The New Riders: A Legacy Continued

by YaelaTheWordsmith

A continuation of Inheritance - about the new Riders and how they grow at the Hall of the Riders. Quite a bit of interpersonal stuff, some good action as well (uh, eventually). First three chapters - AryaXEragon blossoming. Currently revised and updated till chapter ninetten. Please don't read after that, revision is ongoing and inconsistencies are present!

25. Chapter 23: Interrogation, grief, love

A/N: 15795 words. Ohhhh my god.

I hope that makes up a little for the almost three months long delay. And thank you so much for all your amazing encouraging reviews (the Jedi mind trick worked *eventually*, yay!). Seriously, thank you so much. And please don't post as a guest, or else I can't reply to you, and I very much want to reply to every single reviewer personally.

Also, heads up, you might only get another chapter by Feb because I've got my twelfth board exams coming up, and if I screw those up I'm told my life will be irrevocably ruined, and I'd rather that didn't happen.

Goodness, but there's a lot of Caspian in recent chapters. I rather like him, heh. . . but I'll try to balance it up a bit more. And is the explanation too unbelievable? Too lame? Is this chapter disjointed? Is the ending sappy? Etc etc etc? Do please tell me what you thought.

Enjoy! ^.^

Osra sat perfectly straight, staring blindly at the sunrise blooming across the sky in front of her. Mist swirled around her feet, obscuring the garden and shielding her from the weak rays of the sun. It was chilly here, in the hills, but it was not very cold compared to Alagaesia in the winter. And it was beautiful. The mist pooled in the valleys, forming wide swathes that looked like whipped cream as the light began to catch the tops of the hills and turn them from dull shadows into beautiful green peaks. In another few minutes, one side of the hills became startling in its clarity and in the depth of its colour, while the other side was bathed in deep shadow. The whole world seemed purer and more highly defined than usual. The air was crisp and fresh and heady and filled with birdsong. It gently tugged at her hair and played across her skin; it tried to direct her attention to the pretty garden she stood in by setting the heads of the colourful flowers nodding and the leaves of the creepers rustling.

But she could not see it. She could muster no reaction to the glorious sight in front of her. All she seemed to be capable of feeling was the cold from the stone bench she was sitting on sinking slowly into her body, settling in her bones, leaching all brightness from the world.

Akhtar understood. But he had his own wounds, physical and mental, to tend to . . . and he wasn't particularly good at comforting her, anyway. Like her, he'd never met anyone with . . . with the same shame she bore now.

As the sun rose higher, scattering the mist, she tried to think of a comparable condition in human society. Perhaps a cat lip? A clubfoot? For the dwarfs it was easy - Vamgrimstn. Clanless dwarves. Elves surely didn't have - ah, but no. An elf who couldn't use magic would feel like her, wasn't that so?

Outcast. Deformed. Weaker than everyone else.

How was she to go back home? Any Urgal who saw her would ostracise her without a moment's hesitation. How was she to ever be respected as a Rider when she had . . . when she had only one horn?

She blinked as the sunlight shone straight into her eyes, and realized with a slight sense of relief that slow tears were trickling down her face. She was tired of walking around with a face like stone and a heart like ice. It was like she hadn't been able to move, to think, to speak normally for the past three days; since that blood-filled nightmare, in the dank darkness deep under the earth.

She heard the crunch of crisp grass being crushed, but didn't bother to look up to see who was approaching. Only when they sat down by her side did she glance sideways for a moment.

It was Ravûn. He had a white bandage round his brow, but otherwise he looked perfectly fine. In fact, he had suffered rather fewer wounds than anyone else, having been up on Drёya's back for the entire battle.

She looked forward again. For some time they sat in silence. Then, as the weak heat of the sunlight began to make its presence felt, Ravûn said, "It's a beautiful sunrise."

She didn't bother to reply. He didn't speak again until the mist had dissipated completely. Then - slowly, carefully - he said, "How are you feeling, Osra?"

"Well."

"Are you really?"

"The healers are very skilfull."

"I wasn't talking about your wounds."

Her hands clenched on the seat of the bench, and her mouth tightened. Ah, why did he have to ask that? Getting the words out would be like drawing a blade across her palm - painful and thankless. She did not want to answer.

But . . . he'd cared enough to ask. And perhaps telling someone would make her feel better. She doubted it, but there was the slightest chance . . .

At length, she decided he deserved some sort of answer, and managed to say, "I feel - terrible. As though . . . as though I will never smile again."

"Mm. Would you like to talk about it?"

"Not particularly, no . . ."

"If it helps, I understand how you feel."

That made her turn to face him. "You?" she asked, not troubling to hide her disbelief.

He was still looking straight, watching a pair of dragonflies cavorting about. A wry smile played around the corners of his mouth.

"Perhaps not entirely, because there were others to bear the shame with me at first. But though I had my clanmates . . . we were all Vagrimstn. The entire knurla nation scorned us. And then, of course, I became a Rider, and my own clan expelled me as well. So I understand feeling outcast, feeling like you have no one by your side."

"Ah." She considered this.

"When we go back," he said slowly, "you will be the focus of all eyes. You will be the person people point at and stare at in the street, and you will be whispered about behind your back, by people of all races. It cannot be avoided; you're a Rider, you're a Kull, and you've lost one horn." He ignored her pained wince and continued. "And it will not be a pleasant feeling, to be sure." He looked down at his lap then, and was silent for a few moments.

"But . . . the only way to overcome that is to accept it. Yes, you are different. Yes, the world does not accept you as it does others. What of it?" He turned to face her, his gaze steady. "You do not need to let yourself be defined by what they think of you."

"You think it is that easy?" Her brow darkened, and her hands clenched again. "You think all I have to do is walk around like there is nothing wrong with me? Like I am not deformed?"

"Why don't you heal it? Why can't you grow it again?"

"Our horns are replaced only once in a lifetime! After we cross the age of twenty they can never grow again, once broken. Perhaps it may be possible with magic, I do not know. But to do that would be an even greater shame! Akhtar would be honour bound to denounce me as false and a coward, and I could never count myself an Urgalgra in full again, let alone a Rider."

"I understand. But Osra, you are not deformed. You suffered a wound-"

"Our horns are what distinguish us from every other race in the land," she snarled. "They are the pride and joy of any Urgal who can be called an Urgal. They proclaim our strength, our courage, our beauty, our very identity! Hornless Urgalgra are spineless, poor creatures who live on the fringes of society. You know this, you studied my culture even as I studied yours. What if you were of the Vagrimstn and I told you to saunter into Tronjheim and live a normal life, as though you belonged there? Does not your every instinct rebel against the idea?"

"It does," he admitted.

"Then how can you tell me to -?"

"But, Osra, there is a difference between being a Vagrimst and losing a horn. If I were a Vagrimst, I would have committed some dishonourable action that gave my grimstborith no choice but to strip the clan name from me. But you have done nothing wrong! You lost your horn while fighting a Shade. That wound should be a mark of honour, proof of your strength and courage. Yes, I have studied your culture and yes, I do know what the horns of an Urgal mean. But I still cannot understand how a wound sustained fighting a mighty foe is a badge of shame."

She stared at him, at a loss for words. It was a perspective that never would have occurred to her. Consider the broken horn a mark of . . . pride?

He smiled slightly at her expression. "I certainly don't think of it as one. And neither does anyone else. You'll always have us by your side, Osra, even if the rest of the world is against you. Master Eragon and Queen Arya as well."

For the first time in some days, she managed to smile a little. "Thank you," she said softly.

He nodded and got to his feet. "Come. We'll beg some fruit from the kitchen and then see where we may be useful, or if they would prefer us at the other house. You're healed, yes?"

She nodded, following him up the stairs to the healing house, and realized two things in succession - her smile had not faded yet, and the pain in her heart had lessened ever so slightly.

⸶⸷

Eragon watched the sunrise as well. Arya's room was on the eastern side of the building and had a bay window that looked onto the garden and the hills beyond. Sunlight was creeping up the slopes, gilding the greenery and making it shimmer. If the rest of the kingdom is half as beautiful as this I see why Senshi and Kitai love it so, he thought, resting his chin on one knee. He watched the mist gradually evaporate, and as his gaze wandered over the fresh forests it left behind he caught a glimpse of Osra and Ravûn speaking as well. It was just as he was thought I hope Ravûn makes her feel a little better that he heard a faint murmur from the bed.

He swiftly rose and moved to the low chair by the bedside. Arya's eyes were wandering uneasily under her eyelids. Eragon held her hand and waited for a space, and soon her eyes opened. She blinked, looking blankly at the low, dark wood ceiling and the blue curtains by the windows. Then she looked at Eragon, and her gaze narrowed and focused. With a movement as quick as it was startling she pushed herself upright, her hand clasping his urgently. "You're awake? You're all right? And Saphira -"

"We're both in perfect health,' he said soothingly, gently pressing her back down. She submitted, but her deep frown was unabated. "What happened? How long have I been here?" she demanded.

"The better part of two days, now. Apparently you were so busy making sure that everyone else was provided for that you forgot to ensure that your own wounds were tended to." He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Don't make me sound so foolish. I did have my wounds tended to."

"You did, but apparently not sufficiently, because shortly after I woke up I heard that you had been found deeply unconscious next to Lifaen after spending nearly two hours healing him."

She looked a little embarrassed, but smiled. "Is he all right now?"

"Everyone is more or less as good as new. It is only wounds of the mind they have to deal with now, not wounds of the body. After you were found, they carried you in and decided to put you to sleep for sometime to allow your body a chance to recover."

Arya paid the last sentence no mind. "What do you mean more or less?"

"Well, the poison of those stinging things seems to have given the healers here some difficulty. But the king said that they found a way to extract it last night, and they worked on the dragons until they were sure they were in no more danger. I think only three or four of them have any poison left in their systems, and that will be removed by today. The dragons need only bear with some numbness for a time. Ah, also, I don't know if they told you, but we can't use the ancient language inside this house."

"Why not?"

Eragon absentmindedly brushed a lock of hair that lay across Arya's forehead behind her ear as he recalled what Meiji had told him. "Well, this is a house of healing, what they call a heillan. A group of healers lives here and attends to anyone who comes here seeking help. They are paid out of the royal treasury and they dedicate their entire lives to serving the citizens that live in the region, to the extent of making several trips to nearby villages to heal those who are unable to reach the house for any reason. To ensure that their magic has the best effect possible, the entire place has, as I understand it, a multitude of spells built into the very substance of this building that perform various functions - amplifying any spells cast by a healer would be one example." He waved a hand. "Imagine the air filled with so many interlinked shimmering strings . . . Acquiring an intimate knowledge of the precise nature and function of each and every spell in something that would take years to learn, and they don't want us to -"

"Snap any strings by accident. I understand." Arya looked out of the window for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Eragon watched her, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand.

"Senshi's had enough to do, running around translating for everyone," he commented. "I'm a little worried about her. I was told that Siska broke her mind?"

"Yes, she did."

"Well, she looks as though she's holding up well enough, but there's a kind of brittleness in her demeanour that doesn't inspire much confidence. I think she's talking to the other Riders about it, and of course she has Ikraan, so I'm hoping that they'll help her through it, but she's worried sick about Kitai as well . . ."

Arya looked up. "Kitai?"

"He's . . . his life is not in any danger, but they don't think they can heal his eyes. The poison on that blade was a vicious one. The tissues refuse to regrow, no matter how they are coaxed. He's been sleeping longer than you have - with Zelíe by his bedside the entire time." He sighed. "I don't think she's had more than twelve hours of sleep in the past three days. This battle has left their mark on all of them. I hate to see them with harsh lines carved into their faces, with only sorrow and anger in their eyes - though they try to hide it from me, and from each other. It's like they've all aged ten years . . . and the dragons too. Ikraan is - I don't know. It's all I can do to get five words out of him. The others still move sluggishly because of that poison, and it's like it reached their minds as well. It's like any cheerfulness, any light emotions have been drained out of them. If I'd not been such a fool as to have been captured by that -" He realized his hand was gripping Arya's too tightly and relaxed his grip. "Sorry."

"How were you captured?" she asked gently.

He rubbed his forehead wearily. "We'd landed by a lake for Saphira to take a drink of water. She wanted to take a short nap, and so I ran a little way into the forest, just to take a look around. I'd been gone for perhaps half an hour when I realised I couldn't hear Saphira anymore. Our deeper connection was still there, but none of her thoughts reached me. I raced back to the lake, but I'd gone far enough that it took me ten minutes at least before I returned. In that time, Siska had been struggling to gain dominance over Saphira's thoughts. She and her five companions never revealed themselves to her, you see - they were at the bottom of the lake, where Saphira could neither see nor smell them, and so could not attack them. But ten minutes were not quite sufficient for Siska, so while she battled Saphira she sent her underlings to fight me. They cast a spell that caused the ground to soften under my feet, and suddenly I found myself neck-deep in the soil. My wards did not work because the spell did not harm me. Then they surrounded me and tried to gain dominance of my mind." His the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. "I'm proud to say I managed to kill three of them, and to hold my own, though they were competent enough. They never used any spells after the first, though I took the risk of doing so, which puzzled me. But then . . . Siska managed to defeat Saphira. She ordered her not to move, and then she came for me. I was tired enough by then, but she did not join in the assault on my mind. Instead, she cast a spell that leached the energy from my body. Again, it was technically not physical harm, so I had not rected a ward against it. When I was utterly exhausted, she took me by the simple expedient of hitting me on the head.

"She then forced Saphira to pick me up and carry me to that cavern. She could easily have done it herself, but she made Saphira do it out of perversity. Out of sheer delight in seeing a living creature forced to bend to her will -" He stopped and took a breath, then continued in a more measured tone. "So Saphira took me there, where she was immediately drugged, because her presence made the Tsuhei restless. Me she merely bound with chains, and I was quite at her mercy because, of course, you can't use the ancient language there." He caught her eye and shook his head. "No, I don't know how yet either. But Blodhgarm intends to interrogate Callan today, so I suppose we'll find out then. So yes. She starved me enough that I didn't dare reach for magic without the ancient language - I had hardly any control over my thoughts, let alone the energy to cast spells. We remained so for a few days, Saphira unconscious and myself bound and gagged. She sent you that message then, and you arrived four days later . . . she drugged me at that time because she didn't want to take the chance that I might manage to help or motivate you in some way, were I conscious. What happened then, you know better than I."

"I see."

He was looking down at his boots, but he knew her gaze was on his face. They were silent for a time, then Arya's hand squeezed his and she said, "There was no way to have escaped if you had not had prior knowledge of Amha and Siska's capabilities. Don't blame yourself. Certainly no one else blames you."

Eragon gave her a weary smile. "I'll try, I suppose. How are you feeling?"

"In excellent health." She swung her legs out of the bed. "I'd like to meet Ayana and Blodhgarm and the others; I never thanked them for fighting."

"I doubt they'd want you to thank them."

"I know, I know, but . . ."

He nodded understandingly and stood up. She took the hand he held out to her and pulled herself up so sharply that he stumbled into her. The breath left his lungs in a gasp, and his chin hit her nose. Startled, he was just about to pull away and apologise when she hugged him, hard.

"I'm glad you're safe," she mumbled into his shoulder.

He smiled against her cheek, hugging her back. "I'm glad you saved me," he said softly.

Arya pulled back after a moment, drew her sleeve across her eyes, then smiled.

"Shall we go?"

⸶⸷

An hour or so later, another bedside attendant was rewarded by an awakening.

Zelíe had not, in fact, gotten more than twelve hours of sleep in three days. The healers had only managed to pull her away from Kitai for a bare half an hour to tend to her wounds before she'd escaped them and hurried back to his bedside. She'd watched as two healers had laboured over Kitai for nearly half a day without being able to heal his eyes, and she'd stood by in silence as each Rider had trooped in to check on him - the only one still asleep.

She wanted him to wake up, of course, but . . . but a large part of her wanted him not to for as long as possible. It was cowardly of her, but she didn't know how she was going to tell him that he'd never be able to see again. He prized his fighting skills and his athleticism beyond any other qualities he possessed, because he had shaped them himself. They were an integral part of him; he would no sooner let himself go soft than jump off a cliff. And she had to watch him lose that part of his identity. She had to tell him that he had lost that part of his identity. That he wouldn't be able to walk again without assistance, let alone fight . . .

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her aching eyes. She might ask someone else to tell him. Yes, she could do that. He wouldn't hold it against her. But that was taking cowardice to an entirely new level. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if -

There was a groan from the bed.

Suddenly getting someone else to tell him looked like a very attractive idea.

That was the first, fleeting thought that leapt to her mind; the next instant it was followed by a flood of fierce concern. She grasped his hand, raised it to her lips and waited for him to wake entirely, watching tensely for any signs that he was feeling pain.

He raised a wavering hand to his head, then frowned as he touched the white bandage covering his eyes. "What-?" he mumbled. "Zel?"

"I'm here," she said quickly, laying a hand on his brow. "How do you feel?"

"I have a headache . . . and why do I have this?" He touched the bandage again.

She made her voice as soft and gentle as possible. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"We were underground and we were being attacked . . . weren't we? And then . . . I was hurt, I was in pain. . ." A shudder ran through him at the recollection. "They cut open my face, my . . . eyes." His hand gripped hers tighter. "Is that what- is that why I'm wearing this bandage?"

"Yes, they were working on your eyes for a long time . . . they wanted to make sure you knew not to touch them when you woke up." She cursed herself as the words left her mouth. Coward that she was! She should just tell him! Speaking as though he still had his eyes was would make it harder -

His brow creased. "Wait, who are 'they'? We're not back at the Hall, are we?"

She breathed a silent prayer of thanks for the fact that his priority seemed to be clearing up his befuddlement. "We're at a healing house . . . a heillan is what it's called, right? Your king and queen found us after the battle, and they brought us here when they saw the shape we were in."

"A heillan . . .?" For a moment his mouth hung open, and it looked as though he had twenty questions wrestling for dominance on his tongue. Then he seemed to realise something, and all the questions were banished save one.

"Wait, so have my eyes been healed?"

Her heart clenched painfully at the mingled hope and apprehension in his voice. She lowered her head, taking a deep breath. It was just one word. She just had to say one word.

" . . . N-no." It was almost a whisper.

The atmosphere suddenly seemed darker, heavier. His frown deepened, and he raised himself onto one elbow, turning his head blindly in her direction. "No," he echoed.

She felt like the words would choke her as they emerged from her throat; still, she managed to speak. "The blade that was used had a - had a poison on it. They were able to arrest its progress, and remove the residue, the dead tissue . . . but new tissue refuses to grow. They said they would try more spells as long as you are here, but they don't think . . . if what they've tried until now hasn't worked, they don't know of much else that will."

She realized that his hand had gone limp in hers. He slowly pushed himself up into a seated position, and then turned towards her again.

Tears began to prickle at the corners of her eyes at the expression on his face. He looked completely, painfully, blank. Like the face of a mother she'd seen, once, silently clasping the body of her drowned child to her chest on the beach as her family mourned around her. A wound so terrible that even to muster a reaction was an effort.

Zelíe leaned forward and pressed a fervent kiss to his forehead, trying to keep her lips from trembling. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He opened his mouth, then closed it as though he didn't know how to shape the words he needed. When did speak, his voice was halting. "So I'm - am I . . . blind?"

She let out a shuddering breath. "Yes. You are."

Kitai slowly sagged against the wall and turned his face away from her, saying nothing more. She carefully shifted to the bed, and then wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could, tucking his head under her chin.

He hugged her too, his hands fiercely clenched against her back. It wasn't long before she felt his shoulders shaking. She held him even closer, stroking his head and occasionally murmuring meaningless phrases - 'I'm right here . . . it's all right, sweetheart, you're all right . . . hush now . . .' - trying to provide what little solace she could as his tears trickled down her throat, soaking into her shirt.

They sat thus for some time, the only sound in the room Kitai's gentle sobs. He gradually quieted, and his hands relaxed a little. Zelíe felt a measure of cautious relief steal into her mind, and was just about to lean back to look at his face when he muttered something.

"What?" she whispered, shifting so that her ear was closer to his mouth.

Each word was as heavy as lead and charged with anguished bitterness. "I can never . . . see your face . . . again."

She froze, eyes wide. Her heart felt like it had just cracked into a hundred fragments.

"You're so beautiful." He touched her cheek with one finger, moved it to her mouth, traced it haltingly. Slowly. Like the tiny movement was an immense strain. "The most beautiful person . . . I've ever seen. And I will never see your face, your eyes, your hair . . . never again."

The hundred fragments splintered into a million more.

Zelíe bit her trembling lip as the first tear escaped. His finger moved to her collarbone and stayed there, motionless, as the dull, pained murmur went on. "And you won't - you said my eyes were the most . . . beautiful colour." His voice broke then, for the first time. He took a long, wavering breath and continued, " All they are now is - is a pair of scars. You'll never see them again -"

"Don't," she whispered unsteadily, anguished, tears coursing down her cheeks. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, hugging him harder than before, trying to stem her own tide of grief. But her grief was different from his, and he was unreachable inside it. She could have howled like a child in that moment; but all he did was lean back against the wall, the bandage staring sightlessly at the ceiling above.

⸶⸷

Near noon

Caspian bit into the pear he held in one hand, eyes gazing unseeingly at the broad lawn in front of him. He was sitting on the veranda of the royal couple's summer residence which, conveniently, happened to be situated a mere fifteen-minute walk from the healing house, though the walk was all uphill. They'd packed him off here more than a day ago, since the healing house was not equipped to house so many people - the Riders, the elves, the children, the royals' retinue, and the healers themselves - and though his specialty was healing magic, he was getting in the way of the very competent healers there. They were impressive and efficient, in their dark blue coats and masks, and they had an extraordinarily vast knowledge of many types of healing magic. Senshi had told him, in a brief moment she had found to spare, that one trained for at least five years to be qualified as a healer of the lowest level. The king's son, who, along with his older sister, was residing here as well, was in fact training to be one. The organized fashion in which magic was channeled into helping people appealed to him greatly, and he couldn't help comparing it with Alagaesia, where the very mention of magic was enough to cause furtive glances and fearful whispers. He would very definitely be speaking about this to Queen Nasuada when he went back.

But even planning out how he would convince her held none of the interest it would have held only a week previously. After the battle, it was like a thin but firm guard had been lowered over his heart. He knew he had changed - not by much, but he had still changed. He was no longer able to speak so brightly or so freely to anyone, even though more and more Rider and elves were joining him here as they were healed. They had all seen what he had seen, and when he spoke to them he was either made to feel worse that he was more affected than they (which meant he possessed an excess of sensibility) or worse that they seemed more affected than he (which meant that they could still express themselves while a small but significant part of his own heart seemed to have frozen and stilled). Lifaen worried about him, he knew, and the only thing that prevented him from telling another Rider about it - for the only reassurance Lifaen could give him was that everything killed everything else in this world, and none knew better than he that that was no comfort - was the fact that when he spoke the the children he had some resemblance to his old self. It was as though the fact that they had seen far worse than he, and for far longer, gave him a duty to lift their spirits. The occasional shy smiles that rewarded him were more than enough for hours of struggling to make conversation. He'd spoken to them once before, and he now rose to go do so again.

He dropped the core of the pear in some bushes and headed back inside to what had formerly been the dining room, but was now a large dormitory with six massive mattresses laid together and twenty two younglings seated or laid down upon them. He paused by the door, surprised by the two Riders he saw in their midst, and watched for a while. They were talking in low, cheerful voices to those of their own race while the humans listened and were occasionally drawn into the conversations. Not often, though, for they both were using their native tongues to make their listeners feel more at ease. He went to greet Sorya first, thinking that she could be surprisingly gentle when she wished to be, and thinking that she looked none the worse for the battle, apart from darker circles under her eyes. Like Ravûn. Dwarves, he thought as he crouched beside her, seemed to be made of inordinately strong stuff - they seemed to be no more affected, mentally, than the Urgals who had grown up steeped in battles. Or perhaps it was just these two. Or perhaps they were just good at hiding what they felt . . .

"Good morning. I didn't know they'd let you come up," he said to her.

Sorya looked up from her conversation, startled, and relaxed when she saw it was him. "I arrived half an hour ago," she replied as he seated himself. He smiled at the five dwarves she had been talking to. "Derûndânn, Dolmur, Thas'rika, Bordaeth, Orivistr, Yardul."

"Derûndânn," they mumbled in shy response.

He glanced over at Akhtar, who had just drawn a laugh out of one of the five Urgals he was speaking to. "And Akhtar came before you?"

"Mm. Dara is already here, yes?"

"She is."

"Keyal might come up in the evening - the healers insisted that he should rest for a while longer. Osra and Ravun could have come with us, but they're trying to make themselves useful. They might be here in some time, though . . . Oh yes, Queen Arya has awoken."

"Has she?" he exclaimed. "That's excellent."

"And - so has Kitai."

"Ah." His excitement faded, to be replaced by trepidation. "Is he-"

"He's blind," she said shortly, her mouth grim.

He cursed under his breath, disappointed and frustrated and deeply sorry for his friend. But all he said to Sorya was, "I'll go and visit him later in the day." Sorya nodded as he stood up and made his way over to the twelve human children, nodding to Akhtar on the way.

"Good morning!" he said brightly as he sat down.

One or two replied, but most only smiled briefly. Undeterred by this lukewarm greeting, he made himself comfortable. "Now, I'm not entirely sure I remember your names as yet. Do you mind if we go around once?"

Receiving a shrug or two in return, he started from the first person to his left, a scrawny boy of perhaps eleven with bright blue eyes and sunken cheeks.

"Asmund?" The boy nodded.

Next was a girl of thirteen, with brown eyes and dark brown hair braided neatly. "Kelsie?" She smiled faintly.

Next was a black-haired, olive-skinned girl of nine, also with brown eyes. "Erika?" She nodded shyly.

In this way he named Landan, fourteen with bleached hair and the fairest skin; Inkeri, ten with black hair, deep eyes and the darkest skin; Torben, who looked like Kelsie's younger brother by three years; Edward, eleven with black hair and dark eyes; Tylor, twelve with brown-red hair and a spray of freckles that led to dull green eyes; Faye, also twelve, with light brown hair and brighter green eyes; Ylva (which Caspian found hard to pronounce), ten, with skin almost as fair as Landan's and sharp blue eyes; Anyin, a dark-skinned and timid boy of eight; and, of course, Amha, who had been found to have blond hair that was so dark as to be nearly brown.

"All right. Now . . . would you mind if I asked a little more about each of you?"

They looked at him with cautious gazes, and a few of them nodded. He hoped this would get them talking, since one of them had uttered a word until now.

His gaze happened to fall on Landan, so he decided to start with him. "Landan, where did you live?"

"Teirm," Landan said quietly.

"What did your parents do?"

"My father was the governor, after the war. My mother took care of me and my younger brother."

"Ah, I see. You're looking forward to seeing them again?" Caspian smiled encouragingly.

A faint smile answered him. "Very much," Landan said softly.

"You'll be home before the seasons turn, I promise you." He turned to the others. "All of you will. Now . . . Faye, why don't you go next? Where was your home?"

"Um . . . I used to live outside Dauth," she said nervously. "My father was Lord Teynham. I don't have any brothers or sisters."

"Lord Teynham? Hm. I met quite a few lords and ladies in Alagaesia, but I'm not sure if Lord Teynham was among them." Caspian grinned conspiratorially. "So did you have a huge house with fires in every room? And a banquet hall to seat three hundred? And-"

She giggled, seeming less nervous than before. "No . . . only earls live like that. Our house wasn't too big, and Father didn't own much land."

"Faye, you liar," Kelsie said, with a twinkle in her eye. "I've been to your manor. It's massive. Honestly, you could probably fit ten dragons in there."

Faye really laughed at that. "No, you can't! You couldn't even fit two!"

"Ahh, don't try to act modest!"

"You've been to Faye's house, Kelsie?" Caspian asked, interested.

"I lived in Belatona. My father was Lord Hastings. He used to take us all traveling all over the land, and I distinctly remember being impressed at the size of Faye's house."

Caspian grinned again "Anyone else been to Surda?"

It turned out that Anyin was from Petrovya, though he didn't remember much about it, or what his parents had done; Asmund was from Aroughs, the son of an influential merchant; and Erika was from Cíthri. She remembered that her people had called her mother 'my lady' and her father 'captain'. And Inkeri's father turned out to be the chief of one of the wandering tribes.

All the children of people of power, Caspian thought, remembering the discussions they'd had about these very children so many months ago.

The trend seemed to continue as Edward's father turned out to be the governor of Gil'ead, Ylva's mother was found to be the head of Ceunon's town council, and Tylor's father the head of the Narda Guild of Merchants and Traders. By this time, Amha and Torben were looking uncomfortable, though the atmosphere had relaxed considerably. Caspian turned to them, trying to look encouraging. "And what about you two?"

Amha glanced wildly at Torben, who stared at his feet. "I'm from Kuasta," he said softly, with a distinctive accent. "Me dad was a fisherm'n, and me mam was a tailor fer all the rich ladies. I didn't have no big home, nor any fancy clothes, but we had a big family. Was na' an easy life, but I think . . . I remember us being happy."

Caspian considered him for a moment before reaching out and raising his head with one finger. "And what's the shame in that?" he said gently. "Why do you hang your head? There is nothing that makes you better or worse than any other person in this room. You hear me?"

Torben smiled a little shakily. "I hear."

Caspian nodded approvingly, removing his hand. "Amha, what about you?"

She bit her lip, but spoke under his steady gaze. "I used to live in a big city. I'm not sure what it was called," she mumbled.

The group waited for her to continue. When she did not, Caspian said, "Your parents? Your home?"

"I had neither." Her voice was so soft as to be a whisper. "I lived on the streets."

"All alone?" Faye exclaimed.

"There was a group of us. We used to beg, and. . . and steal."

"Amha," Caspian said quietly. "Did you hear what I told Torben?"

She nodded, twisting her fingers together. Caspian laid a hand on her head for a brief moment. "All right, then," he said softly, unsure of what else he could say that might help.

Landan, on the other hand, looked at Amha speculatively for a few moments. Then he shifted to sit next to her, held her by her arms, and lifted her up. Amha yelped in surprise as she was tossed high into the air. She was caught by Landan's sure hands, and when he settled her on his lap she was breathless and giggling. Landan grinned at her, looking very different from his somber self of five minutes ago.

"You're the hero of the battle, Amha," he said. "You let the Riders defeat Siska! And heroes aren't supposed to look so sad, are they, Kelsie?"

"They certainly aren't." Kelsie grinned as well. The next moment, she was kneeling by Landan and was tickling Amha mercilessly. Her squeals of laughter made the others begin to smile as well.

Kelsie sat back on her heels, satisfied, and happened to bump into Tylor's arm. She turned, and grinned again as she saw his expression. Tylor hastily moved backwards.

"Kelsie, I'm very very ticklish -"

With a yell of excitement, Kelsie pounced on him. In a matter of minutes, the air was full of shrieks and giggles as the children chased each other around, trying to tickle one another. Landan was still seated, smiling at Amha chasing Edward. Kelsie came back soon, pushing her disheveled hair out of her eyes. She sat down with a satisfied sigh.

The corner of Caspian's mouth twitched upwards. He placed a hand on their backs for a moment. "Well done, the two of you," he murmured.

They looked back at him, both wearing the same wry half-smile.

"We're the oldest," Kelsie said softly.

"It's our duty to take care of them." Landan shrugged slightly.

Caspian inclined his head. "If anything ever troubles you, if you ever need to talk, come to me, all right?" He smiled. "It's my duty to take care of you."

Their gazes dropped slightly and a flush crept up both their cheeks, but they thanked him with real gratitude before turning back to face the others. Together, the three of them watched the first of the darkness Siska had left behind begin to dissipate.

⸶⸷

Paras leaned his chin on one knee, watching the scene in front of him interestedly, and feeling quite unashamed about peeping around the veranda door. The dark-haired boy was sitting in the middle of the children's mattresses, with the children themselves seated close by him. The smallest one, with the fiery hair, and the big, good natured grey-skinned one were there too, with their own small circles. It had been practical of the king to offer the use of his own home. Quite apart from the fact that the heillan had not had enough space to house so many people, including those who had been accompanying the royals on their journey, this house possessed a massive lawn where the dragons had space to live; and the unnaturally graceful ones, the alfakyn, seemed to want to remain as close to them as possible. Thus the king's house was filling up as the heillan emptied. And, of course, their prisoner was here as well, and they all wanted to be close by when he was interrogated - which surely would be soon, since the leader of the alfakyn was now awake.

He knew this only because Irié had told him. It was undoubtedly an advantage to have the son of the king as one's friend; a heillanin like him, who had only qualified two years ago, would never otherwise be privy to such information.

Ah, the children - the humans -were beginning to be drawn into conversation. He didn't understand too much of the common language they spoke, but he thought he had a fairly good grasp of it; Rosalie, the big pink dragon, had kindly given him some of what she knew of it. As far as he could tell, the dark-haired boy - Caspian, wasn't that his name? - was encouraging them to talk about themselves and where they came from. He seemed to be handling them well, Paras noted with approval. Probably, like him, Caspian had younger siblings at home -

" 'Ras!"

Damn, he thought. "Coming!" he called back, getting to his feet. He trotted down the stairs onto the lawn just as Rina rounded the corner of the house. She was dressed in brown, with her hair pinned back neatly in a way that lent prominence to her startlingly hazel eyes. She gave him a measured glance, her eyes austere. "Don't leave everything to Irié and wander off," she said. "He's not all that competent as yet."

"You are." He tried for a winning smile. "I put my faith in you. Rié-sunn won't manage to kill Palé if you're around. I was only gone for a minute or so anyway -"

She was unmoved. "You are a disgrace to the blue coat you wear and the copper ring in your ear - which you've only earned one of, anyway. You're meant to supervise him. Come on."

Paras sighed and followed. He had been one of the heillanin sent to tend to the dragons, so technically he should be watching over Irie, who had badly wanted to help, very closely. There were only four of them left here, where before, out of forty, twenty five had shifted to the king's house, simply because of the sheer amount of energy needed to heal a single dragon. Even then they had all worked through the night over some dragons, like Rosalie. It had been a hectic three days, ever since the king and queen had emerged from the forest with the most startling retinue he'd ever seen in his life. As he stepped onto the grass he glanced at the other dragons. Saphira, the biggest one by far, lay on the grass beside the larger green one, Fírnen. The smaller green and the smaller blue, Lifaen and - Jethran? - were stretched out luxuriously some distance away, looking like a miniature copy of them, while Rosalie, Layla and the white one, he couldn't remember her name, nestled together close by. The others must have flown off to hunt, he thought.

Rina all but led him by the ear to where Palé was waiting patiently. Irié was crouched by his left flank. Already a slightly built person, he looked absurdly tiny next to Palé's massive bulk. He looked up anxiously as they approached.

"Rina! Good, you found him! 'Ras, how do I- ouch!" He rubbed his head, looking up indignantly at his sister. "What was that for?"

"You address me as Rina-nin in public, Irié, no matter how lax you may be at home. And why did you let 'Ras wander off when you know you're not skilled enough to-"

"What do you mean, wander off? I'm not in charge of him-"

Paras, inured to their constant bickering, ignored them and swept a low bow. "Greetings, Palé. I hope you are feeling better?"

Palé lowered his head and blinked once, and then his presence surrounded Paras's mind. Vastly. I would be in perfect condition if these holes in my hide were closed up.

Paras glanced at Irie, who was looking sheepishly at his feet. "My apologies, Palé."

Paras smiled to himself. "Lets see what we can do about those." He moved to Palé's flank, thinking how pleasant it was to able to communicate with a dragon in his own tongue. They were so imposing, fumbling with his words didn't help boost his already flickering confidence. And - he looked at Palé's head once more, admiringly - you never got tired of looking at them, they were so beautiful.

A feeling of amusement diffused into his thoughts. He hastily focused his attention on Palé's side, stomach squirming with embarrassment. That soon faded, though, as he frowned over Irié's handiwork. When he turned to him at last, Irié was almost bouncing on the spot with nervousness as he waited for the verdict.

"You have done quite well, Irié-sunn," he said kindly. "Only, you see here - you've bound over these places with too much muscle. We need to regenerate the hide and the scales also, which you forgot about. But apart from that, it's good." He glanced at numerous pale blue shapes lying in the grass by his feet. "Are those the worms?"

Irié grunted assent. "Disgusting things."

"You did well removing so many of them. Did you fill in the tunnels they made?"

"Yes, of course!"

Paras hummed to himself, then looked up at Palé once more. I'm going to examine his handiwork and draw out whatever poison he may have left behind.

Once he was acknowledged, he placed his hands over the red-rimmed wounds, closed his eyes, and began to cast his magic. There were a few worms that Irié had missed, so he carefully drew them out and killed them with a quick word or two, along with a multitude of tiny black eggs. He then drew the remaining poison into the tunnels Irié had not been able to fill, so that it would be easier to remove later. Once all the poison he could find was safely collected, he did a thorough exploration of Palé's entire body, ensuring that there was nothing he or the other healers had missed, paying special attention to the areas around his eyes, nose, heart, lungs, brain, and gut. He found no traces of poison or eggs left, but he did encounter a structure he could not identify that seemed crystalline.

There was a low rumble in Palé's chest. That is part of me. It is not a cause for concern.

Paras dipped his head. He then propelled the poison out of Pale's body with a quiet 'Gánga' and it hung in the air for a moment, a large, shimmering globule of faint yellow, before he caused it to pour into a bowl kept to one side. Lastly, he mended Palé's muscles, using his own energy to grow new fibres that quickly interwove with new nerves and filled in the dark holes. He had to use a different spell for the hide, since it was of a different composition, and yet another for the scales. The entire thing took him twenty minutes.

Not a bad time, he thought to himself with a weary sigh. He still wasn't quite used to the fatigue that overcame him after a healing.

Palé got to his feet and stretched himself out, his golden scales flashing dazzling rainbows into Paras's eyes. My thanks, he said with a brief flash of approval before leaping into heavy flight. Paras hastily covered his ears until he had flown a fair distance.

Irié lowered his hands with a sigh. "I wish we had dragons here."

Rina seemed to feel the same way. She gazed after the receding Palé with an unusually wistful look in her eyes. Then she glanced at her brother, and, with a slightly mischievous smile, opened her fist to show him a bright golden scale shimmering on her palm.

Irié gave a delighted laugh and held out his hand. "How many do you have now?"

She gave it to him. "Twenty seven. Nine colours. I'm only missing silver."

"I've got thirty three, but I don't have white yet," Irié said, tossing the scale up and down.

Paras shook his head, unable to stop himself from smiling. "Did you two go around plucking scales from their hides?"

Rina gave him an exasperated glance. "They're all over the grass. Haven't you noticed?"

Now that he looked, there were indeed scales of varying colours and sizes littering the grass. "But what do you want to collect them for?" he asked.

"You realize we might never see a dragon again? Ever?" Irié asked indignantly. "We need these so we have something to remember them by!"

Paras's smile became reflective as he glanced at the dragons. "I think forgetting them will be quite impossible."

Irié broke out into a flood of protestations at this, but Paras found understanding and agreement in Rina's eyes. She motioned to the side with a slight jerk of her head, and soon they were sitting side by side on the veranda, arms on the railing, looking down on the valley beneath their dangling feet.

"How have the last few days been for you?" Rina asked softly.

He tapped a finger against the railing, smiling a little. "In a word, overwhelming, Rina-mirin. I had never -"

She held up a hand, stopping him. "What do you address Irié as, Paras?"

"Irié-sunn," he said, confused.

"And that is how you would address any friend. Any male friend."

"Yes, of course."

"But you address me as Rina-mirin, rather than Rina-senn."

"Well, yes . . ."

"Why?"

"Because you are a mirin . . ." He wasn't sure what she was driving at.

"Yes, yes, since my parents rule the country, they are mari and miri, and Irié and I are marin and mirin. Yet why do you address Irié as -sunn and not -marin?"

"He asked me to."

"Then I ask you to address me as I address you."

"But - you do not use any honorific with my name."

She gave him a measured glance. "Is that a problem?"

"It is far too familiar! If your father heard me . . ."

"You may blame it on me." Her gaze softened a little as she took in his troubled expression. "I've known you since I was old enough to walk, Paras; since we've been coming to this house for the summer. I would like to be just a friend to someone. Not a mirin ; not someone who will have to fight tooth and nail for the throne of this country one day. Will you do me this one favour?"

"I - of course . . . Rina." Saying her name without an honorific was slightly exciting and rather more uncomfortable, and he suddenly had some trouble looking at her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, looking away as well. "I'm sorry for interrupting. You were saying?"

"Um . . . the past few days have been overwhelming. I could never have imagined that such creatures could exist in this world. They appeared bloody and wounded, with a host of other beings at their backs as well, and with tales of an entirely different country . . . where magic is feared by some and used as never before by others, where great wars were fought, where many different races live. To be honest, living this far north, I never fully believed the tales of firebreathing monsters driving those in the southern towns from their homes. I thought that, perhaps, Meiji-mari and Nila-miri had allowed the evacuation simply because it would set everyone's minds at rest, as a panic was sweeping over the kingdom, though few enough could actually say that they had seen the dragons . . . and I knew also that Lidéna had said that there was nothing to fear in the south. But these were all tall tales that I never paid much mind to. And then those very tales appeared in front of me, breathing and snorting and bleeding. And I actually healed them. Assisted them." His eyes were now blank and unseeing as he stared into the misty distance. "I will always count myself lucky beyond belief that I was assigned to this healing station, at this time." He blinked and focused on her, smiling a little apologetically. "I think I've simply thrown myself into work because I feel like if I stop and think about this for too long it will all disappear like a dream. I don't think I've allowed it time to sink into my mind well enough as yet . . . But I apologise. I've been chattering away like a myna."

Rina shook her head. "Few people feel free to talk so unconsciously around me. I enjoy listening to you."

That's Rina, Paras thought wryly. Always saying the first thing that comes into her mind without a second thought.

This led to a chain of thought that resulted in him saying, "How devious would you say one has to be to rule?"

She raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in topic. "How devious?"

"Subtle, shrewd, delicate, strategic, diplomatic," He waved a hand. "Any word you like."

"I'd say . . . it's certainly a very important quality. Knowing what to say to whom, and when; how to phrase it; and when it is more prudent to withhold information than broadcast it. You meant it in that sense, yes?"

"Mm."

"Well yes, it is very important. Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking that you aren't devious at all. You're a very forthright person." He considered her for a moment. "And it seems to me that having to measure each word before you utter it, having to hide information from even those closest to you . . . having to live in a web of secrets would be something that would oppress you."

She had stiffened, but now her shoulders slumped. "You don't think I can do it," she said gloomily.

"I don't think you would be happy doing it," he corrected her.

She kicked her feet restlessly. "I don't think I would be happy like that either. But I could be a queen who did away with the web of secrets and whispers, couldn't I? I could create a more honest kingdom."

Seeing her uncertainty, he regretted bringing up the topic. "Of course, if that is your aim. I've never seen anyone as determined as you."

"I will do my best." She turned to face him. "I know the people will not love me as they love my parents; I know that people see me as withdrawn and solemn. But I believe that I can make this country a better place, and I believe that I have a duty to do so. So I will be a candidate for the crown. I will do my best to overcome the challenges of the Tournament of the Throne. And if the people choose me, I will not fail them. I can and will change myself for them."

He nodded approvingly, respecting her resolve. She smiled a little tremulously, and it was only then that he realised the enormous pressure that was on her shoulders. The throne had gone to candidates from the Peravan family for the past three generations, the most recent one to win being her mother. The other clans were eager to see the throne go to someone from a different family, and there was no dearth of candidates who were preparing to enter the next Tournament. Obtaining a position among the top ten candidates would be no easy feat. And then the selection by the citizens would take place, and their will was notoriously hard to predict. The likelihood of Rina keeping the throne within the family was low enough to discourage most from even making the attempt. But she knew that, and she was going to try anyway.

"I'll be cheering for you," he grinned. "If you become queen, it will be more than this kingdom deserves."

She ducked her head, smiling gratefully in return. He pretended not to notice as she surreptitiously tried to brush away the few tears that had collected in the corners of her eyes in the last minute.

He heard footsteps just then, and turned to see the king approaching with his long, easy stride. He jumped up and bowed. "Meiji-mari," he said respectfully.

"Paras-sunn." The king inclined his head before turning to his daughter, who was also on her feet.

"Rina, will you do me a favour and inform Jabaii-senn and the others that I intend to go down to the lake for morning prayers tomorrow, and that any who wish to may accompany me. The heillanin too."

"All right, father."

Meiji nodded and left, giving Paras a brief smile and a rather penetrating look. Confused, and somewhat apprehensive, he turned to Rina inquiringly.

"Uh, did he - didn't he look at me a bit strangely?"

He was surprised to see that she looked simultaneously embarrassed and exasperated. She was just about to speak when -

"Rina, Rina, guess what?" Irié yelled, sprinting towards them and waving something in the air. "I got a white one! You have to go and ask one of them to give you a ride now! Paras what do you wanna bet that she gets eaten? I'll bet fifty-"

"Shut up, Irié!"

⸶⸷

That evening

Senshi was slumped against Ikraan's left paw, her head resting on her chest. But he knew she wasn't asleep, though she was tired. It was the first respite she had been granted since the battle, and he'd brought her to this clearing a little higher up in the hills so they could be alone for some time.

Her mind was not broken anymore, but it was still a little jagged. He thought time would heal her, but the Black Daughter had left deep scars that would never fully go away. She had enjoyed it. She had enjoyed making a mind, a sentient and intelligent mind, shatter. And she had done it slowly, leisurely, like she had had all the time in the world, and every second she'd remained in Senshi's mind . . . Ikraan could remember his body and mind screaming out with hers for what had seemed like an interminable age.

Anger opened up in his mind like a pulsing flower. Anger and shame had been the predominant emotions in his mind for three days, flavoured with sorrow and regret. And Senshi had been busy, being the only channel of communication between people in the heillan, so she hadn't been available to soothe him like she always did. As a matter of fact he was a little afraid of what she might say now -

Fool. A gentle tide of affection reached him from her. You always worry too easily about things. And get angry about things easily as well.

. . . Senshi . . .

She said nothing, only waited for him to speak even though she knew what he wanted to say - even though she knew the words that were consuming him with shame.

I . . . I gave in. His paw clenched, raking deep lines in the earth. I gave in to her. I gave her what she wanted. She controlled me, and I - I became a weapon to be used against everyone else. She made me fight Celeste- He stopped, appalled by the fact that a small, pitiful keen had escaped him.

She lifted her head and looked at him for a long moment. When he avoided her gaze, she reached out and placed her hand on his nose.

Do you think anyone blames you? she said softly.

They should. The pain radiating from his mind was beginning to affect her thoughts too, but he couldn't stop unburdening himself now, and he knew she wanted him to continue. They should blame me. I was the first conquest, the first pawn. She made me kneel, Senshi. You kept fighting her, but I-

You knelt for me. He could feel tears prickling under her eyelids now, and her hand began to stroke his scales. My prince, you knelt for me. That means the world to me. Even as I cursed her for forcing you do it, I was in awe of the fact that you loved me so much . . . I knew it before, but - seeing physical proof of it would have brought me to my knees as well if I hadn't been on the ground already -

The mixture of grief, pride and adoration that was rushing into him from her was destroying anything he had left that resembled composure. Their emotions echoed off one another, poured into each other, fed off each other and grew so powerful that she fell against his neck, only able to sob convulsively, and he could only mewl painfully.

The sun had dipped behind the tallest peak before they could calm down at all. Senshi sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. They would never blame you, Ikraan, she murmured. They can all imagine what you felt like.

You were screaming at me. He snorted weakly. Still thinking, still making the smart choice. You were screaming at me to leave so I wouldn't feel what she was doing to you. I knew I should do it, I knew that was what was necessary, and I tried. I swear I tried. But I hesitated for a split second, and I think that was enough for the girl to make me-

She would have made you even if you hadn't been connected with me then, she assured him. She has that power.

And afterwards . . . A shudder ran along his spine, from the base of his skull to the tip of his tail.

Senshi withdrew just a little. And afterwards . . . she broke me. And you too.

It was like she had grabbed my heart and was twisting it until it tore. I could no more ignore your pain than . . . than a dwarf can ignore a mug of ale. That wrung a watery chuckle from her, though he hadn't meant it to, and their thoughts settled even further.

They all know that. They will not blame you. They would never blame you. Would you blame Shruikan for being bonded to the Black King? Or Eragon for what happened to his uncle because he didn't slit Saphira's throat the second she hatched?

I know. He pushed his muzzle against her, wanting her to hold him tighter as guilt seemed to choke him. I know they won't blame me. But that does not erase my guilt, and oh . . . it hurt,Senshi. It hurt, so much, to hear your pain. It hurt to feel such fear, when she took over my mind and body - fear of whether my doom was to become nothing more than a weapon for her to use. It hurt to hear your fear then, too. And it hurt to wound Celesté. His paw flexed again, leaving another series of lines in the soil. She made me fight Celesté because she knew Celesté is my mate. And she delighted in it.

Senshi silently agreed with him. Her mind was nothing but poison. It is a good thing that she no longer exists . . . Celesté won't hold it against you, Ikraan.

I attacked her. The thought was almost a whisper.

Senshi closed her eyes at the fresh wave of grief that washed over her. They didn't speak for some time after that, using only emotions to communicate. They silently offered up their wounds, and shuddered in relief as they were tended to, in turn, by the unconditional acceptance each found in the other. When they looked at each other again, they both felt like they finally resembled who they had been before the battle; like the hollow wraiths that had worn their bodies and used their voices for three days were finally gone, or were at least beginning to disappear.

I love you. More than anything. Senshi wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

Ikraan hummed low in his throat. And I love you.

The shadows had lengthened considerably by now, and the hillsides were flushed with a final tinge of pink. You want to return? Ikraan asked.

She nestled against his broad chest. I wouldn't mind sleeping out here, under the stars. But we should return before we are missed.

He hummed again as she absent mindedly scratched his scales. They were both reluctant to move. It was only when the sun finally went down that Senshi slowly got to her feet. Ikraan was about to follow suit when he heard the distant flapping of wings. He raised his head, wondering who it might be.

When he found out who it was, his stomach felt like the bottom had dropped out. On my back now, he said urgently. Senshi!

But she simply laid a hand on his side. You'll face to face this sooner or later, she said gently. And I think you're ready now.

His rising dismay subsided a little, but trepidation still crept swiftly through his mind. I don't know what to - how to -

Just be honest. She stepped away. I'll walk back. It isn't that far.

As she headed into the trees, he swung his head around to watch her go. She paused and looked back, and he could see himself in her mind, staring at her with big, pleading eyes as the wingbeats got closer and closer. She sent him a last, lingering pulse of love and confidence before flitting away.

Ikraan wanted to fly away, torch the forest, and hide under a rock (if there existed one large enough) all at once. But he managed not to move as Celesté slowed and landed in front of him. The last of the sunlight made her scales and the fangs in her panting mouth gleam.

You've been avoiding me, she said. Not accusingly, because she was never accusing ot unkind. It was simply a statement of fact. And he knew she expected facts in return.

So, though the effort cost him, he managed to force himself to say, I . . . was ashamed.

She gazed directly at him, and he could only hold her gaze for a moment or two before he dropped his head. He didn't look up as she came closer.

She snorted softly, and he felt her hot breath puff onto the top of his head. When he didn't move or speak, she gently slid her neck along his, ending with her head resting on his back. Ikraan closed his eyes, feeling a cry of mingled grief, remorse and desperate affection struggling to leave his throat.

Did I - hurt you . . .? When we fought?

A low, amused hum thrummed in her throat. You think you could?

He snorted weakly. I'm sorry, he said quietly. For avoiding you. And for giving in to her.

Any one of us would have. She gently nipped at the scales at the base of his throat. And I suppose I would have avoided you too.

Ikraan shifted so that their necks were further entwined, nestling his head on her back as well. I've never hated anything more than I hated fighting you.

She hummed louder. Acceptance and affection flowed from her to him, eroding his sorrow and his shame, making him feel complete in a way Senshi hadn't. In a way he hadn't realised was possible.

A little later, when night had truly fallen, she growled playfully and made as if to pounce on him repeatedly until she had teased him into flight. They flew alone together for the first time in a long time, diving and looping playfully; and eventually simply reveling in each other's presence and the sweet solitude they found among the stars.

⸶⸷

A few hours earlier

Akhtar leaned against the wall, tapping his fingers on the pommel of his sword. Caspian stood beside him, along with Landan and Kelsie, who were talking to each other in quiet tones. Orivistr, a dwarf from Durgrimst Nagra, stood a little apart from them, staring down into his short beard. Zulkaz and T'tarmek were speaking to each other as well, on Akhtar's left. They were both only five years younger than Akhtar himself. All of them had come to witness Callan's interrogation; as the oldest ones who had been taken, they had claimed the right to know exactly why they had been snatched from their homes and kept in the dark for nearly three years.

They turned to look down the corridor at the sound of approaching footsteps. Eragon, Arya, and Blödhgarm were walking towards them, accompanied by Queen Nila. Eragon grinned at them, and they both bowed their heads in return.

"Are you well, Master?" Akhtar asked.

"Never better," he replied.

"And you, Arya Dröttning?" Caspian asked politely.

She smiled and answered in the ancient language, so that Nila could understand as well. "In perfect health, Caspian, thank you . . . Would you like to introduce me?" She nodded towards the young ones, who had instinctively moved together.

"Of course . . . Kelsie Hastings, from Belatona. Landan Dacre, from Teirm. Orvistr Lightfoot, from Clan Nagra. Zulkaz, of the Bolvek tribe, and T'tarmek, of the N'rerin tribe. You lot, this is Arya Dröttning, queen of the elves, Eragon Shadeslayer, leader of the Riders, Blödhgarm, one of the oldest spellasters alive, and Nila Peravan, queen of this country."

T'tarmek and Zulkaz raised their chins politely, Landan and Orvistr bowed, and Kelsie curtsied deeply. Eragon smiled at them. "I'm glad to see you all looking so bright. But are you sure you want to witness this?"

They glanced at each other. Zulkaz stepped forward. "Very much," he replied, also in the ancient language. The musical syllables sounded odd in his guttural voice. "We want to know why we were forced to undergo what we did."

Arya inclined her head. "Certainly you deserve to do so. Shall we proceed, then?"

Caspian and Akhtar made way for Blödhgarm as he strode forward and pushed open the heavy dorr they had been standing in front of. Inside, Elaren and another elf called Naumys were seated by the door, watching the man with one wrist chained to a wall.

They all filed in, the younger ones arranging themselves against the opposite wall, away from the light. They were joined by Caspian, Akhtar, and Nila. They were the spectators - it was Arya, Eragon and Blödhgarm who were conducting this interrogation.

"Callan," Blödhgarm said quietly.

He looked up. He had not lost a jot of his self possession in the days he had been kept imprisoned. Admittedly, it didn't look much like a prison - the room was lit by cheerful lanterns and contained an assortment of gleaming furniture. It was only the fact that the wall he was chained to was made of stone (this room being where the house backed into the hill) that gave the impression of a danger being contained.

"Blödhgarm," Callan acknowledged. His eyes travelled around the room. "Arya Dröttning. Eragon Shadeslayer. A woman whose name I do not know, but who is the queen of this country, who was present when we emerged from the cavern. And you lot." His expression did not change, but his voice seemed to soften slightly. "Orvistr, Kelsie, Zulkaz, Landan, T'tarmek. You must be glad to be out of that hole. And two Riders, whose names, again, I do not know." He had used the ancient language throughout. His eyes returned to Blödhgarm, and he waited expectantly. There were a few moments of silence before Arya spoke. "Where are you from, Callan?"

"I was born in Uru'baen."

"And how are you related to Siska?"

"We share the same mother."

Arya exchanged a glance with Eragon. "But not the same father?"

"You refer to the Black King. No."

Blödhgarm spoke then. "If you were born in Alagaesia, how came you to be here?"

This question did not seem to be to Callan's taste. "That is a long story," he muttered.

Blödhgarm's ears twitched irritably. "Do you have anywhere else to be?"

To Akhtar, standing with his shoulders propped against the wall, it seemed like the man had a dislike of speaking too much or for too long. He used his words as sparingly as possible, like he was stacking bricks of gold.

Callan sighed and began to speak. "The Black King had many children. Some he cared for - the ones he thought might become powerful. he others he dismissed. But he had a magnetism that drew all to his side. Even those who professed to hate him. My mother was a servant in the castle. She caught his eye. Siska was the result. I grew up in the castle as well, one of a ragged pack of children that everyone assumed were the king's bastards As most of them indeed were. Others, like me, were half-siblings of those he fathered, and their mothers kept them in the castle because they were the fruit of another indiscretion, or simply because they had no other choice. In my case, my father died before I was born, and she could neither leave me alone at home nor stop working to support her family. Since Siska had already been born, she allowed the king to assume I was also fathered by him and kept me in the castle. He would never have paid enough attention to me to discover the falsehood.

"As I said, he had a magnetism. They all vied for his favour, and some he groomed well. But the eggs would hatch for none of them, so he either dismissed them or integrated them into his network of spies and assassins. His Black Hand. But I left the castle some years before the Varden attacked. I became a mercenary. I learned to fight, and to fight well, unlike most of the others. I returned a year after the war to find them in chaos. When he died they howled for revenge, but they were too few and too scattered to attempt much except infrequent assassination attempts. Some - the clever ones - began to win the loyalties of his more dangerous agents. What followed was several years of plotting and machination as each petty leader tried to promote their own faction and rule them all. It was - ridiculous to watch. They all had the same goal. To avenge their father. To rule the country. Yet they squabbled with each other, plotted, and poisoned, decimating their own resources in the process.

"I had a bounty on my head, so I was content to remain behind Siska and watch them cut each other to pieces. She had no allies then. She was one of the youngest. With no skill. No one gave her a second thought as they struggled for control. But she slid into the confidences of Esalor, a big, bullheaded man, and advised him. With her by his side, he became the strongest. He collected the most allies and shifted to this country so he could build his army without looking for Murtagh over his shoulder. This was some four years ago. But he began to invent foolish, grandiose plans, and Siska wasn't always able to stop him. It was he who decided to kidnap important children from Alagaesia. He never articulated precise reasons, but argued that they might come in useful, they might be trained, and that they could be used as bargaining chips or for blackmail if need be." Callan took a deep breath after this, the longest sentence any of them had heard him speak yet. He still used the ancient language; smoothly, without faltering.

"I was surprised when he succeeded to a good extent. That gave him the confidence to move ahead with another plan. Siska tried to dissuade him. She insisted that he was wasting what might be an asset. But he refused to listen, so great was his hate. He made a bargain, obtained Vilta, and poisoned you." Callan looked straight at Eragon. "That was a mistake. Siska grew furious. She caused him to die and took his army for herself. She then showed her true strength as a cunning strategist and managed to tripled the size of her force, even augmenting it with a Tsuhei, and creating creatures to fight against dragons. She jettisoned most of the children. They were too many mouths to feed. She has - had never been particularly interested in death, killing people. She only enjoys - enjoyed power, whether the power came from being able to manipulate people, or events, or emotions.

"She kept a few. Ones she liked. Amha, for obvious reasons. Asmund, Erika, Anyin, Zulkaz, Yardul have an aptitude for magic. Bordaeth, Thas'rika, Edward, Inkeri are skilled with their minds. She trained them. Torben, she changed. Cast a spell on him. He can tell how people are feeling just by looking at them. Changed Ylva too. She can change anyone's emotions as she wills. Siska meant them to be used together. She changed others too, I was not informed of how. They will tell you. She kept them also to bargain. Since Esalor had already collected them, she saw no reason to entirely relinquish the advantage."

"Wait," Arya interrupted. "What about Charles? Orrin's son?"

"Charles? Charles . . ." Callan looked uncertain for a moment. Then realization brightened his eyes for a moment, though his tone did not change. "Ah. A resourceful young child. He had some aptitude for magic as well. A year ago, he managed to make himself invisible and sneak out. I do not know where he might be. He may have survived. He may have found a family to take him in. Or he may have perished."

Arya exchanged a consternated glance with Eragon. Blödhgarm, however, gave Callan a feral grin. "That brings us to an important question," he purred. "How did Charles use magic when you cannot use the ancient language in that cavern? And how did Siska manage to stop the ancient language from affecting energy as it does?"

"At the time he was not in the cavern," Callan answered without a blink. "He was in the stone outpost above it. Siska took two children there for three days at a time so she could train them. Even if you happened to use the name of names at that very moment and find her, she had set warning spells and could retreat to the cavern instantly. And she had been careless enough not to set spells to warn her of anyone trying to escape during her training. Not that she dreamed any would try to. As for that cavern, that was not her doing. It was sheer bad luck for you that Esalor discovered it - the rock there is impregnated with an old magic. Very old. Must have been cast some thousands of years ago. The Grey Folk bound magic to the ancient language, yes? Like giving a knife a handle, a sword a hilt - and a scabbard. But some people did not see why they should be bound to sheathe their swords. Limit their own ability. So when the Grey Folk moved to this land, shaken by the devastation of Alagaesia, that faction broke away from the rest to live on the outskirts of the civilisation. And they enchanted that cavern for their use. It severs the connection between the language and the power. After all, the connection itself is only a kind of magic, and it can be modified. Or nullified. Of course, this is only Siska's speculation. But since she is - was as wily as her father I don't doubt it's accurate enough."

Blödhgarm considered this for a moment. "I see. Also - those who attacked us when we were waiting in the cavern. Why could we not sense their minds?"

Callan shrugged. "Why could the Shadeslayer not sense the minds of the Raz'ac when he went to Helgrind with his cousin?"

A shadow flitted across the faces of everyone there, save Nila. Blödhgarm's face creased into a slight snarl. "How do you know that?" he asked softly.

"There is a lot one picks up when one lives in a network of Galbatorix's spies. Siska was one favoured by her father. She must have learnt that particular spell from him . . . the ones who attacked you, one of them was a hunchback, yes? He was to Siska what Siska was to Esalor. Also her master of poisons and torture." Callan's eyes darkened slightly. "Not that she needed one."

Eragon had been walking up and down, listening to Callan's deep voice fill the room. Now he paused and looked at him sombrely.

"Why did you not fight?" he asked.

Callan met his gaze without wavering, the slight shadow in his eyes becoming a flicker of distaste. "She did not want to use me. She wanted to bring all of you to your knees on her own. So I was not ordered to move. If she had I would have had no choice. She enchanted every person under her command most thoroughly. I am glad she did not use me. She was a convenient shield for me, that was all. Any respect I had for her I lost when I saw her enchant children to satisfy her own curiosity; when I saw her torment those she found fault with for hours on end rather than killing them outright. Enjoying watching the life drain from their bodies."

"You were a mercenary," Eragon mused.

"I was. I killed if I was paid. I did not care who was in the right or who was in the wrong. But causing needless suffering irks me."

"A practical person." Eragon's mouth curved up briefly. "If we let you go . . . what will you do?"

Callan was silent for a few moments. Akhtar got the impression that, for the first time, he was uncertain.

"I do not know," he said slowly. "I might return to being a mercenary in Alagaesia. I might join Nasuada's corps. I cannot use magic myself, but I know more than most about how it works . . ."

"But you will not follow in Siska's footsteps."

Callan's lip curled slightly. "You may depend upon the fact that I will not."

Eragon nodded, looking at Arya, who glanced at Blödhgarm, who shrugged ever so slightly.

"We may have more questions for you later. But for now, I suppose you're no longer confined. We will, however, place a tracking spell upon you," he said.

Callan inclined his head, managing to look dignified even when seated on the ground with one hand chained to the wall.

Akhtar stood straight, mulling over what he had heard. That certainly cleared up a few questions . . . he drifted towards the door, following Nila and Arya, trying to organize his thoughts.

Osra should know about this, he thought. Is she still upset? I should have made more of an effort to talk her out of it, I suppose . . .

Ravûn did that for you, Jethran said. He was winging his way back from a hunt.From what Mánya tells me she's still a little grim, but nowhere near as silent as she was yesterday.

That's good. I wonder -

He stopped when he happened to catch sight of Callan once more. Landan, T'tarmek, and Orvistr stood, looking down at him. For a split second, Akhtar wasn't sure if they were going to spit on him, kick him, or do something worse. He started towards them almost involuntarily, thinking, I should have checked them for weapons-

And then Landan and Orvistr bowed deeply, and T'tarmek raised his chin.

Akhtar stopped moving, mystified. The three of them watched Callan for a moment longer, and he inclined his head, looking slightly startled. They then rejoined Kelsie and Zulkaz. Akhtar tapped T'tarmek on the shoulder, falling into step with him.

"What was that about?" he said.

"He . . . helped us. Sometimes."

"When he could," Landan added, apparently having picked up enough of the Urgal language to be able to understand what had just been said. "We wanted to show our gratitude."

Akhtar grunted in acknowledgement, following them into the corridor. As the door swung shut, he caught a last glimpse of Naumys bending to remove Callan's shackles.

Nila was talking to Arya in low tones as they walked away, Eragon and Blödhgarm listening to their conversation. Caspian accompanied Orvistr and the rest as they headed for their beds, listening to Kelsie as she remarked upon something. Akhtar simply stood still for a moment, wanting to savour the sudden feeling that a weight had been lifted off his chest. The battle was over, nearly every mystery had been cleared up . . .

What next? Jethran asked. When are we going home?

Perhaps in a day or two. Nasuada, Murtagh, Orik and Orrin are due soon, after all . . .

And then, to Alagaesia!

Akhtar grinned. Yes, then we go to Alagaesia.

This country was a good one, he decided as he followed the others, and he'd enjoyed his time here, but he would be happiest in the land of his forefathers. Although . . . He grimaced slightly. The question of whether that land would be as happy to see him was one that he didn't like to think about.

⸶⸷

Dara stared at her feet, insides squirming. The door in front of her gleamed darkly in the cheerful light from the flickering lanterns, looking inviting and quite unthreatening. Yet she had been standing uncertainly outside it for ten minutes at the very least.

She shook herself and swiftly raised her hand to knock. Just as it was about to touch the wood she paused, holding her breath; then let it out in a rush, allowing her hand to drop to her side. She groaned quietly, frustrated and ashamed of herself. Why was she so afraid of simply knocking on the door and going to talk to -

The door opened.

She took a hasty step backward. Këyal looked down at her, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Were you planning on coming in anytime soon?" he asked.

She grinned sheepishly and stepped in, trying to ignore the way her heart was pounding. When she heard the door close behind her, however, it suddenly doubled in speed.

She was alone. With Këyal. In his room.

What might happen? What might not happen? Ten different scenarios had run through her head while she'd been standing outside, but now she had no clue what to do, how to muster enough courage to speak, what he expected her to do . . .

She turned, mouth open, but with no idea of what to say. They looked at each other for a long moment, then hastily averted their gazes at the same time. Dara growled in her head as she felt her cheeks burning.

Argh, why does it have to be so embarrassing? Should I do something? Or-

She could see Këyal's finger tapping restlessly against his leg. There was a nervous, breathless pause; then he began to move towards her. Not fast, but at a steady pace, making his intentions clear but giving her ample time to move away or speak. She did neither, however, only stared at his feet with increasing intensity. They stopped almost right in front of hers.

When they had been motionless for a few moments, she managed to gather to courage to glance upwards fleetingly. He looked uncertain, but when their eyes met, his expression softened. As she quickly looked down again, he carefully wrapped his arms around her.

And suddenly, with a rush of abashed relief, she realised that she was no longer quite so debilitatingly nervous. She returned the gesture, unable to stop herself from smiling a little embarrassedly.

After a moment or two they sat on the bed, cross-legged and facing each other, and idly playing with each other's fingers. Which was doing things to her stomach she was doing her best to ignore.

"How are you feeling now?" she asked softly.

"All wounds healed," he replied. "There aren't even any scars left."

"Good. I'm glad those half-breeds left no mark on you . . . Layla? She had a nasty wound on her left leg, isn't that so?"

Këyal chuckled. "Yes, but she was far more worried about the spines that the Tsuhei had snapped off. It's lucky the healers could grow them back, or else I'd have to spend the next decade listening to her bemoaning the loss of her beauty."

Dara smiled, carefully tracing the lines on his palm.

"How about you?" He turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with hers. "How have you been since that woman entered your mind?"

Dara's expression became one of distaste. "I want to forget how her mind felt as soon as possible. Power hungry, no empathy . . . it was like . . . a bitter, icy landscape. With red clouds."

"Red clouds?" She could hear a touch of amusement in his voice.

"Icy because of her ruthlessness and her unshakeable self interest. Red clouds are the enjoyment she derived from having power over other people, from causing them pain just because she could."

He squeezed her hand, and she offered him a slight smile.

"And how is Celesté? Did she suffer any bad injuries?"

"Mmm, a few. She was far more worried about Ikraan, though."

"Is she still?"

"They've reconciled. She's -" She flushed a little as she caught some of Celesté's thoughts. "-occupied," she muttered.

"Is she?" He was looking a little mischievous as he moved closer to her. Dara bit her lip, not sure if the intensified eruption of butterflies in her stomach were from nervousness or from excitement or some combination of the two, but unable to stop herself from smiling as he kissed her cheek, then the corner of her jaw.

She held him by the back of his neck as he began to pull away, and offered him a very tentative kiss. When they pulled away, she could see he was trying not to smile.

"At home," she breathed, his face inches from hers, "most of the girls I knew had kissed someone.

I even caught a few in the act, and I always thought it looked terribly complicated. How did they know - how did they learn how to kiss?"

His attempt to keep a straight face broke down completely at her that. He was almost grinning. "I suppose they learned by trial and error, kitten."

She blushed at that. He hadn't used her nickname since the first time they'd kissed, in the forest."So, um . . . d'you want t-mmf!"

Ten breathless minutes later, they were curled up next to each other. Keyal had somehow ended up with his head nestled in the curve of her neck, his arm over her waist and their legs tangled together. Dara stroked his shoulder with her thumb, taking in the feeling of holding his warm weight in her arms. It made her feel . . . oddly protective, and gave her a sense of gentle power. Like she was sheltering him.

"That was nice," he murmured, placing a soft kiss on the side of her neck. "But I think we could use some more trial and error."

She grinned, nuzzling his hair. "I wouldn't mind that."

They were quiet for sometime. The only sound in the room was of their soft breathing. She thought she felt his eyes close against her skin, and wondered if he was in worse shape than he'd let on. He'd said he was fine, but he had been bleeding from practically everywhere three days ago . . .

"Dara," he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"When we were fighting . . . I was cornered by a group of half breeds."

"Yes, I know," she murmured, slightly confused.

"Zelíe got there just in time to save me. Another second and I would have been torn apart."

She frowned, wondering why he was speaking in this vein. "But you weren't."

"I wasn't. But . . ." He took a shaky breath. "Dara, I was scared."

Her throat closed painfully at the note in his voice as he continued,"I thought I was going to die. There was nothing I could do . . . I was too weary, in too much pain, and that thing got past my guard so easily. I was terrified, and - I couldn't - I almost -"

She held him tighter. "You didn't," she whispered. "You didn't die. That's all that matters to me."

"I realized I would never see you again, nor you me, and I couldn't do a thing about it," he mumbled.

She blinked furiously, praying for tears to stop forming in her eyes, and kissed his forehead as tenderly as she could. "That will never happen again if I can help it," she said firmly.

That made him chuckle, albeit slightly shakily. "My kitten will protect me from anything, huh?"

"You're damn right she will."

He laughed again, and soon afterwards they fell asleep, both comforted by the thought that they might never have to witness - or cause - as much death in the years to come as they had so recently . . . and both hoping that, if they were indeed caught in such a battle again, the other would be there to stand by them. Always.