Chapter Eleven

Pretending

The next two days were miserable for Sif.

Part of her had been glad to be back in Ilirea. She had missed it more than she had realised, and she had no desire to go back to Gil'ead. But even though she was home, she did not feel as happy about it as she had thought she would, and during those two days leading up to the meeting she felt far more alone than she had ever been at Gil'ead.

Her fellow riders had no time for her. They spent all their time locked away in the dining hall or in their private chambers, planning, thinking, and talking, always talking. Every mealtime was a debate. Even cheerful Jarsha was caught up in it, and nobody seemed to have time for anything else.

Sif did her best, at first, to be involved. She sat in on several meetings and listened to her four fellow riders argue back and forth. Nasuada was pushing for them to propose that the riders continue to rule the country without subordinating themselves to a monarch. Jarsha had taken her side, and Carnoc was wavering on the edge of it, but Murtagh was still doubtful. He and Nasuada argued fiercely, and Sif didn't know what side to take. She wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn't find the words, and when she did no-one really seemed to be listening. She didn't know what she thought. All she knew was that she was frightened and depressed. After that, filled full of a terrible sense of helplessness, she excused herself from the debates and spent most of her time with Saphira, or looking after little Eragon, who was fretting without his mother.

That was how she passed most of the second day, too, while the meeting that would decide the future of the country drew inexorably closer and closer, and all the while she was tormented by a terrible sense of foreboding, one which grew stronger all the time.

She barely spoke to anyone that day, and when she finally did see her mother again, at dinnertime, she picked at her food and avoided eye-contact with anyone. No-one else at the table was speaking much either. The talking was over. They had made their decision.

'Are you ready for tomorrow?' Nasuada asked, obviously aware of her daughter's unhappiness.

'I suppose so,' Sif mumbled.

'It'll be all right,' said Nasuada. 'I promise it will. Just make sure you look your best and don't lose your head, and we can all…' she paused, looking for a way to finish the sentence. '…do our best,' she said at last, rather lamely.

'Yes, Mother.'

Nasuada looked slightly worried, but said; 'Well, I trust you. Are you done eating?'

Sif nodded.

'Good, well you'd better be off to bed, then. Oh, and by the way, next time you want to find something in my study, just ask, all right?'

Sif looked up. 'What?'

'You heard me,' said Nasuada. 'Those old papers haven't been sorted out yet, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't interfere with them.'

Sif's brow wrinkled. 'What? I haven't been into your study.'

'Well someone has,' said Nasuada, casting a quick glance around the table. 'I assumed it was you. Murtagh said he thought he saw you near the door this morning.'

Sif shook her head. 'I haven't been in your study since the day you got back.'

Nasuada frowned. 'Oh. Maybe it was one of the servants, then. It's odd, I was sure I had the door locked… well, it doesn't matter, there wasn't anything important in there. Now, off you go and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning.'

Sif shuffled out of the dining hall without any argument. There was a cold, sick feeling in her stomach that had been there for most of that day, and the day before as well. She knew it would be there the next day as well, and would stay with her until the meeting took place at noon… and after then… there was no telling what would happen then.

She returned to her room in a sort of trance, and when she undressed for bed she tossed her gown into the corner rather than take the time to put it away properly. She couldn't summon up the energy to get into bed, and lay on top of the blankets instead. She was very tired, but there was so much anxiety rushing through her system that she couldn't sleep. But she couldn't bring herself to get up either, so she just lay there for hours, as the candle burned down and the moon rose outside. Saphira was still awake, too, not speaking, but Sif could feel that she was just as worried and unhappy as she was. Neither of them was in the mood for talking.

The candle, now a tiny stub, finally flickered and went out. The only illumination now came from the fire still burning in the grate.

Sif lay and stared at the dark ceiling for a long time before she finally found the willpower to make herself get up. She slid off the bed and padded over to the fireplace. The hearthrug was warm. She knelt on it, feeling its comforting roughness against the bare skin on her knees. For some reason it made her feel better. She lay down on her side, facing the fire, and curled up, staring at the pulsating orange glow of a charcoal-encrusted pine log. The sight of fire made her think of Skandar. He'd slept like this, back in Gil'ead, curled up on the hearthrug by the fire, like a dog. Or a dragon.

Sif sighed miserably. 'Please come back,' she whispered. 'Please come back, Skandar.'

She woke up feeling cold and stiff, and rolled over onto her back. It was morning, and pale sunlight was streaming in through the window. She sat up, suddenly embarrassed. She hadn't meant to fall asleep in front of the fire like that, and what had felt so right – almost magical – then now felt ridiculous. The hearthrug was no longer warm, but cold and scratchy on her skin, and the floor beneath was hard. She felt like an idiot.

The recollection of what was due to happen that day returned with unpleasant speed, and quickly made her forget everything else. She got up and started to search through her gowns for the best one she owned, suddenly burning with tension. This was nothing like it had been the day before. When she glanced out the window, she saw that the morning was well advanced. The meeting was mere hours away. The instant she realised that, the sick feeling in her stomach, which had returned the moment she had remembered what was going to happen, suddenly twisted inside her. She started to feel hot, as if her face was glowing. It made her feel dizzy.

She managed to finish dressing, and then sat down and began to brush her hair, obsessively dragging the brush through it over and over again, long after all the tangles had gone. The repetitive motion helped to calm her down slightly.

There was a knock at the door. 'Sif?'

Sif dropped the brush. 'Yes, Mother?'

Nasuada's voice was slightly muffled by the door. 'We have to leave soon. You'd better hurry if you want some breakfast.'

Sif's stomach churned even more violently at the thought of food. 'I'm all right,' she called back. 'I'm not hungry.'

'Well, all right. Be sure to come to the dining hall well before noon, understand?'

'Yes, Mother.'

Sif listened nervously until the sound of her mother's footsteps had retreated, and then stared at herself in the mirror. Even in spite of her brown skin she looked pale; there were dark smudges around her eyes, and her fringe was still disordered. She found a comb and did her best to neaten it, but it didn't help much. Moving a little jerkily, she fetched her jewellery box and started to sort through it for a pair of earrings and a necklace to match her gown. She finally settled for the sapphire necklace that Murtagh had given her for her last birthday, along with a matching pair of earrings.

The clasp on the necklace refused to work. She fumbled with it, awkwardly reaching to the back of her own neck, but the little hook refused to click into place and kept getting tangled with her hair. She gritted her teeth and made another attempt; this time it seemed to work and she let go, but the clasp instantly came undone and the necklace slid off onto her lap. Sif picked it up, and then suddenly burst into tears.

She buried her face in her hands, the necklace still dangling between her fingers, and sobbed; suddenly able to release all the misery that had been brewing inside her for days. She hated this, hated all of it. Where was the peaceful home she had once known, where everything made sense and nothing was dangerous? What had happened to the time when she could enjoy being with her friends and her family – go flying with Saphira, play with her little brother, share secrets and laughter with her mother and listen to Murtagh's stories by the fire? When had her home suddenly turned into this place of scheming and unease, where people talked behind closed doors and not even her own mother had time for her? And even though she had always been frightened of the King, she found herself miserable over his death. Without him, everything was different. There was no more certainty, no more security. Without him, the future looked unfriendly and full of hidden dangers. Maybe even war.

Sif heard the door open and close quietly, but she didn't turn around. She was embarrassed to be seen crying, but angry as well. Go away, she thought.

A voice behind her said; 'Gosh, I'm sorry.'

Sif turned sharply. 'I don't w- Skandar!'

And there he was, large as life, standing over by the fireplace and watching her uncertainly. 'Um, I… er… hello, Sif.'

Sif got out of her chair so quickly it fell over, and before she knew what she was doing she had rushed across the room and thrown her arms around him. 'Skandar!'

He held her rather awkwardly. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-,'

Sif didn't hear him. She held him tightly, sobbing into his thin chest. She tried to speak, but the words came out broken and she didn't know what to say anyway.

Skandar seemed to understand. He held onto her a little more tightly, and patted her back. 'It's all right,' he murmured. 'It's all right, Skandar's here. It's all right, Sif.'

She calmed down eventually, and let go of him, staring at him as if she couldn't quite believe he was real. 'Where have you been?' she said. 'What's that you're wearing?'

'Oh. Uh…' Skandar backed off slightly. His hair was neat and glossy, and he had shaved off most of the hair that had sprouted on his face but had styled the rest, leaving him with the same pointed goatee he had had on their first meeting. And he was clad in a long black robe over a pair of black leggings and the same fur boots he'd had before.

'Where did you get it from?' said Sif.

'I made it,' said Skandar. 'I know it probably looks a little out of place here, but… well, it's what I've always worn.'

Sif began to feel uneasy. 'Why?'

'Well, it's what my people wear,' said Skandar. 'Most of the time,' he added.

'Where have you been?' said Sif. 'We looked for you for days!'

Skandar looked at the ground. 'Well…' he looked up suddenly. 'I'm sorry, Sif. For shouting at you like that. I shouldn't have. I still feel bad about it, but I was upset, you see…'

'It's all right,' said Sif. 'But after that. Why didn't you come out before?'

'I wanted to,' he said. 'I knew you were looking for me, but I wasn't in very good shape. I've been ill.'

Looking at him, Sif found it easy to believe it. He looked a little thinner than before, and his eyes were red-rimmed. 'What happened?'

He frowned. 'I still don't know. But I got better after a couple of days, and after that…'

'Why didn't you come to the city then?' said Sif. 'We would have let you in… you said you wanted to meet the others, so why didn't you come?'

Skandar was avoiding her gaze. 'I know I did. I just… it was… I was…'

Sif dared to take his hand. 'What?'

He looked up. 'I was afraid,' he said simply.

That took her by surprise. 'Why? What of?'

Skandar was silent for a time, staring at her face, and then he abruptly pulled his hand out of hers and turned away. 'Sif, I've… I've done something very wrong.'

Sif felt herself go cold all over. 'What? What are you talking about?'

'I don't want… I'm frightened,' said Skandar. 'Of what they'll do to me when they find out. That's why I didn't want to come to the castle. I was afraid of them.' He turned back to look at her. 'Sif, I think they might kill me.'

She grabbed him by the shoulders. 'Skandar, what have you done? What have you done?'

He closed his eyes. 'I'm sorry, Sif. I didn't want to do it. But I had to.'

She felt her grip tighten. 'They think you poisoned the King. But you didn't do it, did you? I know you didn't do it. Please, Skandar. Tell me you didn't do it.'

Skandar shook his head wordlessly. 'What I am… is something terrible. But it's not… it's not that I… Sif…'

Sif let go. 'Oh gods. You did it. You killed the King. You're a murderer.'

Skandar hadn't moved. He breathed in deeply, keeping his eyes closed. Finally, he opened them again. 'All right,' he said quietly. 'All right. I'm ready. It's time. Come with me, Sif. Please.'

Sif kept well back as he walked toward the door. 'What are you going to do?'

Skandar paused to pick up a long, wrapped bundle that was leaning against the wall by the door. 'I'm going to do what I promised I would,' he said. 'I'm going to introduce myself to your mother. But…' he looked back at her. 'Stay by me, Sif. I need you there.'

Sif's eyes flicked toward the door. Very slowly, she nodded. 'I'm coming. Just… give me a moment.'

'All right.'

Skandar stood by, waiting. Sif looked at him, then glanced toward the large chest by the wall. 'Wait for me outside, will you?'

Skandar nodded and slipped out through the door, not making a sound. The instant he was out of sight, Sif darted over to the chest and opened it. Her father's sword was resting on top of the heap. She pulled it out and strapped it to her back as fast as she could, fumbling with the straps but not caring one bit that they spoilt the hang of her dress. Its weight felt very reassuring. As soon as it was on she hurried after Skandar, not wanting to make him suspicious.

He was just outside in the corridor, and walked away along it as soon as she arrived. She followed him as closely as she dared, every nerve in her body screaming at her. For an instant she thought of calling the guards, but she changed her mind. Skandar was going to the dining hall. There would be four fully-trained dragon riders there. All she had to do was tell her mother the truth, and it would all be over.

Skandar didn't pay much attention to her. All of it seemed to be focused on his destination instead. His breathing sounded harsh and shallow, and there was something about the way he walked… as if he were poised to run at any moment. He walked like a predator, and it frightened Sif.

However, when they reached the door to the dining hall and he stopped and turned to look at her, his expression still had the same frightened appeal in it. 'Well,' he said, sounding a little strained. 'This is it. I'm ready. Are you?'

Sif nodded. 'Go on, Skandar.'

He smiled very slightly at her. 'Thankyou.' He took in a deep breath and pushed the door open, and he and Sif entered the dining hall.

The others were all there, eating an early lunch. None of them reacted much to the sound of the door opening, but when they looked up and saw Skandar Sif saw shock written all over their faces. Carnoc and Jarsha froze. Murtagh swore. Nasuada, who was standing, looked straight at him and dropped her cup.

Sif ran straight to her and grabbed her arm. 'Mother…'

Skandar didn't hesitate. He strode toward Nasuada, still limping slightly on his injured leg.

Nasuada backed away. 'You!' she yelled, finding her voice. 'No! This can't… it's not…'

Sif tugged at her arm. 'Mother, it's not him. It's Skandar. This is Skandar.'

Skandar halted, looking Nasuada up and down. Then he bowed. 'It's an honour to meet you, Lady Nasuada. Sif has told me all about you. And you…' he turned to look at the others. 'Lord Murtagh, son of Morzan. And you, Lord Carnoc, and you, Lord Jarsha. Great riders all, I have no doubt.'

'What are you doing here?' Murtagh asked in a low voice. 'When did you come back?'

'A few months ago, actually,' said Skandar. 'Please, allow me to introduce myself.' He paused, apparently steeling himself, and then bowed again. 'I am Prince Skandar Taranisäii-Traeganni, son of King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni, Lord of Alagaësia, and his Queen, Skade Silverscales of the Storm Dragon clan.'

In that moment, Sif felt as if her whole world had crumbled into dust. 'No!' she cried, starting toward him. 'Skandar, don't-!'

He gave her a resigned look. 'I'm sorry, Sif.'

'Prince Skandar?' said Murtagh. 'Oh my gods…'

Skandar inclined his head toward him. 'My father spoke very highly of you, Lord Murtagh. He said you were an honourable man, and one of extraordinary courage.'

'But what are you doing here?' said Nasuada. 'How did…?'

Skandar shrugged. 'I sensed that it was time for me to come home, and now I am.' He glanced around at the hall. 'My father's old home. This is where I was born.'

Nasuada sank into a chair. 'No. No, this isn't possible. He didn't have any children.'

'Yes he did,' Murtagh interrupted. 'He had a son. Skandar. Named for his grandfather, the dark elf. I knew I knew that name from somewhere.' He looked at Skandar. 'But… he told me he was dead.'

'Everyone knew the King's son was dead,' said Carnoc. 'He died only a few months after he was born. That is…' he trailed off.

'Yes,' said Skandar. 'He told me that was what he had led everyone to believe. No doubt he kept me well hidden from you, my Lords and Lady.'

'But where is he now?' said Nasuada. 'And the Queen?'

Skandar hesitated. 'They're… not here. They left Alagaësia. So did I. I grew up in a different land, far away from here. Now I have come back. And not a moment too soon, it would seem.'

'I don't believe this,' said Murtagh.

Skandar gave him an icy look. 'It makes no difference to me what you choose to believe, my Lord. But you would be well advised to believe this.' He paused to take the long bundle from under his arm, and pulled away the wrappings.

Underneath was a sword in a sheath. The hilt was silver and set with a large diamond.

Skandar drew it. The blade gleamed in the light from the windows; it was pure white, like snow, chased with silver veins. Just below the hilt there was a triple-spiral symbol, etched into the metal.

Skandar flourished it expertly. 'My father's sword. No doubt you recognise it.'

Murtagh stood up and ventured closer, staring fixedly at the blade. 'It's the sword,' he said softly. 'His sword. White Violence.'

Skandar put it back into its sheath. There were straps dangling from it, and he began to strap it to his back in the manner of a rider. 'Yes. My father gave it to me. And let me assure you that I know how to use it.'

Every word he spoke was like a dagger in Sif's heart. She listened, unable to speak, hot tears burning behind her eyes. As they blurred, she thought she saw a vision, captured briefly in the shadows. A vision of a man in a black robe with a pointed black beard, eyes glittering. The shade of Galbatorix, laughing at her.

But she did not just see him in her imagination. She could see him now, alive and real in front of her. She had been seeing him for days, hidden in plain sight.

Shock and dismay were written all over Nasuada's face. 'I don't understand,' she said at last, standing up too and coming closer. 'Sif brought you here. She said…'

'Don't blame Sif,' Skandar interrupted. 'She knew nothing. I needed her help to get here, so I lied to her. I told her I was a weredragon, but I pretended to be… something other than what I really am.'

'But you turned yourself into a dragon!' Sif half-screamed, finding her voice again. 'I saw you! You're a weredragon!'

'I'm not denying that,' said Skandar. He turned away, walking toward the window, and looked out through it at the city. 'The power to change my shape is one I have always had,' he said distantly. 'I was born with it. My father could not do it, and my mother did it only twice that I know of.'

'The Queen-?' Murtagh began.

Skandar turned back. 'Yes. My mother was a weredragon, of sorts. But I have the power to change at will. Now…' he came back to the centre of the room. 'I believe you have a meeting to attend very shortly. At noon, in fact. If you don't mind, I would like to attend it.'

'The meeting is for-,' Nasuada began.

Skandar raised a hand to silence her. 'For riders and for relatives of the late King. I believe I fit into the second category. Either way, as the son of the previous ruler of this country, I believe I am entitled to a say in what happens to his realm.'

Nasuada glanced at Murtagh. 'Well-,'

'Yes,' said Murtagh. 'You are correct… Lord Skandar.' Nasuada looked about to object, but he caught her eye and silently shook his head. 'Of course you may come.'

'Thankyou,' Skandar said gravely. 'Now, I'd prefer not to have to change my shape to get there… it's a short trip, and the change takes time and would use up a chunk of my energy which I would prefer to leave intact lest it interfere with my judgement. I would be happy to walk the distance, but you would be obliged to wait for me. Therefore, I would like to request that one of you ask your partner to carry me. I can assure you that I don't weigh very much,' he added, when they looked doubtful.

Nasuada hesitated. 'I'm… sure that won't be a problem, Skandar,' she said at last. 'If you could just give us a few moments to talk it over, I have no doubt we could arrange something.'

Skandar bowed and smiled thinly at her. 'Thankyou, my Lady. That would not be a problem at all. I shall wait for you outside.'

Sif watched him leave the room.

The instant he was gone, everyone turned to look at her.

Her mother's face was full of fury. 'Sif, what in the gods' names-?'

It was too much. Sif started to cry. 'Mother, please don't. I didn't know.'

'How could you not know?' Nasuada yelled. 'For gods' sakes, he looks like his twin, not his son! And you brought him here-,'

Murtagh grabbed her shoulder. 'Nasuada, stop it. Leave her alone. For gods' sakes, can't you see she's upset enough already?'

Sif was backing away. 'I can't… I have to get out of here.'

She fled the room without waiting for an answer. She didn't know where she had intended to go, but the instant she left the room she saw Skandar. He was leaning against the wall of the corridor and picking at his claws.

The instant Sif saw him, her emotions boiled over into rage. She strode up to him and slapped him in the face as hard as she could.

Or tried to. The instant she brought her hand down, his own hand shot up and caught her by the wrist. 'Please don't do that,' he said, without looking up.

Sif wrenched herself free. 'You lied to me!' she shouted. 'You lied!'

Skandar started up. 'Sif, listen to me-,'

'I hate you! I hate-,' Sif started to cry again. 'I thought you were my friend. I thought I loved you. And all the time you were his son. You were his…' she couldn't look at him.

'Sif-,' Skandar took her by the shoulder. 'Sif, stop that. Look at me.'

She did. 'You lied,' she said again.

'Sif, it's not my fault who my father is,' said Skandar.

'You lied!'

'Of course I did,' said Skandar, his voice suddenly sharp. 'Use your head, Sif. What would you have done if I'd told you the truth? Come on, think about it. I saw how you looked at me in the library. You thought I was him. I saw hatred and fear in your face that I've never seen before in my life. Yes, lying to you like that was cruel and I know you're hurt, but I didn't have any choice. I was lost, I was starving, and I needed your help.'

Sif wilted. 'And you lied to me. You were lying all that time…'

'Yes.' The matter-of-fact way he said it hit her like a physical blow. 'I played a role,' he said. 'You wanted a friend, so I let myself be what you wanted me to be. It's a role I've played before.' A spasm of disgust went across his face. 'Oh yes. Poor, naïve little Skandar, the overgrown child who doesn't know what a door is and eats with his fingers like some kind of animal.'

'You were pretending,' Sif said in a flat voice.

'Yes. It was very boring. I acted like a child, so you treated me like one. It was embarrassing, having you trying to mother me all the time, but I put up with it.'

Sif turned away. 'I hate you.'

'It could have been worse, you know,' Skandar said mildly.

She turned back with a sudden movement. 'Could have been worse?'

'Yes.' Skandar raised his eyebrows. 'What, you don't believe me? I lied only as much as I had to. Perhaps you remember a certain night before we left Gil'ead?'

Real pain flared in Sif's chest. 'Stop it. Shut up.'

'I could have bedded you that night,' Skandar went on. 'Admit it. If I had kissed you back and then tried to take it further, you would have let me. And I admit it… I was tempted. Just for a moment. But I wouldn't do it. I did my best to push you away without hurting you too much… I thought of just telling you I wasn't interested, but I knew that would upset you more than was necessary, so I settled for just trying to delay you and hoped you would lose interest.' He sighed. 'I knew that if you found out you had given your virginity to Galbatorix's son, it would destroy you. I am not a monster, Sif. I wouldn't do that to anyone.'

Sif had no more energy to shout. 'Oh gods,' she half-whispered. 'What have I done? I'm such an idiot…'

'You knew it,' said Skandar. 'Admit it to yourself, Sif. You knew what I was, deep down. You could see him in me, but you denied it. I saw the statue in the courtyard… I spent hours looking at it. It was like looking into a mirror. But when I stood next to it and begged you to tell me we looked nothing alike, you said we weren't. You were lying to me, and to yourself. Because you didn't want to believe it could be true.'

Sif couldn't look at him any more. 'Just go away. Leave me alone.'

He nudged her and grinned. 'But we had fun, didn't we?'

When Sif looked up despite herself, he did a graceful little twirl that was unmistakeably a step from the Dance of the Dragons, that she had taught him. 'Remember when we danced together?' he said. 'I do. It was wonderful. I've always liked to dance. And then I bit that idiot Elgin…'

'Go away!' Sif shouted.

Skandar moved closer. 'Come on, Sif. It's still me. I'm still your Skandar. You don't have to teach me to read any more, that's all. And I know all sorts of dances I could teach you, and we could dance them together…'

At that moment the door to the dining hall opened, and Nasuada emerged.

'Lord… Skandar.'

Skandar turned toward her, suddenly distant and formal again. 'Yes, my Lady?'

Nasuada looked strained. Murtagh was close behind her, and the others. 'We have conferred,' she said stiffly. 'And Lord Murtagh has talked to Thorn, his partner. He has agreed to carry you to the meeting place.'

'Excellent,' said Skandar, and as he spoke Sif knew that she didn't know him, had never known him, he hadn't let her know him…

Everyone was keeping their distance from him as he strode off toward the dragon roost. Sif could see their real feelings showing now his back was turned. Jarsha looked terrified, Carnoc nervous, and Murtagh curiously shut-in. He had always been good at concealing his emotions. But there was absolutely nothing concealed about the look of pure, white-hot hatred on Nasuada's face. Even Sif, for all her distress and anger, couldn't help but shrink away from it. She suddenly remembered Skandar's fear. I think they might kill me.

Was that what he had meant?

She looked ahead at him, moving with that predatory stalk, his boots making no sound on the stone floor. He didn't look frightened now. Not of anything.

The dragons up on the roost were already aware of what had happened. Sif went straight to Saphira, pressing herself against the dragon's leg. 'Saphira…'

Saphira nuzzled her. 'Sif. Oh, Sif, I'm so sorry…'

'You told me,' Sif sobbed. 'You told me not to trust him. Gods, Saphira, I'm so sorry. I should have listened to you, I should…!'

'Hush,' said Saphira. 'It's not your fault, Sif. It's his.' She raised her head to glare at Skandar. He stared back calmly and then turned away to talk to Thorn. The red dragon was shifting uneasily, wings twitching, but then he brought his head down and touched his snout to Skandar's chest. Skandar touched him, scratching the rough scales around Thorn's nostrils. Thorn growled softly and then withdrew, looking at the weredragon with what Sif recognised as respect. Maybe even affection.

She turned away and began putting Saphira's saddle on. 'Why is he here? Why did he have to come? Can't he just leave us alone?'

'Well,' Saphira growled. 'I suppose this is his home…'

'Well it's not!' Sif shouted. 'This is our place now, not his! Why couldn't he just stay wherever he was before?'

The other riders were mounting up. Sif followed suit, but Saphira didn't take off immediately. She and the other dragons stayed where they were, waiting.

Murtagh offered to help Skandar onto Thorn's back, but the weredragon calmly vaulted into the saddle and settled down as if he had done it a dozen times before, leaving Murtagh to climb up behind him. Once they were both secure, the red dragon took off.

The others quickly followed, flying toward the King's wood in a loose flock. Sif, clinging to Saphira's neck, dreaded their arrival.

They landed at the edge of the wood and dismounted, and Nasuada took charge.

'The meeting will be at the centre,' she told Skandar. 'In front of the mountain.'

Sif's heart beat faster. She ran to catch up with her mother as they set out. 'Mother, there's something I-,'

'Not now, Sif.'

'But-,'

'Not now,' Nasuada said again.

Sif followed her, burning with resentment. She wasn't going to stay silent forever, she vowed. She would accuse him, as soon as everyone was there to hear her do it.

'He poisoned the King,' she told Saphira. 'I know he did. I'm going to tell them all he did it.'

'Good,' said Saphira. 'You should. I'll help you.'

The clearing in front of the mountain, where Ravana had died, had been enlarged since their last visit. Skirnir and his family had removed some of the trees and flattened the ground, creating a space large enough to accommodate every dragon there. They were already gathered, standing in a semi-circle with their backs to the mountain, with Skirnir and Lifrasir at the centre, flanked by their two sisters and by Valdyr and Dreyri.

The bonded dragons silently arranged themselves into the other half of the circle, with their riders standing in front of them. This was how records said the great council of elders had once stood in their chamber high up in the central tower of the original Ilirea, over a hundred years ago.

Nasuada started to come forward, obviously intending to begin the meeting, but she was too slow. Skandar had already overtaken her, and now he was standing in the middle of the circle, calmly facing the assembled wild dragons. He bowed to them.

Skirnir and Lifrasir started forward immediately, lowering their heads to look at him. Skandar kept still and allowed them to examine him. They did so, and almost immediately reeled backward in shock. The other four were quick to investigate, and, almost instantly, consternation broke out among them. Sif saw them shift around, wings twitching, nudging at each other. They made no sound, but she knew they were shouting in the privacy of their minds.

'Please,' said Skandar, his mental voice cutting through the mind of everyone present. 'I can explain.'

They calmed down slightly.

Skandar stepped forward. 'I am Prince Skandar Taranisäii,' he said, letting everyone hear him.

Skirnir lowered his head toward him. 'Skandar?'

'Yes,' Skandar said softly. 'I am your brother, Skirnir.'

There was dead silence. No-one moved a muscle. And then, without warning, Skirnir roared. He reared up, neck arched, and bellowed. Lifrasir, Valdyr and Dreyri rushed forward as he did, and then all four of them were surrounding Skandar, nuzzling him and growling. Skandar looked taken aback for a moment, but then he broke into a broad grin and hugged Skirnir as well as he could, putting his arms around the dragon's face. He hugged Lifrasir, too, and Valdyr and Dreyri, and Katana and Balisong as well.

Sif's mouth fell open. 'They're happy!' she exclaimed. 'They're happy to see him!'

'Skandar!' Skirnir shouted suddenly, abandoning mental speech for a moment. 'Skandar, my brother. My brother!'

Nasuada started forward as they started to settle down again. 'You mean you know him?'

'Of course,' said Lifrasir. 'All of us know him. We saw him when he was a baby. I helped our mother to escape from Urû'baen with him a few days after he was born. We were there when…' she glanced at Skandar, and fell silent.

'I don't understand,' said Nasuada. '"Our" mother? I understand that you looked upon his father as something of a father-figure, but…'

There was a sudden silence. Skirnir and Lifrasir exchanged glances.

'I think that perhaps it's time to tell them the whole truth,' said Skandar. 'Do you agree, my brother and sisters?'

Skirnir sighed. 'I suppose we should.'

Skandar turned to Nasuada and the other riders. 'My mother… Queen Skade… was not an elf. She was a dragon. A silver dragon. Skade, daughter of the Night Dragon.'

'We knew she called herself that, but-,'

'It was more than just words,' said Skandar. 'She was a dragon. She was born a dragon, and she lived most of her life as one. However…' he started to pace back and forth, shoulders hunched. 'I'll make it brief. A long time ago, before the Fall of the riders, my mother was arrested by Vrael's riders and accused of a crime. As punishment, they transformed her into an elf and then cast her out. She wandered for a long time, trapped in the form she hated most… and then she met my father, who was also an exile at the time. They fell in love. And, I assume, consummated that love. My mother was changed back into a dragon and flew away to her father's country…'

'Where she laid a clutch of eggs,' Lifrasir finished. 'My siblings and I were what hatched from them.'

Nasuada looked horrified. 'But that's not-,'

'Oh, do shut up,' said Skandar. 'Anyway, in the fullness of time my mother came back to Alagaësia, where she was reunited with my father and chose to become an elf permanently in order to be with him. He made her his Queen, and five years later… I was born. And now here I am, back where I belong.'

Skirnir didn't look interested in the expressions of horror and disbelief on the faces of the riders. All his attention was on Skandar. 'But where are they now?' he said. 'Where are our parents, Skandar?'

Skandar faltered, and looked at the ground. 'They didn't come back with me. They're still away over the sea. In another land.'

'But are they well?' said Skirnir.

'They're… at peace,' said Skandar.

'Well…' Skirnir looked uncertain. 'That's good. I worried about them.'

'You don't need to any more,' said Skandar. 'Now…' he reverted to normal speech, and turned to look around at everyone. 'I think we have more important matters to discuss than these family affairs. Because…' he looked toward the sealed entrance to Ravana's cave. 'Because the King is dead,' he added softly.

Sif snapped back to reality. She strode forward, heading straight for him. 'Because you killed him!' she shouted. 'You poisoned the King!'

Skandar gave her an affronted look. 'Excuse me?'

'I know you did it!' Sif yelled, pointing at him. 'Mother, you have to arrest him! Put him in prison! Have him killed!'

The wild dragons started to growl at her.

Nasuada took her by the arm. 'Sif-!'

Sif shook herself free. 'It's true!' she said. 'I saw him, and so did Saphira! He took food to the King. A dead deer. And he put poison on it. He did it right in front of me! The King died right after he spoke to him!'

Skirnir and the other dragons started to look uncertain.

So did Nasuada. 'Is this true?' she said to Skandar.

Skandar's jaw tightened. 'I beg your pardon, my Lady, but are you by any chance accusing me of poisoning my own grandfather?'

'No,' said Nasuada. 'But the question must be asked.'

'I see. Well, yes, Sif is quite right… I did take food to the King. She had told me he liked it when people brought offerings, so that's what I did. I had killed a deer for my own dinner – and hers – the night before. The meat was starting to age, so I rubbed a little rotwort into it. Common practise among hunters where I grew up.'

'Rotwort?' said Murtagh. 'I've never heard of it.'

'Well maybe they call it something different here,' said Skandar. 'But I can assure you that it isn't poisonous.'

'Prove it,' Sif spat.

'If you insist.' Skandar walked away. They watched him disappear into the trees, and then waited. He returned a few moments later holding a large green leaf, which he held up for everyone to see. 'See?' he said. 'Rotwort. Very common around here.'

'Is that the herb you saw him use?' said Nasuada, to Sif.

Sif went closer to look at it. 'I'm not sure…'

'Here,' said Skandar. 'Have a look at it if you really must.'

Sif took it. It was thick and fleshy, shaped like a rabbit's ear. At first she wasn't certain that it was the same herb she had seen him rub into the deer's flesh, but when she sniffed at the broken-off end she recognised the sharp smell at once.

'Yes,' she said, to her mother. 'Yes, this is it.'

Nasuada fixed Skandar with a stony look as he took the herb back. 'Now eat it,' she said.

He gave her a pained look. 'Do I have to? I'd really rather not.'

'Yes.'

'Oh fine.' Skandar folded the leaf up, hesitated for the fraction of a second, and then put it in his mouth and started to chew.

Everyone was staring at him. At first everything appeared to be fine; Skandar's nose wrinkled as he chewed on it, his jaw moving methodically… and then Sif saw his face contort.