Chapter Three
A Wolf Among the Sheep
Nasuada watched the caravan depart with a heavy heart. Every beat of Saphira's wings and soft step of Arya's stallion brought heartache to the ruler. Two of her closest advisors –dare she call them friends? - were riding away from her. Why had she let them leave; and now, when she needed them the most?
That is enough, Nasuada, she chided herself, fiddling with the silver band around her left ring finger. There is no need for you to go to tears over this. You cannot allow your men to see you like this. Turning away from the sight of the moving caravan, Nasuada took a deep breath and headed deeper into the city of Surda.
The hot air was stifling, yet dry, and Nasuada found the lack of interest people had for her relieving. She had thought walking among the commoners of Surda would spark an interest; she had feared they would watch her incessantly, as if she were some trained beast about to do a trick. After all, her coloring was odd to these people, and she was a female ruler. So many of these things classified her as an oddity to the common-day person… so why was there not more interest?
There is no time for this, Nasuada; get a hold of yourself! Your men need you, and you need to stay especially alert and aware. Who knows when the enemies within your own circle will attack? The thought made the young woman shiver in sudden cold. She was suddenly wary of not accepting a room in Orrin's castle; at least there she could have the guards alerted of this treason about to occur.
What sort of ruler would you be, then? A part of her mind berated forcefully. You would have Eragon or Arya deal with this nuisance for you, or even Orrin's men. Grow a backbone and face up to your foes!
Nasuada steeled herself for what she knew was coming; her foe would certainly waste no time once Eragon and the others were out of the way. She took a strong, sure step toward the inn, planning on speaking with some of the soldiers who had roomed there, when a voice caught her off guard.
"Nasuada, I was just on my way to speak with you."
Turning, Nasuada checked her surprise. "Trianna… greetings. I had expected you to still be with the castle spell casters, honing your knowledge."
"Ah, yes," Trianna mused, her dark painted lips quirking upward in a secretive smile. Nasuada had never liked how the sorceress smiled. "I would be, yet it seems they fast every full moon, starving their bodies and refusing to speak. I have no use for them when they are being so disagreeable."
Nasuada nodded, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Something was very wrong. "Did you say there was a reason for this visit?"
Trianna shrugged nonchalantly. "I thought now, with Eragon gone, you could use some extra protection – and perhaps a woman's company, seeing as your elven companion has gone as well."
"I see," Nasuada answered shortly, rubbing her cotton-covered arms with her hands.
Trianna glanced at her ring finger and raised an eyebrow. "Have you married in the past days since I have seen you?"
Nasuada glanced down at her hand, realizing how inauspicious the ring seemed and sighed. "No. It is a reminder to me of my duties to the Varden… in essence, a reminder that other thoughts, besides those of this rebellion, are frivolous."
Trianna met Nasuada's eyes, her strange smile still in place. Finally she replied with, "I simply hate wars. All of the bloodshed is so disagreeable."
Nasuada's dark eyes narrowed, trying to understand the connection between her words and Trianna's. Trying to remain cordial, she managed to murmur, "Is it not strange that one such as you should say that? The magic users and warriors seem to be the ones who benefit the most in times such as these."
"Not as much as the rulers," Trianna quipped, her smile widening. "Besides, we magic users and mercenaries are forced to chose sides; that is almost as dangerous as heading a rebellion. If we choose the wrong side…" she trailed off, shrugging again.
Nasuada's gaze was cold as she muttered, "And who is to say that you have chosen correctly?"
Trianna's expression took on an angry, feral glint. "Perhaps I haven't… but only one person will determine that." Pretending to chuckle good-naturedly, she alleged, "This talk is much too serious for me. Come, Lady Varden. Join me in my little hovel for some tea; I just made a fresh batch."
Nasuada followed the witch, hands feeling for the daggers strapped to the wrist sheathes hidden under her full sleeves. Nasuada had never trusted the sorceress… and if Elva's recent prediction was correct – and Nasuada didn't doubt her for a moment – then there was a very good reason for her mistrust.
Trianna had turned out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. Nasuada only hoped that she was able to catch the wolf unawares and dive in for the kill before its teeth tore her apart.
…
Arya felt as if this entire trip had been a plot to slowly drive her mad. She was able to handle the openly mourning dwarves, who sometimes burst into very moving speeches about their fallen ruler. She could even handle Orik's silent weeping, offering him only stoic silence and looks of apology.
Yet the one thing she could not shake off was Roran. Ever since their morning spent together in Surda, he seemed to latch on to her like a parasite. He seemed to think that she, being an elven princess, had some insight into the workings of Helgrind. How those two unrelated topics seemed connected to him, she was unsure.
"Do you think she is alright?" Roran asked suddenly as they drew to a halt where the others decided to make camp for the night.
He looked over at her with such pain and hope in his eyes that Arya felt exasperated. How was she to break it to this pining fool that his lover was probably being tortured as they spoke, and possibly dead?
"Why do you not speak with your cousin about this, Roran?" Arya asked finally, trying to be patient. "Why do you speak with me, a woman who hardly knows you and has never met this woman?"
Roran looked down, mumbling something, before answering, "You will find me foolish, but I feel like I hardly know him anymore. He is a mystery to me; he has changed so much and seen so many things that I…"
Arya sighed, looking past Roran and toward the main group. Eragon was among the dwarves and select few elves and humans that had joined them. Yet Eragon was not paying attention to the dwarves speaking around him. His eyes were locked onto Arya.
Arya shivered, looking back to Roran. If she had not known better, she would have thought that she had seen hate brimming in those dark eyes. "Roran, you must speak with Eragon. He and I are on shaky ground – at best. I fear that you speaking with me constantly may set off his temper."
"Temper?" Roran repeated, remembering Eragon only as the sweet-natured boy from Carvahall.
Arya nodded. "He has been prone to terrible mood swings and irrational anger. Personally, I blame it on the Blood Oath ceremony and his induction into the elven ways." She shook her head, long tresses shaking with the motion. "Unfortunately, he has taken on the worst part of our race's mannerisms, as well as the best."
She glanced over to where Eragon had been, but he seemed to have disappeared. A tickle of worry ate away at her insides as she bade Roran go join the dwarves for supper around the campfire. She, in turn, picketed the horses at a scraggly tree. One good tug would free them from the tree, of course, yet she felt better knowing that their leads were tied off.
Alone and enveloped by the oncoming darkness, Arya went about feeding the horses and brushing down their coats. She did not have the courage to face all of them yet; namely, she did not have the courage to face Eragon.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and whispered to her stallion, "You are lucky, do you know that? Lucky you do not have feelings as complex as we do."
The horse stilled its prancing under her hand and sniffed the air, nickering softly. It had caught the scent of another person. Arya looked up, feeling dread entering her heart.
How is it, she thought numbly, that I can stand against any foe without flinching… and now I feel like running at the sight of a mere boy? She had no time to puzzle out the answer, for the aforementioned boy was striding toward her.