-ELDEST CHAPTER TWELVE-

"Another betrayal."

Orrin stood on the still-ruined wall that surrounded Aroughs, swamp water gently moving through the man-made canals that snaked about the city. Men surrounded him, torches burning in their hands while the spring moon mocked them.

Why, Nasuada?

"It will be hard to find them, Orrin. Nasuadon is a Dusk Rider. He will know how to cover their tracks."

"Right now I want to discover what events lead to this. Find everyone who had spoken to the pair last, and have them questioned." Orrin ordered, feeling the weight of his crown on his head, while the stress of war and politics dragged down his shoulders.

"It will be done, My King." His captain of guard said with a brisk nod. Sanjaat, the new Lord of Aroughs, inspected his land with eyes unable to be read. Light brown hair was tied into a long braid that rested on the side of his neck.

"It bodes well for my Kingdom, does it not? That my vizier would leave me in the midst of a war." Orrin said with a bite of cynicism.

"Betrayal is a way of life. As humans, we reject the notion, refuse to believe that we would stoop so low. But we all have betrayed someone. And we all betray ourselves daily." Sanjaat leveled ultramarine pupils onto Orrin's similarly colored eyes.

"There is always the question that lingers- the burning reason that caused someone you trust to turn on you. But sometimes that truth is more painful than the physical action." Sanjaat's voice ran ominously as he was escorted by Orrin's royal guard, returning to his chambers. Sanjaat had pledged loyalty to the Varden and by extension, Orrin's Kingdom, but he was under watch, now more so than ever after the leaving of Nasuada and Nasuadon. Orrin wasn't sure what he thought of the boy: For a young soul of fifteen summers, he was incredibly bright, and had a grim view on all things. Sanjaat had watched his father die by Orrin's hand, and then bent his knee to Orrin that same night, all the while not one tear fell from Sanjaat's eyes. His mother, however . . . she refused to eat, and earlier today had thrown herself off of the battlements at the first opportunity, cursing the Varden.

Again, Sanjaat watched while his mother was fished out of the swamps below, her neck unnaturally limp while it rolled on her shoulders. Sanjaat was a being of practicality, seemingly unbothered by horrific situations. As long as Sanjaat remained loyal and in turn kept the local survivors in line, he would serve his purpose. They had been able to open the docks of Aroughs, and trade from the Dwarib slowly began to trickle into the city. The underground empire of Farthen Dur was still low on food, however, and Orrin would need to capture more of the mainland if he was to keep both his people and his dwindling army alive.

What he needed was a vizier. What he needed was Nasuada.

Why?

"I have seen enough of the sun." Orrin announced dully as he stepped away from the serrated fence that kept people (of the non-suicidal variety) from falling off the wall. Precious stone from Farthen Dur was being set on destroyed portions of it, breaking the uniformity of the sandy-colored brick that had protected Aroughs while it waved the Empire's flag.

With a click of his heels, Orrin strode away, turning around and walking down a long stone path, guards behind and before him. They came to the door of a half-refurbished turret, and walked inside. Darkened somewhat, they began their long descent down into the main courtyard of the castle.

It had to have been because of Murtagh.

Orrin knew Nasuada fancied him- she had since she first laid eyes on the dark-haired youth back in Surda. Orrin smiled- an unsweetened and vinegary expression as he reflected on the past. Things were so different now . . . The young King shook his head as he descended down a flight of stairs, finding himself at the base of his courtyard. He remembered his near-death battle with the former Lord of Aroughs, his wounds aching while he walked. His sword felt heavy on his belt, cleansed of all the blood that it had bathed in days before. Orrin shook as he was escorted to his chambers.

Father wouldn't falter. I have to kill. I am a King.

Father is a psychopath.

Orrin silenced the voices that mumbled in his head, passing through a door as it was opened for him, and then again climbing a second fleet of stairs. His boots clacked against the fine stone cuts that raised him higher and higher, until finally he reached his chambers. Two guards stood at his doors, stomping their feet as they straightened spears.

"All hail King Orrin!" They cried. Orrin waved his hand at them, while he reached for his door. Orrin could smell the sweet perfume from within his room, and he could almost picture Naise, his Dwarib wife. Aside from her six fingers, she was comely, with a strong body and pretty black eyes. She was as tall as most average human women, and spoke with an enchanting accent. Orrin had disliked her, but after spending more than a few sleepless nights, he knew that she had him wrapped around her thin fingers.

Orrin walked past his doorway as guards closed the door after him. His dwelling had a floor of mauve marble, with a circular bed hidden by black drapes. Lancet windows gave Orrin a sliver of a view to the city below. Aside from the bedroom, there was a large washroom, and a second area where they took their meals. But it was from the door leading to the washroom that Naise entered from. She wore a green gown that accented her curves, while shined hair fell to her waist. Six fingered hands clasped themselves together, and dark eyes devoid of pupils regarded Orrin as Naise's mouth curled into a smile.

"My King." She whispered. Orrin bowed his head at her.

"My Queen."

Naise approached him, wrapping herself around his torso.

"Did you find any answers today?" Naise questioned as she lead Orrin to the foot of their bed. Now sitting, he let out a heavy sigh.

"No. I don't understand it, Naise. I don't know why she would betray me. Nasuadon . . . we were friends ever since I was a young boy. Nasuadon's father helped my own . . . before he was killed." Orrin said quietly. Naise held his head, holding close to her chest.

"Hear my heart- it aches for you. But you must pick a new vizier. You cannot rule the realm on your own." Naise advised.

"But who? There is no one qualified." Orrin answered quickly. Naise made a tsking sound, placing a slim finger on Orrin's mouth.

"There is one . . . though he is far away. My brother Vermal Nyste."

"Isn't he busy in Tronjheim?" Orrin asked.

"The repairs are nearly done, I'm sure they do not need his direction. Vermal can come to take Nasuada's vacant position . . . what's more; he can bring a merchant army."

" Can you send word to Vermal?" Orrin remembered the Dwarib man. He was very bright, and Orrin did not doubt he could solve the problems afflicting them.

"At once, my sweet King." Naise whispered, before locking her mouth into his.