of us. It was feeding me a steady supply of… light? Or maybe heat would be a better word. Whatever it was, it filtered into my limbs, easing the worst of the pain. “Simply cutting the ropes would have been more effective.” 

I blinked. “But… I didn’t…” 

“Of course you did,” He made an effort to keep a patient air. “And nearly died in the process, though that is at least partly my own fault.”

“The Urgals!” I tried to look past him into the darkness, but the light died only feet from where I lay. “What happened to-” 

“Urgals?” the question staggered me. His tone was innocent enough, but his dark eyes glittered with unfettered amusement. “Why would I leave you unguarded where urgals could ambush you?” 

“To… teach me?” I was vexed. 

He shook his head. “No, not even for that. I learned not to underestimate urgals through painful experience,” he slid a hand beneath my back and helped me lean against a tree. “There are no urgals and there never were. ‘Urgal’ was the the name your mind assigned to your fear.” When I blinked up at him, he could no longer restrain his smile. “Shur’tugal were often taught to use magic out of pure frustration. This could be a time consuming process, and I find it offers a lesser view of the subject’s potential. I myself uncovered the talent through an argument with another student; an act of primal rage. I theorized that this more intense emotion allowed me to progress more efficiently, with a better grasp of my abilities.” 

I was starting to understand, and he could see it. 

“Fear can be an even more powerful motivator, as you can yourself attest,” He gestured behind him. I realized we were no longer in the clearing itself, rather off to the side. The clearing was now filled mostly by a collapsed pine. At the point where the trunk failed, it bent over a very familiar log. My master chuckled and dusted his palms, “Though, I confess, I wasn’t quite expecting all that.”

“ I did this?” 

“Out of fear,” here the amusement tapered off to a more serious tone, “ Solely out of fear. You panicked, in spite of the obvious rationale that I would not allow you to die, and in your attempt to flee you nearly expended all of your strength.” 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

“I wanted you to blossom, little flower, not wilt,” The kind words were tainted by the mocking tone. “If this had been real, you never could have survived it. Either you would have been too weary to fight, too surrounded to flee, or even if your little stunt had been lethal enough to halt one threat, you would have been crushed to death. The only thing that could have saved you in any scenario was…” he trailed off, waiting for me to finish his thought. 

“You?” I asked quietly, embarrassed and still very, very , tired. 

“Or Katana,” he provided, not unkindly. He lifted me in his arms and turned for home, “Rest all of tomorrow, and after we will begin the real heart of your training.” 

“Yessir,” I mumbled, my exhausted brain eager to obey. 

The spell he used this day is a simple one, but all the more dangerous for it. The word for “fear” in the ancient language has a fascinating connotation… Galbatorix could better expound on it than I, but it implies ‘belief’ and ‘pain’, the overwhelming certainty that something awful is very near, whatever that means to the subject. The more adept and agile the mind, the greater range of terrors it can conjure at the vaguest suggestion. Imagination becomes the enemy; nightmare becomes reality. A few auditory hallucinations to amp up the drama and the result is… persuasive to say the least. 

Galbatorix’s methods can best be summarized as, “trial by fire.” He will not lift a damn finger to get you out of the blaze until you show the potential to do it yourself. He’ll guide, assist, advise… but every painful step must be made on your own. I will neglect to discuss much of my magical training. Many of the things I learned at his hand are better lost to history than preserved here. 

I was probably at my happiest during the first few years of training… though, soon, I would have it all put to a harrowing test. In fact, our entire family was about to endure trials that would color the future of Alagaesia for the next century. 

Chapter Text

My training progressed parallel to the rebellion, though I rarely participated in the actual fighting. The forsworn’s early tactics hinged largely on small, surgical strikes. The goal was to create a smokescreen of paranoia and confusion, all while they accumulated eldunari. I sometimes wonder if the first members of their merry band believed this scheme had a prayer of succeeding. But, lo and behold, in a handful of years their group had grown and their plan was on the very precipice of success. 

Not that it was all smooth sailing. The forsworn were a diverse group; strong-willed, loud-mouthed, and often at odds with one another. Even Galbatorix’s raw charisma wasn’t enough to keep everyone on friendly terms for very long. In fact, little friendships and rivalries took over the group in later years. In the beginning,  two very distinct memories stand out among the rest. They would test the group to its very breaking point and well beyond. 

The hardest part of my day was the walk to Master’s office. No matter how much I prepared, I seemed to just barely meet his exacting expectations. I would be inclined to skip out, or stop trying altogether… but the penalties for disobeying were far worse than those for underperforming.

You could claim sudden illness? Katana offered in solidarity. 

Not likely. Try lying to somebody who spends half the time you’re together in your head.

A good motivator to train then, yes? To eventually get away with lying? An irrepressible smile took over through my gloom. She gloated briefly and caressed my anxiety-addled thoughts back in order, Either way, nothing to be done about it now. Get it over with and then meet me in the lair; our friend wants to show us something. That was a pleasant enough thought to buoy me through even the worst Torix had to offer; Xanist’s dragon had ‘adopted’ Katana as her hatchling, and she loved to share little treats and treasures with us when she could. I’d regained so much spring in my step that I almost missed the figure hovering at the last bend in the hallway before Master’s study. 

All thoughts of the future dropped away at this fascinating present. I crept closer until I could make out which of our family members it could be. To my surprise, I recognized Eltereth, though she was pressed tightly to the wall and turned mostly away. Eltereth was the tallest of the group’s female members, nearly six feet, with long, walnut-brown hair that she kept swept back from her chiseled face. Her inscrutable dark-blue eyes were narrowed as she strained closer to the corner. She didn’t move as I approached, but when I would have spoken she held up a finger for me to wait. 

And then we both heard the sound of heavy objects crashing to the floor. 

“I didn’t join this group to watch you play God!” I froze like a rabbit. The shout was laced with pure venom and contempt (not surprising in this house) but the speaker was… 

“Xanist, control yourself,” the responding voice was so quiet that I almost didn’t realize it was Master speaking, “You joined because you had no other choice.” 

“And do any of us?” Xanist spat back, “If we chose to leave what would happen?” 

“You have three choices. First, you may see our course through. Second, you can stand with those who burned your Emilia,” Eltereth covered her mouth to stifle a gasp, “in which case we’ll be forced to crush you. Or, last and least pleasant of all;  force yourself into exile and pray,” the sheer level of malice coating that one word made me shrink in place “that we never meet again.” 

Silence greeted his proclamation. Tension thrummed through the air, one agonizing moment at a time. When Xanist did speak, his voice was controlled once more. “So, this is what we have come to? You make us into butchers, and now you ask us to allow… to stand by and watch as a city- a city, Galbatorix!- burns?” 

“This was never going to be a bloodless path.” 

“Where is the justice in mass slaughter? How can this possibly be the road to a better way?” I heard the thump of a back hitting a wall. “And in the end, what will happen to the people? You claim to liberate them from tyranny… but for what?” 

“They will be given new leadership.” 

Xanist’s tone was incredulous. “You mean to take the crown?” Apparently, a nonverbal signal answered his question in the affirmative because his next outburst was explosive, “You are Shur’tugal !”

“Was. Soon that word will be meaningless-” 

“What of the survivors? The hatchlings, the students? If you take the Empire’s throne, then who will guide the fragments?” 

“They will either join us or share their elders’ fate.”  The calm, matter-of-fact threat was more harrowing than anything else the man had ever said. 

And still, Xanist soldiered on. “And by that you mean, they will join you. ” 

“I see no difference.” 

Another long, painful silence. “And the rest?” 

“Will burn.” I could feel the unseen, brutal smile behind his whispered reply.  

Eltereth must have picked up something I didn’t because she tugged both of us into a window alcove. She hugged me against her, threw a drape over us and we both held our breath as Master’s signature steps retreated down the hall. She released the pensive pose with a short sigh, then ducked back into the hallway. I had no intention of bothering Master when he was already in such a foul mood so I followed at her heels. She reached the corner just in time to catch Xanist’s arm. 

“Ellie? What are you-” 

“I was worried,” she answered his unfinished question and gripped his bicep, “Apparently, I had good reason to be. Are you out of your mind?” 

“I’m starting to think I’m the only one who isn’t,” Xanist whispered, an edge of brooding undercutting his attempt at calm. 

“You started a quarrel with Torix? With tensions running high already? That just… doesn’t sound like you.” I watched Eltereth carefully. Her grip on his arm relaxed, and yet neither of them pulled away. Her eyes were hard and searching, but clearly, she was more than disapproving; she was concerned… for Xanist? 

“You didn’t hear him!” his volume spiked sharply and he frowned, caught somewhere between rage and misery, “Our last trip was to retrieve maps of the ancient bolt holes used by the elves in Du Fyrn Skulblaka . I assumed it was for infiltration. That is, until Amroth and he started discussing where to…” He trailed off, glancing down at me and back to Eltereth meaningfully. “Where to begin setting up their plan,” he finished tactfully. 

Eltereth was frowning now as well. There was a distant but conciliatory calm to her voice as she said, “We can discuss the details later. For now, we should give someone ,”  she dropped her free hand on top of my head, “an excuse to miss her lessons tonight. I don’t think Siyamak is in any mood for company, and I know Torix isn’t either.” 

I nodded along, grinning up at her. 

“I guess I can arrange another hunting trip.” Eltereth shrugged and winked, “Maybe we’ll drag Formora along too; I can tell she’s getting restless cooped up in the house.” 

I didn’t love the idea, but I knew the two had an uncanny camaraderie. In fact, all of the forsworn’s female members seemed to be more in tune with one another than their outward actions might suggest. “And Papa Xanist?” 

Eltereth defrosted a little at the plea in my words. She tried her best to keep an unflappable face, but inevitably she caved to my puppy eyes. "Alright, Xanist as well. Run and grab your gear; I want to see what you learned," she spoke to me, but she kept glancing back at Xanist. 

I ducked my head and sprinted for my room. Seems like Papa and Eltereth are closer than I thought. 

I'll say! Katana chirped. Even at her tender age, she was a fiend for gossip. I've never heard anybody call her "Ellie". 

I've never heard anybody talk to Master like that. The conversation we'd overheard bothered me deeply. Would Master really murder one of our own just for disagreeing with him? 

Nobody who's still alive anyway, Katana's train of thought mirrored mine perfectly. The cloud of foreboding followed us all the way into the mountains, though it wouldn’t be validated for some time yet. 

I spent that entire hunting trip just watching Eltereth and Xanist together. Now that I’m older it seems perfectly obvious that there was a spark between the two of them, though the added perspective actually complicates matters as well. Everyone knew that their dragons were mated, but it was unthinkable that the riders could follow suit. Xanist had a century on her, easily, and neither of them was in the right state of mind to seek a partner. Eltereth lived every day in a militant fixation on avenging her murdered brother. 

Xanist carried a similar burden of grief, but he preferred to bear it alone. I didn’t learn this until much later in life, but his was a fresh and gruesome wound. While serving the riders, his wife and daughter took ill with a strange infection. The order made the call that all the infected must be quarantined, eliminated, and destroyed to prevent it from spreading. Xanist disobeyed his orders, returning home to find everything he’d ever loved in flames. It’s no wonder then that he recoiled at the thought of inflicting that same agony on hundreds of people. It also illuminates why he and Eltereth were so drawn to one another in the first place. I think their friendship brought them both moments of light in lives sapped of all meaning. Perhaps if they had more time together, things would have progressed differently. 

The second memory happened directly following what should have been a very impactful moment for me; the first time I took a life. I suppose it would be more appropriate to describe the event in painstaking detail.  But, I regret to say, the memory is blurry at best after all these years. I barely even remember the boy- for he was no more than a child- let alone the exact details of his death. My clearest memory of the event was the awful, sticky crust of dried blood on my hand. I picked at it the entire flight back home. I feel a sense of deep shame that the snuffing of another life had so little impact on me… it’s a complicated jumble of regret and bitter emptiness. 

But then, the next hours would dominate all of our thoughts for many months and years after. 

Katana banked in lethargic circles around the manor, waiting for our senior riders to land first. I rested back in our saddle and stared straight up at a mounting cloud. It held a complete landscape; valleys and swaths of fluffy hills, rivers of shadow dividing layer upon layer of dense white forests. The only hint of the peaceful scene's true danger was a tinge of dark grey at the edges of my vision; this haven would soon transform into the epicenter of a massive thunderhead. At least we made it home before it could start raining.

Katana snorted, Our teachers will probably have me out in it anyway. They’ve been teasing that I need to learn storm flying eventually. 

Maybe the mission today earned us a little peace and quiet? Another snort; neither of us believed that for an instant. Katana finally tipped into a gentle decline and landed alongside Eltereth and… and… 

I blinked and shook my head. Katana, tell me if I’m crazy- 

You are, she settled to her belly to give me an easier time dismounting, I promise.

You’re hilarious. But really- 

“Welcome back everyone!” Kialandi crossed the overgrown yard at a half jog, reaching out to hug Eltereth as soon as she reached them. The taller woman tried to act irritated by the display, but she did loop an arm around Kialandi’s waist. “I’m glad you made it back in one piece!” 

“Almost everyone,” Gelmir corrected, gesturing with obvious concern to his partner. 

“The information we had was wrong,” Gildor said sourly, “There was an extra dragon and rider there. Took us off guard.” 

Kialandi dropped the hug and her excitable aura at once, pushing up her sleeves, “Who’s hurt?” 

And silence met her query. 

Gelmir and Gildor locked eyes, thoughts flying between them as they tried to parse out the confusion. 

Eltereth shifted her feet, “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Look at who’s bleeding,” She stretched and yawned. 

Kialandi paid the twins no more mind, crossing to Gelmir’s partner (a pale, spring-green male with patches of pearly white down his chest and viridian eyes), and beginning her examination. 

Gildor turned and stared at Eltereth, “But what is his name ?” He pressed on the word like he was terrified it would slip out from beneath him. 

Eltereth snorted. “You really think I don’t know your dragon’s name?” 

He shook his head, “Of course you do. So say it,” he urged, a deadly serious edge to his normally carefree face. 

She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Slowly her eyes widened. “I… I can’t…” 

“Neither can we,” Gelmir wrung his hands in obvious distress. 

“What about the others?” Eltereth said quickly. “Name someone else’s partner. Name mine!” I couldn’t tell if she was actually investigating, or suddenly desperate. 

Again, silence. 

“Lilly, what about you?” Gildor walked over to me, leaning down to get close to my face. I stepped back until I bumped into Katana’s leg, but still, he moved closer. “Can you remember?” 

My mind went blank. It was eerie… I strained for the missing pieces, sounds and images that were certainly there… but how long have they been absent? I responded with a question of my own, “When was the last time someone said one of their names?” 

This time, no one even breathed. 

“We need to get Torix,” Eltereth said, “We need to gather everyone.” 

The first roll of thunder rumbled in the distance. 

-:- -:- -:-

The mood in the room teetered between despair and explosive rage. I wedged myself into a corner to avoid most of the shouting, but it still bounced around the dining room and beat against my aching head. We’d spent the last hour and then some in the exact same place, all of the forsworn arguing in circles. Torix had been uncharacteristically quiet, sitting and absorbing all information in a tense meditation. Siyamak too mostly kept his thoughts to himself, though his long fingers tapped rhythmically on his armrest. 

Everyone else had devolved into their own conversations, some more heated than others. Formora and Morzan shouted obscenities from opposite sides of the table. Ellessar accused anyone who bothered to listen of faking their sudden amnesia. Kialandi tried vainly to coax Eltereth to drink some lukewarm tea, but her patient only sat in stony silence. The twins huddled together, only conversing within their minds. Amroth, a rarely seen and even more rarely heard dark-skinned man, leaned against one wall, staring sightlessly and failing to respond to anyone who tried to engage with him. Balor and Beren whispered back and forth, casting furtive glances all around. Xanist had his elbows planted on the table, grimacing behind his weathered palms.  Idril lay on her back beneath the heavy table, strains of her disjointed humming breaking through the clamor. 

Morzan had just unleashed a new string of curses when Torix suddenly got to his feet. He waited patiently for the unruly assembly to quiet down before pivoting to stare directly at me. “What of you?” he said, each word like lead on his lips, “Can you remember any of them?” 

I scuffed my foot on the floor. “I know Katana. And… Shruikan. I can’t remember anyone else.” 

“Convenient,” Formora said icily, glaring daggers at Torix, “We have half our brain leak out of our ears, but you two aren’t affected?” 

Torix returned her glower but kept his voice steady, “I have no reason to wish this madness on anyone. No, I can only assume…” 

“An outside force must be responsible,” Siyamak filled in. His attention was still largely directed inward. “A piece of magic like this, for I have no doubt that it is magic, could only have one source.” 

“Dragons,” Torix completed, bracing his palms on the table, “Not even I could attempt it with all of our power stores at my disposal. Only dragons interact with the weave of the world so casually.” 

“So what does that mean?” Eltereth looked up at him, grief-stricken and hopeless. “That their names were… taken? By other dragons? That’s impossible…” 

“Nothing is impossible for the skulblakan,”  Siyamak answered, “And it is not lost on me that only traitors to the order have been affected by this working.” 

Formora tried to interject, “But what about-”

“Shruikan is no traitor,” Galbatorix pronounced the words slowly and clearly, daring anyone present to refute his claim. “Neither are Lilleth and Katana; they were never sworn to the Riders. It seems only those who chose to resist have been-” 

“You mean those that have followed you.” The new voice was low, rich, and dangerously calm. Everyone turned to Amroth. Only then did I realize that every muscle in his body was tightened like stretched wires, hands shaking with the strain. Golden eyes stared into black and every word fell like a hammer blow as he intoned, “What have you done to us?” 

I expected someone to take up the accusation, or even try to defend their leader… but no one so much as breathed. For the first time in my life, I saw Galbatorix’s unshakable mask crack at the seams. The only reply he could offer was a helpless shake of his head. 

Outside, the rain pounded in dismal sheets against our finite sanctuary. But even the crash of thunder couldn’t quite cover the despairing howls of thirteen nameless dragons. 

This day had a far-reaching impact on all of Alagaesia, though we did not know it yet. The Banishing of the Names (as it would later be called) was unlike any magic in recorded history. No one knew quite what to expect, though the end result surpassed even our worst fears. Over the next years and decades, our comrades would lose their very souls; piece by agonizing piece. It affected everyone differently, but the breadth and depth of suffering were the same. It is this suffering that cost many of them their humanity (those of them that had it in the first place). It also drove a permanent wedge between Torix and his comrades, a wound that no amount of time could heal. After this day, it became clear to all that we needed to end this conflict soon...

before we had nothing left to fight for.

Chapter Text

First came the assault on Vroengard. By this point in the rebellion, the Riders were stirring, like a great slumbering beast at last awakened to the vermin in its lair. We understood the necessity of striking at the heart of their power, scattering them in every direction, and causing as much damage as possible in the assault. We did not aim to claim territory, only to reduce their forces and prevent them from organizing to crush us. After all, no force in history was ever quite as adept at sowing chaos as the Thirteen. 

While I was not there for the battle itself, I saw the aftermath. The forsworn returned battered and bloody but mostly intact… save for two. Gelmir lay senseless in Morzan’s arms, groaning and twitching like a tortured animal. Outside, one of the dragons wailed and screamed their frustrations with a nightmarish keening that was unlike anything I’d ever heard. 

Gildor was not with them. 

He was our first casualty, and no one took it well, particularly Gelmir. He was his identical twin, lifelong companion, and (some rumors say) even more than that. After that day, he was little more than a husk. He wouldn’t speak, eat, or even rise from his bed. Kialandi spoon-fed him broth and water, but for all the good it did him she need not have bothered. His torment was triply tragic as we’d also lost Gildor’s dragon. The twins were bonded to twin dragons, and the four were essentially one. Many agreed that it would have been a kinder fate for them all to have perished together. Still, no one could begrudge Gildor for using the last of his strength to save his brother. 

We later determined that Gildor died in a feat of frightening magic. One of the riders had turned his body into energy, or something along those lines (even Siyamak seemed impressed). The explosion slaughtered hundreds in a single stroke, and would likely taint the area for generations to come. All of our subsequent efforts to salvage the island’s many treasures took a great deal of effort and planning, which frankly barely seems worth the trouble in retrospect…. But we shall save that discussion for another time. If not for Gildor’s proximity to the epicenter, none of them would have had enough warning to shield themselves. His sacrifice saved all of his comrades' lives… though they would be putting themselves back into danger very soon indeed.

Our group watched the view from the crest of a low hill. The fragile crescent of moon had finally sunk beneath the horizon. Without it, the rolling hills and hazy skyline blurred together into a fuzzy black emptiness that stretched on in nearly every direction… save for one. Not very far in the distance stood Illirea.  The city was a masterpiece of architecture; a millennia of culture all building one on top of the next. And of course, it’s most shocking feature; a large plateau that stretched over the entire city, absolutely dwarfing anything I’d conceived before. Elegant spires of stone and glass reached up towards the roof. The whole image gave the eerie impression of a giant maw, complete with jagged needle-like teeth. In the back of the earth’s throat stood a palace that almost seemed to be a city unto itself. Even more intimidating was the gathering of massive, glittering dragons in every hue that lounged along the hill’s slope. Illirea was a monolith of civilization, an unfallen haven of order, and the last sanctuary for the riders. A sanctuary that we sought to obliterate.

Our forces were divided strategically based on their strengths. The first group was led by Siyamak. He had centuries of experience over everyone else and a terrifying reputation to match. Particularly, he was known for his deadly skill in aerial combat, of which the day promised to have plenty. Balor and Beren, an inseparable duo that specialized in violence of any kind, followed him. Eltereth also joined this group, as one of our previous raids put her in possession of a dauthdaert , an ancient spear designed specifically for killing dragons. They were all under glamours to take on different scale hues and they circled outside of the rider’s lackluster patrols (no doubt, they didn’t expect a follow-up attack so soon after a devastating defeat). Their sole task was to kill as many dragons and riders as they could once the ground teams had begun their work. 

The second team was a smaller group of three. Amroth led Xanist and Idril (though I really doubt anybody can “lead” Idril to do anything). The supplies he’d brought along were cumbersome, veiled in mystery, and apparently so delicate that he had to tend to them personally. Xanist was along to make sure they steered clear of any magical security measures. Idril… I had no idea what Idril was supposed to do, but it most likely was going to be horrible. It’s also probable that Torix didn’t trust her to be involved in the combat; she was not the kind of woman one wants at their back. This trio’s primary goal was to secure the city itself and force the remaining riders out. 

The final team, the assault team, consisted of Galbatorix, Morzan, Formora, Kialandi, and me. In combat situations like this, we took the chain of command as gospel: Torix was the defacto leader, Morzan was his right hand, Formora was stealth, Kialandi was our medic and I…. was there because Torix didn’t trust me with the other groups (honestly, fair). Our only goal was to dispatch the king. It didn’t take a politician to see why: Galbatorix had made enemies with every power in the known world. If he wanted to keep the elves, dwarves, and surviving riders from tearing us all to pieces, then he needed a secure base of operations (an entire country's worth of hostages and resources didn’t hurt either). Problem was, we had to make our way through said base unscathed to manage that goal. 

This day marked the culmination of years of work, and every single asset we had was rallied to the cause. The most dangerous of these resources, a staggering log of subjugated eldunari, rested snugly in the care of our leader. He’d painstakingly spent most of the past sixteen years (my entire lifespan at this point!) getting as many of them in line as possible, and the fruits of that labor were utterly frightening. All of these things combined shredded my nerves.

After all, this was my first “real” battle. 

Not that I hadn’t been brought along now and again. I’d seen skirmishes and assassinations throughout the war effort, but I mostly played support roles on those ventures. This, a siege of a massive city, was something else entirely. Every member who could stand on two feet and hold a blade was here since there would be no point in any of us surviving this day only to be hunted down en masse.

A heavy hand dropped on my shoulder. “You alright?” Papa whispered. 

“No,” I fidgeted with a knife jammed in my boot. 

“Good. Nerves are a good sign; means your head is on straight.” 

“I still don’t understand why I can’t go with you.” 

“Because Torix wants you close to him. And besides, most of the ugly parts will be where I’m going.” I scrunched up my nose at him and he grinned, “You’ll be grateful to miss it when you see the state we’ll be in.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and let me lean on him.
“What happens once we’ve won?” I tried to sound casual. 

He licked his lip and glanced over the horizon as if searching for some secret hidden there. He said, “We’ll all be moving house. And Torix will be much busier for a while. And you,” he looked down and patted my head, “will come live with me, if your father allows it.” 

Of all the day’s trials, it was this one that had me the most nervous. “Even if he doesn’t, you should take me anyway.” 

Xanist laughed good-naturedly, “I think I just might. The capital is no place to raise a young lady, especially when better options are available.” 

“Neither is a rebel hideout,” I stuck out my tongue and he poked my nose. 

Master stood and gestured for the group’s attention. His posture was the picture of confidence, hand resting naturally on his sword’s hilt. “It’s time.” 

We rose as one, all of us burning with the same anticipation. We trotted single-file down the slope of our perch, following a ditch until it reached an overgrown patch of brush. Morzan swept a heavy stick through the bramble, holding it so we could all duck beneath the foliage and into a passageway beyond. It was cramped, damp, and reeked of rot. These tunnels hadn’t been used by anything but rats in centuries and they had the grime to prove it.

We took a swift pace as we crept through the defunct passages, though we were stuck backtracking more than once where the narrow tunnels had become impassable over the years. Formorra took point, trotting a little ahead to keep an eye out for trouble.  I had no sense of scale or direction, though I know we walked long enough to require two separate breaks before we finally came to the end of our path.

Formora pressed her hand against the wall. No wards and no guards. They must have forgotten about this one. 

Not to be taken for granted, Torix warned. After a cursory run of spells, he shrugged. Clear, but be wary; there are people close by. 

Formora set to work on the slab, scratching around the edge with a little knife. She wedged the blade into a crack and twisted, forcing a heavy stone door to swing in with a grating sound and a shower of dust. Our party filed into a shared living space. The walls were plain stone, as were the floors. A dozen beds lined two of the walls, each with a chest at its foot. A table covered in playing cards and surrounded by wooden chairs sat near a fireplace at one end of the hall, an iron-banded door and a smaller archway occupied the other. 

Formora darted on silent steps to the arch and peeked inside. Sheets and maids’ uniforms. 

Perfect! Morzan's mental tone was almost giddy. Go ahead, get changed. 

What?! I truly believed Formora was about to rip his face off. 

You're on point, you have to blend in! Despite his defensive tone, he threw up his hands and backed off (even Morzan wasn’t bold enough to stay in striking range of Formora when she was in a killing mood), You and the kid can do that better than we can!

He’s right. Torix managed to keep his thoughts serious, even with Morzan’s barely hidden chuckles. Do it quickly too; we haven’t the time to waste. 

Formora snarled, tossing her gloves into the two men’s faces. Fine, but if we survive this I’ll strangle both of you with your own guts. She grabbed my arm and tugged me into the alcove, shutting a door behind us. She grumbled all the while, hissing oaths of vengeance as we tossed the plain dresses on. Luckily, both of us favored lightly padded gambeson to proper armor, so we could at least keep our vests on without drawing too much attention. Formora tucked her outrageously red hair up into a cap and threw the door open wide. 

Morzan managed to hold in his laughter for all of four seconds. Then it wheezed out of him, doubling him over as he choked on his mirth. You look like an old hag! 

I ought to-

Please, children, back to work. Torix’s tone was light, but his glare filled in the gaps quite plainly: no more screwing around. 

Most of our journey through the belly of the palace was uneventful. Formora and I scouted around corners and behind doors to make sure the path was clear for our companions. Occasionally, we would pretend to be very invested in a vase or window ledge as other servants passed us by. It felt ridiculous; never before or since have I been so anxious while dusting! Luckily for us, Formora walked with so much urgency that the few people we encountered didn’t pay us any mind. Finally, we emerged into a grand staircase that spiraled off in every direction, all stemming from a massive, ornate balcony. 

I doubt a ruse will get us much farther. Torix thought mildly. Formora tore the uniform in two like a rabid wolverine. I…opted not to follow her example. From here on, we’ll be fighting for every step. 

Why do you say that? Kialandi’s brow crinkled in obvious confusion. 

Torix smiled. 

Three things happened in rapid succession: Torix telepathically sent the words, Brace yourselves, Kialandi gulped in air, and Formora stiffened.  

Then it all became chaos.

We did not see the source of the explosion, but we felt it even from afar. Another followed, and another after that. The city was slow to rise at first, but sounds of screaming and anarchy soon clamored from all around. I felt my body reject the sounds. I saw shadows laid over the scene, and shadows of shadows. I could feel smoke stinging my eyes and the scent of burning human fat nearly knocked me flat. Amid all the chaos, I almost missed a shriek of fright from off to our left; a pale youth in a crisp new uniform. He took one look at all of us and bolted, screaming the alarm at the top of his lungs. 

Torix grinned ruefully, offered a courtly bow to Morzan, and gestured to the center-most stair. The big man beamed, curtsying before leading the charge. The rest of us followed, Formora hanging back a step to retrieve her bow from Kialandi. Morzan’s foot left the final step just as a contingent of soldiers swarmed onto the balcony beneath us. “Slow them!” Torix shouted back. Formora pivoted smoothly, drew her bow with practiced ease, and rained death on the poor soldiers. The few that were brave enough to follow us were the first to fall, and their fellows were forced to scatter behind cover. Unfortunately for them, Formora was a truly gifted marksman; most of them didn’t make it out of her sights. She sprinted the final few stairs, threw one leg over the railing, and squinted. Her final shot went through a poor man’s jugular three whole stories below. 

With our back thoroughly guarded, Morzan and Torix were free to focus on our front. I almost pitied the guards that rushed to stop them. They formed a perfectly executed defensive maneuver, spears leveled at the oncoming monsters. Morzan side-stepped left before heaving himself to the right; slashing zar’roc across the shafts of the spears. The barbs hit the ground in a clang of metal, and Morzan took the opening to wedge between two of the shafts and bury zar’roc in one of the center men. A howl of rage erupted from the man at his side and he quite boldly grabbed ahold of morzan’s arm, pawing in his belt for a dagger. Morzan dragged the man back by his own grip, showering him in his comrade’s fluids. The man did manage to bring a dagger to bear, but it bounced harmlessly off of Morzan’s wards. Then he smiled- more of a grimace, really- and his free hand closed on the poor man’s face. I didn’t see what happened next as I was defending against one of the other soldiers… but I’ll never forget the crack and splat that followed as long as I live. 

Torix took a slightly more unorthodox approach, as ever he did. He thrust forward with his thoughts, searching for a mage among our combatants. One of the soldiers in the far back of the company dropped to his knees with a sharp cry. The exact word Torix chose is lost on me, but the effects were… spectacular . The man he’d attacked twitched and writhed; first shouting then screaming as his skin flexed and bubbled. Many of his companions turned to him in abject horror. He choked out a gobbet of blood just as his body burst, splinters of bone erupting from his tortured flesh. Some of the nearest men caught these shards about their exposed hands, faces, and throats. Several of them lay there twitching in the spreading gore. The unholy scene caused a mass panic. Some of the men ran for their lives, and some dropped to their knees, offering up their weapons in shaking hands. 

Morzan lifted zar’roc to finish them, but Kialandi pulled him back by his belt. “We’ll need soldiers once we take the city; no reason to slaughter the sensible ones,” Morzan grunted his disapproval, but at a nod from Torix he lowered his arm. Kialandi at least ensured the men weren’t going to bleed to death before putting them to sleep with a muttered spell. 

“Ya big softy,” Morzan teased, wiping zar’roc carelessly on one of the slumbering men. 

“Everyone looks gentle next to you freaks,” Formora cut in, trotting back up to the group. “We’ve got trouble on the way, and a lot of it.”

“Quickly then. Cut off the head and the snake can’t bite,” Torix stepped over the mess he’d made as did Morzan… but the rest of us tactfully skirted the gore. 

Once we reached a main hallway, Torix led the way. All attempts at subtly were gone now as much of the castle was distracted by whatever the others had wrought in the city below. After a few swift and bloody battles, many of the common soldiers saw the writing on the wall. Many dropped their weapons outright when confronted with the specter of the fearsome rebel band closing in on them. All those we passed were put into a deep sleep, but none were harmed. 

Eventually, we reached the wing dedicated to the royal living chambers. In contrast to the rest of the castle, this area was deathly quiet. 

“Are we sure they didn’t escape?” Morzan grumbled. 

“Yes,” Torix answered with peculiar confidence. 

“Captain goes down with his ship,” Formora said simply.

“Not his ship for much longer,” Morzan grinned, “Where do we start?” 

“Kialanadi, Formora, round up the rest of the royal family. Lilleth, Morzan; with me.”

Kialandi fell silent and spread her consciousness out in a spiral from our location. “Formora, go east and I’ll head south. There are three boys, a girl, and their elderly nurse. We can box them in easily. The king is due north, Galbatorix. The queen is with her husband. Also, a small group of riders is approaching through the interior tunnels.” 

“Ignore them. They won’t reach us.” Torix took off at a purposeful stride, Morzan and I just behind. 

The ornate doors were an elegant white wood inlaid with gilded vines. They were likely ancient works of art, designed by an elven monarch thousands of years before humans had even stepped foot in Alagaesia. 

At a word from Galbatorix, they exploded into shards of steaming tinder. 

Many of the pieces found purchase in the line of men standing just behind the portal in a grim mirror of his earlier move. Some dropped dead where they stood, and others crumpled down and clutched at their extremities. Those that escaped the initial onslaught did not outlive their comrades by very long. Morzan and Torix were both deadly warriors, but nothing compares to the sight of both of them together. They moved as one beast with razored pincers, consuming everything within reach in a bloody frenzy. I stood back in the entryway, hamstringing one fleeing soldier. 

Once the rabble had been cleared, two figures could plainly be seen prying at a panel on the wall. One was a woman, short and ghostly frail in her shift and robe. The other was a man, a mail shirt tossed over his own nightshirt, bare legs practically shaking with the effort of keeping him upright. 

Torix took his time wiping his blade clean and approaching the couple. 

The man pivoted to take in his opponent, swallowing hard. He was an older man, eyes creased with many hearty smiles and gut grown with many hearty meals. A whimper behind him seemed to steel his nerves. He tried to force a smile, but his upper lip only twitched and dripped sweat. “It has been many years, Honored Rider. What brings you to my fair city this day?” 

“Your city?” Torix’s smile was that of a hunting cat toying with a rodent. He strode calmly to a seat near the fire and dropped into it irreverently. “We’re past formalities now, I’m afraid.” 

Another swallow. “Indeed, it seems we are. Well, if it is my home that you want, you have certainly attained that. I assure you-” 

“You know that your life is forfeit.” His tone was cool, but not particularly cruel. It wasn’t even a threat; merely a statement of fact. 

“...I do.” 

“No!” Thin white arms clung around him. 

“Love, hush. It is a facet of kingship. This day could only end two ways.” He pried her hands from him with detached care. “Will you permit my lady to leave this place? She has no royal blood of her own, and will not threaten your claim. And… let her take my children. They have no part in this,” his voice only shook a little as he delivered his request. Even so demeaned, he still had a sense of dignity about him. 

“I don’t see why not,” Torix rose again, gesturing at Morzan to hold the woman. “Once our business is done, they will be escorted from the castle.” He said all this aloud, but the king must have missed the glance he shared with Morzan. Even at a distance, I could read it quite plainly, Take care of it. 

With his reassurance, the former king’s shoulders drooped. “Then, permit me to dress, won’t you? For my… final address.” 

‘A robe will suffice. Jierda!” At Torix’s word, the chain shirt fell into two halves and peeled off its perch. Morzan tossed a dressing gown from near his desk. The queen began to weep quietly, shaking her head in denial. Morzan held her shoulders with a deceptively relaxed pose. Torix opened the door onto a massive balcony and offered the way to his captive. “There is something you must see first.” The edge of sadism was back in his tone, “You still expect some sort of rescue, no? Well, there are your heroes.” He lifted a gloved hand and pointed to the horizon, where the silhouettes of dozens of dragons could be seen fleeing for their lives. Some flew jerkily, clearly compensating for grievous injuries. Others dropped from the air as the dragons of the forsworn went after them one by one. 

A tear slid down the old king’s cheek. “The riders…” 

“Have fallen,” Galbatorix said, triumph ringing in his voice. 

Another explosion shook the city, this one less forceful… but also much larger. A cone of heat and flame poured through the panel where we’d found the monarchs, revealing another brick-lined passage within. All over the city, pockets of flame lept to the surface. And gods, the screaming .

Ilirea was burning alive from the inside out. 

“Any last words?” Torix offered charitably, lining his blade with the poor wretch’s throat. 

The doomed man tightened his lips and looked into the face of his murderer. “I hope you know what it is you claim, and that you bear it well. These people need healing… though I scarce believe they will have it from you.” A warm, rank breeze pulled at us. 

Torix said not a word, only adjusted his grip. The man closed his eyes, lifted his chin, and mumbled a prayer. 

At the very least, the strike was clean. 

The man’s stump had barely hit the ground when a deep red blade sprouted from the small woman’s chest. Morzan dropped her from zar’roc with a thoughtless plop. “Do you have to be so fuckin’ dramatic? We still have a lot of work to do.” 

Torix smiled ruefully, cleaning his blade on the fine robe at his feet and resheathing it. “Apologies, old friend. It isn’t every day a man becomes a god.” 

The rest of the royal family shared their parents’ fate. The eldest son and daughter died that day while fighting for their lives. The second youngest son actually lived a few days more, though he likely wished that he had not; he died of his injuries before the week was out. The youngest son, however, was never found. It is widely understood that he was taken by his nurse into the tunnels before they were lit ablaze, and likely burned with her in the inferno. 

Thousands of people met that very fate. The first explosions were high-impact, designed to destroy buildings and drain wards as much as possible. They were centered around the living quarters of as many elder riders and notable political figures as could be arranged. The second, delayed assault was less of an explosion and more of a fireball, designed to raze any living matter that had managed to flee into the newly exposed tunnels. To this day, the few passages that are still accessible are littered with scraps of jewelry, money, pottery, and bones…. So many bones. 

It was upon this mass grave that Galbatorix built his reign…. Is it really any wonder it was so cursed? But all of that would come later…. 

After one more devastating blow.

“Xanist is dead.” 

The words echoed in the empty throne room, and even more so in the crushing silence that followed their utterance. The once-thirteen, (now reduced to ten) stood around Galbatorix in a semi-circle. The absolutely massive hall fit the dragons comfortably, though two of them were conspicuously absent: Xanist’s and Eltereth’s. The whole scene bucked before my eyes; my vision faded in and out in time with my heartbeat. “He can’t be,” I didn’t intend to speak… it just bubbled out of me, “Who could have-” 

“He was cornered in one of the tunnels,” Amroth delivered the words with that signature passionless monotone. No gentleness, no anger… no sadness. 

I wanted to strangle him.

“When?” Torix kept his voice level and respectful, but there was a tone to it that set my teeth on edge. I couldn’t quite place it, but it seemed that he was… ambivalent . 

“After our initial assault began.” 

Pieces clicked into place for me all at once; a truly gruesome mosaic. I swallowed hard and choked out, “Did you see him fall?” 

Amroth blinked and shifted his feet. None of them were used to me talking this much in a group setting. I only let him get as far as, “No-” 

“Then you abandoned him!” My fists clenched so tightly that they went numb. “You left him to die,” I took a shaky breath, unfurled one stiff finger, and leveled it at Amroth, “And you didn’t hesitate to let off the second explosion! You didn’t even care-” 

“Lilleth, that’s enough,” Torix was back to his stern, unyielding glare. “Now is not the time for infighting. The last thing Xanist would want is us turning on one another.” 

“Don’t pretend to give a damn what he wanted!” Finally, against all my willpower, tears escaped my burning eyes. I hugged myself tightly, trying in vain to banish the horrible ache in my chest. “He didn’t want any of this! He would never-” A stinging slap broke my momentum and dropped me to the floor like a sandbag.

Torix stood over me, eyes blazing with unfettered fury. He set one boot on my head, (gently, sure, but the threat was so obvious it hardly needed explaining) and said, “This is neither the time nor place for a tantrum. Speak again, and you can join Xanist in the next life.” 

I swallowed and nodded as best I could. 

He grinned in mock approval and released me. “Good. Now, go to your rest. There will be plenty of work for us tomorrow, and I’ll need you.” 

I stood, gave a stiff bow, and walked straight back out of the hall. I didn’t go to my ‘new quarters’- those of the previous princess. It felt macabre to sleep in a dead woman’s room before her body had even cooled. No, instead I wandered the massive complex until my feet were too tired to go on. I ended up curled in a storeroom for old furniture, sobbing my whole heart out as if that act alone could stop the pain. In the distance I heard Xanist’s dragon’s cries rebounding through the uncaring void; my only company into sleep.

I must confess, this loss hit much harder than previous ones. I missed my mother, I still do, but I was too young to really, fully, appreciate just what I had lost. With Xanist… I felt like I was made of fragile glass that had been heated and then dropped into an icy pool. The most apt word for grief like that… hollow. I was so numb that I burned. Extinguish the sun, crack a mountain, drain the sea. . . perhaps then you approach the enormity of that feeling. I’d never really been able to feel something that deeply before… and the one person I would have gone to for comfort was gone forever. Even Katana, so much younger and yet untried, could only keep me company in my despair. Without her, I may not have bothered to recover at all. And yet, the voracious march of time churns ever on. Outside of my own grief-addled brain, Alagaesia had a metamorphosis thrust upon her. 

The following day followed a blur of consolidating power and slaughtering all neigh-sayers. Many proud nobles met the executioner’s axe in the coming weeks, with minor nobility pouring in to claim their riches. This new blood was eager, ambitious, and ready to be loyal to whoever could facilitate their goals. The elves retreated en masse after the death of their King, the dwarves were forced to retreat step by bitter step to their mountains. And, not long after, Galbatorix managed to track Vrael down to his final sanctuary. 

Over the years, I heard a hundred different versions of that final battle, but I believe the first is the most accurate; a desperate struggle that culminated in an underhanded blow (how very fitting). No aspect of the war pleased Torix as much as the death of Vrael. He even took Vrael’s blade for his own. Some members of the court did not understand why a black dragon and an evil usurper would choose a white blade… but we knew how much nostalgia and grief was woven into that symbol. It was his last remaining link to the life that had gone up in flames one tragic winter’s night; a permanent memorial to his long lost partner. The gesture was undermined somewhat by his second most notable object; the only garments in Alagaesia fashioned from dragon leather; the oldest bastion of their race that he had slaughtered with his own hands (When I was feeling particularly brave in my later years I would needle him about what Jarnunvosk would think of such a creation. This had a 100% success rate in distracting him… though usually said distraction manifested as acts of extreme violence on the speaker).

All of our lives were about to be altered drastically. The forsworn took on noble titles, claiming lands and estates from the very people whom they had just slaughtered, though they also each maintained a room in the palace itself. Galbatorix dove into his new position with gusto, locking down every facet of the capital’s functions, catapulting himself to absolute supremacy. 

As for me? Well…for the moment, I was but a young woman trying desperately to make sense of my strange new world. Luckily, help was on the way.

Chapter Text

The capital, newly renamed Uru’baen, was less of a home and more of a monster I needed to slay. Things that had once been simple, even automatic, suddenly became theatrical and dangerous. Contrast it with my previous living situation: Fifteen people and fifteen dragons at the very most (and those often sequestered from each other or off on missions), a moderately spacious manor house that was easy enough to navigate, and an endless forest kept us in a shadowy hush. Uru’baen blazed with life, at all times and with a ludicrous uproar! Even just the palace had been constructed on such a grandiose scale that my entire hometown could have fit snugly within its borders. The castle required an army of servants to maintain the building and serve the endless parade of simpering nobility.  My only haven from the hustle and clamor was in my chambers at the top of one of its central structures. I had a suite of rooms to myself and all the fineries “fitting” a new princess.

Princess! My life had gone through several abrupt transformations leading up to this one, but this challenge vexed me more than all the rest. I hadn’t struggled half as much becoming a rebel soldier as I did becoming a princess. Every member of the forsworn had some level of training as statesmen; that was the whole point of the riders in the first place. In contrast, I had interacted exclusively with those dozen or so maniacs for my entire adolescence (which proved to be dreadful preparation for a royal title). In light of this, I acquired a series of tutors led by a shrew of a woman that I loathed. She must have had a name, but I exclusively referred to her as Madame Tutor. She was determined to cleanse me of all mediocrity by any means necessary.  

I spent every morning with her and a slew of experts in everything under the sun. I suffered through as many subjects as they could reasonably squeeze between breakfast and midday. I used to enjoy learning, back when it was my guaranteed quality time with Xanist, and replacing his stern but indulgent wisdom with these droning dolts only aggravated the pain of his loss. The pack of them grew so wearisome that I started actively looking forward to my training time with Morzan (which is a considerable statement). This training would last until he said it did. Then I would drag myself up to Siyamak’s study where he would assign me an ever-expanding list of magical tasks to perfect. (I saw precious little of Torix during this time, for better or worse, as he secured his reign). Most days I was too exhausted by evening to do much more than collapse into bed. In a way, I was glad of this; at the very least, I had no time to dwell on our recent losses. Gildor and I hadn’t been close, but it was still shocking to suddenly have a fixture of the group absent forever. And then there was Xanist… yes, most days, I was happy enough to think as little as possible.

But, as is the nature of life, one ought to take care what they ask for; lest it be given to them. I would soon be granted a much more… interesting distraction.

I finally trudged into my room in the late afternoon. 

Two heavy doors closed behind me with a soft but reassuring click. So rarely was I allowed to be alone these days, that even the brief but blessed silence felt luxurious. I wanted to collapse onto one of the velvety sofas in the first chamber, perhaps curl up with one of the many novellas I inherited from the room’s previous occupant… but that was unthinkable. Morzan did not particularly mind lateness, but he would never tolerate truancy (his teaching style was hazardous enough without pissing him off). I crossed through the sitting area to a matching set of doors, raking across the space with tired eyes. 

The room was all ivory, petal pink, and pale gold. It had a plastered ceiling in painstakingly cast tiles, white stone floors, pink paneling with gilded florals, and a whole wall dedicated to massive windows masked under lacy curtains. The bed was delicately draped in frilly cream trimmings from the canopy to the bed skirt. A round table and armchair sat to the right side of the room near a fireplace, a demure little vanity, and a dividing screen off to the left. I didn’t care much for the decorating taste, but I was intrigued by it. The previous princess was well loved, and I thought perhaps if I could absorb some of her taste then I might manage the trick as well… thus far, I had not been successful in either goal. 

The only part of the space I really enjoyed was a rounded balcony just beyond the windows, and beyond that a stunning view of the city below. The sun had long sinced passed the edge of the overhang, plunging much of Uru’baen into premature twilight. Not long ago, the whole city was illuminated in the evenings by an intricate web of magical lights. Though many of them remained, a steady cool glow in the semi-darkness, even more had been utterly obliterated by Amroth’s antics. Particularly in some of the nicer parts of the city, where whole buildings had been all but demolished. Lamplighters buzzed around like hornets trying to maintain visibility for teams of builders slogging through the rubble. 

Uru’baen had no more recovered from the past months than had I. The mood in the city was… grim, to say the very least. Much of the population seemed indifferent to whoever occupied the throne, so long as they were fed. The few with strong leanings on the subject had the good sense to flee once the rider’s defeat became inevitable (Torix had spent considerable attention to eliminating these defectors, with very little success. The empire was simply too vast and his network not yet fully established). A handful of these had even made attempts on Torix’s life, mine, and the rest of the thirteen’s. We hadn’t gone more than a few weeks without trouble of some kind crawling out of the woodworks, and they showed no sign of slowing anytime soon. It made little difference to us; we’d all lived on the edge of readiness for so long that it felt more natural to be fighting than to be at peace. 

Which made my grueling regimen of lessons all the more painful. 

My morning and midday meals had both been bogged down by asinine drilling in manners of all things. I couldn’t wrap my brain around why anyone in their right mind would give a damn about how one held a fork. Hell, Morzan had the table manners of a literal jackass, and nobody dared to scorn him! It wasn’t so much the emphasis on detail and perfection that irked me (gods know that my masters had all expected as much over the years) it was the fact that no one could give me a straight answer on why it mattered so much. A single flaw in a spell or attack combination could be the difference between life and death… I seriously doubted cutlery carried the same weight, no matter what the vultures said.
I had a few spare moments to change out of my itchy gown into more combat-appropriate garb. The capital costume consisted of underskirts, a robe-like overgown, and a pinned-in stomacher. Typically, a “fashionable lady” would require servants to undress properly, but the idea of being vulnerable near strangers made me violently uncomfortable. Besides, I savored my brief moments of solitude. I budgeted my time by wearing leggings underneath the skirts, and hunting boots instead of the puny heeled slippers. So long as I rationed how much I ate and drank and didn’t need to “extract” them, it was a serviceable arrangement. I tossed the over-gown and stomacher to the bed and had just started loosening the ties holding up the underskirt when someone knocked on my door.

The sound made me jump half out of my skin!

All of the servants assigned to me knew to leave me be, so that was out of the question. My head swam with possibilities. The most pressing was the idea of assassins hunting me down just as Kialandi and Formora had done to my room’s previous resident not so very long ago. Wait,  wouldn’t there have been some sort of alarm? And why would a murderer knock?  

If you keep acting this foolish, you’re just going to make an even bigger fool of yourself. Katana mocked me gently, though she did send peaceful thoughts along with her jibe. 

I was grateful for her support, if a bit embarrassed. Thank you, my ever-redundant source of wisdom. 

Maybe stop sassing me and check who’s knocking?

I was so caught up in the mental bickering that I hardly noticed the click of the latch. “Princess?” A hesitant voice called into the room. 

For some reason, I just yelled, “Here!” before promptly overbalancing and tripping on the falling petticoat. I swore violently as I collapsed in a puff of pastel fabric (turns out, hanging around Morzan for extended periods runs your vocabulary through the gutter). 

But mine wasn’t the only voice yelling. 

“Damn fuckin’ skirts…” I hauled myself to my feet, kicking the pile of fabric towards the bed and finally facing my visitor. When I did, my spark of fear vanished completely. Instead, I just felt confused. There was a young man, clearly a soldier since he was wearing a padded gambeson and the newly-instated crimson uniform. He was hiding his face, though I could still clearly see the red creeping down his neck and over his ears. “Are you okay?” I  asked.  

Apparently, he had not been expecting that response because he burst out laughing. He choked it down enough to say, “Yes, Your Highness. Uhm… are you? That seemed like a nasty fall,” He pressed his hand tighter to his eyes.

I frowned. “I’m… fine.” something wasn’t adding up. I glanced down at myself and realized what it was almost instantly. I felt fully clothed in my undershirt, reed-stiffened stays, and leggings, but by capital standards, I may as well have been naked! I snatched up a large green tunic and threw it on carelessly, face burning in spite of myself. “It’s fine, by the way,” I muttered, “You can look.” He lowered his hand slowly and looked up at me. His eyes took my breath away. They were shockingly blue, especially against his sun-bronzed skin. He had a gentle energy about him that should have put me at ease. Instead, it made me suddenly very self-conscious. I forced myself to look away. “Can I help you?” 

He coughed quietly and looked at the floor. “Yes, Your Highness. If you’ll pardon me, Princess, I have a message from-” 

“Stop that,” I snapped. 

“What?”

“My name is Lilly,” I waved a hand at him, “All these titles and rules are starting to drive me crazy.” 

He blinked twice and seemed to relax. “Ah… right. Ms. Lilly,” my stomach lurched when he said my name! I almost missed his next words, but lucky for both of us I caught them, “I have a message from the king.” 

I chewed my lip as I tightened my sword belt around my waist, “Get it over with.” 

“He says that your lesson with Lord Morzan has been canceled, as he had to leave on urgent business. Instead, you may report directly to His Majesty’s study as soon as you are able.” 

I swore. The training field was a much shorter walk, and Morzan was infinitely more forgiving of latecomers. “Then I need to leave already!” I snatched up half a sandwich from the table and crammed it in my mouth. “Thansh! Wash yur nahm?” 

He laughed again, but it wasn’t the wheezing guffaw of before. It was soft and warm; he had a voice made for telling stories around campfires on cool summer nights. He bowed respectfully as he said, “Ish Anshony, msh.”
I almost choked on my morsel. When I finally managed to stop giggling enough to inhale, I gasped out, “Anthony?” 

“Yes.”

“It’s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Anthony. Hopefully, I’ll see more of you,” I gave my sloppiest curtsy and dashed past him out the door. 

I just barely caught the smile curling his lips, “Pleasure’s all mine.” 

Yes, everyone with more than two brain cells to rub together can see where this mess is going, and that includes the inevitable failures. I wish I could have been one of those people. Unfortunately, the first test of my new station was not one for which any of my lessons could have prepared me. The only people I’d seen since I was six years old were the forsworn, the very maniacs who raised me. So, yes, I developed an immature little crush on the very first person who spoke to me like a human being. I got incredibly lucky; the world is full of people who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of an idiot stumbling around a big city for the first time. And, make no mistake, I was still nothing more or less than that. So many facets of my life had become dangerous and convoluted… some more than others. 

-:- -:- -:-

Of all the arenas in Uru’baen, none was quite as intimidating as attending court. This obligation only represented a handful of hours every few days, but they were some of the most grueling hours of my life. The throne room’s size and location near the main entrance of the castle mostly serves to facilitate this function: everyone with even the vaguest claim of notoriety would attend religiously. The only requirement to attend was either: 1) having enough land to be classified as a noble, or 2) receiving an invitation from someone who did. Here the king could announce new policies, address changes in station, and (most crucially) be approached by his subjects. 

It was this final aspect that made it such a vital part of capital culture. This was the one and only time that Galbatorix made himself available to the gentry at large. Speaking order was strictly regulated by rank and influence, so it was commonplace for lesser nobility to seek sponsors higher up the ladder to advocate on their behalf. Nobody was of higher rank than the king, followed by the forsworn and (by default) me. This made it all the more hilarious that I was strictly forbidden from speaking publicly. 

As much as I raged against this at the time, I’ve completely changed my opinion in my old age: I had very little understanding of how capital politics actually functioned. I spent a frankly egregious amount of time in those days just memorizing family trees, crests, alliances… and that’s to say absolutely nothing about economics, military tactics, agriculture, and a thousand other things I needed to know to be of use to anyone. In short: my presence in court was purely superficial, I wasn’t allowed to interact with the nobility directly, and I traveled almost everywhere with a personal army of guards. They existed more to protect me from friends than from enemies; nothing deters acquaintanceship like a contingent of heavily armed babysitters. 

In time, I found a benefit to this arrangement; of which I took full advantage.

The first time I saw him, I thought I was half mad. I saw no more than a glint of blue beneath his helm and a lazy smile as our eyes met. He stood in formation along my right side, and I returned his grin easily. We didn’t have an opportunity to speak with all of his comrades also marching with us, but I couldn’t resist focusing on him in my peripheral. He had a relaxed stride; a far cry from many of his fellows’ more mechanical steps. How did he end up in this group? 

Why do you care? Katana was sequestered away in a thicket of tall scrub, cleansing her claws after her recent meal. Through our bond, I felt her pride in her handiwork and the rustle of her rough tongue on her scales. He seems like he’d be clumsy in a battle. 

Perhaps not. Morzan could hardly be commended on his posture, and yet… 

‘Could hardly be commended on…’? Who are you? Katana’s mental jibe faded into a gentle rebuke, Don’t let these toothless jackals change you too much. I don’t want to be bonded to any of them. 

I’ll keep it in mind. But still, my point stands: looks aren’t everything in a fight. 

They aren’t everything in other areas either. She growled and puffed smoke in merriment, frightening a flock of birds near her into sudden flight. 

And how exactly would you know?! I was scandalized by her crude innuendo. Katana was nearly seven by this point, long past dragon maturity, but she knew even less about the topic than I did! 

Instincts. I know not to trust a mate purely on the sheen of his scales, or the size of his wingspan. 

Oh, so this is about wingspan? I think Mr. Anthony might disappoint in that particular area… 

So you remember his name? I felt warmth creep up my neck at that. I shooed her away, but she left me with a parting, You need to test his mettle if you really want to know him! 

Taking flirting advice from a dragon… I shook the embarrassment off as best I could. And besides,  it’s not as if I can tackle him and force him to duel me right here! Or can I? Obviously not a literal strength test… but maybe just a test of interest? Madame Tutor explained in passing how young ladies had secret codes to communicate with suitors (everything from hand fans to handkerchiefs). At the time it all seemed ridiculously vague, but under pressure of discovery, I wondered if it would be vague enough to go unnoticed. I plucked a square of cloth out of a fold in my skirt, dabbing my neck oh-so-daintily (really, my tutor would have been proud!) before letting it tumble out of my hand. I halted, the contingent all froze around me… save one. 

Anthony was on one knee before anyone else even realized what had happened. Those stunning eyes held mine, a bold stare most soldiers wouldn’t dare risk. He held the kerchief delicately as he offered it back to me. My fingers brushed against his calloused ones as I accepted it. He swallowed and bowed his head, embarrassed and suddenly very nervous, “My apologies, Princess.” 

I still didn’t like him using the title. My stomach churned as I thought, I want him to say my name again . I banished the thought, tipping him a proper nod in thanks. I took the chance to peek down at him, and I realized just how nervous he really was. I said, “There is nothing to forgive, sir,” and marveled at how his already precious smile bloomed into its full radiance. 

“Not sir yet, Your Highness,” he said bashfully, bowing even as he stood. His comrades chuckled good-naturedly at his obvious enthusiasm; some of them had served longer than he’d even lived. 

“Yet?” I asked innocently. I caught sight of a familiar crimson glow creeping up his neck. I lifted my chin and turned my attention back to the path, but offered a parting, “I look forward to following your career. I’m always looking for skilled hands.” 

He swallowed hard and bowed again before resuming his previous position in line. The rest of the walk was uneventful, court even more so.… but the impression of brilliant blue eyes following my every move made even that trial seem bearable.

And so begins my “untoward” courtship of the soon-to-be knight, Sir Anthony. After this day, I would often spot him on patrols beneath my balcony, in hallways I was likely to pass, and especially in contingents assigned to guard me. I got the impression that being among these groups of soldiers was a particularly unlooked-for assignment: Galbatorix and I were in near constant danger of imminent death in that first year. Soldiers around us could go from being bored out of their minds to slaughtered in a heartbeat, regardless of their skill. Anthony put himself on that roster every chance he got, just so we could see each other. He was a rare and wonderful man; earnest, honest, and kind. 

I claim no responsibility for falling; only how I behaved on the way down.  

Chapter Text

The true majesty of the court didn’t set in until my first Winter Festival. Nothing in all the Empire reached the raw extravagance of the capital; a full week of feasting and raucous celebrating brought a spark of life to the dreary season. The largest market square flooded with vendors, performers, and artisans from all over the land. The castle hosted a single event during this time, but it was the most lavish of them all: A winter gala. No expense was spared; elaborate cuisine, the most skilled musicians humankind had ever produced, a ballroom dressed into a fantastical daydream of splendor, and everyone of note for miles around in attendance. I can still recall the painful anticipation as my very first ball crept closer and closer. 

I suffered long for those few hours of escapism! The amount of training it takes to float around in gowns… and do it well. I disdained the lessons then; as if everything should come naturally. It doesn’t and didn’t. This ball would be my ultimate test for all I had learned in the past months. I had the least training out of everyone in attendance; there was every possibility I’d make a fool of myself. Madame Tutor didn’t want me to attend at all, but I insisted and even went so far as to beg Galbatorix for permission. He gave it in the end, citing our family creed, “Finish what you’ve started.” If I was so sure I was ready, then I would have no one but myself to blame if I ended up making a disaster of my debut. 

I spent most of the evening counting my steps, remembering when and how much and in what way to speak, eat, laugh, and breathe. I danced with a dozen or so strangers but remembered none of them. Actually, only one young man made any impression that night… for all the wrong reasons.

It was a triumph of art; the entire ballroom was like something out of a dream. Hundreds of people floated around the spacious chamber, each more ornate and colorful than the last. Feathers, gemstones, fabric flowers, and audacious silk brocades adorned even the lowliest noble. The menagerie swanned about to music produced by a flock of performers. High above, the ceiling practically dripped gold. Thousands of lights flickered like minuscule candles or faraway stars, gilding the party beneath in a spectacular glow. Tables strained on all sides of the room, laden high with culinary perfection and a seemingly endless supply of liquor. 

I tried my very best to stay grounded in the goings-on. However, after my umpteenth banal greeting and bland conversation, I felt my attention start to wane. How do any of them keep each other straight when they take such pains to blend in? 

They’re like a flock of birds; plumage and all, Katana purred in the back of my head. I giggled and she hummed. I got the impression of her dozing in the treasury under one of Shruikan’s much larger wings. He was normally unapproachable by anyone but Galbatorix (and even then only because he couldn’t raise a claw to the man) but, since The Banishing of the Names, he’d tolerated Katana's occasional presence in his lair.

“Your Highness?” I blinked. The nobleman in front of me, a rounded sculpture of crimson velvet with a doughy face that seemed to seep out of his collar, had paused after his inquiry. His lifted eyebrow and expecting air told me I’d just been asked a question; one that I had completely missed. He repeated the tail of the query (which in no way saved me). “What think you?” 

This one had performed a flowery rain of compliments for everything and everyone in the last half-hour. I plastered on a smile and bet on a hunch, “I think it’s splendid.” 

“The weather, Princess?” the man’s tone was duly respectful, but also laced with mirth. We both turned to regard a view out of a windowed balcony of a bleak night streaked with snowflakes whipping past in white streaks. 

Oops.

Busted. Katana enjoyed watching my floundering, perhaps a little too much. I never had the occasion to notice before… but she’d grown into a fiend for gossip!

Not yet. I kept the smile in place, flicking out a delicately painted fan to hide my hesitation, “Of course. It’s similar to being on dragon back; the speed required for flight turns even the gentlest snow into a blizzard. I haven’t had the leisure time to be with Katana as I’d like, so any reminder of her is worth the inconvenience of the cold.” The nobleman lapped up my narrative with fawning attentions. I zoned back out. 

My mental audience was less adoring. I would be flattered if you weren’t lying through your teeth. You hate the cold, hate the wind, and we both hate snow-flying! 

He doesn’t need to know that. Who would dare question a rider? 

It seems most of them don’t want to question anything you say. 

Not to my face, at least. Nowhere was that more obvious than the flock of nobles who peacocked around Galbatorix. The same people who feared and loathed him only months ago were now fighting for the honor of licking his boots. He kept a tasteful distance from his guests, in no small part purely by the figure he cut. He stood out in a court defined by lavish luxury and copious colors: adorned head to toe in pure black, save for Vrangr at his waist. He wore power comfortably, commanding attention at his slightest word or gesture.  It’s amazing how far a reputation will get you. 

When it’s earned.  

I spotted a gentleman approaching me from the opposite side of the great hall, a dainty glass of winter cordial in each gloved hand. Well, finally someone who opens with a bribe! A girl could get used to this. 

Boozehound! Try not to lose your wits, ey? We wouldn’t want you to end up like Morzan. The big man had long since vanished from the festivities, swaggering unsteadily out of the hall with a serving maid on each arm while belting a jaunty tune. 

Shame, I teased. Seems like a fun way to spend an evening.  

Stay out of trouble! Katana’s tone turned serious, I’m going to get some rest, if you please, and I’d prefer not to share the consequences with you in the morning.

At least not without partaking in any of the fun. 

Exactly. 

“Princess!” The young man said breathily as he trotted up. He was roguishly handsome; with narrow features, neatly combed dark hair, and warm brown eyes. His clothes were plain, a jade jacket and grey trousers that may have been a bit big on him. He offered the glass in his left hand, grinning politely, “Will you join me for a toast, and perhaps for a dance?” 

I graciously accepted the cup, “To what shall we toast, my lord?” 

“To the year of prosperity to come!” He grinned and lifted his own coup, “The war has ended and we have peace at last.” 

“To peace then,” I inclined my head and mirrored his gesture. But no sooner had I lowered the glass to my lips than it was unceremoniously smacked out of my hand. It sprayed its contents in an arc over both me and my companion before shattering on the stone floor. All conversation around us dragged to a halt.

“You buffoon!” The nobleman cried, swatting drops of moisture off his coat. I flicked my fingers free of liquor and stared, dumbfounded, at the unfolding scene. 

Anthony wedged himself between the young man and me, squaring his shoulders and staring him down. His tone was cool and professional (so very unlike him) as he said, “Care to explain what I just witnessed, my lord?” 

The man gaped, “Must I really deign to justify my actions to a commoner? It is no concern of yours what Her Highness and I-” 

I lifted a hand to silence the poor thing before he shoved his foot any deeper into his own mouth. “What precisely did you see, Anthony?” I saw the noble wince in my peripheral as I spoke my defender’s name. 

“This man put something into that cup,” Anthony gestured down at the shards.

“Ha!” The laugh was cocky if a bit strained, “Convenient that the contents can no longer be examined! What you saw was me adding drops to my own drink, they are a common enough medicine among the upper classes ,” he sniffed and crossed his arms, “as it happens, they are rather expensive. You will be made to pay for their waste, ruffian-” 

“There is an easier way to settle this,” all three of us pivoted to regard the new speaker. Anthony, the accused, and I dropped into bows before Galbatorix. He looked none too pleased by the disturbance, save for a glitter of interest in his dark eyes. “Idril, come.” 

“I’m not a dog.” A wraith-like woman floated out of the crowd. She was dressed childishly in unfitted frills of pale turquoise. Her honey-gold curls fell loosely around her expressionless, angelic face. Her voice maintained its dreamy whisper, even as she knelt on the ground, “Poisoner or paramour? Either way, he smells like shit.” She lowered her face to the damp floor and licked the puddle. Absolutely no one said a god-damned thing as she examined every facet of the mess. Torix waited patiently for the results of her examination (without even acknowledging the surrounding room) as if this was a perfectly normal experience. “Definitely poison,” she hummed tunelessly as she regained her feet. “A strong one too. You wouldn’t have made it through the night,” I shuddered at her peaceful smile. Her little pink tongue poked out of her lips and she plucked a sliver of glass from the tip unhurriedly. She licked her lips and said, “I need to go lie down.” Then she drifted away with nary a farewell.

“It seems the matter is settled. Our ‘foremost expert’ has pronounced you guilty,” Torix flashed a playful grin at the poor man, “Guards, escort this man to the dungeon.” 

The man bolted like a rabbit. He lept over a table, showering the floor with a mountain of pastries and punch. In his jump he also snatched up a serving knife, waving it before him to part the crowd between him and the balcony. He kicked at the seam of the doors and the latch shattered, letting in a gust of frigid air.  I snatched up a handful of my skirt to make chase, but I only made it a few steps before I slowed to a trot. 

Anthony beat me to the punch. He followed hot on his prey’s heels, sliding smoothly through the mess and leaping through the freshly opened door without breaking his momentum. By then, the man had nearly reached the railing. Anthony grabbed a fistful of his coat and dragged him back, breaking his balance, toppling him to the ground, and knocking the knife out of his stunned hand. Still, his prisoner fought; bucking and kicking as he tried to throw Anthony off. 

The fugitive underestimated his pursuer. Anthony tried to restrain him once, twice, and then with a shout he hauled back and punched the man in the jaw. It whipped his head sharply to the side, rocking him into the balcony. He sputtered, dazed but still swinging blindly at the air above him. So, Anthony hit him again. Still no improvement to his temperament. My loyal defender took the man by his lapels and cracked him against the ground for good measure. Thoroughly helpless, the man lay humble as a lamb, groaning in rage and pain. Anthony rested his knee on the man’s chest until his comrades could assist in transporting his captive. 

A fair number of the guests hesitantly applauded the assassin’s removal. Anthony trailed after his fellows. I dashed up and caught his arm. He halted, wide-eyed but clearly pleased. “Wait,” a hasty excuse knit itself together in my head and I turned to the king, curtsying like the lady I was supposed to be. “Majesty, might I be excused? Between the excitement and my spoiled gown, I feel I am no longer fit to entertain our guests,” I risked a glance up; a risk I regretted. His face showed little emotion, but I could sense the rage ticking just beneath the surface. A claw-like finger twitched, candlelight glimmering off one of his many rings. I half expected him to strike me right there in front of the entire court, or at least berate me. Why is he angry? You’d think he’d want me to leave.

He nodded slowly, and in a tired voice said, “That would be best. This guard is enough to escort you?” 

“Yes, ebrithil ,” I bowed in the fashion used by the riders, inherited from elven culture. 

“Then go to your rest. We shall speak more of this in the morning,” He waved his hand and retreated back to his perch, accompanied by the band’s awkwardly resumed ambiance. 

I marched out of the ballroom as quickly as propriety allowed. The moment the door closed behind Anthony, I kicked off my shoes and sighed in relief. “You would think the heel is the worst part, but really it’s how narrow the front of them is. They pinch so badly that, as noble women age, their feet actually deform to mirror the shape!” 

“That’s disturbing,” Anthony’s return to our usual candor made me feel much better, “I’d expect rich people to want comfort all the time. You’d think money would be good for that much at least.” 

“Thank you! I’m sore enough after training, I don’t need to walk on broken toes!” 

He chuckled, walking alongside me. “By the way, I wanted to apologize. I didn’t have time to do anything else, and I just reacted…” 

“Apologize? You were great!” I patted him on the back and beamed, “Perfect bodyguard, ace detective, and one hell of a brawler! I wouldn’t have expected that from new meat.” 

He relaxed and smiled with me, “It’s not so different from corralling a little brother.” 

“You’ve got siblings?” 

“Just one. Robin. He’s about ten years younger than me though, so it’s more like he has two fathers,” An image came to me of Anthony with a child on his knee, in a home just like I’d had with Mother and Vera. I almost missed it as he said, “He needed lots of looking after; wasn’t  suited to farm life,” 

I blinked. How many weeks had I been ogling this boy and I’d never bothered to even learn that much about him? “Is it very far from here?” Now that I’d gotten him in a sharing mood, I couldn’t resist pushing for more. 

“Our farm is a little ways north of Teirm. It’s not great land for crops, but it’s incredible for livestock. We raised cattle, and chickens… we even had a breeding pair of horses for a while when I was younger, but we never did replace them.” He eased into the conversation, radiating a calm I desperately needed after such an eventful evening. He kept me riveted all the way to my room with tales of ‘Henriette: The Demon Chicken, “And one time, I swear to everything on this earth, I saw her pick a lock!” 

“She must have really had it out for you,” I meandered past him into the room, tossing one of the cursed shoes as far as I could. It slapped into the far wall and slid behind a potted shrub.

“Yep,” he agreed happily, propping open the door for me before resting back against it, “Robin was the only one she ever liked. Which makes it funnier that she hated his mother.” 

His mother, I noticed the distance he put on the words and decided not to pry just yet. What secrets lurked beneath that easy charm? “Well, You simply must regale me with more epics of the fearsome Henriette. I feel I have much to learn from such a warrior that could inspire fear in my bravest knight.” 

“Any time you like, Ms. Lilly,” Every. Damn. Time. He said my name and I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. He pretended not to notice, “It’s a shame we can’t be friends.” 

“Aren’t we?” I regarded him out of the corner of one eye. 

He shrugged, “We are if you say we are, Your Highness .” 

I tossed my other slipper at him. He reached out and caught it, laughing at my exaggerated pout. “In that case, we are the very best of friends, Sir Anthony,” my voice turned into a puffed-up squeaky parody of Madame Tutor and my (very biased) audience joined me in a fit of giggles.

This boy… he did wonders for my spirits during a desperately lonely period of my life. Especially since, after the attempted poisoning, I was confined back to only leaving my chambers for lessons. I got verbally shredded for being careless enough to not check for poison, scolded for not catching the assassin myself, and mocked for being “publicly damseled”. In retaliation, I doubled down on my work. This pulverized my poor brain and wore my nerves down to nubs.  By the stirring of spring, my sanity was hanging on by only Anthony’s attentions. 

Coincidentally, my knight had just the cure.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” I hated to sound unenthusiastic, but the tension was getting to me. Anthony insisted no one would bother two people attempting to exit the castle grounds but it still seemed like madness to me. He’d snagged a spare set of servant garb and a dull grey cloak for me.  He accompanied me a few steps behind in his civilian clothes; a faded forest green tunic and patched brown trousers. I closed my mind off to even Katana, as much as she resented it I couldn’t risk her getting in trouble over my hair-brained scheme. 

We filed out of the main gate alongside a few other servants all heading into town either on errands or to enjoy their allotted half-day of vacation. The gate guards didn’t bother us at all. 

I held my breath for the first few steps out of the grounds, easing it out in a sigh. Anthony trotted up until we were side-by-side and grinned at me, “Absolutely sure,” his steps bounced as he took my arm. “Now we have the rest of the afternoon to enjoy the capital!” 

I felt a smile answering his own, “Lead the way!” His excitement really was infectious. “First, something to eat!” 

Uru’baen was even more of a behemoth on the ground than she was from above. The main streets were paved with precisely mined pale stones. We passed domineering walls with elegant metal fixtures that guarded the residences of middling-tier nobles. Anthony soon steered us off the main path onto rougher, cobbled streets. The blend of architecture was fascinating; here a graceful, organic-looking structure that seemed to spring straight from the stone, here a mighty geometric construction of plaster and beams, then a teetering overhang that spanned the entire avenue. Pedestrians jostled with carriages, rickshaws, carts, and stands laden with every sort of good. I resisted the urge to stop every few steps to examine something new, mostly out of fear that I’d be trampled in the unending stream of people.

Anthony kept one hand firmly in mine as he directed us. He finally brought us to the entrance of a tavern; on its own nothing particularly special, but it was full to bursting with a boisterous crowd. “Lunch rush,” he explained, “The owner makes exactly one dish: big vats of stew. It’s hearty, warm, and the best thing in town. It reminds me of what my mother would make in the dead of winter to keep us all healthy.” A peaceful reminiscence settled over his features as he directed us through the queue. 

He didn’t lie. The concoction wasn’t beautiful, but it smelled fantastic . I shoveled it down as fast as I could, blowing into the cloud of steam roiling off the top just long enough to survive imbibing it. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the simplest things in the months since my arrival here. I took a break from my gluttony to watch Anthony, similarly engaged with his own bowl. He paused, spoon fully shoved in his mouth and a drop of broth staining his chin. I wiped him clean with a sleeve and asked, “What’s next?” 

He swallowed down his mouthful and rubbed his stomach, “Want to see the central market? There’s a bakery with pastries that look like shells and they're covered in honey-” 

“I’d like to see what’s outside the city,” I scraped the sides of my bowl and set it up on a counter.  

He grinned, stacking his bowl in mine and starting off down the road. I followed along, draped casually on his arm.“I’m in for an adventure. Next time though, you should bribe me with sweets,” Anthony said.

“As you wish,” I teased. 

-:- -:- -:- 

An hour or so later, we were trundling out of the eastern gate in the back of a farmer’s cart. Anthony told me even more stories about his life. I carefully asked what his mother was like, and he painted an image of the perfect woman: beautiful, gentle, kind, and clever. “She died when I was small,” Anthony added quietly, twirling a tarnished silver band on his littlest finger, “I miss her every day.” 

“I understand,” I patted his shoulder. He held my fingers, rubbing the pad of his thumb over them.

“Father remarried eventually, hence Robin,” he laughed, but there wasn’t any real humor behind it, “It’s weird how sweet he turned out, considering his witch of a mother.” He dropped my hand to twirl a piece of straw, “She’s always hated me.” 

“How could anybody hate you?” 

He shrugged, “I’m not her son. Though I guess I can’t blame her; I’ve always hated her because she wasn’t my mother.” 

I frowned, “It isn’t a child’s responsibility to bridge that gap.” 

“Maybe not, but after all these years, I think some space is best for both of us.” He tossed the mangled straw to the road and picked up another piece. 

“Is that why you left home?” 

“Mostly. That and… promise not to laugh?” 

“Maybe.” 

“I wanted to be a hero. That’s why my mother picked my name, after a hero in an old legend she grew up hearing. She wanted me to be strong and brave,” he flexed his arms theatrically, “and Robin looks up to me like I am one already. I have a lot to live up to.” 

“And now here you are, saving princesses and undertaking daring adventures,” I may have been playing up the praise a little too much, but he still glowed. 

“All in a day’s work, Ma’am.” 

Once we reached a fork in the road, we hopped out of the hired cart and handed a few coins to the farmer. Anthony laced his fingers with mine as we strolled off into the surrounding fields. The grasses here were long, more like thin sticks than the manicured lawns in the palace gardens. The sky was a dull grey, slowly darkening in the far distance. 

“Everything is still frozen,” Anthony said, “But before another month has passed, this place is going to explode into every color imaginable,” 

“How can you tell?” 

He pointed out different shapes of stems, patterns of leaves, and clumpings of dried-out seed pods. “These over here have an awful smell but have pretty yellow flowers. This one doesn’t flower at all, but the leaves turn color when the weather gets cold.” 

“I never even knew…” I touched the apparently-dead stems and was shocked to feel the pent up life burning just beneath the surface. “It’s like they’re tensing; getting ready to pounce-” 

“Or… spring?” Anthony wiggled his eyebrows playfully and I snorted. He joined my merriment and flopped into a patch of grass, flattening it with a mighty woosh . I joined him, pressing into his warmth. His breath hitched and he stayed completely still. Only his lips moved as he whispered, “ Lilly?” 

“Hm?” 

“I… like this,” he swallowed, “I like you. Very much.” His face burned my new favorite color.

  I propped up on one arm to get a better view of him. “I like you too.” 

His eyes sparkled like a happy puppy’s, “We should do this again,” Anthony tried to put on a casual tone, “You can’t stay cooped up all the time or you’ll go crazy,” 

“Is that the only reason?” I asked playfully. I lowered my face to his until our noses touched. My voice dropped into a whisper, equal parts to flirt and to conceal the nerves I couldn’t erase, “You sure you don’t just want to see me?” 

He blinked. Then he seemed to settle an internal argument, raising his head just enough to brush his lips against mine. 

The world fell away. My ears rang, my eyes closed, and my breathing halted. The contact was chaste and gentle, but I felt like I’d been struck by lightning; tingling joy spread down to my toes and I curled my fingers into his shirt. We parted, after a moment or an eternity I’ll never know, both of us struck dumb by our recklessness. He tried to form a response, clearly embarrassed to have acted without consulting me.

I kissed his cheek and he relaxed. “I want to see you too,” His dopey grin reasserted itself, strong arms curling around my waist. I willingly tucked into him. “I just don’t know how,” the real world pressed against our little bubble of happiness, and couldn’t quite keep my voice steady against its battering. 

“I’ll earn a knighthood,” he answered immediately, “I’ll become the greatest hero there ever was, and maybe even a lord. Then...” He trailed off self-consciously. In a timidly hopeful whisper, he added, “...maybe I can earn the right to love you.” 

My heart fluttered. Love … “You have it,” I spoke without thinking, without weighing a single consequence, “The only permission you need for that is mine, and I give that gladly. All other things can wait.” 

He beamed. “I’m not worried about anything, as long as I have you,” 

“For a price,” I teased. He pursed his lips in an irresistible pout. “You can safe guard my heart, so long as I have yours.” 

Moisture glistened in his sparkling eyes. His only response was to cup my cheek and pull me into another lovely kiss.

  Gah, I feel like such a fool recounting all this now. I became utterly dependent on a single person for all my happiness the first opportunity I got. Regardless of who that person is, this is NEVER a good idea, especially when life has already shown you a proclivity for taking away any safety you manage to find. I knew all too well how it felt to lose one’s entire world, and yet I made the center of my well-being the most fragile thing I could find. 

Also, I became reckless; Anthony and I made a habit of these little rendezvous all through the spring, summer, and well into fall. We didn’t travel together, rather we would meet in that field. We watched it bloom together; sitting and holding each other in a little pocket of beauty, far away from all the pain. I took a route through the newly exposed passages to and from the castle (I think it speaks poorly of my character that I was willing to literally walk over bones just to flirt with a boy. What kind of tactless, selfish, childish…). Now and again I would be a little too careless and be tardy to a lesson, but no one ever questioned it. 

That alone should have warned me of my impending doom. So many things that seemed out of place back then would come together in disastrous fashion…. And my protector, my love, my knight would pay the price. 

Chapter Text

Anthony and I spent the better part of the next year with one another. We considered ourselves to be ‘courting’ though, by the standards of both my station and his it was highly scandalous. We asked no one’s permission, had no chaperone… and yet, he never asked for more than my time. He was the picture of a gentleman, the kind that would make his mother proud. 

I remember those days well. Even now when the blossom of inexperience is all wilted to ashes at my fingertips. He was my only hope of fulfillment in the otherwise empty life stretching before me. I think, of all his many charms, it was his ability to hope that I prized above the rest; I had not dared to hope for many lonely years.
And all too soon, I would be reminded why. 

All through the warmer months, we heard stirrings of trouble from all over Alagaesia: officials missing, trade routes terrorized, and an exaggerated rate of desertion among the soldiers; even the most uninformed could plainly tell that the new king’s rule was not as stable as he wanted people to believe. The forsworn’s rage only worsened when they learned the source of many of their problems was a dragon-less rider, and a familiar one at that: Brom. Morzan in particular was beside himself, raving endlessly about his former companion. 

It became something of a witch hunt in the capital. Galbatorix and the forsworn spent their days locking down alliances, forcing soldiers to swear oaths in a language they didn’t understand, and throwing accusations wildly at anyone left out in the cold. No one was safe from suspicion, from the humblest beggar to the most decorated nobility. They were processed at blistering speeds and killed dozens at a time. The idea was that a rush of panic would dissuade most people from pursuing rebellion… but, in the long run, it permanently cemented Galbatorix as a bloodthirsty maniac in his people’s eyes. By no means an inaccurate assessment; Galbatorix took every excuse he could to vent his untamable cruelty, especially on those that he considered “traitors”.

The hypocrisy is nauseating.

The gods never designed such a perfect day. 

It was mid-autumn, and by all rights, the last of summer should have long since flown. Somehow, the cruel bite of fall was absent in the breeze that played at the edges of our quilt. The remnants of our lunch were spread across the blanket, mostly crusts of bread scattered off for the birds. We graciously offered the last of our water to the tangle of wildflowers concealing us from observers. The sky seemed almost to be fighting against itself, misty blue shrinking ever farther into the distant horizon as streaks of pink slashed through the soft clouds. Orange began to dominate the view just above us, changing the images we had just picked out in the skyscape to new scenes from moment to moment. We lay facing opposite ways but with our heads together so we could speak softly and still hear one another over the crickets serenading us from the brush. Now and again, when I thought he wasn’t looking, I would steal a glance over at his handsome features, sunkissed skin radiant with vital beauty in the afternoon light. Once or twice our eyes met in those candid glances and I could hardly stop from falling to giggles when he’d flash a smile at me. 

We were even brave enough, tucked away in our secret place, to exchange a few chaste kisses between smiles. 

The time he’d spent at my side seemed like an impossible dream, a snippet of some other woman’s life. We had lived these months on a razor’s edge, expecting any moment for reality to come caving in around us. 

“Honey?” I loved when he called me that. He’d first affected the pet name on our second trip to this place when both of our hands had accidentally become doused in the stuff. He licked his own clean without hesitation and, grinning like a fool, had looked up to me and mumbled: ‘Not half as sweet as you!’ I tried to shoo him off, but his corny little gesture just seemed to… stick? I couldn’t even accuse him of being cliche; he was far too sincere. 

“Yeah?” His lackadaisical way of speaking quickly overrode every lesson I’d ever had when we were close. 

“If I could, I would spend the rest of my life like this,” he closed his eyes and let out a long, contented breath.
“No doubt your back would ache after another hour or so, let alone a lifetime,” I sat up on one elbow and grinned down at him. One brilliant blue eye flicked open at the challenge, but he didn’t seem inclined to respond. “Besides, winter will be here before long.” 

That had him sitting up and laughing, “Winter here isn’t so bad compared to back home.” 

“Then I’m glad you’ll be here.”

“With my Stargazer to keep me warm?” He’d finally weaseled out of me the real story behind my name. My mother’s favorite flower was the stargazer lily; identified by a dark pink center that fades to white at the edges of the petals. 

“Are you sure you’re set on the name? It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue,” I teased. He joked that he would name his House after the plant once he ‘became a hero’. 

“But then your name will be perfect once we’re married,” He grinned as he daydreamed. 

I stared at him. 

When he looked at me again, it took him a moment of searching around to understand my hesitation. “I’m dead serious about it. You’re the only one for me.” 

“You’re crazy! I can’t… I could never-” 

“I know. I couldn’t ask now, not like I am. But there’s trouble brewing in the south. If I can make a name for myself, maybe a title or even better a knighthood then I-” 

“Then you could what? Stroll up to the king and ask for his blessing?”

“Pretty much. If I have to become the greatest hero in the world, then I will. I…” he trailed off, chewing his lip as if weighing how much he wanted to say. Finally, he grasped my left hand in both of his. “I love you, Lilly. I love you more than all the world… and in all the world it’s only you that I could ever consider spending my life with. I know… I know I’m just a-” 

I leaned in and kissed him for one moment, then another and another. 

“I love you too, Anthony,” The whisper hurt the lump in my throat, but the way his face glowed with an inner radiance more than made up for it. “To me, you will never be ‘just’ anything. You are my everything and, for that, I can never thank you enough.” 

“You could,” His hands trembled slightly as he released me. He pulled a familiar metal band off his smallest finger. “Agree to wait for me. And… wear this. It belonged to my mother. By all rights, it will be yours someday.” 

Tears burned out my voice before I could answer. I struggled to breathe as I responded,  “I would-” 

“How touching.” Dear gods, no. Not that voice… not now. Anthony and I both froze, dreading the awful truth we had no choice but to face. 

There, just over the ridge, silhouetted against a now blood-orange sky stood a single figure. Draped entirely in black and staring down upon the scene with all the authority of a wrathful god was my nightmare; the only person capable of utterly crushing my euphoria with two simple words. I jumped to my feet as if burned and bowed my head in anticipation of…. Well, of what I wasn’t sure. I only knew enough to fear that tone; playful amusement cut through with a dark edge of promised violence. 

“Seize him.” More shapes crested the hill, at least a dozen guards all trampling the flower beds as they marched towards Anthony. He didn’t even attempt to fight as they hauled him to his feet. In my peripheral, I caught his reassuring nod, as if this minor inconvenience would hardly break his stride. All of the soldiers left with him, leaving only my master and I standing in the fading light. 

Neither of us spoke. Even the band of merry crickets had retreated en masse from the scene as if they could sense the malice brewing there. I swallowed hard and tried to muster the courage to defend myself, or at least vindicate Anthony. “I can-” 

His hand came fast, one backhanded strike across the mouth. I felt a crack where one of his rings cut my lip and I tasted blood-copper. I didn’t make another sound, not even to cry out. Again, silence reigned. The longer his eyes glowered into me, the more I felt myself melting away, standing so very exposed in the ashes of what should have been my happiest day. 

“Do you know why you are alive?” 

“No sir.” 

“To serve me. That is the only reason you were spared, nearly eleven years ago. In what way has your scandal with this wretch served any of us?”  

I had no defense. 

“I will decide what’s to be done with you later. Wait for me in your chambers until then.” 

I had no choice but to obey. 

-:- -:- -:- 

I paced a hole through my carpet all night. Close to daybreak, my doors opened and Galbatorix stepped through. “The boy has been interrogated.” My lack of overt reaction apparently disappointed my master.  He carried on with obvious relish, “He has been found guilty.” 

“For what crime?” A slap cut off my exclamation, this one tilting at just the right angle to ring my head like a bell. My vision was filled with uncanny spots and blurs.

“Treason. The boy was a rebel spy, sent here to gather intelligence on our movements.” 

Everything in me screamed out the wrongness of those words. Anthony couldn’t even write his own name, let alone spearhead an espionage mission! “How is that possible?” I expected another blow, but my ebrithil held it back. 

“Think for more than a moment, and it will be obvious. His cover is pathetically weak,” He dropped a gloved hand to my shoulder and gripped it firmly. The tone he used wasn’t overly condescending; rather he almost seemed to be pitying me, “Why would a man like him have any inclination towards you? You are still a child compared to him. It is no great feat for him to earn your confidence, and thus compromise us.” 

My head swam, still half in stars and spiralling back into darkness. So dizzying was the first revelation that I almost missed the next.
“He will be executed at dawn for his crimes.” My blood froze. Before I could collapse to the hateful crying fit that would surely earn me another beating, his next words bolted me in place, “And you will carry it out.” 

I shook. The exhaustion, shock, hate, fear… I wanted to scream but pure terror kept my next words quiet. “I… cannot-” 

“Then I shall. Though I warn you, I will take my time making an example of this presumptuous boy.” His wicked grin took all the fight out of me as surely as if he’d beaten me bloody. I knew better than anyone how brutal his whims could be, especially when directed to someone he didn’t want to survive them. 

“No,…. I… it shall be as you will, Father,” I thought perhaps the use of the familiar term would soothe his fury. The gut punch and subsequent curl of his fingers over my throat corrected the notion. 

For a moment he studied me, tilting my head back and mulling over my face like a particularly fascinating insect. He pressed a dispassionate kiss to my cheek and whispered in a musical mockery of gentleness, "You ought to show gratitude, Lilleth; I'm giving you a chance to say goodbye." 

I could barely form the words, "Thank you, master."

He stared at me another heavy moment, then dropped me to the ground and swept out of my rooms. I stayed put, kneeling on the floor as shaking sobs overtook me. 

-:- -:- -:-

Every second aged me. All too soon the sun crept into view even as a knock sounded at my door. 

I was already waiting. 

I followed the armed escort with shaky steps. It felt wrong to be unarmed, to be out and about with visible bruises and puffy, bloodshot eyes. I felt horribly exposed every time I met a passerby's look. After a few such stares, I kept my gaze to the floor. 

We reached the scaffold in the market plaza about an hour past day break. Given the early hour, I expected a smaller turnout. I failed to calculate how fresh the rebel threat was in the common folk’s minds, and how eager they were to see someone other than their own suffer. A line of men in ragged sacks fashioned into shirts stood chained together leading up to a stained block of wood with a groove in the top for…. 

I looked away. 

The king attended the execution personally, his first public appearance in weeks. The crowd darted looks back and forth between the doomed men and their sovereign, holding its collective breath. 

"For the crime of treason, I find you all guilty.” His rich barritone traveled far in the tense hush. Everyone strained to listen, “This is your last chance to make peace with gods and men, so I advise that you take it in full."

 No one spoke, but several fell to mouthing phrases or making obscure gestures. Some just stood and stared listlessly on and on and on, as if trying to send as much of their soul into the growing sunrise before it was too late. One was staring right at me. I held his gaze, not daring to say or do anything to garner attention, but unwilling and unable to break the connection.

"Take up the axe."

I watched my body move with detached disgust. The weapon was entirely too large given its intended use and weighted almost to be unwieldable. It felt wrong in my hand; like its cruelty was slowly infecting me as I touched it. 

A guard pushed Anthony to his knees.

I heard my voice as if from underwater, "Yes. The answer…was yes."

His eyes slid closed. To my shock, I saw the most wondrous smile light up his features, "I know, Stargazer. Be well… be happy."

I tried to nod but, of course, he couldn't even see me. He fixed his gaze far into the sky and breathed out slowly as he rested against the block. 

Up went the blade.

The world went silent and blurry. The crowd's growing unrest as they jeered him faded to a distant buzz. Buildings all melted into one shaky mass surrounding us. My arms ached, I couldn't hold forever, but neither could I seem to move forward in time. Everything seemed locked in the balance. 

"I'm sorry." I knew my words would be lost in the haze, but he almost seemed to nod. I looked up and away. 

The axe fell. 

My ears rang, partially from the mending concussion, partially from the shock. But even in the deafening anti-sound, I heard the snick/crack, the splattering, and the thud. Against all common sense I glanced down and nearly fell over to be sick. 

There were his eyes, those perfect glorious crystalline eyes that soothed and comforted and promised forevers, that saw a future with us in a home with a family made of love and safety… 

Staring blankly up from the paving stones. 

I dropped the axe into some armsman's hand. I looked up at the king. His expression was dangerous, but I didn't care anymore. Nothing else he could do to me would be enough to repay the pain within. I knew then that nothing ever would.

I turned, walked back to my room, and collapsed.

And I knew no more.

  Everything about this event gnawed away at my soul. I felt like I was rotting from within, like there was an aching void into which I slowly crumbled day by agonizing day. I dreamt of him almost every night, I heard his voice in my mind almost as clearly as Katana’s. 

Anthony…. Amniet . I knew then that I would love you to the end of my days. Even if I lived another thousand years. The world never deserved you… I know I certainly did not. I wish I could say that I avenged you, that I lived in a way that you would approve of… but I don’t think that's the case. Still, I hold our memories dear. I will cherish them forevermore, my love. Rest well in our garden until I can join you peacefully. Stydja unin mor'ranr un gala medh du evarinya wiol edtha , my knight. 

Much of the events surrounding this did not fully become clear to me until much later in my life. I would prefer to address these as I learned of them, to give a prayer of clarity to the experiences that followed. To those who can already sense the darkness lurking beneath the surface… how I envy your perception, for my own surely failed me. For the moment, I needed to find my bearings in a world that was once again crashing down around me.

Chapter Text

Anthony was the point upon which my world turned. He redefined for me what it meant to be alive. When I lost him, I temporarily lost my balance. He'd held my hand out to the very precipice but, without his guidance, the world fell away to only the fear of falling. I felt unmoored and stagnant; without direction or courage. But the world was still shifting on, drifting ever closer to disaster.

I lay buried in my blankets, blinking up at the bed canopy. 

In truth, I hadn’t seen much besides that view in days. I refused to rise for anything, even as an increasing horde of servants goaded, coaxed, simpered, and wheedled all around me. Finally, I did sit up, but only to order them out with many hurled objects and obscenities. If Madame Tutor had anything to say on the subject, she at least displayed enough tact to withhold it for the time being. So I had remained, with only my youngest servant hanging around to make sure I ate and drank. 

I could hear little Harold in the hall outside the main chamber, arguing obstinately with some retainer. Rather, I could hear the attendant’s responses, as with each pause his emission gained speed and volume. "I don't give the slightest shred of a damn what you were told! I'm telling you now that His Majesty demands -"

“I only serve the princess and she won’t see anyone,”  There was Harold, cutting across the whiner with a voice that sounded like it belonged to a young man rather than a ten-year-old boy. “She won’t change her mind for a loudmouth trying to come into her room without her permission. If the king needs her, he has to come himself.” 

The vassal stumbled through a foul-mouthed retort, oaths of reparations on his trembling lips. The sound of his stomping steps overrode his bitching. A door latch clicked as Harold reentered my room. He walked past the little sitting area and into the bed chamber, shutting the double doors behind him. 

"He's coming, isn't he?" I asked with a resigned groan.

The boy lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug.

"It's alright. You did your best." I swung my legs out of the bed and groaned as my head spun. 

"M'lady, please…" he was there, slippers in one hand and a glass of water in the other, "Slowly."

I obeyed his calm words, taking the glass and lifting my feet to make his task easier. "I hope you’re not worried about me?" I swished the water. 

His look was positively disparaging. "You've been abed for three days. I would have to be stupid not to worry." He bent his head back to his task, looking again like any other child. Despite his age, he possessed a level head and polite attitude that made him the only tolerable presence left out of all of my retainers. 

I tried to smile, but judging by his reaction it came out as more of a grimace, "You talk like an old lady."

"My grandma raised me." He didn't bat an eyelash at my jab, and I realized with a touch of guilt that he probably heard such comments all too often. 

"She did a good job," I added firmly. He glanced up, eyes glinting with pride and gave me a confident nod. Who am I to judge? I'm starting to talk like an old person myself. 

Don't do it too often, or before long you'll sound like Siyamak , Katana quickly slid in. She had mostly stayed quiet the past few days, but her silent support was the only reason things hadn't gotten much worse. Or maybe you would sound more like Eltereth .

Eltereth isn't all that old! She's younger than most of them. 

True enough. Maybe ********…  

Katana's mental voice trailed off, almost as if it had encountered a blockade. I'm sorry… I can't recall what we-

You were teasing me , I returned calmly. I recognized the signs of her lapse with a flood of revulsion and sorrow. Though it had only been a few years since the Banishing, it had become apparent to everyone that the situation was far worse than it first appeared. Each of the forsworn's dragons handled it a little differently but they were all in a constant state of pain as, with each passing day, they drifted farther from lucidity. They had become so inconsolable that Katana and Shruikan could no longer dwell with the others. 

Teasing you… ah yes, for sounding like a hag . 

That's enough out of you! I think I'll be in trouble soon, so I won’t be available. 

Be safe. 

Even as she formed that thought, both doors slammed into their supporting wall hard enough for them to rattle the window panes. Between them, arms crossed and grinning like a savage, stood a familiar man in a dark, rusty red tunic and black trousers. "Time to get up, kiddo." Morzan perched his hands on his waist, pointedly close to Zar'roc's gleaming hilt. "Daddy needs us for a meeting," His tone was cheery enough, but I knew better than to fall for it. 

"Us?" I managed to ask, trying in vain to reach for the plush comforter. 

Morzan was faster. He flung the duvet to the floor with a flick of his wrist. "Us," he confirmed.

"...Fine. Harold, just a riding dress and some boots, please." My clever attendant finally unfroze and jumped up, gathering my requests. 

Morzan turned away as I hurried into the garment but, apparently, he'd been instructed to escort me. His playfulness dropped and he took on a more serious tone, "He's mad enough to spit fire, just so you know. Be careful in there." 

"Thanks?" I tightened a sword belt over the deep green kirtle and walked back into his view. I lifted an eyebrow at him as if to ask 'why?' 

“You’re welcome.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. "What's family for?" 

I managed my first smile in days.

-:- -:- -:-

Morzan and I were the last pair to enter the chamber. The central table was a heavy dark wood inlaid with curling patterns. Seated around its longer sides were no less than two dozen faces, some familiar and some not, who appeared just as rigid. I desperately wanted to stare at the floor and retreat into a corner, but the King motioned towards a chair near to him. I sat quietly, scanning and measuring the room. Many of the thirteen were present, Morzan, Formorra, and Siyamak sat closest to the front, with Amroth, Idril, and Kialandi hovering around the far side of the room. There was only one possibility for the other attendees then: the masked lords. These men and women were responsible for speaking on behalf of noble families who were not physically present in the capital (particularly those who ruled other large cities). 

Shouldn’t there be more of them? Katana asked. I recounted the assembly. I knew some of their names, even recognized a family crest or two, but several members were undeniably missing. And, even more telling, every last absent face was from the south. 

I snapped out of my musings as a large, round man jumped to his feet, slamming an open palm on the table with thunderous rage. “We’ve waited long enough!” His shouting caused his precariously placed curly mustache to shake about. 

“No one is arguing that point, Belatona,” slid in a woman farther down the table. She sat on the same side as me, so without being rude all I could make out was her hands, curled claw-like over the head of her staff. She seemed utterly nonplussed by the man’s outburst. “But, as they have committed no aggressive actions and have a substantial means of resistance, it appears wiser to allow them to make the first move. It is hardly appropriate to show a knee-jerk reaction to unsubstantiated whispers." Many lesser nobles nodded. All of them looked nervous, and a little relieved to have a sponsor. 

All of them except for Belatona. His face bubbled in rage as he leaned over the table and growled in the lady’s face, “Then are you suggesting that we wait for the dogs to bite the feeding hand? I say we withdraw that hand, and let the bitches starve!” 

The lady seemed more than ready to issue a retort, but she never got the chance. 

“Enough.” One quiet word returned the rowdy lord to his seat. Every single eye turned to the head of the table, the room breathed more quietly to catch every syllable. The king stood slowly, fingers placed neatly over the map spread before him. “I agree that these rumors grow more damning by the day. I am inclined to believe their growing disquiet is an entity all its own, seperate from our little upstarts to the east. As to their motivation, there can be no question… but the fact remains that we have precious little information on their leadership, tactics, and resources. Any and all reports coming from south of Lake Tudosten are to be considered fallible unless verified by reliable agents. I shall summon the delinquent lords to court, though I doubt any one of them has the spine to obey that call. Their refusal shall be taken as a hostile action. That shall give us all the pretext we need to cut them off. As to openly engaging them, we need to know more about their plans before we may formulate our own. A measly uprising is nothing to us, but a more substantial resistance must be handled…. delicately ." His tender caress of that final word left no illusions of gentleness, especially as his eyes met Morzan's across the room. "I want all attendees to reach out to your networks and report back anything at all, no matter how irrelevant it may seem. Dismissed." 

As one, the attending lords and ladies rose and filed out of the room in two orderly lines. "Morzan, Lilleth, remain." I was half out of my seat when I froze, confused but unwilling to ask for clarification. 

The room emptied fully and Morzan stretched, plopped himself on top of the table across the map from the king and folded his legs. “Sounds like you need a spy.” 

His addressee sank back into his seat. “An army of them would be preferable. Still, even one- if they were worth a damn- would be helpful.” His quip didn’t exactly erase the tension, but it seemed to cheer Morzan up. 

“And… are any of them?” the larger man asked, leaning back on his palms, “Worth a damn, I mean.” 

“If they were, would we be in this situation? No, all of our decent agents are busy chasing Brom’s dustrails through the wilderness. It seems your rival’s efforts were adroitly placed to misuse our resources. And he appears to have succeeded.” 

“For now,” growled Morzan. I swallowed and instinctively leaned back from the look on his face, torn apart with hate. I knew that the rebel and he had been close before the fall, but apparently all those bonds had only made his determination to finish their little rivalry more intense. 

The king nodded his acknowledgment. “I would send one of the thirteen, but-” 

“They stick out.” Morzan finished easily. “Formorra’s the best sneak, but she’s a little too infamous and noticeable. Not to mention busy right now, dealing with whatever nonsense is happening in Teirm-” 

“Business.” Galbatorix shrugged and grinned back at his friend. 

“With business,” Morzan corrected. “Most of the others are useless for this kind of thing. The twins would have been perfect, but-” 

“But that isn’t an option.” No one had to elaborate further. After Gildor’s death, Gelmir had been all but unreachable. He still spent most days in bed, and when he did rise it was only to stare drunkenly at the nearest reflective surface. 

“I could go.” Even I wasn’t expecting the voice that broke the brooding silence: my own! 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Morzan grinned wolfishly down at me. 

“No.”  Something in the man’s dark eyes had hardened suddenly into brutal warning. I felt very foolish for speaking at all. 

“Why not?” Morzan challenged, “She doesn’t do anything useful here, we trained her so we know she can handle herself, and she’d be pretty much useless as a soldier if it does come to war. Why not a spy?” 

“She is the heir apparent, and still not out of her training.”

“Don’t die till she comes back,” Morzan offered helpfully, “and neither were half of us when we joined you.” 

That seemed to sway Galbatorix, if only a little. “But can you do this?” Finally he turned to me, the first time he’d looked directly at me since that dreadful day. 

I desperately wanted to shrink down and disappear, to collapse back into my bed. But something about his face seemed to be almost… challenging me? Yes, there was an element of challenge here. I sat up straight and stared him down. “Yes, I can.” To the side, Morzan clapped triumphantly. I thought, for just a second, the corner of the king’s mouth twitched. 

“Very well. You will leave before sunrise. We will put about the rumor that you are once again bedridden from…” he searched around for the right word, “...shock. Your task is to journey south and collect as many rumors as you can on the journey. When you reach the outskirts of Melian, you will contact me directly via scrying mirror and we will assess. Katana will remain here.” 

I understood his order, even as I hated it. Are you still listening? 

Of course. Her mental voice was soothing, if sad. I will be here when you return. It won’t seem so long.

Katana’s bolstering words hardened my resolve. I nodded and stood. “Then I need to pack.” 

He flicked a finger in dismissal. As my hand hit the door, his voice cut back through my thoughts, “Do not fail me.” His tone was frigid. I understood that he was issuing my last chance to prove I could be useful. My last chance to earn his “mercy”. I swallowed hard and all but ran back to my room.

-:- -:- -:-

I left in the dark tumult of a gathering storm. The tunnels ferried me out past the city limits. Once I set foot on the trail, I reeled from the unexpected anxiety. I was alone for the first time in so many years. I suddenly felt like jumping or sprinting off into the swaying fields or screaming until my throat was raw. I wanted to cry, or maybe just to lay down and stare endlessly at the swirling clouds fraught through with silvery lightning. 

I wanted Anthony to be there, holding my hand. 

I set a brutal pace to the southwest and away, away, away from the darkness.

I have absolutely no idea why I thought volunteering was a good idea. More than anything, I just wanted to be away from that place. I think Galbatorix had similar wants, but these ultimately proved a poor investment. 

The days melted together on the road. I slept only briefly each night, determined to be on my feet and aware should any travelers pass me by, as many did. Once, a  noble procession passed by me and I dutifully stood to the side with my head bowed. It felt dangerous and exciting to be so close and yet know with conviction that they could not possibly recognize me, dirt-streaked and sporting a dirty blonde rat's nest instead of ebony braids. I almost felt… free. 

This feeling of liberation was unique amongst my fellow travelers. They were all hastily completing treacherous journeys out of desperate necessity. Some were clearly fleeing south to join the gathering unrest. Many felt that the king's actions both in taking and retaining the throne had crossed a line, and it was better to risk death defying such a leader than to risk death serving one. The rest were fleeing from the south, either out of a sense of loyalism (an unpopular but staunchly held belief for many) or a desire to escape the area before the war trampled them underfoot. I had never met so many different people! I listened sympathetically to all comers and accepted their sympathies in return. By and large, the road was easier than it ought to have been. I flatter myself to think that I was skilled and careful but, in truth, it was dumb luck; many careful and brilliant young ladies aren’t so fortunate in their travels. 

Hardships and dangers aside, I started to enjoy my taste of liberation. I’d never been on my own in my seventeen years of life for more than a few hours. I finally had the opportunity to feel like my own person instead of an extension of Galbatorix. Part of me wonders if this is why he allowed me to undertake the task in the first place… if so, I can’t help but feel that he regretted it. Even a mad genius can’t predict every little variable, and there was one chip in play that had the potential to throw our lives into chaos a million times over.

The single wagon was less than elegant, but the fact that it was drawn by a pair of well-kept ponies indicated some measure of wealth. The occupants looked miserable and frightened. I nodded politely and stepped to the side but, to my surprise, the driver pulled over. "Well met, stranger!" said a chipper, round man somewhere in his fourth decade. His clothes were plain but high quality, his hair long and wind tossed. 

"Well met!" I called back.  

"Are you headed south as well?"

I quickly weighed the situation. He was one of only two men, and the ladies with them didn't seem fit for much more than needlepoint. Even if they meant ill, I didn't really think they posed a threat. "In fact I am. Gil'ead has grown a bit too rough for my tastes."

"Still, to be on the road alone? Its inviting disaster!" He seemed genuinely concerned.

"No choice. My family didn't pull through this winter. I took up with an inn… but the more soldiers pour in, the worse it gets. I liked my chances out here better than in there."

"Well said. Have you a name?" 

"Marigold Donasdaughter, but I just go by Marie."

"Well, Marie, would you care to share the road with us? It has to be safer than traveling alone, and you can give your feet a rest." He patted the spot next to him. 

I pretended to consider. Really, it was the best option since I couldn't well get gossip out of empty air. "I'm headed to Aberon. How long till our paths diverge?"

"It seems that they won't! We're headed there as well… and quickly!" The way he tried to smile, the forced cheer creeping into his tone and the tension in his weak jaw gave me all the explanation I needed. I climbed up into the seat and tucked my pack down between my feet. 

"There you are! Welcome to the happy little band. I'm Rorik, this is my enchanting wife Roselin, she’s holding our baby boy Ferris and the pair of ladies in the back are our employees Jess and Veronica."

I graciously nodded and waved to everyone, until the very last. I had to turn completely around to see the younger of the two servants, but when I did I almost fell backward out of my seat. In the far left corner of the cart, legs tucked to her chest in a sullen little ball was….. me ? But no, not quite me. She had a more defined, mature figure, a smaller nose, smoother jaw…. But otherwise, the resemblance was truly eerie. Not just eerie I realized as my mind raced back through time and space, connecting the name to a tiny moon-shaped scar on her left cheek, to the slightly uneven lips that could so easily turn into a prize-winning pout….

"Verra?" I blurted before I could stop myself. The girl snapped her eyes up, eyes as dark and deep as a moonless midnight. 

"Lilly?"

The man to my side stared at me. His wife seemed equally flummoxed as to why my name had just changed. The only one who seemed to be following along was the older woman, the one he’d named Jess. She sat up from her slouch and stared at me and Veronica in turns. 

“How are you here?” She breathed out. Her face was a mess of emotions that I could understand perfectly, but couldn’t begin to articulate. 

“That’s… a really long story.” 

“I’m sorry, Ms… Lilly, was it?” 

I snapped back out of my memories. I looked up into this stranger’s kind and confused face, trying to find a balance between “royal intelligence operative” and “country kid”. “Yes sir… that was my name when I was younger. My home was destroyed and I was separated from… well from everyone.” 

“I looked for you!” Verra jumped to her feet, nearly losing her balance as the vehicle swayed. Jess held her steady from the floor. “I spent the whole next day digging through rubble looking for you, but I couldn’t find anything! I thought you must’ve died with Mother. How did you get away? Where did you go?” Her lovely, expressive eyes filled with tears, “Why did you leave me?” 

I blinked back at her, not even sure where to begin. “It's… complicated.” She looked ready to either embrace me or strangle me, so I rushed through my next few sentences as fast as I could. “The next morning, Riders came. They looked for you, but they didn’t find any signs… They took me away and found me a home. When I grew up, I started working in the inn, but then I had to go. I thought,” unexpected tears choked me despite all my efforts, “I thought I’d never see you again.” 

Some odd look crossed her features, it was a brooding grimness, maybe even bitterness? But it passed and she nodded slowly. “That’s good… I’m glad you’ve been safe.” 

I cringed internally. Safe by what measure… but there was no way I could reveal all right then and there, not if I wanted a chance of reuniting with my only surviving family.  “I’m glad too.” I switched places with our hostess to settle next to Verra, mimicking her pose.

Jess looking us both over. “You don’t look so alike, I think. Maybe a little around the mouth?” 

I shrugged. “It’s always better to travel in disguise. Once we stop to rest and I can wash all this off, you’ll see.” 

I felt Vera's look tunneling through my flimsy shield and I knew she bought none of it. Her weirdly intense stare, a particularly familiar one at that, gave me no illusions that I could escape confessing everything. So quietly that only an elf’s hearing could catch it I hissed, “Soon,” before adding a little louder, “So, how did you end up here? I never would’ve picked you for a handmaid.” 

She nodded once and settled back. “Me neither. I wandered a bit and I ran into some… rough customers. They dragged me along for a while until I managed to give them the slip in the night. I hooked up with a trading caravan on the road to Teirm. They let me ride along to the city, but by then I was sick and not strong enough to travel. Some of the local street kids brought me to Granny- I never actually learned her name- and she gave me a place to sleep until I was strong again. I was going to just wait for the traders to come back, but winter came first. I got involved with some petty thieves- don’t give me that look, I was starving!- well, anyway, they made me sneak into this house, but Jess caught me. Instead of calling the guards she heard me out, got me a job, and trained me. I’ve been with them about six years now.” 

I listened to her story with avid attention, digesting her every word, and empathizing with many of them. “Oh, Verra… You must have been terrified.” 

“Yes.” Her voice was level but heavy with emotion as she met my look. Jess patted her shoulder in a maternal gesture. I felt an unintentional pang of jealousy hit me. Her path had in no way been easy, but she seemed to have at least found people along the way she could rely on, who cared for her as part of their own family. I dismissed the thought, angry with myself for being that petty. More than anything, I was overjoyed to see her healthy and with any measure of happiness. She could have just as easily ended up dead on the side of a road at any point in her tale. 

Then again, so could I. 

For the rest of the day, she told me how the family had come to leave Teirm. They were traders-turned-traitors. They had slowly been metering out supplies to the growing unrest, more out of financial interest than political, but it had been enough for the crown to issue orders for their arrest. They only escaped because one of Rorik’s old comrades tipped him off in advance. They fled with whatever they could carry in the dead of night. As far as they knew, their old home was probably ashes now. They hoped the new-founded rebel group would welcome one of their patrons (and, of course, the little bit of wealth they’d managed to smuggle with them). By the time Verra concluded her story, the sun had dipped low in the sky. 

“We ought to camp for the night. If the ponies misstep in the dark, we’ll be walking the rest of the way to Aberon,” Rorik yawned. Everyone agreed drowsily and began to set up camp. 

Once everyone had bedded down for the night, Verra walked over to my roll and plunked next to me. “Time,” she said coolly. 

I opened my mouth to ask her to walk farther off with me, but before I could speak I felt a soft presence at the outskirts of my mind. She branched out less like a searching beam or a dominating field, more like a timidly crawling vine. I brushed a thought against the touch and she physically jumped. Her eyes widened in amazement, her little vine suddenly snapping forward more earnestly. I allowed her to touch my thoughts in a metered way; some things were better said purposefully. 

You’re like me! Do you know anything about this, or- 

It’s just a way of talking with your mind. A lot of people can do it, some more easily than others. It seems that we both inherited the talent. 

Can anyone learn to speak like this? 

I… don’t know. I assume so, based on.... 

Based on what? 

Based on what Father has said. 

She stared at me, mouth agape and unbreathing. 

You… you know… 

Please… let me start at the beginning. 

And so I told her every detail of the past decade. Pairing with Katana, joining the rebellion, losing Xanist and Anthony, and finally stating in direct terms the name we’d wished all our young lives to know. King Galbatorix, Shur’tugal and Wyrdfell, is our father.

She didn’t believe me at first, not until I showed her a series of memoriess that could erase every doubt. For a long time she didn’t say anything at all until, finally, she blurted out, We’re princesses! The excitement in her thought was childlike, overcome with glee. 

I flinched. It isn’t that simple-

Isn’t it? We can live in the palace and go to balls and meet lords and do whatever we want! 

Not quite-

Our father is the king! 

Our father is the Usurper, and the one who ordered all of your executions! 

That finally seemed to sober her up. Wait… but if all of that is true, then how are you here? Why would you be so close to the border if- I felt the pieces click together in her head. You’re going to turn us in! 

Of course not! I assured her. Exasperation ate at my patience, but she gave me those puppy-dog eyes and I couldn’t hold the feeling. I didn’t expect to find you. And, besides, I’m a little curious to see what sort of person can rally this many people to a hopeless cause.

It doesn’t have to be hopeless! Verra’s thoughts jumped out and clanged through our mental space, What if they had a secret weapon? 

Do they have a hoard of dragon eggs? 

No, dumbass, us! I can use a little magic, at least I think it's magic anyway, and you’re a rider! 

The worst rider in the world, I added emphatically. 

Besides, you know about the capital, she trampled over my point, You know the king and his servants, you know about their strategies; you could really make a difference! 

I don’t know... I shoved down the vivid image of the prisoner’s line and that rich, uncanny voice echoing “treason” over a jeering crowd. There’s no going back from something like that. 

Who cares? You said he’s a bastard anyway; what do you have to lose? 

My first thought was of Katana, trapped in Uru’baen to suffer the king’s wrath alone if we were caught. My next was how that dreadful scene could play out from a new perspective: the block stained black and horrible with the countless lives poured out over its surface and with mine about to join them. And then the thought of, somehow, triumphing over my mentor just to face eternity with only myself for company. We’ll see. 

She quirked her head at me and hesitated for a long moment. You don’t have much longer to make a decision. If you haven’t left or decided to join us by the time we reach Aberon, then I’ll have to tell them the truth.

I blinked at her in shocked outrage. Only her eyes, haunted by so many close calls with tragedy, backed me down. She was speaking as anyone who’d learned to fight tooth and nail to protect themselves would. That I understood. Whichever it will be, I’ll let you know first.

She nodded, rose to her feet, and plodded back to her sleeping roll. 

I stayed awake the whole night, weighing my two equally impossible choices.

Life with Galbatorix prepared me to be many things at once. I had to be everything he needed and more: rider, royal, and servant. But, in all those years, there was one role I never even attempted to play: myself. To suddenly be confronted by my literal twin… It was jarring in so many different ways. 

First and most obviously, I never expected to see Veronica again. My life before the forsworn seemed unreal, more fantasy than any of the fantastical things that followed, and being reunited with a piece of it felt… unnatural. Wonderful, incredible, and heartwarming yes… but also fragile and alien. Second, Verra and I… were not especially close? No, that isn’t the best way to think of it; we hadn’t even turned seven when we separated. Suffice it to say, Verra always made friends easily while I preferred to be alone. Third, it threw into harsh relief the worst parts of my life. My path gave me abilities and station, but I still lacked…. Purpose? I existed in a very tightly defined role, and the one time I attempted to stray from it I paid a brutal price. That role left no room for ambition, for my voice, for… for personality ! Verra suffered in her own way, of that there can be no doubt. Even so, she had retained the freedom to become a complete person while I was no more than a doll for Galbatorix to puppeteer at will. Is it any wonder, then, that I resented life as his toy? 

What luck that my dear sister provided me a chance to cut my strings.

Chapter Text

My dear sister’s ultimatum may have been justified, but that made it no less troubling. Putting my ghosts at my back and an uncertain future to the fore was a disconcerting feeling, even more so since it was undertaken in such unexpected company. Though I still grieved Anthony (as confused and painful as even my grief was) and I had no love of life in the capital… it was another thing entirely to join a rebellion I still believed to be doomed. 

I didn’t really make up my mind until one of my reports. Back home, Eltereth was waging her own personal protest of Glabatorix’s increasingly harsh methods (she was never quite herself after we lost Xanist) and my master was mad enough to kill. He barely even registered my meek (and abridged) report as he raged… and the final piece slid into place for me: anywhere but there. I was willing to go anywhere at all, so long as I never had to go back to that room; face that man. I gave Verra my answer and trudged after her little family to Aberon. We waited two days for an audience with the lord of the city. Or, rather, we waited for an audience with the self-styled King of Surda.

Veronica, her household, and I stood together in a stuffy “antechamber”. Once it had been a simple smoking room, but it had long since lost the ease and comfort best suited to such spaces. The room’s lavish furnishings were pressed tightly to the walls, each one more garish than the last and ranging in style over centuries. The once fine rug had a faded patch running straight between two doors from hundreds of tramping feet. We waited for over an hour. The only thing that disturbed the musty heat was the occasional passage of servants to and from the office. 

At long last, the door opened, and an older gentleman stepped forth. He bowed his head and held the heavy wood portal open as he said, “His Majesty will see you now.” 

Our ragged band breathed a heavy sigh and filed into the office. It was a rectangular room paneled in light, warm wood. Directly in front of us, the widest wall was occupied mostly by three luxurious windows. They back-lit a tall wooden chair atop a makeshift dias, layered with small rugs to conceal the slap-dash construction. An empty hearth covered one wall, decorated with green glazed tiles. Opposite it, an ornate desk had been carelessly shoved against rows of bookshelves. Teetering papers and scrolls nearly absorbed the structure, save a small workspace where a secretary with rolled-back sleeves scribbled frenetically on a scrap of paper. He handed the paper to a man at his shoulder who glanced it over with an approving nod. 

Even at the court of Uru’baen, he would have been a conspicuous man. He was tall, sported a full blonde beard, and spoke with a sonorous rumble. He was dressed in a flamboyant orange doublet over a maroon tunic, with the collar area folded double and weighed down by a heavy emerald brooch. He could have been imposing, but he radiated a sort of confidence and approachability that excused his excentricities. The servant departed and he swiveled around to greet our group.“Greetings, travelers,” he said warmly, spreading his hands.“Welcome to my home, Borromeo Castle in the soon-to-be capital of Surda.” 

He’s awfully brave to introduce himself as a traitor. I wiggled an eyebrow at Verra.

Not if it's common knowledge. And besides, what could we do? She sniffed and looked away.

Plenty.

“I understand that your journey has been difficult, exceptionally so, and I am most impressed with the ground you managed to cover. It shows a certain tenacity, ferocity, and reliability that is very critical in our allies.” He sank into the high-backed chair and took on a more serious tone. “My condolences for the loss of your home. I promise you, once we have defeated the empire, you shall be repaid tenfold for your sacrifices.” 

“You are most kind, Majesty.” 

“But that is not the only subject of which you wanted to speak, correct?” 

“That’s right, sir.” The patriarch gave a half bow. “Our housemaid claims to have information that is very crucial to Your Highness; her and her sister.” 

The man’s expression seemed amused. “Is that so? Well then, what intel do you have for us, my lady?” He turned that dazzling smile to Verra. 

She dropped her eyes and did her best to curtsy. “My sister and I would rather tell you alone, Your Highness.” 

The king blinked down at her. “I see… and, do you approve of this?”  

Her employer bowed again. “I trust Verra completely, Sire.” 

“Very well. Please wait in the hall a moment, I have more to discuss with you.” 

Our traveling companions shuffled back into the waiting room.

Verra stood a little straighter. “Your highness, sir…” she shifted a bit and looked back at me. “My sister has something to tell you.” 

Damn it . I gathered my thoughts and shot Verra an irritated from.“Your Majesty,” I dropped a bow. Under pressure, the customs more suited to my teachers jumped ahead of any other lessons. “My name is Lilly. My companion here is Veronica. We are the bastard twin daughters of  King Galbatorix.” My audience’s eyes nearly doubled in size. “I have lived with our father and the forsworn for the past eleven years, and I have been his student for the past six. About two months ago I was sent out of Uru’baen to assess the status of the rebellion. In so doing I was reunited with my sister. She urged me to use my abilities to aid the insurgence. After some consideration, I have acquiesced.” I paused to allow the king to catch up. 

He rested an elbow on his armrest, dropped his chin into his palm, and stared hard at me.“You have come with quite the tale,” He said slowly. “It seems we ought to start from the beginning. I would like to hear both of your stories in full, and then we can discuss your futures.” 

So we told him. Verra went first, her voice cracking with emotion as she described her ordeals. When he turned to me, I wasn’t sure how to begin. How could I sum up any of the past years in a way he could understand? Did he even deserve to understand? I tried to keep as business-like a tone as possible. “After the attack, Morzan and Galbatorix took me in. They came looking- for us, I can only assume. I grew up in their base of operations during the war, participated in the battle for Illeria, and have served since then as a student and heir apparent to… our father.” It felt so odd to refer to him that way, especially to a stranger. 

“Student in what, if I may ask?” a glint surfaced in his brown eyes. He seemed in so many ways like a drowsing lion: ostensibly unthreatening but a hunter all the same.

I hesitated. “In many things, Sir. In life, in history, in language-” 

“All nobility receive an education, but none directly from their parents.” 

I glanced at Verra. She nodded encouragingly, though she seemed to be holding her breath. I tugged off one worn glove and spread my hand, letting the afternoon sun catch my silvery palm. “In everything, Your Majesty.” 

Pure awe overtook his expression, his jovial light returning. “You are Shur’tugal!” 

“Not fully. I am a student, no more-”

“But you have a partner? A dragon?”  

“...Yes-” 

“And you have turned against the Usurper! This is nothing less than a miracle, you understand?” 

“... Perhaps.” 

My trepidation did not please him. “Honored Rider, why would you have come if not to aid us?” 

I took a moment to parse out a response. In the meantime, the room grew utterly silent. I could almost feel the nervous tension threatening to explode out of the man in front of me. A desperate man, I realized. He had begun a war that anyone could see he had no chance of winning. Our arrival was nothing less than his most fervent, impossible prayer. 

I squared my shoulders. 

“I cannot defeat our father; no one can,” I thought for a moment that he would scowl, but his lips only twitched. “Even so, I know almost everything about him and the Forsworn, more than anyone else in the world. I know some magic, and I know how he is likely to handle this war. I also have not made myself a known enemy of the crown… yet. I have unique access to the capital. Verra and I can communicate very easily across any distance. I can feed you information on his plans as they develop to keep you one step ahead of the Empire, and when it comes to battle I can prepare your men to face the Thirteen.” 

He absorbed my speech in tactful silence. “I would urge you to reconsider and join us in the field. We need every spellcaster we can muster to hold the forsworn at bay, and even a fledgling rider could change the tide.” 

“No. If I do, it will ensure a crushing defeat. It would provoke Galbatorix into attacking you with full force. A political uprising is one thing, but I promise you that he takes personal betrayal even more seriously. If I openly stand beside you, he will make an example out of us all.” 

He sighed deeply, “I understand, though I wish it were not so. You have provided a means by which we may be able to salvage our position. But I must ask you… why? Why would a princess sacrifice so much just to assist her family’s enemy? I understand that Miss Verra had a very different life, but I must have this answer from you.”

I couldn’t hold my response long enough to seem dignified. “Because he has done his damnedest to make my life a living hell.” I bared my teeth in mirthless amusement, “I at least intend to put up a fight.” 

Approval glowed in the man’s eyes. “Then I welcome you to Surda, Rider Lilly. You and your sister will have rooms in the castle of course-” 

“Just Verra, Your Majesty. I need to leave at once if I am to avoid suspicion.” 

“Before you do, I would insist that one of my personal attendants examine your mind. What is the old adage… if it seems fantastic, it’s likely fantasy?” 

I blinked at him. “Absolutely not.” 

He stood abruptly. Instinctively I wanted to step back, but I held firm. For Galbatorix, I would cower without shame… but not for anyone else. “Explain your refusal, if you come to us in good faith.” He kept his voice level, though it was raked with suspicion. 

“I have no more love for Galbatorix or his government than I have for festering meat,” I spat. More vitriol showed in my voice than I really intended. “The most dangerous thing I could have done was leave you to face him alone, which I have not done. If it is proof you require, then you may either take these words or allow me to prove myself through actions.” Before he could speak, I repeated myself in the ancient language, making sure to mirror the inflections so he could follow my meaning better. Though he was clearly no mage, he could not fail to understand. I stood stiff-backed, awaiting his reply. 

He inhaled, swallowed, and bowed his head. “Then I look forward to working with you.” 

I bowed low, almost numb with relief that my little gambit paid off. “And I with you, Highness.”

I returned to Uru’baen filled with dread. I could, of course, confess all and become a triple agent, but something in me wanted to pursue this path to the end… even if that led me to follow my dear Anthony to an early grave. The only one to whom I confided was Katana. She disliked the idea of me acting as an informant for reasons innumerable, especially since I didn’t consult with her first. Still, she accepted my decision and even offered her wisdom as I took up my new post. I was grateful for any help I could receive; I had a difficult dance to perform. She was the one who helped me choreograph my new role, including a particularly beneficial gambit involving the merchants of Uru’baen.

The merchant guild’s stomping ground was one of the most lively buildings in the city. The air was thick with smoke from a dozen different sources. Lamps coated in soot swung on dingy chains, a roaring hearth kept the winter chill at bay, and several of the club’s attendants puffed at smoldering pipes. Mead and ale ran freely here as each of the regulars tried to one-up their fellow merchants. Most of them would be too sick the next morning to remember their own mother, let alone a quiet stranger in unassuming traveler’s garb. 

It was moments like this that I was grateful Veronica was the curvier, more effeminite twin. My athletic and uninteresting build wasn’t good for much, save for disguising my identity, and particularly my gender. Draped in rough, baggy clothes I appeared to be a page drinking off his meager allowance, the kind of scrawny youth no one would give a second glance… save for someone who knew what to look for. My date for the evening slid onto my bench with a hearty sigh. His mug sloshed amber liquid over my lap. I gritted my teeth and wordlessly grabbed a pitcher from a serving girl and refilled it. He lifted it in thanks and drained the vessel in two hearty quaffs. “War is a merchant’s delight, lad! People will pay anything for goods that aren’t worth a damn! A lousy time to be a farmer, misery to all blacksmiths as they get worked to death… but it’s a merchant’s paradise!” 

“Yessir,” I agreed. “Where about is your next sack of shit headed?” 

“To the highest bidder, o’course!” He banged his mug against the rough tabletop. “And His Majesty’s got that claim, of that there’s no doubt! Empire’s coffers run deep; much deeper than those poor sods in… what d’they call themselves now? ‘Surda’ Piss poor name for a country, that.”  

“The shipment, Mr. Umber,” I rested a steadying hand on his arm before he could shower me in cheap booze again. “With haste, if you please. You’ve already kept me waiting all evening.” The trouble with drunk assets is that they aren’t known for their punctuality. 

He swallowed, hiccuped, and nodded. “Restocking the camp on the southern tip of Leona Lake,” he stared into his empty cup with an equally empty gaze. “How much longer are we going to do this? Thirteen more people went to the block just yesterday. If they round me up too-” 

“They won’t, so long as you keep your head down. Collect your profits and leave the rest to me.” I slid a small pouch of gold coins into his hand and got to my feet. 

“And… I helped enough to… for you to not…” He worried the coins between his fingers, equal parts greed and shame tearing at his face.

“Your secret is safe with me. Just… maybe consider talking to your wife someday?” I patted his shoulder with compassion I did not feel. He groaned and grabbed at an abandoned mug, waving me off. I spied a trim, cocky, young man wading through the crowd to take my seat and toss a compassionate arm around Umber’s meaty shoulders.

I couldn’t exit the pub quickly enough . I took darkened side streets through piles of refuse and damaged furnishings until I had enough solitude to contact Verra. The rank filth mingled unpleasantly with my alcohol-soaked trousers, and I nearly gagged. You had better be waiting.... I plucked a polished circle of metal the size of my palm from an inner pocket and whispered a scrying variation that would allow us to speak. The mirrors were enspelled so only she or I could use them, which required careful coordination of when to contact one another. 

Made more complicated by Verra’s nasty habit of missing deadlines. 

Three separate times I tried to get her attention before her image appeared on the disc’s surface. She was flushed and breathless, grinning like a fool. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and frizzed with obvious activity. She was draped on a garish chaise lounge in the home of one of her “friends”. In the distance, I heard scattered laughter. “Greetings, sister dearest! How might I assist-” 

“It’s heading to the camp on the southern tip of Leona lake in three days.” 

She frowned, chewing her lip in disapproval. “Noted. So if that’s all for business, let’s talk about more important news. You remember Lord Stefan?” 

“Unfortunately,” Verra had an affinity, an addiction really, for charming young men. At the moment, a certain lordling had ingratiated himself with her. He was a layabout at best, unremarkable in every way save for his handsome features and ridiculous fortune. “What does he have to do with-” 

“I heard from Cherry that Miles said that Benny told him-” 

“The short version, please,” I groused. 

She rolled her eyes theatrically. “You’re no fun to gossip with! Well, anyway, word around court is that he’s going to marry after the war!” 

I blinked, trying to keep a neutral face instead of returning her meaningless barbs. “Isn’t that obvious? The King intends to give him lands; he’ll need a wife if he wants sons to leave it to.” As the ‘only’ child of a ruling monarch myself, I had heard talk of legacy so often that even a whiff of it sent me into a rage. Luckily for me, the head of my “household” was functionally immortal and therefore utterly unconcerned with precedents of inheritance. 

Verra huffed, her mockery turning to real frustration. “Dummy, the one he’s courting right now will likely become his wife! And, if he invites me to the next soire in Lady Solange’s solarium, then there’s a good chance he’ll ask-”  

“Verra, I could not care less about lady so-an-so’s next… swearey? Whatever. I’m standing in a gutter here!” I angled the mirror down so she could get a glimpse of my muck-crusted boots. “If there’s nothing important , I need to get going.” 

 Cool silence met my outburst. Finally, Verra issued a curt, “Nothing of note, Princess.” and severed her connection with the scrying glass. 

I groaned and shoved the disc back into my jacket. For all of her wonderful qualities, my sister and I had completely different priorities. Our service in espionage was rewarded largely by the king taking Verra in as a sort of unofficial ward. As soon as Verra got a taste of noble life, all of her energies went to pursuing it. She was so obsessed with building a circle around herself at court that she forgot that “Surda” did not yet officially exist. If we lost this war, then neither her nor her friends would survive the year. 

I doubled my pace, easing into one of the many half-crushed passages at the outskirts of town. It was dreadful work, sprinting through a boneyard… not to think of the disrespect! But nothing was worth Galbatorix discovering my extracurricular activities.

My toils in Uru'baen gave my poor, beleaguered allies a prayer of maintaining their footing against their starved and miserable foes. It helped that the royal army was still not up to Galbatorix’s full ambitions. Every underperforming recruitment bought us precious time; time that we all knew could not last. 

Finally, after months passed this way, I got a direct order from the king: deliver a package of information to his leading general to march in force and crush the rebellion. It was too urgent to be sent by a typical courier so Torix allowed Katana to accompany me, provided that we avoided confrontation. I snatched the opportunity to be done with Uru’baen, journeyed to the command post (a manor in the vineyards around Cithri), and handed over the folio. The King responded by proactively routing much of the Empire’s forces straight back up the Surbrine. The unexpected offensive scattered nearly half of the royal army in a disorganized retreat. 

After this, everyone could feel the razor’s edge fast approaching. I switched roles from quiet informant to tactical advisor, covering every angle of Galbatorix’s strategies up to and including advising our generals and magicians on how to survive the coming ordeal.

I rested my back against the cool garden wall. I had a limited view of the plants around, though they mostly consisted of manicured shrubs and soft grasses clipped at different heights to form swirling patterns. Flowers didn’t fair particularly well in the scalding sun, but short clusters of periwinkle blooms flourished in the wall’s shadow. Beside me, a towering owl topiary shaded me from the late-afternoon sun. I was grateful for the cool and dark; my head ached after hours of talking. I’d spent the better part of the day in conference with the king and his generals, I felt like I would melt in place from frustration.

Men. 

Between the court in Uru’baen and the soldiers of Surda, all of my time revolved around men. Spying on one man for another man, arguing with the latter man because he didn’t trust me to the job I had been assigned, then being told by a room full of them that I “didn’t understand” the “nuanced strategies” of an assault team that I’d personally been part of! And the list of insults just kept growing; at least the forsworn looked down on me for tangible reasons. They were all full riders, I was only their student and I spent most of my life as their pet; of course they treated me like a particularly chatty gerbil. I expected it from them; I had not forseen it from… less capable men. I wouldn’t have been able to keep my cool at all if not for Lady Marelda of Langfeld. She had taken over as a general after the loss of her husband early in the war. She was an unstoppable force, a favorite of the king, and one of the only people who offered me a modicum of respect. 

The only group that was harder to deal with was the Mage Circle: a little gang of spell casters cobbled together from across Alagaesia. Their knowledge was eclectic at best, deeply unharmonic with one another, and rooted in secrecy so dense it was almost unintelligible. Working with them was like prying a multi-headed serpent from a bear trap: someone was bound to end up hurt.  I groaned, shoved off the wall, and headed around back of the manor to the viper’s den.

It felt as if everything had come full circle: A manor house to a palace, to the road, to sulking in the shadow, and now back to a manor house. Perhaps my destiny is to be transient; to never “belong” anywhere. 

You belong with me. Katana’s distant voice echoed in my head. She had found a hillock with a copse of trees to use as cover, and she spent most of the day snoozing like the slacker she was. The ‘where’ is immaterial.

Wouldn’t you like a more permanent roost? I wheedled. Somewhere to nest, to defend… somewhere to feel safe? 

Bah! Safety is for sheep, not for wolves. A hunter lives on the edge. Katana’s arrogant tone was only half real. I sensed an undercurrent of pain at my suggestion, though I couldn’t fathom its source. 

You aren’t a wolf and neither am I. If seven years of partnership taught me anything about Katana, it was that no amount of questioning would persuade her to open her heart until she was ready to do so. Until then, it was better to stand back and let the fire rage itself out. And even wolves have dens to raise their cubs.

That touched a sore place. She snapped, Pedantics will not avail you. The earth itself is my home, and everything upon it may as well be livestock. 

You’re starting to sound like Shruikan. When our elder chose to speak at all, it was often in similarly grandiose terms. Though the Windwalker’s dragon still outsized him considerably, he had grown more in a few decades than most dragons did in a century with Galbatorix’s meddling. Even for a species of creatures already famous for their proud nature, Shruikan was exceptionally arrogant.

Like rider; like dragon. Katana sent the old adage with obvious venom.

I cringed and severed the mental connection. The phrase came up often around the forsworn, especially after the banishing. Often, bonded partners would share key personality quirks: tempers, ego, senses of humor… it was equal parts insult and compliment. But, as Katana had used it, the phrase had a more insidious meaning; she took after her elder and mentor… as I had taken after mine. She couldn’t have chosen a more delicate nerve, and she knew it perfectly well. My future, my very life, depended on distancing myself from Gabatorix’s shadow in any way possible. Most of our allies weren’t even fully aware of my… “personal” connection with the current regime for my own safety. 

Never mind the fact that the man was a complete bastard. 

I shook off my musings. I’d reached the end of the estate and rounded on the back lawn, a smoothed flat field of wild grass that served as the Circle’s primary meeting place. For some mysterious reason (that had nothing to do with an incident weeks prior where two of them had accidentally ignited a rug) we mages weren’t allowed to convene indoors. 

A semi-circle of men and women reclined in the grass, all facing a women standing atop a thick stump. Their leader, a woman named Sandy, looked sickly after her time on the front lines as a medic. They’d kept her working long past her body’s reserves, to the very brink of collapse, and the strain still showed on her sharp, lined features. Her hoarse voice carried over her comrades as she said, “We must agree to share our knowledge between us!  I understand how precious these secrets are to you all. They were guarded, mother to daughter, for decades and centuries untold in our clan. We guard our art so it may not be used to harm, but defeating the usurper must take precedence!” Some of her audience nodded along slowly, while many more looked askance and pretended not to hear. 

“A good thought, but if I may interject?”

Sandy teetered, on the edge between bowing or turning up her nose. She gave a stiff nod and shook her dark brown hair back. “You are of course welcome to share any arcane knowledge that you feel would benefit our efforts. However, since-”

“You cannot defeat Galbatorix.” 

A rush of unsubtle whispering swept through the disciples. She sniffed. “Certainly no one mortal could compete with a rider and dragon. But, together -“ 

“One human or a hundred wouldn’t make much of a difference in this case.  If numbers were all we needed, Galbatorix never would have taken the throne to begin with.”

My conversant’s ire seemed to be mounting.

“Morale is often-“

“There is no need to prepare for battle with the king; it cannot be done. However, convincing him that Surda is not worth the trouble,” I trailed off meaningfully, marking the wary expressions all around me, “ that is an entirely different matter.”

She pursed her lips and stepped back, extending a hand over the stump. “ By all means.” 

I stepped forward and cleared my throat. “Galbatorix’s mages are trained to systematically eliminate other magic users first before targeting the men they protect. This is an effective method, but not one that can easily be done on a large scale without leaving themselves vulnerable. The skill you must all master is how to subdue their probing before they can return the favor. Spreading us out thinly and evenly should best accomplish this, with the added understanding that when one is encountered the others will rally to their aid. This method should require very little actual spell work, so your knowledge may remain your own. However,” everyone leaned forward anxiously, many with grim looks, “these methods will be all but useless against the forsworn, should any of them make an appearance. They will have the raw might to instantly subdue all who come before them.”

“Then how do we defend ourselves?” 

“The key is not in defense,” I said simply, “You cannot be murdered by a dead man.” 

“But that goes against every law of magic-” 

“And their very existence goes against every law of nature. It’s true, the person who chooses to attack them will very likely be risking a grisly fate… but, should that person fail, worse than that will await every single man, woman, and child in Surda.” 

An older man at the back of the group lifted a hand. “What about the usurper?”
I lifted my chin, presenting confidence and concealing years of instilled dread. My words came out assuring and gentle, “He will not fight himself.” 

“How do you know?” He asked.

“I do.” 

“And what do we do if Galbatorix joins the fight himself, in spite of the odds?” 

I looked directly into the man’s eyes, and intoned precisely, “Drop to one knee and pray, or flee to the farthest corners of Alagaesia.”

“You would advise our men to desert?!” Sandy balked at me. A chorus of agitated grumbling swept through the group, equal parts pride and disdain. 

“You would not order an army to attack the ocean, or a mountain, or the Hadarac. You wouldn’t ask a child to wrestle a dragon. Or an ant to march to the sun. If you want your soldiers slaughtered, then do it yourself. If you care for the people you choose to lead, then value their lives.” 

“If the situation is that hopeless, why fight at all?” A portly woman interjected.

“It is far from hopeless. We have every chance that Galbatorix will not confront us directly. If that is the case, then we have only to outwit his ingenuity, not overpower him.”

“But can we?” The group hung on that question, the one to which so much had been left to chance and all of our lives now depended. 

There was only one answer I could possibly give: “I can.”

Arrogance, like slander, can only exist in the absence of truth. To be deluded, over confident and yet incapable is tantamount to sin among the forsworn (see Ellessar for a worthy example). So then… was it arrogant for me to insist I was prepared for this battle? I am still inclined to think not… because I did not delude myself, only deceived my allies into viewing the confidence they desperately required. 

Honesty is not noble when it endangers the success of a mission, and by it the lives of thousands. One must recall that Galbatorix was more than a parent and mentor… he was violent, frightening, sometimes he even appeared omnipotent. I had set my course on confronting a man who was more like a demon, or a lesser god in my eyes… and I had nothing but a rough tactical approach and determination with which to bring him down. 

I had to inspire my troops… and hope it would be enough. 

Chapter Text

When the war finally reached its breaking point, it was far from the decisive battle we all anticipated. The Empire troops had to regroup after the failure of their first assault. They were forced to attack from an inferior position with scattered resources. They still outnumbered the Surdan host three to one which prevented us from forcing conclusions with them. But neither could they successfully lay siege to Cithrí. The past several days consisted of small, testing clashes in the shadow of the city. Thus far, Surda managed to hold her own… but the last of these attacks threw everything into chaos: one of the forsworn joined the fray.

It’s disgusting how “ relieved ” I felt when the thrum of heavy wing beats manifested a pale-yellow splotch with a cocky, scrawny blonde on his back. Ellessar was the black sheep of our family; an arrogant nobleman’s son who only joined Galbatorix in the first place for his own ego. Oh, but how quickly that relief soured as the pair swept low over our troops, raining down fiery death. I’d never actually seen a dragon used against ground troops on an open battlefield. Once the smoke cleared and we took stock of the damages… I hoped to never face the sight again. 

His actions begged for a response… and we were all determined to give him one.

“The bastard ignored the field of battle!” One of the generals, a grizzled veteran of the royal army, spat in rage, “His target was the medical tent itself, and everyone in it. If anything, it's a miracle our losses weren’t higher!” 

“Four and fifty dead is high enough,” the king sighed, scrubbing his face with scarred hands. 

“And six of them mages!” Lady Marelda added. I winced, as did many of the present circle members. There were only a handful of our magic users with the skill and stamina to serve as medics. The half-dozen we’d just lost were some of the best; they were nigh-on irreplaceable. 

“What can we do? The men can’t keep this up forever, and with that damn lizard in the sky we’ll have even more wounded!” 

“We could retreat and sue for peace,” The lady said dryly, “Or tighten our belts and finally drive these bastards out for good.” 

“And I assume you have a brilliant strategy on how to accomplish that?” the general waved a hand at Lady Marelda. 

“We do,” I slid into position beside her, resting my fingers on the sketched-out map before us. I waited to make sure everyone was willing to listen before continuing. “Katana will be in position by early morning. When Ellessar reappears, she can distract him from the soldiers below long enough for us to make our move. If we come at them with everything we have while they’re unbalanced, then we can push them back,” I paused to look around the table at the grim faces of my comrades. “Galbatorix is trying to make a statement; he thinks that he is indomitable; edoc’sil. We must show the world that Surda is every bit as stubborn as he is.” 

“Except he has the resources to draw this war out as long as he likes,” another man grumbled. 

I shook my head. “Not so. He cannot face public humiliation here, nor will he risk losing still more territory to our advance. If we can dislodge his foothold on this field, then we’ll have excellent leverage to force him into a peace agreement.” 

“Make peace with an oathbreaker? That sounds like an excellent way to get us all killed!” the first general pounded a fist on the table, tearing a brand new cavern along the Spine’s northern reaches. 

I glared him down in stony silence. This one in particular struggled to maintain his bluster once confronted. I answered him as simply as I could, “Short of marching on Uru’baen unaided, I see no other choice.” 

The king had scarcely blinked since I began speaking. As I finished, he mirrored my pose and stared at my face. “And you?” 

“Sandy and I will take over as medics.” The general managed a muffled scoff, but he choked it down as another glare (this time from Lady Marelda) pierced him. I continued, “She has practical knowledge but has not fully recovered her strength. I have had extensive training in the healing arts, though no experience applying it to a combat situation. Between the two of us, we should be able to both heal and guard the wounded.” 

“And what of Katana?” The king asked, “Shouldn’t you be at her side? They don’t call them ‘Dragon Riders’ for nothing.” 

“Katana and I understand how best to apply our respective skills. You desperately need a seasoned mage to monitor the wounded, and the type of maneuvering that she’ll require to engage with Ellessar would be much harder with a person on her back.” I nodded for the lady to continue. 

“And I would petition your majesty for the honor of leading the charge,” Marelda said boldly, squaring her shoulders. “No one is as familiar with our cavalry as I am.” 

The king didn’t even hesitate. “No one on this earth would I trust more with the task. If it can be done, you shall be the one to accomplish it.” He offered his arm. The lady clasped it firmly. With a sharp nod, she turned and strode out of the command pavilion. Our leader swallowed hard and turned to me, voice heavy with forced calm, “Lilly, instruct Katana to prepare for battle. You may make yourself available to our remaining medics. If they accept your help, then I shall leave them in your care. If not, report back to me at once.” 

“Sir.” I gave a half-bow and sprinted off to my destination. 

-:- -:- -:- 

The new medical area was a field off to the side of camp. Part of it was concealed under a hastily thrown-up tarp, but much of was just blankets and bed rolls laid out in the grass. The handful of mages we could spare worked tirelessly, all of them led by a very familiar face.

Sandy was a woman transformed once seen in action. Back home, she had a shrewish and self-conscious aura, as if she toiled under some impossible expectations. Out here, she gave orders with calm authority. I trotted up to her and cast an informal salute, “Where too first?” 

She breathed deeply and sized me up. “Tie up your hair; something that will keep it out of your way, then cleanse your hands. Use lye soap and make sure the water is as close to boiling as you can stand. Use the brushes to get under your nails. Then grab an apron, a kit, and a mask filled with sweet herbs. Report back to me when you’re prepared.” 

Once I was ready to her satisfaction, she brought me to the edge of the clearing. “I don’t know what kind of magic you’ve got exactly, but our two biggest problems are these: stopping infection once it’s set in, and keeping the wounded from bleeding to death. During the battle, the latter is going to be the bigger problem but, for now, let’s focus on the first.” She talked me through the different kinds of infections; diseases that lived in the blood, ate the flesh, and poisoned the mind. “The hardest to predict is the fever. Sometimes they recover in a day or two; other times they’re dead within the week.” 

“Where would you like me to start?” 

“Let’s see what you can do on a normal day, and then we can predict how you’ll perform under pressure.” 

“Don’t talk to me about pressure,” Sandy ignored my jest and pointed at one of the nearest patients.  I leveled my hand over the chest of a young man. He groaned, wheezed, and clutched his sheets. “What ails him?” 

“You tell me.” 

I dipped into my body’s store of strength to examine him. It didn’t take me long to find the source of his distress. He had taken a wound in the previous battle and, clearly, it had been inflicted by a weapon coated in filth. The infection was deep; his whole abdomen was an angry red, oozed pale green fluids, and burned with frightening heat. I prepared a spell layered with everything needed to cleanse the area (luckily, Kialandi was an astute teacher) and began to sing to the man. He moaned, first in pain and then in relief as puss leaked freely from his reopened wound. After a few more recitations, most of the foulness was extruded completely. One of the non-mage medics cleaned the area and redressed it with fresh bandages. He was far from battle-ready, but he had a much better chance of survival. 

I turned my head up for Sandy’s assessment. She stood back from the bedside, hands on her hips and shaking her head. “That’s something else entirely, Ms. Lilly. Can you keep up that level of work?” 

I nodded. “Consider me your hands.”

Sandy sized me up but relented with a humorless smile. Even as she spoke, we heard the bugle of the cavalry’s charge; the battle had already begun. “Let’s get to work.” 

-:- -:- -:-

Time lost all meaning. Every now and then someone would come and tap me on the back to make me rest. I’d rise up from the dreamy haze of prolonged magic use and, every time, the sun had moved farther through the sky. I walked away from the action, plopped on a stool, and snacked listlessly on dried biscuits made of honey, nuts, fruits, and dried meat. The battle itself took place mostly in the lowland between the two camps, giving us a pretty remarkable view of the field. Though the Empire’s soldiers threw their full weight against our defenses, they could never quite muster the momentum to break through. I took the opportunity to pick Katana’s brain about her birds-eye view, and she fed me scraps of strength when she thought I wouldn’t notice. 

As soon as I’d recovered enough strength to think clearly, it was right back to work. Now and again, we would reach a patient too late… and the only mourning we allowed ourselves was a muttered curse before shuffling to the next. Some of the men were in a panic, fighting the very people trying to save their lives. Some insisted we tend to their son, or their friend before themselves. Some were insensible, others were eerily calm. I recall one man who sat, stiff-backed and mild, with his own severed hand in his lap. 

Occasionally, the mages in the field needed my help to handle one of the Empire’s spellcasters. Invariably, they were ill-prepared for the type of mental combat I had been taught; Galbatorix’s own special blend of extreme violence and razor-focus. I absorbed the offending spellcaster’s strength like a monstrous parasite and channeled it directly into the healing. Death withholds death, a life provides life. I felt part of the cycle of life itself, just as real as the tides or the ever-cycling moon. I fell deeply into the rhythm of the work like it was one unending song. 

Until my concentration was shattered.

“Come out and play, little Lilly!” A booming, snotty voice reverberated over even the disjointed clamor of battle. I cringed, dropping a fresh bandage into the filthy dirt at my feet. One of the assistant medics snatched it and hurried back to the boiling pots. I rose from my seat and turned back toward the battle. I could see the two forces and, above them, a pale yellow dragon spraying fire in an impressive arc over his head. Ellessar’s dragon was longer and thinner than many of the others; more serpent-like. His snout was narrow and speckled with white. Katana circled beneath him, ready to rush in if he angled toward the ground. A humanoid shape leaned forward in his saddle, scrutinizing my partner beneath him. The sight of Katana’s empty saddle shook a theatrical laugh from Ellessar. “So you really are just a cowardly little bitch! Not so tough without Mommy and Daddy here, ey brat?! You won’t even face me?” 

I directed my thoughts only at Katana. Are you ready to humble this fool? 

With pleasure. I was a little shocked to hear the genuine bloodlust coming from my partner. His voice makes my scales crawl. 

Remember, the goal is to keep them busy. 

Katana reluctantly acknowledged my reminder, I may not be able to defeat them, but I know that they can’t catch me! With a sharp screech, Katana vaulted up, clawing out at the pair’s right side. Ellessar had to cling to a spike to keep his seat as his partner rolled away from the swipe, snarled, and shot after Katana. After just a moment more, both dragons vanished behind a low-hanging cloud. 

It took all my training and trust to turn back to the task at hand. I felt a few sharp dips in my reserves of strength as Katana’s wards absorbed attack after attack. The roars of the battling dragons mixed and distorted over the distance until they were indistinguishable from one another. I could feel my pounding heart in my throat. 

Survive. You don’t need to win, but please don’t die… 

My fixation broke off as Katana’s panicked shout filled my head. Damn it, the sun! He angled our clash so I would be forced to face the sky-fire, and he just vanished! They escaped me! I can’t catch them before they reach the troops! Damn, damn, damn! 

I shot to my feet again and sprinted back to the vantage point. Ellessar and his partner punched through the cloud layer like a beam of sentient sunlight. The man raised his sword, a vicious grin taking over his childish features. Golden flames flickered in his dragon’s snarling maw… until they suddenly winked out.

Everything happened so quickly that it was difficult to process. The dragon stayed frozen, face contorted in rage and wings angled to maximize the speed of his dive. His rider, just a fragile, doll-like shape from such a distance, went limp in the saddle. His arms were torn backward by the force of their fall; sword wrenched from his grip. I kept expecting them to pull out of their descent any moment, accompanied by a wall of fire. Instead, they stayed locked in their deadly dive… until they crashed into the earth. 

Complete pandemonium erupted among the Empire’s forces. Their fall had utterly crushed dozens of men, and completely broken the courage of the rest. Commanders struggled to organize the retreat, but in moments it had turned into a full-on route. In the center of the fleeing men, a tangle of blood and bone was all that remained of the rider and dragon. 

What… Katana glided in circles over the carnage. Through her eyes, I saw lances of white amid strips of pale yellow scales and an oozing lake of red. Ellessar himself was lost completely in the mess. How did…

I have no fucking clue. My chest tightened painfully. Ellessar was a bastard, a smarmy little shit, the skirt-chasing butt of every joke… but I doubted anyone really deserved such a grisly end. We need to get to their bodies before someone else does. The eldunari. 

I’ll keep watch, you get a move on. 

I turned, words of excuse already hanging on my lips… Only to see most of my fellow medics focused on a collapsed figure. Sandy lay lifeless in one of her assistant’s arms. The earth around her was blighted; a circle of blackened grass. The only hint at her ultimate fate was the ghost of a smirk on her peaceful face. Gods… do you think..? 

It must have been. But… how? 

I shook my head and started towards the gruesome site. I think she took the answer to her grave.

I’m glad we were on her side. Katana added. 

I had to agree.

Ellessar’s death is a potent reminder to every mage: Don’t. Get. Cocky. He had eldunari with him, had wards layered thick around every facet of himself and his partner, and was the veteran of many battles against far greater foes than one hapless little medic… and yet. Magic is an unpredictable beast at best, and should never be taken for granted. One little spell, the precise nature of which may never be known, birthed a country from the bonds of tyranny. 

However, the real glory of the day went to Lady Marelda. Her maneuvering out in the field turned a hopeless cause into a battle for the ages. And, when Ellessar fell, she took full advantage of the opportunity to utterly devastated her opponents. She more than defeated Galbatorix’s forces; she humiliated them! The king sang her praises loudest of all, even making an official marriage proposal before all of their commanding officers while they were still in full armor. I will grudgingly admit that it was one of the most romantic gestures I’ve ever seen. Lucky for him, she accepted. 

I gained a whole new appreciation for Kialandi’s hidden skill during my brief stint as a medic. She was one of the more humble and quiet forsworn…but the level of power she concealed behind that unassuming smile must have been staggering. She could perform complex healing spells without breaking a sweat, sometimes with intermittent breaks to lecture Morzan or Formora for their recklessness (invariably, deserved). She may not have a fearsome reputation like Galbatorix or Siyamak… but that was only because she never wanted one.  

And speaking of the forsworn… even after a total and certain victory, all we could do was hold our breaths. The was still a slim chance that Galbatorix would fly out to slaughter us all, and I doubted luck would be with us a second time. (I later found out just how close we’d come to this fate… a belated thanks to Morzan is in order for convincing him otherwise.) What I least expected though was… well, everything that happened next.

“Let me see that.” the discussion in the room silenced as quickly as it had started. A travel-weary messenger crossed the no man’s land in the center of the meeting room and pressed a pristine roll of parchment into my hand. Dignitaries and notable military officials lined the walls, awaiting the results of my inspection. This letter could not possibly be taken at face value… a man like that could not possibly pen a letter like thi- …. But there it was. Every word was present, exactly as it had been read, in an elegant swirling hand: an acceptance of our peace terms… a full surrender. And there, at the very bottom of the writing and a list of titles, a familiar signature. “This is his writing. These are his words.” I can barely hear my own voice over the rush of disbelief and relief. “It’s over.”

The company had manners enough not to whoop or shout, but just barely. There were many hearty and heartfelt congratulations all around, almost all of them paid copiously to the man who had just become a true king. He graciously accepted them and mirrored back their joy in kind, but there was the faintest tightness around his eyes. Finally, he broke the train of flattery and celebration with a perfect smile and a resounding shout, “We should not wait a moment longer! All of you shall spread the news to everyone from here to Reavstone; the war is over, the usurper has been pushed back, and we are finally free!” One last cheer sent them all hurrying from the room, self-included before he added in a warm tone, “Lilly, please stay a moment. I wish to speak with you alone.” 

“Of course, si- … Your Majesty” I barely resisted the smile threatening to overtake me. This loping lion, really truly a king? 

“This day will change everything.” He began to pace in front of the large northern windows like a boasting wild cat. “Surda has been herself for years. But today, she is a country come into her own with a people that will no longer bear the cruelty of a tyrant. This victory could not have been won without you, Shur’tugal .” He smiled good-naturedly and tipped a bow of his head. 

Or Sandy. Without her, we would all be dead right now. I thought better of giving voice to such morbid thoughts. I returned his nod with an appropriate bow, which brought a touch of humor to his tone. 

“It seems almost fitting that you behave so oddly… like a living reminder of how separate the riders always should have been… before Galbatorix.” He spoke the name like a curse and I felt the familiar discomfort run down my spine. Years from home had barely dulled the distinct recoil at the sound of even the name. “But, lo, you barely seem to be celebrating! This is a momentous occasion… certainly, you of all people are overjoyed?” 

“Of course, Your Majesty. It isn’t a deficit in joy... Only an excess of remaining dread.” The subtle cock of his head deterred me from pursuing the depth of my concerns. Roughly switching tactics I continued, “I’m not sure I know how one is supposed to behave in a time of peace.” Not a lie… just not the truth. 

He laughed again. “You’ll get the hang of it soon enough. But before we get into all of that, there is something critical we must accomplish first.” I could only blink at him, lost completely. What could he possibly need to tell me but be unable to tell his comrades? “You have served our infant nation well these past years. We owe you a debt that can never be repaid.” I almost bowed again, but he carried on too quickly. “Now that we have entered a time of peace, security matters must be addressed.” 

Ah, perhaps he needed me to work alongside the circle until they chose a new leader. Perhaps he wanted a spy network to focus entirely on the court, on guard against anyone looking to cause trouble. Whatever it was, I would do my level best to protect this new home I so desperately needed; had worked tirelessly and at great personal cost to create. “Anything, my king.” The words felt alien, but they carried a feverish hope. 

“Excellent.” He had an almost brotherly charm to him, someone you could trust and find likable almost instantly. I hadn’t known him as long as the rest of his lackeys, but I gave to him the same admiration and esteem; I believed in this man. Until those fatal words came leaking from that perfect smile. “I want you to swear me an oath of service in the ancient language.” 

My heart nearly stopped. I was aware, dimly, that he was waiting for an enthusiastic assent… was expecting it without delay. The encouraging lift of his brow was the final straw. I shot back a cautious, “Why?” 

He tilted his head in confusion, “Isn’t it obvious?” 

“Afraid not, Sire.”

“Then allow me to enlighten you.” He adjusted his sleeves conspicuously. “Your assistance has proven vital, of that there is no doubt. But your presence here leaves me in a precarious position. Ellessar’s proclamation outed your blood ties to our previous sovereign to the entire force, and the information has spread to every corner of Surda. That combined with your history of treason makes you a less-than-trustworthy subject.” My eyes widened to the point of discomfort but, still, he carried on. “These facts together make the rest of my vassal’s a tad… skittish, you understand. While your loyalties remain in question there will be no end to people seeking to turn you against us. You will be viewed as a weakness or a weapon, and none of us will have a moment’s peace.” His extended hand may as well have been a slap across the jaw for all the comfort it brought me.“We can avoid all that if you will only give your oath to serve me as faithfully as you always have.” 

It took every ounce of self-control I possessed to keep my voice steady. “No.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“No. I refuse your offer.” 

That perfect, political smile dropped in a moment, replaced with a disapproving scowl. “Offer? Lilleth, this is no joking matter and I trust you won’t try my patience further. If we are ever to achieve true peace, then we must all be willing to make sacrifices.” 

Another voice chorused the words in my head, unbidden and yet a flawless mirror. I was very familiar with a monarch who encouraged their entourage to make sacrifices… and the nightmarish consequences they could bring. I soldiered on, keeping the disturbing parallels silent for the time being. “I am a rider. Riders were never meant to be sworn to any one ruler-” 

“Yes, in the old days that was the way. But that was before Galbatorix set the old order ablaze. The world now is determined by the surviving riders and, if we are to survive, it must be with your help.” He tried once more to soften his tone, to implore me kindly to see things his way. . . but it fell on deaf ears. I could see the gears spinning in his mind, could practically feel the intensity behind his ‘kindness’. His words implied choice; his eyes stole it away. It all felt so familiar that I was dizzy with rage. “Swear yourself to peace.” 

“Peace?” I echoed the empty word. Galbatorix had destroyed a millennia-old order in pursuit of peace. I had fled halfway across Alagaesia in search of peace… Yet here I was, more confused and fractured than ever. “There is no peace, not for me… not this way.” I felt more than offense simmering inside me. There was a sense of betrayal, of loss. “How dare you stand here, accusing me of crimes not yet committed, and insist that I put the chains on myself? How dare you offer me slavery when I gave you the crown you now hold above me? How-” 

“Gave me?” The king had gone beet-red in the face, his blonde beard standing out in ridiculous contrast. “Last I checked, you sat idly by until conflict was unavoidable, and even then you dared not face the battlefield!”

I nearly choked on the indignity of it all. “I risked far worse than death every single time I left these walls! And then I endured the belittling of you and your lackeys when all of our lives were on the line! But did I complain? Did I demand acknowledgment or promises? No. I did it because I believed in you, in the world you wanted to build. But I was a fool. I see that clearly now.” 

“The foolish thing would be to abandon all for which we’ve fought!” He slammed his fist against the window pane, rattling it mightily. To any other person, it would’ve been a frightening loss of control. All I felt was bemused disgust at the petulant display. 

“Should that be 'we', my lord? I fought for the good of the people you lead, to win freedom for those willing to fight for it. And yet… not once did I realize that it wasn’t freedom you sought. Your people are still just as trapped as they were yesterday; it seems that I've delivered them from one tyrant to another.”

He was sputtering in impotent rage now. “You dare-”

“I do. You demand slavery from a loyal ally and deteriorate into a shameful tantrum when refused. You're no king; you’re just another up jumped nobody who thinks their way is right, who will hold power desperately and above all else-"

“I won’t sit idly by and endure your-” 

“Aye? Then neither shall I.” I turned on my heel and made for the door. The portal was already thrown wide when his shout reached me.

“If you leave this room without giving your oath, I will consider it proof of your true allegiance! You will be banished permanently on pain of death!” 

I stopped dead, midstep, and half turned to look at him. “Treason?” He nodded gravely. I laughed in his face. “How could I possibly commit treason against a country I made? What right do you have to accuse me of such? If this is how you treat all of your allies, then I shall consider myself fortunate not to be one.” Before he could utter another word I was gone. 

-:- -:- -:-

Katana was saddled and ready to leave when little stomping footsteps interrupted my maelstrom of raging thoughts. “What the hell are you doing?!” I glanced down at Verra, barely suppressing my annoyance with her shrill demand. “The king is furious! What the absolute fuck did you do?” 

“I refused to be his captive. Apparently, he disapproved.” 

“Oh would you cut the crap and come apologize? I’m sure it isn’t as serious as all that-” 

“Sorry, I would, but if I go back in that building I’ll be arrested for treason, so I guess we’re done here-” 

“Dammit, Lilly, is this a fucking joke to you? There’s more than just your ego at stake you know-” 

“Yes, I do know. Apparently you and he both need to learn that information-” 

“You don’t get it! You’re leaving… just like that? Like you have somewhere to go?” 

“Probably not,” I chewed my lip. Time may have dulled the pain, but the memories of my other family were still sore and vivid. 

“You have a destination, at least!” Verra paced back and forth next to Katana, worrying the end of her braid with nervous fingers. “If I lose everything we have here, I’ll have nothing at all!” 

“You could always come to Uru’baen.” 

“Very fucking funny. You said yourself that it’s worse than death-” 

“And somehow it's still better than spending another minute here.” 

“You are the most over dramatic-” 

“Come with me.” 

“What?”

“I’ll only ask one more time: come with me.”

“I.. no, Lilly. I have a life. We have lives here… if we leave now, it’ll all be gone.” 

“Then.. this is goodbye.” 

“That’s it? You’re just going to-” 

“Absolutely. Goodbye Verra… and good luck.” Katana pushed her wings down in a mighty gesture of finality, beating Verra back several paces with the sudden torrent of air. She drove us up with all her strength until the livid form disappeared in the vague lines of the distant ground. 

-:- -:- -:-

The wind was absolutely brutal on the way back to the capital. It took us more than double the time it should have. But then, we weren’t in a particular rush to complete the journey. Ellessar’s dramatic little speech may have poisoned the well in Surda, but it also made Katana and me painfully aware that our homecoming would likely be a deadly ordeal. Seeing the wretched city again had seemed a distant nightmare, something to avoid at all costs… but when it finally broke the horizon on the seventh day, I felt an unwilling rush of relief. One way or another this would all end soon. 

I expected it to end in blood. 

-:- -:- -:-

Morzan was reclined like a lazy canine on the front steps (a right only he could exercise with impunity) almost as if he were waiting for us. I didn’t want to say anything (I don’t know what I would’ve said in any case) but he simplified the matter by issuing one grim statement: “He’s waiting for you.” 

I swallowed and nodded. 

The path was so familiar even after the years that I could walk it in my sleep. The double doors at the end of the long, imposing corridor were monolithic to me, the shrine of some sleeping god I meant to disturb. I lifted a hand to knock but it pulled inward before I even could. 

He had changed much in the short months I’d been gone. 

His hair was longer than he preferred, hanging in loose curtains around his face. His features seemed sharper and harsher; as if he hadn’t been eating or sleeping properly for weeks. His dark eyes were fathomless as ever but they also seemed to reflect deep despair, ringed with dark circles. In all likelihood, I looked no better. Ellessar… it’s probably weighing on everyone. He didn’t speak, just stood aside and gestured for me to enter. I took a deep breath and all but forced myself to put one foot in front of the other, to enter the monster’s den. He shut the door with an anticlimactic click. And then the sound of a sliding bolt echoed deep in my bones. I’m not leaving this room alive…

“I heard you left that place, but I didn’t expect you to come here.” That voice … As tragic and wrecked as he looked, he still had the most incredible voice. At once it made me sleepy, content, and deeply uncomfortable. 

“Neither did I. But where else could I go?” 

He acknowledged my words with a slow nod. Neither of us spoke for a long minute… I didn’t know what to say. I expected rage and violence… but he seemed so exhausted... He finally broke the silence with a thin, forced smile, “I’m glad you did.” The distance between us grew smaller, he raised a hand to my cheek…

I flinched.

He frowned again, brushing a stray hair from my face. “You hate me that much?” 

“I… thought you’d hate me?” I couldn’t keep eye contact anymore. The intensity of the hurt and confusion was too much. I could only mumble the rest of my thoughts, “For leaving… and for everything.” I braced myself for the pain. Or the shouting… or anything but this closeness and staring and heavy silence… 

“Hate you?” He sounded confused. He tossed his head, and the strangest exclamation of air rushed from him… laughter ? “How could I hate you, my only family left in the world, over something so trivial?” He was smiling again, but this time it reached his eyes. “I thought we’d lost you forever.” 

I.. couldn’t believe it. I expected death or worse. I had seen myself what became of traitors in Uru’baen. “But.. but I-” I’d done so much to him in so little time I didn’t know where to begin. 

He shushed me with a pet and another grin. “I know. Believe me, I know, and it’s over now. All that matters is that you’re home.” 

I had no idea what to say. “You’re not mad?” I could feel the tears coming and desperately tried to hold them back. 

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” He gave a wry smile, “I’m absolutely furious.” I winced, but he kept his jovial tone as he continued, “and a little proud.”

I raised an eyebrow in blatant disbelief. “Proud? Of treason?” 

“Absolutely,” he spread his hands, gesturing to the room at large, “How else could we be where we are today without fighting for what we deem necessary? You would not have done it if you didn’t think it had to be done.” His voice stayed playful, but it took on a far sharper edge. “And you would not have returned unless you were proven incorrect.” I felt the rush of blood to my cheeks, the hot press of shame. I had been wrong. I’d done so much and it was all for absolutely nothing. He only nodded. “I could have told you as much… but some things you must experience to know. I… regret that it went as far as it did...” again the sharp bite of his disapproval, again a rush of shame. Our third member the join and third to fall… and this one in a battle that never needed to occur. “ But then, that was as much my own folly as it was yours. There is no sense raging for what is done and lost.” He let the admonishment drain away to weariness once more. “I’m glad to have you home, Lilleth.” 

I never thought I would hear this man say those words. Not once in all our years did he express the vaguest fondness for me… let alone a desire for me to be around. He considered me a burden, a useless object, a faulty tool at best… but here he was offering advice, understanding, and affection. I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat, so I nodded and tried to smile. 

“And, besides,” Galbatorix continued mildly, “you would never have left in the first place if it weren’t for that boy.” 

The warmth in my chest dimmed slightly. I had actively avoided putting thought into Anthony since joining the rebellion; the cyclic thoughts were too damn confusing. “...yes.” 

He sighed, tapping his long fingers in an imperfect rhythm. “I do not regret my actions, but I do regret the way it was handled. I should have respected your feelings. I learned long ago how to sever ties with those who have wronged me, but it is a skill I learned through painful experience, and certainly not one I mastered at once. I should have guided you then… and I am sorry that I failed you, finiaril. ” 

I was struck speechless again! Not only was I not going to die… but now he was... Apologizing?  I was officially off-script for Galbatorix’s usual behavior. All I could do was watch in fascination. I stuttered out, “It’s fine. It shouldn’t have affected me as much as it did-” 

“Yes, it should. He may have lied to you, but you did not lie to yourself. You didn’t know who he truly was but you loved who he appeared to be… and you must allow yourself to mourn that loss. Your love was real, even though he was not.” He stepped close again, a hand on my shoulder. I could feel hot tears threatening to spill over and tried to hide my face, to excuse the weak display… But he pressed me into a tight hold before I could. “The pain will ease once you let those memories go and get back to more productive things.” I nodded, choking on gratitude, emotion, and relief. Then, just as I went to pull away, his hold tightened. His voice dropped to a grave whisper, “This will never happen again. Am I understood?” 

I could only nod. 

When he released me he was perfectly calm and pleasant again. “Good. Now,” he brushed away one of my tears, “rest up! I have a meeting in the morning and I need you present. There is much to be done.” He retreated to his desk as a form of dismissal.

I took it gladly.

I spent many days weighing everything that I thought I knew, everything I had recently learned. I had lost so much but received so much more in return. The only question left…

Was it worth it? 

Chapter Text

I returned to Galbatorix’s court a very different woman. Only a few years had elapsed since my defection, but I’d certainly grown. The most marked sign of this was that my ebrithil did not shuck me off to Madame Tutor and her cronies. He took a more personal interest in my training in all things, especially my grasp of more complex magic. Ellessar’s death left a sharp impression on him and he was determined to guard the rest of us against a similar fate. Of course, the easiest way for him to accomplish this… was to use the eldunari. 

Of Galbatorix’s many sins, his treatment of the eldunari in particular summons up the most outrage from the few who know of it. Not only did he commit genocide, but he then enslaved the enduring consciousness of his victims and used them as a power source to kill even more of their brethren. Anyone who is familiar with dragons will infer the colossal task of forcing one, even a disembodied soul, to do anything against their will. He drove them mad, one by one, through sheer force of will. 

The trouble is, once broken they were… chaotic, to say the very least. It took years of training before I was ready to attempt using one, and my first attempt ended in dismal failure. As did the second. By my third, I had acquired a healthy dread of the poor things… but Galbatorix takes no excuses.

“Your mind must be blank; a featureless slate. If you give him so much as a fingerhold, he will use it to tear you apart.” 

I didn’t respond. Everything had boiled down to just Galbatorix’s voice, my own cyclic breathing: in; out, the rasp of air in my throat, the doubled pulse of my heartbeat, and throbbing from a string of fresh bruises on my lower back. Instead of trying to empty my mind, I filled it with intentional mantras; strips of meaningless verse that soothed and stilled me. 

 I do not want to do this. I examined the stray thought without shame. Of course, I didn’t; it was dangerous, morally abhorrent, exhausting, and difficult in the extreme. Still, I had long since passed the threshold of having a choice in the matter. My only path now was to do the thing well; execute the appointed task. No past, no future… only in and out. 

“Begin.” 

I extended a sliver of thought forward. I had every inch of this room committed to memory; a circular tower that stretched up three whole stories, seemingly made entirely of bookshelves. Most of these were stuffed full of ancient texts that the Forsworn had pilfered from Vroengard itself. Some shelves bore glass cases filled with artifacts; some older than even the elves. My searching tendril ignored all of them, slinking from my sitting position on the floor towards a faceted mauve stone on Torix’s desk. 

Quick as lightning, a wild shrieking overtook my thoughts. Sometimes it would almost seem to form words, but then it would careen back into meaningless noise. I flinched and instinctively threw up a barrier to protect myself-

Swish, Thwack! A stinging line joined its brethren on my back. Torix was a deft hand with a switch. “Face it.” 

I breathed, in; out , and dove back into the maelstrom. The dragon had been young when he died, but he had existed as an eldunari for a century and more. His wealth of experiences made his thoughts dizzying and confusing, and Galbatorix’s repeated torment laced them with rage and pain. I weathered the first few gusts before retreating within myself. I could still sense the barrage, but I could also step back and view it objectively. I could feel, or rather I had a hunch, that his bluster was more for show than to actually cause harm. Also, it wasn’t purely malicious; he was just as likely crying out for solace as he was lashing out in rage. I decided to play my hunch before Master got any further ideas with the switch. 

I sharpened my thoughts to needle-like thinness and dove straight for the edlunari’s core. Here the words were clearer, though just as meaningless. Or… were they? Back, must… storm, the fire… bloody stones! Mixed in with the rambling were images of lightning, a fire that burned every nerve in [his, my, our body], a crumpled form at the bottom of a ravine, clouds blacker than Shruikan’s wings… I withdrew from the tangle just enough to think.

His body died in a storm, and his rider along with him. I couldn’t imagine the agony of existing with your worst memory on permanent loop. Instinctively, I reached for my own store of power, but I redirected the flow to stem from the eldunari himself. The spell I wove was simple in premise, though very dangerous if misspoken. I dug through his memories for better times and pulled them to the fore, then buried the horror beneath them. It was imperfect; in a more coherent being it would problematic for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the sudden amnesia of their own bodily death. But, for a creature who must exist for decades and centuries untold in forced servitude, a beautiful dream seemed kinder than a permanent nightmare. 

The storm froze. I flicked through some of his stray thoughts. He was completely disinterested in the world around him, focused inward on his own reminiscing; full of clear skies and laughter. I withdrew slowly, leaving only a thread connecting his mind and mine. I pulled some of his strength into myself. “ Istalri.” I opened my eyes, squinting against the harsh light of the freshly lit fireplace. 

Clap. Clap. I pivoted in place to look at my master. He leaned back against a shelf, applauding with a sarcastic air. “A fascinating approach. You realize, of course, that it will be a permanent drain on his strength?” 

“A small sacrifice,” I sniffed. I brushed a hand along my cheek, surprised to find half-dried tears. 

“Not so small if it’s compounded across dozens of them,” Galbatorix snapped the switch in half calmly and tossed it into the fireplace. “Release the spell.” 

“No.” I swallowed hard as Torix’s good humor evaporated. He turned on me, his tense quiet as good as a slap. “He is mine to use. That was the promised reward if I succeeded.” 

“I would hardly call this a success,” He waved a hand dismissively at the dull pink stone. “Handicapping your only source of power?” 

“The fire is lit,” I replied. 

Torix rested his fists on his hips. He lifted a brow and leaned in until his disapproving stare was right above me. 

I blinked. 

He leaned back with a huff. “Fine. He’ll be your burden to bear. Do it to every one of them for all I care. The others and I can mock your corpse when it comes back to bite you.” 

I bowed my head, mostly to conceal my shit-eating grin. “ Elrun ono, Ebrithil. ” 

“Hmph.”

The other area that Galbatorix took great pains to educate me in was “statecraft”. This was easy enough for my teacher since the court revolved around him. Urubaen functioned like a web with Torix at the center like a great black spider. “Rank” (a word used so often among the nobles that it became almost meaningless) was determined largely by how close to the center of the web one could reach; how much access one had to the king. The Forsworn and I made up the de facto second ring. Therefore, anyone seeking to move up in rank would inevitably attempt to ingratiate themselves with one of us. Since I no longer had armed babysitters and I was the- let’s say “most approachable” to be kind- that left the burden of their company mostly on my shoulders. Usually, this was only boring. Court had a reputation for being… how shall I put this…. A prolonged cock measuring party. Nobles, particularly the recently promoted, jumped at any opportunity to one-up their peers. However, one tradition was of particular interest to this group: the onset of spring.

The younger members of households would travel to Uru’baen from their country estates, be introduced to the rest of the court, and engage in a season of near-constant socialization. It was equal parts training and matchmaking; introducing them to the games they’d be expected to play for the rest of their lives. It was often referred to as the Flower Fall; the sudden appearance of many lovely new faces. The unwed nobles were like wolves to a fresh kill this time of year… all of them except me. 

I dreaded the spring. It was painful for too many reasons; memories of a more innocent time mixed with constant social pressure. I spent an absolutely inhumane amount of time engaged in court rituals: gallery exhibitions, garden parties, teas, luncheons, breakfasts (held well into the afternoon), and dinners (that often concluded near dawn). Some of them even had the audacity to hold “charity” galas; a few gold coins were charged for entry that would then be shuffled out to the city’s poor. Of course, they spent ten times the donation on the party itself… I grew to loathe it all. Fiddly foods layered in sugar and cream that made me sick, weak tea with pretentious names in fragile little cups, empty conversations with hidden intentions. I feel strongly that enforcing small talk on an unwilling subject should be punishable by death. Or, at least, a hefty fine and public humiliation. That would be as good as death for most of them… which I think says more than enough about their priorities. 

Lucky for me, I had a partner who was just as irritated.

Court hadn’t changed much in the past five or so years. The massive throne room still felt empty, even with dozens of nobles circling the throne. Galbatorix was the only one permitted to sit. Even I was expected to stand, though he permitted me to stand beside him on the dias instead of mingling with the others. The proceedings always began with an orderly line of people seeking an audience, in order of rank. That line had been mercifully short today as most of them were only in attendance to view the newcomers to court. 

“Presenting, Duchess Bedfort of Ceunon, and her nephew Emisan,” a stately pair drifted down the center aisle. The duchess I recognized from recent court functions. She was a dignified woman in her thirtieth year, with dark skin and a trace of a desert accent. The young man at her side shared not a single quality with his escort; all pale freckles and messy brown curls. He was ungraceful and shy, but he bowed correctly enough when they reached the end of the long crimson carpet.

He doesn’t seem ready for this, I remarked silently. 

He brings to mind a wild animal… a newborn deer, I think. Torix’s mind was an unpleasant tangle of thorns; just being in contact with him was like purposefully walking through poison ivy. Even so, it was worth the discomfort to have his constant inner monologue narrating the menagerie. 

Or a foal. I concurred mildly. Torix was greeting the pair, but I tuned it all out, fixing a benign smile in place. 

More of a jackass than a stallion. I’m surprised the duchess agreed to foster him; she usually keeps a very strict house. 

I have a feeling that is precisely why he is here. I emphasized my view of the Duchess’s firm hand guiding the young man to his appropriate place. 

She’ll have him ship-shape in a week. 

You really think so? 

Torix ignored my query, remarking instead, He has lovely eyes. His thought was tainted with a peculiar interest. I mentally jabbed him but he only smiled. He won’t have trouble finding a wife, I think. 

Could you endeavor to not be a creep? He’s younger than me! 

Be careful; the day will come when you’re in your second or third century and everyone will be young enough to be your great-great-grandchild. Normal rules don’t apply to Shur’tugal. 

I nodded politely to the next approaching pair. You sound like an old man already! And you’re not yet fifty. 

Most days I feel far older than that. I caught the impression of his own dealings with the eldunari , all much less... “civil” than my own. Absorbing century after century of memories had the dual effect of making him almost infinitely wise… and absolutely insufferable. And yet, some days I feel twenty again. Time ceases to matter after a certain point; it comes down to memory and energy. 

Well, I’m exhausted. Does that make me a crone? 

He smirked. Yes. Before I could retaliate, the herald announced the last arrival. 

“Now presenting the fair and glorious Lady Antebellum of Aroughs. She is accompanied by her granddaughter, Charlotte Antebellum.”

I squinted. Antebellum?

The Masked Lord, or lady rather,  in service to the lord of Aroughs. They took on a new name after the war. 

  Shouldn’t she have been presented first? In terms of rank, the voices of the major cities were equal to the families they served. 

The only way she could be dead last is by design . Torix concurred. 

The doors opened. 

A young woman entered first. She was stunningly beautiful. For just a second, I was reminded of my mother… but the similarities were superficial at best. This woman had gleaming golden blonde hair and eyes like robin’s eggs. She was older than most of the people presented thus far, already a woman in full, and she carried herself like a queen. A deep blue velvet gown hugged her perfect figure far more closely than the normal fashions allowed. She’d foregone the normal skirt supports and let it trail behind her, a luxurious ocean train.  Behind her, an elderly woman with similarly chiseled cheekbones and regal bearing walked aided by a cane. Her dress was rich but subdued (designed to keep the crowd’s focus on her charge) and her grey hair was bound up in a braid. When the pair reached the feet of the throne, the maiden bowed low, sneaking a glance up to meet Galbatorix’s eyes. 

She’s bold, I noted. 

Brazen even. But there was no offense in his tone. Rather, he was fascinated. He stood and offered her a gloved hand. She accepted it delicately, fingers posed like a porcelain doll. “I am pleased that you have joined our court at last, Lady Charlotte. It seems long overdue. Your Grandmother has been generous in singing your praises but, certainly, even that does you no credit.” 

“I thank you, Your Majesty.” Her voice mismatched her appearance in an intriguing way. It was low, controlled, deep, and warm. I imagined that she’d be a lovely singer.

“She was orphaned three summers hence, Majesty.” A raspier inflection set this voice apart from the first, though here too they were startlingly similar. The Lady stepped forward, cane clicking on the hard stone. “Fever took my son and his wife. The girl has been my ward since then.” She took out a handkerchief and coughed, a garbled sound I recognized as lung rot; the indomitable lady was surely in her final years. “We decided to wait until she was prepared.” 

“My grandmother should not make the journey to retrieve me more than once,” Charlotte added, offering an arm to support the older woman. While her words may have been kind, they also radiated pure confidence: she would only need one social season to make her impression. 

Indeed, she’d more than succeeded in that on her very first day!

Torix inclined his head, “Then we thank you for making the trip. It would be tragic indeed if we were robbed of your company.” 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Galbatorix.” The woman wheezed. “As for myself, I believe I must return to our rooms. By your leave, My King.” 

“Please, go to your rest with our blessing.” Torix gave the older woman a courtly bow.

She giggled like a much younger woman and leaned on her granddaughter’s arm. “Charlie, be a dear?” 

“Of course, Mother.” Without missing a beat she gracefully bent, adjusted the train of her gown, and retraced their journey out of the hall. Excited whispers broke out among the other nobles the minute the door latched behind them.

And exiting without allowing the other young hopefuls to so much as stand near her. 

Antebellum is a clever old bat, of that there is no doubt. 

And, apparently, she was quite a looker in her day. 

She was. Torix added, a wistful memory sweeping through his mind. A voluptuous woman in a red satin gown, orange leaves scattering the ground like wildfire, a firm hand on Torix’s shoulder, and a voice whispering in his ear, “Be wary of that one, my young student. Her family is run by its females, and she is the most ferocious of them all.” 

You met her??? 

I almost slept with her. 

Almost? That doesn’t sound like you at all.  

Well, she was a noble after all. Such things usually require matrimony which is, shall we say, ‘not my style’. 

Pastor, the choir is familiar. Need I point out that I was nearly seven when I met you? I whistled one long, flat note. My condolences for the missed opportunity. 

He glanced down at me, brow lifted in question. Should I be planning to have a daughter-in-law someday? 

I snorted. Let’s just say that finding a noble husband is not my style. I had nothing in particular against men of course, but women were interesting in a very.. different way.

Spinsterdom suits you. He huffed and conspicuously adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. In fact, I loathe the idea of giving you away to anyone, man or woman. 

Unless Ms. Antebellum should ask. 

He laughed aloud. For that one exception, I shall forebear.

The prolonged exposure to Galbatorix had a way of playing with my mind. When one inextricably ties one’s fate to another, works with them for hours every day… it’s no shock that one would get close to them. I grew to tolerate my former tormentor. Much like a symbiotic relationship… but colored through with trauma (you know, for flavor). He also never improved that “delicate” temper; he was exactly as demanding as he’d ever been, more so even since now my actions affected him directly. He was still violent, still selfish, still…. Himself. But I learned, ever so slowly, that he was much more than even the forsworn could have known. There were facets of this man that he kept hidden from everyone.

 Everyone but me.

I groaned and collapsed into one of the plush black sofas circling the hearth of Torix’s main bed chamber. The room was a perfect reflection of the man’s style; every shade and texture of black played into his meticulously manicured refuge. Rugs layered the floor until the original colors and material were long lost. The walls were entirely covered by intricate tapestries, many of them depicting scenes out of myth, others of midnight wilderness. The focal point of the room was a four-poster bed (a massive and ornate creation for even a king) and the wall behind it. A dozen feet from the floor the wall angled  inward to form the slope of the roof. Here it also gave way to the most flawless panes of glass.  During the day he often had thick black drapes pulled over much of it, but at night it offered an uninhibited view of the heavens. Doors led to other sections of his personal quarters, but most of them were concealed within the tapestries: the man strove for privacy above all else. 

I screamed into the cushion beneath me before propping up on my elbows. “Those rat bastards!” A heavy hand reached down and patted my head like an amusing hound. I snarled and glared back at its owner. 

Torix wisely withdrew the hand. “It’s nothing less than what you expected of them,” He remarked casually, settling into a high-backed lounge chair, “If anything, I commend them for finally being transparent about their intentions.” 

“Transparently bastardish…” I groused. “Shall we run down the list?” 

“Attempting to kidnap a twelve-year-old, betrothing her to one of her family's enemies, then blaming her clan for the failure of the arrangement.” My ebrithil ticked off each point on his fingers. His rings glittered ominously in the firelight as he did so, particularly a slim-cut ruby on the middle finger of his left hand. “All to try and claim land that doesn’t concern them in the least.” 

I turned again to lay on my back, head propped up so I could still look at him. “They believe they’ve curried enough favor for you to intervene on their behalf.” When he didn’t respond, I continued, “And have they?” 

“I doubt it.” Torix chuckled darkly, spinning the bejeweled band. “Surda’s land grab left their clan homeless. So, when the girl’s family seeks retribution for the wrong done to them, they will have nowhere to run.”

“Their new ally could be troublesome; the former fiance of an unwilling child bride.” My lip curled in disgust. 

“If it bothers you so, then I leave it in your hands.” He rested his sleek, hard-soled boots on a low, dark table.

I blinked. “To do as I wish?” 

“Sure.” 

I leaned on the phrase. “ Whatever I wish?” 

A wicked smile played at the edges of his lips. “Don’t get caught.” 

 I felt myself mirror his smile. “The situation will be resolved before the week is out.” 

“Thank the gods,” he sighed, every bit the wearied martyr. 

I refused to buy into his self-pitying shtick; he could go on that way all night if I let him. “Which ones?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Which gods, I mean? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about matters of faith; you don’t seem to believe in anything.” 

He almost waved the question off, but he hesitated. “I have heard many different versions of religion over the years, and suffice to say that none have impressed me.” He watched the fireplace intently as he spoke, his voice dropping into the velvet tones he used for telling stories. I was transfixed equally by the hypnotic words and the light dancing in his dark eyes. “Men seek an answer, and when they cannot find it they create one; for life, for death, and for everything in between. If there is something lingering in the cracks… well, I owe it no particular gratitude.” 

“Can gods be evil?” 

“If they exist at all, they most certainly are.” His face twitched; the ghost of a long-dead smile. “No benevolent force would starve thousands, widow mothers, enslave children… “ he trailed off, shadows crossing his features. He spoke again, this time no more than a choked murmur, “...punish an innocent for a fool’s mistake.” 

“Jarnunvosk,” I whispered the forbidden name reverently. Galbatorix’s first partner was a dangerous topic to broach.

“Jay,” Torix breathed. “The only wholly good being I’ve ever known, and he died for absolutely nothing .” His gaze refocused on me, still half adrift in the past. He wrenched the conversation back to safer ground. “I think, of every sect, the mad priests in Dras Leona have it closest. Or, perhaps, the dragon cults of old. Both share the dogma that, if gods exist, they are creatures of great strength who view all of the civilized races as no more than insects beneath their feet. We do not pray for their love, but for our own survival.”

I sat up and tucked my knees to my chest. “I hope they’re all wrong.” 

“Really? You’d prefer an empty world?” 

“Better empty than ruled over by tyrants.” 

He chuckled and stood. “Should I take that personally?” 

“I won’t stop you,” I answered flippantly. 

He smacked the side of my leg. “Brat.”  

I grinned up at him, but it faltered as something struck me. “Wait… you’ve been to the temple in Dras Leona?” 

“More than that. I’ve met their gods.” 

I stood up. “You just said you didn’t believe in any gods!” 

“They worship very real creatures… whether or not they’re ‘divine’ is a matter for the sages to debate.” Again, he reached down and patted my head. “Speaking of, you should never enter their holy places unguarded. They would like nothing more than to stick a blade through any of us.” 

“Damn. I glimpsed the building the last time I flew in that direction. It’s beautiful… in an awful way.” 

Toric snorted. “It’s a waste of good stone, just as the cult within is a waste of decent minds.” He must have noticed me turn away after his rebuke, because he added more gently, “the only thing of value is the massive organ.” 

“Like… a heart? Or a brain?” 

He chuckled. “ Pipe organ. It’s a musical instrument; they’re quite rare as they are difficult to construct and even more difficult to play.” 

“And you’re a scholar of music now as well?” I teased. 

He paused, lingering on the edge of a decision. “As a matter of fact, yes.” My mouth dropped open. He slid one long finger to my chin and snapped it back closed. “Don’t be a pain. It was a long time ago…” 

“What was?” 

“When I…” he brushed his hand through his hair self-consciously. I’d never seen this man off balance, let alone nervous! “When I learned to play.” He turned and crossed the room, lifting a heavy cloth off what I always assumed to be another table. It had legs like a table, but the similarities ended there. Most of its surface was cut away, lines of tiny chords running within the body. A ledge of thin rectangles occupied the front edge, right alongside a low bench. Torix sat to one side of it, patting the spot next to him. We had to sit shoulder to shoulder, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

“My old tutor showed me one of these once,” I whispered, plunking one of the keys. A bland note rang into the quiet room. “A lot of noble ladies learn to play these; mostly for bragging rights.” 

Torix chuckled and adjusted his sleeves. “What a waste. Music is an expression of the artist’s very self.” His hands floated over the keys, rested a heartbeat, and then began to play. I shivered. Never in my life, not even at the grand balls, had I heard anything like this. It was dark, mournful, and yet…I found myself ensnared. Within that haunting melody, the facade of confidence and ruthlessness crumbled away until the man beside me was a total stranger. His music spoke of tenderness, regret, and pain; all running unchecked in tumultuous knots. The impromptu composition increased in depth rather than speed or volume and I felt my heart catch with impossible to express emotion. The artist’s very self…

His eyes drifted closed, and I took the opportunity to study him. While his expression remained inscrutable, he did seem more… relaxed. He breathed in time with his creation and I found myself matching his rhythm.  I fell into the gentle ebb and flow of the music so peacefully that my eyelids grew heavy. The last thing I remember was him lifting one hand from the keys and stroking my hair, a clumsily adapted lullaby soothing me into sleep.

I awoke an indeterminable time later, more comfortable than I’d ever been in my life. My body had melted; relaxed to the point of being fully paralyzed. I glanced around the dim room, still disoriented from being so recently awoken. I was on the far left side of Torix’s massive bed, my boots propped against the nightstand, and my hair done up in a loose braid. I turned over and spied a slumbering form on the complete opposite side of the mattress; bare to the waist and deep in his dreams. It was bizarre to see him so… normal looking. Not an imposing monarch nor impossible to please mentor. He had the shadowy ghost of facial hair around his jawline, slept with one arm tucked beneath his pillow, was, in all ways, just a normal man. I considered wandering back to my room, but I was still so tired, and so warm… With how big the mattress is, it may as well be my own bed. It’s only one night anyway. And I settled back down to sleep.

If my childhood self knew that I would one day feel completely at ease sleeping in Galbatorix’s bed, she would probably have had a heart attack on the spot! He may have been something of a …. Well, frankly, a slut in his personal dealings, but he wasn’t well known for physical closeness of any kind. This trait wasn’t unique to Torix I suppose; Amroth, Siyamak, Eltereth, Beren, and Idril refused to be touched by anyone ever.  Formora only liked contact through her fists, particularly with Morzan’s face. Kialandi was a famous hugger, Balor used touch as a sales tactic, and Gelmir…. 

It was an open secret that Gildor and Gelmir were closer than a typical family. While Gildor was still alive, the two were utterly inseparable. They even shared a bed… the em… “off-color” rumors wrote themselves.  Except, to all of us, they weren’t rumors and it went far deeper than any physical bond. We knew the real depth of their love; they were literally soul mates. And we knew just how far gone Gelmir truly was without his brother. Even his dragon deteriorated quicker than the rest, becoming almost feral in the few short years I’d been away. But that had nothing on the transformation of the man himself. 

It started so simply. He would hover near darkened windows or mirrors, any reflective surface really, and murmur to himself. But his speech got clearer and more coherent with time. He no longer had a reflection; he had Gildor back. If he journeyed too far from “Gildor” he would become agitated, devolving into a full panic within a few moments. It was agreed that he would be safer tucked away in his own estate. He furnished it for two. All of his servants would address both of their lords. And, the detail that survives most clearly in public memory, he lined every single inch of the manor with immaculate mirrors. It was an eerie place, haunted by the living man and home to the ghost. 

No one was shocked when the news came.

Time froze. 

No one in the room dared to breathe. The fireplace popped and shot sparks into the darkness and ice cracked apart in one of the goblets; all traces of the revelry they represented vanished in a single moment. Slowly my eyes wandered to Torix. Every other attendee did the same. He stood rigid, tall, and implacable as he was expected to be, but anyone who knew him well could see the distance in his eyes. I caught Morzan’s look and nodded towards the door. He shook his head imperceptibly and said, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Sir. A servant just arrived from his estate. His tale is-” 

“Bring him to me.” Torix’s voice was as calm as it had ever been. It did nothing for anyone’s unease. We all tried to ween off of our defensive postures, but with Torix’s temper…. it was just better to be ready. 

The silence dragged on until finally, the servant cracked the door, bowing and scraping, practically tripping over his own feet as he stumbled into the room. He knelt, shaking, before the king.  “Sire… it was a nightmare. I was outside tending the plants when I heard a sound like an explosion. I fell to the ground and covered my head, but nothing else happened. I ran into the building to find the source, but I couldn’t even make it two inches through the door- not two inches!- every bit of glass in the whole castle shattered with the blast. It took some time to find a shovel- we needed one to progress without loss of limb- but when we did… we …. He had…. Oh sir, if I had known-” 

“Your master?” 

“….dead, Sir. We found him in the northernmost hall. He was shredded, head to toe. Even if we had reached him immediately, we haven’t the skill to-” 

Torix lifted his hand to halt the man. Everyone held their breath again, especially the quaking gardener. “No one could reasonably expect a landscaper to become a surgeon. Thank you for bringing me the news. Rest in the med ward until your strength is recovered, then see the housekeeper. We will find a place for you and anyone else who may have survived. Go.” 

The crouching man appeared to come back to life slightly, bowing again until his head reached the floor. “Thank you, Sire.” He scurried away before the infamously fickle tide could turn. Apparently, many of our companions had similar inclinations, especially the few who were only innocent revelers and not members of the inner circle. 

Torix gathered himself almost too quickly, “It seems there are now a series of pressing concerns that demand my attention. I hope you’ll all indulge me an early end to the evening.” His smile was every bit a political piece, and barely even that.

 Almost everyone cleared out right away (I even saw Kialandi hug Formorra before they both wandered off). By the time the tide had ebbed, only Morzan, Torix, and I remained. I shouldn’t have been inclined to stay… but it felt important. Morzan still hadn’t moved, frozen in place as he watched Torix’s face.  

Finally, Torix spoke. “Gildor, Ellessar, and now Gelmir. All the youngest gone first. It hardly seems…. Real?” 

His recounting left out Xanist, but this wasn’t the time. 

“This is horse shit,” ah Morzan, ever the poet. “Who could’ve gotten to Gelmir? And why would they-”

“I think we all know exactly what got to Gelmir.” I added in a numb voice. Morzan shot me an evil look, but Torix only nodded and collapsed into a chair, scrubbing his face and seeming to age a hundred years in a single breath. I carried on for completion’s sake, “He really hasn’t been with us since we lost Gildor. This was… inevitable.” 

“We could’ve!-” Morzan jumped up, but Torix grabbed his arm and the larger man froze. 

“No. The sort of pain he was feeling… nothing we did could have gotten through that shell. His mind went with his twin; the body was bound to follow eventually. His loss was even greater than the loss of a dragon… a soul mate that had been with him since birth. No, this was his own doing, and there is no one on earth who could have stopped him.” His head dropped and he braced on his knees. I nearly gaped when I realized that drops stained the carpet between his boots… he was… crying . Morzan didn’t acknowledge it at all, and of course, he couldn’t for the sake of his friend’s pride. For Morzan’s own pride, Torix and I both pretended not to hear the choke in his throat or his sniffle as he said, “You’re right… fuck… we’ll have to go tomorrow and bury him. Where the hell is....his dragon?” As usual, any discussion of the dragons forced down a gloomy oppressiveness which on top of the recent tragedy seemed suffocating. 

“I’m sure we’ll see tomorrow. I wouldn’t bother holding out hope. If he had his mind perhaps… but as he is, I can’t imagine him having the will to carry on. Or, if he did, he is long gone from that place.” He gripped Morzan’s hand and said in a gentler tone, “This can be pursued in the morning. Try to rest.” His friend nodded and left. 

I don’t know what possessed me to reach for Torix. He just seemed so… empty. Like his own mind was ripping itself apart. My fingers closed around his and he jumped as if I’d slapped him. He stared at my hand a moment before curling back. We didn’t say another word through the night, but I slowly drew closer until we were embracing on the sofa, his silent tears lost in my hair as we held each other. We slept that way until late morning. Morzan woke us with a nudge and two bowls of plain porridge. He said not a word. 

Every time we lost a member of our family, it sent shock waves through the group. Gelmir’s death was not exactly unexpected… but it still caused everyone’s relationships to shift. Friends got closer, friends drifted apart. Eltereth broke rank entirely, retreating to forests between Gil’ead and Du Weldenvarden proper with her dragon and Xanist’s. The only ones who still socialized outside of official business were Galbatorix, Morzan, and me. 

I still don’t fully understand how it happened; how men that tormented me all my days became my sole companions. I don’t know how I got so distracted that I left Katana largely on her own with only Shruikan to relieve the boredom. I don’t know how, after years of learning how to protect myself, I was still vulnerable to an attack from such an obvious source! I still feel like a damned fool for not seeing the signs, so brazenly flaunted before me that, looking back on it now, it seems like one massive joke at my expense. 

For now, I will simply say this: one should never underestimate Galbatorix’s ingenuity, charm, or most crucially of all his cruelty. 

Chapter Text

Time passed unevenly for the years that followed. I can’t now recall the exact order of events… Plots came and went, the seasons shifted through their courses until they blended into one. Many of the older lords passed on, replaced by their sons and daughters. It was unsettling to see new faces take up old names while my own appearance barely changed. 

 I know that the elder Antebellum lived just long enough to see her granddaughter married. The newly appointed Lady took over the house affairs; even her new husband was content to let her. She was a force of nature at court! She had a hand in almost every conspiracy; from senseless flirtations to full-scale treason. It was impossible to untangle exactly where the layers of deceit ended and the real woman began. I adored her. She was witty, charming, and often sought my company (mostly to stir up trouble). We developed a friendly rivalry (if you can consider a series of covert battles friendly) but it was all grown from a healthy respect. 

My role at court evolved as my friendship with Galbatorix did. The closer we got, the more he shared with me. I became was his most trusted advisor (since politics bored Morzan to tears). In the decade or so following my return, I took on a very unique role for Torix. I had extensive experience operating a spy network after all and he recognized my skillset (even if he didn’t care for how it was built). I hid in plain sight while serving as a spy, thief, courier, and assassin. Nothing numbs a person to taking life like doing it over and over and over and over again. Most of my targets were low profile; people who wouldn’t really be missed. Some were spies while others were innocent casualties of greater schemes. It was fascinating to watch how each delicate thread connected to the larger web, and how a single thrust of a dagger could upend years of politicking. This participation felt more “real” to me. I could affect the outcome from outside of the machinations themselves, and all to the benefit of the crown. 

Yet, there was one task that he gave me that was harder on my spirit than all the rest combined.

 I sipped my tea calmly, using the excuse to take in the mid-summer gardens. The palace in Uru’baen had long since recovered from our acquisition; returned now to her full splendor. Roses bloomed thickly around our table, their aroma adding pleasantly to the overall experience of the tea. I normally couldn’t stand socializing with the other court ladies  (no better excuse for mindless gossip has ever been created) but, in the case of Antebellum, I made an exception.

Lady Antebellum tittered politely with her guests. Not one of them so much as suspected the snake in their midst… no one but me. She snapped a fan open, small comfort against the blistering heat, and shot a conspiratorial look around the table. “So, all of you will be in attendance at the summer Gala.” A chorus of confirming chatter met her query. She waved her fan impatiently and continued, “Then you will all be in prime position to witness the most heinous poaching.” She launched full force into one of her beloved court romances. I tolerated her flights of fancy because, buried beneath the idle gossip, was a mind equal to the very greatest lords. She had inherited her Grandmother’s title: the Masked Lord of Aroughs, and she was determined to leverage it to complete dominance. 

The conversation around me lulled as if a cloud had drifted over the sun. A familiar voice sounded just behind me. “Lilleth, there is a delicate matter we must discuss.” 

I turned and looked my ebrithil up and down. He wasn’t angry, at least not enough to wear it openly. “Of course. Lead the way.” I followed him all the way back to his office. 

He rested against the desk, rubbed a palm down his chin, and offered a chair. “I dislike the necessity of this conversation.” 

“Never a promising start.” 

“During your time away from Uru’baen, I made a minuscule degree of progress with the eggs.” 

This was a rare opportunity indeed; as a general rule, Torix spoke as little about his most prized possessions as possible. Not even all of the Forsworn knew their exact whereabouts, myself included. I sat forward excitedly. “Has one of them-” 

“No, but I did discover something crucial about them.” I gestured for him to continue without delay. “Only one of them is female.” 

I raised an eyebrow. Generally, it was better to be patient with his dramatic reveals, but I was far from in the mood. “And…?” 

“Given the state of the thirteen’s partners, there is a high degree of chance that they are incapable of breeding. Morzan’s dragon nearly ripped off one of Shruikan’s wings earlier this very afternoon when I broached the subject with her rider. Even Eltereth’s charges are disinterested in the practice by all accounts. Which leaves exactly one potential breeding pair alive in the world.” 

I blinked. “I’m afraid I’m not-” 

“Katana is the last… sane female dragon alive, and she will remain so until the blue egg finds her rider.” He delivered the words haltingly as if he were waiting for me to strike him. 

I was certainly tempted to do just that. “Katana has no mate, and as you just said there aren’t any feasible partners left-” 

“Not so,” he cut in smoothly. “There is one.” 

I gaped at him. “You want Katana to bond with… to  mate with Shruikan?” The thought made me uncomfortable for so many different reasons. Shruikan was... mentally unwell. Years of servitude to his soulmate’s murderer had made him violent, angry, bitter, and petty. Most days, he lazed about the treasury waiting for an unfortunate castle resident to bumble in so he could unleash his pent-up rage. He would still tolerate Katana, but their interactions consisted mostly of eye contact certainly, nothing to indicate intimacy. Plus there was the simple fact that he was her teacher; her ebrithil, and that their respective partners were… well, Torix and me! 

“I want to at least explain the situation to them.” Torix held up his hands defensively. “It is their species on the brink of destruction; it is their decision whether to save it or let it fall.” 

“Really?” I leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “If they refuse, you will stand aside and abide by their choice? Pardon me for saying so, but that doesn’t sound like my mentor.” 

He sighed; a deep and heavy burden clearly weighing on him. “I don’t relish this situation any more than you do, believe me. By the Order’s principles, it would have been the height of taboo. There is every possibility they will refuse on a variety of grounds: ethical concerns, intellectual differences... not to mention their egos. Even so, it is my obligation as not only a king but as one of the last Dragon Riders to do everything in my power to prevent their extinction. Thus, the unpleasant mantle falls to us to convince them, by any means we may, to perform their duty to Alagaesia.” 

“So by ‘their decision’ you mean, whatever they say we’ll badger them until they change their minds? And here I thought you were an expert in seduction; the way Morzan talks about your antics.” I scoffed and tossed my hair back from my face. “The only way Katana would ever agree to this is if Shruikan can convince her himself. I can help guide him, and encourage her… but one does not simply ‘order’ a dragon-ess to do anything.” 

Torix scrutinized me with uncomfortable intensity.  “You want to help Shruikan ‘seduce’ Katana?” 

I shrugged. “No, I don’t. But I know that you won’t stop until this takes place, and I’d rather give her a chance at happiness.” 

He tapped his fingers along the desk. “There are elements here that may be effective. We’ll both spend the rest of the evening deducing where they stand with one another. For now, keep this conversation between us.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

-:- -:- -:-

I leaned back against Katana’s side, luxuriating in the body-warmed wind block. The sun had set long ago, but the western sky was still a blurry, purplish crimson. I yawned and rested my head back, closing my eyes against the stunning scenery. It helped me focus on the series of images within. Katana shared her afternoon hunt with me, lingering in detail on her incredible stealth. I think perhaps “Shadowclaw” should be my title. Or, “Whisperdeath”. 

I don’t think they suit you at all. Katana huffed a whirl of smoke and I sneezed. Ah, hey! I just meant that they’re too dreary for you. I was thinking more, “Moondancer” or something like that. It should be elegant! 

I’m not elegant. Katana sniffed. I am ferocious, as befits a dragon. If you want elegance, speak to… 

To no one. I interrupted before she could wander into unpleasant thoughts. I heard about the incident with Shruikan Ebrithil and Morzan’s dragon. Are you alright? 

Perfectly. Shruikan can fend for himself and then some. 

I noted the more casual naming convention, and even more so the extra bit of praise she lavished on the elder dragon. I got an uneasy stirring in my gut that Galbatorix’s scheme would be easier to accomplish than I originally thought. Speaking of Shruikan, how has he been? You’ve been spending a lot of time with him. It can’t all be spent napping!

Try telling him that. Katana yawned and snaked her head around to rest in my lap. She’d grown so much; I could still vividly remember a time when her entire body could fit comfortably on my shoulder. Shruikan is fond of sleeping; it keeps him from thinking. 

Oh? 

Yes. Especially about his… about Galbatorix. Her hesitation surprised me. She wasn’t really known for mincing words (what dragon was?) and especially not about our teacher. She continued before I could really pick her brain on the subject. The past years have been especially unkind to him. 

You’d think the early days would be painful enough that nothing else could compare. 

It’s his accelerated growth. The spell they use is flawed; his bones struggle to support his added muscles and his wings ache after every flight. Galbatorix, Siyamak, and Kialandi have all consulted on the issue, and so far the best they can do is alter the spells in the future and ease his discomfort. 

That’s awful! I never even knew. When did he tell you all of this? 

He’s always shared it with me. I’m the only one he ever could share it with. Her thoughts rang of dignity and pride, particularly of how proud she was to be Shruikan’s confidant. 

Well, I can only hope some progress is made as soon as possible. Maybe I’ll raise the issue with Torix and work on it with him? 

I felt Katana withdraw from my mind fractionally, as a child would step back from their mother when hiding something behind their back. Another project with him? 

I mean, what’s one more on top of dozens? I couldn’t risk upsetting her right now, not with such an important task in front of me. Still, I made a note to get the truth out of her when I had the chance. Besides, as much as I hate to admit it, he and I make a pretty incredible team. 

For Shruikan’s sake, I hope so. She readjusted her head until she was looking away from me. 

I felt a hard knot growing in the pit of my stomach. “So do I.”

Galbatorix had much more of a challenge “persuading” Shruikan to go in on the plan. He never shared the details, but a part of me always knew that the elder dragon was a…. less than consenting participant. The idea of it made me sick… and yet. Galbatorix’s earnest insistence that it was the only way to preserve their species really got in my head. I was able to separate from my own decency; my own morals. I make no excuses for my role in the monstrosity, that of an informed and un-helping bystander. I merely wish to…. Explain. To warn. 

Torix has a talent for worming his way between a person and their better judgment. Things that were once unthinkable suddenly become second nature with him whispering in your ear. For someone who has never known him it goes beyond explanation. I will simply say this: you are never in more danger than when you believe yourself to be safe. He is especially effective when dealing with someone intelligent and proud; the kind of person that believes themselves “too strong” to be manipulated… someone like me. 

But then, he wasn’t the only one who could be dangerous. 

I watched from an alcove as my target approached their door. The hallway was long and dark, and my target carried only a thin candle to ward against the gloom. They crept closer, fully on guard now that my little message was within sight. An elegant, stiletto blade stuck firmly in the seam of the double doors, supporting a piece of torn parchment. The message was hastily scrawled in a dark red substance, so tiny that my target had to approach quite close indeed for it to be legible. I of course knew what it said, so I crouched in the shadows, eagerly waiting for the opportunity to spring out. 

They closed the last inches to the message, reaching a gloved hand up to dislodge the blade. The moment their head bent to scrutinize the page, I started my approach, silent as a prowling cat and weightless as moonbeams. Years of creeping around the forsworn gave me a natural proclivity for this sort of work; for being undetectable.  In the moments it took my target to understand his danger, I’d already closed the distance between us to a few footfalls.

But I still wasn’t quick enough. 

With a twitch of muscles honed to perfection over years of training, my own blade shot through the darkness toward me. I deflected the missile straight up into the air. It turned, end over end, glinting in the flickering light. My hand darted up like a striking snake, snatching the hilt mid-turn, but I still couldn’t keep up with my behind my opponent. I felt a sharp jab in my collarbone. I slowly lowered my gaze, arm still lifted, to see the tip of a sword resting there. A single drop of blood stained the pure white blade, giving it an even more eerie appearance than usual. 

“You couldn’t have just scryed me?” Torix said mildly, lifting Vrangr from my skin and sheathing it with the elegance of a master. 

I frowned, but couldn’t quite resist a chuckle. “Now where’s the fun in that?” I asked merrily, tucking the dagger back into one of my many concealed sheaths. “Maybe I just like to see you squirm.” 

He shook his head, with that same exasperated expression he so often wore when confronted with my antics. For all his complaining, he never actually punished me for my little pranks. It helped too that I could hold my own against the forsworn these days; so much so that I gave as good as I got when the inevitable brawls broke out. By our own house rules, so long as I could finish what I started, I had free reign to do nearly anything. He spoke seriously, but I caught the smile as he turned away, “I’ll take it that you’ve completed your assignment?” 

“Dead as dirt, Captain,” I chirped with a salute. “And good riddance.” 

“I certainly won’t mourn him.” 

“Who would? He was dull; a complete waste of a noble title.” 

“Hopefully his son is ready to take on the challenge.” 

“If he isn’t, there’s always plan b.” He crumpled my threatening note and tossed it over his shoulder with a laugh. 

I caught it. “You could at least say thank you?” 

He paused. I braced for a scathing retort; something dripping in sarcasm and venom (like our normal, friendly interactions). He crossed one arm over his hips and bowed low, “ Elrun ono, finiaril. ” 

I hesitated. Did the ancient language allow for sarcasm? Or, even more frightening, was he being… sincere ? But then, just as he righted his posture and turned away I caught it; the glimmer of amusement he could never quite conceal from his eyes. I threw the wadded ball of paper at his back. “You’re so very welcome, ebrithil .”

“You needn’t bother with the formalities any longer. We, or more specifically you, have grown beyond them. I consider you a rider in your own right.” A tender smile crossed his face as he glanced over his shoulder. “You may call me as the others do when we’re alone.” I felt a chill crawl down my spine. Something in the air was familiar. It felt like the ghost of a memory from many years ago; an edge of dark tension taking over the air. 

I swallowed hard. I may have gotten comfortable referring to him by name in my own thoughts, but saying it out loud to his face was a very different beast. “… thank you, Torix.” 

He nodded in approval, opened the door of his quarters, and held it ajar for me. “Coming?” 

I followed without hesitation.

 I t was frankly ridiculous how much time the two of us spent together. When he finally shrugged off the heavy mantle of command for the day, he could actually be pleasant company. We spent hours discussing every subject conceivable. I particularly enjoyed listening to him expound on magical philosophy. For all his failings (and I could consume another volume exploring just that subject) the man was most definitely a genius. A frightening… uncanny genius,. He also had a secret passion for scholarly pursuits; particularly archeology and ancient history. A passion for which Morzan and I teased him relentlessly. 

Until the night when he made both of us eat our mockery.

I ran into the big man on the way to Torix’s room. He was walking steadily enough, but his cheesy grin spoke of a long night down in the taverns. Morzan’s love of drink grew steadily more pronounced over the years, but his tolerance had grown with it. In a given evening, he consumed enough to kill a lesser man or paralyze a small horse. He spread his arms with a garbled shout, “Biiiiitch!” 

I trotted the last few steps and embraced him. Even now that I’d grown to my full height, he was still a foot and a half taller. His bear hug crushed the wind out of me so I could only croak, “Good to see you too, Mama.” 

He grinned and nuzzled the top of my head. “Aaaw, you missed me, didn’t you?”

“No,” I escaped his arms with a shove, “I just saw you this morning!” 

“And now we get to spend the evening together? How romantic!” 

I laughed off his flamboyant jesting. “You’re getting confused in your old age. I thought you were an attached lady?” 

Morzan put a hand over his heart. “I may be loyal to Daddy, but I’ve been so lonely the past few days! He’s cooped up with another scheme; it’s like he doesn’t even have time for me!” 

I sighed and rubbed my temple. “Magical or mundane?” 

“I dunno yet. I have to bother him to find out, and I was waiting till tonight!” He draped an arm over my shoulders. “Shall we?” He pushed me along without waiting for a response. 

We found Torix in his study. He was a man possessed: hair in disarray, clothing stained, bags beneath his reddened eyes, and a streak of ink across his left cheek. Scraps of paper littered the room; some were torn or crumpled on the ground, but many of them were tacked up precisely in rows and clusters. He didn’t even lift his head from a pile of tattered old journals when Morzan and I barged in. “I’ve done it.” 

“Oh, you’ve done it alright,” Morzan said, “And I’ve had it! You have some nerve ignoring me-” 

“Not now. I’ve found it! No more than a thread, but it’s all I need...” 

“What exactly have you found?” I asked gently, scrutinizing his mad-cap scribbling. It all seemed perfectly unconnected to me; a letter here, a torn page of verse there… and yet, he’d clearly drawn some meaning from it all. 

“What no one believed I could!” He stood up so suddenly that his chair tipped backward onto the floor with a crash. Loose papers flew up around him, a mirror of his excitement. “The very thing that vexed Vrael, and his predecessor, and every rider since the Order came to be!” 

I glanced at Morzan. He lifted a finger to his head and drew tight little circles next to his temple. Crazy indeed. “But what exactly is it?” 

“The last strand of a weave that many thought long lost.” Galbatorix plucked a single page from a moldy book. “This tome was penned by a Rider, one Saren Arthos, nearly a millennia ago. In it, he makes mention of a grand tapestry that once hung in Teirm’s central stronghold; embroidered with cryptic lines of the ancient language.” He replaced the page tenderly, as if tucking in a babe, and swiveled to examine his web. “Now, as is commonly known, Teirm was razed and reconstructed since that time. However, a record of the tapestry does still exist in the personal journal of their court mage, a curmudgeonly and tedious old man by the name of-” 

“ You don’t get to call anybody tedious, Daddy. Skip to the good part.” Torix frowned and stared at Morzan. Slowly, the interrupter raised his hands apologetically and dropped onto a stool near the hearth. “Sorry. You were saying?” 

“.... By the name of Vustin. He ended up the pet mage of a different pirate lord. That is an epic in and of itself and he continued his journaling throughout the process. The captain he served was eventually caught and hanged, and the majority of his crew alongside him. The crew’s treasure was largely taken in the capture of their vessel, but their non-valuable possessions were left to rot in the wreckage.”

“So, how exactly are these,” I flipped one of the disintegrating covers closed, “sitting here in front of us?” 

Torix pointed at me with a self-satisfied grin. “Thanks in large part to the efforts of our very own sea hag.” 

“Formora did something useful?” Morzan scoffed, hands resting behind his head. “That’s got to be a first.” 

“I owe most of this progress to Formora,” Torix waved a hand over the great mess, “I doubt I could have seen the connections without her. It was she who recalled tales from her old crewmates about a mage-turned-monster out on the seas. She was then able to find the original report of the pirates’ capture and give me a reasonable estimate of where the wreck might be.” 

“These were at the bottom of the ocean?” I grazed a finger over the spine. Given that, they were in remarkable shape. 

“Mostly buried beneath silt and sand,” Torix said. “And how grateful I am to dear, tedious Vustin for his meticulous journaling; for he and his crew may have actually stumbled upon something far more interesting than an old scrap of cloth.” He ducked a hand into the pile and dug out one volume in particular, half of it torn completely away. “He describes an inlet far to the north where their crew became briefly trapped by a sudden frost. They managed to extricate themselves but, before they did, they discovered a carving deep within a cave.” 

Even Morzan leaned forward, hanging off of every dramatic word, “What was it?” 

“My guess is simple; it was a door to an ancient vault, perhaps even a tomb. Because inscribed upon its surface were lines in the ancient language. They read, as best I can tell from his rendering, ‘peaceful rest’, ‘Hero’, and ‘Nameless Keeper’. The rest is too damaged to make out.” 

“Keeper of what?” I breathed. If he was getting at what I thought he might be…

“Exactly,” Torix slapped his stack of notes. “I have torn apart every account of northern Alagaesia, stretching back to the earliest systems of writing, and yet, not a single one gives context to this mystery.” 

“You don’t think…?” Morzan purred, beaming up at Galbatorix. 

“I do. This is the piece that the order was missing all those millennia. This,” He paused for even more dramatic effect, though his audience was already vibrating with excitement, “is the first real lead in five thousand years that may lead us to the Name.” 

Torix was so excited that he could have flown out that very night. You know that you’ve lost your head when Morzan is the voice of reason! Between the two of us, we managed to calm him down enough to think rationally. Obviously, he wouldn’t trust the task to anyone else. And, in his own words, “You are the two companions I would most like to have at my side.” 

It was decided then that subjugating the last free eldunari, appointing trustworthy vassals that could manage the kingdom during his brief absence, and planning our journey would take precedence over all else. The first of this task would fall almost completely on Galbatorix’s shoulders; he had a “special touch” when it came to the unsavory work. Morzan took to the last with gusto, pouring over maps and old shipping records with Formora into the wee hours (the most amiable I’d ever seen them). I was then saddled with the second; scrutinizing every single courtier to find the trustworthy, the troublesome, and the pliable. 

And there was only one woman’s input that I considered reliable enough to assist with that task.

I had never, not even once, invited a non-family member into my private rooms since my days with Anthony. Harold (loyal, steadfast, and remarkable Harold) was the sole exception as he tended to my every need. He was a grown man now, with neatly trimmed dark hair, a beard, and a mustache. I couldn’t help but see the ghost of the too-serious boy from all those years ago, but he had grown into his own confidence quite nicely. During my stint in Surda, he’d been absorbed by the kitchen staff, rising up to assistant pastry chef (the man had phenomenal baking skills, of which I often took full advantage). I fished him out and placed him back in charge of my affairs, and he’d proven himself the most capable servant in the palace. 

Harold was responsible for arranging the table in my outermost room for the afternoon’s entertainment. Dainty towers of cakes, cookies, and other sweets were complimented by fragrant green tea.  He’d even arranged fresh lilies as the centerpiece; a quiet show of support that I found touching. Gods know I need all the support I can get for this sparring match. 

I sipped my tea, serene as could be, and looked up at my guest. “Welcome, Lady Antebellum. I am pleased that you were able to meet with me this afternoon.” 

The lady sat across from me, lovely as a portrait. Her hair was bound up, as was proper for a married lady, with flower-headed pins. She put my much more somber style to shame in her gossamer pink silk gown that floated effervescently around her. “I wouldn’t dare miss a chance to share your company, Ms. Lilly.” She had long enjoyed the privilege of addressing me by name in private. “Though, I confess, I still cannot for the life of me understand why you offered it?”

“You have too much of my esteem for me to waste your time.” I gestured for Harold to refill my cup. “There is a matter that requires my urgent attention, and I have found you to be the most capable advisor on this subject.” 

Any other noble would have fawned for the flattery. Antebellum gave me a wary look over her teacup, measuring my sincerity. “You wouldn’t happen to be planning a ball? I adore any excuse for a fette.” 

“Unfortunately not, though I promise that I will consult you should that day come.” I paused while Harold sliced and served an apple tart. “I am in the market for a new friend. I thought of you.” 

My guest sized me up shrewdly. “You can hardly have a shortage of people pining for your friendship. As flattered as I am, I can’t help but think of several families better situated…” 

“It isn’t your family name with which I’m looking to ally myself.” Her look sharpened, pupils dilated, tongue resting on the edge of her white, even teeth. It was this that made her stand out to me; a keen ambition, sharp wits, and incomparable charms. “It is you, yourself, that I find intriguing. I believe you are capable of overseeing a little project for me. Should you prove successful, well,” I spread my hands, “you can imagine the benefits for all involved.” 

She munched quietly on her treat, deep in thought. When she spoke again, it was a reserved and deferential platitude. “It would be imprudent for me to agree unconditionally; I am honor-bound to put the needs of Aroughs above even my own family.” 

“I guarantee that this task will not interfere with your position. Or, if it somehow does, it will be because of your own failings.” 

She sipped her tea and replaced her cup noiselessly in its saucer. “Might we speak frankly; as friends?” 

A smirk curled my lips. “Of course.” It was that for which I had been waiting; my very favorite thing about Antebellum. 

All of the flowery frivolity vanished with a blink of her lovely blue eyes. This side of the woman before me was pure business. “Excellent. Now, since we both know perfectly well that I cannot refuse you, I would appreciate being asked again in plain terms. It cannot possibly be wealth or connections that you’re after, nor is it my rank or title. What precisely do you require of me, and why am I the one you chose?” 

No other noble would dare speak to me this way (like a fellow human being). I rewarded her candor with a bit of my own. “You have a way with people. A way that I, for all my effort, am sorely lacking. With my access and your skills, we could finally bring some of these men to heel. More tea?” 

“Please.”  Harold dutifully ventured around the table to refill her cup, but he returned to stand protectively at my back. “So, it is a matter of networking after all.” 

“If the Forsworn can teach us anything, it is that teams are best built from various skill sets. There are tasks that are perfectly in my wheelhouse,” I placed a petite lemon custard cake on a tiny plate, “and others that are not.” Next to it, I set a chocolate eclair. “A wise leader delegates in such situations.” 

“And yet, you have still not told me exactly what tasks these might be?” 

“No doubt they will vary over time. At the moment, I need you to make more friends; people like you, and like me.” 

“Beautiful young women with sharp wits? They can certainly make for pleasant company.” 

“People who are more than they may seem. Not too many of course; a handful or so will be more than sufficient. I trust that you won’t discriminate based on any particular traits.” 

“Talented and underestimated. Is there a deadline for this assignment?” 

“In ten days, you will receive an invitation to dine with Galbatorix. I will have your report then.”

“I shall look forward to the honor.”

Antebellum was the sort of “friend” that I didn’t need to trust in the traditional sense. She was intelligent, ruthless, and (at least to me) predictable. With her assistance, I compiled a tidy network ( noble and commoner alike) that could oversee the goings on of court without constant supervision. Between our flock and Siyamak’s intimidating presence in Uru’baen, my task was fulfilled. 

Galbatorix, Morzan, and I were on the wing before the month was out. 

Chapter Text

There’s something exhilarating about traveling beyond the edges of the known world. It feels as though your feet are the first to touch a place in thousands of years. However, it is also extremely dangerous. First of all, the climate is brutal; unforgiving frozen expanses. And, more critically, Alagaesia is an ancient land. Her distant corners are still haunted by the denizens that have come before us, literally and figuratively. Such vast wilderness is the perfect place for mysteries untold to lay undisturbed for centuries uncounted. One needn’t venture far from their map before they must accept one brutal truth: no one can hope to tame such a beast. Intruders may be ignored, perhaps even tolerated, but any who overstay their welcome will meet a gruesome end. 

Our particular quest took us northward, past the edges of the Spine, through the straight between Vroenguard and the mainland. Formora spared us no detail in her travel plans; we had only a narrow window to make the journey, investigate the site, and return. Even a day’s delay would put us at the mercy of the violent storms known to brew in that area. If our luck ran especially foul, we could be stuck there for months as the winter snows rolled in. Thus, we proceeded with the perfect efficiency Torix expected of his followers.

Roughing it on the road all those years ago had nothing on this sort of travel in terms of raw discomfort. The dragons had the worst of it since they had to fly through dreadful conditions. A biting wind jerked irregularly at their wings, freezing mists coated their scales in ice, and the thin air stung all our lungs like needles. The sky was a featureless grey slab and the ocean mirrored its gloom. All I could do was pull my cloak tight against the chill and keep Katana entertained by using our mentors as inspiration for puzzles. Ok, ok, I think I’ve got one. Short of fuse, long of tooth—

Siyamak. She answered my riddle before I’d even compiled a second line. 

How could you possibly get it that fast?

Because of all the cranky old people around us, he’s the oldest and crankiest. I felt her laughter through my gloved hands as I stroked her neck. Ok, try this: daughter of the forest and mother of the vengeful; clipped wings, bound claws, and muzzled maw. 

We should visit Eltereth on the way home, I mused in reply. I miss her. Once she’d broken off her “friendship” with Torix and the others, she hadn’t even shown her face in the capital. I knew the rough area where she’d made her home, and with two dragons she couldn’t be that difficult to find.

I do as well. She may even be able to advise me about… Katana shuttered her thoughts behind a flimsy barrier. 

Before I could peek behind it, another mind brushed both of ours. Land sighted. Prepare to circle down, but remain in the air until I give the signal. Shruikan banked into a wide spiral, scoping out as much of the frozted coastline as he could. Morzan’s dragon followed Shruikan, and Katana followed her. We all alighted on a ridge between the shoreline and a bowl-like valley. The dale was lined on either side by mountains and all the land was layered in a plush coating of snow. 

Torix had to yell to be heard above the wind and across the yards between us. “Stay close; there are signs of civilized activity. Though I can’t say for certain what kind, there’s a good chance that its—” 

“Urgals!” Morzan sat up straighter and pointed to the north. I strained to see anything against the blinding vista of endless white, but my eyes watered from the strain. By the time I blinked away the tears, the shapes approaching were much easier to recognize (and so very memorable). 

“They’re mine.” Torix stood on Shruikan’s back, walking just next to the line of spikes on his spine until he was closer to the dragon’s flank. The Urgals were now close enough to make out their number; at least a dozen, and all of them much too large to be anything but Kull. I looked to Morzan for some explanation, but Mommy just gave an exaggerated shrug.  

“ Vaetha !” Torix growled. The hate that he managed to pour into one word sent chills down my spine. For a tense moment, nothing happened. Then a roar like a thousand starved bears shook the air. I stared all around; the noise seemed to echo from every direction at once. Sharp, whip-like cracks cut through the grumbling followed by a low, ominous groan.  The urgals heard the clamor too and froze. Even through the differences in our facial structure, I knew the looks they wore: sheer terror. They slowed their advance and turned to scurry back the way they’d come; like so many ticks fleeing a roving possum. 

But they never had a prayer of escape. 

A sheet of solid snow nearly a mile long cracked away from the mountainside. It barreled down into the valley with all the wrath of a spiteful god. The noise was all-consuming; a roaring torrent that washed away everything in its path. Even the frightened shrieks of its intended victims were devoured by the avalanche. I’d read about such things, but I’d never actually seen it in person. The earth herself can erase us at will. 

With just a rustle of her wings. Katana added, awestruck. 

You think the planet is one massive dragon? 

What else could she be? She is powerful, wise, and her fires burn hotter than even mine! 

I pulled myself from Katana’s musings to find a curious sight. Galbatorix leaned heavily against one of Shruikan’s spikes, struggling for breath. One of my hands jolted down to tear at my leg straps, but Morzan was faster. He bounded through the snow and scaled the black dragon’s side like he’d done it a thousand times, with me quick on his heels. “Torix, what the fuck were you thinking?” 

He gritted his teeth and hissed, “Farther…away…than I realized.”  He rubbed one of his rings with a shaky hand. The gem had cracked straight through, like a tiny bolt of lightning. He sighed heavily and looked up at Moraan.  “Worth it though.”

“Was it?” Morzan smacked his shoulder. “You could have fucking died!” 

“I didn’t,” Torix spat back. 

“You think we can’t handle a couple Kull?”

“It doesn’t matter now—” 

“Like hell, it doesn’t!” 

“Leave it alone!” Torix righted himself to his full height and glowered at his friend. He was at least a hand shorter than Morzan, but something in his stare was wild; unstable. 

Morzan met the glare coolly. “Fine. Have it your way. But the next time you do some crazy shit like that, don’t expect me to worry about you.” He turned and jumped back to the ground, a considerable drop that barely even broke his stride. 

I turned to face Katana. This is going to be a long day. 

-:- -:- -:-

My prediction proved completely incorrect. Between the slog of work required to establish our camp (a wide cave set deep in the newly-exposed cliff face) for camping and the frigid silence between my two masters, time practically melted away. Summer days were longer here; so long in fact that near the solstice they bled together without a night at all. It was odd to prepare for bed so soon after sunset, but we were all tired to our very bones… Torix especially. He may have been able to restore energy from the eldunari and his personal collection of precious stones, but that didn’t fully erase the grim set of his jaw or the naked pain in his eyes. 

I brushed my fingers along Katana’s side. I’ll be back in a little while. You try to get some rest, alright? 

Don’t need to tell me twice. She turned, slinking into the cave and under one of Shruikan’s wings. 

I gathered what courage I could and approached the entrance to the cave, where Torix stood on watch. 

“Torix… we need to talk.” 

He cricked his neck to the side and looked away from me. “I don’t want to.” 

“I know. That’s why it’s necessary.” I crept as close to him as I felt was safe. He stood, shoulders hunched against the wind, stiff as a statue. Flakes of fresh snow dotted his shoulders and his hair. He stared into the darkness without really seeing. My hand trembled as I gently brushed his back. His eyes snapped down to mine. A wolf runs off to lick its wounds… and men put up shields to hide their scars. It was clear that, without the pressures of the court to confine him, he was unsure which “role” to play for me: king, mentor, scholar, or fiend. “What happened back there?” 

He growled, very much like an injured pup indeed, and turned farther away. “Nothing that concerns you.” 

I laughed. “Afraid that excuse doesn’t work anymore; your business is my business. We’re too connected now. So, if something in that big ass brain is going to get us killed, I need to know about it.” 

“It won’t. Now—” 

“Not your call to make.” I stepped into his field of view again, backing him up into the cliffside. “I know what I saw out there; you lost your cool. I expect that kind of shit from the others, but not from you.” I cupped his cheek, and I swear I saw him flinch. “What is there that you cannot share with me?” 

He forced his eyes closed… but not quite fast enough to conceal pinpricks of moisture that froze on his eyelashes. “Not… you. Not anyone. No one could ever understand.” 

And then I knew. Nothing else ever bothered him, not this deeply. In a way, his lack of response should have been all the answers I needed. “.... Jarnunvösk .” 

His hands twitched. “So long ago… and yet….” He choked the words down to conceal the unsteadiness in his voice. 

I approached dangerous territory here. On one hand, I could leave him to his ruminations and retreat into the warmth of our camp. And yet, something about this place urged me on; the blistering wind, the brutal chill… this was a place for metamorphosis. “Galbatorix… please. I… want you to tell me about that night.” 

Slowly, so painfully slowly, he lifted his haunted stare to me. “No, you don’t.” 

“You’re right. I need you to tell me. Wiol nosu .” I couldn’t find better words to summarize my tangled emotions. 

He inhaled, straightened to his full height and exhaled until his tensed muscle unwound themselves. He lowered himself gingerly onto an icy boulder that stood braced against the cliff face. “To tell the tale of Jarnunvösk… I must first explain the events that led to his fall.” 

I knelt in the snow at his feet, captivated by the sorrow in his voice. 

“When I was five and twenty, I gained access to information that would normally be much more difficult to locate. I learned secrets that would have sent the masses into a rage: the Order was rotten to its very core. I found evidence of cover-ups, innocents slaughtered, innovations burned, political double-dealing, and elders of the organization who were able to (quite literally) get away with murder. Though I sought help, I was refused. There was nothing a single rider could do on their own against such filth as I faced. That day cemented for me that, if I wanted freedom, I needed to take it on my own.”

“So we fled. We called it a hunting trip but, in truth, we were the ones being hunted. Two other riders came with us. One of them was an elder who’d caught wind of my change of disposition. Jay and I murdered the pair of elders ourselves, but the fighting drew the attention of nearby Urgals.” 

“We were separated and they surrounded Jay; weighed him down with the mass of their bodies. On cold, quiet nights I can still hear his memories: his own bones cracking beneath blow after blow, waves of agony, the fire inside of him slowly burning out. He gave me the last dregs of his strength and retreated into his eldunari… but only for a moment. A massive creature, more demon than Urgal, caved in his chest.” 

I felt tears running down my face, but I didn’t dare move to dry them. Galbatorix continued on, unseeing and yet staring off in forced calm. 

“Do you know what happens when an eldunari is destroyed? It is very difficult to accomplish but, should one manage the feat, it creates an explosion like the sun has briefly touched the earth. I came to in a pile of corpses, exhausted to the very veil of death, and with the sight of my only friend —my poor, dear Jay— eviscerated on the ice.” His voice choked off, in rage or pain I knew not. “And only one thought could permeate my numbness: how quiet the forest was, deprived of all life. For, surely, I was already dead.” 

A heavy silence followed; eerily echoic of his words. I couldn’t stand the thought of being trapped out here, isolated, dying… tormented by my own empty mind. “No wonder you went mad.” 

“Went?” Galbatorix chuckled darkly. “My dear, madness never truly leaves us. You can repress it, or ignore it but, once it’s there, it is a part of your head as surely as your own skull. We cannot become unbroken.” Nothing could pry up the oppressive vulnerability of the moment, so we sat in heavy silence until Galbatorix spoke again. “Want to know something?” He leaned his head back against the cliffside, closing his eyes and letting a lazy, cat-like smile take over his face. “You remind me a lot of Jarnunvösk.” 

I stared up at him. “... How?” 

“He was a truly wonderful soul; energetic, kind, fearless. He struggled with new people, but he fought to the bitter end to protect his chosen few. Even… even someone like me.” He glanced down through half-lidded eyes. “Loyalty far beyond what its recipients deserved.” 

“Hush with that kind of talk. If he was so good and he loved you so much, then you can’t be all bad.” I barely believed my own words. Torix was, without question, one of the worst people I knew; he was sadistic, selfish, conniving, petty, messy, bitchy… and yet. He could also be poetic, refined, intellectual, and soothing. I was still so new to the strange contradictions of this man. Every time I thought I understood him, the image would shift like oil in sunlight. 

“Good people love monsters every day. You should know better than anyone.” I tilted my head in confusion but he just gave a nostalgic smile. “Your mother was a good person too.” 

My heart stopped. In nearly fifty years he had absolutely never spoken a word about my mother, even on the very few occasions when I’d asked him to do so. A million questions crowded my mind, but the one that made its way to the fore was simply, “Did you love her?” 

He paused, ruminating far longer than I thought promising. “I tried to. I met Marie shortly after a very different kind of heartbreak… and I simply had no love in me to offer. I played at happiness for a time, but I knew I could never truly forget who I had been. When she told me she was pregnant, I left that very night.” 

“She… never told us that. She just said that you’d gone away for something very important.” 

“Not untrue. But I left when she needed me, with no more than a flimsy excuse.” He rubbed a hand on his jaw. “She deserved better.” 

“Am I anything like her?” 

“So much so that it makes my chest ache,” He whispered. His fingers stroked my hair, so very much like his own that it was my defining trait at court. “Sometimes, when you’re particularly angry, I swear that I can see her ghost in your eyes. She was fire and sweet wine and spring reeds; ever-changing and untamable.” 

“And you speak that way about a woman you didn’t love?” I leaned my head on his knee. It was comical really, to be an old woman by the standards of my race and yet still be sitting in the snow, leaning on my father’s lap like a babe. “What could be more intense than that?” 

“It’s easy to wax poetic about a beautiful memory. Love, or at least the kind that I have known, leaves bliss and anguish in equal measure.” 

I swallowed hard. “Yes, it does.” My chest tightened as waves of bitter memories asserted themselves. Days spent in pure joy, and countless nights spent sleeplessly tallying my regrets. Streaks of moisture froze on my face almost as soon as I’d shed them. I sniffed and tried to hide the tears, but Galbatorix took notice. 

“Lilly… dear heart, come.” He tucked me into his arms, letting me sit on his lap as he hugged me to his chest. “I wish I could reach into your mind and pluck out the hurts within… but I cannot.” He kissed my brow, as tenderly as if I really were a child. “We are, all of us, tapestries of our worst and best memories; to remove the weft is to spoil the weave.” 

My throat burned. “How do you carry it all?” 

He lifted my chin— oh how many times had he done that very thing— putting us almost nose to nose. My breath caught, a sudden unease striking through me like lightning. His breath was warm against my cheek, his eyes bright and alert with… something intangible. Every time I approached clarity it slipped away like smoke on the wind. We remained frozen there; for how long I may never be totally sure. All I know for certain is that he never looked at me quite the way he did that night. His words washed over me, though I had to strain to catch them beneath his pounding heartbeat. “I don’t. These things cannot live at the fore of your mind, not for any extended period of time. Eventually, you must lay them to rest.” 

“As you have?” surprise replaced his mask. “That is the very point of tonight’s talk: share the burden with me.”

His self-deprecating grin did nothing to ease the tension between us. “Lectured by my own student. Have I really grown so lax as to allow it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well then…” He leaned a little closer, and I could feel the heat from his skin against my face without really touching him. “.... I suppose I should thank you.” His lips brushed my cheek, gentle as spring rain. He flicked his eyes upward, leaning back from me to see better. Uninhibited wonder took over his features. 

I followed his gaze. 

The sky was no longer dark. It was alive with lines of dancing light; streams of wildfire in every color imaginable. They wove intricate loops and waves through the emptiness, like the tails of playful spirits. Some of them bounced behind the peaks of distant mountains, others meandered lazily across the starscape. I reached a hand up, as if I could graze their surface. “What are they?” 

“I don’t know,” Torix whispered. 

We spent the rest of our watch shifts curled together, absorbing the sheer majesty of our view.

It’s still incredible to me that such a barren place could hold beauty and savagery in equal measure. Or that a man who could still frighten me with a single look also made me feel so safe. Understanding the hurt he buried deep beneath the layers of iron control helped me see him as a more complete person. He demanded perfection from his servants for their sake as much as his own; it was a deadly path we walked after all, and he’d already suffered more loss than most of us ever will. He was ruthless because he couldn’t risk leaving a single enemy alive, he was cold because, if he opened himself up to joy, then he had to acknowledge the pain. 

Again, let me say this for the thousandth time (and expect another thousand after this!): I will never defend this man; not for his actions, not his personality, not a single word he’s ever spoken is free from judgment. He used his suffering as an excuse to inflict much worse on thousands, millions even, of people…. But I’m getting ahead of myself again. At this moment, in this place, I had not the clarity to acknowledge these things. I only saw my companion in desperate need of a friend.

The next two days were a tedium of repetition. We used magic to examine the earth around us in sweeping paths. We knew that the vault had to have surface access, which eased the process considerably… but that didn’t change the unreasonably large area we had to cover. Thanks to Galbatorix’s… let’s say “excess of caution” we remained together at all times. However, the third morning finally broke the tedium.

“OOOh Daddy!” Morzan had quite shaken off his foul temper and was now back to his normal cheer. “I think I’ve got something!” 

Torix examined the area as well. When he looked up from his work, his eyes glittered with that unstoppable mischief, and his grin was almost childish. “This must be it. Over this ridge.” 

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. Immediately, three dark eyes and one icy blue one bit into me. “It's far from the shore. The journal didn’t say anything about scaling a cliff. And why would they?”

“We don’t have the complete journal. Perhaps they were looking for food. Or—” 

“Or maybe this isn’t what we’re looking for.” 

Torix frowned. “Only one way to be sure.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Anything that lets me say, ‘I told you so,’ when it's all over.” 

We made our way to Morzan’s discovery slowly. Even with magic, it was a dangerous ascent. We reached an opening that was iced over until it was nearly impassable save for a narrow crack. Torix looked at me. “Ladies first.” 

I grimaced. “Such a gentleman.” I shucked off my pack and cloak, took a deep breath, and wiggled into the edifice. It was warmer in here than outside in the wind. I conjured a small, green werelight above my head and peered around the space. Sure enough, the rough walls transitioned into a precisely carved tunnel. It only ran a few yards before halting in a solid square; a square covered in familiar runes. “You both need to see this.” 

It took my companions a few moments to melt the ice, taking special care to not disturb the integrity of the rest of the snow around it. By the time they did, I’d already set up in front of the wall, copying down the images and scribbling down notes. Torix chanted under his breath, examining the area for any harmful spells. Morzan sounded a low whistle. “So, guess I told you .” 

“Not quite,” I said, standing. “This carving is different.” I offered my notes to Torix.

He flicked his eyes over the page. “ ‘ Stydja unin mor’rar ’ , that is the same, but then it goes on to say, ‘ konungr abr hjartan ’  and ‘beloved leader’” 

“So it's the same type of site— the burial of a significant person— but not the same site,” I concluded. 

Morzan huffed. “I think it still counts.” 

“You did an excellent job, Mommy. We’re just in the wrong place. Still, it’s worth investigating while we’re here.” Torix placed a hand on the center of the wall. 

“How exactly can we do that? It isn’t a door as far as I can tell.” I tucked away my journal and charcoal stick. 

“There you are incorrect,” Torix said. “Observe. The runes here are not part of the memorial, so they must be part of the lock.” 

“And what happens if we use the wrong key?” Morzan said. 

“ Ono weohnata deyja unin zar’roc ,” Torix smiled, “ I trust I don’t need to translate that scrap for you, ey Mommy?” 

“No sir.” He put a hand on his precious sword. “Don’t screw it up.” 

“Good plan.” Torix leaned in and examined every facet of the stone. Morzan and I could only watch him; if any of us had a prayer of pulling it off it was our leader. After nearly an hour of silent concentration, he straightened and started speaking in slow, deliberate tones. [ I will leave the exact words he used omitted, on the off chance that a like-minded person may stumble upon this journal. Trust that these places are better left as they are. ] As he finished speaking, the wall simply… wasn’t. It was there, and then it was gone. 

I couldn’t resist a whistle of my own. “Ladies first,” I offered by way of congratulations. 

Torix ignored me, stepping forward into the darkness. 

The next space was a simple, rectangular room. The very center held an intricately shaped urn, painted with lines reminiscent of the sky-fire we’d seen a few nights hence. But all of our attention was paid to the walls of the chamber itself; they were inscribed entirely with runes from the ancient language. “This is the life story of the one entombed here.” 

“He was a king,” Torix said, as close to humbled as I’d ever seen him. “The deeds listed here are almost beyond my understanding. ‘And he did battle the… wicked ones’? What could that possibly mean?” 

“I guess he must have done a decent job if we’ve never heard of them,” Morzan laughed. “I haven’t even seen some of these runes before!” 

“Neither have I.” Torix floated a fingertip over the lines in greedy fascination. “Gods, I could spend a year just studying this single room…” 

“No, you couldn’t,” I said, “We’ve already been here too long. We need to leave tomorrow morning, and we all need our strength for that journey.” 

“Then we’d better get to work.” Torix tugged a simple, clean journal from his bag and copied down every single carving one at a time. Morzan and I took the next two walls without complaint. We stayed there well past discomfort, long enough that every muscle began to cramp from our prolonged hunched poses. And still , we worked. With the three of us, it still took the rest of our allotted daylight to finish our task, and even then it was imperfectly done. 

But it was still one step farther than anyone had taken before.

  We were lucky enough to have an uneventful flight back to Uru’baen. We survived the trip and the exploration without major calamity. This journey could hardly be called a true “success” but it cemented the potential of our team. Once we were safely over the mainland once more, I broke off from our trio to make a quick detour; a visit to an old friend. 

Chapter Text

I confess that I'm struggling to decide which memories from this period are worth recounting.  Some scenes became so common that none particular stand out enough to choose. For example, my duties as an 'assassin' might sound interesting on the surface, but the sad reality is that the plots and schemes all proved pretty featureless in the end. I recall no more about the corpses left in their wake than I do about the meal I consumed after the task (and I will be the first to acknowledge the insidious horror of that observation).

Most of the memories that really stick with me are just… conversations. Murder leaves not even a trace, but I remember the last "talk" I had with Eltereth down to each agonizing detail.

Katana dipped into a lazy descent over Isenstar Lake. She leveled off just as her front claws clipped the surface, sending a spray of water up into the air. A cluster of fish scattered off, some trying in vain to outpace her shadow. Her head lanced down, quick and effortless as a heron, and snagged the slowest of them. 

Glutton. You just hunted before we took off this morning!

Hush, you. I've flown more in the past few days than I ever have in my life!  An extra snack isn't going to kill me. 

When their tiny bones get stuck in your gums, I don’t want to hear any complaining! Katana mulled over my admonishment. Then, like a puppet with a cut string, she dropped out of the air and plunged into the icy water. I barely managed to gulp in a breath, eyes scrunched closed and chest tight from the shock and cold. Katana!

What? You seemed a bit too heated over nothing, so I thought I’d cool you off. I watched through her eyes as even more fish bolted from the sudden intruder. Aw, my treats are getting away. 

And who’s fault is that? I groused, blowing an irritated stream of bubbles. I felt more than heard Katana’s rumbling laughter. She rolled her long, muscular body until my head broke the surface. I sputtered and wiped my eyes, flinging my water-logged braid back over my shoulder. Now what do we do? If we get back in the air to keep looking for Eltereth, I’ll turn into a Lilicle! 

I don’t think that will be necessary. Katana nudged my attention toward the nearby shore. A familiar, silvery shape lay curled, blowing puffs of smoke in way of greeting and spreading her glistening wings wide. 

I haven’t seen her in so long. My eyes burned. Xanist’s dragon had been a mentor to Katana even as her rider had been to me. Forgetting her name did not mean that we would forget everything she had been… at least, not yet. 

Mother! Katana crooned a low roar. I had exactly one tail twitch of warning to take another massive breath before she dove back down, propelling through the water at breakneck speeds. 

Xanist’s dragon led us on foot through the forest. She was still one of the most stunning dragons I’d ever seen. Most of the forsworn’s partners were solid colors or mottled variations of those. She was a pure white-silver; living starlight brought to earth. I seemed to recall her normally maintaining her radiant hide meticulously . Now she was dirt-stained along the bottoms of her legs, the tips of her wings, and the underside of her tail.  She made no attempt to touch my mind directly, but I could feel her “speaking” with Katana; streaks of images, colors, and emotions of an intangible quality. None of the other dragons that still lived in Uru’baen could manage as much; most would respond to any communication with violence. Perhaps it's her mate that gives her clarity? 

Eventually, she halted a few yards out from a low hut. It was smaller than even a young dragon, definitely not more than a single room, and roughly constructed. The only indication of habitation was the faint smoke curling out of its little chimney. I ripped at my leg bindings and slid to the ground with a squelch (apparently, some of the lake had traveled along with us inside of my boots). 

“Lilly?” The voice was rough with disuse. Its owner stood in the doorway of the cabin, virtually unchanged from the woman I’d known so long ago. She was unusually tall for a human, with deep brown hair swept back in a sloppy knot, and gentle blue eyes. She wore dark, sturdy trousers and a heavy leather jacket that had clearly been worn through and patched a dozen times over. Her boots were the kind of thick, treated leather meant for protection among manual laborers. She jogged over and flung her arms around me.

My back popped with the force of her bear hug. “Since when are you so touchy?”  

Eltereth released me. “Family.” Her thoughts danced around the edges of mine as if she desperately wanted us to touch but didn’t know how to ask. I lifted a corner of my defenses just enough to allow it. She funneled a quick outpouring of impressions, sadness, relief, green, black anger, a bubbling waterfall, a bed of glowing coals, dry clothes, before pulling back and walking inside. 

I blinked. Katana? What in the world was that?

Her mind is more like a dragon’s than a human’s now. How interesting! Katana hummed and shuffled closer to Xanist’s dragon, poking around in her thoughts to share the observation. I shivered and followed our hostess into her domain. 

The cabin was quaint and warm. It was more or less a square room; one hearth hung with cookware and drying herbs, a simple table and chair, a palette piled with furs that clearly served as a bed, and one little window. Two more ensembles (exactly like the one she wore) hung on pegs above her sleeping area, both just as patched as the first. The floor was packed dirt layered with slick- a clay and straw mixture that was easier to clean. Eltereth handed me a change of clothes, helped me shuck out of my sopping wet ones, and laid them out near the hearth. 

“This isn’t quite what I expected,” I said. “With magic, you could build anything. Why choose a hunting lodge?” 

Eltereth frowned. Again, she sent a rush of impressions rather than strict answers. A nearly identical cabin, a tall man with a dark beard and light voice, a fresh grave, a little boy curled beneath furs in front of a roaring hearth, pride at fueling it all on her own so deep into winter, a last fleeting glimpse of that home as an armored man tugged her arm too hard.  

“You used to live here?” I ran a hand over the stone ledge around the hearth. Only these were the same as her vision; stones in multi-colored granite from the shore of the lake. “And the boy…?” 

“Family,” Eltereth said simply. I expected another flurry of pictures, but no such luck this time. She reached up and unhooked a cooking pot from the ceiling. Without a single word from her, a stream of water arced through the window and into it. 

My jaw dropped. Wordless magic was a well-known feature of the craft, but using it for something so ridiculously simple was… was… arrogant? No, that word didn’t quite suit Eltereth… it was practically suicidal! 

By the time I’d recovered from the surprise, she’d slung handfuls of cubed meat and vegetables into the pot and stuck it on the fire. “Yes.” The sudden answer boggled my already fuzzy brain. She tugged at our mutual train of thought like a loose thread, offering up the tail end for me to examine. Despair, pain, longing, grief, tired, so tired, laying cold, guilt, guilt, guilt . The overwhelming press of self-inflicted shame took my breath away. 

I tried to respond in a way she would better understand. You have done so much good, Eltereth. We may not have spoken much, but you were kind to me when very few were. Xanist cared for you, and I know he was good. What could possibly weigh on your heart? 

“I failed.” Her raspy voice choked off. That boy, now a young man, now dressed in his finest clothes only to be laid out on a funeral pyre, screaming at a room of people through a tear-choked throat, then a figure draped all in black with his hand outstretched, a deal with a demon, thousands burned… Grief. Pain. Xanist. 

“Iliriea,” I whispered. True, I’d seen precious little of Eltereth after we took the city. I heard that she quarreled with Galbatorix, but I never knew the details. “You think he’s just as bad as the Riders were?” 

“Worse,” she growled, teeth bared. Her face was flushed with shame and anger. “Xanist saw… and now Xanist is gone.” Her thoughts passed too quickly for me to make out any details. I caught echoes of an argument; black gloves clenched in rage, a burning pain in her right cheek, a hasty flight made during a storm . 

“Xanist fell in battle,” I said gently, reaching for her hand. 

She recoiled. She opened her mouth but then snapped it closed again as… something pressed in on us. 

An oppressive force snaked its way into both of our minds. It was heavy, like a leaden blanket of detritus. Its presence smothered both Eltereths rage and my curiosity in one. This mind was not familiar to me at all, and I almost pulled away… but Eltereth put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Family,” she said seriously. 

The presence resonated like a bass-drum beat at her word. It was certainly male, but beyond that, it was nearly featureless. His mind was dark and endless, like the depths of a crushing ocean. I let my questions bubble back to the surface. In response, the mind simply showed me an image of the very room in which I sat, including the back of my own head. I spun around and met a single, violet eye in the tiny window; Eltereth’s dragon. 

I exhaled a long breath, releasing the coiled tension in my shoulders. “You left Galbatorix’s service to care for your dragon and his mate. That’s why you fled instead of staying to finish your fight with him.” 

She nodded gravely and turned to stir her stew. “Family.” I could feel a potent, simmering anger beneath her calm. Whatever the truth might be, it was clear that she blamed Galbatorix for every drop of blood spilled in the past half-century. But, with her partner and his mate already so lost from the world, she was torn: risk death by confronting a man too powerful for even Vrael to defeat, or suffer the shame of remaining inactive while such a man still ruled. 

“He is more than an ill omen,” I wheedled. “He’s willing to do what he must, terrible or wonderful. So long as the Empire is at peace, Galbatorix remains a force for good within it.” 

Eltereth paused mid-stir, dropping the ladle from stiffening fingers. She turned, fixed me with a miserable stare, and cupped my cheek. The emotion roiling off of her then was not anger. It was grief ; like she beheld a person already doomed. She kissed my brow as if in farewell, before turning back to the soup. 

We spoke no more of the past.

That day was the last time I saw Eltereth alive. She was an incredible person really; too good and too noble for a world gone mad. She raised her younger brother on her own, protected him through her training, and avenged him when he was murdered. The great guilt she carried was twofold; failure to save her loved ones, and failure to fully avenge them. Xanist, his dragon, and her own partner were the most important beings left in her life, and Galbatorix’s actions had cost her all of them. 

At least… this is what I understood of her thoughts at the time. Since then I’ve seen many things that clarify her sorrow, and particularly her righteous rage. At that moment, she was right to mourn me. I would have defended Torix against any charge she laid, no matter how heinous; that is how deep my loyalty went. I’m certain that, had I asked her while she yet lived, she would have told me that she’d felt that way too… once. 

He was an easy man to follow, so long as you only saw what he intended you to see.

Morzan’s grumbling snores nearly shook the tapestries from the walls. He and I were holed up in Torix’s rooms for the thousandth evening in a row, pouring over the notes from our venture. After the first few hours, Mommy and I decided to take a break, which then devolved into us drinking enough wine to make Shruikan sick. Torix eventually joined us, though with considerably more restraint. Finally, Morzan— who was already well and truly tipsy before we’d even started— drifted off into cacophonous slumber. He was much too tall for his resting place, so his head and legs were both cricked at unsettling angles. I braced my boot against Morzan’s side and shoved until his head dropped over. The sounds choked off and took on a gentler cadence. “Does anything wake him?” 

“No.” Torix reclined on the opposite couch, long legs draped over the seat’s back. His wine-red undershirt was tucked into leggings that practically swallowed light they were so dark. He’d removed the rest of his normal layers and looked truly relaxed for the first time in months. “He’s been that way as long as I’ve known him; the man can even sleep on dragon back.” 

“Do you think the skill can be taught?”  I poked around the low center table, fishing for any of the bottles that were yet unemptied. I finally spied one that was half-filled with a deep red liquid and had dwarven runes pressed into the cork. I tilted it towards Torix, but he held a hand up in refusal. I relaxed into the high-backed chair, rested my feet up on the table, and took a long gulp. It was dry, musky, and strong— more like whiskey than wine— but I wasn’t in the mood to be picky. “I haven’t slept so peacefully in… I can’t even remember how long.” 

“In that, you are not alone.” He smiled, equal parts mockery and pity. “I’m afraid you get that from me, my dear. Our minds are not suited for rest.” 

“What exactly are they suited for?” 

He shrugged. “Battle.” 

“Are those the only states of life; war and peace?” 

“I couldn’t say. I’m more intimately familiar with the former. As to peace,” He draped one elegant hand across his chest, “I have found it to be every bit as damning as violence. The veil it creates covers many evils.”

“Dark thoughts.” I let out a low whistle and swirled the few mouthfuls left in my bottle. “Are you quite sure that you wouldn’t like to join me?” 

“I find that dulling the mind only prolongs the inevitable unless one is willing to fully commit to the treatment,” he gestured at the sleeping form across from him, “and, even then, it comes with a heavy price.” 

I considered the bottle in my hands.   Over the past few decades, the drink had become a silent support whenever my world shifted too far off center. In childhood, it helped me sleep through isolation and fear. These days, I just used it to drown my demons long enough to get some rest. Perhaps I have used it as a crutch. I replaced the wine haltingly. “So, What precisely were you getting at? What… veil?” 

I felt his stare before I saw it, a shower of icy tension running down my spine. I peeked up from the table and caught two flinty slits, sharp as fractured obsidian. The crackling fire seemed to grow louder in the pregnant quiet. His eyes shuttered closed, and he released a meditative breath. “Dark thoughts indeed. I’ll give you one more chance to back away; I recommend that you take it.” 

I blinked patiently. We waited, accompanied by the crack and pop of the fireplace. The wind whistled along seams between the massive windows. Above us, the sky was pure darkness; a storm was due to cover Uru’baen any moment. The stirring gale was so intense that I almost missed his exhausted sigh.

And he told me a tale I will never forget. He spoke haltingly, the words sticking in his throat. “Shortly after my seventeenth year of life, I received an offer from an elder rider to become his personal student. Most of my training was already complete, but I could hardly refuse…” He paused, swallowing hard before continuing in a more controlled tone, “Someone with his reputation . He taught me more nuanced aspects of being a rider; politics and the like. I lived in his home and worshipped the ground upon which he walked. After the first year or so, he evolved our relationship; he took me as a lover.” 

I gulped. He and Morzan were infamous in the forsworn for their lecheries (confidence, wealth, power… they didn’t exactly struggle to find bed warmers). Even so, I’d never heard him describe any person as a ‘lover’. I coughed and asked, “Wouldn’t he have been… much older?” 

“He was; centuries older, in fact.” 

“That’s,” I hesitated, unsure exactly how blunt I could be. He flicked a look at me, clearly already anticipating my response. “Abhorrent.” 

“No doubt,” He said seriously. “Even within the order, where ages are not considered quite so important as lived experience, it was still a grave breach of propriety for a student and master to be so engaged. But, of course, the man who was responsible for teaching me that lesson had other priorities.” A joyless grin cracked through his stony countenance. “In any case, I remained with him in that capacity for nearly six years. Until I discovered the truth of his character and the organization he served. I had the foolish thought that my Master could not possibly be so corrupted, naively forgetting that our relationship was just as forbidden. I brought my concerns to his attention.” 

I mouthed the word no in second-hand dread. 

“He beat me within an inch of my life.” At my shocked expression, he grinned; that sardonic, self-deprecating smile that he so often wore as a shield when confronted with old scars. “Mostly because I fought back until I no longer could. After that, well… I believe you know the rest.” 

“You left,” I answered, “and lost Jay.” 

“And found a group of companions who had been equally wronged.” He leaned his head back, staring up at the swirling blackness. A few thick drops of rain slid down the windows, nearly invisible in the dim lighting. 

“You said that, when you met my mother, you’d had a heartbreak. I thought you only meant Jay… but it wasn’t just that, was it?” 

He tensed, every bit like a badger preparing to defend its burrow. “What of it?” 

“Six years is a long time. It’s only natural that he would be… important to you.” 

Torix huffed, swinging his legs around and sitting up so quickly that his neck popped. He winced but spoke in firm anger, “How is that your concern?” 

I stood and walked to the side of the room, heavy skirts swishing around the furniture with every step. “I appear to have touched a nerve, which tells me that it is as much my concern as yours.” I picked a single slim bottle from beside a dressing bench and stood behind his perch. The oil’s oak-and-amber fragrance tickled my nose as I dripped it onto my fingers. “No one is forcing you to speak, but I will listen when you’re ready to do so.” I caught the back of his neck before he could stalk off like a pouting cat, paying special attention to the muscle I knew he’d just twinged. 

He growled, but couldn’t resist the dreamy effect of my ministrations. “You’re evil.” 

“I come by it naturally.” I pressed harder into a particularly tense spot and he groaned. The man really could work himself into one solid knot if left to his own devices. “But we were talking about you.” 

“Whatever I may… or may not have felt… is long gone now…” He had trouble stringing words together, slurring them more and more as I got closer to the real source of the problem. I gave him a break to reapply the oil. “But yes… for a time, I believed myself to be in love.” 

“Distancing yourself from it even further,” I observed in a banal tone. “You loved him. It’s natural; no need to be defensive.” 

“No, I didn’t,” he insisted. Distant rumbling announced the storm’s arrival, though the clouds still held their payload in reserve. “I was barely more than a child. I didn’t know what love was; not then.” 

“Children have instincts that we old folks train ourselves to ignore.” I resumed my work, counting on his relaxation to let me speak more freely. “ I can tell that you trusted him, admired him, and you must have desired him. Those are certainly the base ingredients.” He scoffed. My thumb prodded at a pressure point in irritation. “Well, what’s missing then?” 

He grimaced and glanced back at me. “You really don’t know?” I rolled my eyes. “Then I won’t tell you; plenty of time for you to find out on your own.” 

“You’re such a pain.” I stepped back mid-press, rubbing the excess oil into my parchment-dried hands as I reclaimed my seat.

“Apples and trees, Princess.” 

I crinkled my nose at his use of the title. “So this mysterious ‘lover’ of yours. You never mentioned his name?” 

He chuckled. “No, I didn’t. Suffice to say that I had the pleasure of repaying him the pain before all was said and done.” 

I looked right into his eyes, ensuring no escape from the truth I was certain I’d found in his evasions. “It was Vrael, wasn’t it?” 

He paused, staring me down with befuddled amusement. “Yes. How could you—” 

“I’ve seen you fight hundreds, maybe even thousands of times. And yet, I’ve never heard of you injuring another man quite so … intimately as in your battle with Vrael. Between his rank and everything else, it was the only guess I had.” 

Torix smirked, sliding a loving look over Vrangr ’s length. “The most beloved leader the riders had ever known was a spineless wretch. He seduced a handful of students before me simply because he could; I was just the first to punish him for it. And then, once defeated, he fled for his life. We took the empire almost unopposed after his initial flight, and then I hunted him down like the rodent he was.” 

“Is that all?” I asked. I thought better of it when he turned a sharp look on me, but it was too late to back down. “You don’t typically describe yourself as a vigilante or avenger.” 

He laughed. “Not even close. I can justify it all I like, but the truth is much uglier; It was spite, pure and simple, that made killing Vrael such a pleasant undertaking. He was the first person to whom I’d opened my heart; I wanted to make him suffer for abusing the privilege.” He drifted again into his thoughts. “As a matter of fact, he was the last as well.” 

“You were the same age when you met him as I was when I met Anthony,” I whispered. 

The silence that grew then was heavy with tears unshed. “Then we both were forced to kill our first loves.” 

“And last.” My words barely escaped past the lump in my throat; breathy and strained. 

“And last,” He echoed. A streak of lightning split the sky above us. Almost on cue, rain splashed down in silvery curtains, blurring the bolts that followed. He shifted, leaving a place beside him for me. I tucked into his side; my only shield against the darkness without… and within. I felt the ghost of a pet over my hair and I peeked up at him. He was calmer now, sinking into a dreamy meditation that I wasn’t foolish enough to interrupt. “You’re like my little shadow,” he whispered. “Somehow, you manage to pry secrets from me that I intended to take to my grave.” 

“There are no secrets between us.” I  glowed with pride; to be the confidant of such a man is not a feat easily done. I leaned on his shoulder and flashed a pleading look. “You should play for me again tonight; it's your hands that betray you after all. How am I to read your mind without your music to guide me?” 

“And Morzan?” He asked rhetorically, already rising. 

“He can sleep through anything.”

This man, my mentor... for a time, he became my entire world. Even Katana was not as close to me as Galbatorx; he seemed to know my every thought before even I did. And, in return, he would show vulnerability. It was like a dance, with each turn binding us closer and closer together. 

Again, I do not seek to defend... there is no excuse for.... 

For what happened between us next.

Summer was a dynamic time at court. Fair weather brings the flocks after all, and nobles are no exception. All the spring guests were settled and ready to cement their ambitions before fall forced them home. If spring was the dinner bell, then the summer gala was a feeding frenzy. The unmarried hopefuls at court descended upon one another with a ferocity unmatched save by flocking birds. They whistled meaningless tunes, paraded in flamboyant plumage, showered their favorites in gifts, and generally made complete asses of themselves. And all of it was for one, simple, driving goal: courtship. 

The crowning event of the summer mirrored that of winter: a massive ball held in the castle itself. Galbatorix enjoyed the chance to scrutinize the nobility (particularly their considerable debauchery) for use in later court games. 

Though, one fateful summer evening, he would begin a deadly game of his own.

Two and forty. 

Most ladies of the court were grandmothers by the time they reached my age. Indeed, women who had just barely come into their blossoming youth in my early days at court now sat fanning themselves languidly along the edges of the room. I could see a trio of wilting flowers tittering along the wall just behind my newest annoyance’s shoulder. He was a young man, scarcely come to his full height and still clean-faced as a boy. I couldn’t remember the lad well enough to place any specifics about him, but I knew that he was only in his seventeenth year. I feigned polite interest as he loaded me with figures of his newly-inherited estate. I decided that he was altogether too pleased with himself, an opinion only cemented as he offered me a scrawny arm to join him for a dance. I cited a need for respite from the bustle of the room and begged his forgiveness with exactly as much grace as I absolutely must. 

I snatched a glass of wine from a servant on my way into the gardens. 

The wandering paths concealed a handful of groups and pairs (some innocent and others far from it). I reached a tendril of thought through the branching paths to warn me of any other wanderers (most were too invested in their own mischief to pay me any mind).  I silently cursed Antebellum for talking me into my “experimental” attire for the evening. The bodice was embroidered, beaded, and tailored, within an inch of my life (hence all the cursing). The skirt fell into a train made of deliciously dark black silk. I was grateful at least that my shoulders and much of my back were exposed, as the bare skin was my only respite from the stifling heat. Finally, I found a circular inlet in the garden wall that was coated in ivy. I sank into its leafy depths gratefully, downing the watered summer wine in two unladylike quaffs. 

I wanted to rage into the darkness over the unfairness of it all. Old women who survived unmarried in a patriarchal society were permitted the dubious honor of spinster-dom; an existence that doomed them to be social pariahs, yes, but also marked an end to the farce of political flirting (I couldn’t conceive a more oxymoronic idea). The mystical line between “bed partner” and “walking corpse” was defined almost purely by a woman’s likelihood to bring healthy children to birth and survive the ordeal. This varied wildly across the Empire according to innumerable factors, but none of them applied to my situation: riders did not age as mortals did. While I was only a scant eight years from my fiftieth birthday, I hadn’t physically changed since before I turned twenty. This could hardly be called anything but a blessing, but it made the matter of fending off unwanted male attention all the more problematic. As if a throne and the king for a father-in-law weren’t tempting enough, the legacy-minded among them had their sights set on a bountiful broodmare that could provide them with an endless supply of heirs. The combination of the two would drive any girl to drink…. And some to violence.  

I almost missed the sudden rush of power as my mind careened through its bitter ramblings. The vines behind and above me shivered with sudden delight as magic pulsed through their stems. I jumped, though the tangled leaves did little more than dance in the breeze. I shivered as I noticed a familiar set of footsteps approaching me. 

I could recognize him anywhere. Hard heels against paving stones, but the motion itself restrained, indicating a grace and agility that mere mortals could hardly fathom. Torix shifted into view, a fresh glass of wine in each hand and a sarcastic smile playing at his lips. “Thank you for leaving him intact. For a moment, I was concerned about the poor lad’s safety.” He proffered one of the cups in a peace offering. I shrugged and chugged it. If he disapproved, he wisely kept his peace. “You seem like you needed an ear.” 

“Just now, I wouldn’t mind losing one.” He chuckled, and the evil tension in my shoulders faded with his levity. “I can’t stand the little boys playing at courtship. Use your asinine crap on someone who won’t know any better.” The older nobles bothered me more when I was younger. Those men— who were older than even Torix! — felt all too comfortable approaching a teenager and discussing my merits and shortcomings like a valuable but burdensome piece of livestock. As I aged, many of them had retired or died and been replaced by their sons. They at least knew well enough to treat me with a certain dignity and distance, or brave the consequences. 

Torix swirled the deep crimson liquid before him in contemplation. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t want a pretty, feather-headed little lordling,” Torix said. He had an uncanny talent for following my thoughts. “I really can’t picture you bothering with a younger man at all. At least their elders know better than to bore you.” He flashed his teeth in a wicked grin. 

“If I do ever find a lover, it will have to be an old man,” I concurred merrily, “Old and quiet.” 

“Perhaps you’ll find a poet or a scholar. At least then you’d have something to discuss.” 

“Very few people meet my requirements, and all those are more preoccupied with their studies than with finding a wife.” The wine cooled my agitation even as it warmed my cheeks. “Lucky me.”

“Not all.” My companion polished off his own drink with an all too practiced ease. 

“Have you met such a person recently? Any of them eager to be queen?” He gave me a measured stare. “Or perhaps, there is someone who has caught your interest?” He flinched all but imperceptibly and I knew I’d struck home. “I’ll not ask then. And, I shall do the courtesy of not informing Morzan; the poor thing would be devastated.” 

He chuckled. “Yes, we can’t be angering Mommy over some imagined competition.”
We sat enjoying the quiet darkness for an extra moment. “I would expect more people to badger an unwed monarch than his heir.” 

His response was noncommittal at best. “They know better; I don’t suffer fools lightly.” 

“Morzan notwithstanding.” 

“Or you.” Something in his tone caught me off-guard. He sounded morose, perhaps even bitter. I was used to his mockery and verbal fencing, but the sincerity of his restrained emotion elicited shivers along my spine. From far away, the strains of a string ballad crept into our shared space. The music was in a minor key, but velvety strings lent it an enticing aura.

“Apples and trees,” I chorused impishly, “Perhaps I should take over hunting for your queen? Anyone that I find acceptable should appeal to you.” 

“I do have some standards. She must be clever, well-read, and have some skill in magic.” 

“You’ve already eliminated over half the court.” He only grinned in acknowledgment. “What other qualities shall I keep in mind?” 

“I would prefer if she were familiar to me and to the rest of our family. Introducing someone new would take too much effort. She must be able to speak her mind and stand her ground in our company. Otherwise, what good would she be?” 

“Of course. A master politician as well?” 

“Nothing less.” He ignored my exasperated groan. “She must also be battle-tried; our lives are too dangerous for a delicate maiden.” 

“And like that, we have excluded the other half, along with the rest of Alagaesia!  It seems you will remain a bachelor for at least another year.” 

“Untrue,” his tone dropped into barely more than a whisper. “There is one.” 

Again, a lance of ice jolted down my back, raising gooseflesh over my limbs even in the summer heat. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.” 

“I doubt that very much, my dear.” his nonchalance was only a show, and barely that. His gaze drifted over to me, the intensity more than I could stand. “You’re the one who’s so adept at unearthing my secrets, after all.”  

“It’s an imperfect science at best.” I sidled away from him. The unease that I’d felt lingering along the edges of our conversations for years was limping out of the darkness; a featureless mass of profane vulgarity that must never see the light. 

“Then let me enlighten you,” He whispered. His fingers curled around my wrist, gentle and yet unyielding. I swallowed hard. “There is only one person whom I could trust; who already knows me as very few ever have, and whom I am confident feels very much the same.”

“In that, I fear you are mistaken.” I turned back to look at him; a decision I instantly regretted. The hypnotic power of his stare erased the chills still clinging to me and replaced them with a heat strong enough to burn me alive. 

“Am I?” He moved closer, breathing his words against my ear. I scrunched my eyes shut, but I could still feel him smiling like a cat with a bird trapped beneath its paw. “Desire is rarely a rational emotion. It is forged in the deepest parts of our souls;” he linked his free arm around me until my back pressed against his chest. The heat of his body ate into me, practically burning me even through the barrier of his clothing. “wilder and more intimate than mere beasts can comprehend. You said it yourself; a mortal could never understand the life of a rider. Who else has a prayer of claiming your heart? Can you say, in truth, that it is not already mine?” 

 “ Listen to yourself,” I pleaded. I pulled away from his embrace enough to face him, though my wrist remained in his hold. “ It goes against nature, against… against everything .” 

He shushed me softly, brushing my cheek. “Why should any judgment but our’s matter to us? I’ve never been a guardian to you, not once in all these difficult years. Our bond is no more familial than with any of the other thirteen.” 

My eyes flicked down, and too late I realized my subconscious agreement. He was my ebrithil , then a confidant and friend. We were allied against a world desperate to tear us to pieces, shared nearly every waking moment, and had poured out decades of pain to only one another. Such bonds were far more intimate than a blood tie that was rarely even commented upon, let alone felt. 

“Lilly,” his voice was just a touch unsteady; a crack in his flawless confidence. He swallowed and pressed a kiss to my brow, nothing more or less than he had done before. “You have too much of my esteem for me to push the issue.” He switched to the elves’ tongue, speaking it with the smooth tones inherited from direct exposure. “I swear to you, as a rider, a king, and as your friend, that I will never speak of this again.” I felt the oath’s completion in my bones. And yet, he had one more caveat to add. “ If you will ask it of me.” He dropped his head until we met eye to eye once more, the fathomless depths of his gaze piercing me, rooting me in place more powerfully than any spell. “Say that you don’t love me in this, the language of truth, and I will never bother you with matters of the heart again." He held up a finger. "Unless it is urgently needed for our safety.” 

My stomach turned over. What he was offering was more than just an escape from his dangerous confession, but permanent security from his interference in my romantic pursuits (or lack thereof). That alone was an extravagant gift for any woman, especially a princess with no mind to marriage. I formed the words together in my mind, the phrasing was not particularly complicated after all: eka ach neit anama ono . I took a steadying breath and— 

Nothing. 

My throat closed in sudden fear. The words vanished from my tongue like frost before an inferno. I fought against the mental barrier. I needed those words; in the name of sanity ! One minute followed another as I wormed the phrase around in my mind, trying to find some way that I could verbalize it without being tripped by my own mind. With every renewed attempt my heart beat so rebelliously against the words that the pain was physical. At last, I released a shaky gasp and shrank into the strong arms before me, utterly defeated. 

I couldn’t do it. Decades of training and I was defeated by a single wretched sentence, tricked into confessing an unthinkable taboo to my own…. 

“Peace, my love.” Again he kissed my brow, arms around me, a hand brushing down the curve of my waist. Something that had once seemed so unnatural for him he now gave all the reverent ceremony a poet gave his muse. “Would you deign to forgive one more trespass?” 

I felt the allure of our easy back and forth and fell into it indulgently, breathless with fear and anticipation. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission.” My eyes drifted closed as he tilted my chin up and captured my lips. I sank into the caress, taken up on the coursing waves of madcap rebellion and devil-may-care debauchery. If we were to be damned, cursed forever to shoulder our legacy of murder and madness, then what was one more sin? 

-:- -:- -:- 

I sat up slowly, drawing the velvety quilt closer to ward off the early morning chill. It was still dark in the room, but I felt rested enough that it must have been only a few hours left until dawn. The warmth of the wine abandoned me as I slept, leaving behind a dull pounding in my head. I glanced to my side. 

A certain black-haired form was still deep in a dream. He lay turned away from me with the thick comforter pushed down to his waist, giving me an uninhibited view of long scratches running down his back. I felt a twinge of guilt, but it faded as soon as I tried to get out of bed. I ached head to toe as if I’d barely survived a brawl with a Kull. I suppose it’s naive to hope he’d be gentler than he is with anything else.

I pulled myself out of the oh-so-very comfortable bed. Where are my things… or, where is anything for that matter? The process of getting to the bed was such a blur that I couldn’t remember for the life of me which articles ended up in what places. My hand fished around in the darkness until it hit any fabric at all. I examined the item as I strolled to a floor-length mirror near one of the tapestry-covered doors. It was impossibly soft and the deepest shade of black. I tugged it over my head, happy that it at least dropped to about mid-thigh on my much shorter frame, and glanced in the mirror. 

I looked a damn mess. My hair was a disaster, particularly a section at the back that was knotted into a ball. The too-large shirt dropped off one of my shoulders, displaying a frankly ludicrous array of bruises, bitemarks, and small burns. My mouth tasted of sleep, goosebumps covered my entire body, and even standing still sent an ache curling through … well, everything. 

I shook my head, face burning. Oh gods… what have I done? I can’t stay here… not in this room. I need to go, need to run…. But why? I agreed to come here, even knowing what he intended… I cringed against the memories. Not that they were un pleasant per se… as a matter of fact, I suspected that I would be much less upset if they had been. If this reckless disregard of nature had been a failure, at least then it could be abandoned to embarrassment! But it would be much harder to banish the sweet lightning and bitter joy, the scent of our bodies, the sounds that broke through our guarded shells, the confessions both horrible and wondrous whispered against my skin, a handful of wavy black silk, teeth and fire and bliss like agony… Yes, those will haunt me much longer than the shame, I think. 

The slumbering form twisted over in bed. He reached around where I’d been, mumbling drowsily. 

I couldn’t risk waiting for him to wake. How could I face him… how could I ever look him in the eyes again after what we’d done? I didn’t even bother looking for shoes. I belted a pair of trousers beneath the tunic and hurried out of the room. 

I didn’t have a destination in mind at first. I wandered the castle, spiraling lower and lower until I was near the entrance corridor, a massive construct meant to serve as an entry for visiting dragons in times long gone. Dragons… Suddenly, I knew what I needed.  Or, rather, who. 

I found Katana perched on the overhang above the city itself. It took so long to reach her on foot that the sun had long since peaked above the horizon; a blood-red disc like the fiery eye of a god. The land sprawling beneath us was bathed in golden light, glowing beneath a fuzzy pink sky. The moment I stepped within a yard of Katana, she tensed and growled. 

Relax. It’s only me. 

She did not stand down, nor did she answer my thought. The very tip of her tail twitched in irritation. 

Katana?

So now you remember that I exist. 

The venom in her thought struck me dumb. What’s this? I would never forget—

Forget your own dragon? I thought much the same, until last night. 

My heart sank. Is this… about Torix? 

Her head whipped around, only halting inches from my face. Strips of smoke circled around me as she exhaled, carrying with it the scent of freshly charred meat. If you need to ask, then I have nothing more to say. 

I tried to stand straight, but the action exacerbated the ache in my muscles. Katana felt it through the link and recoiled from me, growling even more. I know… it was foolish, and I’m sorry—

Apologies won’t cut it this time. She bared her fangs. You let him… no, worse than that, you wanted him to—

Please, spare me the blow-by-blow retelling. 

You showed me no such mercy! Katana’s tail slapped the earth so hard that a flock of birds took to the skies in a panic. 

  I was starting to understand Katana’s rage. Dragons and riders were blessed in almost every way, but these gifts came with associated burdens. The price of closeness was a total lack of privacy. So, hypothetically, if one ended up with a mate that the other detested… Are you mad that you saw things or that I didn’t ask your permission? 

Bold of you to assume that it can’t be both, she sniffed, and more besides! Forget about the two legs and how they feel about such things, you can torment yourself over that without my help. No… I care not what he is… only who. 

He’s a friend—

He’s a monster! Katana got to her feet, stretching her wings out until they fully eclipsed the sky and I was plunged once more into purest night. He began his war by torturing Shruikan, and continued it by inflicting even worse horrors on every dragon he slaughtered. You and I were two of those that he tormented most! And yet, you have the gall to defend him? To trust him? 

It was my turn to pull away, in a vain attempt to shield myself from her outpouring of grief and outrage. We can’t begin to heal if we don’t move forward. And… I do trust him. 

You have the right to make that mistake… but you do not have the right to inflict it on me! I do not trust Galbatorix and I never will. The fact that you can stand to be near him at all is appalling.

And your choice of company is so superior? I snapped, All you do is huddle with Shruikan and let him drag you into his own viciousness and self-pity! Yes, I got closer to his rider— 

Galbatorix is not his rider! Katana reared up on her hind legs, slamming me to the ground with nothing more than the shockwave from her massive paws. He’s his jailer . As he is yours… and mine. 

The chains didn’t seem to bother you as much when they bound you to Shruikan! I knew it was petty, spiteful, and shameful to throw her feelings back in her face… but I couldn’t choke down the thoughts fast enough. You never consulted me before you mated with him, but suddenly when it’s my happiness at stake, you feel entitled to issue all these rules? 

It doesn’t matter now. She snapped her wings closed and curled away from me again. Her thoughts suddenly shrank, compacting away until they were little more than a bitter whisper. We weren’t meant to be mates… I am doomed to be alone.

Her sudden change in attitude made me uneasy. I got to my feet hesitantly. I mean… there are still two male eggs yet unhatched. It’s possible that one of them— 

You don’t understand! She growled again, tail lashing in frustration. I edged around her curled form until I found her head again, brilliant blue eyes glaring into the rising sun. Finally, I saw the real source of her anger, a pit of despair so all-consuming that I felt tears burn the corners of my eyes. I cannot mate; not with Shruikan or with anyone else... Not as a dragon ought. 

I balled up my own emotions and let them slip away. You’re right; I don’t understand. I reached a hand forward and brushed her snout. So, help me to. What changed? 

I... laid an egg. Her eyes blinked closed in pain. But it was… Wrong; empty. 

She’d never even told me! I berated myself for not noticing such an earth-shattering event. How could that be? And… what does it mean? 

Kialandi examined me. I am… She used a word in the ancient language, but in the simplest terms I am broken; unwhole. I can never have hatchlings of my own. 

Oh, Katana… I’m so sorry. I stroked between her eyes, along the curve of her jaw. But that doesn’t make you any less of a dragon. Life is defined by so much more than offspring. Humans choose to go without them all the time! 

But humans are not on the brink of extinction. She shifted to better fix me with a mournful stare. I am one of the only two female dragons that will ever live… and I am broken. A sharp keening started low in her throat; pure grief boiled down to its most poignant form. 

Tears poured down my face, unhindered and unstoppable. I had nothing to offer that could console her. I just sat curled against her cheek; shamed, sore, and sharing in her agony.

This is one of many things in my life that must be brought to account. I do not defend this period; rather I feel only disgust and shame at the vaguest reminder of it. It was wrong, pure and simple, in every possible way. Never mind the decade and a half I spent playing his pet: go here, fetch this, hunt for master, and a million other tricks he used mostly to amuse himself…. But consider too that I believed, truly believed, that a man who had proven himself incapable of human feeling could make an exception for me. My new position had many benefits, sure, but the cost was the most precious possession I had left: my dignity. I neglected Katana, abandoned morals and ethics alike, and tied myself in every feasible way to the worst man I’d ever known. 

But…. again, I look too far ahead. I will… try to have sympathy for this woman who was once me. She still has much to learn; much to endure… and, through that pain, she will eventually grow strong enough to thrive without Galbatorix’s manipulations. Besides, it was this very experience that gave me the tools I needed to advise a certain young man when he was faced with similar choices. I could not spare him the pain, but I at least helped him salvage his soul.

Since it was far too late for me. 

Chapter Text

Even as a forty-two-year-old woman, my only coping strategy for sudden life changes was avoidance. The best way to wrap my brain around whatever the hell Galbatorix and I had become was to not think about it at all. I managed to avoid him completely for nine days (no easy feat, thank you very much). Of course, Torix was absolutely nothing if not entitled. 

Eventually, he would find an in.

 I examined my cuticles diligently. Dry skin, left pinky cracked and bleeding where I’d worried at it. I could heal it with a spell, but it seemed prudent to leave it be. It was a tangible reminder to ground me. If a minuscule wound accomplished that task, it was well worth the irritation. 

If only I could be so easily distracted from that burning gaze .

“You’ve been missed,” he said in the most casual tone. Torix stood closer to me now than he had been since… well, since. I’d hoped he would show sense enough to leave me be. Evidently, I’d overestimated him. We stewed in stiff silence. I couldn’t look up, couldn’t meet his eyes. He sighed. “Lilleth, you can’t run from this. There’s nothing to run from. ”

Finally, I flicked an icy stare up at him. He hadn’t changed much, but there was a tightness like pain around his eyes. He had barely slept, which could equally make him more dangerous and more vulnerable. I channeled all my shame and discomfort into a whiplike reprimand, “Nothing? Are you mad?”

“Yes.” One word, calm tone, no hesitation. “As it happens, I have been so for quite some time. But this is as close to clarity as I have ever been.” He took three relaxed steps. Each one seemed to slow time further, the tick of a giant metronome. I stiffened until I felt like a little doll; incapable of movement unless somebody pulled my strings. How familiar. He leaned in until I couldn’t resist looking at him, one hand braced on the arm of my chair. “I can’t stand the thought of my princess despising me,” He lowered his voice, a tender concern creeping over the calm as he struck upon the truth of my silence, “So, tell me: what ails you?”

I gulped. “You… we… I can’t…” the words froze in my throat. 

“‘Can’t’ may not be the best choice of word,” he said with forced cheer. “ We can do absolutely anything we desire. Who could deny us?” 

“Katana,” I managed to whisper. I blinked hard, but not hard enough to halt the tears. “She’s furious.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “I see. I knew that she’d drawn away from Shruikan, but I didn’t realize it went as deep as all that.” He dropped to one knee in front of my seat, taking my hand in his. “Did she explain why?” 

“She hates you,” I sniffed, “And now… I think she hates me because I…”

“Because you don’t hate me?” The corner of his mouth twitched. 

“And who says I don’t?” I kicked his leg without force. “You’re a fiend.” 

“Untrue and unfair,” He said playfully, pressing a kiss to my hand. “Besides, Katana will never hate you, no matter her disposition toward me. She’s still hurting from her news—” 

I yanked my hand back so quickly that I almost slapped him. “You knew ?” 

He tilted his head. “Of course. I’m the one that instructed Kialandi to—” 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” All of that pain was smoldering into rage. It was comforting; familiar. It was so much easier to be angry with him. 

“On my honor, I thought you already knew.” He held his hands up helplessly. “I didn’t think it was the sort of thing she would keep from her own rider.” 

It was like I’d been punched in the chest. All the building rage evaporated into… nothingness. “Nor did I.” 

 He slowly reclaimed my hand, stroking my fingers soothingly. He also rose up, until I could rest my head on his shoulder. “Lilly,” the more casual name felt alien coming from him. But then… we were certainly more familiar now than we’d ever been. “Give her some space and some time.” 

I  flicked a sharp look at him. “As you gave me?” 

He smiled. 

I kicked him again. “I mean it. We can’t ever…. Not again.” 

“I told you how I feel about the word ‘can’t’. It is my nature to pursue the forbidden, the dangerous, and the insurmountable. You, my dear, are all three.” He pulled back from me until we parted, but I could still feel the heat of his body. “If you want me to go, you need only say the words.”  He trailed the phantom touch lower, tracing the contours of my bodice with a completely brazen stare. He even paused, turning a belligerent smirk up at me. “I’m waiting.”  

I tried to push him away, but suddenly he was like coiled steel. “You already know that I can’t.” 

He smiled, cat-like and content, as he pulled me from my perch and into his lap. “Then give in ; let me love you as you deserve to be loved.” He flicked my hair aside and kissed my neck, not waiting for permission. “The world is made of only us, little shadow. Nothing else will ever matter as we do.”

My brain and body were operating on completely different levels. My thoughts floated in hazy uncertainty even as I found myself breathless from the whirlwind of sensations. Hungry kisses burned my skin as he lowered me to the floor, skirts shifted up and away, he reached down to adjust his own clothing… And then clarity gripped me like a bolt from on high. My hand darted down and grasped his wrist hard enough that it would have bruised a lesser man. He halted, stunned. “Wait! I— … I have a condition.” 

He swallowed hard, clearly at the very edge of his [ Let’s face it; extremely limited ] self-control. “You have but to ask.” 

I raised myself up on an elbow, staring him down. “If I am yours, then you are mine. I will suffer no others, Galbatorix. Not the castle concubines, not the streetwalkers, not even Morzan himself. If this,” I gestured down at our scandalous position, “is all you want from me, then you shall not have it. If you want all of me, then the price is all of you.” 

He stared at me in quiet wonder. My chest tightened brutally; he was a scoundrel through and through, there was no way in any hell he would consent to monogamy! But I held my ground; either he would pass this test or he wouldn’t. Dark eyes shuttered behind even darker lashes as he sank into his thoughts. I closed my eyes too, afraid of refusal and consent in equal measure. We hung from that impossible cliff for one heartbeat, two, then a third, then several more. But, on the third, he did the impossible. His lips brushed mine as he whispered, “Yes, my queen.”

For everything despicable about the man, he certainly had a flair for “romantic whimsy.” Though he could never officially acknowledge me as such, there isn’t a soul in Uru’baen who didn’t know about my change in station; I was, in all ways, the acting queen. I had the authority to make my own moves at court, with my eager little band of spies to assist. Not even the forsworn could impede me, though some certainly tried. One of the most dangerous plots of this era actually centered around two of them in particular.

But it began as just an innocuous letter in a sea of other papers. 

I ran a sweat-slicked palm over my forehead. The blistering heat permeated everything . The palace, normally cooled by its sheer scale and recessed position, was more like a massive brick oven. Every single window and door that could be opened had been in some vain attempt to coax a breeze through the room. We'd even given up on our hand fans; too exhausted to a man to even look at the things. In a vain attempt to ward off the discomfort, I'd thrown on a gauzy white tunic and thin brown leggings. But nothing helped! My poor, addled brain turned the lists of figures spread in front of me to gibberish. I rubbed my eyes and groaned.

"Not helpful," a clipped voice warbled through my sludgy thoughts. I scrubbed my hands lower to glare at its source. Galbatorix sat with me at the table that he usually used for private meals, the very picture of scholarly focus. He leaned over his own list, frowning and scratching tallies onto a bit of paper. A loose-fitting ivory shirt broke his usual pattern of attire— even he was not immune to the heat. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, as much to keep cool as to keep the garment free of ink spots. 

I gritted my teeth. “You want help, get a secretary. You want me, that comes with a complaint department.” I flipped another page of meaningless hieroglyphs. “You’d think more sun would be good for plants.” 

“To a degree. But couple this excessive heat and a total lack of rain… let us just say that our farmers are nervous, from Gil’ead to Aroughs.” 

“How’s the emergency food stores?” 

“What we have is full, but the actual infrastructure is dismal.” He scratched out two whole lines of notes, dots of ink splashing up the page where the quill nib bent too far. “And besides, we could have all the food in the world, but it won’t be much use unless it can be distributed.” 

“Soldiers seem to be the cleanest solution,” I yawned. 

He hummed noncommittally. “There is another matter that requires attention if you tire of this work.” He scanned a tidy pyramid of letters, fishing out one with a black seal stamped with a mermaid. “Lady Devina of Kuasta has come into some trouble. Apparently, three of her most trusted captains all dropped dead within a week.” 

“Does she have any leads?” I took the folded square and scanned it mechanically. “All of them died of seemingly natural causes?” 

“Their bodies simply gave out. And these were healthy men, barely into their fourth decade. It isn’t unheard of, but it is unusual.” 

“And for it to happen thrice in rapid succession and close proximity,” I finished. “Curious indeed. I’d like to get the lay of the land myself.” 

His pen halted. “One week, and not a moment more. Leave as soon as you can.” I dropped my page of notes with unshielded relief. Before I could turn to go, he took my hand firmly. “Stay safe.” 

I grinned, leaned down, and kissed his fingers. “I will, so long as you do.”

Katana needed absolutely no convincing. She’d spread her wings before I’d even tightened my leg straps! Poor thing was desperate to get some space from… well, from everything. She and I were still on less-than-happy terms, but at least she was willing to speak to me at all. In particular, she was eager to see Kuasta (not to mention spend most of my investigation lazing about in the sea and feasting on fish). 

I’m quite sure Galbatorix had no idea how close to home this matter would really cut. If he had, he never would have sent me.

Kuasta was certainly… something else. From the air it almost looked normal; good strong walls encasing rows of homes, a central castle, and one whole line of the city open to the sea. But as we descended, new details clarified. While the roofs were largely done in either dark clay tiles or pitched wood, the buildings themselves were a shocking variety of colors. We were moving too quickly to make out specifics, but many were decorated further with colorful murals, intricate stonework, banners, and streamers. While vendors and shops lined many streets, much of the commerce seemed to be centered near the docks; stalls with bright patterned cloth canopies occupies by dozens, hundreds of people all jostling together. 

I loved it all! Katana! Isn’t it beautiful? I prodded past her brooding thoughts. 

It is, she admitted grudgingly. I wonder if they’re preparing for a festival?

It can’t be the solstice; we’re already two weeks past. Do you think any other ports are like this? 

I don’t think anywhere else is quite like this.  She turned one more lazy circle over the city before descending toward the castle’s inner courtyard. One advantage of being a rider was one never needed to announce their arrival, nor stand waiting for entry. No one in Alagaesia would dare refuse any of our little family, and me in particular. 

I wiped a line of sweat off on a spare towel; even in the thinnest breeches and tunic I could find, I still felt like I would melt dead away.  I already miss flying; between the altitude and speed you fly, it's always freezing up there. 

Which is why I’ll be heading back on the wing as soon as you’re inside. I need to eat and then I’ll find a shady place to nap. Katana flicked her tongue. Visions of fat fish caught unawares as she dove among the waves made me snort. She snapped that area of her mind off from me. I can handle my own hunting, thank you very little. And I wish you luck with yours. 

If it even is hunting. One of the guards, a stocky gent in the standard imperial soldier uniform, approached us at a light jog. I slid down Katana’s side and to the ground, landing in a crouch to absorb the shock. The guard dropped to one knee as soon as my feet touched the ground. Dear gods, not all this. 

Have fun, Katana teased, launching back into the sky.

 I watched her rise, tender joy curling in my chest like a kitten. She really was stunning, all midnight grace and majestic might. To the rest of the world, she was a lesser god! No one knows the powerful insecurity that lingers beneath that strong facade, I thought privately. 

A sheepish voice below me brought me out of my musings. “Welcome to Kuasta, Your Highness.” The guard stayed on his knees, head bent nearly to the ground. 

Such antics weren’t new, but the heat sapped my tolerance for them. I also knew that the best way to put the poor man at ease was to get far away from him as quickly as possible. “Where can I find your mistress? She should be expecting me.” 

“In the library, Princess. We can escort you—” 

“Directions will suffice,” I said. “On your feet, if your would. I’m not in the habit of conversing with the grass.” He obeyed so efficiently that I was tempted to shake his hand.

To my surprise, the library was not actually attached to the palace itself, but a separate building directly mirroring a central garden. The main exit faced the public street, the back faced the palace. It must have once been the gatehouse for the stronghold, though it had since been built out considerably in every direction. The color of stone and patterns of wear showed were different from one section of wall to the next. The oldest sections were only visible on the top floor, more a narrow guard’s post than an actual room, and the walls to either side of the building. 

It was easy enough to find the lady once I’d actually entered the place. It was unnaturally, mercifully, blessedly cool inside. The whole place smelled strongly of parchment, leather, and dust. Innumerable shelves formed tight aisles that meandered through the space, each numbered and labeled methodically. Two more guards, these in the deep purple of the lady’s house, stood guard at either end of one aisle. Their charge broswed the shelves between them, deep in conversation with a young man. I waited patiently for a break in her speech to clear my throat. 

She handed a book back to the young man, barely pausing long enough to cursty before walking towards me. The nearest guard stepped aside mechanically to keep out of the lady’s way. She had followed my own instinct in dress for the day, deep blue leggings and a gossamer white tunic. Her hair, a mess of different shades of brown and red, brought to even higher contrast by the summer sun, was piled on top of her head in tidy braids. Her naturally bronze skin was darker this time of year than when I’d last seen her, and the extra sun lent her a strength and majesty rarely seen outside of the skulblakan . “Princess, you’re even earlier than I dared to hope. Thank you for your haste.” 

“Anything for you, Lady Devina.” I nodded politely to her and to the man trailing awkwardly at her heels. “Please, Lilly is fine. I haven’t the time for added formalities. I would ask that you get me up to speed as quickly as possible.” 

“Of course,” Devina scooped up a pile of books and gestured at the youth to do the same. She then started up a narrow staircase sequestered in the back of the room at a considerable pace; the woman had reserves of energy unlike anything I’d ever seen. “Your timing couldn’t have been better, actually. I’ve consulted with our healers and with the crew mates of the deceased, and all accounts rule out infection. None of the men had a single contact in common, they all had wildly different destinations and diets, and even drank different spirits.” 

I sighed in relief. Very few things frighten a monarch like plague; being left to helplessly watch your kingdom crumble from the inside out. “Which leaves natural causes or foul play?” 

“Or accidental death,” the young man added. The lady and I both paused to glance at him, and streaks of garish crimson crossed his cheeks. “I-I… my apologies, I-” 

“What’s your area of study?” I asked. 

“Primarily history, Your Highness. But I did briefly study law and public record-keeping, plus sociology and—” 

“I see. And, as I already said, it's Lilly. Your name is?” 

“Jeod, Your…Lilly.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Are you free to advise us?” 

His face lit up. “Of course!” 

The three of us set up shop in one of the private wings of the library, spread out over two tables. Our young assistant busied himself taking notes as Devina finished filling me in. “Three unconnected men all dropped dead within a seven-day period. They were strong, fit, well-respected captains that had sailed for over sixty years between them. They had no known health problems and not a single enemy between them.” 

“I would think that the fact they were all sailors would be a connection in and of itself?” Jeod said quietly. “Theirs is a world unto itself; most of the seafaring sort spend their time on the docks.” 

“Then we should definitely ask around there to see what people may know,” I said. 

“Easier said than done.” Lady Devina rested her hands on her hips. “It’s a tight-knit community down there. If they smell an investigation they’ll close ranks.” 

“We have to risk it. We’re not going to get anywhere at this rate.” I leaned over the table, sizing up our diligent little helper. “And you’re going to make it possible.” 

-:-_ -:- -:-

Jeod fidgeted in his disguise. The ratty clothes were much too large for him, drowning his already lanky build, and smelled like they’d been buried under rotting fish. Even with all our attention to detail, it would all be for nothing if he couldn’t play the part. He glanced back at us and I gestured for him to drop his damn hands. He shook his head like a drenched puppy and meandered off toward the docks. 

Devina pressed two fingers to her temple and grimaced. “I haven’t had such misgivings about a scheme since my sister and I borrowed our mother’s jewels for a game. The gardener tanned both of us when he found our buried treasure; we didn’t sit comfortably for a week!”

“And there’s more at stake tonight than just a beating,” I added, “but I have every confidence in our comrade.” I flipped open one of the books Devina had brought along for our study session and got to work skimming through it for ay mention of sudden heart failure. We hadn’t been back to work particularly long before an unpleasant interruption greeted us.  

“My lady!” A guard knocked on the door, two sets of two sharp raps. 

Devina stepped into the hall for privacy. She needn’t have bothered; particularly acute hearing was one of the easiest gifts to achieve with magic. “Has there been another death?” 

“Yes My Lady, only minutes ago. My men have sealed off the tavern where it happened, no one in or out.” 

“Excellent. Take a list of everyone present for the incident; I don’t care if it takes all night.” 

“Yes Ma’am.” He trotted back down the stairs. I took the opportunity to exit our headquarters. 

“Lilly? Where—” 

“To the crime scene, naturally.” 

Devina’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious!”

“If you’re nervous, you’re welcome to keep plodding along in here. I need to examine the victim, the witnesses, and anything else that might still be there. And besides,” I shoved a handful of loose papers and a charcoal stick into a pocket, “I don’t want our henchman to get swept up with the others.” 

-:- -:- -:- 

The crowd milling around outside the tavern was ravenous for any news. Some looked for husbands or sons, and they were the loudest of the group by far, but most were much more garden-variety gawkers. It was an immutable law of the world; nothing stirred a crowd like violence, gore, and tragedy. Luckily for me, I had a very peculiar bodily feature that allowed me to part the crowd with a single offered palm. Since every rider not loyal to the king had vanished decades ago, it was as good as a whole procession of trumpets to announce my identity.

The building was nothing special on the outside; weathered wood planks and dingy windows. Inside it was even less special. Some round tables, mismatched stools, a long bar, and a hearth that lay dark in light of the ungodly heat. Seven people milled around near the entrance, each one angrier than the last. The eighth occupant lay on the ground near the bar, crumpled onto his side. 

I approached the body without much apprehension; death was so common in my life by then that very little could faze me. Still, I wasn’t quite prepared for just how young the man was; no more than thirty. He was curled on top of broken glass and pooled beer, likely his own mug that he’d dropped in his fall. He was dressed fine as any nobleman: embroidered turquoise shirt, embellished leather belt, and a garnet ring on each finger. But it was the boots that told me the most; they were freshly polished, made from exquisite leather, hard soled, sported an inch-high heel, and fastened with intricate silver buckles. No self-respecting sailor, not even the most flamboyant captain, would choose something that impractical. This was the sort of gent one would expect to see rubbing elbows in the country houses or shmoozing the minor nobles; either one of their peers or a merchant who’d made good enough investments to pretend to be. That breaks our connection. So where does that leave us?

A guard entered the room and stood at attention. “Princess, there’s a man who claims to know you. What should we—” 

“Bring him in. He’s assisting me while I’m in the city.” I checked for the man’s purse. It was depleted (no doubt from a night of debauchery), but certainly not emptied as one would expect in a robbery. I listened for the quick, timid steps of my helper. “What do you have to report?” 

“Not much I’m afraid. From what I could tell, they were well-liked men. No two people knew more than one of them well.”

“And I’d wager that it would be a similar story in this case.” I crouched lower and turned the man’s head to face the ceiling. “He’s already blue in the face. Normally, corpses take longer to wilt in heat like this. It’s almost as if he suffocated? But there’s nothing constricting his airways. Did anyone report him panicking?” 

“No. They thought he’d nodded off until he fell.” 

I frowned. He would have been a handsome chap, if not for his aggressive eyebrows and over-large nose. “Jeod, come closer. Do you see this here?” 

“See what? Oh, closer? Me? Really, I’m fine—” 

I glanced back. The poor lad had his eyes glued to the ceiling. 

“I promise, the dead don’t bite. I find them much more convivial than the living more often than not.” I patted his hand and returned to the corpse. “Look here , about his nose. It’s irritated; like he’s been ill.” My stomach tightened. Dear gods, not a plague. Anything at all but a plague. 

“No, not quite like that.” Jeod swallowed hard and moved closer. “In fact, most of the irritation is on the inside of the nasal passage. It’s typical in those who often inhale large quantities of dust or other irritants; like miners or glass blowers. The particles cut up the passageway and cause inflammation.” 

I stared up at the kid. “Was that history or sociology?” 

He grinned self-consciously. “That was years spent watching craftsman in the market square.” 

“Aren’t we just full of surprises,” I said, standing and clapping him on his shoulder. “Let me scribble down a message for Lady Devina. Then you can get out of here and into a warm bath.” 

Relief washed across Jeod’s face. “Your kindness is appreciated.”

Once I’d sent my assistant on his way, I moved some mugs from an abandoned table and ushered over the witnesses one at a time. Four I dismissed immediately; they’d all come in together and were piss drunk. Even if they’d been nose-to-nose with the man it's doubtful they would have retained a scrap of information about him. Two more followed them out the door; a pair of lovers who’d spent the whole evening locking lips in the corner. They remembered him walking in alone but paid him little mind after that. Luckily for me, the last man proved to be the break I needed. 

He was a young sailor by the look of his sunburned cheeks and uncreased eyes. I could feel him sliding around my questions, but never once could I catch him in an outright lie. I examined him more closely, grasping for any detail. His clothes were unassuming, but the boy himself was… pretty. There was simply no better word for him. He had fae, delicate features; shaggy brown hair, full lips, hazel eyes guarded behind long lashes, and a soft jawline. But, more than anything else, I noticed his pixie-ish nose; thin, upturned, and irritated . Between every evasion he’d sniff and rub the tip of his nose, though it wasn’t running. Jumping onto a hunch, I cut off my line of questions. “Enough of this. I believe that you didn’t know the man in question.” 

“Thanks,” He answered dryly. “Can I go now?” 

“Not just yet. See, I believe that you and my victim might have a mutual acquaintance. And it has something to do with whatever is bothering your sinuses.” I offered a handkerchief coyly.

The sailor’s jaw tightened. “I get it from my mother’s side. They own a little farmland south of the city. The whole pack of them look like this every year; from thaw to frost.” 

“Sure. Look, I’m not particularly interested in arresting you,” He paled, staring at me in indignation, “but I will if I must. You’ve seen that man before even if you never knew his name, and I need to know where .”  I stood, mirroring a pose from my beloved mentor and resting both palms on the table. I leaned in and dropped my voice to a playful whisper, “Your time is almost up.” 

“Fine!” Turns out that the kid didn’t have much stamina for threats. He cricked his neck, tapping his foot nervously. “But you can’t tell him who sent you.” 

“Your secret is safe with me.” 

“It’s an Inn by the docks called the Quiet Island. Head in and ask to rent the backroom. The barkeep will give you a key, then you can head to the last room on the left. He’s in there. That’s all I know—” 

“And what exactly happens in this mysterious backroom?” 

“People go to buy… medicine.” He swallowed hard. 

The fog of unanswerable questions cleared, revealing one obvious truth. “Drugs.” 

The boy nodded. “This guy and the stuff he’s peddling is brand new. The folks around here don’t like new faces, but it’s worth it.” A smile twitched on his face, then vanished at my glare. “It’s supposed to take away the pain of living.” 

“And does it?” I just wanted to keep him talking. I was completely taken aback by just how passionate a response I got. 

“Yeah.” His eyes misted over like he was remembering the most beautiful dream. “It’s like floating in clouds… the most peaceful I’ve ever been in my life. But it’s expensive,” he refocused slowly, misery edging his words, “and it works a little worse every time. You start smoking it, then snorting it… anything to get as much as fast as possible. But it's never enough.”

“If it’s so expensive, how did you end up using it?” 

“You don’t need money when you look like I do.” He curled his lip in disgust. “The old man spots me in exchange for "favors" when my shakes get too bad to handle.”

I swallowed hard. He wasn’t much more than a kid, and yet he was already working on a ship, hooked on gods only knew what, and willing to do the unthinkable to keep it all afloat. “Is there a way to get off of it?” 

“People say you get less sick if you ween down slow. Course, he never lets me leave with the stuff, even if I wanted to.” 

“Do you? Want to, I mean.” 

“What do you fucking think?” He crossed his arms and legs, protecting as much of himself as possible. “Look lady, I don’t need your pity, but I don’t need you getting the wrong idea either. That son of a bitch can burn for all I care, and his dope along with him.” 

“It’s not pity,” I scooped up the deceased man’s purse and dropped it onto the table. “Call it thanks for all your help. Now, get yourself clean before you end up like him,” I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder, “and get out of here.”  

The boy licked his lips, warily scooping up the pouch of coins. “And you’ll keep me out of it?” 

“Your secret is safe with me.”

  We found that young man’s body the next morning. He was curled like a sleeping cat on one of the docks.  His death stung me more than most, and I took it very personally. No doubt the very coins I handed him bought the dose that killed him. But then, who’s to say he wouldn’t have found gold another way? Or, even if he’d never quite managed to poison himself, no doubt he would have eventually wasted away under the cruel allure of his vice. 

The most frightening thing about addiction is how it makes the inflicted behave; the very best people will do the most heinous things for just one more fix. Even when you know the risks, even when everything in you is screaming for release, even when you feel your body crumbling from within. Not to be dramatic, but I can’t help but notice that it’s very much like love. Or, at least, it is very like the kind of love that I have known. The highs are unlike anything else on earth… but oh, dear gods, the lows . There was, however, a benefit to enduring my “partner’s” cruelties: the skill to inflict them on others. 

Chapter Text

Our investigation had barely begun when it came to a screeching halt. The dealer was just a pawn of a pawn, and his bosses weren’t nearly as cooperative as he was. Each new link we brought in for questioning wasted more and more of my time. Before I even knew it, my week was up. This led to a pivotal conversation with Galbatorix.

“I'll be gone at least another week. As soon as we get one of them to turn on the others, the whole operation will unravel.” I sat cross-legged a few dozen yards from Katana. She'd chosen a hilltop outside of the city for her morning snooze. The isolation coupled with her presence to dissuade visitors made it the perfect place for a report in.

“No.” Torix’s image occupied my little mirror. His eyes were glued on the page in front of him, though I had a burning suspicion he was rereading the same line.

I seethed.  “I wasn’t asking--” 

“Nor was I.” His tone was sharp as fractured glass. “You will return without further delay. This is not a debate.” 

“I agree. With all possible respect, I will remain in Kuasta.” How very familiar his expression was: furrowed brows, deep frown, and a truly paralyzing glare. It was that exact expression that haunted my youth. I felt the urge to buckle; to fend off the storm of rage that brewed ominously just beyond the surface of my little silver mirror. But there was a lesson to be taught here, and for once I was in the teaching role. “Your blessing was a matter of formality.” 

“Blessing!” Torix stood, the spell rising along with him to keep his eyes in focus. I was grateful for the distance between us; it was easier to mouth off to the man when one was out of his physical presence. Many years separated me from the time he would beat me for every little thing, but the memories were still powerful. They shrank my courage. But, here, with at least a day and a half’s flight between us, I could risk agitating him. “Lilleth,” he ground out, “you will be back in Uru’baen by the morning or I will personally--” 

“That is no way to speak to your queen.” 

Torix froze. He worked his jaw back and forth, like a child trying to swallow a bitter tincture. “I am not in the habit of taking lectures from my own--” 

“From your partner. No longer a student, nor servant, nor even a child.” I rested the mirror on a tree stump, leaving him staring up at an empty blue sky. “And I am telling you that the situation in Kuasta runs deeper than we suspected. I will report back as soon as I can, but not before my work is complete. The safety of our people is at stake.” 

Silence. A dragonfly hovered around Torix's tiny, furious image. The insect perched and fidgeted its opalescent wings. A breeze, which should have been a respite from the nightmarish heat, only pushed around the heavy air in mocking gusts. 

When he did speak, he sounded calm again; dangerously so. “I want reports every evening and for every bit of progress, regardless of the hour. When you return, we will discuss the matter further.” He severed my view of him, the surface of my mirror suddenly turning inky black against his wards. The dragonfly shot off into the sky, afraid (even as I was) of what Torix's next move might be. 

I groaned. And now he’s angrier than ever. 

You can’t expect a fish to fly just because you imagine its fins are wings. Katana’s philosophizing was undermined somewhat by the persistent images of her most recent snack. She’d had to go far out from the city for her “fishing” antics; lest her appetite upset the local ecosystem beyond repair. Even the waves she made (bobbing about like a hatchling) were hazardous to smaller vessels. 

Brilliant observation. Now what the hell does that mean? 

He is as he is; nothing you say or do can change that. She pulled back from my flurry of irritation and mused, If anything will separate the two of you, I think it will have to be ego. 

Ridiculous! 

You’re both thick-skulled, sharp-tongued, and proud. Two strong personalities in close quarters are bound to come into conflict soon or late. 

Torix and I are mature enough to handle conflict! 

Perhaps you are… Katana’s thoughts faded into a background hum as she laid down for her midday doze (not to be confused with her late morning nap).

The drowsy heat was so seductive; how effortlessly I could get lost in a patch of shade to sleep  (and sleep and sleep ) away every worry or care. I patted my cheeks to bring me back to life. No time to worry about any of that now. We need to make progress on this mess. And quickly, before Torix bites my head off!

-:- -:- -:- 

It aided my mood that the dungeons were deep beneath the castle; far from the unforgiving rays of the sun. My hostess and I walked down a narrow passage of rough-hewn stone, accompanied by one man at arms with a lantern. Lady Devina had swapped her attire for a more seemly, linen gown in subdued fawn brown and even wore gloves to protect her thin fingers from the chill. Or perhaps , I mused, she’s loathe to touch anything down here. It so seldom occurred to me that other noble ladies possessed the luxury of squeamishness. Even someone like Devina, so fearless in her political maneuvers, shrank meekly from real filth. 

“We followed every order to the letter, Princess.” A single guard, seasoned and unshakable by the look of him, stood outside of a solid door off the main hallway. It was thick, laid in iron bands, and fit into the wall with meticulous precision. 

“Good,” I said. “Wait out here with our escort. My Lady, I will understand if you wish to do the same.” 

She lifted her chin minutely. “He is my prisoner. I will be present for his questioning.” 

“Questioning?” I glanced back at her, rolling up my sleeves. “We are far past asking him questions, I’m afraid.” 

The lady stiffened. “I do not approve of using torture to obtain truth. It is often… imprecise.” 

“I agree wholeheartedly.” I untied a leather cord from my wrist and fastened my hair back. “The methods I have at my disposal are guaranteed to be accurate if absolutely nothing else.” 

Devina’s brown skin drained of all warmth. “Of course, you should do what you think is best with my blessing. Though it seems I would only be underfoot were I to join you?” And there it was; a subtle and dignified refusal to dirty her hands with the barbaric necessities of our world. These were matters better left to her servants… to those who were already scarred and broken beyond repair. 

I smiled. “I’ll rejoin you upstairs when this business is done.”

I opened the door and slipped in as quietly as I could. The prisoner’s gravelly snores covered my entrance, but they also irritated my freshly frayed patience. I tugged the portal closed with as much force as I thought it could withstand. In the tiny box-like chamber, the reverberation rattled my teeth. Though we were plunged into total blackness, I heard my guest jolt in his seat, pulling against the leather straps that held him upright in a metal chair. “How kind of you to join me at last. Unfortunately, I have no proper name with which to greet you. Shall we begin with an introduction?” I cupped my hands and whispered a few words in the ancient language, fixing an ominous red glow in the doorway, perfectly at my back. 

He was an unremarkable man; middle-aged, middling height, thick but not obese, head shaved smooth and shining with sweat. “I didn’t do a damn thing, and I have nothing more to say to you people until you get some kind of real evidence!” 

I slid a finger over an impressive collection of implements, all hanging in tidy rows from hooks on the wall to my left. She may not approve of torture, but her jailer certainly does. Were my mentor present, he would spend a day just making the wretch pay for running his mouth, and then redouble the pain for wasting his time. I may have picked up the skills necessary (as much from experience as from practice) but I’d never developed Galbatorix’s bloodlust. I settled on grabbing a tooth-marked wooden dowel and forcing it into the man's mouth. “I see that manners are lacking in every member of your team. Your underlings had attitude problems too,” I patted the top of his bald head, “at first. But then we had lovely little chats; mostly about you. I know when so many birds sing the same tune they must be part of the same flock. So, as a matter of courtesy, I will ask you plainly. Shall I call you as they did, Toad, or do you have a real name beneath that slimy facade?” I tugged the hunk of wood free to await his answer. 

He licked his lip where I’d bruised it and grimaced. “Vico Abbraxio; chief advisor to the-” 

“No titles, thank you. All of that was forfeit the moment you dipped your toes into peddling poison.” I replaced the dowel on its peg and wiped his drool on the man’s own shirt. “If I had my way, your life would be so as well, Vico, in payment for all the lives you’ve helped ruin.”

He rolled his shoulder as best he could in his restraints. “I don’t much like your way.”

I sighed theatrically, tinkling the chains of a truly fiendish flail just out of his sight. A distant memory echoed in the back of my mind; a darkening forest, the sounds of nightmarish laughter, and a panicked act of magic that nearly killed me. Then Galbatorix’s patient tutoring: Imagination is the root of fear. One needn’t be the monster; they need only outline a place for the monster to take shape and let the subject’s mind do the rest. “Then you’ll be relieved to hear of my further disappointment. You see, I wanted to chip away at you piece by agonizing piece for my own… peace of mind? It’s as close to justice as I can offer your ilk.” I leaned against the wall behind him, putting a firm boot on his upper back when he tried to look at me. “But justice requires time that you and your associates have not allowed me, Vico. You have left me with no choice but to break you open crudely, like a rotten gourd, and claw through your guts to find what I need.” 

A lifetime of entitled swagger wouldn’t give out so easily. “Oh yeah? Hell of a threat, little girl. Let’s see what you’ve got. I promise, your tricks aren’t half as scary as what my bosses already put me through just to get this job.” He tilted his head to the side and spit on the floor. “They don’t let rats in their families.” 

His bluster reminded me too much of Ellessar. He was a snotty prick too, especially when cornered. “It’s a good thing that I don’t need to scare you.” I dropped my foot back to the ground and meandered more to my left, circling back to stand in front of him. “I’m only speaking to you at all for my own convenience, and because even vermin should be offered a splinter of mercy.” I shifted my hand away from my body and tilted my palm until it caught the light. But then, I heard Galbatorix’s lesson as clearly as if he stood beside me in the room, it is so very gratifying to play the monster from time to time. When I was a girl I didn’t fully understand what he meant. But moments like this, wherein a man who had just promised bitter resistance suddenly collapsed in despair… Those sent a guilty shiver through my whole body. “It is not a question of if you will submit; that is beyond your control now. The only thing yet undecided is how much of your mind will be intact after our ‘chat.’ Open yourself to me, and perhaps I will allow you to remember your own name. Fail to do so…” I spread both of my hands helplessly. 

Again, his narrow tongue flicked over his lips. I was starting to understand why his gang of thugs called him Toad. “I can’t.” I crossed my arms and he sputtered. "I'm not refusing! It's not that I don’t want to-- believe me, I want to!--but I can’t .” 

I tilted my head. “You’ve sworn oaths in the ancient language to defend their secrets?” 

He nodded vigorously. “With everything I have.” 

I sighed. I was so hoping to intimidate the wretch into sparing me the effort. “Then alas, this is farewell, Mr. Vico. A pity that your superiors weren’t as careful with their employees as they are with their ledgers. Normally, I would let you rest now…” I pivoted back a half step, letting the uncanny glow catch my pitiless smile. “But you have been unconscionably rude.” 

It takes skill and training for a mentalist to work alongside even one partner. But to rally a dozen crazed dragons into a surgically precise instrument, then use them to dissect an unwilling mind? That requires a gifted hand. The prisoner gave a mighty resistance in light of the circumstances. I left the eldunari clawing at his fractured barriers while I sifted through his every thought. It was an exhausting process, living another’s life with their screams echoing beneath every hazy memory. Much of it was a mess of hedonistic self-gratification with interims of painful sobriety. He climbed the ranks of the organization as a means of funding his own lusts. Finally, a memory of a very important meeting broke through his desperate attempts to pry it from my clutches. 

I wished to god that I’d let him. 

Because, to my shock and disgust, I recognized the face swimming before his eyes. No amount of time could erase the memory of him because he was one of the faces I had been forced to memorize long ago; one of the faces I had to avoid at all costs and on pain of much worse than death. I saw a heavy-set, greasy man with piggish eyes and a mouth that had never known a smile. Behind him, though I only caught the sleeve of his emerald green velvet coat, could only be one man.

Their ring leader was one of the forsworn. 

I don’t remember bidding farewell to Devina. I never stopped in to visit the strange scholar a final time. (It would be many decades more before I saw little Jeod again!). One thought churned over and over in my aching head, so violently that I thought it would crack me open; Did. He. Know ? 

-:- -:- -:- 

“Everyone out.” Over a dozen eyes turned to me in abject horror. This group was clearly comprised of advisors rather than nobles; less garish in their dress and more visibly exhausted as a whole. They sat around the meeting room’s central table, each one frozen solid as the northern ice waste itself. Only one man refused to acknowledge that I’d spoken. Galbatorix, I swear to every demon in every hell that I will set this room on fire on the count of four, whether these sad sacks remain or not.  

Is that a promise? 

After , I added irritably, I gouge your eyes out. One.

You’re being unreasonable-- 

Two. 

Lilleth, this is insanity! 

Three. I casually shifted a hand towards my belt. 

Torix got to his feet with unseemly haste. “I hope that you will all excuse Lilleth’s interruption. It seems there are matters other than the survival of my subjects that also require my attention. For now, break your fasts and regather your strength. We shall meet again at first light.” 

I’ve never seen a group of people so eager to leave a room in my life. Nobody dared even make eye contact with me or Galbatorix. When the last one had flown, I pushed the massive door closed and tossed a handful of shoddy wards over it for good measure. 

I was glad I did too. Otherwise, any stragglers would have heard Torix slam me into them by my throat. I knew he’d be ticked, but somehow I’d convinced myself that such displays were behind us. It was a soul-crushing blow to realize I’d been mistaken. “Have you lost your wits?” 

I gripped his wrist as tight as I could, digging my nails into his tendon. He twisted free, retreating back and staring at me in equal parts mounting fury and astonishment. I hissed, “Did you know?” 

“I know a good many things, but none of them explain why you’re acting like a feral alley cat!” 

“Do any of them explain why you’re acting like a weasel?” I curled my lip in open disgust. “Answer the damn question!” 

“Ask it!” He threw his arms wide, “For both of our sakes, you evil-minded shrew of a--” 

“Balor is responsible for the deaths in Kuasta.” I snarled. “Now I want a clear, honest answer from you Galbatorix: did you know?”

“Why in the name of every fiend would I have sent you if I did?” He leaned one arm against the table.  “For the love of… is that it then? You want to know if I wasted your time--” 

I dropped both hands on his sea of papers and sprayed them all over the room. “Don’t you dare claim ignorance now! We both know that you’ve got your hands in every single thing the forsworn have ever done. It is quite literally inconceivable that Balor could run a drug empire and you be none the wiser.” His confusion hardened into rage. His muscles tensed. I reacted on instinct, decades of training and sudden indignation overwhelming even my fear of his wrath. He tried to grab my arm, and I slapped his hand so hard that I cut my palm on one of his rings. I clenched my fist until blood dripped between my fingers. “Is that your answer then? The moment you’re faced with a problem that’s beyond your gods forsaken lies you turn into a brute! I knew you were a bastard, but I didn't take you for a coward--” 

His punch was unexpected. But then, so was mine. For the first time in my life, I didn’t even care what happened to me, so long as I managed to hurt him as much as I was hurting. I beat at the wards around his vitals, less to actually murder him and more to prove a damn point. I found I could reach his arms and I clawed at them whenever they strayed too close, our blood mixing sickly on my fingertips. I fought like a wounded badger… but I knew there was only one end. 

He finally managed to wrestle me under him with his full weight. One sleeve had been ripped completely off my tunic, a deep cut oozed blood on his left cheek, we were both breathing heavily, dripping with sweat, and glaring at one another with something like hatred. 

And then he kissed me. 

I bit down hard the second his lips got close. He pulled back, eyes misted over with…. No… it couldn’t possibly be… 

“You had better be fucking kidding me.” I squirmed beneath him. “How dare you, how fucking dare you lie to my face then try to flirt your way out of a beating--” 

“Easily, lover.” The words held none of his usual mirth. I went cold, suddenly far too afraid of exactly how much damage he could really do in our current position.“You really are stunning when you’re angry.”

“Let me up so I can bash in your stupid skull.” 

“Not a chance.” He pinned me by my shoulders, pulling back enough that he could look at me without letting me spit in his eye. “If it will finally cease your bitching, then I will explain. Of course I know that Balor is involved in the underground; that has always been his realm of expertise. As to this newest enterprise, I know little. My guess is that Idril helped him doctor an exsiting drug to greater efficacy. With that consideration, it’s a miracle the fatality rate isn’t higher. Now,” He risked only pinning one shoulder, stroking my cheek. “As to your impertinent wailing--” 

“Impertinent? What did I say about--” his punch caught me mid-word, right across the jaw. I tasted blood; saw the gash the blow had left on his hand where his skin hit my teeth.

 He didn’t even flinch, just carried on in an eerily calm tone. “You are exactly the reckless little brat that you’ve always been. You find one worthless secret, and you have the arrogance to call me to account? To tell me how to treat a woman; any woman?” 

I’d almost managed to collect my wits… until that final phrase. It took everything in me to keep my voice steady. “You really see no problem with any of this?” 

He blinked. 

And the rage boiled over into something stronger. “ Garzla.” The room went utterly black. He’d tensed and retreated fractionally to defend himself from a direct attack, but he left himself wide open to an indirect one. I curled one leg up until he fell back, cursing and gasping for air. I wriggled away from our tangled position and ran to the door, blowing it open with another spell so the door hung crooked on its hinges. I released my hold on the first spell, winking us back to the glaring brightness. “You’re twice the fool and thrice the scoundrel I thought you to be.” My throat tightened to the edge of pain. “Keep out of my way Galbatorix, or I swear I’ll tear this whole shit show down around you.” I turned and ran, as fast as I’ve ever run in my life. I could not, would not , let that son of a bitch see me cry. 

That night finally broke the drought that had been hanging malignantly over all of our heads. The city erupted in impromptu celebration, people of all sorts sprinting heedlessly through the relentless downpour. I nursed my hurts in a cool bath, numbed and bitter and drowning my rage in weak wine.

Wouldn’t it be lovely if that was as far as this disaster went? If I woke up from my short dream and found the prince had turned back to a toad-- pardon me, frog-- as I slept? But no… I was still a fool for him; I let him make me so. This argument was not our last, nor even our most explosive (there are some memories that simply should not be put to paper. The most brutal actually required Morzan of all people to physically separate us!), but it was the one that changed our family the most. 

On one hand, It began my personal crusade against Balor. It may have been pettiness and spite that drove me, but my cause was still more than worthy. That one was the worst sort of creature known to our world; fueled by greed and lecheries so vile that it’s really better to leave them untold. His henchman, the greased pig I saw in the memory, was named Beren. He… well, there will be time enough to tell his tale. The pair of them make me violently ill to this very day. I’m relieved that they’re both long dead at the time of this writing, though I wish I’d gotten the chance to do it myself. 

But my war against Balor and Beren was nothing next to the energy Galbatorix spent worming back into my good graces. He tried every trick in the love bomber’s handbook, even tried “sincerely” apologizing. One of the times he came wheedling me for forgiveness he made the desperate plea, “What can I do to make it up to you?” I gave him an absurd list of demands (most of them actually about improving his character and behavior, but gods know he skipped all of those), ending with a “palace by the sea”. Within the week, he’d delivered exactly that. 

That place became our refuge during brief escapes in autumn and winter. No politics, none of the forsworn, enough distance between two caves that Katana and Shruikan could comfortably ignore us and each other. It was a short flight south from Teirm, nestled up on a cliff where we could still hear but were not affected by the waves. Though the property technically belonged to me, I spent every moment there with him. In our home he wasn’t a king; he was just mine.

I blinked my eyes open, impotent as they were against our pitch-black bedchamber. The distant sound of waves lulled me into semiconsciousness. Somewhere, out in the velvety blackness, water crashed against the stony cliffs with raucous abandon. As their revels drifted up to my window they dulled to distant echoes of their full power; a gentle hum of nature. The sound was still alien to me after decades of living in the landlocked capital, but I was growing to love the shoosh that lulled me to and from my dreams. My hand struck out in the covers. I frowned when it touched only cool bed linen. Where had my live-in warmth wandered to at such an hour? I stuck my legs out of bed and into my slippers, groping in the dark for something to ward off the chill. My fingers closed on something plush and silk-lined. If his robe was still here he couldn’t be far. I tugged the garment over my shift and padded out of the bedroom, leaving our bed and my waves behind. 

The door swung open silently (a testament to the same oiling that had allowed him to sneak by me) into a leisure-room. A log popped in the fireplace on my right, sending another flare of ruddy light over the floorboards and into the depths of a dark, plush rug. Rows of elegant tomes lined the walls, (some more aged and loved than others) soaking firelight into their glossy leather spines greedily. The only breaks in the book and brick barricade were two windows placed on opposite walls. Underneath one lay an abandoned chess board, pieces scattered across the table from the same antics that had prevented the game’s completion. I rubbed the back of my neck, not even bothering to repress a smile. For such a controlled, he certainly falls to pieces easily if one knows the right buttons to push.  

“Lilleth.”

My foot stopped mid-kick. I flicked my eyes up to meet the disapproving gaze of my combatant. “Hm?”

“You’re doing it again.” He tapped his finger once and chose a pawn at random to shove fruitlessly up the board.

“Am I?” I snapped up the chance to exchange some material, ending off one move up and a queen richer besides. 

He frowned. “You did that on purpose.” His expression soured as he took in the situation. 

“Of course. Mind games are a valid strategy.” 

“Is that so…” I didn’t have time to register his devilish smile before he scooped me up. Next thing I knew he had me pinned on my back over the wreck of our game. 

Heat rushed to my face, but I still managed to stutter out, “Just so you know, abandoning a game is an automatic surrender.” 

“I guess I’ll have to make do with a consolation prize.”

I smiled.

Something had cooled him off if he hadn’t even bothered to wake me. Though it is yet to be seen if that is for good or ill. Another sound intruded on my musings and I eased out the breath I hadn’t meant to hold. He was playing. 

Beneath the other window and tucked partially into a corner was a tired old piano. The paint chipped off along every edge and the highest E flat couldn’t stay in tune worth a damn; in all ways, she was an instrument at the end of her life. But none of that mattered now. She crooned out a haunting melody, streaked through with profound sorrow. The man seated at her helm kept his posture relaxed and his head bowed-- an oddly serene pose for his clearly pensive mood. I slid a foot forward, hoping against hope that he would ignore my intrusion. He let me cross all the way to the bench, though he was certainly aware of me by then. 

Even though he had blocked off his mind from me, I remained dimly aware of his consciousness. His thoughts felt like an ancient, brooding forest rather than his usually untamable bramble. Echoes of fathomless, bitter despair radiated from him. Only one thing could have such an effect.

I slid onto the bench. 

He hesitated mid-note, almost turning away from his task to look at me but he paused when I looped an arm around him and rested against his side. “Don’t stop.”  

He braced as if he were teetering on the edge of something reckless… or perhaps painful. After a moment he acquiesced, long fingers effortlessly gliding across the worn keys. I closed my eyes to listen as I pet through his hair. The thick, silky strands provided negligible resistance. The soft scent of our previous misdeeds still hung around him and I nuzzled closer. The melody drew us both into its depths, letting us wander freely as it rose and fell in time with the distant waves. Almost subconsciously I pressed my thoughts gently into my companion’s until he lowered his barriers. 

No doubt he had earned his fearsome reputation. His thoughts were powerful and domineering to the unprepared eye but, to me, they parted easily and were as familiar as my own. I didn’t bother communicating directly; we were past such necessities. My thoughts floated around his frayed edges soothingly until the storm within quieted to a manageable timbre. The music faded to silence. We felt tears burning the corner of our eyes and we lifted a hand to brush them away. He jumped when his finger bumped my wrist. 

He curled his fingers around the joint and pressed lightly on my pulse, absently brushing his lips against my fingers. “Thank you.” His voice creaked slightly with disuse, but that hardly lessened its enchanting quality. 

And such a voice there had certainly never been. Now and again I lamented that his path had driven him to politics rather than to artistry. If he had used his gifts for good he may have ended up equally famous but for very different reasons. “Not likely,” he said aloud. “I don’t think the bardic life would suit me.”

“Oh? I think some aspects of it may.” He scoffed as I kissed his shoulder. “Adoring fans, frivolous drinking, no council meetings or mountains of paperwork…”

“I wouldn’t have you.” He spoke softly but firmly and I got the distinct impression he believed his point to have been made. 

“Would that be so terrible? If I weren’t around--” His fingers tightened on my wrist. It was only for a moment but I jumped at the sudden pain. I grinned anyway. “- then I couldn’t humiliate you at chess.” He scrunched his nose and I flashed him my most devious smile.

“Someday, I’ll make you choke on your mockery.” For all his posturing, it lacked the fire of a real threat.

“You won’t.” 

“You believe me incapable?” I could feel the dare ringing in the accusation. 

“I know you’re plenty capable.” His ruffled feathers soothed as I stroked down his back, digging in my nails at the base of his spine, “but that’s assuming I give you the opportunity.” He shivered and tried to grab my waist but I ducked away and danced back out of reach, “Not that this isn’t fun, but come back to bed. It’s too cold to sleep alone.” 

He shook his head ruefully and followed my steps, lacing his fingers with mine.

I hate how important those moments were to me back then. I hate how I relied on him to feel safe, to feel… whole. Every memory of that place is tainted by his presence in them. 

The real agony of this time is that one of two opposite things must be true. It’s possible that every single moment of tenderness was a sham he put on to win my confidence; no more factual than any other snake oil sales pitch. But it is equally possible that it was real, more real than he ever allowed himself to be before or again, and the man I could never love enough is buried forever in his own madness. In either case, it is a pitiful state of affairs. 

Unfortunately for both of us, our shared sanctuary and my interference with Balor would be enough to bring our fragile peace crumbling down.  

Chapter Text

The next year or so passed in a pleasant blur. Torix may have been a pain, but he made up for it with a range of very useful talents. If one can get on his good side long enough, they’ll find he’s really wonderful with his hands; music, art…. he also gives commendable massages (I swear to every god, it’s his one redeeming quality). But, for every escape from our responsibilities, we paid thrice over in make-up work.

Uru’bane’s silhouette on the horizon was no longer a comforting sight. The moment Katana’s claws touched down, everything Torix and I had neglected for the past several days would assault us without mercy. We work ourselves half to death, retreat to recover our strength, then re-approach to do it all again. Does it ever end? 

Is Galbatorix going to abdicate the throne? Katana asked sarcastically. 

I leaned forward and rested my cheek against her scales. Even despite the altitude and speed of her flight, she was warm to the touch. Suppose for a moment that he did! I’m his only heir; the whole damn mess would drop on my head! 

But at least you wouldn’t be as hated as he is. 

Tell me you’re joking; even you can’t be that ignorant. A significant portion of the general population didn’t know I existed. The more isolated the settlement, the more likely that they cared little who actually sat the throne. They knew the king because it was in his name that the tax collectors made their rounds, and they knew the name of whichever forsworn personally terrorized their region. The people who were aware of me (the nobility and the residents of Uru’baen) hated me as much as they did Galbatorix; considered us to be a single entity.

And why shouldn't they? You act like his pet. Katana fashioned a particularly exaggerated image of me perched on the arm of the throne like a rare southern bird; feathers and all.

Partner, I grumped , and I do not. If anything, I’m more like his damn mother sometimes. The hardest thing about working with the man (temper and ego aside) was his unrelenting, intrusive need to do reckless shit. He seemed to get a high from putting us in danger; from the risks themselves. His vice even extended to our relationship, as if he were inviting someone to discover it. 

It’s a miracle no one has caught your idiotic hides. Katana was more than willing to watch the disaster unfold. If anything, she was angry that we’d gotten away with it for as long as we had. 

I’m not the problem child between the two of us, I snapped, and it's really none of your business! Heavy silence greeted my outburst. She shuttered her thoughts completely, and a wave of unease struck my chest. Katana? 

My lovely partner tilted into an unreasonably steep dive. A wall of solid air met us as she dropped from the sky— a literal bolt from the blue! My hair, my clothing, even my very breath were ripped back by the sheer force of the wind. I pressed as tight to her body as I dared, squinting to keep my bearings. And then, the rotation started. With an expert flick of her tail and wings, Katana fell into a deadly spiral. All of my organs crowded my throat for the honor of being the first ejected. I crunched my eyes shut against the blurred white and grey scenery. So this is how it ends; plummeting to my death with my lunatic dragon! 

Don’t be so dramatic. Katana snapped her wings open wide and leveled out her dive.  I peeked through my lashes just in time to see a pure vista of undisturbed snow mere feet beneath us. Katana funneled her excess speed into a massive loop, dropping into a curling bank nearly as big as she was. She plowed through the glistening hillock in a spray of powder and skidded ungracefully down the other side.

A sizable chunk of the drift fell directly onto her back. I shook my head like a wet puppy. The snow was melting quickly into icy slush now that it had been exposed to Katana’s body heat. I shivered and swore as cold water ran down the back of my neck. What the hell was that for? 

It appears that you need some extra time to think. Get off. 

I balked. Katana, we haven’t even reached the city gate! You’re not really going to make me walk the whole way? Torix—

I don’t give a damn about him. Get off my back now, Or I’ll roll around in the nearest cattle field. 

I shuddered. No doubt that dragons as a whole were vain, but they rarely made idle threats. Okay, okay, I’m getting down. I schlucked off the arm and leg straps, slung my pack over one shoulder, and hopped down her glistening forearm to the ground.  At least tell him why I’m late! 

Perhaps. Katana leaped back into the sky, buffeting me with the force of her wings. 

“Just fucking wonderful,” I groused, beginning the long and tedious trudge back to the palace. 

-:- -:- -:- 

The walk to the city was miserable, cold, damp, and treacherous. My lovely partner hadn’t seen fit to put me anywhere near a road, and the snowfall here was worse than anything I’d seen in my life (aside from our trip to the north). Never mind the fact that I was dressed for dragon back, not walking. Eventually, I gave up on trudging through the snow and used magic to run atop it, like some legends claimed the elves could. This at least eased the passage, though it still took me well over an hour to reach the main gate of Uru’baen. 

Once I did, I wished I hadn’t. Every guard worth his eyes had seen Katana’s dive. Unfortunately, I connected this fact all too late. I was met by a parade of “humble servants” who all offered me a private escort to the castle. A small crowd had also gathered on either side of the gate, curious onlookers and potential assassins alike. 

My right eye twitched violently. I’m going to skin that damn lizard for this. I tried my best to keep a stately posture despite my sweat-streaked, wind-whipped face, partially unbound braid, and plain black attire. “I require no assistance, though I thank you noble gentleman for the offer.” The gathered guards stepped back reverently, though I caught them exchanging looks. My words also sent a ripple of disquiet stirring through the milling crowd. How odd. 

“All possible respect, Princess, but perhaps we should send for proper transport?” one of the guards said, stepping forward and bowing. He then added in a whisper, “It would stir the people up something fierce to have Your Highness suddenly among them, and anything can happen in a crowd like that.” 

I closed my eyes, grasping for patience I did not feel. “In that case, an escort ought to suffice. I expect you will be leading it, so I will have your name.” 

“Captain Perrenett Johnsson. My men call me Captain Perry.” The captain was dressed as any officer of the city guard; with typical red livery and functional armor. I couldn’t see much of his face, but he sported a dented helm that had been polished to a mirror finish. 

“Very well. I expect you and your men to match my pace, Captain.” In a few barked orders, a group of a dozen men fell into position around me and we set off down the main road. I would never admit it, but it did feel better to have armed guards at my back. Not quite as safe as traveling alongside Torix… but then, he would only make this particular situation worse. 

In the time it took our group to organize, word had spread like dragon fire ahead of us. Faces poked out of windows, crowds milled as close to the formation as was reasonable, and fathers held children aloft for a better view. I cringed down to my bones. Public presentations weren’t unheard of, but they were always pre-planned acts of propaganda; a show of strength, wealth, solidarity, and a dozen other things that did not apply to this. I felt exposed. Even worse, I could hear snippets of whispered conversation with my magically enhanced abilities. Some were benign, but many were simply foul. Barren, deranged, whore, killer, lush, lunatic, floozy, imbecile… they can’t even decide on one reason to despise me! I ground my teeth in impotent irritation. My stomach churned, as if I was once more plummeting through the air astride Katana. I was so preoccupied with the gossip that I hadn’t noticed my diligent little entourage stop in its tracks; I nearly walked straight into Captain Perry’s back!

“Well, isn’t this a delightful surprise!” None other than Balor Enduriel stood in our path. He was a large man, nearly as heavy as Morzan but considerably shorter and twice the width. His clothing was tailored to obnoxious perfection. Each piece of garish garb encasing his swollen frame was of the finest materials; velvets and silks too valuable to even be sold in most shops. He also sported a truly ludicrous quantity of jewels, from rings on his pudgy fingers to a gold medallion studded in rubies, to diamond-crusted cuffs on each pointed ear. His mop of bronze curls gave him a boyish gaiety that put many of his associates at ease. I, however, would never again be able to forget the cool cunning that lurked behind his murky green eyes. He spread his hands warmly, “Dear Lilleth, it has been so very long since we’ve had time to talk! I don’t think I’ve seen your face this close since you were a little girl… say, ten years ago?” 

“Twenty and three,” I responded coldly. 

He chuckled, tutting like a nursemaid fretting after her charges. “Far too long! We are, in some ways, family after all! Please, I insist that you have tea with me this evening.” I opened my mouth to respond, but he trampled right through my protestation. “Gentlemen, you may all return to your posts. I shall take care to protect our darling princess with my very life!” 

My skin crawled. Still… I do need an excuse to dig into his business. No sense passing up an opportunity, no matter how distasteful. “I don’t need protecting, Balor. However, I would like to accept your offer.” 

He laughed heartily, stepping through the guards like they were leaves in a hurricane, and draping an arm over my shoulder. The scent of the man was overwhelming; rich perfumes, incense, and something sour lurking just beneath it all. “Right this way! We are actually quite close to one of my reputable establishments!” The crowd melted away from him as he steered me towards a three-story building perched on an adjacent corner. 

The place was exactly as extravagant as the man himself. Painstakingly carved partitions blocked every window, and lanterns of various colors glowed within the structure. The external woodwork was painted demure cream, with carved gargoyles slathered in gold holding up the gutters. The main entrance was guarded by a solemn-looking man but otherwise was only covered by a gauzy red curtain. Balor ushered me into the building, but I didn’t even catch an inkling of the first room before he jerked me sharply to the left and into a narrow passageway. 

I tried to protest, but his chuckle set my teeth on edge. “You would not enjoy an evening spent here, little Lilly.” All of the friendly banter melted away to mockery. “I cater to many appetites in my line of work, but I have little to offer a prudish little viper who cannot contain her curiosity.” He reached ahead of me and rapped on a door. The second it opened, he shoved me inside. 

My first thought was to murder him then and there, damn the risks and damn the odds, but I held the urge in check… barely. If he wanted me dead, he wouldn’t get his hands dirty. Torix would tear his limbs off and feed them to Shruikan. I took stock of my surroundings, particularly looking for backup weapons or escape routes. The office was lavish, of course, and coated in so much decoration that the eye could barely absorb it all. I took note of a completely clean-topped desk, two sofas on opposing walls, a blazing hearth far larger than the cramped space required, and a center table with three sturdy chairs. One of the latter seats was occupied by another man I knew; one much worse than Balor. 

He was uglier than sin. Not his features per se; his square face was too unremarkable. He had greasy brown hair, beady eyes, a bulbous nose, a permanent frown, drab green clothing, and meaty hands clenched into fists. This was Beren, Balor’s life-long lackey and only confidant. I had never in my entire life been alone with either of them, not for a single second. One time, Beren had entered a shared space where Xanist and I had been studying. Papa Xanist scooped me up and walked out, abandoning our work for the day. Even after decades of training, participating in multiple wars, and scrapping with Galbatorix himself… something about this man made me nervous on a whole other level. 

“This is stupid.” Beren muttered in a drab monotone. He was intellectually stunted; not handicapped, just disinterested in learning. “She’s just going to squeal when she leaves.” 

“I have hope that we can reach some sort of arrangement before any ‘squealing’ becomes necessary.” Balor twisted a key in the door’s lock, withdrew it, and tucked it inside his jacket. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

I crossed my arms. “Slim chance of that. Now, what could you two possibly want to discuss with me?” 

Beren ignored me completely as he sipped from a brown floral mug. Balor joined him at the center table, tsking and shaking his head in disapproval. “My dear, there’s no point mincing words. You have done something that men in my line of work consider to be unforgivable.” 

“If you’re fishing for an apology concerning Vico the Toad, you won’t have it.” I scowled down at both of them. “He was vermin, and now he’ll die like vermin.” 

Beren slammed his mug down with a crack. The bottom of the mug separated from the rest, leaking dark coffee all over the table. His beady eyes never left my face, and yet he still said not a word. Many years of finely honed instincts made it near impossible to look away from him. Suspecting ill intent is one thing, but he isn’t even making an effort to conceal it!

Balor cleared his throat delicately. “Everyone in Vico’s line of work accepts some risks; up to and including painful death. If anything, you were merciful.” Pure sarcasm dripped off every word Balor spoke. “I’m sure he appreciated it.” 

I shrugged as casually as I could. “I wouldn’t know. He wasn’t in a particularly chatty mood when I left.” In fact, he’d been a jibbering mess. Rooting around in a person’s brain against their will was often a last resort for interrogators, and for one simple reason: you may answer one question, but you will invariably leave dozens more scrambled forever. “If not him, then what?” 

Balor smiled, clasping his fingers together and examining his rings. “Do you think Galbatorix demands vengeance for every soldier killed in the field? Or that a queen bee leads a murderous swarm over every drone that does not return to the hive? Of course not. But when cities fall; when whole colonies of bees disappear in a puff of smoke… then a leader must take action.” 

So even he thinks he’s an insect. I stood straighter. “I was tasked to investigate the deaths in Kuasta—” 

“And were you tasked to interrupt my profit margins, little girl?” Still that pleasant, musical, mocking voice. “ That I very much doubt. In my world, taking money from another man’s pocket is grounds for war.” 

“Little girl?” I echoed. “I’m no more a child than you are.” 

“Then you should act more like a grown woman,” Balor lectured patiently. “Only children think that a king’s laws should apply to all equally. And,” He straightened his sleeves conspicuously, “only an imbecile would think themselves above penalty.” 

“If you are, then I most certainly must be.” 

“And thus belies your second sin; playing the snitch.” His green eyes sparkled in triumph as he leaned forward. “You believe that being daddy’s little whore makes you untouchable.” 

My stomach dropped. He’s bluffing. It’s not possible! And, if he knew, then why would he tell me like this! It could be blackmail. But what do I have that he wants? I laughed without much humor. “Your fantasies are as vile as everything else about you. I suppose that shouldn’t come as a surprise.” 

“Oh, it’s no fantasy. Beren here was the first to notice it,” he gestured politely to his companion. “Something about a hunter’s instincts?” 

“He’s always wanted her.” Beren kept his emotionless drone, but I could tell he was enjoying the subject. He was like a scavenger picking at a still-living meal. 

“You see,” Balor waved a hand as if the whole subject was tired, “my companion here has very particular tastes; thin, pretty, timid. Dark hair is a bonus as well.” 

I curled my lip. 

“Oh no, you’ve nothing to worry about now, Lilleth. You’re much too old.” 

Bile rose in my throat. Memories, distant memories, snicked together. “But I haven’t always been, have I?” 

“I think right around Katana’s hatching would have been perfect,” Balor said casually. “Is that right?” 

“Yeah,” Beren answered in a strangely… heavy tone. 

“I was barely ten!” I wanted the words to stand as an obvious defense. They both blinked at me coyly as if I were just naive; as if I was the crazy one! “But.. what does that have to do with anything?” 

“Well, for one, Galbatorix knew that Beren wanted you.” Balor stood, waddling sideways between Beren’s chair and a sofa to reach his desk. “And without your father’s protection, nothing would have stopped him. If anything, you owe he and I a great debt for sparing you that fate.”  

“He knew me because he’s the same,” Beren said simply. “He wanted you too.” 

Not then! I nearly blurted out the words but managed to choke them down just in time. Instead, I sputtered, “You’re insane!” 

“No doubt about that,” Balor slid onto a wide stool behind the desk. “But then, aren’t we all? Some of us run criminal empires, some prefer the company of little girls, and some spend their leisure time seducing their own kin. Madness is so very subjective—” 

“I’m at the end of my patience for your baseless accusations—” 

He slapped the surface of his desk sharply. “These are not accusations! I do not tell you this as a matter of principle; as it happens, I have no principles at all! I only tell you to warn you,” He tapped the side of his nose merrily, “that I can be a dreadful enemy.”  

I finally turned my full attention to Balor. Snakelike smiles and cheery threats; this was a man who reveled in shadows. So that’s all; he thinks that if he threatens me I’ll let him run rampant in the underground. “So can I,” I hissed.

He laughed. “So I have discovered to my great cost. If absolutely nothing else, you have Galbatorix wrapped around your finger.” Still, he chuckled at his own private joke. “Which is why I cannot afford to have you whispering in his ear. Would you like to know what finally confirmed Beren’s standing hypothesis?” 

“No.” 

“It was twofold. The second I shall wait to explain, but the first was more damning from my perspective. He actually called me to task over the deaths in Kuasta, can you believe it? The man who unleashed Amroth onto an unsuspecting city took issue with a few drug addicts keeling over miles away!” 

Too many emotions beat at my aching brain. The room smelled like everything all at once, sickly sweet and foul and musky. I wanted to leave… I needed to leave… but a fraction of me needed to know. [ It is so often that very part of me that causes all of my trouble ]. “Stop circling around the point. Tell me what you want, and leave this filth in the shadows where it belongs.”

He held up a hand before I could interrupt him further.  “I want Kuasta back in my pocket. Unfortunately, that will take some time. As repayment for my hardships, I want you out of my business permanently . I don’t want my clients dropping dead any more than you do; it's bad for business. I give you my word that we will… “reevaluate” our business model accordingly.”

I frowned. “As if that was the only issue at hand—” 

“ And, ” he leaned forward, pure mischief glinting in his eyes, “I will share with you a special bit of magic developed by yours truly; unknown to another soul in all of Alagaesia.” 

“No, thank you.” I turned my shoulder to him. “I’m not bartering with the lives of my people—”

“You would prefer to gamble with the life of your child?”  

Ringing filled my ears. A thousand swarming insects had just been let loose in my brain, slowly creeping down my throat and towards… Unthinkingly, I put a hand to my stomach. “That’s not possible.” 

Beren scoffed. Balor stood and snapped at him, one crisp sound like a crossbow bolt against stone. He rounded the desk, a look of solemn support that so terribly clashed with his previous harshness. “Not now, I think. But, dare I presume, there was a moon or two that was… unpredictable for you? And they were followed by a severe sickness, seemingly without cause? I’m not surprised that the life never took root, but the echoes of its presence are perfectly visible to me.” 

I pivoted and glared at him. It was violating in a whole new way for a man I loathed to have any opinion on… to say he could see… . 

“Though I wear many hats in my field, my first and truest passion is the flesh trade. Most of my employees at brothels and the like are young ladies. I had to develop a system of protecting them from illness, harm, and that most dreaded malady of all: pregnancy. You may not currently be breeding, but that is by dumb luck I guarantee. I can offer you spells to keep away… unexpected consequences.” He extended a hand. “And, after that, we shall stay firmly out of one another’s path.” 

I sniffed, gathered the scraps of my dignity, and lifted my chin. “I have nothing to fear, least of all from you.” A familiar strength coursed back into me, replenishing me from the exhausting evening; outrage . “Spread whatever rumors you choose, gods know there’s worse than those already being said about me. But you should know this,” I stepped close to him, channeling a lifetime's worth of loathing into every word, “with or without Galbatorix, I will crush you under my heel like the pest you are.” 

Balor set his face in hard lines, visibly unmoved by my speech. Still, it was satisfying to finally have him quiet. I reached a hand brazenly into his jacket pocket and plucked out the key. But before I could put it in the lock, a chuckle interrupted my momentum. Beren leaned back in his seat, “Why don’t you ask Torix yourself? If he lies, then you know we’re right.” 

I made a sour face. “You’re a monster. He isn’t.” 

“What are you willing to bet?” Beren asked.

I swallowed hard and made a break for the exit, the sounds of mulish, grating laughter following me all the way to the street. 

-:- -:- -:- 

I didn’t tell Galbatorix about most of my conversation with the despicable duo— at least not yet. He was agitated enough by Katana’s antics; I found him pacing around his room like a caged lion. Lucky for me, Balor’s little field trip offered me a chance to shake the crowd and make it back to the castle undisturbed. But, of course, there was one matter I had no choice but to bring up as soon as possible. 

I huffed in irritation, nails clicking impatiently on a goblet of wine. “Please sit. This is hard enough without you panicking.” 

“It isn’t panic!” 

“Could have fooled me.” I sipped my drink to keep calm. 

He marched over and took it out of my hand, draining it and setting the cup out of my reach. “You shouldn’t even be drinking that!” 

The eye twitch returned with sudden vengeance. “Everything is back to normal so much as I can tell, no thanks to you,” I flicked his thigh, millimeters away from doing him real harm. He froze, feeling the full weight of my admonishment. “Now, use that genius brain to cook up a way to guarantee that it can’t happen again.” 

He sighed deeply, dropping into the seat beside me. “I can examine some of the personal journals we recovered from Doru Areaba. If anyone knows how to avoid personal attachments, it’s a rider with skeletons in their closet.”

“You’d know,” I snipped. 

He turned a wounded stare at me. “As if you have any fewer?” I drooped in embarrassment and he put an arm around my shoulders. “Come now, you know that isn’t what I meant. Every man has secrets; there is no shame in it.”

A burning, insidious question floated in the back of my mind. Ask him , Beren had said… but, I couldn’t quite face the subject head-on yet. I was terrified of the answer; be it truth or lies. I shook my head to clear the haze. “I’m exhausted from riding and walking all day. I trust that you’ll be motivated to take care of this?” 

He chuckled. “More than you can possibly know.” 

I headbutted him gently. “Creep.” 

“Brat.”

Truly, few things in this world are quite as efficient as Galbatorix on a mission. He eventually discovered a wide range of spells developed over the last millennia. The technique I chose was developed by a female rider, and was something I could maintain by myself with negligible effort. Technically, by matter of wording, it was a type of ward. I wouldn’t discuss any of this at all if it didn’t matter for later points. For now, trust and believe that I left it in place quite permanently. 

It was shortly after this conversation that he gave me another gift-- one that I still have to this day. We argued about whether or not a mage could create a gemstone designed to hold more energy than one that formed naturally. He was the first of us to succeed. He turned his creation into a pendant. It was clear, hard as diamond, and shaped like a little heart, “Since you already have mine.” It was a corny flourish, but that in no way diminished the value of the gift; few things in Alagaesia have half that much magic woven into them. It took me the better part of the next year to mimic the feat in the form of a ring. It was an unorthodox kind of engagement… but it need only have meaning to us. 

As to Balor, this “chat” showed me his resolve and skill plainly enough. Rather than attack him head on as I had in Kuasta, I sent my network of agents out into the world to wreak havoc on him from every angle. It turns out that he had a hand in every sort of nastiness; anything that took advantage of other human beings. For example, slavery was still technically illegal (even though it was an unenforceable law). And yet, Balor had fostered a truly disturbing way of making it seem legitimate. He would “hire workers”, who would then be “rehired” by his “clients” only to disappear into the ether.

 In short, he was scum. I don’t regret refusing him… no matter what happened after the fact. 

Rumors could only do so much in the end; Galbatorix’s power and influence were absolute. He and I were already loathed… what further harm could we cause? Even weighing the risk of total humiliation on a national scale, I was not willing to sell my soul. I suppose I should be proud of that… in truth, I think the whole thing was a damn joke. What right had I to be concerned about “reputation” when I was guilty of every accusation? Was that not its own kind of justice? How dare I claim to protect people while still working as an assassin? For fuck’s sake, I was sleeping with a man who’d carried out a genocide! There is no justification for that! What right did I have to judge anyone? 

The fact that Torix and I got away with this garbage as long as we did is proof positive that there is no justice in this life. We were together over five years, more than tripling my previous record for a relationship. And what eventually ended our liaison? Cowardice.

“Lilly, may we speak in private?” 

I stopped at a crossroads of walkways looping around the garden. This area was devoted to meticulous hedges, preened into a maze of spirals. The voice came from just behind me, but I didn’t need to turn to identify it. “We are in private, Antebellum.” 

The lady closed the distance, moving alongside me. “Not private enough. You know what gossips hedges can be.” 

I raised a brow and turned to her. Much to my surprise, the lady had not a trace of her usual good humor. “Who died?” 

“No one yet,” She answered, flicking a lacy fan out to cover her lips. “Please, join me for tea.” 

I sighed, reaching out with my thoughts to find the one I’d been on my way to meet. Torix was disappointed to hear my schedule had changed, but he accepted it with ambivalence. I’ll make it up to you? 

Yes, you will. A flurry of untoward images breezed over our link before he cut the connection off. 

I closed my eyes so I could roll them without bothering Antebellum. It was hard enough to fence with this woman, let alone while I was so very distracted. “It would be a pleasure.” 

-:- -:- -:- 

I stirred the delicate silver spoon in a lazy loop, watching the specks of tea leaves spiral as if they really could unlock the secrets of the universe. 

“I bring this to your attention as an act of loyalty. I would expect the same thing from my allies.” Antebellum sat stiff-backed on a fainting couch in the corner of her room. Not many nobles had the privilege of keeping a permanent suite in the palace, but the masked lords were the exception to every rule. Her’s was opulence itself; all rose gold and elegant lavender. She loved comfort in everything, thick rugs, plush settees, warm shawls and shrugs never far from her fingertips. And yet, today, she wasn’t relaxing into her nest. If anything, she looked like she was in pain. 

“And I appreciate that. Now… what exactly have you heard?” 

She cleared her throat. “I hope you aren’t in the habit of shooting messengers?” 

“You came to me, not Galbatorix.” That won a smile from the lady. “Speak freely.” 

“There are disturbing rumors flying about.” She frowned and looked me up and down. “When so many are saying the same thing, one feels inclined to believe either there is a coup on the horizon or, heaven forbid, their words have some elements of truth.” I gestured for her to go on. She swallowed hard and stated frankly, “It is said that you have taken a lover, and that his identity is none other than the king himself.” 

I closed my eyes and sipped my tea politely. “That’s certainly a creative interpretation.” By the time I opened them again, Antebellum was staring at me like I’d sprouted wings. “Where exactly have you heard this?” 

“That’s the most troubling part! The rumor has come, unmarred, from so many different sources that I’ve lost count! If it is a coup, it’s more massive than anything I’ve ever seen.” 

“And, if it were true, then we must have been brazen indeed for so many birds to sing the same song.” I yawned. “What do you believe?” 

She chewed her cheek, but relented as I flapped my hand lazily. “The convictions of the whispers are quite strong. At the very least, I believe you do have a lover.” She giggled, even tense as she was. “And why shouldn’t you? Men think they have the market cornered on debauchery. Meanwhile, the old sods only know one trick a piece. Any woman of taste needs at least three just to keep herself feeling young.” 

I stared at her in shock. “And this coming from the pinnacle of polite society?”  

She scoffed. “Spare me! There’s nothing polite about it. Which is why you’ll get no flack from me for whatever you choose to do.” 

I grinned. “I may have to take your advice someday.” 

She flicked her little hand fan out once more, whipping up a gale. “If ever you do, I expect to hear the details in all their glory! And, in case the rumors missed their mark, do remind our dear king that my offer still stands.” 

I really doubt she’d enjoy him as much as she seems to think.  I curled a thought protectively around some of the visuals he’d passed along earlier, focusing in particular on a pair of thick, worn, scarred leather cuffs. She could never relinquish control, not completely. But it hadn’t been easy for me either. For Galbatorix, intimacy was more about power than pleasure most days. Sometimes we’d fight for it and sometimes I’d give in, but the result was always the same: submission. I’d found a fragile peace in total surrender, as uncomfortable as it was for me. 

“Lilly?” Antebellum’s question jolted me back to the present. Her pointed stare told me in no unsure terms that she’d noticed my absence and guessed at the cause. I braced for the worst but, instead, she offered me a warm, friendly smile. She lifted her own cup in cheers. “I can only wish you the very best, wherever your path may lead.” 

I bowed my head in thanks.

Galbatorix and I had a choice to make. The merest mention of dissolving our relationship sent him into a rage. And, as he correctly pointed out, there would be little point. We still worked together constantly; any rumors would be just as credible with or without the truth behind them. I suggested leaving Uru’baen entirely; deserting his side to stay in my own house. He wouldn’t hear of it.

The only idea that really held weight for him was the worst of them all. Three of his agents had disappeared after infiltrating that old pain in all of our arses; the Varden. Brom’s upstarts had evolved into something very new; a force unto themselves. They were housed in Farthen Dur (that had been a matter of simple deduction. There were only so many places in Alagaesia to hide a force of that size and temperament, and of those the dwarves’ stronghold was the most likely).  The requirements for an agent on such a mission were stringent: experience as a spy, great personal power as a spellcaster, extensive knowledge of the dwarven language and culture, and (most crucially of all) Galbatorix’s absolute trust. The assignment would require me to leave both him and Katana behind; totally on my own. 

Galbatorix loathed the idea. But, with my help, he also saw the merit in it. I confess, it was partially shame and cowardice that drove the decision. Indulging in sin is one thing, facing punishment for it is quite another. The court of public opinion mattered to me then… and it is this very moment that ensures I will never let it bother me again.  I’ll always remember our final evening together, no matter how hard I try to banish the memory.

“Come back to me,” said he, delicately removing my pendant from around my throat. For my cover to stand inspection, I would need to leave everything behind.

I answered him arrogantly; as if I could command the will of fate with two fragile words, “I will.” 

“You must, Amniet. Eka weohnata waise unin verkr laust ono. Kuasta heim eom edtha, sundav iet.” And then he held me and held me until late into the night. 

Chapter Text

Joining the Varden was much easier than it really should have been. This was approximately three years before they started examining newcomers’ minds at the gate (it would be wise to keep that timeframe in mind as I continue). 

The planning process was extensive, but the short version goes thusly: 

We tracked some deserters who were fleeing south with their families (without apprehending them of course). Then I, with a little help from Katana, situated myself on their path. My disguise was borrowed wholesale from a very real man, a scholar in Kuasta who’d been arrested when he was found in a home full of banned material. I was playing the role of his bastard daughter (doubtful that I could play the “traitor princess” card twice in one lifetime) who had barely escaped his capture. A little bit of magic to really sell the likeness, and it was foolproof. The deserters let me travel with them to Aberon. 

Boarder: successfully crossed. 

The process of actually getting to Farthen Dur was more tedious. They delayed me in the city for an entire month, not precisely “imprisoned” but neither free. They tried to persuade me to stay in the city indefinitely, with the other non-fighting members who were sheltered in Surda. I gave them a meticulously crafted story about my Uncle (another— very real— man who had already been murdered on his way south). I said we’d gotten separated on the way and that he’d told me to go straight to where the soldiers went; since that is where he would be, and where he’d be looking for me. Finally, in the middle of the fifth week, I was allowed to join a supply caravan making the treacherous journey into the Beor Mountains. 

But all of that was nothing next to the monumental task ahead of me; establishing a spy network in the dwarven capital. To do that, I first needed to establish myself .

I crouched on the floor of the modest little cubby-like home, rolling up my sleeping mat for what I hoped would be the last time. The elderly couple who’d offered to shelter me was kind to the point of doting. Any other person in the world would be blessed indeed to receive such charity… but it was extremely inconvenient for someone planning subterfuge. They rarely ever left the house! No, if I was to get down to work, I needed my own space in which to do it. Even if it was just a niche in a tunnel, so long as it was mine . But, to afford even that, I needed employment. 

That was easier said than done.

I picked up my pack, smiled blandly while the older man kissed both of my cheeks, and thanked them both. A pity that they’re traitors. No matter how nice they were, it was our respective lots to try and destroy one another. Their weapons may have been their support of struggling rebels, but every mouth they fed was another sword arrayed against us; another terrorist burning bridges and pillaging supply trains. If I do my work well, we can halt the violence in its tracks. 

Even my dark thoughts couldn’t fully distract me from the beauty of Tronjheim. Every doorway, every side tunnel, and every step in every staircase was perfectly etched to enhance the city’s glory. It felt more like walking through a single massive art piece than thousands of separate ones.  How long must even a dwarf live among such splendor to become numb to it; a century? Two? But even as I walked I saw a dwarf with a grey, thinning beard touch his lips and bow to an intricate frieze. It’s practically spiritual, their deference to their home. Surely humans have no such fantasies. Even the most sanctified structures in the Empire were functional first. I brushed off the twist of homesickness and veered my path toward the sectors allocated to businesses. 

I met an immutable wall of resistance the moment I tried looking for work. Some places, particularly smithies and mason’s lodges, wouldn’t acknowledge that I’d spoken at all. Others, like the stands peddling goods from other dwarven cities, laughed politely. “We need no assistance. Or, if we did, we would first offer it to our sons, brothers, nephews, cousins, and a dozen more distant relatives besides! So long as there are clan members in need of work, we will not look for it elsewhere.” Place after place was exactly the same; humans came to Farthen Dur to become soldiers , or to care for the families of those who did. 

By the time I’d reached the end of the main street, my stomach was tied into knots of anxiety and hunger. I had a small purse of coins buried deep in my pack in case of emergencies, but a little discomfort hardly seemed to qualify. I had resigned myself to returning back to my previous hosts, but not before I tried one more place; a textile shop named Erôth nzdorrim. 

The doorway of the shop was one of the few I’d seen hewn high enough for even an elf to pass through comfortably. It was intricately carved along one side to show a dwarf woman with her hands reaching upward, cupping a stream of water. The piece was lovingly enameled in pearlescent blue, with the etched lines left in bare white stone. 

A shrill voice erupted from deeper within the shop, shattering my focus. “But this isn’t the first time that this has happened, is it? And I told you the time before last that I wouldn’t tolerate your ineptitude!” 

Another voice, this one far meeker, responded, “But it is wasteful to use gold thread for a human client! They cannot possibly tell the difference—”  

“I expect only the highest quality from my workers! If you cannot rise to my standards, then you may find a tailor with lower ones! Out!” I barely had enough time to step aside before a red-faced dwarven youth sped past me. I shook my head, heaved in a breath, and stepped inside. 

It was a feast of color within. The front of the shop was tastefully arranged to show the latest fashions. They were draped over simple stone body forms, most dwarven but several scaled more to human proportions.  A narrow shelf near the ceiling showed off an impressive variety of millinery on stoic stone busts. A low marble counter was lined with adornments; from fine silk ribbons to enameled pins to buttons in every color and shape. 

A dwarf woman with thick auburn curls stood behind the counter, examining a crimson gown with a tiny jeweler’s glass and muttering to herself. “Barzul! That fool!” Her hand fished around beneath the counter, reemerging with a spool of glimmering thread, “How will I manage to refinish this order in time? And with inventory only half completed for my next shipment… I’ll be damned lucky if I can salvage my reputation!” 

I innocently moved closer to the counter. “Pardon me?” 

She jolted so hard that the brassy jeweler’s glass knocked into her temple. “Kilf’s temperance, I didn’t see you there! My apologies for my rambling, it’s a nasty habit.” She shuffled the gown surreptitiously beneath the counter and fixed me with the warmest, most welcoming oak-brown gaze. “How might I assist you?” 

“I was actually looking for work.” She lifted a brow, so I explained, “I came to Tronjheim looking for my uncle, but there’s no reason I shouldn’t support myself until I find him.” 

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, glancing me up and down. I wasn’t usually a self-conscious person but, under her discerning gaze, I was suddenly all too aware of my travel-beaten, badly-patched clothes. “Have you ever worked as a seamstress before?” 

I swallowed and shifted my feet. “No.” 

She sighed. “A shame. I would give my last coin for an extra pair of hands just now. I can’t possibly manage customers, complete inventory, and patch this afternoon’s disaster on my own!” 

I glanced around the shop. “And what exactly does one need to know to help manage customers?” 

She giggled, started straightening ribbons along the counter, and switched over to her native dwarvish. “Well, for one, you’d need to speak both the common tongue of the humans and several dialects of our language. The diversity of my client base is a point of pride for me.” 

I nodded, and responded in kind, “I understand them better than I can speak them, but I’m confident in dwarvish.” 

Her hands slowed. “Your accent is pitiful, Dear. But, all the words are in the correct places.” She sized me up again. “And how is your figuring?” 

“Better than my dwarvish.” 

“Good, good… literate?” 

“In all three.” 

She hummed. “I’m not sure I’d have use of you long term… but, for today, I would appreciate an extra pair of eyes. If you do a good enough job, I’ll consider keeping you on.” 

I stood straighter and bowed low, “I won't waste the opportunity.” 

She grimaced, taking up the scarlet gown in both hands. “You’d better not. I’ve had enough of disappointment for today. You may call me Hrama, though you will likely hear many of our patrons call me Delva. And you?” 

“My name is June.”

Working for Hrama was a valuable educational experience for me; She was a perfectionist in the purest sense; her workspace, displays, and most especially the product of her genius. She especially had a talent for translating fashions back and forth across racial lines, keeping a broad appeal to Tronjheim’s unique population. Coincidentally, I was used to being the paper-jockey and interpersonal liaison to a brilliant perfectionist (and a much more intimidating one besides!). She dubbed me her “offhand quill”; it was my duty to keep the store front clean, keep an accurate record of her stock, and translate for human customers. In truth, it was this that made me want to apply with a tailor in the first place; access to people.  

I poked my head through a frilly blue curtain and called, “Ms. Hrama, your noon fitting has arrived!” The back room had two parallel walls going up nearly three stories, each bricked with painstakingly organized fabrics. Between the two walls, low and broad tables housed the projects of the moment. These were attended by Hrama’a two apprentices, Oth and Vi. 

“One moment!” Hrama called back.

I fixed my best-serving smile and returned to the customer. She was tall and finely dressed but exhibited no particular grace. Behind her, a lanky page struggled under the weight of the boxes piled in his arms. “She’ll be right with you. In the meantime, please feel free to relax. Or, if you prefer, you’re welcome to examine our new shipment of jade broaches. They just arrived from Delfni this morning.” 

The woman drifted over to the case I indicated, admiring the fine pieces with a hungry eye. Once Hrama emerged from the back room, she beckoned the woman into a private dressing area. The moment her coifed hair was out of my sight, I beckoned the page closer and whispered. “Please, take a rest. You can set your load here for the moment.” 

Gratefully, the youth shifted his burden onto the counter. “My shoulder and I thank you. It’s murder it is, carrying this around all damn day.” He flicked a hate-filled glare at the tower of boxes. 

I laughed politely. “Believe me, I understand. What’s the excuse this time?” 

He scoffed. “Apparently, most of these are gifts for her friends. But I know that’s got to be a lie; she hasn’t this many friends to speak of.” 

I stifled a snort. “That doesn’t surprise me. What is surprising is how the Captain never notices his wife’s ever-growing supply of trinkets.” 

“She keeps him plenty busy with her waggling tongue; no time to focus on her spending when he’s busy with all the gossip she stirs up.” 

“Speaking of gossip, I haven’t seen you in nearly a week. What’s the latest?” I leaned in conspiratorially. My position rarely, if ever, gave me access to the upper rings of Tronjheim; human or dwarf. But it did give me the perfect excuse to meet their servants. This young man, a page named Flick, was the very first of my assets within the city (though he scarcely understood his importance). He was the personal assistant and student of one of the Varden’s captains after all; idle gossip to him was potent intelligence to me. 

“I know that the Captain has found himself a mistress! Even worse, she’s a widowed matron of the Ingeitum!” 

“No!” I draped a hand over my chest in scandal. “No doubt, Hrothgar himself would be outraged if he hears of such treatment.” 

“And there’s more! I think that she,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “has some idea about it, but she’s got her eye on a paramour of her own! I think she’s going to use this meeting that the Captain’s attending to go see him.” 

“A meeting? Where is it held?” 

“Hard to say. At Captain Lirn’s place, I think?” 

I grinned, and coyly teased, “Well, I’ll toast to her good fortune. Thank you for the chat; you know it’s dreadfully dull without your company.” His stormy blue eyes were so very expressive, particularly when he was excited, embarrassed, and frightened all at once. I dimly recalled a warning from Galbatorix decades ago, One day, you’ll be an old woman, and everyone will be young enough to be your great-grandson. I fluttered my lashes playfully if only to banish a sudden flare of irritation. I have no interest in him specifically! It’s just the solitude getting to my head. 

The boy’s cherry-bright face called me back to the present. He cleared his throat and smiled down at his shoes. I was spared from further awkwardness when Hrama and the woman returned, the former supporting a large, flat package. “This might be my finest work, if I may say so.” 

“I will be simply radiant!” the woman stuck her neck up high like a trumpeting rooster. She handed over the expected number of coins and floated back out of the shop, poor Flick struggling to keep up with her. 

Hrama’s jovial mask melted once the woman was gone. “That one ages me every time she places an order.” 

I giggled. “You could stop serving her?” 

She tapped the tip of her nose. “Ah, but then she would spend all that gold at a rival boutique. I dislike her attitude, but I would like my competitor’s success even less.” She said nothing I hadn’t already learned; dwarven entrepreneurship was every bit as vicious as capital politics. No business could truly thrive without a good rival. More often than not, such rivalries went on for centuries; passed down from parent to child and never faltering in their bloodlust. Hrama in particular had two rivals to speak of and, for the past ten years or so, they’d both been nipping at her heels. “What else is on the books for this afternoon?” 

I scanned the page. “That’s odd… there’s a gentleman coming in an hour, but then nothing else for the rest of the day? That can’t be right; we’re usually crammed full until we close.” 

Hrama leaned over and peeked at the page. She let out a deep groan as her hands scrubbed her face. “No, that is precisely correct. That old, curmudgeonly, persnickety—” 

“It says it’s just a patch on a coat? That shouldn’t even be an appointment, let alone a whole evening.” 

“You haven’t met him,” Hrama said, grimacing. “Brace yourself June, this will be your real test.” 

-:- -:- -:- 

He came less like a whirlwind and more like a creeping frost. Sparse white hairs were braided back; even those in his split beard. Heavy brows concealed rheumy black eyes. His massive nose resembled more an avant-garde idea of a nose than a real feature. He walked with a thick, gnarled cane, and each tap it made against the stone floor brought a shadow of sullen displeasure along with it. Every other step clunked as if the left leg were not truly his own.

I carefully thought out every word, mindful of Hrama’s advice on proper pronunciation. “Welcome, Honored Customer. How may we serve you today?” 

Nothing. Not even a blink. 

I opened my mouth to begin again, but he only wrapped his cane against the floor. “For all the gods girl, just speak your own tongue.” 

I choked down the embarrassment. “How can I help you?” 

“The old girl is expecting me.” 

Hrama burst out of the back room in a huff. “And who exactly are you, of all people, calling old!” 

“You, wench!” He sniffed, a thundering sound given the instrument involved, and lifted his chin. “You shouldn’t leave this pup out here all alone; she’s like a slimy feldûnost kid.” 

I blinked, once and very hard. 

Hrama frowned and waved her worn hand.“Leave her be. You came here to bicker with me, so let’s get on with it. Show me this “patch” job.” 

The old dwarf handed over a folded piece of faded red fabric. It tumbled open in Hrama’s hands, showing an old military uniform. It was thread-bare, bloodstained, battle-worn, and slightly burned on the left hem. Hrama exploded in exasperation, “This isn’t a patch; it needs a replacement!” 

“For once we agree on something. Unfortunately, they aren’t in the habit of issuing new uniforms to veterans.” 

Hrama’s lip tightened. “Which spot irks you this time, Makhek?” I examined the shirt more carefully and picked out the tell-tale signs of Hrama’s work, neat and tidy little mendings on an otherwise ruined garment. How many times has he had this one garment tended?

The dwarf she’d named Makhek leaned in and pointed at a specific area of weakened cloth on the elbow of the left sleeve. “I’d never let it get to such a state when my eyes were still good. I need cleverer fingers than mine own to salvage it now.” 

The seamstress’s eyes closed in defeat. “Let us see what we might do. Wait here, and I’ll bring the thread I think would work best to darn the area.” 

“Bring the second and third best too. I know how sneaky you can be.” Makhek clomped back towards me. “She thinks I won’t notice the difference between crimson and cranberry just because the sun has passed over me more than her. Well, I’d like to see her functioning half this well after a few more centuries of squinting at silk!” 

I sized up the dwarf painstakingly. His clothing was plain and old but also rich and tidy. He moved impatiently and yet methodically, like every step was planned far in advance and caused him great pain. His fingers were so knarled that they blended straight into the top of his cane. But, even in that state, his nails were trimmed neatly and cleaned. I asked, “You served a long time, didn’t you?” 

He turned a beetley eye on me. “I was marching patrols in the mountains before your family tree even put down roots. And I’d still be out there, if not for that damned menknurlan Galbatorix and his lackeys.” 

Memories of war stories told around the hearth came back to me in flashes, mostly about how those narrow valleys so easily turned to death traps when a threat came from on high. I saw images of survivors from Ellessar’s assault on the Surdan camp; flames swallowing everything in their path. Against those I weighed the charred edge of that precious and cherished uniform… the gaps filled in all on their own. “You don’t seem like the type to retire willingly.” 

He squinted at me, trying to pick out any trace of sarcasm. “Retire?” he coughed out a bark of laughter, “Hardly! I was “commended for my bravery” and packed off to a hole to spend my last centuries. As if this makes me any less of a dwarf!” He tapped his cane against his left pant leg, and a clear ring echoed from it. His shoulders dropped as all the fight and pride withered out of him.

I hastily changed the subject. “You speak my language much better than I speak yours. Where did you learn?” 

“From humans, of course. I served my clan guarding supply trains, and those interacted with humans often enough. And, sometimes, we’d even travel in mixed company. A few centuries of that work and it can’t be helped. Stay here for a few years, you’ll shape up just fine.” 

I nodded in thanks. “Are you a part of the Ingeitum?” 

He winked. “By a technicality. And that’s all I’ll be saying to you.” 

Hrama returned then, carrying a few spools of thread in different hues of red. The two fell into a heated debate in dwarvish that I could barely follow. After nearly an hour, Hrama finally threw up her hands and yelled, “I’ll do whatever you like! But don’t blame me when the finished product looks like a child’s play clothes!” 

Makhek sniffed again and crossed both hands over his staff. Difficult as it was to see beneath his beard, the old dwarf was smiling! “I can always trust you to put the art first,” she almost thanked him but he was too quick with a muttered, “old girl.” 

“Not this again!” She slid a handkerchief from her belt and whipped him on the shoulder with it. 

“You two must be very good friends.” I leaned against a wall and grinned knowingly.

“The best,” Makhek said in a soulless deadpan. “And you can see why; Hrama is as welcoming, generous, and patient as she is talented.” 

My boss stopped mid-protest and scowled through a rosy blush.

“She really is,” I said. “With what she pays, I may even have a place of my own soon.” 

Makhek leaned his head up to look at me squarely. One of his dark eyes was glassy and unfocused. “I have extra room if you need it. It’s an apartment across the hall from my main complex. It used to be a steward’s roost, but it’s been vacant for over a century now.” 

“You own the house next to your house?” 

He chuckled. “It’s not that uncommon for families to spread out, especially with how empty the city mountain is these days.”

“You would rent it to me?” 

He blinked slowly. “Hrama likes you. And why not? The worst has already been done to me, girly; I’m not scared of much anymore.” He bowed his head. “Hrama can show you the way when it's time to deliver my coat.” 

“Actually,” I stepped around the counter. “Would you like company on the walk back?” 

He shrugged. “So long as you can keep up.” Makehek tapped his left leg again. “I’m known for my speed and agility.”

The rooms I rented were smaller than my closet back in Uru’baen. But they were cozy, snug, and most wonderfully of all they were private. Aside from Makhek’s occasional invitations for strong mead and riddle games, I was left to my own devices. I crammed it full of reading material. Even if someone were to go through my home, they would never be able to determine which books deciphered codes, and which were the fixations of a second-rate academic (cover stories are most convincing when they contain dregs of truth, after all).

Makhek was irascible, irritating, loud, and judgemental… and he was one of the best friends I ever had in my life. He was old enough to remember a king before Hrothgar, (though he said that he much preferred the current regime). He was a recluse by habit, but not for lack of desire to socialize. It only took that one walk with him to see why he preferred solitude. Humans gave him a generous birth and odd looks, but many dwarves went much farther than that. Many of them, particularly the elders of their race, mumbled thanks and blessings as he passed. Some even went so far as to bow low, like they would to royalty. It drove him absolutely batty ! As he once explained to me, “It’s the same knurlan who stick their heads up your arse to praise your strength and bravery that will coddle you to death if you let them.” To Makhek, a dwarf who was no longer depended upon, useful, or even welcome in regular society was among the walking dead. He longed for an ease and acceptance that was long lost to him; ripped away by the very people I was in his homeland to serve. 

And my service was only just beginning. I reported back to Galbatorix with every new update, sometimes multiple times a week (It was risky, but I needed the constant injection of motivation as much as he did; to know that the rewards were actually worth the loneliness). My position with Hrama gave me easy access to potential assets. My recruitment process was shockingly simple; locate a disgruntled person that would like an opportunity to change their life (get rich, assist family, seek revenge, return home with a pardon, etc.) then enlist them, obtain oaths, rinse, and repeat. Unfortunately, this proved to be a quantity-over-quality approach. Many of the Varden’s notable members were die-hard fanatics for their cause. The next best thing was to place eyes on their staff; someone who could have access to letters, conversations, personnel movements… that sort of thing. This proved rather successful and, by the end of my second year, I was beginning to make proper headway. Alas, if one lesson could summarize the experience for me it is this: Don’t trust an amateur to do a professional's work.

Chapter Text

My experience in Tronjheim was, in a word, trying . 

There is no such thing as “leisure time” when one is working undercover. I had my job with Hrama I worked all but twice every ten days. Then I had a web of spies to manage; intricate comings and goings, coded letters, meetings in the darkest hours. I slept little and, even in dreams, I could only see each of my schemes laid out like spider silk. It’s a wonder that I spared any time to spend with Makhek!

Eventually, the lack of sleep and isolation wore me down to a point where I knew something had to give. Though, I confess, even I wasn’t expecting exactly how I would break down.

I jolted out of my doze. 

I was still blind from sleep, and it took a few sluggish gropes around my desk to find a pitcher of water. I poured the crisp liquid straight into my painfully dry throat, gurgled, and spit into the smoldering coals nearby. Gods, I feel like I’ve been beaten with a stick. How long have I been asleep in this chair? I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and surveyed my poor desk. My half-finished notes were a disaster of smeared ink and drool, with a clear imprint of my cheek outlined on the page. My fingers wandered up to inspect the patch of sticky filth on my face. I groaned and crumpled up the ruined paper in barely restrained frustration. This is more than difficult; this is unsustainable. A few more days like this and I’ll be too exhausted to think clearly. I need to delegate, but none of these pups are worth a damn! 

My work had given me a whole new appreciation for Galbatorix’s plight so many long years ago. It was that very shortage of skilled labor that led me to Surda. And also dragged me out of bed when all I wanted was to waste away and join my Anthony in his grave. Even after so much time, just thinking his name sent a wave of unpleasant tingling through my whole body. It was shameful to still be torn apart over someone who’d wanted me dead! 

But then again…  

I was so desperate for his good graces when I returned. Once I had it, I let Galbatorix’s explanation stand unchallenged. A single night of torture and Anthony confessed? It must have been pretty extreme; anything intense enough to flip a double agent would have left obvious signs. No leader worth the name would send a spy who wasn’t willing to die for the cause. I had no respect for the (late) Surdan King, but even he was capable of that much.

I fixed my last view of Anthony in my mind as best I could, brushed all my notes away from my desk, and whispered the spell for creating a fairth. The ink flowed neatly out of a bottle on my desk and sank into the unfinished wood. Sure enough, the image was tall and proud, not cowed in partial madness. And, in our final exchange, he saw me; he knew me. His mind was unbroken, through torture or any other means. If he’d turned traitor to his cause willingly, Galbatorix would have used him, not killed him! I leaned back, overcome by the most obvious conclusion I’ve ever reached in my life: he was no more a spymaster than any of these yuppy nobodies! 

Bile bubbled in my throat. The idea that it took me decades to see behind such a shallow deception sent hot shame straight to my core. Anthony, what was it that you died for? Not even for something you believed in, but for… Another conversation, much more recent and unpleasant, surfaced in my aching brain. Beren’s bored monotone offering the lynchpin for every awful thing in my life: “He’s always wanted you.” 

I leaned over and emptied my already-famished stomach into a waste bin. He wouldn’t… He couldn’t possibly! I blinked back burning tears. I knew, better than anyone, that he would. There was nothing on earth Galbatorix wouldn’t do to get what he wanted; no matter how petty the goal or how high the cost. He was a killer, a selfish maniac at his very worst, an addict to the adrenaline of the chase. And I let him! Even Katana saw the truth of him, but I refused to even look… And now I’m just as much a monster as he is. I made a monster of myself in his name!  We’re bound together; for better or worse. 

Two sharp raps  on my door nearly knocked me out of my seat. “June, are you all right? If you don’t answer I’ll bust this door down, so help me--” 

“No need! I’m coming.” I stood-- though even I had to hang my head low in a dwarven dwelling-- and meandered to the door. I opened it and looked down at my unexpected visitor. Mahkek looked ten years younger than he had earlier that same day. His thin white hair was slicked back, and his split beard was freshly braided with amber beads at the end of each side. His shirt was pristine white, his pants a dull crimson, and his shoes shined like two black mirrors. But more than anything I gawked at the coat; the self-same coat he’d had patched a hundred times and more, still replete with burns and Hrama’s careful mendings. 

The old dwarf searched me up and down for some sign of injury. “You’ve caught the bug that’s going around then? Here, you sit and I’ll be back with some tea. It’ll cleanse your throat and help you keep some bread down.” 

I considered explaining myself, but it was usually better to just let Makhek do as he thought best. Only Hrama could ever get him to back down from a challenge, and then only after hours of tireless effort. I wandered back to my desk and was met by my dear Anthony’s image. I swallowed hard and tipped the bottle of ink over, the harsh black washing everything into one dark pool. 

“I’ll have to start calling you June Bug!” Mahkek wandered back in, holding a damp towel and a mug of hot tea. I gratefully sipped at the bitter liquid and draped the cloth around the back of my neck. “If you feel another wave coming on, you aim it anywhere but at me, that understood? Yes? Good then. Now, there’s no need to be so mournful looking; it happens to the best of us. And this cleanup will be nice and easy.” I tried to smile, but it even felt forced and watery. Mahkek paused in his fussing and stared harder at my face. “I’d give my good leg to know what can make you cry.” 

“Just,” I paused, “thinking too much.” I swallowed more tea to stall for time. 

“About what?” He shoved the waste basket out into the hall and pulled my door closed behind it. The olfactory relief was heavenly. 

I sniffed. “Love, mostly. I'm starting to think it isn’t real.”

Mahkek whistled; one low, somber note. He tugged a stool over to me and plunked into it, his ever-present cane resting against my desk. “Dark thoughts for an already dark night. And what does a little June Bug,” I stuck my tongue out and he grinned, “know about a whole world’s worth of love? Take it from an old, old, dwarf far past his prime: Love is real. It’s as real as the stone under our feet!” He clomped his metal prosthetic down for emphasis.

“So you do carry a flame for Hrama after all,” I teased. 

“Bah!” He waved his hand at me. “She’s too young to even be my granddaughter. Hrama is a friend, a very important one, but not of that sort. Besides, she’s got no shortage of knurlan looking to make her their grimstcarvlorss; and more than a few humans too, I’d wager.” 

I chuckled. “There’s no room for doubt about that. I know of at least three, and who knows the trouble she gets into when we’re not around.” Makhek had a hardy chuckle of his own while I drained the rest of my tea. “If not her, then who?” 

“My wife.”  I blinked in astonishment as the temperamental dwarf smiled peacefully. “Minra, of Durgrimst Ingeitum.” 

“You said you were a member by technicality. But wouldn’t your wife join your clan?” 

He rubbed his palms together. The battled-hardened skin rasped like sandpaper. “I was no one. I lived on the road; beholden to no clan in particular. My mother dwelled alone deep in the tunnels between Tronjheim and Delfni and I had no father. Truth told? I had nothing at all until the day I met her .” 

I leaned in, watching him in wonder. 

“She was like a little drop of sunlight in my dark world. I didn’t dare offer her so much as my name; she was the daughter of a high-ranking member of clan Ingeitum. But, in the end, I didn’t need to approach her at all.” He sniffed so I offered him a handkerchief. After a few hearty trumpets, he shook his head and, beaming, said,  “She came to me. I’d never dared hope to catch her eye! Let alone so powerfully; she went straight to her father the same day we met.” 

I winced. There was a conversation I’d never had to start-- for obvious reasons-- and I was glad of that fact. I briefly considered what would have happened if I’d gone to Torix and asked to have Anthony for my own. Probably the exact same thing that happened anyway. 

Makhek sat a little straighter and continued, “At first he refused her. Though he had many healthy sons, Minra was his only daughter. He tried to offer her other suitors; even held a festival in her honor. She refused them all and vowed to live out her days alone and in misery if he would not give her to me.” 

“She sounds exactly as stubborn as you are.” 

“Much more.” He tapped his nose. “We were married that spring. And she was the loveliest bride there has ever been, with a wreath of daisies and gold rings woven into her braid.” He stared past me, into a beautiful memory. “I likely looked silly standing next to her. The nicest thing I owned was the brand-new coat issued to me when I joined the mountain guard. Her father loaned me these,” he fingered the little amber beads, “and warned me that he’d rip my beard out by the root if ever he saw his baby girl unhappy. It was dumb luck that--” He hesitated as moisture filled his mismatched brown eyes, “that he was long gone before I ever let her cry.” 

I rose, plucked a dark bottle of mead off a shelf, and poured us each a glass. Makhek drained it in two hearty gulps. Even my years of heedless alcoholism hadn’t quite toughened me enough to chug dwarven mead with impunity. I refilled his glass and he resumed his story. “We were happy for so long that I thought it could be forever. But Minra wanted a family more than anything; more than she even wanted me. I was nervous, but she had already sacrificed so much for us.” He finished off his second glass and extended it for more. I obeyed. “When she was pregnant, I was so happy. I thought I could never care for anything as I cared for her… until I saw her growing with our child.” His face contorted as he tried to subdue the expression of grief and pain, but it was a hopeless task. His dry, thick lips trembled as tears poured from his sunken eyes. 

I gingerly took the glass from his hand and held his fingers in mine. “Before or after the birth?” 

“After.” He sniffed and wiped his face on the dingy handkerchief. “We named our baby girl after her mother and I,” he heaved a steadying breath, “I lost them both within the month.” His hand gripped mine firmly, and he stared me down with eyes full of purest joy. “But I don’t regret it. Not a moment of it. The happiest I ever saw her was when I held our baby girl for the first time. It was like the gods themselves had gilded the moment.” 

I stared at the paradox of emotions battling on his face, uncomprehending. 

He smiled through his tears. “She died content; with every dream fulfilled. And our poor little one went peacefully in her sleep, never knowing anything but the care we gave her. I only wish they hadn’t gone alone. ” He tapped a fist on his left thigh. The dull clang perfectly illustrated his frustrations; why had he been passed over for death so many times; he who had already lived and lost everything? I just sat with him as he regained some composure, unable to offer anything to aid him. He swallowed another, much smaller, sip of mead. His next words were solemn and certain, “What is that, if not love?” 

I nodded slowly, pressing his hand to my face. “If everyone knew love like that, I think our world would be a much better place.” 

“Everyone except Galbatorix and his ilk!” He joked. “May they all live out their days in misery, for everything they’ve taken!” again he rapped the metal leg.

I clinked our two glasses together in numb acknowledgment. “As they deserve.”

That night held many lessons. My understanding of Anthony’s fate was less a “sudden revelation” and more… finally facing what I always should have known. Makhek’s eccentric obsession with his wedding suit received no more criticism from me. He donned it once a week, the same day that he lit the incense and refreshed the offerings at his wife’s stone vault. I started joining him on these trips, listening hungrily to stories of what a real, healthy love might actually be like. 

The kind of love that I did not deserve. 

I was still loyal to Galbatorix, as torn apart and confused as I felt. He was all I had left. For his sake, I’d pushed everything else away. I still had a job to do in Tronjheim but, after it was done, I planned to confront my partner about my misgivings. It went far deeper than our relationship. I’d heard so many stories from members of the Varden, and they all started to paint a picture of life outside of the palace. 

Galbatorix was focused, obsessed really, with furthering his own power. He paid exactly enough attention to politics to dump the Empire’s resources into military might. But this coupled with the destruction of the riders left the rest of Alagaesia floundering. Trade routes were never fully safe, Urgals did as they pleased all along the Spine, medical aid was laughably unsophisticated, and education was unavailable to any but the highest echelon of nobility. Add to this mess: soldiers who were untouchable and acted like thugs more than guardsmen, and taxes that climbed relentlessly higher to fund them.

One ugly truth became clear: Galbatorix was a strong rider, but a pitifully weak king.

His servants did as they pleased because he didn’t care to stop them. His people thought him a tyrant, but I knew the truth; he was, in almost every way, completely absentee! But I had plans to implement real, systemic changes. I knew I could convince him to let me; I was his queen after all. I was his shadow, his companion., his partner! He would pursue his studies and I would take the reigns properly in Uru’baen. All I had to do was wrap up my work in Tronjheim. 

But, as life so often reminds me, it is in moments when we have the most to lose that fate chooses to strike. It began like every other day. Another long shift ended. Hrama locked up her shop. I hung around to chat with her about something trivial before heading on my way. I wish I could remember that conversation with Hrama… since it ended up being the last. But alas, the next few hours would dominate my memory of that day.

My walk was peaceful, if tedious. Summer in Tronjheim was a complicated beast. It didn’t get quite as hot under Farthen Dur as it did out in the open sun, but it also didn’t cool off nearly as much once the moon took her place. Midsummer--with its muggy moisture, total lack of breeze, and endless twilight-- made me feel sluggish and useless. I was almost relieved to finally be in the tight, narrow tunnels that meandered casually throughout the city mountain.

When I’d first come to Tronjheim, those tunnels were what I despised the most. I could barely stand straight without grazing my head on the smooth, squared-off ceiling. I only thought of them as death traps; for two very obvious reasons. First: the thousands and millions of pounds of crushing weight hanging over us at all times. I had faith in dwarven mining as much as the next resident, but no one could really guarantee that they’d outsmarted nature. Second: they were impossibly long, fairly narrow, and only lit sporadically in less-occupied areas.  If I was to plan an ambush, they would certainly be the place I chose. [ A lesson from one secret agent to any others aspiring to the role: assume your enemies are at least as clever as you. ]

I rested easily against the wall of one empty tunnel and waited for Flick. He was an excitable kid, a little too eager to help. I typically wouldn’t agree to meet anyone so soon after our most recent operation, (a batch of smuggled goods had been confiscated by the Empire and the Varden’s officers were scrambling for answers) but I knew Flick a little too well. The kid wore his heart on his sleeve, and if I didn’t soothe his singed nerves he would get us all killed. 

He was perfectly on time (that really should have been my first clue that things weren’t all as they appeared). He trotted towards me but stopped a few yards away. My nerves prickled at his awkward behavior, but I had little choice but to feel him out; he knew too much to simply abandon him. “Be quick. I loathe these damned tunnels.” 

He swallowed hard. “I want out.” 

I lifted my brow. Poor thing deserved at least one chance to correct his trajectory. “That isn’t possible, Flick. Not while you live.” 

Sweat dripped down his face. “But… I won’t tell!” 

“Of course you won’t.” I plucked a stiletto blade from its hidden sheath in my right boot. “If you can’t handle the work load, I understand, but unfortunately I only have one retirement policy available.” 

He paled until he was white as a sheet. “N-no need to be hasty! I mean, I would hate to make you drag a body in this heat! I just don’t like spying a-and treason!” 

I smiled. “I appreciate the thoughtfulness. But I have to correct you. Being here , in Tronjheim, is treason. What you’re doing now is more like… reparations. You owe the crown your assistance and, in exchange, we welcome you back into the fold. That was the agreement.” 

And then everything shifted. Flick seemed to relax as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Then he closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and collapsed to the ground. I jolted forward but froze as I saw the crossbow bolt sticking out of his spine. I shifted my weight in preparation to run away… 

But something caught my ankle and dropped me to the floor. I fell hard on my back. A boot, heavier than any limb of flesh and bone could possibly be, rested on my chest. The tip of a gnarled walking stick dug into my throat. Two beetle-like eyes stared down at me with a mixture of pain and utter loathing. “Who exactly were you talking about June Bug? You have friends back in the Empire?” 

“Makhek, it isn’t what you--” I choked as he dug his stick into my windpipe. 

“No more lies!” He shouted. I heard armored dwarves approaching from Flick’s end of the tunnel, but I really doubted they would get there fast enough to pull my very angry friend off of me. “I want the truth, or I’ll kill you here and now!” 

“Halt!” A voice shouted. 

I scrabbled at the leg and stick for purchase, but the old soldier was a lot tougher than he looked. I managed to push up enough on the stick to force a little air into my bruised throat. “I thought you were smarter than that. I’m an enemy.” 

“One of Galbatorix’s little pets!” He twisted and leaned down hard on the stick. “You chose the wrong place to build your nest. I’ll crush you like the bug you are!” He roared and forced all of his weight down. 

I moved without the need for thought. I rolled hard to my left, forcing him off balance at just the wrong moment. My right hand, still carrying my trusty stiletto, slid up and between two of my attacker’s ribs. The weight on top of me increased as his limbs lost strength, as he crumbled to the ground. I yanked the blade free, dousing the floor and everything on it in blood. He clasped a hand to the wound with a soldier’s instincts, but too much of his life had already fled. Besides, I knew I’d punctured a lung by the way he wheezed. His dying glare bit into me, as if he could finish me off with pure spite. 

I kicked and wriggled out from under him, regaining my feet just in time to meet a flood of armed dwarves from both directions. They marched two astride from both ends, short swords leveled at me. I poked around them with a testing spell to absolutely no effect. This group was well-armed, well-defended, and cautious. I opted to buy time. “You shouldn’t have sent in a crippled civilian to-- AGH!” I staggered as my right arm fell limply to my side, a bolt stuck firmly in the joint. My blade slid from my numbing fingers, clattering on the stone. Another bolt dug into my opposite shoulder, and a third wedged behind my knee. I growled off the waves of pain, refusing to fall. I’d been trained to fight under every circumstance, even torture, to keep myself alive. 

Then a swirl of dizziness assaulted me. It hadn’t even occurred to me that the damned bolts were laced with something until the tunnel twisted . Two dwarves became six, then a dozen, then hundreds, and then everything swirled. I dropped to one knee, frazzled brain frantically trying to find a way out. I had precious few wards left to me as it was and, obviously, their weapons weren’t affected by them. I was most definitely drugged, though to what extent I couldn’t quite be sure. I had no weapon of my own, save the three they’d just put into me. Then that will have to do. “Throw!” The word clanged in my head, discordant with the thought I’d had only moments ago. Even worse, the little darts remained rooted in my flesh instead of hurtling back to attack their sources. 

Everything began to fade. I grasped for a spell… but it faded from my mind. The lights of their lanterns faded from my eyes. And then all awareness-- of pain, of fear, of anything at all-- faded to darkness. 

-:- -:- -:- 

I awoke in a cramped, gloomy cell. My wrists were fastened one to the other in a solid metal aperture fixed to the wall. It was designed with dwarven height in mind, so I had been forced to my knees. Even in my awkward position, I could barely feel anything at all, let alone pain. Guards came at uneven intervals to jab needles dripping with gods-only-knew-what into me (presumably the drugs that were keeping me complacent). 

I know not how long I remained in this place before my visitor came. 

He was flanked by an entire contingent of soldiers. At first, I only saw his chest; broad and covered in the finest chainmail. I lifted my head slowly, already dreading what I would see. He was old, though perhaps not as old as Makhek, and had clearly survived many battles. A golden helm set with gemstones glimmered in the light of the red erisdar he held, though no light at all reflected in his flinty eyes. Any hope I had of a quick death fizzled out as I realized who he must be; Hrothgar, The Dwarven King. 

“You caused my guards some grief,” Hrothgar said. His voice rumbled like a pounding waterfall. “You killed a member of mine own family before their very eyes.” 

“I defended myself.” I flicked my eyes back to the ground. The steely gaze of the ancient king was difficult to hold for any length of time. 

“Aye. From a well-deserved fate,” He paused meaningfully, “Rider Lilleth.” 

My head fully drooped. “What betrayed me?” 

“You can tell much about a human by their hands. Some deductions are easier than others. You are none of the thirteen, and though you bear a marked resemblance to your sire, you are not Galbatorix. Which leaves us with only one question remaining; what to do with you now.” 

“I’d prefer a hanging. I hear that they’re quick if done well,” I said flippantly, “Or a beheading, if it comes to that.” 

“I confess, my first instinct was to draw and quarter you.” Hrothgar clasped his fingers together, sizing me up. “But my council agrees that this would be a mistake. It had been many years since our nation felt the full brunt of Galbatorix’s wrath, but that is a very short stretch for memories such as ours.” 

I smirked, a show of confidence I did not feel. “He would bring Farthen Dur down around you.” 

“Doubtful. But he could certainly do much harm before we could subdue him.” Hrothgar seemed completely at ease, which only made me feel worse. “That leaves us with few options. Many wish to keep you just as you are.” 

My lip curled disdainfully. “Not the worst plan. Though if one agent could slip through, it’s only a matter of time before someone else comes to rescue me-- high profile as I apparently am.” 

“You’ve taken the words from mine lips. Which leaves us with concealing you until we find something of equal worth with which to barter.” 

I snorted. “Torix won’t trade me for a paperweight, let alone anything of value. I failed; the penalty for that is death.”

“But if you die here, we will never know.” Hrothgar dusted off his palms. “Until then, you will be kept out of sight. You shall be neither living nor dead to the outside world; vanished.” 

Disquiet pooled in my gut. “So, interrogation and isolation. I hope you’ve swept up all of my little helpers, or your plan won’t survive the week.” 

“You are the only traitor still breathing in Tronjheim. Six and fifty was the final death toll, if that means anything to you.” 

All of them. Serves me right for letting Flick carry messages; the damn fool probably flipped the second he was caught. “It won’t do you any good to torture me; I’ll break before I bend.” 

“There is only one place for you.” Hrothgar gestured for a guard to come forward. He carried a slim phial of some awful yellowish liquid. “You will become another anonymous prisoner among thousands, no more significant than any other murderer. Only my most trusted servants will know your resting place, and there you will stay until I have use of you.”

“Just kill me.” I stared the dwarven king down, fighting back a wave of panic. “I won’t be kept like a dog!” 

He smiled. As long as I live, I will never forget the cold mirth that met my desperation. “You have a debt to pay. Hundreds have died on your order, but one day your life will buy many thousands more. Until that day comes, you must rely on that legendary fortitude. We will speak again, someday.” He turned and left me there as his lackey forced my jaw open and dumped the sour liquid down my throat. I shrieked, swore, and shouted until my voice broke, but there was nothing I could do. 

My memory thereafter goes totally black.

And black it would stay for a long, long , time. Their drugs ate at my consciousness until I simply wasn’t . Time slipped by in an inconsistent haze. Even through the back-breaking work, I knew little pain. I thought nothing, felt nothing, was nothing . As a result, my memories of this period are limited to sudden vivid flashes amid the monotonous beat of weary feet. 

Every day we rose as one, toiled to push carts loaded with quarried stone from the dig sight up a spiraling ramp, then collapsed back onto our threadbare blankets to await the next day. If someone deviated from that exact routine, they could earn any number of consequences. These ranged from beatings, deprival of food or water, isolation, or (most feared of all) extended sentences. Most kept their head low and avoided trouble, myself included. I still saw my fair share of horrors in that place, though, mercifully, many have faded with the years.

I remember a man’s voice screaming. It started from some distant height, but it rapidly grew louder as its source plummeted through the ruddy void at the shaft’s center. Every person stepped back from the open ledge for fear of being pulled into his fall. Finally, the shout reached its peak volume and receded. 

And then… a sickening thud some levels below. 

No one spoke; there was nothing to say. Minutes later a cloth wrapped in rope began a jerky ascent up the rigging. I glanced up from the path momentarily to see a patch of darkness soaking through the gruesome package. 

I returned my gaze to the ground. 

-:- -:- -:- 

I remember the time I tried to lift my head. Instead, I received a sharp tug of pain at my scalp. I couldn’t fathom how the two actions were connected until I tried to repeat the movement to identical effect. I stayed very still, my last two conscious brain cells struggling to understand how to make the pain stop. 

My confusion was brought to a sudden end when a rough hand gripped a length of my hair and sawed through it carelessly; as if it had been any other piece of useless rigging. The black strands floated about in a jagged clump. I stared at them uncomprehendingly for the rest of the haul. I had a sinking feeling that they should remind me of something important, but what I could not recall. 

After that, I remember my hair always ending up in a sloppy braid, though I know nothing of who could have fashioned it so. 

-:- -:- -:-

I remember the ground very suddenly vanishing from under my feet. I flailed madly. I was already dizzy all the time, and now I was dangling precariously with endless darkness all around and certain death just below. If I had been fully conscious I may have relished the early end of my imprisonment. As it was, I felt only raw, animal fear. 

Then, just as suddenly as I’d been thrown into darkness, a strange hand reached out and snapped me back to my feet. I overbalanced into the rough cavern wall and scraped my hands as I collapsed into a little ball. My shoulder was bruised from the force of the fall, but I clung to the solid surface gratefully. Childish tears leaked freely down my face. 

A rough hand tugged me back in line. Then it was replaced with a gentler one that patted my back and insisted my next step would be true.

All in all, it was a devastating, terrifying, and uniquely vulnerable experience. In my entire life, only one other ordeal has come even close to matching it in terms of sheer unpleasantness, and that was at the hands of Galbatorix himself. I hate appearing weak, being out of control, and being so completely exposed that literally anything could happen. 

My only “defense” was that I was part of a group referred to as sleepwalkers. We were special prisoners that either could use magic or were deemed dangerous in some other way. We had to be drugged within an inch of our lives for our guards’ safety. It was accepted practice for our fellow prisoners not to pay us any mind or give us trouble (we were barely alive, let alone able to interact with our surroundings) and some even looked after us. 

However, as with all groups of disenfranchised felons, some will feel that the rules don't apply to them. In a lovely twist of fate, I would end up owing my freedom to one such fool.

I woke in the middle of the night, more conscious than I'd been in a very long time, suddenly aware of a hand trespassing on my body. I snatched the wrist and yanked its owner underneath me. Some wretched man I'd never seen before stared blankly up at me, clearly beyond shocked to have been caught. I didn't wait for his wits to return. I snapped a hand to his throat and pressed until he stopped struggling. 

The demanding task exhausted me physically and mentally. The drugs were on the wane, but I still felt violently ill; feverish, dizzy, shaking, and sore. But, even then, I could string two thoughts together for the first time in… gods, how long ? If I feel even this good, another round of dope is definitely coming.   I cautiously draped the heavier body over mine, covering us both with a blanket. It took me the better part of an hour-- pressing my face into the floor and straining with every last bit of sense at my disposal-- before the word finally broke my lips, " Stenr ." I made a shallow impression in the stone, just enough to hide my body beneath my victim’s, and waited. I heard the footsteps as they made their rounds, counted the pause as they bent to my unwilling body double and injected it with the foul cocktail intended for me. With every passing hour, I felt more of myself returning, though the process was agonizing . 

Still, I waited. 

When the morning count rolled around, my new friend’s absence was noted. The idea of a prisoner disappearing wholesale from an inescapable jail was completely unheard of, so the guards really didn't have a proper procedure in place. They prolonged the count and, in the confusion, I traded places with the body one last time. They filed us out of the communal cell, double-checking every face and number as we passed. I made sure to act the part, swaying and slurring like any other day with my unfocused gaze roughly on the floor. 

At the final bend between the hallway and the shaft, a sudden rush of shouting reached me (apparently my friend had been discovered). I gathered whatever reckless courage I could and parted a seam into the solid rock. I wedged in and let it flow shut behind me, save for a small slit for air. It was worse than a coffin, worse than even that horrible fucking mine, but I reigned in my panic.  I heard mayhem through my breathing slit; a commotion of shouts and confused orders. Finally, I heard someone shouting for a magician. 

The race was on. 

The adrenaline spiked inside my rapidly weakening body. If they caught me, I would never have another chance to escape. I needed to move, and I needed to move now; before they found a mage. But the only way I wanted to go was up; towards fresh air.

Well, no time to think of a better plan. 

My sluggish brain struggled to piece a spell together, but I managed, “ Gatharí unin stenr. ”  Tendrils of power laced up through the ground until I found an open space that could only be a carved tunnel. The problem was the meters of stone between me and my target. I calmed my body as much as I could, filled my lungs to bursting, and focused on the ascent. A careful choreography of flowing stone around me consumed my entire focus as my internal clock ticked down. By the time my head broke the surface of the tunnel, all I could do was choke on the precious oxygen for many long minutes. My body’s reserve of energy was all but spent, but I didn’t care. I was free . 

But where was I?

I expected the tunnel to be lit, possibly even occupied, but all that greeted me when I finally opened my eyes was endless blackness all around. I had no idea which direction to take. On a whim, I repeated my earlier spell, but this time I found only miles of unfeeling stone. Too far to use the same trick twice. I also knew that my pursuers had every advantage; every second I wasted sitting around was another chunk of my lead that I lost. I wanted so badly to fall over and rest, regain more of my faculties, and set forth with at least some semblance of a plan! But, even if I had, I would be no closer to knowing which direction led to freedom. 

I’d sat debating in circles far too long already when an almost imperceptible pat of paws on stone interrupted my thoughts. I reached out with my mind to find a rat scurrying past me. Before it could panic I said, “ Sitja! Eka weohnata néiat haina ono. Kuasta eom edtha, stydja likami onr, un atra edtha sjon nen ono ach. ” She padded towards me and climbed into my offered hand. I stroked her fur like she was my most precious and cherished comrade. I flicked through her jumbled thoughts and finally saw, through her eyes, the literal light at the end of the tunnel. She needed to venture farther within to feast on Tronjheim's scraps so I replaced her on the ground and set off in the opposite direction.

A few hours later I was sprinting through a stone archway and out into a dazzlingly star-strewn sky.

There are very few moments in my adult life where I have wept openly and without reservation. But my first sunrise, returned to the surface at last, was one of them. 

Chapter Text

Journeying weakened, unarmed, and alone in the Beors is deadly for most people. I spent my first night up in a tree, sapping life from my roost’s limbs like a parasite. This was also my primary defense against the beasts in my path (predators can’t eat you if they’re dead). The worst danger was from the dreaded fanghur; the winged vipers which shriek with their voices and minds in equal measure. A flock of them can decimate even a strong mage if one fails to keep their wits about them. I expended an absurd amount of energy just to keep myself warm; patrols roamed the mountains too frequently for me to risk lighting a fire and I had only threadbare rags to my name. I lingered on the edge of disaster every moment I spent in those damn mountains. One wrong step and I would starve, or be eaten, or freeze, or (worst of all) be recaptured. I lingered in the foothills between the Beors and the Hadarac for half a month or so, eventually meeting a main road just a little northeast of Lake Tudosten. 

I remember little of the path itself… because I had an even more difficult journey to undertake inside my own mind. After my capture, my memories turned into a hazy mess. The few flashes that did return were so disjointed and painful that I had to choke them back down to keep myself sane. It was far worse at night (to this day, I have a strong aversion to dark, tight spaces). But the worst of them all was what I did not know. I knew of the gaps in my memory, but I wouldn’t fully understand their extent until I was once more inside the Empire proper. 

I stole clothing from the first homestead I passed, food from the first village, and a horse from a group of soldiers (in my defense, the horse was technically government property anyway). But the thing I wanted most took many days more; information. My path crossed with traveling merchants on their way north from Furnost, and I all but shook them down for news. It’s hard to communicate large swaths of time between regions in Alagaesia; the only real timepiece anyone shares is the length of time a monarch has ruled. I left Uru’baen when I was eight and forty, in Galbatorix’s thirty-seventh year on the throne. Makhek and I had just celebrated my fifty-first birthday before my capture. So imagine my shock when they told me it was the spring of Torix’s forty-seventh year on the throne. 

I’d lost eight goddamn years! Just like that, nearly a decade of my life evaporated into smoke. Those dark spots in my memory turned from disconcerting to my worst fucking nightmare. As much as I strained, I couldn’t tally more than a few months' worth of recollection; leaving the rest a total mystery. There are few horrors as potent as not knowing where you’ve been… what you’ve been through. Never mind the amount of upheaval that a government can go through in that time… let alone a family. 

I drifted along with my traveling companions until they reached the capital, but I left them at the gate. Some journeys must be completed alone.

The city almost seemed to be sleeping. It was… peaceful. It was just before sunset on a warm evening. The sky brewed in stunning orange with slashes of purple where the scattered, lazy clouds meandered across the skyscape. My throat tightened painfully as I tried to choke back tears.

Home.

I took a long path into town, looking for a familiar patch of wild greenery freshly bursting with the vibrant colors of spring. Nothing was the same as it had once been. I felt like an intruder to a space that had once been ours; like I no longer deserved to stand where my better self had once stood. He had such simple dreams. He wanted to be a hero to make his mother proud; wanted to be a soldier to send money home and take care of his aging father. And not only did I get him killed, but I also did far worse; I abandoned his dreams. Anthony… can you forgive me? I knelt in the overgrown grass, hands folded over my chest to quell the ache. 

After few minutes of pensive prayer, I dragged myself back to my feet. What was I really expecting? Any chance I had at absolution would have to come from the living; not the dead. Even so, I owe him something… some modicum of respect. I wandered around the meadow aimlessly until I found a point of dark stone sticking out of the dirt, covered over with dry grass. I tugged back the yellowed stems until a facet of the stone was fully exposed and rinsed it with my water skin. I could barely force out the spell past the lump in my throat, but soon the glistening stone read: 

In Loving Memory of Anthony Stargazer: 

A hero if ever there were one. 

Stydja unin mor'ranr un gala medh du evarinya , my knight.

I bent my head and finally let a few of the feelings I’d been holding back the past weeks escape in silent tears. It’s not much… but it's a start. I will do right by him as soon as I can. I sniffed and shook off the brooding. He wouldn’t like me sitting here weeping, anyway. He was the type to move forward. 

I kissed my fingertips, grazed them over the stone, and set off for the palace.

It was an arduous trip. Lucky for me, some of the hidden tunnels were still passable for those who knew the way. I made my way up from the servants’ quarters, snatched a uniform for old times’ sake, and all but ran to the main entrance hall. A milling group of nobles meandered out of court in lazy clusters. My heart jumped into my throat as I realized just how close I was to seeing Galbatorix again; to this nightmare finally ending. 

I bowed and mumbled excuses as I wove through the crowd. No one paid me any mind until I reached the massive golden doors, flanked with a half dozen soldiers. Their leader stood front and center, pristine uniform oddly discordant with a dented helm, even though it was polished to a blinding finish. “Are you new?” He squinted down at me. “Servants aren’t to enter this way. And there’s no need for a maid in the throne room.” 

“It’s very urgent, sir,” I lied, “I must speak to the king.” 

The comrade on his left shoulder guffawed. “Oh, sign me up for that show! Little pipsqueak like you wouldn’t get a word in edgewise, even if he would see you. Now piss off!” 

I bristled. “Even so, I would ask that you please tell His Majesty--” 

“Are you deaf?” the man on the left cut me off and rudely grabbed for my collar. I was about to snap his wrist on pure reflex, but he was saved at the very last moment by his leader’s quick thinking. 

The captain grabbed his subordinate's arm and pushed him back in line, shooting me a wide-eyed stare. “Ms… is it possible that we have met?” 

I blinked hard. “Why… I believe we have. Captain Perry, isn’t it?” His jaw slacked and he tried to bend down in a bow, but I held out a hand to stop him. “This is neither the time nor place, though I’m grateful for your good memory. And I find myself needing your assistance once more. Please tell the king,” I trailed off, unsure of exactly what message would be appropriate to deliver in front of a half dozen guards. “Tell him that there is one here who would reunite him with his shadow.” 

“Please wait here.” He nodded politely, cracked the golden doors, and slipped inside. His men and I waited together in uncomfortable silence, exchanging a few curious stares and pointed glares. Some of the nobles had noticed the brief disturbance and lingered at the edges of the entry hall, murmuring between themselves. 

And then the great doors opened all on their own. I entered slowly, eyes on the floor. As soon as I’d cleared the threshold, the doors slammed closed behind me. I jumped but still didn’t look up… until a stream of blood oozed into my peripheral. I traced it back to its’ source; the immobilized, crumpled form of Captain Perry. I swallowed hard, the sense of creeping unease solidifying into pure dread, and raised my head. 

He was on the throne, looking every bit the unflappable monarch I had left him… on the surface. Beneath that veneer lurked a malice that I previously only associated with his worst rages. His face was shadowed, his eyes sunken under heavy brows, and cheekbones in sharp relief against his thinned face. His beard had grown into a goatee that didn’t quite conceal his scowl. He seemed wrong . Like the man I had known but with every aspect just slightly off the mark. But there was one aspect of him that had not changed at all: that beguiling, velvety voice. “You have returned." 

All I could do was drop to one knee and bow my head. “As promised." 

Silence reigned. 

I shifted uncomfortably under his powerful stare. It took me years to understand that silence completely. In the moment I was only puzzled. I did not comprehend how much one man can change in a decade of madness and solitude, or how far a family could go for vengeance. I had not yet learned to truly fear my old home. 

But I was about to learn.

“Is it arrogance or idiocy that drives this course?” I peeked up from the floor when I heard the click of his boots. He stepped over the stream of blood as he closed the distance between us. 

“I don’t understand.” That was the most totally honest thing I’d said in over a decade. 

“I gave you one warning; just one. Was I in any way unclear,” He lifted my chin until we were eye to eye, “when I told you that this would never happen again?”

This? What does he mean… then the creeping dread quite suddenly had a name. “There has clearly been a misunderstanding. Vidira--”  

His punch knocked me fully onto my side. With only the most basic wards to cushion the blow, I felt like I’d taken a brick to the jaw. But his words, curdled with hate, hurt even more, “You dare show your face, traitor?” 

I shoved an arm under me and tried to lift my head. “You don’t understand.” 

“Save you lies!” Now this was something totally new. He had lost his composure before, but never so quickly; never so completely. All the elegant beauty left his voice, replaced with the ravings of a total lunatic. “You abandoned us in our greatest hour of need! Tell me why I should spare your worthless life! Miserable cunt, worthless excuse for a--” 

I scrambled away from him as quickly as I could. My hand slipped in a patch of Captain Perry’s blood and, in that moment of hesitation, he clamped a boot down on my ankle hard enough to shatter the bone. I spit curses and hissed, glaring up at the maniac wearing my former lover’s skin. “Please,” I swallowed hard against the waves of panic and pain, “please, you have to believe me, I didn’t betray you. I was captured!” 

“You’re still alive. That’s proof enough of your real allegiance.” He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me to my feet (or, rather, foot). “I fell for your victim routine once before, Lilleth, but never again.” 

“Look,” I gasped. My fingers curled into his arm. “I have nothing to hide. Look at my memories.” 

He glared at me. And oh how I regretted putting that idea in his head. Galbatorix didn’t wait for me to lower my barriers or sort out what I wanted him to see; he clawed his way into my brain with all the entitlement of a man accustomed to power. My body went utterly numb in the wake of that mental anguish, like white-hot razor blades hacking through my whole soul. I don’t rightly know how I managed to maintain consciousness to meet his eyes as he withdrew the probe, but his dark expression only sank my spirits even lower. 

He released the grip on my throat and turned his back on me. “I cannot find fault with this farce, but a damaged tool is just as useless to me as a disloyal one. Wait in your rooms,” he glared over his shoulder, “I need time to plan your punishment.” 

My lip shook, but I didn’t dare let a tear fall. “Yes sir.”

It was this metamorphosis that earned Hrothgar his place of honor on my shit list. His “mercy” upturned a lifetime of work! Had he known what Galbatorix would become without me to check his worst impulses, he never would have imprisoned me in the first place. Everyone remembers what happened when he lost the last thing he gave a damn about, yes? A bloody revolution and genocide? Sure, he never cared for me like he cared for Jarnunvosk. But then, he wasn’t totally sane when I left him, was he? As he himself once told me, “Madness never truly leaves us.” And his lingered like poison just beneath the surface, waiting to burst out at the first provocation. 

My absence was just the excuse he needed to stop hiding it.

His shouts still bounced around inside my aching head. 

“Abandoned,” I echoed dully. What of me, left to rot for longer than most agents could even have survived, then greeted on my return with accusations of treason? 

My room had been preserved as carefully as a tomb. There were canvases draped across all the furniture. Otherwise, the room had hardly changed since the day I inherited it: pink paneling on the walls, intricate plaster tiles on the ceiling, and pristinely clean white marble floors. I rested my head against the cool glass of my balcony doors, anything to relieve the throbbing pain.  Uru’baen in all her majesty stretched out far beneath my perch, a thousand twinkling lights of families preparing for their rest. My own space was all but dark, save for a low fire glowing in the hearth. By its light I could just make out my profile reflected in the pane. I found myself transfixed; I hadn’t properly seen my own face in many long years. The sight made my stomach twist in revulsion. 

His face. 

The face that had shimmered in my doped-up dreams, that saccharine voice pulling at my soul while my mind wandered in the ecstasy of madness. The face of the man who had promised me his everything until I ceased to be of use to him. Memories crowded me of eyes , those fucking eyes. Eyes that could blaze with intoxicating passion or freeze the blood in their victims' veins; the eyes that we shared. Hate, so profound that it nearly drove me to my knees, boiled over in my chest.

Gods , what a fool I’d been! 

I worked the spell more on instinct than any plan. The eyes were the first to go, green slowly blossoming from the center of my iris until it completely overtook the black. I raked my fingers through my hair. The ebony began to lighten and shift to orangey auburn, a color I’d always secretly envied. The once bone-strait strands began to hitch and twist in unruly waves; a total mess that only tangled more as I prodded at it. I didn’t care. I kept at my work until I was satisfied.  

I wandered from the window, tugging a sheet off my dressing table to examine my handiwork in the looking glass. I had used magic for disguises in the past of course, but, this time, I intended to keep the smells active. I felt a bit childish and awkward, shifting my face to and fro with equal parts vanity and insecurity. The look didn’t really suit me. It took away my edge; that imperiousness that had once served me so well. But, then, I had moved on past that person now. I could no longer play the mistress of the house. If I was to survive, I needed to adapt. 

I was so enthralled that I almost missed the sound of the door. 

He entered without a word; step staggered by either drink or pure exhaustion. He paused in his approach, swaying to one side as he cocked his head. The birdlike gesture called up images of the ra’zac sizing up helpless morsels. I lifted my chin. 

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "What is this?"

“I felt it time for a change,” I kept my words quiet, calm, and clear as an icy mountain spring. 

“Change?” he parroted me with obvious condescension. “Reverse it.” 

“There is no purpose.”  

His hands twisted in repressed emotion even as he tried to keep his tone level and controlled. “It was not a request.” 

I sized Galbatorix up carefully. He was acting erratic. It really would be best to give him whatever he wanted, but something in me rebelled against the thought. “Even if it were to revert, my feelings on the matter would not.” I stared daggers into his face, fully anticipating the storm building before me. “This is who I have become, and it is who I shall remain. You have the power to force my hand, but not to change my mind.” 

All control dropped from his visage in a lightning flash, an ugly snarl curling his lips. “Your feelings are worthless to me.” His eyes had the unfocused glint of a rabid dog. I shrank away from such a clear sign of sickness, especially as he approached me. His hands rested on the arms of my seat, his much taller body bent over mine until we were face to face. “If you insist on remaining a vicious bitch then so be it, but I won’t have you disgracing us to the whole court.” 

“Worthless?” I whispered. “This is a development, my lord.” His eyes shot painfully wide. “I can’t stop you from dressing me up like a doll, but I won’t be your willing plaything anymore.” 

He laughed in my face. “Lilleth, it's too late to play the shrew. You are mine and nothing will ever change that fact.” I stared him down, unflinching. His lip curled. “Fine! Make a fool of yourself! But don’t blame me--” 

“And what exactly should I not blame you for ?” I swallowed hard. “Out of all the crimes you’ve committed--behind my back and directly under my nose!-- which ones shall I overlook? The murder, the underhanded dealings--” 

“A crown is hard to win, and much harder to hold--” 

“And Anthony?” I didn’t really want to rip open that particular wound, not this way, but the rage had finally grown beyond my ability to swallow it down. “You condemned an innocent man to death for your own sick fantasies.” He slapped me across the jaw. It hurt, but I just grinned in bitter victory. “And you don’t even have the guts to deny it?” 

“You have no idea--” 

“No. The trouble is that now I do. I understand exactly what you are; what you’ve always been. You’re a fucking child.” He pulled my chair farther from the dressing table, the little wooden feet shrieking against the smooth floor. But I wasn’t done with him just yet. “If it was in any way unclear, allow me to illustrate the point: Eka ach neiat anama ono .” The weight I felt lift off my chest at that moment was indescribable . Our time together had not been unpleasant, but it had been a corruption of everything I was; my whole heart. We’d made monsters of each other out of our own loneliness for years. To finally be free of that perversion was the greatest gift I’d ever given myself. I felt only emptiness where all my goodwill had once lain, coupled with a solemn pride that tasted like ashes. 

For a moment, neither of us moved. His expression relaxed into something like a meditative pose as he weighed my words. He showed no outward sign of emotion, but I knew him too well to let down my guard. 

Though, in truth, I would have been no better or worse off no matter what I did. 

In a vicious yank of his powerful arm, he tipped my chair fully on its side. I tumbled into a heap, unable to even orient myself before he tangled a hand in my hair and started dragging me to the center of the sitting room. I grasped his wrist with one hand and scrambled uselessly at the smooth marble tiles with the other. My foot caught an end table and I hooked it for purchase. The furniture followed me, discharging its contents in a shower of shattering pottery. 

He didn’t so much as slow his stride. 

He tossed me in a pile before him. I tried to get to my knees, but a kick to the head stopped me cold. He flipped the center table out of his way, leaving me sprawled between a sofa and two chairs. I heard the telltale sound of a belt and knew, with the surety that only an unloved child can know, that I had dared too much.

I floated in and out of awareness as he beat me. The shadows of other such scenes intruded on us, from my earliest memories of his wrath to the times I had witnessed it expressed on others. Never had so much of the simmering hatred within him been directed at me; body and soul. In that state, I truly believe he would have been just as happy to kill me. I knew, because every strike was followed by a wild bramble of mental energy. His frenzied thoughts etched murder onto my very being. I saw images of urges, the things he really wanted to do to me. Those scenes I will never recount in this lifetime. One misplaced blow and I may never have risen from that floor. 

He managed to pry himself away from his catharsis, if only just. I lay senseless in a blooming spread of my own blood, my hair heavily matted with it, streaks and splashes polluting the once pristine chamber. He was breathing heavily and staring down at me with the wild eyes of a total stranger. Though I never saw him, I am sure that this was the man that fled Illirea all those years ago; hands dripping blood and pure madness coursing through him. He looked like a ghoul clumsily draped in appropriated human flesh. 

And, slowly, a smile began to unfurl over his twisted lips. The leer stretched all too wide to be a natural expression; yet somehow it still did not reach his eyes. He spoke, his eternally perfect voice rough with overuse and uncontained emotion. “Very well, pet. You win. If you won’t be a willing playmate, then you will be a blade and a toy; It makes no difference to me.” He knelt next to me and exposed the skin of my left hip. I could only watch, half senseless, as he placed his already glowing palm to my skin.  He purred, “But all of my possessions are marked as such to remind them of their place. Vaetha. ” The flesh beneath his palm seared with pain, like it’d been touched with hot metal. I tried to writhe but he held me down, beaming with sadistic delight as I screamed. 

I stayed there long after he’d taken his leave, tears I refused to acknowledge blurring my view of the new, dark shape scarring my still-naked waist. The royal seal, the swirling tri-pronged flame that I had sacrificed years of my life to serve and spread, was branded into my skin forever.

Words will never convey how I hate this man. I learned this very night that I hated him, to the very depths of my soul, and that I always would. Madness is not an excuse for all that he became. The sadism, the selfishness, the cruelty… that had been there all along. In those days I could only see his evolution as some horrid creature wearing a mask of the person I’d once loved… but in truth, they were one and the same. It’s why those that served him loyally worshipped him like a god, but those that despised him did so with blazing, unshakable conviction. That day I joined the latter ranks, forever sworn to the destruction of the beast I’d let run wild for far too long. His downfall became a matter of honor for me; my personal battle against my own past. 

I have no regrets for this confrontation. I needed to distance myself from my previous identity on his arm, and he needed to know I would never again be his lap dog. I intended to show him that he wasn’t the only force to fear in Uru’baen; to turn every weapon he’d ever given me back on the bastard that dared disrespect me. 

But there was one last blow that had yet to fall; salt in a fresh and very painful wound.

I picked myself up after the assault with as much dignity as I could. 

I have unsteady memories of the rest of that night. I recall a shape tying bandages over the worst wounds and running a cool cloth over my face. Now and again it would whisper, “Not yet,” as I felt myself drifting toward blessed darkness. 

I woke a few minutes after sunrise. There was a man slumped in a chair pulled close to my bed. A rough spun blanket covered his body and his face was turned away, so it took me a moment to recognize Harold, my own dear footman. The golden morning light emphasized his new lines, especially at the corners of his eyes. His kindness warmed my wounded heart. I was struck by the level of loyalty he had shown. And look at how long he’d been at my side; that little boy was already a grown man! And, something more, I realized that Harold was as close to a friend as I’d ever really had. 

 I decided to let him rest a while longer as I took stock of my surroundings. I was sore to my very bones, but at least I was cleansed of the gore. The floor where I’d previously lain was spotless, the only proof of my ordeal was the conspicuously missing vase. A tray of gruel and tea sat waiting for me, but the thought of food turned my stomach. I lay still, staring at the canopy above in dull frustration. 

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door banged open. 

Harold was faster; on his feet in a flash and standing between me and the entryway. “Beg your pardon Highness, but my lady must rest.” 

“And she will, in a moment. Leave us” the voice wasn’t at all what I expected. It was a woman’s voice, a little higher than mine and touched with a Surdan accent. It felt familiar… but my brain was stuffed to bursting just trying to follow their conversation. 

“I really must insist--” 

“And so you have. Get out, and don’t return until our business is finished.” 

Harold bristled at the woman’s tone. I sat up in bed and tried to recall the commanding airs of yesteryear. “You will not speak so to my most loyal servant.” Harold pivoted around to look at me, the ghost of a smile twitching beneath his mustache. “Harold, please, go to your breakfast and then to your rest. I’m sure that I am quite out of danger, and I promise not to undo all of your hard work.” 

He seemed ill at ease with the order, but he could hardly argue. “Yes, My Lady.” He bowed low, first to me and then to the strange guest…

To Veronica. 

It took every ounce of my self-control to keep my jaw from dropping to my chest. “Verra?” 

“Glad to see that he didn’t spoil your wits,” she remarked mildly, striding toward my resting place. A gown (one that I recognized as my own) of deep purple silk floated around her as she perched like a peacock on the opposite end of my bed. Her ebon hair was done in twists with jeweled pins with a circlet of white gold resting just above her brow. She practically glowed with health and authority. “Hello, Lilly.” 

I blinked at her dumbly. 

She gave a condescending little hum. “Or perhaps he did spoil them after all. Poor thing! Then again, it's no more than you deserve.” she examined her hands facetiously. 

I licked my cracked lips. “How are you here? And why..” I groped for the right way to express the thought. My twin sister looked exactly as she had when last we’d spoken: over thirty years ago!

“What, this?” She stroked her own cheek proudly. “Blame it on the blood, sister dear. Mother may not have been able to leave us anything, but we inherited incomparable genes.” She turned her head to show her ears. At first glance they were normal; no different from any other human, but they showed just the vaguest suggestion of a point. 

“You’re not a rider?” I said, a bit louder than was really necessary.

She scowled. “Ah yes, because what dragon would ever settle for me? No, I am not, and I’m perfectly content with that.” 

“But, then how--” 

“Aren’t you paying attention?” She shrieked. “Mother had elf blood , that’s all.” She grinned. “Oh, did Father never tell you? He tells me anything I want to know, so I forget that he isn’t very forthcoming with just anyone.”  

“Father?” I repeated the incongruous word. “Since when have you called him so?” 

“Many years hence. It seems we were both aching for companionship, so my arrival was best for all.” A cat-like smile greeted my stunned face. “Especially after he believed you had betrayed him.” 

“That’s ridiculous!” I sat up straighter, anger giving strength to my exhausted limbs. “You’re the one that stayed in Surda--” 

“Yes, for a time I had no choice. After your desertion, I was stripped of all social standing. I floated from house to house like a beggar! Eventually, I shook off the debt collectors and made my way to Uru’baen, where Father took me in. It was dumb luck that I had some information about his other child’s treasonous tendencies--” 

If I had been well, I may have struck her. “I was captured--” 

“So you say. But which is more believable, that his most capable agent was taken with no more fanfare than a common criminal, or that you joined yet another rebel group to defy him?” She patted my leg as if to comfort me. “He had trouble accepting it at first, but it was better than believing you were dead. When I first came to court he was a wreck! You should thank me for all my hard work. I even advised him to let you come crawling back again. Wasn’t that kind of me?” 

The sinking feeling dripped down to my stomach. “ You convinced him that I…that I would ever…” I tried to wrestle her smug betrayal into my understanding of my sister. I failed. “But why ?” 

“Because,” she drew back and clasped her hands together, “You abandoned me, twice, to survive in a cruel and miserable world without a second thought. I figured it was time to repay the favor.” There was not so much as a trace of humor in her face. “Now, we’re even.” 

“Even?” I echoed, “ Even? ” I stood from the bed on shaking legs. “Do you have the slightest clue what you’ve done? What I’ve just endured? I escape my personal hell and return home to have lost my only family in the world, one to the other, and get beaten half to death for my trouble!” By the end, I was shouting. “And then you have the audacity to say I deserve it? Deserve to lose--” 

“Your lover?” Now she seemed to really be enjoying herself, an all too familiar, wicked smile replacing her severe pose.

I tried to swallow but I only choked. 

“Yes, I know. He told me, in my fifth month here. Losing you tore him apart of course. It would have been even worse,” she rose and fluffed her skirts, “had there not been a suitable replacement at hand.” 

Revulsion lanced through me as I absorbed her self-satisfied proclamation. Once I would have been furious, but, after the previous night, I wanted no claim to any part of that wretched bastard. “Then I offer both of you my condolences. You deserve each other.” 

Tears burned in her angry eyes. “You,” her fists clenched powerlessly at her side, “ damn you!” 

“I assure you, I’m already in my personal hell. No real point damning me any further than this.” I lowered myself back to the bed and stared at the wall. 

“You can’t talk to me like that anymore! I’m a princess too, damn you--” 

I funneled my pain into a frigid reply, “Shurtugal outrank even the highest nobility. You can prance around in crowns and gowns as much as you want, but you will never be my equal. Now leave me in peace, or I’ll drag you out of here myself.” I couldn’t of course, but she needn’t know that. 

She backed away from the ice in my tone. “You two really are a match made in hell. You’re both just as condescending, just as... as cruel!”

Her shrill whine-- pure self-pity distilled down to its most aggravating--set me off like nothing else in the whole world could.“I said, OUT!” I sprang to my feet and tipped the breakfast tray at her. She sprang back from the projectile and hurried unceremoniously from the room. 

I collapsed back down to the bed and let the darkness swallow me without resistance.

Oh Vera… 

I don’t hate my poor, biddable sister anymore. I find it exhausting to despise someone for things they cannot control. She could no more improve her wits than I could grow wings. Her life had made her opportunistic as mine had made me ruthless… is it any surprise that we became each other’s victim? 

Only one person carries the blame for this: Galba- fucking -torix. 

There’s a reason that it is considered taboo to screw around with siblings: feelings will inevitably be hurt. The fact that all three parties in this mess shared blood only made it that much more despicable. It illustrated neatly to me where I really stood with Torix. If my “identical but different in every other way” twin was good enough for him, then he didn’t give a single damn about me as a person. Or, gods forbid that he actually did care in his own sick way, he still cared more about himself. We were decorative objects to hang off his ego! Oh yes, it was easy to channel all my frustrations at Torix for almost every hardship I endured… 

Except for one.

The next time I woke it was to voices. One was low and deferential; that was Harold again. The other’s speech was eerily familiar, but in a very different way than Verra’s had been. This voice was cold, deadly calm, and tinged with malice. I listened to their conversation. 

Harold spoke first. “I would be happy to report to His Majesty and explain the current situation. The healers have said, in no uncertain terms, that she may not leave this bed. And so she shall not.” 

“You were not asked.” The cold voice rasped against my ear, sending shivers over my over-sensitive limbs. 

“Even so, with or without me the situation is the same. A day of rest at the barest minimum. A week would be better, but I dare not suggest a course of action to the king.” 

“ Never that.” The voice took on a scathing sarcasm that was very unique among those discussing Galbatorix in his own house. In fact, only one being in the city had the gall to speak so, though he had never before been allowed in my rooms. 

“Good evening, Durza.” I sat up and stretched theatrically as far as my pains would allow. “Sorry to see you still traipsing around. I thought someone would have put you out of your misery by now.” 

His skull-like face contorted into a mask of grotesque joy, but the blood-red eyes spoke only hate. “I could say the same, Your Highness. It seems as though your spotless reputation has been tarnished. I never thought the king would suffer a traitor to live.” 

“I suppose that I’m worth it,” I quipped back. “What does he want?” 

“You are to report to his study as soon as possible.” 

I sighed, “You may tell him I’ll attend him presently. I have to dress, but then I’ll be on my way.” 

“My Lady, the healers--” Harold’s expression reminded me so much of Xanist; worried and doting.

Unfortunately for him, I had no mind to be coddled. “--know their business well, I’m sure. However, I have not the luxury of recovering in peace.” I took my sweet time inching to my feet, having quite learned my lesson earlier. 

“In that case, will you let me accompany you?” 

Durza gave a disparaging click of his tongue, “The order was for the princess alone.” 

“Harold may be considered a part of my very self. He will follow me in case the journey is too much for me. After that, the king will decide whether he should stay or go.” 

-:- -:- -:-

The walk was not long, but it was slow as a geriatric snagli . Harold stooped low until he was the perfect height to be my impromptu crutch. “You know,” I said nonchalantly as we rested atop the last staircase between us and our destination, “I think you’re the only person in Uru’baen who’s actually happy to see me.” 

Harold chuckled. “Not the only person, I’m sure. But it seems I have the honor of being the first to welcome you home.” 

I patted his arm. “And a warmer welcome I couldn’t ask for, old friend.”

He blinked. “Friend? Isn’t that a bit too informal?” 

“Not if I say it isn’t, which I do. Besides, I don’t have any other friends who would bicker with a shade on my behalf.” 

“I don’t respect anyone who relies solely on intimidation to get their way, be they human or beast.”

I fell into musings about my history with this man. For all his loyal service, I’d given him practically nothing; he had never even asked. “Then it's a wonder you still choose to throw in your lot with me.” I smiled up at him. “When last I was here, I didn’t act much better than a beast myself.” 

Harold tactfully avoided agreeing or arguing the point. “Next to Lord Durza, even Ms. Veronica is pleasant.” 

“Agree to disagree. Has she bothered you?” 

“Only as much as she’s bothered the rest of the staff. She is… how to put this..” 

“A brat?” 

Harold smirked. 

“Well, let me apologize on her behalf since she will never do so herself.” 

“I will only accept on one condition,” Harold said. I leaned in. “Never vanish again.” 

I giggled and shifted my weight back onto his shoulder. “You have my word.” 

-:- -:- -:- 

Galbatorix didn’t look up from his scribbled notes as we entered his office. I sank into a seat with Harold’s help. The king glanced up and muttered, “You brought him?”

“He wouldn’t hear of me going alone.” 

“He is dismissed.” Harold squeezed my hand in solidarity and left as quickly as he dared. The scratching of Torix’s quill overtook the space. So aggressive was his pace that the nibs often bent too far and sprayed ink down the page. He seemed to neither notice nor care, consumed by something churning in his head that was far beyond me. “You have not asked why you’re here.” 

I shifted. “Would it really avail me to do so?” 

He slapped the stripped feather down and glowered at me. “Have we not learned our lesson?” 

I swallowed hard. I wanted so badly to be fearless, to be above his threats! But his unstable mental state created treacherous terrain for an already monumental task. “Apologies, Ebrithil . For what purpose have you summoned me?” 

Rather than cool him off, that seemed to only make him angrier. “And still you ask the wrong questions. Allow me to enlighten you.” He flicked aside his current page and handed me one beneath it. It was a list of names; familiar names. He recited them aloud as I read, “Amorth, Kialandi, Siyamak, and Eltereth. These are the casualties we have suffered in your absence.” 

I deflated. Amroth was a recluse and Siyamak was a pain, but Kialandi had been a kind soul. She was the one who used to patch me up when I was too weak to do it myself. It was her medical knowledge that had kept me alive through years of training. And Eltereth… I sighed. “How did it happen?” 

“Amroth’s exact cause of death is unknown, as is the time frame. We only found the wreckage the year you left, but his manor had been burned out some years before that. He and his dragon perished in the blaze. Siyamak overestimated his own abilities and died to his own spell. His dragon lay in a daze before finally succumbing to starvation. Eltereth and the two dragons in her care took their own lives a few years after your disappearance.” Torix got to his feet and propped both hands on the desk. A terrible note of accusation bloomed in his voice,  “And Kialandi went missing on her way to search for you. We found her and her partner slaughtered on the fringes of the Beors, likely due to Brom’s meddling.” 

I shrank down as much as I could. He may not have said it outright, but there could be no mistaking his meaning: he blamed me, personally, for every single one of their deaths. 

“And do you know how we managed to locate Kialandi?” He circled the desk, approaching far too close for my frayed nerves to handle. I tensed, hands shaking just out of his sight. “With Katana’s shared memories.” 

I blinked.

“She insisted on accompanying Kia on her mission. But, given the dangers, I insisted she do something for me before she left.” He held out his hands and spoke a few lines in the ancient language. A whole swath of air above his desk shivered and split like a seam. And visible through the tiny rift was a strip of deep blue light, swirling beneath a hard, faceted surface. 

My stomach dropped. “No…” 

Torix’s sarcastic smile was the closest thing to pure evil I’d ever seen. “When I became your ebrithil , I gave the pair of you one rule that superseded all others. Do you recall what it was?” 

I swallowed hard. “Survive.” 

He nodded. “It seems that you both failed that directive in some capacity or other.” He spread the illusion wider until it popped .  There, sitting on his desk, was a moderately sized eldunari . It was so blue that it was almost black. Streaks of pale purple flickered in its depths. “Your disappearance made her careless.” 

I felt like the hand of a giant was wrapped around my ribs. I’d coped with our prolonged separation; if anything, it seemed that Katana wanted a little space from me at the time. But that was when I believed it had an endpoint! When I left she was still furious. It didn’t even occur to me that she would do something so reckless! “How long?” 

“Eight years. She has been completely unresponsive in all that time. She reaches out occasionally in dreams to Shruikan, but always her words are insensible.” He placed a hand on top of her eldunari . A pit of loathing hardened in my gut. “I asked him to reach out to her with news of your return, but it seems that she is unmoved by anything outside of her own mind.” 

I rose, unsteady as I was, and approached the desk. I placed my still-shaking hands on the irregular surface, vision blurring with tears. She was warm to the touch. Each facet was flawlessly smooth like glass. I brushed a tiny tendril of thought forward… Nothing. Not even anger or sadness. She was there, that much even a dragon can’t conceal, but her mind was blank; featureless. 

A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder. My eyes shot back open to regard the inky black ones mere inches away. “Be grateful that you have even this much.”

So many emotions crowded inside me. There were still embers of pity for my teacher, but they paled before the inferno of utter loathing. And both were drowned by a flood of self-loathing and regret. I did this; as surely as if I’d killed you myself. This is all my fault. I only had to leave in the first place because I didn’t listen to you, my friend. I lingered listlessly in Katana’s mind, praying for the second time in only two days for some sign from beyond the veil. 

But this time, I actually got an answer. 

It was no more than a ripple of acknowledgment. She shifted her thoughts like clouds finally revealing a tiny shard of the moon, and left three words in her wake: it’s a start.

It’s really incredible how much can change in a decade. Even leaving aside the waves of death and madness that had wreaked havoc in my life, I was still stepping into a totally alien world. Nearly every major player at court had changed, most of my contacts had scattered or died, and I’d lost any semblance of authority I ever had. Add to that how I had been drained physically and mentally, stabbed in the back by my only surviving family members, and given the (well-deserved) silent treatment from my dragon’s disembodied soul all in rapid succession.

But I couldn’t afford to rest. Now that I’d lost Torix’s affection, I’d also lost his lenience. I was expected to get back to work as soon as physically possible (a feat made even more cumbersome by his increasingly delicate temper). I needed to defend myself from every angle as thoroughly and quickly as possible… before I managed to blunder into an even greater disaster. 

Chapter Text

At last, this journal may proceed without being further bogged down by Galbatorix’s interference… much like my life did all those years ago.  I’m grateful that I was able to make a clean break from all my demons; to emerge from the ashes with a whole new identity. Torix’s pet died alone and forgotten in a hole, and good riddance to her! The cost was high, but the reward was priceless. I now have the clarity and peace to be proud of the person I have become; with my wounds all covered in thick scars.

But back then? 

I was falling apart! Only spite coaxed me out of bed. I was angry at the whole world, especially at myself, and I had the perfect target to whom I could pin all that pain: Galbatorix. He became the center point of my hatred. I confess the whiplash was…. disorienting. But, as soon as I started looking, I was gifted with a veritable windfall of things for which to despise that monster. I mean, really, the man makes it too easy! “Winning” personality aside, he was also a piss-poor king! (One need only see the mess he’s made of Eragon’s whole existence to understand that much. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.).

I made my stand in the gaps in Torix’s control. If he chose to abandon his primary duties, then I would gladly “fill in” for him. If he saw me as a traitor no matter what I did… I may as well get some work done. But, of course, he had no mind to give me any authority of my own. Unfortunately for him, I was no longer in the habit of asking permission.  

One (very special) trip to Teirm served two crucial functions. First, it reminded me why exactly my mission was necessary. Second, I became acquainted with a kindred soul who would assist me in the undertaking.

Even behind my closed eyes, the late afternoon light was dazzling. In the weeks since my return, I’d spent every spare moment out under the sun. This, more than any other cure, had begun to heal my body and soul. I’d acquired silly pink patches on my cheekbones, nose, and ears from sitting out in the sun, but I didn’t particularly mind. I finally felt alive again.

My companion on this journey was not quite as rejuvenated. Katana’s heart lay in my lap; heavy and warm. I hummed to her in our thoughts, though she paid me little mind. She still hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to me. No matter how lonely I feel, I can only wait for her . It was possible that she would never be ready to hear my full apology… and I would just need to live with that. No one can force a dragon to do a damn thing they aren’t ready to do…. At least, no one with a soul.  

To combat the isolation, I’d gotten into the habit of talking at Katana rather than to her. I still can’t believe I’m really about to do this. I didn’t expect His Lordship’s records to be so detailed, let alone that I would actually find what I was looking for! But still… is it really any of my business to bother them after so long? No, no, you’re right; I owe them that much. Even in her comatose state, I felt a wash of agreement. Right then. No more stalling. 

I opened my eyes, staring down at the inky blue depths of her eldunari. The inner light seemed stronger, though that could easily have been my wistful musings. I carefully resituated her in my pack; she took up most of the space all on her own. The only other thing I’d brought was the blanket I kept wrapped around her and two crucial objects in the front pocket. The clothes on my back were all I needed; a plain blue linen dress and white under-shift nipped in with a grey apron. A matching scrap of grey cloth held my hair tied back (otherwise, the ocean breeze would whip it into a froth of knots). I still had no clue how to really take care of the mane; more often than not it was a frizzy mess. 

I’d set off northward from Teirm on foot that same morning, and now I was almost out of daylight. The last hour of my walk was peaceful if absolutely nothing else. A good portion of it followed a rocky cliffside with a breathtaking view of the sea. The water was dark but the crest of each wave glinted in the light of the sinking sun. Above, the sky burned vermillion and amber; impossibly beautiful. I dragged my trip out a little longer, meandering along the edge of the cliff until a dingy purple impeded my fiery view. If I don’t reach the house by dark, then I will simply have to wait another day. 

Despite my best procrastination, the farm came into view with plenty of time to spare. A broad pasture of land stretched out from the road, split by a single dirt strip. This pathway led to the porch of an old farmhouse. It was two stories, but not particularly large, and washed a dull grey. The thatch on the roof had been freshly redone in patches, the shutters scrubbed down to raw wood. A dozen or so cows meandered in the field, nibbling at the grass and ignoring everything else. 

I stepped up the porch slowly, still hoping for an excuse to turn back. But any chance of that evaporated as the front door yanked inward. I froze and stared down at a small girl, no older than ten, in the doorway. She leaned back, blinking up at me. “Dads, there’s a lady!” 

I swallowed and stepped back a little farther. Two sets of trotting footsteps approached one from around the side of the house and one from within. I turned to the side to see both at once. The first arrival came from within the house, scooping up the girl and resting her weight on his hip. “So there is, Carol! That’s not a very nice way to say hello.” 

The second set of steps rounded the corner; winded from his sprint. He looked a bit like his brother, if just around the nose. He looked too old to still be actively working, at least into his fifth decade, if not more. He called out between pants, “Greetings, stranger! Wasn’t expecting company.” He dusted off his dirty hand on a pant leg and extended it warmly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”  

I accepted the shake. “I’m here looking for Robin?” 

The hand-shaker gave me an odd look. “That’s me! I don’t owe you money, do I?” 

I chuckled. “No sir, nothing like that. I have a message to deliver regarding your older brother.” 

His eyes opened wide as saucers. “Anthony? I haven’t so much as heard his name in forty years!” 

I swallowed hard. “Yes… I know.” 

Robin climbed up the porch steps two at a time. “Well please, come on in! Sam, can you put on some tea?” 

“Sure thing.” The man I now knew as Sam carried the little girl back inside, bombarded with questions from his little passenger. 

“Who is that? Why is she here? Can she play with me?” 

“I don’t know,” Sam repeated calmly. “Please come with me, Ms.”  

I followed them on numbed feet. The front door opened into a narrow hall, with steep stairs leading up to the second floor. At the end of the hall, a wood stove stood opposite the doorway in a rectangular room. The right wall was lined with counters and a floor-to-ceiling pantry. The right side of the room was mostly taken up by a round table and three sturdy chairs. Sam plunked the chattering girl into one of them. She kicked her feet and waved at me. I waved back. “She’s adorable. Who’s is she?” 

Robin scrubbed his hands in a basin of water on the porch, cleansing beneath his nails with a coarse brush before traipsing in. “Sam and I adopted her a few summers back.” 

“Really?” I glanced between the two men, noting the warm way Robin rubbed Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t you get trouble from people out here?” 

Robin frowned. “Most of them learned to watch their mouths a long time ago.” 

“And,” Sam cut in, “We don’t go out much. Most folks don’t mind what they can’t see.” 

“That hardly seems fair.” 

Robin shrugged and rubbed his neck. “So long as they leave little Carol be, I don’t mind what they think of us. But enough about me!” He dropped into a chair and leaned forward. “You said that you have news about my brother.” 

“I do.” I let my pack down to the floor gently, reached into a front pouch, and pulled out an envelope with a back wax seal. “I wish I came with better news.” 

Robin’s energy melted out of him. He tried to cover it with a work-roughened hand, but his upper lip trembled violently. 

I swallowed down my own emotions. My story would never hold if I broke down in front of them. “It happened many years ago. He had no location listed for any living relatives, but one of his surviving shield mates had enough information to guess where you might be.” 

Robin and Sam exchanged a meaningful look. Then Sam ushered their daughter outside, a hand on her head. That was all it took for the tears to finally break free from Robin’s control, streaming down his soiled face in dingy streaks. He sobbed quietly into his hands. I sank into a chair and waited for him to calm down. 

He sniffed at last and looked at me. “How did it happen?” 

I swallowed. “He was the Princess’s lead guard. It was a dangerous job, especially at that time… and eventually, it cost him his life.” 

“Really? Somebody put my brother in charge of something important?” Robin chuckled wetly, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean that. He and I used to always joke with each other back when,” he sniffed, “when he was still home.” 

“His comrades wanted me to tell you,” I took Robin’s hands in mine, “that he was the noblest, bravest, most devoted knight. They were honored to serve alongside him. He lived and died as a true hero; you have much to be proud of.” 

Robin blinked hard as more tears leaked down his cheeks. “That means a lot to me. Thank you, Miss…?” 

“I’m just a messenger. And speaking of, I have more to deliver.”  I plopped a purse stuffed to bursting with gold-- more than his farm could probably earn in a decade-- onto their table. “The noble sacrifice of one in his position warrants a gift of thanks to his surviving blood.” 

Robin’s eyes widened again. “I-I can’t accept this!” 

“Of course you can.” I squeezed his hands tighter. “Anthony earned this and much more in his years of service. There is no better place for it than here, supporting his beloved family. Especially since he has a niece that will certainly need a dowry someday.” 

Robin blinked at me. Then he leaned forward and wrapped me in a powerful hug. I’d never been particularly comfortable with that sort of thing but, slowly, I returned the embrace. Robin whispered, “I’m glad that he made a difference out there. That’s all he really wanted. If he died a hero, then he died happy.” 

I nodded along meekly, patting the grieving man’s shoulder. 

-:- -:- -:- 

It took me hours to extricate myself from their home. They showered me with thanks and invitations to stay as long as I liked. It was outrageously kind of them to offer, and I told them so, but I needed to leave. If I spent one more minute lying to their faces I thought I’d crack. Honesty is not noble when only harm can come from it. By the time I was outside again, the sun had long sunk beneath the line of the ocean, replaced by a waxing moon. I could still see just fine in the silvery light so I trudged back up the road, planning to rent a cheap room in the city proper. But that left me with a long, lonely walk with only my own thoughts for company. 

Anthony … hopefully this will help you rest in peace . I’d done wrong, I knew, by waiting so long. True, he’d never told me exactly where his family lived, but the information had always been at my fingertips. What was I so afraid of? That was easy enough to reason out. To face Anthony’s shadow, I’d first need to face my own reflection. 

Heaven forbid. The thought cut through my own like a winter breeze. As frosty as her tone was, my heart lept at the source of the words. 

Katana? 

Who else? 

I swallowed, trying to reign in my excitement. It’s good to hear from you. 

It is. 

We’re near the sea. I showed her my view, especially focusing on the lapping waves far below. 

Deep are the waters here, and deeper run the memories. Her dreamlike thoughts crooned tunelessly; strains of music incomprehensible to mortal ears. Imagined phantoms of schooling fish danced playfully to her song.

I solemnly agreed. Not very far to the south, an all too familiar house stood abandoned. So many nights, lulled to sleep by the distant waves… I shook my head. Those memories were off limits; too painful to even acknowledge, let alone recall.

Katana’s contempt was plain. How do you think I feel; abandoned to mope in a cave for days at a time?

I’m sorry--

I do not want your apologies, she sighed. It would have been less painful if she’d shouted. So long as you are changing, I am satisfied. She began to withdraw, fading away like a strain of song on the breeze. Just before she retreated fully from my mind, she added, The woman that left me there would not have made this journey. Keep this place well in mind if ever again you lose your way. 

I bowed my head, though she could not see, and spoke though she could not hear, “ Elrun ono, fricai. I will. ”

-:- -:- -:- 

It was a little too easy to gain access to Teirm undetected. The gates may have been closed, but they could never put enough guard up on those walls to keep out someone who knew what they were doing. A few quick spells and I was strolling down the street like any other citizen. I should really put a word in with the ruling Lord. Then again, I don’t much fancy sleeping in the woods the next time I’m in this situation. Decisions, decisions. 

Teirm’s nightlife was mostly centered on the dock. It was easy to avoid attention; the rowdy sailors were often too inebriated to bother anyone besides one another. But creeping along the edges of streets comes with dangers, especially for a lone traveler. 

I felt the disturbance before I really knew what it was: something had bumped into my pack. Time slowed as my instincts took over. I whipped around, reaching out to snatch the wandering hand. The poor urchin could never have escaped.  She was only a teen by the look of her. She had a large frame for a young girl but had clearly gone a long time between meals. Her brown hair was cut short and choppy, her round face already scarred with pox. She snarled like an alley cat, twisting her arm in my hold. And then a second body slammed into my side. I kept my footing, barely, but my grip loosened on the would-be thief. She and her partner sprinted off in opposite directions. 

I chose to follow the girl. I was less interested in “catching” her. Rather, I wanted to know exactly where she was running. I ran out of patience for the crowd within the first half a block. Glancing around, I saw a stack of crates leaning up against one of the buildings. I scampered up them and leaped onto the nearest rooftop, shouting, “ Hlaupa! ” My spell formed a smooth barrier over the roof’s peak. All I needed to do was keep my balance, jump at the end of each building, and watch the ground as I slid noiselessly along.  It didn’t take me long to find the girl’s trail. She was walking calmly out on a main street. She glanced over her shoulder and turned into an alley. I threw up a simple ward behind her before dropping to the ground right in her path. She jumped with an alarmed cry, her back slamming against my ward. I held my hands up and said, “Wait! I just want to talk.” 

She squinted at me suspiciously. “What about? I didn’t take nothing from you, so forget it!” Her voice was street-rough. The defensive sneer contrasted so painfully on her sweet face. 

“I know. That isn’t what I wanted to ask.” I stepped farther back to calm her down. “I wanted to talk to you because I’m not easy to sneak up on. In fact, you’re the first to manage it in quite some time. I’m not one to pass up talent.” 

She tilted her head. “Oh yeah? You don’t work around here, do you? I know all the gangs, and you’re not in any of them.” 

“The way you’re talking, it seems you aren’t either?” 

She hacked and spat on the ground. “I’m starting one of my own. And we won’t be like those sons of bitches; we’re a family. We look out for each other.” 

Curious. I nodded approvingly and stretched out a hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Lilly. Who are you?” 

She looked at my proffered hand like she thought it would turn into a snake. “Felice.” Her bony fingers curled around mine in a brutally firm grip. “ What the hell are you?” 

I chuckled. “Your newest member.” 

-:- -:- -:- 

An hour later, Felice sat cross-legged on the floor of my rented room. She was on her third bowl of stew and second hunk of bread. I sipped at a bottle of cheap wine, watching her with fascination. “Tell me more about this family of yours. What exactly do you do?” 

My guest wiped her mouth on her shirt. “Everything. Some of us are pickpockets, some are burglars, some work the flesh trade… whatever we can do to make gold. Then we pile it all together and feed ourselves from there. The extra goes towards whatever else we need; blankets, medicine, weapons, and things like that.”

“Not a bad setup at all. And none of the members abuse the system?” 

“None that we keep around. That’s my job. If they can’t respect my family, they can’t stay.” 

“How many members do you have?” 

Felice crossed her arms. “I think I’ve said plenty, New Meat. Why do you want to join up anyway? You seem comfy enough as you are.” 

“It’s complicated.” I smiled at her unimpressed expression. “I have issues of my own with the current underground. I believe the branch in this area is led by a man named Silton?” 

Felice jumped to her feet, suddenly a-lite with passion. “That rat bastard! Any enemy of his is a friend of mine!” She scowled ferociously. “He and his cronies roughed up one of our members a few months back, a singer named Sugar.” 

“What did they want with a musician?” I asked. 

Felice looked at me like I was a moron. “Sugar is only a singer by day. By night she takes tricks or works infiltration. She’s too sweet to resist, ya’ know? Well, some of Silton’s goons cornered her. Poor thing was laid up for weeks!” Her fists clenched so hard at her sides that her knuckles popped. 

“Seems like you have every reason to want him out of your territory.” 

“That son of a bitch deserves to be fish food!” 

I grinned. “What if I told you that, if we work together, I can put your little family on top in Teirm?” Felice looked skeptical, but I continued anyway. “We start by getting rid of Silton, and then the rest of his lackeys after him. He’s only one branch of a very nasty tree, but a big enough branch that just his head could gain you a lot of credibility with the other gangs.” 

The girl sank back to the floor, eyeing me with a gambler’s stare. “You have big plans. That means you’re either connected or crazy. I’m not getting into bed with someone I just met, no matter how good the pitch.” 

I laughed. “Then let’s call this a test run. If I succeed, you’re free of a very dangerous enemy and I’m one step closer to making a new friend. If I fail I’ll be dead, but you won’t have lost anything.” 

Felice chewed her cheek. “I can’t lie; it’s tempting. You really think you can take him out?” 

“I’m not the type to make empty promises; nor idle threats.” 

“Then we,” Felice was the first to extend a hand this time, “have a deal.”

What luck that I met this industrious young woman that fateful night! Felice is a real gem among my allies. She has all the fight of a stray dog, all the warmth of a doting mother, and the wiles of a career criminal. Our alliance may not have been sealed just yet, but I was very eager to undertake the job. Silton was one of Balor’s little lackeys after all, and I had a war to resume! If Galbatorix wasn’t going to curb that smug bastard, I would just have to do it for him.  

Chapter Text

My relationship with Uru’baen as a whole began to reflect the ties between my family therein; distant and listless. For one thing, I was so out of touch with the politicking that I was worse than useless at court. Alliances in such a place can shift from one week to the next, let alone a full decade. Never mind my new… estrangement from Torix. The royal court revolved around his favor and I had just been put so thoroughly out of his good graces that I was socially deceased. 

It was a convenient benefit that I had plenty of spare energy to pit against my enemies. Silton was just the current incarnation of a much bigger problem. In my absence, my former allies had been unable to stall Balor’s total dominance in the underground. His affairs in Teirm were especially troubling for me; it was and still is one of the largest ports in Alagaesia. He hadn’t just gotten his products into the streets; he’d put nobles in his pocket; laid hands on the government itself. Ousting him from such a comfortable perch would have been difficult with Galbatorix’s support… but without? Impossible. Thus the crux of the issue: how to solve Felice’s problem permanently? 

Lucky for me, one of my family members actually had solutions ripe for the offering.

My fingers tapped the paper before me uneasily. Row after row of uninspired schemes stood like mocking splotches on my already dingy reputation. What a state I’m in! This used to be my job; my specialty! Now I can’t even figure out how to cow a gang of unruly thugs. I pressed down hard and crunched the worthless page in a fist. If I can’t handle this, I have no business staying in Uru’baen at all. I’d be better off moving in with Robin and raising cattle. 

Nonsense. You’re terrible with animals. Katana slipped her thought between mine, cutting off the self-deprecating thread. I still don’t see why murder isn’t the answer? 

I thought you wanted me to be a better person! 

I think whoever ends Balor’s enterprises would be a very good person. 

I smiled, even through the frustration. That was always an option (if a ridiculously dangerous one). Balor’s real strength came from his ludicrous personal wealth, skill with people, and horde of lackeys. In a one-on-one confrontation, I was certain I could best him. Torix had placed the eldunari I’d enspelled back into my care and I was definitely the stronger mage. But Balor was not to be caught lacking. He was a ruthless fighter in his own right and, more critically, Beren was never far from his side. Together, those two were almost as deadly as Morzan. As much as I would enjoy that, I think it’s beyond my skill. Unless I run into a considerable number of lucky breaks. 

Unlikely for you. 

My point exactly. I tossed the ball of paper into the fireplace and scooped up my pen with renewed energy. There’s a solution to this, I’m just not seeing it! I tapped the tip of the stylus on the page. A blotchy blume of ink spread over the latticed surface of the paper. I stared at it, prying at the edges of my brain for inspiration through the fog. 

Nothing. 

I stood up from the desk and paced around my room. I laid upside down on the sofa. I changed out of my day clothes into a light weight green hunting frock. I downed a glass and a half of wine. And still, my brain felt like sludge marinated in stupidity. I’m going for a walk. Are you coming? 

No. I like spending quiet time with the others. She caressed one of the eldunari’s thoughts. Since her own bodily death, she’d spent a lot of time ruminating about the enslaved dragons. In many ways, she felt more akin to them than she did to me. 

I severed our connection with only a trace of sadness. I had no right to begrudge her whatever comfort she may find. Really, I was so relieved to hear her voice again that I cared little what we spoke of. But I knew too that she still hadn’t fully opened up to me, not yet. But I would likely be just as guarded, were our positions reversed. I tucked my concerns neatly into a box. It would be pointless to fret at them endlessly, especially when I was supposed to be working. 

I slid quietly out of my rooms and soon out of the castle entirely.

-:- -:- -:- 

The cool air of the garden proved the best cure for my troubled mind. I never traveled with guards anymore-- if anything, the added attention would only put me in more danger anyway-- and the quiet darkness revitalized me. I perched up on the ledge of a gazebo, drinking in the breeze. Perhaps the solution lies not with Silton nor with Balor, but somewhere in between. If I cause enough havoc in his middle-management, he’d have to sort it out. But no, that too is only a temporary solution. I circled the problem a while, plucking at it like a vulture harasses a fatigued morsel. 

But then something moved in the darkness. 

My right hand slid into a fold of my skirt, plucking a needle-thin blade from the fabric. Why would an assassin be looking for anyone important out here? If I’d been followed, I certainly would have noticed it before now. Unless I really have lost my touch, in which case I thoroughly deserve a dagger in the back. 

The shape, now clearly a humanoid figure, moved again. It traipsed unsteadily in front of a glowing window before turning onto one of the garden paths. Something bothered me, though it took a moment to understand exactly what. Which window is that? Isn’t it one of the sitting rooms in the guest wing? Those windows are large, and this mystery man’s head was in line with the highest pane, even at a slouch! And then the figure’s real identity wasn’t so mysterious. What the hell is Morzan doing out and about at this hour? 

Curious and hungry for a distraction, I replaced my little blade and vaulted off the ledge. It wasn’t difficult to track the big man’s progress through the walk; he wasn’t making any effort to conceal it. He hummed a discordant tune; the harmony to one of the shanties he and Formora used to shout in the old days. He finally came to a stop near a two-tiered fountain with a marble horse rearing on a plinth in its center. He plopped on the edge and yanked the cork from a dusty bottle with his teeth. I was about to turn away-- drunk Morzan can be a dangerous creature-- but I severely underestimated my old mentor. 

“Quit skulking, brat. You want a show, come pay admission.” 

I swallowed hard and emerged into the moonlight proper. “It’s been a long time, Mama.” 

He bared his teeth in a gross approximation of a smile. “Too damn long. We thought you were dead.” 

I shrugged. “Just on the inside.” 

He brayed and lifted his bottle in amused agreement. “I’ll drink to that! C’mere and have some. Drinking alone sucks.” 

I sat a few feet away from him; just close enough to accept the bottle when he offered it. Briefly, as if it floated up from a distant dream, I remembered staring up at a massive giant as he lowered an identical vessel to my unprepared hand. “You always know when I need a distraction.” 

He snorted and stretched out along the fountain’s edge. “Don’t flatter yourself, kid. This is how I always greet people.” 

“Not a kid,” I groused, taking a deep swallow. It was strong stuff, though still wine by the loosest definition. 

“No chance I’d ever see ya’ any other way.” Morzan kicked off his boots, rolled up a pant leg, and dangled one foot in the water. 

I chuckled. “Apologies if this is strange, but I find that comforting.” 

“Gross. Save that shit for someone who cares.” 

I kicked his dry foot and handed back the bottle. “What’s eating you tonight?” 

“What isn’t,” he said. I only had to stretch out the pause a second or two before he jumped back in. “Alright fine, if ya’ want to be nosy, it’s Daddy.” 

“You and Torix are fighting?” That was a first. Sure, they bickered from time to time… but never anything serious. 

“Have been for about six years now.” He tipped the bottle to his lips, sucking down four huge swallows before coming up for air. “Ever since he brought back the slave trade.” 

I felt sick. Of all the Riders failings, one of the greatest things they ever did was to outlaw the trade of human beings as property. Now Torix had undone even that? “But why?” 

“Dragons,” Morzan said dully. “Everything he does these days comes back to the dragons. I tried to tell him that we could secure the borders with men alone. Hell, I even offered to patrol it myself! But he just insisted that it would never work; that we don’t have the manpower to enforce the law. So, instead of recruiting more soldiers, he changed the law.” 

“That’s ass-backward! Won’t he see reason--” 

Humorless, rumbling laughter erupted from Morzan. “Have you fucking seen him? You’ve tried reasoning with him?” 

My hands went stiff and cold. “Yes.” 

“Went over like a cloud full of lead, didn’t it?” He kicked his submerged foot, splashing the center plinth all the way to the top of the horse’s head. “There’s no talking to that motherfucker anymore.” 

I leaned toward Morzan in acknowledgment. “So what can we do?” 

“Jack shit that matters.” He sat up, extending the bottle again. “Stay numb, try to live with ourselves.” 

I sighed as powerfully as I could, deflating all the air left in my body. “That’s not good enough. ” My hands started to ache, and I realized too late that they’d tightened into fists. 

Morzan examined me intensely. He was so often out of sorts, inebriated, and feigning disinterest that most people weren’t aware of this side of him. His dual-toned gaze was clever, intuitive and unnerving . “Hey, cut the bullshit for a second.” 

I blinked. “What--” 

He held up a hand, nearly as large as my whole head. “I know.” 

“Know what?” 

“I told you to cut the fucking bullshit!” I leaned back from the outburst (it was wise to keep on ones heels around a drunken Morzan). But he dropped the heavy limb onto my leg; a reassuring pat. “How are you holding up?” When I tilted my head again, he rolled his eyes. “The break-up.” 

Blood rushed to my face. Fuck, I forgot he even knew! “Right.” I rolled my shoulders uncomfortably. “Good riddance.”

Morzan lifted a thick brow. “You’re over it?” 

“You have no idea.” I forced out a laugh, though it came out as more of a wheeze. 

“Don’t I? That’s my husband you’re talking about.” 

“Well, yeah, but that’s a joke,” I trailed off, “isn’t it?” 

Morzan said not a word. He just stared at me, barely blinking. I saw things flickering behind his eyes; terribly familiar things. Sorrow, pity, betrayal, pain. And this was the man who’d been at his side since the very beginning; the one who’d joined him in a hopeless fight when no one else would. The man that helped him steal Shruikan, gather the Forsworn, fight the riders. Their friendship had, quite literally, outlived an empire. And here he sat, wallowing in bitter listlessness because of that very same friendship. 

I set the bottle aside. “Morzan… you don’t… you can’t still--”

“Of course I do.” He didn’t hesitate, but there was no joy in his voice. “I’m not like you, kid. He’s all I’ve got left. If I lose him,” he ran a hand through his hair, “nothing will make sense anymore.” 

“That’s not--” 

“I don’t expect you to get it. You’re young, you still have time to change your legacy. But me?” He spread his arms. “ I’ve already sold my soul for him. No sense abandoning him now.” 

“Even if he abandons you?” 

“I promised him forever, unconditionally. I mean what I fucking say… even if he doesn’t.” Morzan reached across me, scooped up the bottle, and drained it. Then he tossed it into the darkness.  

I shook my head uneasily. The tinkle of shattering glass roused a mole from it’s hiding place. The creature scurried across the moonlit walkway, a little lump of fur. I dipped a hand into the cool water of the fountain. It wasn’t exactly clean, the whole bottom of the pool was slick with algae, but I didn’t really mind. In the dimness, the growth seemed impossibly dark and deep; an emerald void that could swallow anything that strayed too close. Morzan’s submerged limb seemed to float on the precipice of oblivion; just beyond the reach of infinity. 

That was really incredible wine. 

I shook off the odd musings. “Mom, let me ask you something.” He grunted, so I continued, “What do you think of Balor?” 

“He’s a cunt.” My mother turned frankness into an art. “Bastard has always been smug and uppity, but he’s gotten even worse since Daddy took the throne.” 

“Want to help me knock him down a peg or ten?” 

He turned his head toward the statue. From that angle, I could only see the [darker/lighter] of his eyes. But, even beneath the shadow of his heavy brow, I saw a spark of life again. “I’m in.”

Another man with whom I have a very complicated relationship. 

Morzan was a jackass to the quick. But he was also a really incredible friend to have (better than some people deserve). It’s more appropriate to think of Morzan as an especially antisocial hound. He had a gift for violence and no real qualms about hurting anyone who strayed into his path, but he was loyal-- beyond a fault!-- to Torix. Without that guiding hand, he probably would have lived a normal life as a rider. But after nearly a century of murder, madness, and heavy drinking… any dregs of his soul that survived his initial breaking were lost in the darkness. He never did anything especially heinous to me beyond those early years, but that was purely a matter of chance. Besides, Torix thought I needed a more “personal” touch. 

He proved very insightful when it came to the handling of Balor. The fact was that all my knowledge was second or third hand, where Morzan had worked alongside the man for decades. He had a wealth of information on his habits, weaknesses, hopes, fears . Balor lived and died for a very simple goal: wealth. His first and only love was gold. Even his dragon was bronze in color, she was a literal living treasure. It was her wits that originally propped up his success. As her sanity waned, so too did his profits. Add to that his marked reliance on his own products… he was well and truly vulnerable for the first time in his “career”. 

As to actually executing the operation, I was still missing a crucial piece: trustworthy pawns.

Antebellum looked older. 

I couldn’t deny my petty satisfaction. Her oceanic eyes had little creases at the corners, her rosy cheeks had filled noticeably, and that mischievous grin was bracketed in smile lines. The exquisite gown in a lavender brocade had been tailored to mask her weight gain and imperfect posture. And yet, she was still magnetic ! If anything, the subtle signs of aging only made her seem more regal, more established, more… confident. 

As soon as she glimpsed me at the edge of the drawing room, she sat up sharply. Three other women, each of them much younger and less beautiful, turned fully around to look at me. A flicker of irritation vanished behind a sickly sweet smile. “Poppets, we’ll have to carry on another time. Leave the grown women in peace now, shoo! Off with you!” She tapped one of them on the back with her hand fan, flicking it out and tittering. The three scooted from their bench awkwardly, like lambs that still hadn’t found their feet. Two of them scurried off without even meeting my eye, but the last-- a petite blonde somewhere in her early teens-- remembered to curtsy and even favored me with a meek smile. As soon as the door closed, Antebellum patted the settee and whispered, “Were we ever that witless?” 

“We?” I grinned. “I never had the luxury of playing the fool. But I seem to recall a young woman many years ago who enchanted all the court just by batting her eyes and feigning idiocy.” 

The little fan came down on my thigh without a second’s hesitation, like she’d expected the rebuke. “It’s no picnic, playing the featherhead! One is woefully incapable of escaping banality.” She snapped at a servant nestled in one corner and gestured to the remaining spread of tea. “Rid us of this and bring something fresh. You still prefer herbal blends over real tea?” 

I waved a hand. “I don’t have time--” 

“You haven’t much choice, I’m afraid. I’ve just said that I’ve been stifled in mundanity, my dear friend. Your company is the only cure, and it is the price of my assistance.” 

I blinked. She really has settled into her own. “Who says I came to ask for help?” 

She pursed her lips and lifted her thin brows in a blistering reprimand. “ I do. And why shouldn’t I? It’s the only reason you ever visited me before; why should it change now?” 

“I can’t refute you, though I confess I’m a touch embarrassed.” 

“If it’s as serious as all that, then you may join me for tea in penance.” By then, her capable manservant had carried in a tray laden with elegant china and froofy yellow cakes. I took three, just to be safe. Antebellum accepted her cup and nestled back into the low sofa’s cushions. “Excellent. Now, tell me everything that you can. I’m starved for interesting gossip!” 

I started on a-- thin and meatless-- retelling of my adventures. I fed her with some of the tales from Hrama’s shop; she was a fiend for fashion and gossip alike, and she devoured the meaningless morsels rapaciously. Of Makhek I said nothing, and I was equally circumspect about the details of my imprisonment. 

She waved me off when I reached the end of my travels from the mountains. “The rest of the tale is known to me, at least as much as I’m sure you’d like to share.” 

I swallowed. “How many know?” 

She chewed her fifth cake thoughtfully. “It’s hard to say. It’s being said that those old rumors were a cover for your service as the king’s personal assassin. Then your absence was the real cause behind a string of suspicious deaths along the southern boarder. Surda actually set a half-dozen spies to the capital to investigate the truth of that, though they’re all dead now. Others say that you’ve returned from seclusion after giving birth to a child with hooves and a single curled horn. My personal favorite version is that you’d wandered between the threads of our world and landed upon another!”

I felt like breaking things. Did I really expect the court to have changed? Oh yes, the names and faces may shift… but the games are just the same. And their empty gossip-mongering. “I’m sorry to report that not one of them strays anywhere near the mark.” 

“Pish,” Antebellum replaced her emptied plate on the tray with a gentle tink, “the truth matters only as much as who knows it. As it stands, no one but you and His Majesty knows all, and I doubt…” Her words died in her throat. 

I leaned forward, suddenly just as greedy as she had been. 

She swallowed and pointedly flicked her eyes to her servant. Without a word, the young man bowed respectfully and exited the room. She sighed and tapped a nail on her fan. “I doubt that our king takes much note of the threads he holds... if you follow.” 

So his condition has become so noticeable that it is freely discussed in court. That alone spoke volumes. When I’d stood at his side, speaking-- even thinking -- ill of the king was done very carefully, if ever. If it had become so commonplace, so casual, that even I could hear it, then things were beyond serious: they were nearing a tipping point. “I haven’t seen much of him since my return.” Even agreeing with her [ which I obviously did ], I wouldn’t dare speak the words. 

“There are even some,” she continued very quietly, “who were relieved to see you returned to Uru’baen.” 

I set my half-full cup next to hers. “There is little I can do as far as politics--” 

“No, dear, I mean to say,” she leaned closer, dropping her rich voice as low as possible, “it is a comfort to them that a suitable heir is on hand.” 

I blinked at her; scandalized, shocked, and deeply uncomfortable. “Whatever might ail the king, he’s sure to live many more centuries.” 

“Some would consider that a great pity.” 

Naked treason, spoken to the king’s own family. What a miserable state of affairs. I tried to laugh off her insinuations. “The court loathed me then, and I’m certain the feeling has not changed so drastically in only a decade.” 

Her eyes widened as she opened her fan, hiding her discrediting expression. “Pardon the candor, but it seems not to be a surfeit of love for you. Rather--” 

“Loathing for him.” I completed. 

She paled and searched my face nervously. “I won’t insult your intelligence so long as you return the kindness.” 

I leaned my head back and stared out the top pane of the drawing room’s window. King. I never aspired to it; Torix had no real need of a successor. We always knew that, if he ever were dispatched, it would be in a (likely very bloody) revolt and any claim I might have would be forfeit anyway. And besides, I doubt his governors would accept a woman.  But if not me, then who? Would anyone with half a wit back Morzan or any of the other forsworn? And, should they do so, would I really sit back and let our people fall into their hands? More than a few nobles have ambition enough to be King… but none of them have near enough personal power to make it so. Doubtless, they’d only back me to pursue the crown via matrimony. But, once crowned, which of them would dare try to force me into marriage? 

I blinked away the blurry daydreams. Antebellum pretended not to notice my lapse, adjusting one of her many silver rings. I cleared my throat and said, “I am far from that fate if it even is mine.”  I nudged her foot playfully. “But, if you’ve a mind to a coup, I have a much less deadly one in mind.” A blind man could have seen her spark of interest. “I need some agents to act as my eyes and ears on the ground in Teirm. How many of our friends are still active?” 

She groaned theatrically. “No more than a half dozen. And, sincerest apologies for this, I moved most of them to Aroughs to work on my behalf.” 

That struck me as odd. “Trouble back home?” That was exceptionally rare for the masked lords. Their function was to work in tandem with their host city; one purpose divided between two bodies. If Antebellum lost the favor of her sponsor, she had less power than the meanest commoner. 

Her pretty lips contorted in a frown. “My working relationship with My Lord's heir is tenuous at best. Unfortunately, the spring fever came strong this year and he took infection in the lung. He’s unlikely to see another winter.” 

I sat up straighter. “What’s your next move?” 

She tittered, exactly as playful as she’d been when she’d sent off the girls only a few hours ago. “I don’t like to think of it as a game, with plays to calculate years in advance. All of this-- you, me, our enemies and friends-- we are dancers on a great stage. Those who rely on meticulous choreography inevitably fall to the fickle crowd. But you and I, we survive because we can improvise . My next pose may be incidental, decisive, or the one that finally lays our noble house low, but I promise you this ,” her impassioned speech had her flushed and breathless, her little white teeth bared in addictive excitement, “it shall be glorious .”

This bitch has my heart by the reigns to this very day. Not many people can pull off “eccentric lady on the cutting edge of both society and sanity” with such panache. I don’t trust her, nobody ever should, but I like working with her. Old age in Uru’baen is a badge of pure skill, and Antebellum has earned every stripe. I am grateful to have her on my side… and infinitely more grateful that there aren’t any more like her (or I would be out of a job).

This leaves our teams assembled as such: 

An old, vacuous, self-serving, over-indulgent, miserly disgrace to humankind, his childhood friend; a pedophilic cretin with a hygiene deficiency, and a seemingly endless supply of his employees (with wildly varying degrees of nastiness). 

Arrayed against: 

A disgraced princess, an alcoholic savant with anger management issues, and a misfit bundle of informants gathered by an eccentric socialite, and a young thief with a big dream. 

It was time to go to war.

Chapter Text

My new allies fueled my imagination. Morzan was in charge of Balor; part surveillance and part distraction. Luckily for me, Mama was a man of myriad vices (ie: the exact sort of person that Balor made his fortune serving). Morzan was perfectly content to keep Balor company while I dug into his business. Beren was almost always attached to Balor’s hip, and the hours he had to himself he was unreachable. Antebellum found an agent capable of passing for a much younger woman. The business was unsavory in the extreme, but more effective than I could have ever imagined. 

I gained a much clearer picture of Balor’s operations through their efforts. In particular, I learned that Balor’s primary interest in Teirm was a smuggling ring; a whole network of people leeching off of every shipment. Silton and his lackeys kept tabs on the ships themselves and their owners, hence their total dominance of the docks and surrounding neighborhoods. Many merchants knew something was amiss but were too scared to act. Balor had enough of his employees scattered in the guard to keep the nobles blind to it all. Anyone who blew the whistle would be promptly and succinctly dealt with (more than one had been murdered already). Our only hope to shake his grip on Teirm was to attack his investments directly. He needed to see that keeping his foothold would cost more than it would pay. And to do that… 

We needed to cause a little mayhem.

It was nearly an hour past sundown when the first coded knock interrupted my meditation. I ushered Felice into my rented room, barring the crooked door behind her. She sat on the straw mattress, one boot kicked up on the rungs of the same stool where our only lamp flickered. I crossed my arms and leaned back against the door. “You’re the first to arrive. Are your friends always late to appointments?” 

“Only important ones,” she said with a grin. 

I shook my head. What am I doing, working with amateurs again? 

Technically, Katana added with amusement, they are the professionals and we are the amateurs. 

Just because I’ve never stolen purely for money--

You’ve never stolen for survival . There can be no ego in this mission; follow their instincts, and offer ours in kind. 

I sighed, relaxing my shoulders. How long have you been the strategist between us? 

Since the moment you found me. 

Felice layed out a series of instruments on the rough bedspread; a club of worn driftwood, a half-dozen pins on a length of cord, and a wickedly sharp (if shabby) dirk. She bent down to retighten the laces on her boots. She asked, “Why do we think that tonight will be any different from the other times people have tried to rip them off?” Even a blind man could see she was nervous. 

“Because,” I said patiently, “We know that they are at their weakest tonight. One of Silton’s top men got himself scooped up in a drunken brawl, his bosses are far away and deep in their cups, and we are rallied. We won’t have another opportunity like this.” 

“You call a dozen pissed-off thugs in a fortress an opportunity?” She puffed her cheeks and sighed. “We’re fucked.” 

“No talking like that when the others arrive. It’s your job to keep them focused and motivated.”  

“It’s not my job to lie to them!” 

“Of course it is. Tonight must go perfectly if any of you are going to survive; if you want justice for Sugar. And the only hope you have of that happening is if you can hold them steady, by any means necessary.” I rested my hands on my hips, so very close to a pair of trustworthy daggers. “If you can’t, then I suggest you tell me right now.” 

Felice narrowed her eyes, sweeping her rough-chopped hair back and tying on a headcloth. “Thanks for the pep talk, Red. Speaking of, you should really consider a hood.” 

I fingered the end of my braid. As fun as it’s been to be a ginger, there are certainly advantages to having dark hair. “You’re right. Have one to spare?” 

“Yep!” She reached into her shoulder bag and tossed over a scarf. “It needs a pin.” 

I had just fastened it in place when there was another knock. This time, I opened the door  to see two strangers, as different as two people could be. The first was a slender blonde woman with pale skin and grey-green eyes; pretty as a fairy and twice as mischievous. Behind her stood a tall man with broad shoulders and medium brown skin. He was heavily scarred on his hands and lower arms. Both were draped in ill-fitting dark clothing and wore sturdy working boots. I stepped back so Felice could view our guests. She lifted her chin in greeting and the pair joined her in the already puny room. 

“About time!” Felice scolded, swatting the man on his shoulder. “You’re making me look bad.” 

“Don’t take much, do it?” He grinned. “Sorry Mom, won’t happen again.” 

“Who’re you calling Mom, ya’ damn mongrel--” 

“We really are sorry,” the woman slid in, “but we thought it would be worth it to have these along,” She unhooked a bundle of cloth from her belt and unfolded it. A half-dozen steaming rolls filled the room with a buttery-sweet aroma. “We can’t possibly do a job if we’re all starving.” 

“Here, here!” The man cheered, scooping one of the rolls up and shoving half of it into his mouth. 

Felice relented and accepted the peace offering. “Thank you, Sugar. If you could just put a muzzle on this mister of yours--” 

“Thish Mshter neesh no mushlin!” Speckles of bread flew all over the bed and Felice’s legs as he protested. 

“Wolfy, please chew before you argue.” The girl, Sugar, patted his leg soothingly. Contrary to his own protestations, he did relax… marginally. 

“So we have your infiltration specialist and our third blade. We’re still waiting on one more?” 

“Monty,” Felice said, “he’s mine. A bit soft for street work, but he’s the sharpest of us all.” 

“She means he can read,” Wolfy added helpfully. 

A third and final knock brought the last member of our band into the space. He was a shockingly average-looking man; medium height and build,  brown hair and eyes, unremarkable features… all around, the kind of person that could be ignored by anyone. He entered with a bowed head, “Sorry to keep you waiting, Love. My boss ran me ragged at the last minute. I thought I'd never get away!” 

“Alls well,” Felice patted the bed next to her, scooping her tools into her lap. 

“And we have the inventory man.” I triple-checked that my wards were secure, then refocused on my guests. These four were the only official members of Felice’s little family. No one would ever guess that this group was an aspiring gang. But, then again, they’re all so comfortable with one another. That takes considerable trust and teamwork. 

The forsworn themselves never had better. Katana mused. 

I smiled. And all they needed was a powerful, ambitious, and bitter mage to give them a push. 

Then get to pushing! We’re losing moonlight. 

I bowed deeply with a flourish. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet Felice’s family. We are gathered here tonight against a mutual enemy; one that has loosed a rain of bullshit on those beneath him for far too long. I’m sure that she’s already told you most of the plan, but please be patient with me as we run through it once more. It is not complicated, but the timing must be perfect.” 

Sugar waved, Wolfy saluted with his second bun, and Monty offered a hearty, “Good evening!” 

“Thank you. Our target tonight is a warehouse on the south side of town. Though it is nondescript by design, it will likely be guarded by every goon Silton can spare. We,” I gestured to Felice, Wolfy, and myself, “will be in charge of keeping their attention and capturing as many of them as possible. And remember: if Silton escapes then this will all have been for nothing.”

“I want him,” Wolfy said, hand resting protectively on Sugar’s calf. 

“If he crosses your path, he’s all yours. But I want him alive if possible. The goal is to make a name for your group; an excess of violence would send the wrong message.”

“Death would be too easy for that weasel,” Sugar hissed. Wolfy nudged his head under her chin and she pet his hair. 

“You two,” I continued, gesturing to Monty and Sugar, “Will start examining their stores while the fighting is still going on. We’re looking for any cargo that’s flammable, hazardous, or human.” 

“They have people locked in a warehouse?!” Monty was beside himself. “Those rat bastards! ” 

I nodded encouragingly. So there’s fire behind that meek face after all. Interesting. “Anything too dangerous to steal will be destroyed when we leave. If they do have slaves there, leave them until the fighting is done. We can’t protect people from the shadows, which is precisely where we’ll be.”

“What do we do if some of the vermin slip the trap?” Felice asked. “They’ll run home to their masters and have us hunted down like dogs.”

I gave her the only answer I had, “Then they won’t escape.”

-:- -:- -:-

How predictable . The warehouse was the quintessential shady hideout.  The dark wood was weather-beaten and warped. A few stacks of rancid shipping crates occupied the stretch of bare dirt between the building and the road. Heavy chains were fastened over the entrance and two workers loitered on each corner.  “Sentries,” I whispered back to my companions.

“We can take them out before they make a peep!” Felice said. 

“We could, but Sugar and Monty will have a much easier time if they raise the alarm.” I flipped open my own bag of tricks, carefully taking out three wrapped packages. 

“And we’ll have a much harder time,” Wolfy reasoned. 

“Not quite. You two make for the middle and far right stacks of crates and I’ll take the left. When things kick off, the sentries will make some noise and rush toward me. Then you two can knock them down before their reinforcements come. If we’re quick enough, we can reuse the same strategy for most of their force.”

“And if we’re not?” 

I shrugged. “Then this gets a lot messier.” 

My two companions did as I asked. Wolfy darted from shadow to shadow like he’d been born to do it; as much a part of the night as the bats darting overhead. Felice was slower, but careful as any sneak I’d ever seen. I took my moment of solitude to compose a spell. A shiver in the air, no more than the sheen of mists fading before a sunrise, marked the position of my barrier. Even if they flee, no one will make it through that. 

Including your allies if you manage to get yourself killed. Katana added helpfully.

Then I won’t. I dipped behind my allotted stack of crates; the first package tucked snugly in my palm.   I rested my present in a tipped crate, with deliciously dry, rotten wood on all sides. Let’s hope those lessons with Amroth were good for more than singed eyebrows. I crept back through the darkness a few feet before uttering the deceased mad genius’s favorite word, “Istalri.” 

I definitely did not move back enough. I expected flames, but I didn’t expect the shower of shrapnel that rained from the explosion. I had to duck my head into my cloak to protect myself from the splinters of wood. When I looked again, a roaring inferno blazed before me. Do you think that’s distracting enough? I slid Katana the image proudly. 

It must be, since you’re just as distracted as they are! 

Not a chance! I waved a hand, guiding a shroud of smoke to cover my steps as I circled to the left. As expected, the sentries had raised a whole panic before rushing into the thick of things all on their own. 

My extended foot tripped the forth man straight into the third. I pounced on the tripper’s back, knocking the wind out of both him and the poor sod tangled underneath. him. I unhooked a length of rope, dropped it to the ground, and whispered, “Bindr.” The two became a single knot of limbs, flailing in discomfort and confusion. I hopped off to the next group. The trailing man had noticed the commotion behind him, really quite remarkable given the circumstances, and had bared a short sword to deal with the potential threat. 

If only he’d had the wit to use it properly. He stretched forward as much he could, stabbing forward as I ran at him. I stepped aside, coming inside of his reach before he could even process what had befallen him. I grabbed a fistful of his collar and pushed him wide to the side, completing the overbalance he’d begun in his cut. The sword clattered out of his grip, alerting his partner. Said partner turned just in time to catch my boot in his chest instead of his back. I set another rope on these two. It wasn’t quite long enough to reach both where they lay, so it coiled around one’s torso and dragged him towards his companion. 

Felice and Wolfy needed no more help than I did; they’d each dropped two a piece. Felice’s cheek was smeared with blood, but it didn’t seem to be hers. Wolfy held the last man in a chokehold while Felice knotted his limbs together. I skipped back into the shadows and turned toward the warehouse. 

I’d grossly underestimated their numbers. Far from a dozen, closer to three dozen, dark shapes milled around just outside of the warehouse. Even worse, one of the figures was pointing back into the building and some of the men were moving in that direction. Time for more distractions then. I scampered up the center stack of crates and called down to my merry band of helpers, “Sneak off and help the others!” Then I sent the other two packages flying, one into the far right stack of boxes and one high overhead. Steady… now! Just as the two explosions rent the night, I loosed a shrill whistle. “Oi, Silton! Will you keep sending your girlfriends to play with me, or are you going to face me yourself?” 

Luckily, my plan worked. Unluckily, it worked very, very well. The whole pack of them rushed straight down the center in a clump. I snapped out a thread of magic and my third victim’s dropped weapon lept eagerly to my hand. The crowd broke somewhat on the stack of crates, like a snake unsure of where to strike first. The most eager of them started to clamber up after me. For a short time, I did a good job of kicking them and hacking at their exposed hands. But one of them managed to get a grubby fist around my ankle and yanked me down. I didn’t bother to spare him, burying my borrowed blade in his shoulder. He crumpled into a perfect stepping stool for me to regain my perch. 

This time I didn’t stop on the middle tier, instead darting as high as I dared. First one arrow then another sank into the wood to my left. I squinted, but the smoke from my first distraction obscured the archer from me. And besides, I had more immediate concerns. A dingy hand groped around my footing. I stamped down on the digits until their host shriveled off, growling in pain. From somewhere below I heard the furious roar of, “Burn that bitch!” 

Now that is a problem. I slid two daggers free of their sheaths. These blades had been with me longer than any others. They weren’t special in their own right, but they were reliable and as comfortable in my hands as any weapon could be. I surveyed the tier below me and chose the least prepared wretch to be my test subject. I stepped off the crate directly behind him, leaned my back against it, and kicked out with my right leg. He tumbled, screaming like a sow betrayed to the ax. The men to my left and right caught a blade each in their sides before they could bring their longer weapons to bear. They joined the first man in his fall and I jumped after them. 

The attackers became more jumbled and confused the farther down I traveled, especially when they stumbled over their comrades. But I was still a full ten feet off the ground when I heard a triumphant shout from off to my left. A man held a shard of blazing shrapnel aloft in one hand, a small vessel of some kind in the other. He chucked the board onto the lowest tier and a whole six feet of it burst into oily flame. The remaining men panicked and fled, some already doomed to a truly horrific fate. I clenched my jaw, resheathed my knives, and sprinted straight along my current shelf. 

I jumped as far out as I could, tucking into a haphazard roll as soon as I was sure I’d cleared the fire. The men were scattering. Many of them would soon find my little barrier, and then they would really be dangerous; trapped like rats. Cut off the head, defang the snake.  I scanned the field for the man I’d seen before. That one had to be Silton; there couldn’t be two men that despicable in one city. 

Apparently, he’d had a very similar thought because he was already stalking towards me. He held a wicked polearm, spiked at one end and weighted with a dual spike-hammer head on the other. Strong, versatile, cocky. I rearmed myself and set a ready pose. Nothing I haven’t seen. 

Be extra careful anyway. Balor could have given him some tricks. 

Silton wasn’t much of a talker, for which I was grateful. He came at me already swinging and bellowing. I tried to bait him into overreaching, but he was as dexterous as he was murderous. He also seemed just as comfortable with his right hand as he was with his left, launching his attacks from unpredictable angles. I mostly played an evasive game, watching his body language for any sign of hesitation. But then my opponent broke his limited courtesy, cooing, “Not so cocky now, rank little slit! I’ll poke a few new holes in you, and give all my lads a go!” 

I curled my nose. I’m going to castrate this one before we bring him in. 

Please leave me out of that particular process.

Will do. 

As our fight progressed, I sensed a bit of an audience queuing up. They aren’t stepping in to help him. They want to know how this is going to end before they do anything, one way or the other. This proved an encouraging thought. I grimaced and forced more of my attention to the man himself, relaxing into a rhythm. 

He was larger than me, still young to be this skilled, and athletic to a fault. Sweat ran down his face, both from his efforts and from the roaring heat to either side of us. Through the grime I caught the sheen of a thick, straight scar running down the right side of his face; as if someone had deliberately pressed a knife to it long ago. On a hunch, I feinted my left blade as near to his face as I thought prudent. Sure enough, he abandoned an attack combination to block me. I rewarded his speedy reaction with a superficial but long slash on his left hip. He disengaged for a moment, glaring at me with pure hatred. 

Katana, I have a plan. Loan me a little energy? 

What's mine is yours. 

The sudden rush of strength felt like lightning in my veins. I kept my muscles loose, as if fighting exhaustion. He sensed it too, closing like a scavenger and readying his polearm for a new flurry of attacks. The spikes were easily the more deadly parts of the weapon, but it was the hammer I truly feared. If he managed to knock one of my daggers squarely, I doubted I could keep my grip. I could tell that he knew it too, and it was that very thing that I was counting on. 

Silton didn’t disappoint. He waded in, defenses even tighter than before and twice as ferocious. I played his game.  I crept backward to avoid meeting him directly, though one of his swings did manage to tug my pinned hood free and graze my cheek. He chased and chased, growing more frustrated with every evasion. Finally, I danced back into somethign that would serve my purposes; a chunk of smoldering wood. I broke my rhythm as soon my foot touched it, readying for his onslaught. He rushed in greedily from my right, swinging with all his might for my left hand. I tweaked into his swing just enough to catch the shaft of his polearm on the edge of my blade. My arm went numb with the strain, but it worked; he was locked to me and functionally helpless. Before he could react, I leveled all that stored power into one brutal kick on the polearm’s shaft. The weapon splintered and cracked with the telltale sizzling pop of dissipating magic. The dreaded hammer head fell to the dirt. 

I dropped my left blade along with it, snatched the remnants of the pole, and shoved it back toward its wielder like a spear. It lodged in his right shoulder and he bellowed in rage. My next kick was straight where he most deserved it, and he crumpled to the ground in real agony. I hopped right on his chest, knee pressed up to his jaw, and my remaining dagger resting against his unmarred cheek. “Surrender for your men to hear, or I’ll get to work on, how did you put it, “poking a few new holes?” But I won’t use them to be a pig,” I pressed the blade until a pinprick of blood oozed near the tip, “I’ll just fill them with more of that burning oil you seemed to like so much.” 

“Alright!” He growled. “I surrender! You win, psycho bitch--”

I punched out with the hilt of my dagger to cut his whining short. “That’s it! You all heard him.” I got to my feet, stiff but satisfied. “Surrender now and none of you will be harmed further. Waste my time or try anything funny, and you’ll all be kindling!” 

No one had much to say to the contrary. 

-:- -:- -:- 

“C’mon, we can’t waste much time!” Monty fretted over his scribbled notes. “The city watch most definitely saw all those explosions.” 

“Sure, but half of them are paid off to not mind what happens over here. And the rest are probably scared out of their wits.” Felice chirped merrily, tucking a bulging sack of coins into her bag. 

“Civilians then! No one can see us here, or we’ll all be up on the gallows together.” 

“Not all,” Wolfy added, “Just him.” He kicked Silton in the ribs one more time for good measure. 

The bound lump groaned and spat out a mouthful of blood. I’d left him in pretty decent shape, but Wolfy wasn’t quite satisfied with that. The extra bruises were well deserved after all, and a lot kinder than my original plan. Still, our prisoner was a pretty ungrateful bit of luggage. He growled, “You may as well just kill me. Either my boss will have me offed in prison, or the court will rip me open on the rack trying to prosecute him. Either way, it's over for me. 

“Agreed,” Sugar purred, “But things are just starting for us. And they start with you on your way to the lawmen.” 

“You’re only our problem for a few more minutes. And, if you keep quiet, they might even be spent without a club shoved up your--” 

“Wolfy!” Felice flicked the back of his ear. “Don’t get him riled up again, or we’ll be here all night.” 

“And we should already be gone,” I said pointedly, gesturing to the cart of pilfered goods. Unfortunately, we’d caught them between major shipments of valuables. The most they had was a few crates of whale oil-- worth twice its weight in gold, but damn impossible to transport safely with the embers still floating around out there. The coins we’d taken, some textile goods and other petty baubles Monty and Sugar had carefully packed into a cart with the rest of our prisoners. But the real victory of the day was the two dozen slaves we’d let loose, with a few gold coins each to land on their feet. Three of them-- a mother and her two daughters-- had even asked to stay with us. Felice had the youngest in her arms like her very own, fretting over all three just as any doting mother would. 

“Wait a mo…. You.” Silton’s voice was no longer wretched and rough; it was alite with dread and delight. “I know you.” 

I didn’t even need to see his face to know he was looking at me. The others all froze and watched me with disquiet. I sighed and rolled my shoulders. “Not possible.” 

“No, no, I do! You’re the king’s own bastard!” Silton's glee was palpable now. “My boss told me to look out for you, and if I caught you snooping around to close up shop a while.” 

I felt the group pull back in sudden fright. “The rambles of a doomed man aren’t worth much, I’m afraid.” 

“Then how come I know your name, hm? It’s Lil--” My punch came just a second too late. My fists were clenched so tightly that they were numb, my heart was pounding. Even in a burned-out cesspit hellhole, I still can’t escape his shadow. 

Calm yourself. Katana leeched my rage out like a poultice on a festering wound. I know why you’re upset, but this is neither the time nor place for self-pity. They need answers and reassurance now. 

I relaxed my hands and shook them out slowly. “Serves me right for using my real name. Unfortunately for you, that little tidbit isn’t going to help you--” 

“Oh yes it is!” He leered, teeth bloody. “I swore not to talk about my boss, but I swore no such promise to you. I’d be happy to tell them all about my new best friend. Unless, of course, you let me be.” 

“Fat chance of that!” Wolfy darted forward and kicked him onto his side, spitting on him as he fell. Then he whirled on me. “And don’t think I’m on your side either. What the fuck is a damn princess doing running around in a gutter?” 

Sugar sidled up to Wolfy and hugged his arm. “Baby, not now. We can talk after we deliver the goods and the grunts. We need to go.” 

“She’s right,” Felice waved her free hand. “There’ll be time for this when all is done.”

“It’s a pretty short story,” I said. “The king is a cunt, and a worthless one at that. I decided to do a little good wherever I could. I started with Teirm, with your family. There’s more to it, of course, but that’s the gist.” 

“Smells like shit to me,” Wolfy growled. 

Monty cut in, gesturing over Silton’s groaning body, “And besides the point, what’s to be done about all of this ! If we bring him, it will be certain ruin for Ms. Lilly.” 

“Fuck her,” Wolfy glared at me, every bit a guard dog on full alert. “She lied to us!” 

“Hey!” Felice snapped at him. “Lying and thieving go together like jam on toast. And families don’t fall apart over one stupid lie. She’s family now,” she turned a narrowed eye to me, “until proven otherwise.” 

 “I know what to do with Silton,” I said coolly. I hooked the ropes around his torso and dragged him to the section of the warehouse that was still loaded with whale oil. “Can’t talk to anyone if he’s dead.” 

I thought the proposition would bring on a maelstrom of objections. Aside from the man himself, I heard not a peep. I turned, and my four cohorts were all exchanging glances. Monty was the one who finally broke the tension. “Cold-blooded as a striking viper.” 

Felice chuckled. “That’s not a bad name, Viper. And you’ve even got two fangs on you!” 

Wolfy sniffed and leaned his head on top of Sugar’s. “It’s only fair. If you’re really family now, you need a name. Wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place if you had one.” 

A strange tightness started around my chest. I tugged one of my “fangs” free and pressed it against the man’s throat. “Anything else?” 

“Just one more thing,” Sugar whispered. “Let him be awake for it.” 

I blinked. And they’re calling me cold-blooded? Then I smiled warmly, tucking my blade away. “Bad luck, Silton. You fucked with the wrong family.” Then I patted the poor wretch’s cheek and hopped into the cart. 

We trundled off to Teirm’s third ring, the entire warehouse a pillar of flame behind us.

How convenient that my little barrier protected the buildings around it until all was said and done. It also kept nosy bystanders from finding much besides charred bones of the men who didn’t survive our onslaught. Those that did were only luckier by a thin margin, as they were part of our gift to the lawmen of Teirm. We provided an itemized list of goods “nobly returned” by the “right and honorable brotherhood of thieves” who “took exception to the methods of these fallen souls” as well as the wanted posters for each of our prisoners (provided by yours truly). And the best part? We hung them by their wrists in plain view of one of the fanciest homes in the city, wrapped up like winter-festival sweets!  All of Teirm was buzzing about it, in the best and worst way. A new gang, clearly very powerful and brazen as hell, but also possessed of a “conscience”? What an oddity! The nobles thought it very droll, and the merchants were just relieved to be rid of Silton and his ilk. 

The family and I had a long, serious talk about my history. I opened up to them fairly, if not fully. They gained a better understanding of my position (mostly through Monty’s help) and even came to accept me as I was; incomplete, imperfect, and freshly burned. Felice was especially welcoming. “If I knew I was robbing royalty, I’d have tried to take even more!” I kept the name Viper, for use only in their dealings of course. I went on to work very closely indeed with Felice.

But first, there was a reckoning I needed to survive.

“You wanted to see me, Father?” I bowed low in the doorway of the meeting room. A dozen or so pairs of eyes sized me up nervously. I tucked my chin low to hide my mirth. 

“You were summoned, yes.” My unscrupulous use of the familial title must have bothered him even more than I thought it would; he seemed ready to explode in front of his assembled advisors. 

I did a quick sweep of the ground; not a skirt in sight. Seems that Verra only replaced one of my myriad duties, and the least important one at that. 

A little too pleased with yourself, aren’t you? Katana prodded.

Maybe. Speaking of, I’m sure that he is very dis pleased with me at the moment. You’d better seperate from me until--

I can endure anything you can. This was as much my scheme as it was your’s. 

I swallowed my tenderness. Very well. But I’m about to make him even angrier. 

That would be impressive, considering. 

I tuned back into the room as twelve chairs pushed in at once. Only two people kept their seats; Galbatorix and Morzan. I righted myself and closed the doors, all the while keeping an eye on the king’s back. “What’s vexed you?” 

His fingers twitched and the stem of his goblet shattered. He stood and whirled around, brow furrowed and fists clenched. “Dare you feign ignorance of the recenter disaster in Teirm?” 

At least we’re not mincing words. “As a matter of fact, I am in the dark yet. Explain it to me?” 

He lifted a hand to strike me but a sudden pop broke his momentum. Both of turned to Morzan, who sat with a freshly decorked bottle in one hand. He kicked his feet up on the table and leaned back. “Couldn’t have been her, Daddy.” 

Torix, much to my genuine shock, dropped his hand. “Who else?” 

Mommy dug in his ear disinterestedly. “No clue. But she was running a little errand for me in Belatona.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. At Morzan’s lazy smile, I added, “Right. Traders had gotten hold of some dwarven brandy. We figured you’d rather have me gone than him.” 

Torix looked between us carefully, as if weighing something. He dusted off the shoulder of his cape and remarked, “All that proves is that she wasn’t physically there. Who’s to say it wasn’t still an object of her design?” 

Morzan shrugged. “Good point. Finding that out is more your business, Daddy.” 

My fragile hopes sunk. Thank you for trying, Mom. And fuck you for not trying harder.

Torix seemed mollified somewhat by that concession. Then he flicked a dismissive hand at Morzan. The big man staggered to his feet, tossed me an encouraging salute, and meandered out of the meeting room. “Then the question becomes, who acted as the pawn?”

I tapped my fingers on my hips impatiently. “Why don’t you strap me down and find out, if you’re so sure I’m guilty.” 

He scowled dangerously. “What makes you believe that I won’t?” 

Oh, I know you will. My mind flicked like a frightened rabbit between old memories; things buried much deeper than my conscious thoughts could reckon. “Here’s a more pertinent question; why do you care?” 

He chuckled, but it was tight and strained. “Balor is quite put out about it--” 

“Keeping Balor happy is not my concern,” I crossed my arms, “nor is it yours.” 

Whatever the correct thing to say was, it was not this. Instead of exploding, as had become his habit since my return, he stiffened and relaxed his features into a mask of nonchalance. “Speak your mind, Lilleth.” Torix lowered himself back into his seat, muscles rigid as stone. “If I like what you have to say, then I will pardon this inconvenience. If not, I will add ten lashes for every impertinent comment you make. ” 

I shivered quite against my will. For all his many (and varied) talents, one of the most appropriately terrifying was his skill with a whip. His favorite instrument was a barbed thing that could skin a fish in mid-air. I’d seen what it did to flesh up close and personal, and it wasn’t a torment I could face down easily. 

I swallowed hard. “You told me that you would have no part in dealing with Balor. You never said that I was forbidden from dealing with him in my own way.” 

He tapped one finger on the arm of his chair, scowling and agitated. “So you confess?” 

“There was no crime.” I held up two fingers. “Criminals were handed over and stolen goods were returned. The only thing I admit is that my will and that of the person responsible are aligned; Balor has had the run of the underworld for too long. If one has emerged to challenge him, then I can only wish them good fortune.” 

“Ten.” He said coolly. “The crown may not ally itself with brigands--” 

“Like Balor?” I asked. Before he could threaten me further, I added, “He declared war on me a decade ago. I handled it. He has no right to come crawling to you just because his bet came up short; because he made the same mistake that people always have.” 

“Twenty.” Torix paused, chewing my words with a sour expression. His fingers flexed. “Enlighten me, Princess. What mistake is that?” 

“The same one Vrael made.” Torix’s face darkened in sudden malice. I licked my lips. “You once told me that you and he were never in love? He never loved you because he never respected you. He didn’t trust or fear you because he never thought you worthy of either. You were an oddity; a decoration. When you turned on him, he still underestimated you at every turn. That very disdain is what eventually cost him his life.” 

“Thirty.” 

“And you learned quite a bit from him, didn’t you?” He stood, stalking toward me like a prowling animal. His eyes burned with something much uglier than hate. “Never, not for a single moment of our liaison, did you actually take me seriously. There never was an us ; just you and the joke you turned me into.” 

“Forty.”

“I think that the real final straw for you had nothing to do with the Riders’ sins. You hated being used so much that you decided to bring his life’s work crashing down around him. The rest was just collateral damage.” I stepped back and squared my shoulders. “In light of that, I have a question. What do you think I have in store for you? Because I guarantee, Galbatorix ,” He grabbed my throat, but not tightly enough to stop me from spitting, “before all is said and done, I will have your respect. Even if I must pry it from your cold, dead hands.” 

He stared at me, a thousand conflicting things all whirling across his face. How long he held me like that I’m not totally sure, but the most devilish, snake-eyed smile finally broke through his misty confusion. “Fifty.”

Strange things happen to your mind when you have nothing left to lose. I knew of course that prodding him was reckless but, in that mindset, I no longer cared. If I died in the process of causing him grief, so be it. But an even stranger thing happened in response; nothing . This little exchange set the tone for most of our future communication; open disdain. And yet, he weirdly “trusted” me more when I was openly threatening him than he did when I was trying to prove my innocence. It was like I had finally taken up the script to the reality living in his head. He didn’t let me near anything important, but neither was I held hostage in the house. I even dipped my toe back into politics to aid a beleaguered friend. 

Poor Antebellum had woes of her own.

Chapter Text

It took some contrivance to get me to Aroughs. Dropping in on city-governing nobles is not casually done, even by royalty. I needed them to invite me into their domain (no mean feat to arrange when one hasn’t two friends to rub together). Even more tenuous, I needed to keep Antebellum out of said invitation. If it were her suggestion, then her enemies would be too on guard against me. I kept a careful eye on messages from Aroughs until an opportunity presented itself. I did not get to be choosey about the particulars.

I whined, gritting my teeth in irritation. “This is hell.” 

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” Harold scolded, working through an egregious tangle of curls with a smooth comb. It hadn’t actually looked that bad when he’d begun, but my hair had slowly gained volume and rancor with each uncovered knot. “This is what happens when you leave it untouched for days of travel. If you let me do this more often, these sessions would be easier.” 

“I don’t have time to waste on a beauty regimen.” I clicked my nails on the dressing table as I examined the reflection of my borrowed room. It was beautiful, all mossy greens and pale yellows. A plush bed was tucked into a curtained alcove; piled with enough cushions to comfortably a dragon hatchling. An elegant wardrobe occupied the opposite wall. The dressing table was between the two, fencing a set of circular windows speckled with mid-evening stars. The lady of the house had graciously sacrificed her own space for the honor of hosting me . As I understand it, she spends every moment at her ailing husband’s side anyway. 

Has it gotten as serious as all that? Katana’s mental condition had finally improved enough that she wanted to be kept abreast of the outside world. Her gossip-loving streak may not have been her best quality, but it was still wonderful to see her coming back to life (in a manner of speaking). 

I spoke briefly with the healers when we arrived. His time is now measured in days, if not less. I’d outlived dozens of notable courtiers since Galbatorix’s ascension, but it grew more and more unnerving with every passing year. Lord Halstead Senior only had a decade or two on me, and he’d been a very fit and capable man in his prime. 

The price of freedom is isolation, Katana shared her own disquiet with a warm rush of empathy. She too was unmoored in time. The unaging must also be unmourned. 

Too dreary a subject by far, I teased half-heartedly. Especially since we still have immortals in our very own household. 

I would gladly choose solitude over their company. Her presence faded into a dream-like state; as if she felt the need to further illustrate the point. 

I sighed. Harold noticed the shift from agitation to exhaustion and peeked down at my face. “We could always shear it off if it bothers you so much, My Lady. You may even start a fashion.” 

What? Oh yes, hair. “No one wants to emulate me.” I forced a smile.

Harold lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Well, if your hair is to stay long, then we must tend to it at least once every morning and once every evening. I’ll also put in some research with the other body servants and see if any of them have advice.” He put a hand on my shoulder and his lined face lit up with tenderness. “You can spare a moment for yourself once in a while.” 

I rested my hand on top of his. “What would become of me without you?” 

Harold shrugged modestly. “You would be much the same, but ever-so-slightly less beautiful.” 

I chuckled and shooed him, flinging off my robe and stretching in front of the mirror. I rarely bothered looking at myself; my uninteresting form had remained mostly unchanged for so many years. It took months after my escape to reclaim the weight I’d lost in prison, and I was finally a healthy color again. I diligently [obsessively] removed the products of Galbatorix’s little tantrums as soon as feasible, so most of my scars were faded and thin (in the most extreme cases, whole swaths of fresh skin had to be grown from scratch). The jarring exception was of course the brand on my hip, still angry and red as if it had only freshly healed. Nothing I tried wold even fade the damn thing. It was even visible through my shift as I pressed a hand to the fabric. “Harold, can I ask you something immature without fearing judgment?” 

“Anything and everything, My Lady.” 

“Did you mean that? Am I… beautiful?” The question had never been an important one to me. It felt silly to even ask it. All my life my body had been honed to be a weapon and I was content to have it so. As a princess, no one would dare call me anything else regardless of their actual thoughts on the matter. And as to romance… one of my partners had been a sweet but naive boy and the other a manipulative narcissist (that literally shared my face). No person who was both trustworthy and experienced had ever called me anything; fair or foul. 

Harold’s reflection tilted his head thoughtfully. “I suppose you are, though I admit I’ve never thought much about it.” 

I laughed again, a bit harsher this time. “A tepid answer if ever there were one.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck.“I mean no offense! It’s just that I haven’t put much thought into any other woman since…” he choked off his words and licked his lips.

I spun around to face him. “Since?” All my self conscious musings evaporated a possibilities raced through my mind. “ Other?” 

“Since my…” he was suddenly all bashfulness and anxiety; a very different side of my calm and collected steward! He finally mumbled, “Marriage.” 

My jaw dropped. “You’re married?” 

He stood tall and grinned sheepishly. “Yes, my lady.” 

“To whom?” I’d never been so excited to hear of someone finding love. Among nobles, it was all business and no whimsy. “I demand details!”

Harold held up his hands and looked away. “Please, I would like to speak of this as little as possible,” at my concerned look, he added, “for her safety and mine.” 

The real weight of his secret collapsed in on us. He and I were both intimately familiar with how dangerous his job could become. Over the years, he’d witnessed servants perishing in assassination attempts, mass executions, and freak accidents of all sorts. And then of course there was the biggest threat of all: Galbatorix’s fickle temper. I smiled sadly at him, “Of course. I’m glad you found someone worthy of you, and I wish you both every happiness.” 

His eyes softened as he grinned. With a dapper bow and a flourish, he said, “Thank you, my lady. I will pass on your well-wishing as soon as we return.” He winked. “Though I think you have the situation reversed, for I am hardly worthy of her.” 

“She must be an incredible woman.” His proud expression gave me some peace. I shook my head and gestured to the dressing table. “I submit to your wisdom for the foreseeable future. I need to be presentable tomorrow and, for that, I’ll need all the help I can get.” 

Harold clapped his hands and rolled up his sleeves. “Whatever it takes?” 

I groaned, “If you promise not to scalp me.”

Oh Harold… Many years later, I actually had the honor of meeting his wife. Her name was Rose and she worked in the kitchens in Uru’baen! They were a charming couple really; all softness and sweetness. This diligent seperation of work and personal matters is one of the things I valued in Harold; while he was working he was an extension of my self; when he ended his duties he left all of my business behind. Galbatorix requires that his servants have nothing in their lives but him (gods, doesn’t that sound familiar?). This ensures their obedience and focus, but I think it has an adverse affect of promoting loyalty. I repaid Harold’s trust with a friend’s devotion, guarding his secret as I would guard my own.

-:- -:- -:-

I hadn’t stepped foot into a gala in many years. This one in particular was nothing spectacular, and if it weren’t so conveniently timed I wouldn’t have given the invitation a second thought.  As it was, I had to reacquaint myself with the whole procedure and its many subtle changes. For example, fashions decreed that a put-together lady should wear silk gowns stiffened in the bodice. My insistence on wearing a pair-of-bodies separate from the dress itself was apparently very “old fashioned”. But I couldn’t very well sew sheaths into every gown I owned! And besides, I liked the predictability, comfort, and support of-- I realize that I’m getting very off-topic here. 

In any case, this party was more than just my toe-dip back into society; it was being held by Antebellum’s future boss, Halstead’s own son of the same name. He was already an old man himself by human reckoning. This event was held to celebrate his fifty-fifth birthday; a rather tactless display considering his father’s condition (his own mother failed to show if that indicates the social response). It was clear to everyone in attendance that he was toasting more than just another milestone; he was preemptively celebrating his inheritance. He’d set aside three days and nights of entertainment, ending in a sumptuous dinner party. 

Which meant I had exactly three days to find some leverage.

No doubt that the palace of Aroughs was the glittering jewel of southern Alagaesia. This port had stood longer than most of its fellows. It also had the benefit of being far from the main conflicts of our age. The maze-like structure was designed with comfort and ease at the forefront, with elegant glasswork and art on full display. The garden we currently inhabited was a fantastical interpretation of the local wildlife. Pale pink flowers as large as a grown man’s curled fist exploded along one wall, filling the whole space with a floaty, soap-like aroma. They were aided by boughs of sweet purple blooms in the latticed overhang. A massive tile mosaic occupied the garden’s center, depicting a scandalous scene of bathing women. Butlers in frilly suits handed out platters of fine, sweet wine. I can’t tell if I’m just too old or if this really is too gauche!

I think it’s both. Katana experienced the party from her place of safety in my borrowed room. While there were magical ways to keep her closer, those came with their own associated risks. Any sign of what we’re looking for? 

It’s difficult to say. No one is acting strange enough to be interesting. I pivoted to one side, chatting about music with the women near me while also sneaking a view of the man of the hour. He was only average in terms of looks, but he certainly dressed the part of a lordling. His straw-blonde hair was parted in the center and slicked back into a horsetail. A doughy, lined face was all picture-perfect smiles for his many guests. He wore an ivory-embroidered doublet, purple breeches, and glossy white leather boots with block heels. The most I can say about him is that, for his years, he still seems immature and insecure. 

Perhaps therein lies the source of his strife with Antebellum; he can’t stand such an intimidating and confident woman as an ally.

If that is the long and short of it, then we won’t be able to do much for her. I would only make him more agitated! I flicked open a pearl-studded fan and giggled politely at someone’s jest. The flock around me was dispersing at a leisurely glide; some to rejoin partners, others to reclaim seats, and still more to partake of the refreshments. I decided to accompany the lattermost group and ended up perched on a bench with a fresh goblet of wine. Across from me, I had a view of a young man bantering with two older gentlemen who seemed to be humoring him despite their own discomfort. 

I blinked hard and focused on the young man’s movements. 

Decades of court life will inevitably change how one behaves, from sheer pressure if nothing else. Those manners that I so loathed learning served a crucial function; uniformity. Polite members of society followed them like gospel. Which made it all the more interesting how this particular young man seemed to be utterly clueless! He did not give off the air of a rude and careless person, quite the opposite. Rather, it seemed that he was feigning manners with no idea of the nuances. He lifted his little finger like a foppish child, but would stare up from a glass while still drinking. He took small bites and chewed politely, but he held his fork all wrong; tines up like a farmer hoisting hay. It's a shame Madame Tutor didn't live to see the day I'd apologize to her.

Oh? What for? 

Apparently, cutlery can tell you quite a bit about a person. I meandered into a different group’s conversation; all niceties and platitudes. I believe that I’ve just found a spy.

It was tedious work and, in the end, I couldn’t risk asking any direct questions about the curious young man. This left me with a handful of options, but one of them seemed much more pleasant than all the rest: I stalked him back to his room. This too was tedious, but at least it was quiet. Once I’d located his quarters, I had only to bide my time.

Dinner was an exercise in exasperation . I sat to the young Halstead’s left side, directly across from his poor mother. The woman was frail and looked rather ill herself, but she still made an effort to be pleasant to her guests. She wore a veil over her grey hair and an embroidered robe-like gown in a deep, berry hue. Her son seemed completely unaware of his mother’s exhaustion as he made constant attempts to engage the woman in shallow conversation. It was painful to watch her smile and nod along with whatever he proposed as she floated in weary resignation. 

Finally, I judged that I’d played my part long enough. I said, “I thank you for your generous hospitality, but I’m afraid that I am not yet fully recovered from the road. I hope that you can forgive me if I abscond?” 

I was glad that the lady of the house responded first. “There is nothing to forgive, Your Highness. Please, take your leave of us and make yourself at home.” 

I rose, bowed my head to the room in polite acknowledgment, and swept back up to my chamber. 

Harold was already prepared for me, clever thing that he was. With his assistance, I shucked off the frills and slid into something more suited for my designs. A baggy tunic in dull, fawn brown hid the few curves I possessed and a few tweaks of my cosmetic magic altered my appearance enough so I wouldn’t be recognized. “I leave the room in your capable hands. Under no circumstances should anyone be allowed past this door. I don’t care if the gods themselves descend from on high, they can stand in the hall until I return.” 

“Yes, my lady.” 

“Good.” I tossed on a capelet and saluted Harold with a wink. “I shouldn’t be long.” 

-:- -:- -:- 

This palace was strangely noisy . The castle in Uru’baen was many magnitudes larger and hosted more people, but it was also not a very cheerful place. Any socializing was kept to parlors and private parties save for the two solstices; every other night it was quiet as a tomb. Here, minor courtiers flitted about like birds on the wing. They whispered, giggled, sang, drank, and some even played in the open courtyard like drunken children. I lowered my chin to my chest and swayed drunkenly. Halfway to my destination, I found a bucket and mop to aid my disguise. No one paid me half a glance. 

I crept up to the mystery man’s door at full concentration, every step silent as a shadow. This was like to be the hardest part of my task; if the strange young man was a mage, there was every possibility he would have some failsafe to alert him of intruders. Sure enough, I found three security measures; a rudimentary ward, a thin stick near the hinge, and a set of small chimes just inside the doorway. People are so paranoid about locking their doors. But no one ever thinks to lock a wall.  I placed my palm on the bricks in front of me. “ Atra edtha thevrr stenr. ” The wall in front of me remained unchanged, but my palm sank into it as if it were no longer there. The sensation was unsettling; like being coated in skin-tight icy glass. I took a quick gulp of air and stepped through the wall into the dark room beyond. 

A jolt of anxiety nearly froze me in place. I choked on the sudden need to gasp for air.  My whole body tensed like it had been stretched on a rack. I hurt. I wanted to leave, but I was stuck in place. My eyes scrunched tight as if anticipating sudden injury, but none came. Vague buzzing rattled in the back of my head. I grasped at it, but it still took ages for me to hear it for what it was. 

Lilly, please answer me! What’s wrong? Katana’s concern shattered my panic, though the physical after-effects were still powerful. 

My thoughts evaded words. I shoved the jumbled mess toward Katana, from the feelings themselves to my slow improvement. Sorry. 

No need for that. You just scared me; it was like you were suddenly very far away. 

I blinked. I don’t know why. I can’t stop it. 

Katana tucked a thread of thought deeper into her consciousness before I could see it clearly. For now, try making yourself a light. 

Shaken and disoriented, I did as she asked. A small blue werelight jumped to my palm, glowing against my shuttered lids. I peeked my eyes open and most of the tension rushed out of me, leaving my limbs numbed and aching. And then embarrassment took its place. I think I know what happened. We can talk about it later. Thank you for saving me from… me. 

Anytime. I think I’ll stay present for a minute. I’m as curious as you are about what this mystery man might be hiding. Her lie was obvious as hell, but I was grateful nonetheless. 

Finally, I calmed enough to look around the room. It was mostly plain, just a lime-washed brick box with three yellow roses painted on the far wall. It also contained a bed, a writing desk, a locked trunk, and a cabinet with a basin of water. I swept the room methodically but turned up precious little by way of evidence. The trunk’s lock gave after a quick spell, but it held only enough clothing for the events of the party and one extra pair of boots for traveling. 

I was about to give up entirely when I noticed that the trunk was deeper on the outside than on the inside. A moment of prodding later and the false bottom popped up to reveal a flask and a bag of coins. I unscrewed the cap of the flask, wafted it carefully, and cringed. Truly, few weapons were as brutal or as personal as seithr oil. No matter how it reached its target, it guaranteed one thing without exception: a very painful death. No doubt about it, he’s an assassin.

I wonder who he’s here to target? Katana already seemed amused. 

I think we may need to ask him. 

-:- -:- -:- 

The thin stick slid from the hinge, the ward came down, and the door swung inward with a tinkle of chimes. The odd young man entered his room with a rushlight already in hand. He lowered it to the wick of a lamp before blowing it out and setting it next to his basin. Then he splashed his face and rubbed it with a cloth before turning and falling straight back into the cabinet with a crash.

I sat on his bed, picking my nails with one of my thinner blades. “Took you long enough.” He tensed like he was about to pounce so I quickly added, “ Bindr .” His elbows, wrists, ankles, and knees all  snapped together. He dropped like a sack. “None of that, if you please. I’m in no mood to chase down my potential employees. This interview shall proceed as follows: you tell me what you’re here to do, and then I will decide if I can make enough use of you to let you live.” 

He spat, “Who the hell are you?”  

I sighed. “You asking questions of your own was not on the itinerary. You can call me Viper. And you are?” He bit his lip and shook his head. “Alright, fine. Why don’t I catch you up to speed? You are an agent, most likely of the Varden, and very probably an assassin. The punishment for either is a ruthless execution. Is there anything you would like to add before I call for a guard?” 

“I don’t work for the damn Varden!” He growled, “I was invited by Lord Halstead himself--” 

“So you’re a homegrown troublemaker.” I was honestly a little disappointed. I’d been searching for a Varden contact without luck since my return. “Who is your target?” 

“Lord Bramblebay and his wife.” 

People need to take naming their children more seriously, Katana sniggered. 

You’re named after a blade, I’m named after a flower. I don’t think either of us are allowed to judge anyone. I cleared my throat. “I’ll assume that you weren’t given an explanation? That’s a shame. When is this to be done?” 

“The third night of the party, after the feast.” 

I nodded, weighing my options. Presumably, these poor party guests have stumbled upon the soon-to-be-lord’s weak point. But I doubt even they are fully aware of it, lest they would never have shown their faces here. 

Perhaps he only believes that they have. Katana reasoned. Hard to say without more information. 

I’ll make their acquaintance tomorrow and search their room in the evening. Harold has a reasonable excuse to mingle with the servants as well. If none of those stir up a lead, then I’ll have to ask them directly. I turned my full attention back to my hostage. “Congratulations lad, you just gained a new employer. For now, you are to proceed with your assignment exactly as instructed. I’ll swear you to secracy over this little exchange and, when all is said and done, we can discuss your future.”

He blinked at me in obvious distress. “And if I refuse?” 

I tilted my head back and laughed. “Why would you?”

It strangely felt good to be back in the saddle after my ungraceful defeat in Farthen Dur. I sensed something off about this place, like a pastry filled with deadly poison. An ailing lord, a morose matron, their arrogant son, and a few dozen “innocent” bystanders; what secrets lay buried within this pretty shell? At the very least, it provided a relief to the monotony of socializing!

And for every little inconvenience I faced, Antebellum’s debt to me only grew. 

Chapter Text

It would be categorically correct to say I was flying blind in Aroughs. I’d entered the city with the intent of meeting this lordling and discerning his intentions toward Antebellum. Then, within a single day, I discovered that he was an anti-charismatic, incompetent fluff. And, as a bonus, he’d orchestrated a murder plot at his own gala! And yet, despite all the dangers and dilemmas, I found myself buzzing with anticipation. A trip I’d written off as wasted was shaping up to be the most noteworthy event of the season (for all the wrong reasons).

I woke at the first greying of the eastern sky. Galbatorix’s old regiments had done their job well; even after my decade apart I still had the militant internal clock of a monk. It didn’t matter how long I’d rested; I would always blink myself awake a candle-and-a-half before dawn. In this particular case, it was definitely an irritant rather than a benefit; I couldn’t have slept more than an hour or two. 

At least you get to sleep. Katana’s voice floated through my head with an exaggerated pout. 

I sighed and rubbed my face, rolling to my feet. You spend most of your time in dreams. Is it not much the same? 

My dreams are no more restful than your own. I felt a tender caress at the end of the thought, like she wanted to fully embrace me but was afraid of being pushed away. As painful as her reluctance was for me, it was a fair assessment. I had done just that for many years in our past. She noticed my musings about her hesitancy and responded with a more substantial nudge. Which ghosts follow you tonight? 

I sighed aloud. The incident last night worries me. I’ve felt fear, even to a paralyzing extent, but it’s never been so fast and strong before. I’d learned through painful experience that mastery of one’s self was the last line of defense a person could possess. If I lost even that…

I’ve never seen you lose control. Katana struck the core of the issue with unerring insight. 

I shivered as I tugged a woolen tunic over my head. That isn’t entirely true. I kept the memories themselves tucked firmly away; buried to a part of me that even I dared not touch. I could recall the list of events clinically, but grasping at the images themselves felt like capturing frost. Still, I knew she would understand my reference. Galbatorix’s preferred way to teach interrogation “resistance” was to perform interrogations. This process inevitably produced failure after failure until one could resist to his satisfaction. Then, just once, he would break you down completely. But it has been a very long time. 

Hm. Katana weakened her connection to a trickle of awareness behind an iron-tight wall.  

I tugged on a pair of light leather boots. These were soft, of poor quality, really little more than hide sleeves with laces on the side. I chewed my lip and thought privately, are her memories as weak as mine? Has she carried the burden of that experience all this time without so much as telling me? How much has my negligence forced her to bear in silence… I banished the thought as soon as she strengthened our link again. In any case, it’s a weakness we cannot afford. I’ll do some research once we’re back in Uru’baen. 

She acknowledged my brief flare of shame without reproach. Until then, let it lie. A veteran who stumbles when struck is no weaker than a green recruit who has yet to fall. 

I felt my shoulders droop as the tension dripped away. You’re too generous to me, fricai. 

Someone must put kindness back into our world. Why shouldn’t it be I? 

I grinned to myself as I bundled into a sweater. Katana, Tender of Heart? Quite a shift from “Whisperdeath” and “Shadowclaw.” 

I’m no longer a hunter. A mirage of warm colors— reds, tangerines, and fuzzy pinks— floated through my mind. And besides,   I’ve had o’er long to dwell on such things. 

These next few days, we will both be hunting the most delicate prey of all. 

Rabits? 

I meant, “secrets!” I see that the lack of a body hasn’t curbed your gluttony! I hesitated, briefly afraid that I’d dared too far. These things were still fresh wounds by the measure of our lifespans. 

She considered my words for a moment of tense silence. Speaking of, you should request fish to be served for your next meal. 

I’m not overly fond of fish. 

I don’t care! I died for you; you can eat fish for me. 

I had to choke down a chuckle to avoid waking my roommate. It was too early for even the most diligent servants to be awake and Harold was snoozing on a cot in the corner of my borrowed room (a privilege of the highest order).  Nen ono threyja,  thäet weohnata waíse . 

Drama queen. Where are you off to at this hour anyway? 

I need to bathe and I’m not in the mood to wait for the household staff to wake and prepare a bath. 

Take me with you? 

Of course. 

-:- -:- -:- 

I meandered out of the palace, dodging the few guards on their way to relieve the night watchmen of their posts. The grounds had finally quieted from the previous night’s entertainment, though I still heard distant peals of sloppy laughter from the revelers who hadn’t quite exhausted their highs. I reached a well near the kitchen’s entrance without incident, for which I was grateful. I tossed a copper coin into the well. It twinkled for half a moment before it entered the water with a soft plunk. I twirled a finger in a lazy circle and whispered, “Adurna.” A small globe of water flicked to the tip of my finger. I popped it into my mouth like a bite of spun sugar and hummed in satisfaction. Though it was groundwater, it was of a much higher quality than any found near Uru’baen. It’s surprisingly clear for well water. I expected to taste traces of mineral deposits, but this is as pure as a mountain spring!

Could it be moving beneath the ground? 

Curious, I whispered, “ Garjzla ,” and pictured my copper coin glowing an eerie green. I fed more energy into the light until I could see it from the top of the well. To my surprise, the well was only ten feet deep or so. At the bottom, two rough pathways surged off into impenetrable darkness. Tunnels? 

Why would someone make tunnels that connect to a well? 

Rather, I think someone dug a well and broke into a flooded tunnel. This hypothesis raised more questions than it could possibly answer. How extensive do you think they are? Is yet another of the Empire’s cities perched atop a honeycomb of subterranean tunnels? 

No need to rush to conclusions. And besides, this has nothing to do with the main purpose for us being here. 

You’re right. Still, we’d better keep this in mind. I severed the illuminating spell and regathered my strength. Another utterance of, “ Adurna ,” and a glob of water flowed upward. It bulged and slopped into an amorphous mass, several large bucket’s-worth hovering a foot off the ground. The dip in my strength was sudden and savage. I always underestimate how heavy water is!

You’ve become even more reliant on magic since your return. Katana’s rebuke seemed more aggressive than the matter warranted. 

It’s the one tool I can carry everywhere I go.  I tethered the spell to a tourmaline point in my pocket. Normally, the slate-like mineral was dirt-poor at storing energy, but this one was striated with quartz inclusions and minuscule flecks of garnet. The brownish/black color and unattractive cut made it unassuming and cheap; two important qualities for a traveling mage (who wasn’t keen on being robbed). For all its utility, it was by no means my most powerful store of energy. Unbidden, I was overcome by a memory of large, warm, bronzed, battle-worn hands brushing my skin as they fastened a heart-shaped crystal pendant around my throat. I blinked hard, bile and bitter memories fighting to clog my throat first. 

Do you regret losing that particular jewel? All the challenge melted from Katana’s thoughts. If anything, she seemed eager to distract me and genuinely curious. 

I wish I’d thought to put the energy somewhere else before I gave it to Torix for safekeeping. It was easier to explain this truth than the more weighty one lingering just beneath it. The fact of the matter was that Galbatorix’s gifts always came with strings. The more powerful the gift, the tighter the bindings. Ostensibly, my necklace had been a grand show of love and devotion; a gem he’d fashioned painstakingly to be the most perfect thing of its kind. Between his enchantments and my patient storing of energy from the eldunari in my care, it was undoubtedly the most valuable item I’d ever possessed. However, it had been given as a token of a bond that lay shattered at my feet. After my disastrous return, I hadn’t dared make mention of the heart pendant. It’s bad enough to be treated like a dog; I’ve no need of a literal collar. Let him give it to Verra, if she’s fool enough to take it. Gods know she needs all the help she can get. 

Would you accept the necklace if he tried to return it? 

I let my silence answer her, unflinching in the uncertainty. My pragmatism and my pride were directly opposed on the issue, and such a conflict wasn’t likely to be resolved in a single conversation. Katana existed alongside my quiet without judgment. 

-:- -:- -:- 

By the time I’d ferried my prize back to my room, Harold was awake and busy preparing my gown for fast-breaking and the afternoon’s festivities. The spring green gown was feather light, a consideration for both the building heat and my preferences. He nodded in greeting, eyeing my globule warily. “Please be mindful of the dress, my lady. Silk can be especially unforgiving of moisture.” 

I waved a hand. “A lecture? From a whippersnapper like you?” 

Harold rolled up his sleeves, brows lifted indignantly. “I’m here to keep you presentable. What use am I if I don’t defend your wardrobe—” 

“From me ,” I winked. “Believe me, there are worse things to get on a gown. And, on that subject, join me in the grooming room.” I walked through a narrow, gaudy cabinet door into a truly extravagant space. The center of the room held a tiled octagonal tub, striped in white and blue bands. The floor continued the pattern, a swath of blue in the center fading to white and then to green as it journeyed up the walls. Enameled ceramic picked out flora and fauna in the nature scene, but none with enough detail to be sure of their inspiration. A gilded mirror hung in the center of the opposite wall. By style alone, I could tell it was far older than the rest of the room. As my globe emptied itself into the tub,  I ran a finger along the frame. 

“I finally had a breakthrough yesterday!” Harold followed behind me, arms laden with mysterious glass bottles and peculiar tools. “I’ve definitely been thinking about curls all wrong.” 

I hummed and dipped a finger into the icy water. “ Vaetha .” The stone tub sapped a bit of extra warmth from my spell, but soon both basin and bath were as near to boiling as I could stand. (This was a hangover from my brief stay in Tronjheim. For all the trauma the city had given me, I sorely missed the natural bathing springs.)  I disrobed and handed my articles off to Harold, sinking into the warmth gratefully. “I put myself in your capable hands, as always. And, if possible, make it serviceable for both the morning and evening. I won’t have time for you to restructure it between events.” 

“A busy itinerary?” 

“I need to make a friend,” I closed my eyes and leaned my head back as Harold dripped scented oils into my hair. “Do any members of Lord Bramblebay’s household have curly hair?” 

Harold paused mid-rinse. “I believe his wife and eldest daughter do.” 

“Then you must make an inquiry of their accompanying servants. Make it clear that it is a matter of some sensitivity; that ought to intrigue them enough to be cooperative.” I flicked my eyes open, content to see the understanding glint in Harold’s eyes. 

He merely smiled and bowed his head. 

-:- -:- -:- 

Breakfast proved a less tedious affair than dinner the night before. Our host had overindulged (in liquor, food, or gods only knew what other vice), and was still nursing the consequences well into the morning. His mother seemed unphased by this breach in propriety, which only lessened my opinion of the man. He’s soft, even for a noble. I’ve seen Morzan lead martial drills while he was so hungover that he couldn’t open his eyes! 

Katana’s retort was quick and blistering, And you’ve joined said exercises in a very similar condition! 

I winced. It was expected of me. Torix isn’t the type of Ebrithil to accept excuses. What I did not say (though we both heard as clearly as if the man was perched on my shoulder) was, “Finish what you start.”  

Apparently, the youngling Halstead has no such expectations. 

He is either incapable, unreliable, or ill-mannered beyond reason. 

Something tells me it isn’t a matter of “or”. 

I scanned the long table keenly. Piles of fine pastries sat alongside silver bowls of fruit, with trays of spiced pork and cloud-like eggs between them. Pitchers of water, cream, and a sour drink favored along the southern shore were scattered every few seats. Finally, my eyes rested on a platter of small fish, crisped dark brown and sprinkled with herbs. Will that suffice? 

It will do quite nicely, thank you. 

I caught the attention of a willowy woman sitting beside the tray. She was roughly the same generation as our hostess but bore the weight of her years more gracefully. Her white hair was fastened back in a neat bun, though wispy curls floated around her round, rouged face. After she passed the dish along I said, “I don’t believe I had the chance to make your acquaintance yesterday?” 

A shy smile overtook her lined features. “No, Highness. I am Serae, daughter of Khara and wife to Lord Hirde Bramblebay. It is an honor to speak with you.” 

I concealed the thrum of satisfaction behind a pleasant expression. A shot in the dark finds its mark. “I regret to say that neither name is familiar to me. Are you vassal lords to Aroughs, or have you journeyed here for the festivities as I have?” While technically not an improper question, it could easily be construed as rude by more prickly nobles (being unknown to court players of note was the fastest way for a family to fade into obscurity). 

Serae took the query in stride, but the older, portly man on her left (presumably the aforementioned Lord Bramblebay) did not. He interjected, “Just so, Your Highness. Our estate is an easy day’s ride from the western gate. Our land produces some of the sweetest wine south of the elven border.” 

I quirked a smile. “Then I must confess my interest in your business, my lord. Faelnirv is a dwindling luxury in civilized lands, and I have a passing fascination with the art of winemaking.” Both of these things were true enough. Morzan greedily guarded the last three bottles of elf liquor left in the Empire deep within his personal estate. (By his own declaration: one was for a birth, one was for a marriage, and one was for a funeral.) Plus, it never hurt to remind the more uppity nobles of my actual age and experience. 

And you’re a lush. Katana teased primly. 

Hush!   

Lord Bramblebay sat up as straight as his arthritic spine would allow, all alight with interest. “Should you ever have the time to pay us a visit, we would be honored to show you anything you might desire. At the very least, may I be so bold as to extend a cask of our finest vintage as a gift?” 

“Indeed, that is a rather attractive offer. Perhaps I will take you up on it before I return to Uru’baen; I so rarely make my way south, and it seems a shame to waste the opportunity.” For any other noble to invite themselves to a residing lord’s estate in the middle of another lord’s hosting would be scandalous indeed. That was perhaps the only privilege that royals alone enjoyed; lesser nobles respected our time enough to be grateful for any scrap of it. 

Serae answered me with a bow of her head. “Our home is yours, Highness.” I just barely caught the shift of her arm that told me she’d placed her palm on her husband’s leg before she spoke. “Though I regret to say we will be remaining within the city proper for the foreseeable future.” She swallowed, and continued in a gentle tone, “Lord and Lady Halstead are very dear to us. We will be attending them until His Lordship’s health is restored.” 

I shifted my gaze to the woman across from me. Her ever-present weariness dragged her face down into a pitiful expression of grief. “I apologize for disrupting your plans. I would gladly spare them if I thought I could. But, as it is, Serae has been a balm to me through these difficult weeks and I am loath to relinquish her.” 

“I would not dream of depriving you of any comforts you may find.” I kept my voice low and gentle. “I am pleased that such a devoted household exists to support you through this trying time.” I diverted my focus back to the pair of nobles. “Will you still be attending the demonstrations this afternoon?” 

Serae flicked her eyes to Lady Halstead. At our hostess’s nod, she said, “We will.” 

“Then I will have ample time to speak more with you there. Is that an agreeable compromise?” 

“More than agreeable, Your Highness,” Lord Bramblebay reasserted himself in the conversation. His wife blinked slowly in response; like a dragoness pondering whether or not to snap up a horse that had dared into her path. “I tend to fixate on the spectacles themselves during such events, but I would love to play a round of cards with you later in the evening.” 

“It is settled then.” I turned back to my plate, signaling the end of my interest in the conversation. Another group of guests struck up banter about a scandal in Kuasta— something about a robbery— as I plucked a strip of pale-white flesh from one of my fish. 

Katana’s thoughts connected more completely with my own until our senses overlapped. Unlike our previous experiences in years past, where we could trade and double our perceptions; only cold isolation reflected from her mind. I felt like a membrane of liquid glass that was being stretched to bursting as Katana desperately tried to embrace the physical world. Chew slowly, her mournful mental voice said, and be careful of the needle-bones!  

Wiol ono, fricai.

Duels and dueling culture as a whole are completely different from regular combat training. The overlap between the two areas of expertise is— to the surprise of many lay people—notably narrow. 

I believe the difference is best explained with this example: 

Morzan was one of the most feared swordsmen in the past millennia. Exactly two people were ever able to best him in combat; one of them was Torix, and the other was the man who eventually took his life. Despite his incredible skill, strength, instinct, etc… he had no interest whatsoever in formal dueling. He loved a playful sparring match, “one killer to another.” (He and Gildor spent many hours that way, in the old days).  Conversely, duelists were less like soldiers and more like athletes and performers. They fought in carefully monitored matches with dull swords, striving to accumulate points against their opponents. They’re ilk also tended to have heightened awareness of their presentation; it was all about fair, honorable, entertainment . Those who successfully marketed their personas and skills lived comfortable lives, often employed by lords to represent their colors in tournaments. 

Why do I detail all of this now? 

Because I will not spare a single thread of thought to do so in context. As someone who’s actually been through the brutal reality of fighting to the death, I find the act of playing at murder too macabre for even my tenacious sensibilities. 

Luckily, our host had a whole parade of amusements scheduled for the afternoon: acrobats, minstrels, horse riders, and a half dozen more; each more ridiculous than the last. Un luckily, they took place in crowded wooden stalls under a blazing sun. But, at least the hours of mindless festivities gave me plenty of time to pick apart my newest “friend”. 

After all, I only had a day and a half to unearth her secrets before her assassination.

I fanned my face as elegantly as I could be bothered. In the past hours, many of my fellow ladies had given up their presentability for gale-force bats of their dainty hand fans. At least the thin purple awning erected over the top of the stands provided some relief from the unseasonably brutal sunlight. Or perhaps not so unseasonal. If this is spring, how miserable must their summers be? 

You could use magic to relieve the discomfort. 

I felt a hint of challenge in Katana’s suggestion. Even I’m not that reliant on gramyre. And besides, that would be just as exhausting as bearing the heat directly.; there’s no benefit. 

Just making sure I hadn’t accidentally switched riders.

I closed my eyes to keep from rolling them. One of the most trying things about being a rider and constantly immersed in politics was having an inner dialogue always infinitely more stimulating than any outer one. Several of the younger ladies had been engaged in a hearty discussion of lace patterns for nearly half an hour, and my patience was waning. 

I glanced at Serae Bramblebay and found a similarly glazed disinterest staring back at me from her dark eyes. I leaned in and breathed, “Personally, I’ve never been able to pick out the difference from one type of lace to another. Once there’s enough thread all knotted together, it just seems like tangled spiderwebs to me.” 

Serae flicked her fan up to her lips to hide her smile. “I actually used to have quite a deft hand in weaving bobbin lace, but I lost my taste for the work long before my hands lost their deftness.” 

I paused as a cheer erupted from the stands. In the grassy field before us, a pair of pure-white mares bedecked in gold-painted tack and bells ran in a circle. A trio of acrobats balanced precariously on their backs— one with a single foot on each of the horses’ rumps and a partner standing on both of his shoulders. I applauded politely before returning to my conversation.  “You must have been dedicated. It’s a time-consuming craft.” 

“It was one of the only tasks at which I was skilled enough to be trusted.” She folded her fan, laying both it and her bony fingers in her lap. “Lady Halstead would join me on winter evenings. But,” she paused and a wistful note entered her voice, “that was long ago.” 

“You’ve been acquainted with the lady for some time then?” Another wave of raucous cheering accompanied the trio and mares as they took their bows and returned to the performer’s tent. Soon after, a pair of duelists in flamboyant livery strode to the center of the field, bowed deeply to one another, and engaged in a few testing strokes. Still, my question had no answer. 

I’d almost switched to a new line of conversation when a rigid, forced calm settled into Sarae’s shoulders. “I was one of her attendants before my marriage.”

“That goes a long way in explaining the closeness between the two of you; my personal attendant is as dear to me as my own family.” And then some, I added privately. 

My comment eased some of the defensive tension in her shoulders. “And so it is with the lady and I.” She smiled warmly, “I’m glad that someone else understands this often overlooked truth.” Any chance of further conversation came to an end as the duel commenced in earnest. All of the ladies, including Serae, were utterly entranced by the flamboyant— and dangerously inefficient— swordplay. 

I slid this new tidbit into the portrait of the woman I was forming in my mind. Considerable charisma and grace, lack of house title, and past as a glorified servant? No doubt about it, she married far above her station. 

Katana chimed in, Should she be commended or criticized? 

It makes little difference. That exact opportunity was one of the most quoted reasons that positions in high-ranking noble entourages were so competitively sought. Even the lowliest maid could become a ruling noble if she caught the right eye; though she would never be wholly accepted by her “peers.”  Clearly, it’s worked in her favor. 

Aside from the son of her former employer wanting her dead. 

I smiled privately behind my upraised fan. I would bet Shruikan’s weight in gold that the two are connected. 

What of the husband? 

I can’t rule him out yet. But, from my preliminary investigations, he is no more remarkable than any of the other roosters strutting about this coop. No, this matter has its origins between our hostess and our new companion here. 

Then the next logical question is: Why does the soon-to-be Lord of Aroughs care what his mother’s-former-servant may know? 

The back of my neck prickled as a series of likely assumptions jumped to mind. Among them, the most promising was the simplest; Katana, you’re a genius. 

You’re the last to realize it. But, why? 

I will be able to give you a more satisfactory answer tonight.

An evening of tedious gambling substantiated my impression of both Lord Halstead (a mediocre waste of a noble title) and Lord Bramblebay alike. Either he was the most brilliant actor I’d ever met in my life, or he was ordinary in every possible way. The only additional context I gained was a confirmation of my suspicion about how he and his wife met one another. He’d come to a court function, saw her trailing behind Lady Halstead, and fallen for her at once. I was impressed by his description of their courtship; he seemed truly devoted to her and had paid her every possible courtesy. They’d been married only a few years less than Galbatorix had been on the throne— no small feat in our turbulent world. 

It was a shame that it was doomed to end in tragedy. 

And as to the origin of the fledgling lord’s anxieties… What could possibly trouble a man awaiting his inheritance but a question of his legitimacy? 

Chapter Text

My third and final day in Aroughs felt much more high-stakes than it had any right to. There is a chance I was too invested in the goings-on. However, my interest would serve me well; both politically and personally.

My body demanded sleep much earlier than the previous night. As hard as I found it to force myself to rest with the building still abuzz with activity, I needed to be at my peak for the coming day. A ball I could handle half asleep; a double homicide, less so. I shucked off my formal dress, let Harold twist ribbons into my hair then, and helped him tie the mass up in a smooth scarf. I collapsed atop the mound of cushions like a languorous feline, arcing my back until every inch of me could be swaddled in comfort. Somewhere beneath me, a quilt and downy mattress beckoned, but my hands were too stupid to reach them. My eyes shut and I buried my face in a velvety pillow--

A yank from beneath, the whole world tilting on an axis until I was sliding away, my stomach lurching, everything going black with panic, falling through empty space to my certain death--

I shot up so quickly that I had to slam a foot down to keep myself from toppling to the floor. I hissed, jarring my knee as I over-extended it. The floor was, in fact, neither rotating nor retreating from me. My heart beat hard enough to crack a rib, cold sweat prickled my neck, and my hands shook. 

Katana snaked into my mind and body like a comforting hug from within. Another attack, and so soon after the first. What triggered it? 

Her mental voice eased me enough that my vision flickered back to clarity. I’m not sure. I licked my lips. It was just a fit of pre-sleep vertigo! I’ve experienced similar things since I was a little girl… My cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

There’s no sense in judging your body for trying to protect you. It doesn’t know that you are safe. 

Well, I wish it would get on the same page as the rest of me. This could prove to be a serious liability. 

I think that there is nothing you can’t do. If we must convince you one muscle and bone at a time, then we will. 

I eased back onto the bed, this time laying aside the decorative pillows to tuck myself in properly. If Galbatorix discovers this new flaw, he’ll try to beat it out of me. 

Then he will not discover it. Katana’s hatred for the man was tucked far beneath her apparent calm, but it still glowed white-hot. It was both heart-warming and terrifying to see her in the light of an avenger; a defender. One thing we’d never really been able to do was protect one another-- from him, from the world, from ourselves, from each other. Apparently, physical death had only increased her resolve to pay Galbatorix back for everything he’d wrought in our lives. 

I smiled to myself as I eased off to sleep. Elrun ono. 

-:- -:- -:- 

The guests of Aroughs did not gather for breakfast the next morning. From the gossip I’d picked up the previous evening, most of my fellow noble ladies intended to spend the first half of the day preparing for the second half. Great feasts were rare spectacles; dancing, music, and enough food to feed the entire city all enjoyed by the elite of the elite. To show up to one looking anything less than perfect would be career-ending. 

. As much as I would have enjoyed a quiet morning, I could ill afford to waste time. This was my last day to grasp the weed I’d found in this garden before it spread and spoiled the whole construction. I whipped my mane into a haphazard bun, tossed on a dress in which I could move easily, and ventured off into the estate. I didn’t need to go far before I found a maid diligently replacing the candles in a chandelier, slippered feet perched at the peak of a round stool. “Excuse me,” I called up to her, “would you spare a moment to guide me towards Lord and Lady Halstead’s chamber? I need to speak with them.” 

The girl-- for she was no more than that-- glanced down and nearly fell from her perch. “Your Highness!” She fumbled one of her candles and nearly toppled forward as she tried to curtsy. 

I caught the taper and grasped one of her tiny hands. “Easy there! My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?” She stared at my fingers like they could transform into serpents. Once she’d regained her balance I let her go and offered the candle. She blinked, ignoring my offer. I coughed and asked again, “Can you guide me to your masters?” 

She shook her head, dipping her eyes down to the hem of her dress. “My Lady has instructed that no one should be allowed to disturb his Lordship.” She was clearly nervous and embarrassed; both by her fall and her refusal. 

“Of course. I imagine the seclusion is due to his failing health. That is the very reason I need to speak with The Lady; I may be able to ease her husband’s discomfort.” Still, the girl chewed her lip. I sighed and added, “If you could offer me directions, I guarantee they will never know how I obtained them.” 

She risked a fleeting glance at my face, eyes wide with relief. The maid then rambled off a series of instructions. I thanked her, gently coaxed the candle back into her hand, and set off for my impromptu interview. 

-:- -:- -:- 

The Lord’s bed chamber was surprisingly far from his wife’s; secluded in a narrow hallway deep within the palace. Good for security, less so for lighting and presentability. It seems that Lord Halstead is much more pragmatic than his son. 

If that lout even is his actual son. Katana liked my hypothesis even more than I did-- mostly because it reeked of drama. 

We shall learn soon enough. I cast my mental web slightly wider, brushing the very fringes of Harold’s thoughts. He wasn't comfortable reaching out to others, but he could defend his mind well enough and tolerated the occasional instruction from me. The Bramblebays are still accounted for? 

Harold’s mind felt like un-felted wool compared to the crisp clarity of Katana’s thoughts. I dimly heard, Lord Bramblebay is taking lunch with some of his peers. His wife and her two serving girls are in their rooms. 

Good. Alert Katana if the situation changes; she will contact me after that. Don’t make it clear what you’re about. I released my connection to him, and I could tell even from afar that he was glad of it. Briefly, I wondered if my mind was as unpleasant to contact as my mentor’s. 

My partner noticed the distraction and batted it away before it fully took shape. We spend too much time thinking about him. 

What choice did he give me? I shook my head. But, you’re right. Focus. 

I rounded the last corner and slowed my stride. A round, elderly maid sat hunched over her knitting in a fine wooden chair. Rheumy eyes met mine, then darted back down to her project. 

I strode within a foot of the woman before speaking.“I need to speak with Lady Halstead.” 

The wooden needles clicked together as she hummed. Then, in a croaked voice, she said, “Oh… no, that you cannot do. My Mistress asked me to tell visitors to go back the way they came. My apologies, Miss.” 

I shut my eyes, battling frustration. “Can you deliver a message?” 

Her only response was to diligently *peter* away, klick klacking in practiced rhythm. When she reached the end of her row, she stuck her needles into a roll of tawny yarn and eased to her feet. Her change in position did little to alter her height, stooped as she was. “Aye, if it be urgent enough. What is the message?” 

“Tell her that her son has desperate need of her in the lower parlor.” From the few interactions of theirs I’d seen, she was indulgent of his whims to a fault. If anything would be deemed important enough to disturb the lady, it would be this. 

The woman’s expression soured, but she bowed her head again, fit a heavy iron key into the door’s lock, and moved haltingly into the room. I waited long enough that she was likely to be out of the way before following behind her. My unwitting guide turned to look at me and she frowned mightily, “Please, you mustn’t intrude here--” 

“Peace, Mazalin.” Lady Halstead sat on a cushioned stool pulled close to the canopied bed, her rich dressing gown cinched around her tiny waist. Heavy, red curtains were pulled closed save for a tiny gap near to the lady. The only hint that the bed was occupied was the telltale rasp of tortured wheezing. “We would not dare attempt to command our most honored guest.” 

The woman, Mazalin, widened her eyes in disbelief. “Begging your pardons, Majesty. I didn’t know--” 

I lifted a hand. “It is nothing. Thank you for your assistance, and I ask that you continue your previous duties while I speak with your mistress. It is a matter of some delicacy.” 

She bowed as low as she physically could-- an odd mannerism for a female servant-- and shuffled back out the door.  Once the portal had snicked closed, Lady Halstead smiled-- the first pleasant expression I’d seen on her. “Forgive her protectiveness; she has tended to my lord husband since he was a babe. This ordeal is as painful for her as it is for me, if not more so.” 

I chose a seat on the lady’s side of the room as far back from the bed as possible. “Is she well? She moves with excessive care.” 

“She was injured as a young child and her legs have bothered her ever since. It has worsened in recent years-- she’s all but retired now-- but she insisted on assisting me with Ardwin.” She reached behind the curtain of the bed, pale hand disappearing into the shadows. “Is that the subject you wanted to discuss, Your Highness; the wellbeing of my former housekeeper?” 

I shook my head. “No, it is not. I actually had two subjects requiring your attention.” The lady seemed unmoved by my words so I continued, “The first is actually about a different former servant of yours; a certain Serae Bramblebay.” 

That certainly earned a reaction. Lady Halstead snapped to her most regal posture, tugging the curtain fully closed and turning a wary stare at me. “This is not a suitable place for such a conversation--” 

“No…” The interrupting voice was bone-chilling; phlegmmy and weak as a drowning man’s. “If she has… come… there is no use,” a frail and pockmarked hand tugged the curtain aside, “no use hiding from her.” 

Lady Halstead pursed her lips in disquiet but spoke no further. Instead, she lifted from her seat and helped the dying man sit straighter against his pillows. She bade me come closer and stepped to the side, hands folded in front of her as if in supplication. I moved to her former seat. The stool’s cushion had been worn nearly flat from its occupant's fierce dedication. 

The skeletal form in the bed was difficult to look at directly. His cheeks were hollowed, paper-like flesh drooping in ribbons. The heavy lids were swollen and engorged until his eyes were hardly visible. His mouth hung open like a stray hound, crusted foam pilling at the edges of his purplish lips. Truly, he looked as though he’d already been deceased for some time. It was hard to superimpose my memories of the man over this wretched creature; a proud and handsome leader of men. I gathered my thoughts, pieced on an unflappable mask, and said gently, “It is an honor to lay eyes on you again, My Lord. It has been quite some time.” 

“It has.” He grinned ghoulishly. “Forgive me, Princess, if I don’t stand on… ceremony.” He chuckled (rather, coughed). “I can no longer stand.” 

“We are beyond such formalities.” I laid a hand over his. I could have sworn I saw a smirk pass over his lips. “I apologize for troubling you during your rest, but it seems you have something to contribute to our conversation?” 

The man nodded. “We both do. But I know that my Jermina would never break… silence on her own…” 

I glanced back at the woman and she lowered her head, still silent and grave. I risked rephrasing my question, “Then you are also privy to the information Lady Bramblebay possesses?” 

“Aye.” Ardwin Halstead seemed to sink farther into his pillows. His voice carried the strain of true despair. “Please, love… tell her. My strength fails me.” 

At her husband’s heartfelt plea, the lady’s cool mask crumbled. “No good can come from it--” 

“We are not able to deny her.” 

I blinked. On a hunch, I re-doubled my connection with Katana. Something is desperately wrong here. They’re acting in more grave a manner than even adultery would warrant. 

Should I send Harold to you? 

What good would it do? Rather, tell him to ready us for a hasty departure. 

Tread carefully. This family tree has deep roots. 

I recentered myself and pivoted to more fully face Jermina. “Does the matter concern your son?” 

As soon as my question hit the air, the lady crumbled into my previous seat. Haltingly she replied, “In a manner of speaking, Majesty.” She gathered her strength and whispered, “Please, keep what I am about to tell you in the highest confidence. I have suffered beneath this burden all these years for the sake of that boy; my only boy.” Glittering tears dropped from her miserable eyes. “He can never know. It would devastate him.” 

She has no idea that he already knows, I thought in astonishment. I was shocked that the chubby cherub could hide anything from anyone, let alone his own mother. “Very well. I promise that, so long as it poses no danger to me, I will keep your secret as my own. Speak freely.” 

Jermina took a shaky breath. “It was the sixth year of my marriage to Ardwin. Serae was my handmaiden and she accompanied me most nights. She was at my side when my first child breathed his last.” She sniffed hard and clutched at her handkerchief. “But, mere days after his burial, we were given a miracle. A woman approached Serae for help with a child bundled into her arms. Serae then brought the pair to me.” 

I sat straighter, dates running through my head. If I’m not mistaken, this must have been right around the time of Torix’s ascension. 

“As soon as we brought the woman inside the palace, we were struck by the scent clinging to her; the reek of burnt meat. The poor creature was badly scalded; it was a miracle she had survived her injuries as long as she had. Many of the burns were already infected and weeping fluid. There was little we could do for her; save easing her pain. As she lay dying, she grasped Serae’s hand and begged her to care for her ward. Then she was gone.” 

Understanding bloomed quite naturally from her story. “And you, a grieving mother, did not hesitate to care for an orphaned child.” 

“Yes.” She sighed, “In fact, we had not yet even announced our tragedy to the court. Ardwin and I consulted on it and decided it would be best for the boy to raise him as our true-born son. It was difficult for me, my poor little one had only been gone a few days… and yet, when I held that boy, I had no qualms about the deception. The few servants who were privy to the details were sworn to silence-- though, of those, only Mazalin and Serae are still among the living.”

The sight of the woman’s devotion and agony made me deeply uncomfortable. Naked emotions were viewed as the height of weakness in Galbatorix’s court… sincerity of this depth was unheard of. And in all that time he is still an only child. No wonder they were desperate to keep this secret. If his adopted status was revealed, it would bring their family line to a certain end. And it would cause one of the most powerful cities in Alagaesia to collapse in on itself.

Is that enough of a reason? Katana asked. 

I didn’t need to consider. Something still seems out of place. Serae isn’t likely to share this information, loyal as she is. 

Perhaps the soon-to-be ruling lord was afraid the Bramblebays would use his secret to extort him? 

Maybe there’s more to this than just matters of inheritance. I sighed deeply, relaxing through sheer willpower. “I understand the choices the pair of you made. It makes no difference to the crown whose blood runs in Aroughs, so long as the balance of power remains intact.” Jermina looked at me with a feverish hope. I smiled gently. “Let this matter rest and soon be lost to time.” 

 “Sooner than…we thought…” another hacking cough interrupted the ailing lord. His wife darted forward, chalice of water in hand and clean kerchief at the ready. I leaned back so as to be out of her way. When he recovered from the fit, he wheezed, “My thanks…. Princess…” He took a moment to gather his strength. Though his voice was still weak, his tone was clearer than it had yet been as he said, “Prayel is my heir, as surely as if he shared my blood.” Another cough, “I’m afraid.. He isn’t ready… but we haven’t much choice now.” 

I blinked away the sudden dryness in my eyes. “On that somber note, there is another reason I called upon you.” 

He tried to laugh and failed grandly. “If you were hoping for a sport hunt like those I once held, I must disappoint you. When next… I ride… it will be with my ancestors.” 

“And what a glorious hunt that shall be. But no, my lord, I came to offer my skills as a mage.” I glanced at his wife’s back. The grief-addled woman was beyond predicting. She may take the offer with ill humor, but the offer still needed to be made; decency demanded it. “I won’t insult your intelligence by claiming the ability to heal you. However, I can lessen your pain.” 

“He has already refused all manner of medicines for that purpose,” Jermina whispered, adding under her breath, “stubborn old man.” 

“All of those potions… addle the mind. I intend to keep my faculties… until the last.” 

I nodded, empathy for the resilient old goat tinting my conjured aloofness. “I could not possibly agree more. However, the spells at my disposal will only block your mind’s ability to register the pain. For a healthy man, they are exceedingly dangerous-- people could take grievous wounds and be totally unaware-- but in a case such as this…” 

The lord’s eyes twitched as they closed entirely, lips smacking together in a sticky mess. His wife wiped the spittle, as tenderly as a love-smitten girl would caress her lover’s cheek. “In that case… I cede to your wisdom, Princess.”

The keen historian will note a familiar element in this spell. Many decades after this it would be taken to a whole new level by two mages; a fascinating young woman whom I would meet in the coming years and my be-loathed mentor. The results of their research would not appear until the Varden’s uprising; the creatures nicknamed by our enemies as “the laughing dead.” My more conventional application did not remove every level of feeling from a person; rather it only dulled the extremes of their physical awareness (this had been used medicinally for ages). 

It takes a frightening mind to do harm through healing alone. That kind of mental agility is what separates a strong mage from a truly gifted one. I consider myself clever enough to get by, yet even I have been blown away by what far “weaker” magicians can accomplish. This is as good a time as any to reiterate a golden rule of our world: Never . Underestimate. Magic. 

After I eased the ailing lord back to his rest, his wife patiently and politely “requested” that I leave them in peace. I was glad enough to be out of there (grateful I am that, however my life will end, it will be nothing like that). The whole mess still left me with a sour feeling in my gut, but I had no more promising leads into exactly why…. 

Until later that evening.

“My lady, this might be my crowning accomplishment!” Harold clapped his hands twice and bowed, “You’ve never looked better.” 

“A low bar to clear, but I am grateful for the praise.” I curtsied to dear Harold, skirt pooling elegantly around my feet. The dress was simple in construction and very minimally adorned with black ribbon, but it was still one of the most extravagant gowns I owned. There was no finer fabric in the empire; blueish-emerald silk that glinted teal along the rose brocade. It fit me to perfection and was sturdy enough to hide the needle-like blade secured next to my busk. The gown was comprised of three separate pieces; underskirt, overgown, and stomacher. As old-fashioned as the silhouette was, the matching fabric disguised the construction rather well. The sleeves were tight to the elbow, then opened into yawning trumpets lined with black. 

Harold carefully scanned the adornments we’d brought along with us. “Black pearls would suit the ensemble best, I think.”

I glided to his side, velvet slippers nearly silent on the stone floor. “I would prefer something that can hold energy. Who knows what the evening might entail?” I skimmed the selection. Most of my pieces were subdued; I wasn’t overly fond of gaudy jewels.

And then I saw it; a glint of light that seemed to come from within a heart-shaped pendant. Cheeky little bastard, I laid down more colorful curses in the privacy of my own mind. 

Katana rushed to inspect the source of my sudden anger.  I wonder when he snuck that into your bags? I felt the combined repulsion and amusement behind her words.

A better question is why he would bother. I lifted the silvery chain and let the pendant twirl at the end. Every scrap of candlelight refracted through its depths into shivering iridescence. 

A test? 

A challenge. I stared at the object in irritation. By not confronting me directly, the man had, once again, changed the game before I’d even realized we were playing. Either it would sit silently in storage-- from my ignorance or arrogance, it mattered little-- or I would take it back. Either way, it was out of his hands. A wave of apathy overcame me. If I have to share his reputation, I may as well reap the benefits when I can. I re-fastened the stone around my neck. It rested perfectly in the hollow of my collarbones, a cool weight I felt every time I inhaled.  Simple as it looked, it contained enough stored energy to raze Aroughs to cinders. 

Katana, obviously, disapproved. For tonight, I accept that it’s wise to use whatever resources you may. I hope we reconvene on the issue when we go home. 

‘Home’ is a rather strong word, isn’t it? I fingered the chain and grimaced. I swear to you, we will speak more of this soon. 

Good. 

I curled a section of my gleaming waves around a finger until the end returned to its curl. Harold frowned, “A lady should have their hair up at a formal event.” 

“A married lady, yes. Luckily for our schedule, I am still a maiden in the eyes of the court.” I winked. “And in any case, I have no intention of bending to these yuppies.” I liked that I could conceal my pointed ears and the squareness of my jaw in a light froth of auburn. With every trick I learned, I saw less of Galbatorix’s face in the mirror. It was slim comfort, but I had nothing more substantial with which to replace it. 

A voice outside of the door interrupted my musings. “My lady!” Our host’s grating tenor was the least welcome sound I’d experienced all day; including his father’s ghoulish coughing. “I’ve come to offer you an escort for the evening, as is my responsibilty on such an occasion as host.” 

Harold and I made expressive eye contact. The tradition to which he refered was meant for maidens who were too young to yet be courted but were old enough to enjoy a ball. A hosting, adult noble might extend an invitation to such a lady so she may join the festivities with the escort then accepting responsibility for her safety. It was largely a superficial gesture to make children feel included in the silly games we played. To ask someone who not only outranked him but also out aged him by at least a decade was bold to say the very least. 

At least I’ll know where he is. I answered before my pride forced me to rebuke him, “A most gentile and magnanimous offer,  my lord. I will gladly make use of your hospitality.” Harold swallowed his chuckle dutifully and opened the door for me. 

The foppish man in the hall was truly a sight to behold. Violet cuffs on his indigo jacket clashed badly with mustard yellow leggings… the pieces were richly dyed and of fine materials, but the complete lack of coordination was staggering! He extended an arm with perfect manners and a charmless smile, “Shall we?” 

It took all of my acting skills to touch him without showing disdain on my face. “We shall.” 

-:- -:- -:- 

For all his faults, Lord Prayel Halstead was intimately familiar with how to craft an incredible party! 

Before the meal had even begun, a trio of harpists (a boy with a handheld instrument, a woman seated with a larger harp leaning on her shoulder, and an old man leaning over a massive creation) serenaded the gathering guests. The dining table had been moved and added upon until three edges of the room were lined with tables and chairs, all facing a central floor cleared for dancing. Several servants-- including the young miss I’d spoken to earlier in the day-- circled the room with trays of chilled, sweet, wine. Rather than glide about the space and stir the hornets’ nest prematurely, I ventured to the seat I knew was destined for me; directly at our host’s left side. 

Every guest was dressed to the absolute peak of their wealth and taste. Gems glittered at throats, chests, wrists, fingers, hats, shoes...every surface that could be adorned had been. It seemed as if they all meant to carry their fortunes away on their persons like thieves in the night! And what excellent targets they would make for robbery. Between the already omnipresent intoxication and general lack of awareness in the room, it would be an easy feat for a skilled sneak. I’ll have to pitch the idea to Felice. If one of them could infiltrate a fancy party like this… they could eat for a month on a single ring! 

Our host clinked his glass goblet. My fellow party-goers claimed seats along the table, many wrapping up their conversations unhurriedly.To my surprise, the seat on his right was not taken by his mother, as had been the custom for all past meals, but instead by a boy-- no older than thirteen-- with a mop of golden curls, dusting of dark freckles, and pair large brown eyes. He leaned forward, buzzing with excitement, “Can I have an extra honey cake, Father?” 

The lord grinned indulgently. “Is my aging a good enough reason to spoil you? Ah, please, not those kitten eyes… alright then, one extra. But you must be a good lad and bring one up for your sister after dinner is through.” 

“I will!” the boy chirped. He scooted forward, tucked his legs beneath him, and leaned until he could make eye contact with me over the table. He waved at me, all aglow with youthful innocence and joy. 

I waved back, indulging the moment. He doesn’t strike me as the paternal sort. 

He doesn’t act like a married man. Katana snarked. 

Widower. If  I remember correctly, his wife died in childbed while laboring with their youngest. Luckily the child survived; most difficult births don’t end so well-- I realized too late what I’d just thought. 

Like a thunderhead enveloping the moon, a wash of heavy mourning clouded our link. Katana snapped the emotion tight to her core as soon as it arose, but we both felt it all too keenly. I weathered the convoluted wave of emotions that churned through her, unflinching and unjudging; she still grieved for her un-made hatching as strongly now as she had fifteen years ago. If the rest of Alagaesia knew, they would no doubt grieve with her. As it was, she had only me to shoulder the burden at her side. Mor’ranr waise medh ono, fricai. 

The storm stilled to a bitter mist. She wordlessly acknowledged me and shrank back from our link, mentally exhausted and ill of mind. If you have need, I will be here. Then, like smoke on the wind, my voice was the only one in my mind. 

I zoned back into my surroundings in time to lift a goblet and toast to whatever the man beside me had just said. I probed the liquid with magic and swallowed. The wine went down as smooth as the finest cider. Throughout the course of the meal, I indulged in as many as I considered prudent… and then one more for good luck. 

We were served several courses of fancy foods. There were salads of delicate spring greens circled in boiled quals’ eggs. Then, after these came glittering orbs of mosaiced egg, aspic, and foie gra. Then a tall, corseted meat pie accompanied by thick pastries bearing towers of roasted vegetables. And, as a finale, fresh cream that had been dyed, iced, and shaped into flowers, fruits, and birds. I nibbled politely at the extravagant fair (for all my years of court life, I still had a fairly simple palette). 

Finally, it was time to venture from the table and start the dances. Once the bustle of the room increased, I noticed the very subtle intrusion of one extra party guest; my mysterious little assassin. For the moment he was content to drift along the edges of the room making polite conversation, but he could only be here for one thing. 

I meandered to Lady Bramblebay and struck up a conversation about the first thing I noticed; a broach on her collar. 

“A gift from my-- … from Lady Halstead. It was a token of her blessing on my wedding day.” 

“That was most gracious of her.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a familiar face; our assassin had entered the mix. He held a pair of goblets though he was clearly not drinking from either. A brick of gold to the dragon who can tell me what he’s laced them with. 

It was a pathetically obvious bid for Katana to pull out of her shell. It worked like a charm. That liquid-fire you call seithr oil. And you’d better pay up.

What does an eldunari need with gold? 

Gift it to Shruikan. He likes shiny things. I marveled at that. Last I’d heard, the two weren’t speaking, let alone gifting each other things. 

Before I could ask more about the situation, Lord Bramblebay joined his wife. His cheeks looked like two glossy red apples, centered by a dopey smile. “It’s a beautiful night for a feast! Good music, good drink, and plenty of beautiful ladies,” He lifted his wife’s gloved hand and kissed it twice. 

She giggled and tapped his arm, “Please dear, behave yourself. You haven’t the tolerance you once had.” He pouted very much like a child and she sighed. Serae winked at me and smiled, “This is precisely why men need wives. Leave them alone for but a moment and they drink themselves into toddlers.” 

“And to think; those same toddlers run our world,” I added. 

She giggled politely. “I would never dare say it was a universal rule of course. Still, it baffles me that our king is unwed. He is still human, is he not? I’d think a throne was a powerful tool for alleviating loneliness.” 

I wish he was lonely. Of course, I could never say that. Instead I shrugged and sighed, “He is faced with the same turmoil all riders inevitably are; we are much longer-lived than other humans. Any joy we could find in a partner would inevitably be undone by the pain of losing them.”  

I felt the lady’s sincere contrition. “Forgive me. I did not realize--” 

“Few do. And how could they? There are few of us left in the world, and we are a reclusive bunch.” Our conversation eased into more trivial matters; namely fixated around Lord Bramblebay’s extensive knowledge of wine. I know where to find a gift for Mommy next spring. 

Won’t it be rather difficult to purchase wine from a corpse? 

Katana’s observation clanged in my head like the peal of a cracked bell. Even as I chewed it, I spotted the figure of my unwilling informant reclining against the wall. If I were one wit less observant, I may not have noticed his movements at all. 

“My good Lord and Lady!” Lord Halstead the younger bounced up beside me, gleaming horsetail a mess of fly away and breath saturated with wine. His son was tucked up in his arms, head resting on his father’s shoulder in a doze. “I hope tonight’s festivities have been enjoyable?” 

“All that and more, dear Prayel. You’ve got a knack for such things.” Lord Bramblebay’s use of the familiar name and genuine praise seemed to slide right off the younger man’s phony exterior. Luckily, the older lord was too far gone into his cup to notice. His wife, however, tightened her lips. “You’re a capital entertainer!” 

A showy, blinding smile washed over Halstead’s facade. “You do me far too much credit! Please, I want to introduce all three of you to my old friend from Belatona. It won’t take but a moment,” he took the goblet from the Bramblebay’s hand and set it on the table next to his wife’s. “After that, I’m afraid I must excuse myself for a spell. My little one,” Healstead patted the child’s back, “must be put to his rest.” 

I was less than enthralled by the prospect, but there was no graceful way to refuse. I stood and politely chittered away with this irrelevant lordling. Though, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the assassin's movements. He rested his tainted goblets next to his targets’, then he lifted the more innocent vessels and ferried them away. A well-executed swap, but still a colossal risk. People mix up their goblets at affairs like this all the time! I’d seen an innocent man drop dead due to an identical oversight some thirty years ago. He has skills, but he’s still green as a spring onion. 

Katana was displeased by the imagery. In this case, isn’t that a good thing? 

For me, absolutely. For his employer, less so. 

True to his word, Lord Halstead made his introductions and then his excuses as he ferried his drowsy child from the gala. I hid my distaste behind a mask of aloof ambivalence. I fully believe that he only brought the child with him so that he would have a plausible reason to leave. He doesn’t have the stomach to behold the consequences of his orders. 

A coward to the last. Katana agreed. 

I hated those nobles most of all; the kind who commanded bloodshed and anarchy from the safety of their gilded cages. Even Galbatorix, negligent as he could be, was never afraid to dirty his hands… beyond a fault. What must it be like, to still be squeamish at the thought of death? 

Humanizing? 

Says the lizard. 

Careful. I may not have claws anymore, but I’m not totally impotent!

I ticked time away with Katana as I meandered back to our corner and waited for my previous conversation partners to similarly extricate themselves. I leaked energy into one of my many latent spells; sure enough, the wine hid a sweeter and viler liquid within. My jaw tightened. It’s a miserable way to die. Imbibing seithr oil was more akin to drowning in one’s own liquifying innards than to poisoning. It was an execution method saved for the most loathsome; most detestable creatures. I had inflicted it exactly once, and then only because the man had richly deserved it. 

A chord inside of me resonated with that thought. “ As they deserve,” I had told Mahkek all those [years/days/hours/centuries] ago. The words had formed from the churning pit of grief, guilt, and self-pity brought on by the evening’s revelations, but I had paid them little thought since. Katana… what the hell am I doing? 

My partner paused, pondering my despondent tone more than the words themselves. I presume that this isn’t a sudden fit of amnesia… 

Nothing has changed. I blinked back sudden vitriol. Love him or loathe him, I’m still acting like Galbatorix’s pet! 

We’re here for Antebellum-- 

No, I mean… I tried to sort out my tangle of emotions in vain. This is exactly what he would do; squeeze two innocent people for information and then leave them for the most miserable kind of death.  Though the situation had changed, the result had not; I was still preparing to watch innocent people die, and with no more emotion than I would have shown my hair care! The realization made me ill. They’re good people and they don’t deserve to die.

You seem sick at heart, fricai. Katana stayed neutral, calm as a mirror pool. What will you do? 

I considered the goblets with a sour expression. Resolve this situation my way. I am sick; sick and tired of prancing around in the shadows. I know the cure… but it might make a bit of a mess. 

As always, I follow your lead. 

I smiled humorlessly to myself, lifting the two murderous potions gingerly. I caught the eye of my unwitting assistant and shook my head in warning. He blinked hard and slipped through a glass door to the garden. Whether you want to or not?  

Finally, you understand. 

-:- -:- -:- 

Lord Prayel Halstead’s room was even easier to infiltrate than his hired assassin’s had been. Where the father had prioritized safety and peace, the son had placed himself on an exterior wall on the ground floor, conveniently close to the gardens, kitchens, and housing for female servants. A coward and a lech. I wonder if he has a single redeeming quality? 

He can’t be worse than Balor or Beren? 

They are of the same breed.

His lock was enchanted against magical opening. I set the cups down, plucked my trusty throwing needle from my stays, and sent a silent blessing to Felice for teaching me her tricks. The lock popped open and I made myself at home. 

The moon hadn’t moved much farther in the sky when he entered his front-most chamber. The click of his hardened boots screamed money and arrogance; there wasn’t a single stealthy bone in his body. I waited until he was halfway through the room before stepping into the doorway and tossing up a blanket ward against intrusion or escape. He was halfway through the velveteen buttons on his waistcoat when he noticed the two goblets glinting ominously on a table. 

“Pardon the intrusion, My Lord, but I needed a private word with you.” 

His back stiffened. He turned slowly, face set in a mask of dread like a man facing down the gallows. 

He had every reason to believe that he might soon be doing just that. 

“Highness, forgive me for my state of undress. If you give me but a moment--” 

“I came to address your intentions for Lord and Lady Bramblebay.” My frankness made the foppish man recoil. In no mood to entertain his obviscations, I continued speaking in a crisp, matter-of-fact timbre. “You invited a certain young man-- one who’s family name is neither known nor recorded-- to the feast tonight. While there he swapped those cups for identical ones. Conveniently, he did this immediately after you had left the scene.” 

“Perhaps a thief--” 

“An assassin, and one hired by you. I have come here to call you to account. You will either explain yourself to me here and now, or you may explain the matter to Galbatorix and his counselors.” It was a bluff of course-- I neither needed nor wanted Torix’s help-- but the mention of the man’s name had [and has] a profound effect on any that hear it. Halstead quailed beneath the threat but still kept his lips tight. I sighed. “I infer that it has something to do with your parentage--” 

Whatever I’d expected, it was most certainly not the sudden, icy snick of a dagger leaving its sheath. The facade of a doughy, frivolous man practically molted off him and a cornered beast took his place. If he had faced down anyone else in the city he would have probably gutted them before they understood their danger. 

I was less than impressed. 

Normally I would have dispatched the cretin then and there-- attacking a rider or royal were both punishable by death anyway-- but I despaired at the thought of Harold scrubbing blood out of this particular gown. I waited patiently for him to close distance with me, then grasped the blade in my bare hand. My wards clashed against some spell woven onto the implement; it was like trying to hold greased ice. 

“Die!” He sputtered. 

“Stop,” I countered. Bored with his persistence, I snapped the blade off from the handle, tang shattering into splinters of razor-thin metal. Then I buried it the wall behind him with a casual toss. He stuttered forward so I braced a hand on his shoulder to slow his momentum. “That’s quite enough of that. Be a good boy now and have a seat, if you please. I didn’t come here for violence but I will be happy to oblige you if this continues.” 

My patronizing tone sapped his bluster like a physical blow. He staggered back a step and collapsed into a chair. I was suddenly reminded of a different nobleman, a king, staring at Galbatorix with a combined look of horror, awe, and grim acceptance. I shook off the memory and rested my hands on my hips. “Thank you. Now, a full account if you please. Why did the Bramblebay’s have to die?” 

Silence. 

I frowned. “Still being difficult? As you wish, but this may be painful.” I brushed a teasing thread of thought against his mind. It was defended well, as all nobles of import were taught, but he and I both knew how a direct contest between us would end. 

“ Demons woman, enough! I’ll… tell…tell all--” 

Woman?! He’s just digging this hole deeper and deeper… “Now, now, I’m not the one who pulled a knife.” I sighed and rubbed my temple. Again, he hesitated. I snapped, “For every time you force me to repeat myself I will remove one of your fingers. Speak quickly or be silent and let me listen to your thoughts; it makes no difference to me.” 

He vaulted into a recounting of his story. Much of it was the mirror of Lady Halstead’s but I suspected the devil was really in the details of this tale. “Mother adopted me as her own after my nursemaid died. She carried me from my home--” 

“From Illirea?” I purposefully emphasized the old name of the city. It was only a hunch but, between the timeline and the poor woman’s burns, I considered it a pretty safe one. 

“Yes.” 

“How old were you when you came to Aroughs?” 

“Six.” 

“Old enough to remember the life you led before coming here?” 

He swallowed hard. “Please--” 

I took a step forward, grabbed one of his wrists, and touched the tip of my throwing needle to the base of his pinky. 

“Yes!” He shouted, bullets of sweat streaming down his face and staining his gaudy purple suit. “Yes, I remember my parents and my siblings. I remember…our home--” 

I dropped his limb back to the armrest. “Am I correct in guessing that you are the last of an extinguished line?” 

Tears pricked his eyes and hate curdled his face. Finally, he seemed to wrest forth an inner calm as he lifted his chin. Despite ashen face and shaking hands, he still seemed to be clinging to some measure of dignity. “I am Prince Sendigh, last son of the late King, and rightful heir to the Broddring Kingdom.” His eyes were stone-hard; as if he were challenging me to refute the words. 

I… laughed . It wasn’t a conscious choice; it just bubbled out of me. This little fool… a prince? What a joke of a king he would make! Even Galbatorix is better suited to it, and he’s raving mad! I fell back from him, rib-shaking laughter sending an ache through my belly. “By your own tone and actions, I presume that you consider us equals?” 

His expression soured further, wounded pride overtaking common sense. “Hardly! You are the bastard of a mad usurper--” 

“I am a rider,” I countered, mirth fading with his arrogant proclamation. “And I also happen to have your life in my hands at the moment, so I would advise amending your tone.” 

“Spare me the speech. You and I both know how this must end.” He slumped back in his chair, chest heaving like he’d just sprinted a no-man’s land under a heavy rain of arrows. “Exactly the same way it ended between our fathers.” 

Curiosity got the better of me. “Why keep Antebellum at arm’s length? It was for her benefit that I came here in the first place.” 

He winced. “Because the Bramblebays yet live.” At my shocked expression, he shook his head. “They aren’t even aware themselves of what their knowledge unlocks… but the right ears in the wrong places would’ve ended my life as surely as you now will. Everyone knows Antebellum is a longtime associate of yours.” 

I nodded, conceding his point. I probably would’ve reached the same conclusion in his place. That thought brought me no particular comfort. Unspoken, a shadow flitted across my mind and my heart turned to lead, he has a son. As casually as possible, I asked, “Who else knows of this?” 

“I’ve told not a soul. Not even Mother is aware that my memories of life before her are intact; it would only have brought her grief.” The real affection in his voice was shocking. 

A murky crossroads materialized in front of me. I knew, had personally witnessed, what Torix would have advised: complete annihilation. The thought made me even sicker than the near-murder of the Bramblebays. 

You could leave him living as a pawn? Bind him with oaths and have him serve you--

Oaths are imprecise in matters like this. And who knows the harm he could cause if this information spread. The last thing the Empire needs is yet another civil war!

So his life is forfeit. But what about the hatchling? 

The term brought a pang of Katana’s earlier pain back in full force. He’s just a boy… but he could grow up to become quite the problem. 

Katana paused. Then, in a facetiously innocent tone asked, Do you think yourself incapable of handling him? 

I snorted aloud, drawing a raised eyebrow from the lord-- no, prince !-- in front of me. If I am that incompetent, then I don’t deserve any of my titles anyway. “Very well. Then I see no reason why this matter should not end between us two.” 

His eyes widened, the urge to hope outweighing all his resignation. “You mean…” 

“Your son will make a fine lord someday. Besides, creating a power vacuum in Aroughs has no benefit for the Empire at large or me personally. Antebellum will serve as his mentor and masked lord.” 

He closed his eyes, swiping a hand overtop his horsetail to lessen his disheveled appearance. “I daren’t have asked for such mercy.” 

“Nor expected it,” I agreed. I took two steps to the table where the affronting goblets sat in silent admonishment. “If it had been the King that found this morsel, this city would have been bathed in the blood of everyone you’ve ever known.” I lifted the cups and turned. His face was pallid with fear. “But I am no more my father than you are yours.” I emptied both goblets into a planter. The murderous liquid was unperturbed by the soil and roots, though it did violently disintegrate a beetle innocently crouched amid the leaves. 

He eased out a tortuously tense breath. Then, almost as if possessed by sudden religious fervor, he stared up at me and said, “We could wed!” 

I thought my eyes would crust over and fall out of my head they opened so uncomfortably wide. “Why?” 

“To legitimize the king’s claim! Think of it; he would no longer be a usurper, but a regent for the true bloodline!” 

An immortal regent. That’s too funny to even make into a joke. I shook my head. “I would rather live in exile than marry for convenience. And, believe me when I tell you this, death is a kindness compared to sharing a household with Galbatorix.” 

“You could send me into exile! Or arrest me, or--” 

“You’re embarrassing yourself now.” I grumbled. 

“It’s just… my poor mother. She’s already suffered so much… losing Father and me so close together would destroy her.” 

I groaned. Being a good person was more complicated than I could have imagined. Again, I defaulted to Katana. It seems cruel to harm her needlessly, but I can think of no better solution. 

Honesty that only does harm is not noble. Katana parroted my own sentiments back at me with the patience of a sage. Let him bid her farewell; she need not know that it is forever. 

“You will go to her tonight. You will tell her that I have given you a crucial task that must be undertaken in secret. Say your farewells to the man and woman who raised you… and then we will complete our business. She will have lived her last years missing you, but not mourning.” 

He set his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “What could I possibly say to comfort her?” 

I sighed. I am the LAST person to ask about parting words; everyone I’ve ever lost was ripped from me without so much as a prting glance. I considered briefly the things I’d wanted to say; the thoughts that had followed me like ghosts for so many years. Gathering myself to my full height and a distant regalness I said, “Leave nothing unspoken. Express your gratitude for all she’s done. Remind her of your love. Forgive any wrongs that may exist between the two of you. The last and most valuable gift you can give someone before you leave them is peace .”

He stared at me. Even with only a decade separating us, he seemed far younger. He and I were children at the same time and in the same place. But one of us was ferried off to be raised and loved far from his true potential, the other doomed to serve a lunatic to the bitter end. Which of us got the short end of this situation, I wonder? The former prince ended my musings with a single whisper, “I’m ready.”

I listened in to his farewells only enough to ensure he wasn’t betraying our arrangement. Either from honor or terror, he followed my instructions to the letter. The moment was heartfelt and beautiful, with many tears and much embracing. Afterwards, we made one last detour; he spun the same tale in a simplified form to his son. The sleepy boy woke enough to be agitated, but a few pats and pecks on his forehead sent him back to his dreams. 

He passed painlessly in a magic-induced slumber. I incinerated his body in totality and scattered him among the glorious plants that we’d glided among just days before. I did not grieve him, but neither did I relish the task: it was necessary. His father, as predicted, faded before the week was out. His mother lingered on another two years, devoting herself utterly to her grandson and enjoying many quiet evenings with Serae and her husband. 

Antebellum never knew exactly how the tides had turned so favorably but, under the circumstances, it could hardly be anyone but me. She took the rearing of the lordling-in-training very seriously… but not to make him a threat. Rather, she paid careful consideration to making him reliant on her. In a single working relationship, she became one of the most powerful women in the world. But I never let her forget that her influence rested squarely on an un-repayable debt to me; our fates were bound irrevocably from then on. No matter what the task, she would be my ally. 

 On a lighter note, worry not for our enterprising little assassin! I offered him a much better career path; one that would lead him to some new friends in Teirm. He settled into the family quite nicely, though he and Wolfy weren’t the most…  harmonious pair .  

...

It took me a long time to understand my actions that night. Had I witnessed this same scene a decade before, it might have played out very differently. Years as Galbatorix’s favorite blade had numbed me to death, to suffering, to notions of “rightness.” Now… everything was different. I came to a fateful decision: I could no longer measure my life on a scale devised by a lunatic. Freedom from him meant freedom from his precepts; the rules I’d followed religiously since I was a little girl, before I had become a rider or royalty. It was adherence to those teachings that first made me his… to undo that damage, I needed to start at the beginning.

I considered the mess in Aroughs a great personal victory. Not the most ruthless nor the most benevolent… but a balance I could face in the mirror. And I was glad for the practice of reshaping my views. Because someone was about to enter my life who would upend all of my preconceptions about humanity… with nothing more than a smile and an offered hand. 

Chapter Text

The journey home from Aroughs made me appreciate both Katana’s company and her wings more than I ever had. Unfortunately, I only had the former available to me. Restricted to ground travel, and with more pomp than I preferred… it was a tedious march. The weather improved as we neared the capital-- dry air was a welcome change to the dampness of the coast-- and my mood improved with it. I arranged things so we would arrive in the city while most people were already abed. 

What a double-edged decision that turned out to be...

I strolled the halls of Uru’baen at a crawl. The long, meandering corridors were pristine and deathly quiet; not even a fly was fool enough to disturb Galbatorix at this hour. In one hall, the floor was checkered by strips of silvery moonlight. In another, it was dark save for the flickering of yellowish lanterns; magical in nature but designed to mimic real fire. I passed the hall that led to Morzan’s quarters, “The Queen’s Suite” as he affectionately called it. The lack of drunken laughter told me quite plainly that the man was gone from the capital. No doubt to get some space from Torix. 

Katana was amused by the thought. Should we envy him? 

I wouldn’t envy anyone in his position. Since our last heart-to-heart, Morzan had only gotten worse. He was a miserable sight; drunk more often than not, angrier than I’d ever seen before, and listless in everything besides drinking and violence. He hadn’t cracked a smile in nearly a year! Compared to the cocksure mirth that once oozed off the slacker-general… it made a thoroughly depressing image. 

His partner has been heading in much the same direction for many decades. Katana’s quiet grief spoke volumes. She’d only ever been close to Xanist’s dragon, but I knew she’d respected the hot-blooded, red-scaled dragoness a great deal. 

Even as I tried to picture the two side by side-- fledgling Katana only as long as her elder’s foreleg-- the image slipped away from me. I grasped at the shreds, but the harder I fought the faster it seemed to escape. A pang of anger hit me, more violently than it deserved, How much must we lose? Our whole histories; our very souls… and for what? 

Revenge. Katana’s tone was far from understanding. If anything, she was more disgusted by the banishing than any human could be; she was one of only two skulblakan unscathed by it and of them the only one with her sanity intact. 

To reap vengeance on Galbatorix, they punish all those who serve him? I scoffed aloud. If they were going to weave a spell, it should have affected him. Instead, they ripped away our only chance at building a better world in the ashes of the last. They thought it better to doom their race than to accept a new regime. 

Dragons are not spellweavers. We can no more control our influence on the world than you could command the weather. When the urge comes upon us, the world shifts according to our whim. The casual pride in her thought made me smile. Even bereft of her body, she was still very much a dragon. As much as I understand their actions, I cannot forgive them. They took my thunder from me. 

From us both. I carressed her thoughts with my own. As the dragons had withered, so too had their riders. How many had succumbed to recklessness, madness, suicide, apathy… even the handful that clung to life did so as walking ghosts. 

Or as Idril… whatever the hell she was. 

It troubles me how well Torix seems to get along with her these days. 

I shivered. I agree. Were they ever that close before? 

Wouldn’t you be the expert? 

There was no venom in her rebuke,   but I still cringed from embarrassment. Not that I was aware of at the time, no. But then, there were lots of things about the man I failed to notice.

I grazed a finger on the pendant in my pocket. It had been around my throat since the night of the feast, but the idea of going before him while wearing it gave me hives. I’d extracted as much of its energy as feasible into other gems in my travel case, but that still left a considerable store in the necklace. Even so, Katana and I had reached a decision: we would rather flounder without his help than succeed with it. 

Finally, I reached the final turn before Galbatorix’s quarters. As unpleasant as the past few weeks had been, this was still the most odious of my chores: reporting to the king. I had no choice but to appear; he’d even promised to wait up for me (to my endless delight). I scuffed my hard-soled traveling boot on the stone. A cloud of dust settled onto the floor, probably a good indicator of how the rest of me looked: road-weary and dingy. It was a poor way to present oneself to a king, but he’d certainly seen me in uglier states. You should try and meditate a while. I have a feeling this will be tedious.

Isn’t it always? She teased. I will be here should you need me. Katana kept a thread of thought connected to me as she relaxed into her dreamlike musings.  

I lifted a leaden hand to knock, but the door pulled in before I could. 

A girl stood paralyzed in the doorway. She was at least a head shorter than I was and delicate of build. Her blonde locks were in disarray, half up in a ribbon and half framing her round face. She was wearing only a shift and a robe that were both much too large for her. They drooped off her shoulder… her bruised and bitten shoulder. 

A profound empathy gripped my ribs. This girl can’t be older than fourteen… And then, as shy blue eyes flicked up to meet mine, I found that I recognized her! She was having tea with Antebellum when the lady first told me about Aroughs. Then this girl was a nobleman’s daughter at the very least, if not a lady in her own right. And she hasn’t even been presented to the court! By every law, she’s a child ! My sadness melted into disgust. 

The poor things looked like she was about to weep. She had no possible way of knowing how much the man-- the one we’d both come to see-- loathed tears. This fact was made all the more despicable by how often he was himself the cause of them. I raised my hand again and, as gently as I possibly could, covered her shoulder with the robe. “Run along, dear. Try to get some rest.” 

She curtsied on shaky legs, bowed her head low, and sprinted down the hall. 

I stormed into the room, mentally preparing myself for the consequences of the tirade I was about to unleash on him… but I never even gained momentum.  

Torix was draped like a panther across his bed (at least with pants back in place, thank every single god) but he wasn’t alone. A stiff-backed woman sat at the piano, her dark hair loose and glossy, purple dressing gown nearly black in the darkness: Veronica. 

I felt choked, but still managed to say, “What are you doing here?” 

Veronica rolled her eyes and plinked at the keys. “Do I need your permission, oh great and noble rider, to be in my own bedroom?” 

Galbatorix gave Vera a solicitous grin. “Please, there’s no need to squabble at this hour.” He got to his feet and stretched, tossing a shirt on thoughtlessly. “Besides, shouldn’t a family reunion be a joyous occasion?” I couldn’t miss the ironic smirk, the way his dark eyes flashed in my direction, the arrogant tilt of his chin; pure amusement without an ounce of shame. 

Pig. I stood tall and leveled a cool stare. “We see too much of each other. It lessens the excitement somewhat.” I bowed stiffly, as formal as possible. “I am reporting my return as instructed. Nothing of pressing importance occurred at the gala or on the road.” 

I peeked up fast enough to catch his calm melting away, frustration obvious in his body language. “For once, you’ve managed to keep yourself out of trouble. That in and of itself is noteworthy.” 

“ For you, ” Vera finished primly. She seemed altogether too satisfied with herself, a mockingbird imitating a hawk. 

Far from enjoying her interjection, Torix seemed even more irritated. He shrugged off the distraction and switched subjects. “Morzan is returning tomorrow morning. He has asked to meet with the family as soon as he arrives.” 

“Meaning?” 

“Formora, Balor, Beren, Idril, you, and me.” It was not lost on anyone in the room who was conspicuously absent from the list. Her vaguely tapered ears turned pink, but she made not a peep. Torix continued, “I expect you to be in the meeting room punctually at two hours past dawn.” 

“Since when has Morzan ever been punctual?” I tried to smile but found the gesture too taxing. The image of a the girl I’d just seen was too powerful to sweep aside, even falsely. “Galbatorix, there’s a matter I must bring to your attention.” 

My tone shift must have tipped him off. He settled into the highbacked armchair and kicked both feet up on the center table. Even as the absolute picture of ease, he still had a powerful aura of danger around him. It seemed like he was expecting my outburst, was practically encouraging it… like he wanted another excuse to humiliate me. 

I grasped at patience. “What I just witnessed was foolish, not to mention disgusting.” 

He chuckled. “And what right do either of us have to judge--” 

“She’s a child .” The statement should have stood on its own; a visceral reprimand for foulness of the worst kind. Vera certainly shifted uncomfortably in place, eyes locked on the piano keys. Torix was unmoved. I swallowed hard and lifted my chin. “Even if you’re sick enough to not mind such things, I’m certain her lord father would feel very differently.” 

“Who do you think told her of the invitation?” Torix’s clipped tone struck me as more frightening than his mirth; he genuinely, truly , saw nothing wrong with this. “He will be well compensated--” 

My mouth went dry, fists clenched white in fury. “ He will be compensated?” 

“It’s inconvenient to lose a bargaining chip on the courtship board, but then she has two older sisters-- not much dowry left to offer at that point. If anything, this probably saved him from ruin. Material gain is the most a man like that can get from his daughters.” 

Katana, lured in by the scent of drama, whispered urgently in the back of my mind, You can’t reason with a mandman--!

But my temper had already broken free. “As opposed to your frugal strategy of bedding yours?” Verra struck a sour note and pivoted to stare at me, slack-jawed and ashen-cheeked. Torix tensed from toe to tip, a bow pulled to its limit. I knew I’d already pushed him well beyond his snapping point. Nothing for it now. “Did you spare a thought for her? For any of the people you leave broken and bleeding in your wake? And you, ” I met Vera’s eyes a lifted a hand disparaginly, “you are perfectly happy to sit here and watch him ruin a little girl’s life?”