Chapter Fourteen

Behind the Crimson Door

The meeting didn't last long after that. Skandar, having made his threat and apparently deciding things had gone too far, coldly bid them all goodbye and vanished back into the forest without another word. Skirnir called for him to come back, but he didn't return, and the others, slowly reaching the conclusion that the council was over for now, began to disperse. Skandar had left an atmosphere of powerful unease behind him, and nobody seemed inclined to talk to anybody else. Skirnir flew away in silence, his family not far behind him, and the riders began to return to the city.

Sif passed the flight in silence, though part of her wanted to speak to Saphira. She had thought of staying behind, to look for Skandar, but the look on her mother's face had stopped her. Now he was gone and she was on her own again her strange certainty had gone, and she was full of a deep and inexplicable sense of shame. She tried to hide it from Saphira, but it was pointless; the blue dragon absorbed the emotion at once, though she said nothing, and the only emotion she sent back was anxiety.

They didn't land immediately when they reached Ilirea; the roost was too small for every dragon to land at the same time. Saphira circled overhead, waiting while Thorn and Skarlath landed and their riders dismounted. Rose was next, and then Silarae. By now Murtagh, Carnoc and Jarsha had gone below, and Saphira began her descent.

'No, don't,' said Sif. 'I want to stay away from her for a while.'

Saphira gave no reply. She folded her wings and dropped out of the sky, and Sif lurched slightly as she landed on the roost and stumbled forward a short distance. Once they had stopped she crouched low and waited for Sif to dismount.

Sif started to undo the leg-straps, but as she did she looked up and her stomach lurched. Nasuada was still there, standing by Silarae's flank and waiting for her.

There was nothing she could do. Sif undid the straps and slid down off Saphira's back. Her heart pounded sickeningly as her feet hit the stonework, and she stumbled slightly.

Nasuada didn't wait for her to recover herself. She strode toward her and seized her by the arm, wrenching her forward.

Sif cried out. 'Mother! Don't!'

'Listen to me,' Nasuada snapped. When Sif tried to pull away she increased her grip, shaking her hard. 'Listen!'

Sif could feel tears threatening to come, but she made herself look her mother in the face.

Nasuada's own face was terrible to look at. 'You're going to stay away from him, Sif. I mean it.'

'I won't!' She had meant it to be a vehement retort, but it came out high and strained.

Nasuada shook her again, harder. 'Don't you dare. You are not a little girl; you are a noble, and a dragon-rider. It's your duty to the realm to be responsible.'

'I am being responsible!' said Sif, still unable to keep the whine out of her voice. 'I didn't argue with him, you did!'

'The man is a liar and a poisoner,' said Nasuada. 'I will not have you near him, understand?'

Sif finally managed to free her arm. 'He is not!' she shouted. 'He's a prince, and he's the rightful King, and I love him.'

Nasuada slapped her.

Sif backed away, shocked, her hand rising to touch her stinging cheek. Behind her, Saphira shifted slightly. 'Saphira, do something!'

The blue dragon stood up, but then she moved backward, away from them. 'No.'

Sif turned to look at her. 'Saphira-!'

'No,' Saphira said again.

Sif heard something behind her, and turned back to look, and it felt as if someone had hit her.

Her mother was crying.

Sif took a few steps toward her. 'Mother-,'

Nasuada's head was bowed, but she looked up, face wet with tears. 'How could you?' she said. 'Sif, how could you?'

Sif went to her. 'Mother, please, don't cry. I'm sorry.'

Nasuada reached out to touch her face, where a red mark was appearing on her cheek from the slap. 'Sif, you're my daughter. My only daughter. Eragon's daughter. What's become of you? How did this happen?'

Sif couldn't look her in the eye. 'I can't help it, Mother,' she said. 'I love him. I love him as you loved Father.'

Pure misery showed in Nasuada's face, and she turned away, sobbing softly.

Sif took her by the shoulder and embraced her. 'Please, don't. Listen, Mother, please.'

Nasuada said nothing. She let Sif hold her, her thin, battle-hardened body shaking slightly. Sif held her close, with the odd thought that it had been a long time since she had hugged her mother like this. Normally it was Nasuada who would hold her, when she needed comforting. But now it was her mother who needed her.

Somehow, the knowledge gave her strength. 'Mother, it's all right,' she said. 'It's going to be all right. Listen. Skandar's my friend. I know him; what's inside him. He's a good man; clever and kind and brave. He's not like his father. He doesn't kill people.'

Nasuada said nothing, but Sif's words did not seem to comfort her, and she cried all the harder.

'Listen, Mother, I can make it all right,' said Sif. 'I'm going to marry him; he told me so. I'll be his Queen, and I'll protect you and everyone else in the land.'

Nasuada pulled away. 'No, Sif, no. You must not. He isn't human, and he's dangerous. Now that he's come… bad things will come with him.'

That was when Sif realised. She's afraid of him, she thought blankly. 'They won't,' she said. 'I know they won't. I'm going to talk to him. I'll go and find him later, and I'll talk… he listens to me. I'll tell him to speak with you again and be kinder to you, so you won't be enemies. I'll make it so he doesn't fight you; I swear.'

Nasuada was silent for a time. 'You're a good girl, Sif,' she said at last, her voice quiet and husky. 'You do know that, don't you?'

'I just don't want anything bad to happen,' said Sif. 'Not to you, or Skandar, or anyone.'

Nasuada sighed. 'Yes. I'm sorry I hit you; I shouldn't have.' She took her by the hand, her grip gentle now. 'Let's go inside and have something to eat.'

Sif nodded gladly. 'Yes, I'm hungry.' She grinned to herself. 'Do you think we could have deer?'

Her mother laughed, a little shakily. 'I'm sure it can be arranged.'

The two of them walked toward the open trapdoor, hand in hand. Sif felt full of a kind of fragile happiness, and her natural optimism helped make it stronger. But once Nasuada had gone down the ladder and she turned to follow, she shot a deadly glare at Saphira. She stared back.

Nasuada and Sif made for the dining hall, and found the others already there. Food had been laid out, and they had just begun eating it, but stopped when the two riders entered.

Nasuada took her accustomed place beside Murtagh, but ignored him as she helped herself to soup and roast pheasant. For his part, Murtagh kept glancing awkwardly at her as if he wanted to speak, but remained silent and returned to his food. Sif, seated on her mother's other side, watched them unhappily. There had been tension between them ever since Ravana's death, but Skandar's appearance had escalated it into open conflict. She'd seen and heard them argue several times over the last day or so, and the previous night had been the worst of all, and had ended when Nasuada stormed out and locked herself in her study for hours. Sif, full of fear and unhappiness, had taken the opportunity to slip out of the castle and go looking for Skandar, not knowing what she would do when she found him, or whether she would have the courage to kill him. Even then the idea had felt wrong, and she felt ashamed of it now. She was no killer, and nor did she want to be.

Her unhappiness returned at the sight of her mother and stepfather and the silence between them, and she briefly considered leaving, but the sight and smell of food held her back. She took a generous helping and bit into it, wishing she could say something to make them reconcile. She wished Skandar was there.

Eventually, Murtagh was the one to break the silence. He finished cleaning his bowl with a piece of bread, and pushed it away. 'I… uh… the others and I have decided to go down to the crypts this afternoon,' he said, not looking at Nasuada.

Nasuada stirred. 'Why?'

Murtagh finally looked her in the face. 'I've… found the missing slab,' he said, speaking slowly and carefully. 'From the K- from Galbatorix's tomb. We're going to go down there and seal it after lunch. I know the spell.'

Nasuada tensed slightly. 'To pay your respects?'

'To lay the past to rest,' Murtagh said calmly. 'He's dead now, Nasuada. Dead and buried. He can't hurt you any more.' He dared to touch her hand. 'You should come with us. It would be… good for you.'

Nasuada stared at his hand. 'I… can't. I mean I don't want to.'

'It won't hurt you, Nasuada,' said Murtagh. 'It's time to put the past behind you, so we can move on. Galbatorix is dead, and we can let old wounds and hatreds die with him.'

'And make his son our King,' Nasuada said flatly.

'You know we have no other choice,' said Murtagh. 'The dragons will never let us return to the old ways, you know that as well as I do. The boy will be King, and we will guide him and teach him. We can make him a great ruler, if we work together. And if he proves himself to be unfit, then perhaps the dragons will change their minds.'

'No,' said Nasuada. 'We can't. We can't.'

'We must.' Murtagh gave her a sorrowful look. 'Nasuada, if life has taught me anything it's that duty comes before our feelings. I'm not proud of everything I've done in my life, but I accept it. We rule Alagaësia now, and we must remember to put the people before ourselves, no matter what it costs us. Galbatorix taught me that. He taught us all that.'

Nasuada sighed. 'I understand, Murtagh. But I need to be alone for a while. I need to think.' She stood up. 'Go to the crypts without me. I'll join you later, maybe.'

Sif looked at her. 'What should I do?'

'Go with them, if you want to,' said Nasuada. 'I have to go and check on Eragon. I've left him on his own too much recently.'

Murtagh stood too. 'Go to him, then,' he said. He embraced her lightly and kissed her on the cheek. 'I love you, Nasuada, and I trust you. You know that, don't you?'

She smiled a little. 'Of course I do, Murtagh.' She kissed him back, on the forehead, and left the room, head bowed.

Murtagh watched her go, and sighed once the door had closed behind her. 'Well,' he said, turning back to look at the others. 'If you've all finished eating, we should probably go now.'

Sif gulped down the last of her pheasant, and wiped her hands clean on the tablecloth. 'I'm ready.'

Murtagh smiled at her. 'Are you all right, Sif?'

She gave him a blank look. 'What do you mean?'

'Oh.' He looked a little embarrassed. 'Well, things didn't go as well as they might have today… I just thought you might be upset.'

'No, I'm fine,' said Sif.

'Tough little thing, aren't you?' said Carnoc, grinning. 'Like your mother.'

They left the dining hall together, and Sif fell in beside her stepfather. 'Shouldn't Skandar be there?' she asked. 'If we're going to give the ceremony for his father…'

'Yes, perhaps he should,' said Murtagh. 'But I doubt he would want to come… he looked very upset after the meeting.'

'Upset?' Sif was a little startled. Skandar had looked perfectly calm to her, though angry.

'Yes,' said Murtagh. 'Perhaps it wasn't obvious to you, but I knew his father very well. He was difficult to read, but I could tell when he was upset about something. I've always had a gift for reading people,' he added modestly.

'Could you teach me how?' said Sif.

'Of course. Either way…' Murtagh turned right and led the way down a flight of stairs, 'I think he would rather avoid being with us for the time being. After what your mother said to him, I was amazed that he didn't lash out at her.'

'It was horrible,' said Sif. 'I never knew she could be like that.'

'Yes, well-,' Murtagh paused to negotiate a broken step, '-it's only to be expected. She saw his father kill yours, and it's haunted her ever since. She has nightmares about it; I've heard her crying out in her sleep. And Skandar looks so much like him… Nasuada can't help but see him as his father and feel the same way toward him. People aren't always rational, you know.'

'Yes, I know,' said Sif, thinking of her own reaction on their first meeting.

They reached the door to the crypt, and Murtagh opened it. 'Ljós!'

Sif stepped down into the gloom, following the ruby-coloured glow. 'Murtagh, do you think Mother will change her mind? Will she let Skandar be King?'

'I hope so, Sif,' said Murtagh. 'Because if she doesn't…'

His hesitation made her chest tighten instantly. 'There won't be war, will there?'

'I don't know. I don't think so,' Murtagh added hastily. 'But if Skandar is as much like his father as he seems…'

'Then what?' said Sif.

'Galbatorix was ruthless,' said Murtagh. 'And when he had to be, he was deadly.'

Nasuada made for her son's room, walking slowly. Dragon-riders aged more slowly than ordinary humans, but they aged nonetheless, and these days her knees tended to ache. The distance between the nursery and the dining hall was far too great, she thought, not for the first time. It was high time she had it moved.

'Nasuada?' Silarae's voice was soft, as always. 'Where are you going?'

Nasuada sighed. 'To see my son,' she said briefly. 'He must be missing me.'

'You aren't going to see the tomb sealed?'

'No. You know about that?'

'Yes, Saphira told me. She's very unhappy.'

'What about?' said Nasuada.

'She's unhappy about Sif,' said Silarae. 'Or unhappy with her, which is the same thing in a way.'

'Why? Because of what she did today?'

'Yes. She gave Skandar her support, and more than that. She's in love with him. Very much so, Saphira says.'

'She's silly,' Nasuada said sharply. 'It's a girlish obsession; she'll get over it.'

'Perhaps.' Silarae sounded apprehensive. 'How much has she told you?'

'That she loves him and believes he'll make her his queen,' said Nasuada. She paused to massage her aching knees. 'That bastard must have made promises… told her what she wanted to hear, to win her to his side.'

'She hasn't told you…?'

'Told me what?' Nasuada paused. She didn't like the tone in her partner's voice.

'Told you that they kissed,' said Silarae. 'In Gil'ead, before she knew who he was.'

Nasuada jerked. 'What? They didn't – Silarae, for gods' sakes, tell me she didn't-,'

'No, no,' Silarae said hastily. 'No, not that. He pushed her away, told her the time was wrong. He didn't spurn her, but he kept his distance.'

She relaxed a little. 'So the weredragon has some honour at least. What does Saphira think of all this?'

'She disapproves,' said Silarae. 'Very strongly. She thinks Skandar is untrustworthy, and believes he will break Sif's heart. She believes he doesn't have any true affection for her, and only wants to use her for his own ends. That is why she did nothing when you made it clear you were angry with her.'

That gave Nasuada some comfort. 'Good,' she muttered. 'Saphira will keep her away from him. She always was more sensible than Sif. I trust her to look after her.'

'You should,' Silarae said warmly. 'She would die rather than let her be harmed.'

Nasuada sighed and strode on down the passage, feeling a little more confident now. But the thought of her daughter, alone with Skandar… the thought of her kissing him, filled her with revulsion. She had seen the look he had given her over Sif's shoulder, when he leaned over to whisper in her ear. He was nearly impossible to read, like his father, but Nasuada was convinced that she had seen a hint of cruel triumph in those glittering eyes. Her stomach twisted. You won't be King, she thought. Not while I'm alive.

The door to the nursery was ajar. She pushed it open and went in. 'Hello, Eragon! Mama's here now-,'

The room's other occupant stood up. 'Hello, my Lady,' he said.

Nasuada went rigid. He was holding Eragon, cradling the child in one arm. Very carefully, she closed the door. 'What are you doing here?'

'Lock the door,' he answered. 'I don't want us disturbed.'

Nasuada took a few steps toward him. 'Put him down-,'

'I suggest you stop there, my Lady,' he said smoothly. 'For his benefit, if not yours.'

Her hand went to her sword-hilt. 'Put him down! Now.'

As if by magic, a short silver dagger appeared in his free hand. He raised it, touching the point to Eragon's throat. 'Lock the door,' he said again, voice low. 'Lock it now, or I will kill him.'

Nasuada had gone cold all over. 'No! For gods' sakes, don't hurt him!'

'Do it,' he rasped, lifting the knife slightly. 'Now.'

She obeyed, muttering the locking spell in an urgent undertone. 'It's done. Now put him down.'

'No.' His eyes narrowed. 'You must take an oath first. Speak it in the ancient language.'

Nasuada shifted carefully, placing her feet well apart to balance herself. 'What oath?'

'Swear you will not attack, or flee, or call for help,' he said. 'Swear it in the ancient language.'

'No. Put him down! He's a baby, for gods' sakes, how could you?'

He pressed down with the knife, digging the point into Eragon's throat until blood appeared on the child's dark skin. 'I mean it,' he said. 'The brat's life means nothing to me. One stroke with this knife will tear his throat open. He will bleed to death in a heartbeat. Swear the oath, or watch him die.'

There was a roaring in Nasuada's ears. Terror filled her, making her feel light-headed. She tried to call to Silarae, but something was stopping her, as if there were a mental wall between them. All she could see was her son, screaming and reaching out for her, needing her. 'No,' she whispered. 'No, don't.'

The knife pressed down harder, until more blood stained the blade. 'Take the oath. If I press any harder, he will be dead.'

From somewhere far away, barely audible through the roaring in her ears, she heard her own voice – flat and dead, stumbling over the ancient words. 'Sjá kona vili hvárgi sókn flyja.'

He grinned horribly. 'There. That was not difficult, was it?'

'Now let him go,' Nasuada whispered.

He did not, but he withdrew the knife. 'I want you to know this,' he said. 'I want you to know, before it ends. What I do is for honour, and for vengeance. You betrayed my father, and my mother, and you betrayed me. I am doing this not for myself, but for them.'

'No,' said Nasuada. 'I didn't do anything, you don't understand-!'

The eyes widened, face twisting into a vile mask of hatred. 'Hope that the guardians of the underworld believe you, my Lady,' he said, and brought his arm down with a quick, savage motion. Blood spurted over his robe, and Eragon's cries suddenly ceased.

That was when Nasuada finally screamed. 'NO!'

Down in the crypts, Sif watched in silence as Murtagh and Carnoc manhandled the stone slab into place. One corner was chipped, but it fitted neatly into the hole carved for it long ago. Once it was in place the two men stepped back to examine the completed carving. The image of the boy stood tall and proud, his curly hair tumbling elegantly down over his ears. His blank eyes stared straight ahead and his mouth was set into a faint, secretive smile. Beside him his dragon stood with one forepaw raised, her mouth slightly open in a dragonish grin.

'"Arren Cardockson",' Murtagh read aloud. 'His old name. But somehow…' he reached out toward the stone and intoned a string of words. Red light glowed beneath the words, and when it died away a fresh line of lettering had appeared. Galbatorix Taranisäii. 'There,' said Murtagh in satisfied tones. 'Both his names.'

'You left off the King part,' said Carnoc.

'Oh.' Murtagh paused, and shrugged. 'I'm sure he wouldn't have minded. A man is more than his titles and his station in life. Now…' he glanced at the others. 'Does anyone want to say anything before I seal it?'

There was silence.

'He was a good King,' Carnoc said at last.

'He was a brave man,' said Jarsha.

'He was kind to me,' Sif said softly. 'He made me a rider.'

Murtagh smiled sadly. 'He was a good King,' he echoed. He turned toward the tomb, and began. 'In life, as in death, let this man be remembered. Galbatorix, son of Skandar, born in-,'

'SIF!'

Saphira's scream tore through Sif's mind, so loud and bringing with it such panic that she started violently, while around her the others reeled.

Sif staggered sideways and hit the wall. 'Saphira? Saphira!'

'Sif! For gods' sakes, it's Silarae, she's hurt, she's-,'

Sif straightened up. 'What? What's going on?'

Pain jumped over their link. 'Your mother!' Saphira roared. 'Sif, your mother, go to her, go now! RUN!'

Murtagh was already up and running out of the crypt as fast as he could, Carnoc and Jarsha on his heels. Sif sprinted after them, full of Saphira's reflected terror. More pain came to her, and then the ground shook as an almighty thud came from above. Unseen in the dark behind the fleeing riders, the slab fell out of its place on the tomb. It hit the ground, and shattered into pieces.

Sif ran, staggering on the stairs. In spite of his advanced years Murtagh had already drawn ahead of her, and he reached the nursery before her, and before the others.

When Sif arrived, gasping for breath, heart thudding, she saw the door was open and Murtagh had already gone inside, along with Carnoc and Jarsha. She reached out to push it open, but then Murtagh abruptly reappeared, nearly knocking her over. He paid no attention to her, and staggered to the opposite wall, leaning on it.

Sif glanced at the door before she went to him. 'Murtagh…?'

Her stepfather was breathing hard, his shoulders heaving. He didn't seem to see or hear her.

Sif turned to look at the door. 'Is Mother in there…?' When Murtagh said nothing, she screwed up her courage and took a few steps toward it, reaching out to touch it.

Murtagh grabbed her shoulder from behind. 'No,' he said hoarsely. 'No, Sif. Don't go in there.'

Something in his voice put ice into her veins. But she had to know. She pulled away from him and stepped forward. The door swung open easily when she pushed it, and she went in, and after that everything turned into a dream.

Carnoc was there. He had sunk into a chair and was sitting there, head in his hands. Jarsha was there too, collapsed in a corner and sobbing uncontrollably.

She saw Eragon first. The child lay near the window, curled up on his side. There was blood on him, and more had pooled on the floor beneath him.

Nasuada was in the middle of the floor, lying on her back. Her eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling, and her sword lay near her hand. There was a strange rigidity about her face, as if it were a mask made from flesh. Under her chin there was a savage wound where something had torn out her throat.

Sif never did remember what happened after that, or knew how long she stood there and stared at them both. A sense of powerful unreality had come over her, and an emptiness. She felt nothing, said nothing. Nor did she remember leaving the room, but she remembered seeing the door. There was a bloodstain on it, level with her hand, and something had left a row of four deep gashes in the frame.

Murtagh was still there, in the corridor, his face deathly white, but the sight of Sif seemed to give him the will to move again. He said nothing, only turned and began to stride away along the corridor, heading straight for the dragon roost. Sif watched him go, not knowing what to say or do. She wanted to wake up, but the dream would not end. It was real, and she was trapped in it.

'Sif.'

Sif stared at nothing, unable to reply.

'Sif,' Saphira said again. 'Sif… Silarae's dead.'