Chapter 35: Family Reunion
Tabatha's POV
There was a hazy light and a warm breeze coming from an open window. The sunlight shining down on me warmed my skin and made it tingle all over. The mattress and linens beneath me were incredibly soft, and I rolled over onto my side to snuggle into one of the feather pillows. A robin whistled his sweet song outside of the window, and the faint sounds of sellers at market and oxen carts rumbling down the street drifted up to my ears. When my eyes fluttered open, I saw white chiffon curtains hanging from the canopied bed, swaying in the breeze. At the window, I noticed a flowerbox hanging over the side and a stack of plain-bound books. A high-backed chair sat angled next to the window, to afford the perfect spot to read. I sat up slowly in the bed, taking in the rest of the room.
It was enormous; nearly three times the size of my room at my aunt and uncle's in Carvahall. A large hearth sat cold and empty, the warm weather doing away with the need for a fire. Shelves were built into the wall on either side of the mantle, filled with volumes of books embossed with gold lettering. A door across from the bed stood slightly open, and I saw a bathroom there. To my right was a huge wardrobe, which I could only assume was full of clothes and shoes. And then there was another door; this one made of solid oak and banded in heavy iron. Where am I? What happened to me? The last thing I remembered was...
Murtagh.
Everything came flooding back to me in a rush and I found the room spinning about me. My head was pounding and my body ached all over. Quickly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and yelped at the sudden cold of the hard stone. And as I rushed over to the huge, open window to gaze down at the scene below me, my heart filled with dread. All around me were soaring towers of stone and marble and emerald, reaching up into the bright, blue sky. A vast city spread out before me, reaching so far that I could hardly see anything beyond it. I stuck my head out a little and saw that I myself was high up in a black tower; a tower that was attached to a huge citadel. Overhead was a canopy of stone, shielding the castle that backed up to a sheer cliff face. Down below I could see a large courtyard, teeming with people talking in groups or strolling through the gardens and trees. And to my left, was another tower—much larger than the one I was in—and at the top was what looked like a massive beehive. Openings of varying size dotted the stone structure; leading into what I could only assume was a dragon hold. This could only be one place: Urû'baen.
It took everything within me not to scream. Galbatorix had finally captured me. And then I remembered... Murtagh had attacked me. He'd put some kind of spell on me while my back was turned and then delivered me to my father. How could he? My heart felt like it was shattering into a thousand pieces inside of my chest, breaking against the sharp knife of betrayal. It was heart wrenching enough to find out that he was still alive, but to know that he was in my father's service... The tears began to flow down my face and I found my head buried in my hands. Perhaps when I opened my eyes again, this would all just be a terrible nightmare. But when I opened them, I was still in the palatial room, gasping for breath as the sobs stole mine away from me.
When my tears subsided, I went over to the red velvet chaise that was at the end of the bed and sank down onto its cushions. What am I going to do? I have to get out of here and get back to Eragon and the Varden. But how? And I need to do it before my father begins whatever sinister plans he has for me. As these thoughts coursed through my head, I looked around the room and noticed a trunk next to the wardrobe. I got up to inspect and found my hand-and-a-half sword locked inside, along with Murtagh's yew bow and quiver, and a few sets of breeches and tunics and shirts. Why on earth would my father leave my weapons here? He must have truly been mad. I closed the trunk and then opened the engraved doors to the wardrobe, revealing the beautiful gowns within. There were all sorts of dresses; from evening wear, to riding garb, to ball gowns. Whatever Galbatorix was planning, he certainly was concerned with keeping up appearances. I went back to the trunk and pulled out a black leather pair of breeches and a long-sleeved white shirt made of a thin material that was quite like the curtains on my bed. The clothes I'd been wearing were covered in dirt, grime, and blood, and I was feeling an insatiable need to clean myself.
Inside the washroom was a huge, porcelain claw-foot tub, complete with a copper faucet and handles. This castle must have been situated over a natural spring, else I can't begin to imagine what kind of magic it would take to get running water inside. The warm water rushing over my skin felt very much like what I imagine Paradise would, and the strange scents of the soaps and washes filled my nose with their sweet aromas. The water soon became dirty from the grime coating my skin and hair, and I didn't stay in for too long. Once I was clean, I donned a fresh pair of smallclothes and the garb I'd picked out, and then sat in the sun from the window to let my hair dry. My intention was to face the king, and I would have to look good doing so.
The hinges of the ornate door didn't creak at all as I opened it up, and I wondered just how long the king has been preparing for my arrival. On either side of the door were guards, standing tall and blank-faced with their spears held straight at their sides. They didn't even blink at my appearance, and I wondered if they were meant to guard me or keep me in. When neither of them made to stop me, I only assumed I was free to move about as I wished. But why? Wasn't my father afraid I would escape? I padded as quietly down the hall as possible, and when I turned the corner I stopped short. A man stood there, dressed in fine clothing—a deep blue velvet doublet slashed with white satin and black leather breeches—his hands folded at his waste and a small smile upon his face. A shock of blonde—almost white—hair sat atop his head, and his eyes were a pale blue; so blue that they were almost silver. The man was of a slight build, but his arms were toned, which made me think he was an archer. And he didn't seem terribly surprised to see me.
"Good morning, Your Highness," he said. His voice was pleasant sounding, and his blue eyes shone a bit with a light of happiness. I had to wonder if he was genuine or not. "I hope you rested well?"
His queries caught me off guard; that, and the use of that title that I so abhorred. For a moment, I just stood there staring as he continued to grin at me. What in the world is going on here? "Uh," I stammered, searching for a response, "I suppose so..."
"Excellent!" he chimed in a high tenor. "If you'll be so kind as to follow me, your father would like to see you." My heartbeat quickened as he turned away, but I followed him nonetheless. I would have to face my father eventually; I might as well get it over with.
We traveled through the winding corridors, and I couldn't help but notice how beautiful the castle was. Tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, along with sconces in the shape of skeletal hands holding unlit torches. The walls were flagstone, but the floor was smooth granite. Plush carpets lined the floor and swallowed up the sound of my footsteps. As we descended the tower, I looked out of the glass-paned windows and saw tall trees coming up out of the courtyard. Birds and butterflies flitted by in the sunshine, going about their lives gaily. If I weren't a prisoner here, I think I might have loved it.
The base of the tower opened up into an arcade that went around the massive courtyard; the columns reaching up into the arches decorated with carved vines and flowers. Nobles of all sort were strolling along the seashell paths, their feet crunching against the ground. I watched as they went about their day, seemingly unaffected by the atrocities happening outside of the city. Whenever they caught a glance of me, they would stare in wonderment and disgust at my rough exterior. Although I had washed and changed my clothes, I must have looked like a common urchin to them. All I could do was keep my head down as we hurried along the arcade and into a long hallway.
The hall was carpeted with a long runner of scarlet red, and the walls were smooth marble coming into a wooden, barrel ceiling that arched over at the top, giving it the appearance of a gilded tunnel. We followed this hallway for a while, the strange pale man in front of me never saying another word. I wondered what position he held in my father's household, and whether he knew the circumstances of my birth. Whether he knew how Galbatorix murdered my mother...
At the end of the hall was a massive door of stone, carved with intricate scenes of dragons and their Riders, and runes that I didn't recognize. Four guards—two on each side—stood flanking the huge door with spears. The pale man stopped in front of the door briefly, waited a moment, and then the huge door began to move, swinging outward towards us. It creaked and groaned as the stone scraped against the wall, and then was open enough for us to walk through. If I had to guess, I would think that the door was three times my height. Inside, the room was even more massive. The top of the ceiling was shrouded in darkness, it was so tall. The length of the throne room must have been at least a hundred yards, and at the head of the room stood a huge throne in the shape of dragon's wings. They were spread above the obsidian seat, reaching to the dark heavens above, and tipped with silver spikes. The legs of the chair were in the shape of dragon legs, complete with silver-taloned paws. And upon the chair, crowned with a coronet in the shapes of talons that curved towards his head, was my father. We came closer and then finally the pale man stood before the raised dais that the throne sat upon. He kneeled at the feet of the king, but I remained standing, glaring at my father in angry defiance.
He was not at all as I envisioned him. I'd expected him to be a gnarled, cruel old man with greying hair. But instead, before me sat a man who I wouldn't have thought to be past forty at first glance, with black hair that reached to his collar and a well-maintained goatee and mustache peppered with only the slightest of grey. But his eyes... they betrayed his age more than anything else. They were dark, nearly as black as his hair, and full of cruelty and knowledge. His stare sent involuntary shivers up and down my spine.
"Princess Tabatha," he crooned, his voice deceptively warm and inviting. The pale man stood and then turned to walk past me, taking up a spot by the huge stone door at the front of the throne room.
"Father," I growled hatefully, finding it very hard to retain my composure. I had long feared this day would come, and now that it was here, every way I'd imagined it would be had turned out to be completely wrong.
"It is so wonderful to have my loving daughter home from her studies in the south," he said. A small smirk played at his lips as he fingered the hilt of his white sword where he held it, the point resting on the marble at his feet.
"So that is the guise you conjured up? That I've been away studying for the past seventeen years?" My voice echoed eerily in the chamber, betraying the hatred I was trying to quell.
"Of course not," he laughed. "You lived here in the castle until your fifth birthday, and then went away for private schooling in Kuasta, at the behest of my advisors. I was heartbroken, of course, but now it is time for you to return to your rightful place at my side."
"So it was a double then," I sneered. How had he managed to fool all of those people?
"It was not difficult. There were only a select few who were even aware of your existence after your birth; my advisor, Galion, being one of them." He gestured to the pale man where he stood at the back of the hall. "And with a few simple spells, I was able to change the child's eye color to match your own. The deception passed, but I knew I'd have to come up with something to get rid of her." He leaned against the back of the throne nonchalantly, resting his chin on a clenched fist. "But now you are returned to me, and ready to learn how to rule."
"What makes you think I would ever join you?" I demanded hotly, stepping a little closer to the dais. Galbatorix glanced back at the pale man, Galion.
"Leave us!" he barked. I turned to see Galion bowing deeply and then exiting back through the stone door. The sound it made as it closed echoed hollowly in the throne room and then disappeared altogether, leaving only silence. I turned back to the king and waited for him to continue. He leaned forward slightly to stare at me, inspecting every inch of my face. "You look very much like your mother," he said quietly.
"I've been told," I snapped impatiently. "Now speak plainly; what is it you want from me?" A smile spread across his face, revealing a row of white teeth, and he suddenly burst out in a fit of laughter. It was a merciless and inhuman sound, seeming to be more like a screech of a bird of prey.
"You act like her too," he said, peering at me like a scientific specimen behind a pane of glass. His smile stayed plastered on his face, and I was finding it very hard to read this man.
Suddenly, I had a thought that maybe I could unnerve him. "Was there ever a time, in all your years together, that you ever loved my mother? Even in the slightest bit?" It did not have the intended outcome. He actually seemed to ponder the question, as though he were taking a test.
"Once," he finally answered, the word echoing ominously off the stone walls. "I watched her as she held you in her arms, only a few days after you were born. She looked... happy..." His voice faltered slightly, and for a moment he almost looked human... almost. "But then I remembered why I'd made offspring with her in the first place."
"So you could use me for your own advantage," I spat, feeling my hands tightening into fists. My nails dug into the palms of my hands, causing angry red marks to form there.
"Of course," he replied cruelly. "What else would you be worth to me?" His head suddenly turned to the right side of the throne room, where I could just make out a dark archway. With a snap of his fingers, the ground began to shake in a rhythmic pounding. From the archway suddenly appeared a glittering black dragon with milky, pale blue eyes... Shruikan. The beast was huge, far outweighing both Saphira and Thorn put together; but then he was over a hundred years older than both of them. The dragon settled in next to his master, shifting his wings with a ruffling like a thousand trees. Galbatorix stroked the dragon's snout slowly, never taking his eyes off of me. If this display was meant to frighten me, it wasn't working.
After Shruikan entered, another person came into the room—someone I'd already decided I neither wanted to see nor speak to ever again: Murtagh. My face grew hot with anger as he strode into the room purposefully, clad in a black leather jerkin with blood red laces up and down the sides and arms, and embroidered with red jewels in the shape of a dragon breathing fire upon the breast. Behind him came his dragon, shaking the floor slightly less than his predecessor. They settled at the king's left side, standing a ways behind the throne upon the dais. Murtagh had his head downcast and his hands clasped behind his back, averting his eyes from my face. If I'd thought to bring my sword or bow with me, I feared I may have killed him right then and there.
"This," Galbatorix said grandiosely, "is what I want to make you into." He held his hands out to the side in a gesture of triumph, but I saw Murtagh stiffen slightly.
"A Rider?"
"Why not?" he laughed. "You have the bloodline. After all, both of Morzan's sons became Riders." My brow arched involuntarily.
"Both? Morzan had only one son." This last line I spat in Murtagh's direction. But his face remained impassive, studiously avoiding my gaze.
"Ah, only one son that was known," Galbatorix countered, his voice full of glee at my confusion. "The younger son was stolen away while he was still in the womb. His mother sought to save him from the cruelties of his father, so she spirited him away in the dead of night. What a pity she did not hold the same love or regard for her other son. Do you know who this youngest son of Morzan is, Tabatha?" There was only one other person in all of Alagaësia who was a Rider, but I couldn't believe it myself.
"No... It isn't true!" I screamed, my voice bouncing back at me. Galbatorix just threw back his head and laughed viciously.
"I'm afraid that it is, daughter. Your little friend Eragon is the son of Morzan!" My gaze snapped involuntarily to Murtagh, and the look in his eyes only confirmed the truth. It was then that I noticed the swordbelt hanging about his hips. The pommel of the blade protruded from under his cloak and I saw the ruby set into the pommel: Zar'roc. He must have taken the blade from Eragon on the Burning Plains. My anger flared within me.
"Are you happy?" I spat at him, watching as he flinched away from my words. "You finally got your inheritance. Are you satisfied!" Galbatorix chuckled lightly as he looked back and forth between us, his eyes alight with some exuberance that I couldn't quite place.
"Bravo, Tabatha," he said, clapping his hands together slowly. "It delights me to see you gained some of my temper."
"Why are you doing this?" I demanded.
"I should think it would be quite obvious," he said, sounding like he was tired of this conversation. "I want you to rule by my side, as a Rider."
"I will not rule this Empire of madness you have created," I growled defiantly. There was no way in the world I would ever be queen of his reign of terror. "I will not be queen of this!" I spat the last word, throwing my arm out to the side. Much to my confusion, he began to laugh again.
"That job is not reserved for you," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Ah, I see that Brom has not told you everything," he replied, seeming to ponder how to tell me whatever secret he was holding on to. "This is just too wonderful!" He looked over to Murtagh for appreciation of his twisted mirth, but he found none there. Murtagh just continued to stare blankly ahead.
"What didn't he tell me!" I screamed.
He laughed once more, sending shivers through my body. "He never told you that you have a brother," he whispered. My world came crashing down on me all at once.
"No. That cannot be!"
"I'm afraid that it is, Tabatha. Adelaide bore me two children before she died. I knew that your older brother would be like me when he came into manhood, so I kept him close, always watching for the slightest hint of treachery from your mother." I just stared back at him, my mouth hanging open. "What? You didn't think I knew what she was planning to do? Oh yes, I was aware of her plot long before she ever carried it out. So I kept a tight hold on your brother, so she couldn't steal him away. When you were born, I knew in an instant that you were more like your mother, but ten times more powerful. And even more powerful than your brother, as well. I wanted to train you to use your abilities to their fullest potential, but your mother kept you away from me. She stole you away, and I believed you were lost forever. I had no choice but to kill her."
"Where is he?" I asked breathlessly.
"He's right here. I've kept his identity secret up until now, but it's time to reveal him to everyone as the future king of the Broddring Empire." He turned to look over his shoulder. There was a red curtain hanging behind the throne and his huge dragon, and I saw it shifting slightly as someone behind it moved. And then he stepped around the curtain and my heart stopped. I tried to tell myself that what I was seeing was a mirage; a hallucination; a cruel jape... anything but the truth. That same cruel smile that was his signature was plastered on Galbatorix's face.
When I finally found the strength to speak, my voice came out in a strangled whisper. "Gregorio..."