I cannot tell you how happy I am to share this story. Though it has been years since I've first posted, my enjoyment for writing it has not faded. It was something that originally my younger brother and I concocted out of boredom and like all stories it quickly took a mind of its own.
Over the years my writing style has changed and with it, so has the first few chapters. Minor and major edits as my skill grows. This is the newest version.
I ask you to please ignore the errors throughout the story, there is no true editor to catch them were I've failed.
I hope that this is a story that you'll enjoy,

I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.

A Search for Nihility

The last time she had been in the room had been during a search for hidden treasure.

At that time the room had been laid with drab and nearly colorless carpet, now it was dyed a rich blue. A dark, wonderful, and expensive color befitting of a queen. There was no royalty in the room however, once long ago, perhaps, the room was meant for someone of such a standing. Once when the room was lined from floor to ceiling with books, rows and rows of books on shelves, their spines gleamed with gilt letters in the spilling sunlight. Parchments and scrolls and papers piled everywhere, and among them were curious figurines of alabaster and jasper, and models of ships, and musical instruments carved intricately out of polished wood and stone. In the corner of room there was once a was huge harp, carved in the semblance of a phoenix. Near the window that overlooked a wilting garden had been a natural crystal of adamant that, alone of all things was unshaped by human hands, a golden ripple passed through it throwing rainbows across the room. In the days of its use it had been private study, a place of quiet and contemplation, a treasure in its right.

At the time of its discovery, it hadn't been seen as such. A disappointment, yes, but something of remembrance and worth, not so much. Of course, back then Rose had been but a child and did quite know what she had stumbled across.

Now that items were no longer in the room, she wished that she had valued the gem of the room once was. It was shame that no one else had, either. The shelves had been torn down, and their books and parchment and lovely figurines, models, and instruments missing. It was very likely that they were taken to a place where they were likely to never be seen again- hidden in a far-off corner to gather dust. The crystal that she had once been memorized with was gone, and in its place, was large round table. On it was placed goblets of gold and a golden ewer, large plates laden with fruits and sweetened nuts, and at its center as a silver vase filled with colorful blossoms.

The silent tranquility of the room had been replaced as well with the bumble of chatter from young girls and women. The girls in the room were lustrous glasses, appealing it was to look at their gleaming surfaces, all seated with cheery masks and busy hands. For the longest time, these girls talked about flowers and gardens and the fashions of laces and ribbon. It was monotonous chatter, meant only to convince the older women nearby that the girls were indeed as mindless as their conversations, and after an immeasurably long time it worked. The three noble ladies seemed to grow jaded by the talk and excused theirselves at long last, and once they were out of earshot a number of the girls set aside their needle work and sloshed just a bit, the trained masks they wore melted away.

"Have you seen Lady Robena's dress? She is baring far too much skin. Isn't it simply scandalous?" said Tristana. And like a mother goose with her hatchlings, when Tristana opened her mouth, the girls flanked around her to tootle and cling onto her every word. "She shall probably have to marry some brash baron. Can you imagine? It is such pity, really. Have you heard her father is to be knighted by the King? He is to given the Knight Commander of the Order of the Nine Valiants for his distinguished military career!"

Many of the girl murmured their shock or agreements, nodding their heads ever so slightly so not to mess up their carefully done hair. Others, however, did not, remaining instead focused elsewhere or still setting aside their craft.

"He's a good man and yet," said a meek voice, one that Rose knew belonged to Idelle, but the girl seeming to think better of it allowed her voice to fade. It was habit of hers, to speak before quietening herself. Idelle was a pretty girl, with a soft, round face and watery blue eyes that gleamed at the sight of sweets. Not that she would ever eat those treats. Certainly not anywhere where there was a soul to tantalize her for the liking.

It was during the softly spoken words that Rose decided that room about her wouldn't change back to how it was before nor would it do anything interesting any time soon. Just as it had been years ago, there was no true treasures in this room to be found. At least none she cared for at this time.

She turned to look at girls around her. Tristana was seated beside her, much to her horror, with sumptuous dark curls plaited to the back of her head, an upturned nose, and eyes the color of bronze silk. There was a simple white plume fastened to her hair which, in Rose's option, completed her likeliness to a goose.

"His daughter is becoming a stain on his reputation," Tristana continued looking at Idelle though narrowed eyes. "Gracious, Idelle, if you are going to say something you ought to have the decency to at least finish saying it."

"One really shouldn't say such things," Idelle responded, looking down at her hands.

Tristana fingered a loose curl with her fingers. "Why ever should you not?" she questioned. "You shan't scare the men off, and you needn't worry about your debut. You have so very little to worry about."

Idelle recoiled as if she had been slapped. "No, I suppose I do not," she said quietly.

"Your betrothed is a lovely man," one of the girls piped, trying to soothe Idelle. She gave Tristana a sharp look.

"And older than my own father," Idelle whispered.

Rose doubted anyone had heard the girl, not when her voice was hardly more than a whisper in the wind. Idelle's engagement was news to Rose. Concerning news if she were being honest; Idelle was quite a few years younger that she was, hardy more than a child. It had not been long ago that she had seen the girl had playing in a fountain tucked in a back corner of the garden during a particularly hot afternoon.

"Oh, don't be so glum," Tristana purred in a silky voice. "I'm certain the many balls will be filled with feasts of garlic laden meats and pinched shoes. The new chef has such a taste for garlic, have you not noticed?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose he does love it," Idelle said, after a moment. "I still wish I could go. Do you really think there will be many balls?"

Rose wished that Idelle were not so naively innocent, it dearly made her want to slap the girl for allowing Tristana to bait her.

Sure enough, Tristana gave her a sugary smile, and placed her hand upon Idelle's wrist as if to be a comfort to her greatest woes. "Oh, yes, of course."

The topic then moved on to less important matters, such as those they had likely learned listening at the doors, by a girl with scarlet colored hair. Rose returned to studying the room again- she didn't want to listen. After some time, silence fell over them as a pair of women in matching gowns joined them and conversation shifted to fabrics and jewels once more.

Rose shifted her focus towards the walls.

She would be doing many things these coming months, and perhaps it was both fortunate and tragic that she would not be joining these girls in their merry-making and leaden natters. She would be elsewhere, doing and learning skills that, to her, seemed inadequate and very ill timed. Once more she wondered at the King's decisions. What exactly was he trying to do? And why now, of all times?

As she pondered over her thoughts, a woman, a servant if truth were to be told, walked into the room and stood silently behind her. A folded paper was placed in Rose's lap and the woman walked out without a sound. Rose peered at the thick parchment, taking it into her hands and quickly reading through it. She smiled and excused herself, though she doubted that the women heard her over their debate about what type of fabric is best for a ball-gown in springtime. She tried not to rush too quickly out of the room, or slam the door but she had a feeling she failed at doing both. It didn't matter, truly, she could care less.

Rose turned to the woman, and smiled widely. "I thank you, and all the gods and saints, for rescuing from those mind-numbing blathering geese," she said.

The servant smiled lightly at her and shook her head. "Surely it was not that bad."

Rose disagreed but kept her disagreement unsaid, it was no use to argue with Ailis. It would be no use. A servant Ailis may be however she held Rose's respect, and the capability to point out certain subjects that Rose didn't even wish to think of, none the less talk about.

"If you believe so," Ailis muttered stepping away from the door, "however do not give me your thanks, for that you will have to go to Tornac."

Rose ran her fingers over the folded parchment. The excitement that had begun to bubble inside her, quickly became overwhelming. The smile on her face widened. "He is truly back then?"

"He is," she said.

Ailis was a woman somewhere in her middle years, though she did not always seem to be. She often seemed younger. She had a lovely face; kind and merry and wise, and yet sad. The woman would look on with a forlorn expression, and Rose often wondered what caused it. Now however Ailis smiled, and she did, a piece of her silken brown hair fell between her eyes.

"Where is he?"

Ailis began to walk as a group of men turned the corner and came into sight. "In his usual hideaway," she said softly, when Rose fell into step just ahead of her. "He had asked after you."

Rose began to wring her hands. "And what did you tell him exactly?" she asked.

"The truth," said Ailis. "Oh, please, stop with giving me that face. You look as if you bit into sour fruit."

Rose turned away and set her face to express no emotion. A mask. "I would rather you hadn't told him anything of the matter," she said softly. "I am perfectly fine."

"I may work here under the King's housing but Tornac is my employer," Ailis hissed as the men came closer. "I cannot simply lie to him, nor should you. It'll only make it worse when he finds out the truth."

With a huff, Rose fell into silence. Her gratitude towards Ailis for saving her fell away into annoyance. She didn't need this, not today of all days. Her emotions were already running high and her thoughts, oh, her thoughts were very tangled. It was like unraveling a pile of knotted yarn, trying to think of what she was feeling and thinking, that is. And with each day the tangle only got bigger and bigger until there was no hope of finding which end was which. In short, it was horrible and terrible mess.

"You should clean yourself up before you go and see him," Ailis whispered when the men were out of earshot. "I mean no affront but you look a bit off-color."

Rose narrowed her eyes. "I seem to look off-color every day," she muttered. "I know not what I could do to make myself look otherwise in a few moments. Thank you, though, for the suggestion."

"You could sleep tonight instead of spending the night reading," Ailis suggested. "You might find that you feel much better come morn."

"You know that it likely that I shan't not sleep a wink."

Ailis sighed. "Try," she said. "Just for tonight."

"I will," she lied. Just how many times had she repeated that lie?

"You best do so," said Ailis sternly, her hands resting on her hips. "I shan't be around tonight to check and see that you do."

Rose briefly wondered where and what Ailis would be doing. It was none of her business. She turned around and looked at the woman. "I shall see you in the morning, then, yes?"

"Yes," said Ailis, and then she disappeared into a doorway. "I shall see you then."

Stopping, Rose fingered the stout doorway Ailis disappeared through before turning away. She had always wondered at the winding hallways and staircases the servants took to, but has always felt that if she went through that door she would never make her way out. She preferred the halls of the main castle. They were enough of a maze for her.

Rose walked away eager to see Tornac. It did not take her long to find the room that he had holed himself in. She opened the thick door without knocking and shut it with hardly a sound. The only person in the room was Tornac. He stood facing a crackling fire with his hands clasped behind his back, looking at a painting of the sea. Rose did not remember it ever being there and for a moment she studied it before turning away.

She hadn't been in this room since Tornac left to make a journey, but the high-ceilinged chamber looked the same. The dreary earthen walls were painted with a soft yellow, and from the ceiling hung a silver lamp shaped like a lily that defused a gentle light. Comfortable high-legged chairs were arranged how they always have been, around the fireplace. An elegant bookcase filled with leather-bound books lined the wall opposite. Rose saw that a few of the books were missing, she wondered where they had gone to.

Taking a step into the room, she smiled widely and rushed to embrace him, tossing her arms around him from behind. He took a sharp intake of breath as he rocked forth on his feet, and then twisted himself around so that they properly embraced. They remained this way for a long time.

"You said you would not be back before winter," she said they broke away. "What has brought you back so early?"

His eyebrows wiggled, fighting each other across the bridge of his nose. "Unexpected events," he said, cupping her face in his hands. Tornac studied her for a long moment, and she took the chance to study him as well.

He was a stern-looking man with a scar across his cheek to his sharp nose which drew the skin tightly under his left eye which made his face unusually expressionless. His hair was longer than she remembered held back with a thin strap of worn leather. There were new creases near his eyes and he cheekbones seemed much sharper. His eyes where the same, a bright blue like the color of an robin's egg.

For as long as Rose could remember, this man had been a part of her life. He had been many roles in her life; a protector, a father-figure, a guardian, and friend. None of these were the reason that he was introduced into her life, however, Tornac had been hired when she was a small child after an assassin broke into her nursey. He was meant to be in charge of her protection and nothing more.

Tornac had, however, found that the small, quiet child who was more than a little terrified of him to be the biggest challenge of his life. Watching from the side lines and charging others with her protection would not do, not when he could hardly keep an eye on the girl himself. How was he supposed to charge others with her care?

Or so he said.

Rose didn't know the truth herself but she suspected that it had more to do with who Tornac was than she who she was. The mere thought of the man charging others to her care was, to her, laughable. Tornac was a rare man. He was the person she trusted most in this world and, until a year or so ago, he had always there, always reliable, she could tell him anything without the fear of judgment. He was steadiness when nothing else was. No one could compare to that.

Tornac's dry lips thinned and he shook his head. Slowly, he drew her towards the sofa, before releasing and sitting himself on a chair across from her. "You look unwell, my girl. Is there something you wish to talk about?"

Rose shook her head. She knew perfectly well how she looked: tired. At least that's how she felt. So very tired. Over the last months she had found that sleep was a hard thing to come by, and would instead stay up with a book late into the night. The only time she fell asleep was in the wee hours of the morning when her eyes burned and salty tears fell down her cheeks. Even when she did sleep she got very few hours of it, and this left her skin a deathly pale and dark half circles under her eyes. In morning, without fail, Ailis would tut over her state and caution her to get some rest. She would agree to try, as she had earlier but it would be a lie to please the woman and nothing more. Despite her slow mind, she found her less than pleasing state to be a sound excuse, a very good reason to excuse herself from a number of unpleasant gatherings like the one today. She had been truly unlucky to get trapped into it.

"I am here whenever you feel the need to talk," Tornac said.

"I thought that Ailis already told you." Rose looked down at her finger, picking at her nails.

Tornac covered her hands with his before drawing away. "She had, but all the same, I would prefer to hear it from you," he said.

Rose nodded, folding her hands in her lap but didn't look up.

For a long time neither of them spoken, and then Tornac stood up and walked towards a small table in the back of the room. He poured himself a glass of golden wine from a crystalline pitcher. "I understand that the King had made up his mind, that much is clear, and there is little the that either of us can do about that. I know how this troubles you, Rose, to know that once more you're being considered as something you are not," he said after sipping from his goblet.

Rose huffed and squeezed her eyes shut. "Not yet," she retorted bitterly. "The King grows impatient and I can only delay him for so long. He will demand an answer soon enough, and he will get what he wants. He always does!"

Tornac stared into the fire for a long moment, completely lost in thought, which was fine by her. Her excitement at seeing him was now gone, a part of her suddenly wished he had taken a little longer to return. Finally, Tornac stirred and returned to his seat. "Do you still have that necklace I gave you?" he asked.

She started, her eyes shot to Tornac's and she hastily opened her mouth "I- Oh, yes, of course," she stammered.

"I would be delighted to see you wear it," he said, sipping from his goblet. "I gifted it to you to be worn, my girl, not to be hidden in a box with all your other knickknacks."

Rose bit her lip. "I've worn it a few times," she noted. "It's lovely merely hard to find an outfit with. Oh, I nearly forgot to ask what happened while you were away?"

Tornac gave her a hard, unyielding look and her shoulders dropped with disappointment. "Very little worth noting, it is best if no more is said." His face softened and he said, "Now why don't you grace my ears with your playing, it is something I have long missed."

Rose raised an eyebrow at him in a silent question. Tornac knew as well as she that she had not an instrument to play and that her singing voice was that akin to the screeching of a great horned owl. However before she could resort, he bent down and pulled out a large cloth covered package. In a smooth motion he handed it to her, she took it carefully, not use to such gifts from the old swordsman. The package sat across her lap hanging little more than two feet off and it was as not as wide as her waist. Rose carefully undid the rough strings and unfolded the thick cloth, and took a sharp breath. Inside sat a viol.

The viol was a bowed musical instrument of dark yellow wood that sat on the lap or in between the legs when played, it was a rectangle that curved in halfway into its frame, a long polished neck ended in a fine curve that held seven strings that when struck with a bow made a pleasing sound, it had a flat back, and an integrant carved pattern that sat under the strings. It was truly a beautiful instrument.

"I happened to come across it in a small village, the poor merchant who owned it had the bad luck of ignorance as to what treasure he held," Tornac said. "I pray you still have your old bow, else I'll have search for one which would be a long and pitiless."

Rose frowned, her hand hovering over the seven strings. "This is grand gift, Tornac. I cannot thank you enough."

"However?" Tornac said, his eyes remaining on her face.

"I'm afraid I have never played a voil with seven strings."

Tornac nodded, understanding the problem, "Come to me when you learn and I'll listen then."

Rose smiled and nodded happily. It was because of Tornac's insentience that she had acquired such a taste for musical instruments. He was the one to introduced her the bard Brage, who took the hardy task of teaching her to play the stringed instrument. Playing had not come naturally to her and she began to loathe the time she spent with the bard, until one winter day when she found she took pleasure in the challenge- and his tales. Since then, she spent much of her leisure time playing songs in her chambers, when her mind became too conflicting to do anything save for music. That is until seven months ago when her beloved viol fell from her bed and cracked. It was completely unplayable.

"I'll come to you then," Rose said, happy to have such a test to face. Perhaps if she wondered in the music room there'd be a soul willing to teach her.

"I will wait eagerly until such a time passes," Tornac said grimly, as he stood. His old bones cracking like the fire. "Now, I'm afraid that I must excuse myself as I am quite weary."

Rose stood as well. "Rest well, Tornac."

"And you, my girl, best get more than a wink of sleep tonight," he said, clasping his large hand on her shoulder.

"I shall try."

He nodded. "You best."

They walked out of the room and went their separate ways. It with a shock that it was almost nightfall. She hadn't eaten anything that day, there had been no time break her fast that morning. Hungry, Rose made her way to kitchens, hugging the viol close to her chest. After reaching the large kitchens and charming a meal out of the cooks, she ate hastily as she made her way back to her chambers.

While traversing the curving halls, Rose came across the sound of voices in one of the many stone walled rooms that were never used. Curious, she stopped to listen, ignoring all the manners that had been ingrained into her.

"Enough of this talk," a woman said, impatience seeping from her voice. "There is much to be done, and I precious little time to do it. As you are here, do have what I requested?" There was the sound of rustling leather and footsteps, and then an exclaim of surprise. "It's heavier than they claimed it would be."

Someone snorted, as if they were humored. "Alas," a familiar voice said, "such shall be your fate while you side yourself with thieves and misfits."

Rose, entranced, stepped closer to the closed door and pressed herself to its cool surface. For a moment she wondered what was the people talking about? What thieves and misfits? Then she realized why the voice were familiar, and who it what that was talking, and went still with shock.

"Do not say such things!" the woman said, making a hissing sound. "Humans aren't the only things that have ears around here."

Squeezing the instrument closer to her, Rose slowly walked backwards to the nearest corner, careful to make no sound. She didn't wish for them to hear her. Should they hear and catch her snooping, she would have to explain herself, and at the moment she was certain she wouldn't be able to come up a convincing lie.

"I know," it was Tornac's voice that replied. "Though I must ask while we are risking our necks: when the storm will land?"

"Two days time," the woman said lowly. "It is not too late to with draw to higher land."

With the corner only a few feet away, Rose picked up her pace, tossing all former precaution away.

"I'll see to it that I'm well prepared."

The creaking sound of the door opening startling Rose and she turned on her heel and ran around the corner, her loud footsteps echoing behind her. With a deep breath she peeked over the corner.

"Do you believe someone heard us?" Tornac asked his shaggy white hair falling into his eyes.

The woman, Ailis, looked up at him, her face twisted in a way that Rose had never witnessed. "Aye, someone did hear us. Tread carefully, Tornac," she said. "It'll be some time before we're out of these dark waters." With her warning said, she stormed away, her white and purple skirts billowed behind her, like dark clouds.

Rose didn't wait for anything more to happen, instead she turned and ran, her heart pounding uncontrollably in her chest. Had anyone seen her she would no doubt be the subject of gossip for the next week for running about the halls very much like a savage boar. She tried not to pay attention to the Court and what they thought, yet it did not stop her from blushing madly with a young group of girls watched her as she charged past them. She felt like cursing herself for being so careless, and as soon as she turned the corner she slowed to a steady walk until she reached her rooms and locked the door to her bedchamber.

Her bedchamber was a neat disarray of books and scrolls, many of which belonged to the castle's library, though it quite unlikely they would return to their proper home any time soon. A fire flickered in the grate and through an arched window the bubbling voices of a fountain could be heard. A bed draped with a brocaded cover stood in the corner and near it, a lush arm chair burdened with heavy books faced the heavy oak door. Colored perfume bottles of all shapes and sizes sat across a long, thin table with a wood framed mirror and a hard stool was tucked underneath the table. An intricately carved wooden chest for clothing was pushed to the far wall.

Rose picked up a thick book, with decorated cover of mother-of-pearl and gold leaf edging. it was the very same book she had discarded the night before. She flipped through the thick, ivory pages until she came across the place where she had stopped. Not bothering to move, she sunk down onto the floor, her dark gown bellowing around her form. The viol sat beside her, forgotten in her sudden need for answers.