I'm back! No, I haven't abandoned this story. It's just difficult to motivate myself when few people are reading or reviewing Inheritance stories nowadays, and when I don't particularly care for the source material itself. Anyway, we'll be getting into some of the intrigue and drama soon, so I hope y'all like it! And please don't forget to review, it really does mean the world to me.

Chapter 10

Murtagh gave a long sigh as he collapsed into a chair in the castle's library. A mountain of books towered over him intimidatingly on a small writing desk near his chair. Muttering a few words in the Ancient Language, Murtagh guided a few orbs of red light toward the torch brackets along the library walls, where they caught fire and cast a pleasant orange glow about the room.

Sitting up stiffly, he opened one of the dusty books and looked over the words. He scowled. It was impossible to concentrate.

"You look terrible."

Murtagh looked up from his book and scowled at the doorway, where a tall, thin figure stooped, analyzing Murtagh's appearance with a mixture of weariness and regret. "Yes, well, it's not half as bad as last time, is it?" the red rider said coldly.

Murtagh gestured listlessly to the livid purple bruise on his jaw, and his new black eye. Murtagh's clothes were also the worse for wear, now badly singed and frayed in places, with blood staining part of his torso a sinister red where he had shattered three of his ribs. He had repaired the critical damage with magic easily enough, but decided not to waste his energy on the smaller injuries.

"Even so, I thank you," the man said quietly, approaching Murtagh wearily and sinking into one of the chairs nearby. "Although I know you do not return the sentiment, I consider you a good friend to me."

His movements were those of a much older man, and he sat pinching the bridge of his nose and frowning deeply. His piercing blue eyes were downcast—he looked utterly defeated. Murtagh briefly considered asking him if he was feeling well, but decided against it.

"Why are you reading?" the man asked after a moment, his voice mild. In the reddish light Murtagh had summoned, his face looked even older than it had before.

Murtagh raised an eyebrow at him. "You wanted me to research the Dragon Riders' pact with the elves and humans. To find out how a half-dwarf could have bonded with a dragon."

"But I can tell you are not focused. You are not thinking about Dragons and Elves through the Ages. You are thinking about our newest guest."

Murtagh's scowl deepened. He hated how the man always seemed to know what he was thinking, without actually breaking into his mind.

"Thorn is thinking about her, not me," Murtagh answered truthfully. "And I would hardly call her a guest."

The red dragon's thoughts had been racing through Murtagh's mind ever since they learned that the copper egg had hatched. Even now, Murtagh was trying valiantly to block out Thorn's questions in order to focus on the conversation at hand, but it was getting difficult.

Don't try to block me out, brother! Thorn managed to slip in his rider's mind again, sounding indignant. I know you met her, tell me about her, has the king found her dragon yet? What do you think the new dragon will be like? When can I meet the rider? Will she be able to help the king find a way to—

Thorn! Please. Murtagh rubbed his forehead with a mixture of fondness and weariness. I'll speak to you later tonight, I can't talk right now...

Thorn's impatient grumbling filled his rider's mind, and Murtagh sighed.

"As it happens," the other man continued, "I want to speak to you about this new Rider."

"What happened earlier today?" Murtagh asked. "I knew, of course, when I felt the floor shake, but what happened to the girl?"

He did not meet Murtagh's eyes for a long moment. "I acted poorly," the man said. "The timing has been most unfortunate…Now the thief is keeping to her new quarters—she is tearing them apart as we speak. But Murtagh—" the man's eyes suddenly burned with eagerness, making him look much younger. "So much has occurred in the past few days, this thief stealing the dragon's egg, the egg hatching, and for a half-dwarf of all beings, and then the hatchling's sudden disappearance...I have a hundred thousand new questions, Murtagh, and yet I fear it will be difficult to obtain her answers or her cooperation now."

Murtagh sighed. "Yes. She certainly doesn't seem to be in the mood to listen. And you truly don't know where the hatchling is?"

The man shook his head in bewilderment. "Every search I have made has been futile, and yet I refuse to believe this copper dragon is dead. The soldiers who apprehended its rider cannot tell me anything of use either." He sighed. "And I have so many questions that need answering…all of our work will soon pay off, my friend. And that brings me back to my point: the rider," he looked sharply at Murtagh. "You must speak with her. Help her to understand her situation. Help her to see…"

"You know I cannot tell her about you. Or about Shruikan. You and I are both sworn to secrecy in the Ancient—"

"No, no, I understand that," the man waved a weary hand at the Red Rider. "In time, she will learn the truth herself, as you did. I know it will take a long while for her to trust me, but we must start somewhere, mustn't we? I plan to invite her to dinner with me tomorrow. I advise you to join us—it will be valuable for me to speak to the two of you together. Just make sure she is at least the slightest bit cooperative by then. Please, Murtagh."

"Yes, of course." Murtagh studied his weary face for a long moment, before turning back to his book.

The older man stood shakily and turned to the door. "Murtagh?" He asked after a long moment.

"Yes?"

A hesitant look crossed his features. "Do you believe I am doing the right thing?"

"To what are you referring?" Murtagh asked warily.

He gestured helplessly to the entire room—himself, Murtagh, the pile of books stacked along the walls, and the dungeons below them— "Everything."

"…Yes," Murtagh said truthfully.

"And do you think it will be successful, in the end?"

The man's blue eyes were dull, his voice unimaginably tired. Although he towered over Murtagh, who remained hunched over in his desk chair, Murtagh couldn't help but think of a child looking with unsure eyes up at their parents, hoping to hear that they'd been forgiven for making a mistake. But it was too little, too late, Murtagh knew.

"No," the red rider said quietly. "I don't, Galbatorix."

A faint knocking sound woke Corliss from her dreams, and her eyes opened groggily.

"Corliss?"

The girl groaned and sat up as the knock came again, a bit louder. Just go away, she thought darkly as she remembered the events of yesterday.

She had done an excellent job of destroying her room, she thought as she looked around. Maybe a little too excellent. But it hadn't really made her feel better...in fact, she just felt childish and immature. A pang of embarrassment ran through her.

"Corliss? Are you in there?" The knock sounded again, and she recognized Murtagh's voice.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"May I come in?"

She sighed. "I don't care."

The golden doorknob turned slowly and the red rider stepped into the destroyed room. Corliss turned away to face the wall, trying to ignore him.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Murtagh gave a soft laugh. "I like what you've done with the place."

Corliss ground her teeth at the humor in his voice and turned to offer a scathing reply. Instead, the words caught in her throat as she looked at him. "Sweet Guntera, what happened to you?" she demanded. Murtagh's torso was covered in blood, his ribcage clumsily wrapped in bandages that were now more red than white. His clothing and hair looked badly singed, and his face looked as though it had been rammed into a stone wall.

Murtagh made a face—Corliss thought he would have shrugged if his ribs hadn't been damaged—and stepped further into the room. "I've had worse. Don't worry about me."

"I wasn't," she snapped. "I was just curious."

"That's kind of you."

"Does all that," she gestured to his injuries, "have anything to do with where you ran off to earlier? During the earthquake?"

"That…that wasn't an earthquake."

"I figured as much," she said, standing up stiffly. She waited for him to explain what had happened to make the floor shake like that, but he folded his arms and seemed to be waiting for her to speak. "Did the king do that to you?" she asked finally, gesturing to his injuries.

"No." Murtagh shook his head, then paused. "Well, in a roundabout way, yes."

Corliss snorted. "I thought it was supposed to be elves who spoke in riddles and nonsense, not humans."

The red rider looked around the room again, ignoring her comment. His eyes passed over the broken bed frame and ripped hangings. "You didn't sleep on the floor last night, did you?"

She grunted in response, walking to the far side of the room and kicking at a few broken pieces of glass and splintered wood as she went. Her head hurt too much to focus on his questions, and his pretenses of concern were as insulting to her as the king giving her these opulent quarters. Why didn't he just go away?

"You should have seen what I did the first time I was let out of my cell," Murtagh said lightly, and Corliss turned to look at him, genuinely curious despite herself.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I didn't just destroy my quarters. I nearly burned down the entire fourth floor of the east wing. I was livid." Murtagh had a small smile playing on his face, and Corliss stared at him in confusion.

"I thought you…liked it here," she said haltingly. "That you were…you know…on the king's side."

Murtagh scowled. "I don't know if anyone would like being imprisoned against his will, being forced to commit crimes in another's name, or being told his true name…But then, things haven't been all bad, I suppose." Murtagh's eyes shifted away from her, as though he were choosing his words very carefully. "There are some…advantages…to working for the king."

"You mean like being beaten within an inch of your life?" Corliss said, gesturing to Murtagh's injuries. She couldn't believe he would speak that way about the king! She had never heard anyone speak well of the him.

But her scorn was half-hearted. At his mention of true names, she had felt her face burn, and her shoulders slumped. The humiliation, the shame she had felt yesterday upon hearing her own true name, every fault and facet of her personality laid bare—it was too much to endure. And now, worst of all, she was in the service of the king! How had everything gone so wrong, so quickly? He knew her true name; he could make her do anything he wanted; she had let the Varden down. Now Galbatorix had yet another dragon rider at his disposal—or at least he would, if he ever found Setta—

"Setta," Corliss whispered hoarsely. She collapsed against the wall, feeling suddenly drained. Her brain was aching as though it were suddenly too small for her head, and her body felt heavy and caged in a way she had never felt before.

"That's your dragon's name," Corliss heard the red rider's voice as though from far away. "Isn't it?"

Corliss nodded numbly. "I miss her," she whispered, her voice sounding childish in her ears. "I don't know where she is, or if she's…if she's…" Corliss choked bitterly.

"I cannot imagine your pain," Murtagh said, moving as if to put his hand on her shoulder, before thinking better of it. "To lose one's dragon, to not know of her fate. But she isn't dead. I'm certain of it."

"How…how do you know?" she said desperately.

Murtagh hesitated. "The king believes her to be alive, and—"

"Oh, well, if the king says she's alive then it must be true!" Corliss spat, her anger flaring back to life. "After all, when has the king ever been wrong about anything?"

"The king understands better than anyone alive what it feels like when a Rider's dragon dies," Murtagh said, looking affronted. "Don't be a fool! If he says your dragon is alive, then she's alive." He paused for a long moment, and took a step back. "Corliss, let's not fight right now. Please. Save your anger for another time." He pushed a hand through his singed hair, looking weary.

"Hmm." Corliss knew she had been rude, but she wasn't about to apologize. She turned her eyes back to her room—she really had done a good job of destroying it. Maybe Murtagh was right, and she had been angry for long enough.

She needed to focus on getting Setta back. That was all that mattered. She could be angry later, she could pity herself later, she could seek revenge against the king later—but first she had to find Setta.

Suddenly she noticed Murtagh muttering under his breath. To her amazement, the torn curtains and ripped paintings had begun to sew themselves back together. With a clattering sound, the glass vases from her washroom mended themselves, magically renewed to their former shape. The tapestries strewn on the floor suddenly became whole again and hovered up to re-attach themselves to her wall.

The red rider stood rigidly, sweat beading on his brow as he weaved his spell. It occurred to Corliss again how tired he looked, and how injured he was. Why was he exerting himself like this?

"What was that for?" she demanded as her room finished putting itself back together.

"A gesture of goodwill," Murtagh offered, looking surprised at the anger on her face.

"Well, I don't need it." Corliss crossed her arms, suddenly conscious again of how short she was compared to him. "I don't want your pity or your help."

Murtagh clenched his teeth. "You do not have my pity, but you do have my help, whether you want it or not. We're in this together now, don't you understand?"

We're in this together…Corliss hadn't thought of it that way before. But how could they work together when he seemed to be on Galbatorix's side?

"You must be hungry," Murtagh said finally. "A servant should be sent up soon with breakfast."

Corliss blinked. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten—it must have been before Bullridge, back when Setta had still been with her. That thought only depressed her further. "Thank you," she said listlessly.

"And one more thing—" the red rider walked to her door, turning back darkly. "The king has invited you to dine with him, tonight. I will escort you at sundown."

Without another word he departed, leaving Corliss alone.

I'll try to update again soon! Please let me know what you think.