Edited 1/29/22 - all chapters are getting a overhaul. Things might not match until this process is complete.

I combined this chapter with the previous chapter 16.

I do not own the Inheritance Cycle. The Pellinor book series was used to help with some details- those I also disclaim.

Enjoy,


Haven Cove

It was a remarkably beautiful winter evening. The final light of day was lingering in faint streaks of cerulean and yellow over the distant shadows of spruce trees. The light reflected into the room off of a gracefully shaped prism. Rose had never seen somethingof its making and thought it to be a unique and beautiful object. It was shaped to appear to be a bird in mid-flight, and cut with a stunning amount of detail, it was made out of some unusual speckled glass that was fashioned loosely from the ceiling by thin golden linked chain. She could sit for ages turning it over, watching as tinted light spilled out of the smooth facets spilling fragments of rainbows over the room.

When she found that the longer, she remained still the more thoughts bubbled up inside her, demanding attention. She hadn't the time to reflect, it seemed since Thorn hatched, and the question that kept rising up inside her was more than a bit confusing. Who was she? Before she had always known who she was, rather it was Morzan's orphaned daughter: Muirgheal, then the young and foolish girl who had revoked her usename as a childish demonstration of rebellion, and later a young lady destined to become the King's pawn, and now a Dragon Rider come to unite the Varden in resistance to the Empire's king- but what did any of these really mean? Was her becoming a Dragon Rider a way for Fate to form synchronization after so many years of her father's brutalities? To close a twisted cycle and bring order to the organization that her father assisted in the downfall of? Or was she perhaps simply meant to be a pawn for The Varden and the Elves as she was to the King?

She wondered restlessly if they would ever reach The Varden and if they did, whether it would answer any of her questions. Her feelings about Ailis were entirely enigmatic. She knew she trusted her as she trusted no other person in her life, save Tornac, but she really didn't understand why. Perhaps it was because Tornac trusted her as well, but inside she knew that it was more than that. She remembered how Ailis had first stood before her, years ago it seemed, her face anxious and vulnerable, and now she thought, sad. Even then it didn't occur to her to doubt Ailis, not truly, but at that time she was wary of the woman as she was wary of everyone. She thought of Ailis' stern, mobile face, how driven she seemed, but then how she would light up with a sudden warm smile… What was she to Ailis? A tool to defeat the King Galbatorix, a thing of power… but not merely that, surely? What was she doing, fleeing through such perils with this woman, to The Varden, a people she truly knew nothing of? What if Ailis was wrong? Would she then abandon Rose to her fate? And what of Tornac? All her life he had cautioned her on the very dangers they were willingly trailing into, so what was Ailis to him? How had she earned his trust so completely, so that he had no doubt in her? What were his plans once they reached The Varden? Would he simply continue to advise her in her actions? Or would he teach warriors the art of swordcraft, as she knew he certainly could? Or perhaps, would be able to craft his masterpieces as she knew he desired to?

She knew that The Varden leader would force her and Thorn into alliance with them in order to bring on the downfall of King Galbatorix. But she had no desire to face the King and defeat him, or the order he had brought about. There was nothing wicked in the Empire's principle, as a matter of fact she knew it to quite sound, it was only the King himself that needed to be eliminated, but, alas, The Varden wished to tear down both. Rose wished to have nothing to do with this conflict she was certain she would forced into. Unless, and this thought she knew was impossible, a fantasy and rather laughable but she thought it all the same, unless by some extraordinary luck there were more Dragon Riders in Alagaësia that could perhaps unite with them in her steed.

She had been ruminating for a long time, it was now deep into the hours of night, when the door to her room opened and Ailis peered in. "Rose! You are awake." Ailis came inside. "I had thought that perhaps you might have been sleeping," she said, glancing at the bounty of cushions on top of the bed. "Have you been spending your time well?"

Rose silently nodded. She had spent most of that evening, after dinner, sitting by the window, playing her viol. She had played through some scales, as she out of practice, and then, when satisfied with the resonance, she began slipping from one melody to another, deepening the harmonies and extending the variations as she went, humming softly as she did so.

Ailis, Rose noticed, had recently washed as her hair, loosened from the twist that usually held it, fell in a river of mingled browns and bronzes that was shining with dampness. She had changed out of the rich gown she had worn to dinner, replacing it was a rather simple moss green robe with a faint stenciling of lilies sewn in a darker thread. Ailis looked rather perplexed, her face dark with thought.

"Is all well?" said Rose.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course," she said, eying Rose warmly. "Do you mind me brushing your hair? It has been far too long since your hair has had a decent combing."

When Rose consented, she was forced into a chair and Ailis began to undo the plaiting that her hair was fastened into. Then when her hair was unwoven Ailis brushed it out with a boar-bristle hairbrush. Rose leaned back against her, sleepy from the evening meal and hours of solace.

At dinner, they had joined the household, which consisted of about twenty people. There was Voirrey's direct family, her husband, Padern and their two teenaged sons Jory and Daveth, and their daughter, Breaca, who was not more than five years of age. Then there were Padern's relatives, his mother Caitriona, and his brother's family, Bearnard and his wife, Rose could not recall her name, along with their adult son Gwilym. But there were others as well who had no relation to the family at all, but bore some other profound relationship of work or inclination.

The dining room itself was quite elegant; painted a pale yellow with a series of white and ocher tiles around the doors and windows and fireplaces, each painted with a different scene: the mouth of an elegant lily, children playing, a bumbling bee perched peacefully on top of a blossom, a lazy riverbed with two fishermen, long horned cows grazing in a field. In the center of the dining room was a dark wooden table set with candles in glass holders and fine, goldleaf embellished plates. In the middle were dishes piled high with a generous meal: fat rounds of golden bread, little bowls of vegetables and sauces, plates heaped with carved meats and cheese. There was a bowl of shells with pale lips: oysters, Rose was later told. Even filled with the many people, it was a calm, beautiful room.

The conversation during dinner remained general and Rose ate her way through asparagus yellowed by dripping butter, a salad of herbs and purple lettuce, fresh trout baked with garlic and rosemary. Once her stomach was filled, she sat quietly, sipping from a goblet filled with sweet golden wine, listening to a conversation about the politics of Teirm and other regions of Alagaësia. It was only when Voirrey insisted that she try a piece of apricot pastry which was piled high with rich crème, that the woman made herself, did she eat more. The pastry was delicious and exceptionally tasteful. It was no wonder she was so sleepy.

After some time Ailis let her up, and she glanced into the mirror from the chair. Looking at her reflection, Rose sighed, though the months of hard travel had leaned and strengthened her body, the person in the mirror seemed no different than the one that stared back at her in Urû'baen. The only difference she could see was a threadlike scar on her forehead, from her fall into the briar bushes, but even this was concealed with a mass of dark hair. She made a face at her reflection and her eyes stared back at her gravely. Suddenly there came to her into her mind, at once very vivid and immeasurably distant, a memory of her father's face bending toward her, perhaps to roar in anger. She realized with a slight shock that she looked very much like Morzan though her face was softer and more feminine. It made her feel desolate, and she looked away.

"I did not think Voirrey had kept this," Ailis said.

Rose tore her eyes away from the mirror, and looked at Ailis. She was cradling the bird prism in her hands, staring down at it, her hair softly tumbling into her face. Rose perceived a great sadness in Ailis' face, and wondered what griefs had carved her past. Ailis shook herself a little and smiled, seeming again serene and practical.

"It's not a glass I recognize," Rose said.

Ailis looked up from studying the strange freckled glass and walked toward her, she sat herself on the armrest of the chair. "I would think not," she said smiling. "It is a piece I know very little about, other than it was a gift to mother from my father." She glanced cautiously at Rose. "He went hungry for almost a year but he did not regret buying it, I think. It was one of reasons my mother married him."

Rose raised her eyebrows cynically at her, and smiled mischievously. "Your mother married someone because that person gave her a glass bird?"

Ailis met her smile and shook her head. "I suppose I ought to rephrase that. My mother fancied him because he showed such kindness and later loved him, and because of that love she married him." She looked over at Rose and covered a yawn with her hand. "And now, I suppose it is time we go to bed, yes?"

Rose nodded again in agreement. "Have a good night, Ailis," Rose said.

"And you too!" She strolled to the door, and after opening it she hurried down the hall.

After Ailis left, Rose stood and pulled her viol off the window cushion and walked over to her packs. She hadn't bothered to unpack, for the moment she was just happy to relax and not shuffle through her bags, that would be a task for another day. She put the viol carefully in its case, yawned sleepily, pulled off the dress and fell gratefully into bed.

For the first time since she could remember, Rose dreamed of her mother. She was not dressed in a long flowing gown, but as if for travel; donning a long cloak, and clothes of padded leather and blackened bracers, she had a dagger swinging from her waist. In the dream her mother stood, tall and proud and strong, far from her in a meadow filled with row after row of roses, swinging a small glimmering hoary sword at some unseen enemy. As she swung the sword an arch of amethyst colored light flew out of the blade and circled her in a graceful dance. Rose looked away from her at a fortress of bronzed stone, two citadels rose elegantly into the sky like the stems of lilies where a crimson dragon flew twisting around the towers. Rose knew that the dragon was not Thorn, it was far too long and angular, processing not of his composure in flight. She turned away from the castle and looked back at her mother, finding that the woman had stopped her display and was watching her with dark eyes. Rose called out to her- "Mamma,"- and took a step off the path into the grass, but her mother turned and leapt into a fast ran. Rose chased after, but her strides were small and pathetic, and she could not reach her.

"Wait up!" Rose called.

"Muirgheal," said her mother, turning her head to look back her, her hair flew forth covering her face. "You have to keep up."

Rose stumbled over a rock.

"You're too fast," she said. "Why are you running from me?"

"I've been here, little cricket," her mother said. "You've been the one running."

And when she straightened herself and looked up, she realized that her mother wasn't running ahead of her at all but was stand peacefully beside her. She looked questioningly at her mother, but the woman was looking away towards the castle and into the sky, her face shadowed so that Rose could not see her features clearly. Rose followed her gaze.

The large dragon was diving towards them, its massive talons outstretched. Its claret wings beat the air like deafening thunder, matching the rhythm of her heart…thump…thump…thump… She gasped in fear as it neared, its maw dripping in liquid flames, and tried to run, but found that she could not move and looked desperately towards her mother but, her mother was paying her no mind as she watched the dragon with dim, hateful eyes. Rose looked back at dragon as the wings beat the air once more and the ground shook beneath her, it claws extended out not far above her. There was a sudden scream but it did not come from her, and she looked around fearfully but saw only the flower filled vale, her mother gone.

She woke to find her cheeks wet and cold with tears. She turned and looked out of the window over the garden. It was still deep night and the stars blazed coldly in the sky, casting shifting shadows on the cool grass. The image of her mother burned in her mind, bright and immeasurably far away. Rose couldn't remember much her mother as she barely saw her and when she did she was too young for her childish memory to recall the woman in detail. Her mother had passed not long after her father was killed, Rose knew with adamant certainty that his death had destroyed her mother. She wondered what it was like to love someone like that, like her mother had loved her father. She never would: it was far too dangerous.

Rose sat up and stared sadly in front of her, hugging the blankets around her shoulders. She no longer felt sleepy. There were so many things happening to her, and she didn't know to think of any of them. Her mind ran restlessly through the events of the last weeks, all she felt was confused.

Feeling restless, she got out of bed and threw on the red dress she had discarded. She wandered out the room and into the darkness to the stairway. Stepping down the stone stairs, she heard a shout in the distance and pounding footsteps like the clomping of many horses. She hastily ran down the flight of steps and made her way through the halls to the atrium, turning the wrong way only once, noticing with concern the shouts from outdoors.

The shadows of the large pots flickered cruelly on the stone wall which was alit with a golden light, like that from a fire. There was a chaos of noise: the roar of flames, the crack of stone and wood buckling, yelling and a high bawl of terror. Rose squeezed her eyes shut, steeling herself, and rushed off the tiled pouch and onto the grass barefooted, her feet becoming slick from the grey dew that covered the ground.

Turning the corner she saw what the commotion was: the stables were ablaze, the bright flames dancing high into the sky, there were four men standing far from the fire shouting fiercely at one another and a woman was seemingly trying bring peace to the scene, buckets half filled with water were discarded across the trampled gardens, a child was wailing in his mother's arms.

She heard someone shout her name and she turned to find Tornac standing not far from her, his face thickly covered in soot so that it covered his scar and darkened his hair. He leaned down to say something to whoever he was standing next to, and walked over to her.

"The horses?" she asked.

He rubbed his arm. "Are most likely running about the forest in terror. Have you just awoken?"

Rose nodded. "Does anyone know how this happened?"

"No," he said. "I only just came in time to assist setting the beasts free. No one has said much, there's not much to say. Now we simply wait until the fire has burnt itself out, so that we might find out how this has happened."

Rose bit her lip and looked at him out the corner of her eyes. "I suppose there is not much one can do, except to wait."

"There is not."

Rose thought worriedly of Starshine and wondered if he was unharmed, and where he was. She thought about contacting Thorn and asking him to hunt him down but thought better of it, Thorn frightened the horse and after fleeing from a fire, his fright might just kill him. Rubbing her hands together, she sighed hopelessly.

She shifted and her foot connected with a branch causing her to slip onto the ground. Tornac looked down at her in concern, but she ignored his questioning gaze and glanced behind her to see what she had stumbled on. Grasping ahold of a long winding walking stick, she stood up and looked it over. Tornac raised an eyebrow at her, as if to ask if she was hurt, and she shook her head. He placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her over the person he was talking to, and she followed silently beside him.

Running her fingers over the long walking stick, she thought that perhaps the fire was not a mishap, but that someone had done it intentionally. A marauder, perhaps, or someone seeking vengeance- but vengeance for what? Rose bit her lip uncertainly. She thought she knew who might have set the sables ablaze, but she wasn't willing to put a name to him. It seemed improbable that he had hunted her down through so many leagues of land, but she thought it be true as unlikely as it was.

It was late afternoon the following day before Rose woke. When she opened her eyes, all she could see was an expense of white, and across it danced a ripple of golden light. She watched for a short time, and realized that she was looking at a ceiling. She must be in Urû'baen, she thought, but the ceilings there were stone not white. Then everything suddenly rushed back to her, and she sat up abruptly.

A little girl was sitting in the corner, playing with a doll which was dressed fashionably in satin.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" said the little girl looking up at her. "Mammy said not wake you all up, so I only sit all the way over here where I cannot wake you all up. But you're awake. Did you have a scary dream? I wake up all the time whenever I has a scary dream. One time I has a dream about this really, really huge blue sparkling fish with wings! It was scary, because the fish was flying, and it eat all my dollies until they all go be gone. Do you like dollies? they're really, really pretty. I like they're pretty, pretty hair. Your hair is all fluffy, why is it all fluffy?"

Rose stared at her, and blinked in bewilderment. She had been told, late the night before after the fire began to fade, that no one would bother her. "Should you to be in here?"

The girl looked up at her with curious eyes, and Rose remembered who she was. Her name was Breaca, the young daughter of Voirrey and Padern. The night before Breaca's appearance had puzzled Rose, as the child did not resemble either of her parents nor their other children. Her parents and siblings were dark haired and tanned skinned, while Breaca had vivid red hair that tumbled down her back in loose ringlets, wide green eyes, and very fair, very freckled skin.

"No," Breaca said returning to playing with her doll.

Rose hugged the blankets securely to her chest. "If you are not allowed in here you ought to leave."

The girl bobbed her head, and continued with her game, noisily smacking her lips together all the while. After a short moment of this, Rose sighed loudly, and pushed a few strands of hair back from her face. At that moment, Breaca looked up, holding her doll above her head, and sent Rose a toothy grin. Rose noticed that two of her front teeth were missing.

"Did you not hear me?"

"I heard you," said Breaca, with a shrug of her shoulders. "You say that I should get out, not that I had to." Her grin widened. "So you be nice, you let me stay. Jory and Daveth don't ever let me stay. They're really, really mean all the time and call me really, really mean names. I don't like them." She took a loud breath. "Mammy says I have to love them because they're my brothers, but that doesn't mean I has to like them. Do you have any brothers? You're lucky if you don't because brothers be meany-heads all the time, and they call sisters naughty names and say mean things."

"Please, leave," Rose said narrowing her eyes.

Breaca met her eyes. "No," she said in a mulish tone. "I can't. Jory will find me, and I don't want Jory to find me. He'll be really, really mean to me if he finds me, and this is the only place he can't look so you has to let me stay."

Closing her eyes, Rose took a deep breath. She did not interact with children often, and never had awoken to find one sitting the corner of her chamber. She had done such things to Cordelia as a child, so to needle the woman, but those had often ended ill for Rose. Rose thought of Tornac and the many conversations, how he had always seemed to have a never-ending tolerance. With another deep breath she summoned all her patience.

"Jory is your brother, yes?" asked Rose. Breaca nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but Rose did not allow her the chance. "I thought as much. Now, will you tell me the reason you wish Jory not to find you?"

"No."

"If you refuse to tell me then you will have to get out."

Breaca receded further into the corner, and looked down at her lap. "I tell you, but only if you promise to let me stay with you." She paused then said, "You let me stay and I'll be really, really quiet. I promise."

"You may stay," said Rose cautiously, not meaning the words.

The girl paused as if to consider her words carefully.

"Jory is mean. I did something mean because he is mean, and-and now he's looking for me. He deserved it but-but now he be really, really angry at me, even though he deserved it."

Rose nodded, yawning tiredly, and closed her eyes. Resting against the cushions she thought that, perhaps, it was not too late to fall back into the delicious folds of sleep.

"You're really, really lazy," said Breaca loudly causing Rose to open her eyes and look at her without a trace of humor, "and you drool like ah old doggy. I've been up for a long, long time. Mammy says that ladies should never, ever sleep when it be day out because it makes them lazy, and being lazy no be good. If you be lazy all your chickens die and you will be very, very hungry and have nothing to eat because you let all your chickens go be died." She looked at Rose seriously. "Did all your chickens go be died because you be lazy?"

"I thought you said you were going to be quiet." Breaca pressed her lips firmly together, and smiled cheekily at Rose. "I suppose I need to get dressed," Rose continued, looking meaningfully at the child, "and since you insist on staying you best turn away."

"Mammy set out clothes for you," said Breaca, helpfully pointing to a carved trunk, on which had a robe draped over it, "over there." She turned around and began to play with her toy once more. "Why has you got a sword?" Breaca asked, as Rose got out of the bed. "Mammy says that only men carry swords, but you don't look like a man. Are you man? If you be a man, why do you wear a dress? Men don't ever wear dresses." Breaca took a deep sudden and deep breath. "You weren't wearing a dress yesterday when you got here. Why weren't you wearing a dress yesterday when you got here? Where did you get here from? Daveth said that Jory said that Uncle Bean said that you come from a place far, far away from here. Daveth also said that you grew up in the woods, and played with wolves. Were you born in the wild? Why didn't the wolves eat you? Uncle Bean said that wolves eat little kids and that's why I can't be out at night or in the woods. Have you ever met my Uncle Bean? Uncle Bean isn't his real name, I just like to call him that. It's so, so funny because beans make Uncle Bean really, really sick all over!"

It's a wonder: I'm dressed, my hair is decent and she has yet to stop talking, Rose thought. She walked to the window with a sigh and looked out.

The day was clear and beautiful, as if to make up for the mishap the night before. Rose watched the birds as they jumped in and out of the tall reeds, not far from the reeds were two boyish figures that sat in the grasses with a long pole in hand, probably fishing. She stayed there for a short moment before walking past the babbling girl, as if she were not there. After tucking her sword, which she had absentmindedly left on the top of one of her saddlebags the day before, under the mattress, she walked to the door and out of the chamber. Even with the door firmly shut and the stone walls to muffle the child's voice Rose could still hear Breaca talking vivaciously, though she could not make out the words.

Rose negotiated the halls using the occasional vase filled with vibrant crocuses set on a richly polished stand or the decorated vases to guide her way through the house. As she wended her way downstairs she noticed that Breaca was following her, only a short distance away. When she caught the child's eyes Breaca ran towards her, the doll being held by its hair behind her bouncing gravely across the floor.

"I come with you," Breaca said, grasping Rose's hand. "You might get all lost. You don't want to get all lost, because then you be lost and that be no good."

Rose ignored the girl and made her way to the library with no trouble, as she visited the labyrinthine chamber the day before. It had been added to the home in a fastidious fashion in the years that the farmhouse had been built. Some halls were lit by huge windows, but all walls were lined floor to ceiling with shelves each of which were piled with scrolls or leather-bound volumes or curious interments whose purpose she could not guess. Rose would have been quite happy to sit at one of the tables and wander through the books had it not been for Breaca who was clasping tightly onto her hand, following her with opposition.

"If you do not wish to be in here then perhaps you should leave," Rose told Breaca, when she began to impatiently tug Rose down the book lined halls.

"No," she said, "I can't. You might be eaten!"

Rose paused, and arched her eyebrows in surprise. "What do you think will eat me?" she asked.

"The books," Breaca said, looking at her with wide eyes. "Daveth says that some the books will eat you if look at them too long." She paused and looked around before dropping her voice to a whisper. "He says that that the library be haunted by ah evil, evil witch who cursed to books to do it, he told me." She took a jagged breath. "Oh, it's so, so scary!"

Rose's shoulders shook with silent laughter. She looked down at the serious eyes of the child and took a deep breath to compose herself. "It sounds to me as if this brother of yours was telling you tales," Rose said.

"No, Daveth don't ever tell tales," Breaca said. "He be nicer than Jory. Jory lies all the time, just to scare me but it don't work because I ask Daveth if it be true or not. If Daveth say it be true then it be true, if not it not be true because Daveth don't ever lie to me. Do you ever lie? I did once and I got in big, big trouble because lying be bad and I'm not supposed to lie."

Rose looked at her humoredly and turned away in pursuit of a book to read. After a long time, a book was found and Rose turned to a trembling Breaca and asked where there might be a sitting room to read. Breaca nodded, happy to leave the Library at last, and pulled her toward the door. The child led Rose down the stairs and through a few halls to a friendly sitting room, chattering happily all the while. Inside the sounds of voices talking intently some matter could be heard. Breaca halted quite suddenly, releasing Rose's hand, and turned on her heels scattering hastily back the way they had come. Rose looked laughingly at the running child, and after Breaca vanished around a corner, she glanced into the sitting room.

It was a grand room, the long casements were shaded with floor-length curtains, which glowed with a rich sheen of gold, and the low couches where covered with the same material, a huge grate stood tall and proud against one wall, dark and without a fire. But these were not what made the room so grand, one wall free of any shimmering curtains which painted, with an elegant hand, so to appear to be looking out to a leafy woodland inhabited with marvelous beasts and birds. Rose looked around, her mouth open, and saw a dark hair man with a burly build seated upon a wooden chair, his head bent, deep in a conversation with Ailis and Voirrey. The man looked up, and Rose recognized him to be Voirrey's husband, and her surprise he beckoned her inside.

"We haven't had the chance for a proper meet," said Padern as she walked in. "I am Padern." He respectfully bowed his head to her, and Rose did the same.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," she said blandly. "How do you do?"

When Rose sat down close to Ailis, at the woman's insistence, Padern glanced between them with dispassionate interest and then his gaze settled onto Rose, as if he was studying a piece of sculpture. She lifted her chin and met his eyes, which shone blackly with a strange emotion.

"You remind me mightily of your mother," he said.

Rose started with a gasped and looked at him through narrowed eyes. "You know who my mother was?"

"Aye, I do," said Padern. "Selena is her name, yes?"

"Yes, it was."

"Padern," Voirrey said, stirring in her seat. "This is hardly the place."

Padern looked at her grimly. "Do you have a better place in mind, my dear?"

Rose glanced at Ailis out the corner of her eyes. Whatever emotion she might have displayed was hidden as she was leaning heavily back in her seat, her eyes closed and her mouth set. Rose looked forward. "How did you know Selena?"

He turned her way and leaned forward. "The same way one might often find theirself knowing her," he said. "It is hard to forget the face of the one who was sent to kill you."

Rose grimaced. "I did not know."

"I suspect you to know very little of your mother, and in your case, such ignorance can be deadly."

"I know plenty." Rose veiled her irritation with polite humility. "I know of what she has done, enough to understand that it is a wonder you are alive."

He looked at her with cold humor, and opened his mouth as if to respond, but it was Ailis to spoke first. "Are you done with your torment, Padern?" she said, her face dark. "I hope that you are as I have heard far more than enough of it. Now, do you still have that cherry cordial, I have missed its taste something terrible."

"Oh, yes, we do," Voirrey said. There was a short silence. "I'm sure my husband would not mind fetching us a glass, would you, Padern?" The man looked up, and stared at his wife for a moment, before standing up. When he left the room, Voirrey turned remorsefully towards Rose. "Allow me to apologize for my husband's words, they were ill used," she said. "It is my hope that you can forgive him."

Rose nodded stiffly. "I see no reason that I should not," she said.

Padern returned with a glass decanter full of cherry cordial, gleaming like a huge ruby, and a platter full of sweets. He poured them all a small glass each, and sat down, taking a sip from the glass. Rose shifted in her seat, as much as she wished to leave she knew she could not, years of harsh tutoring to stay until she was dismissed echoed in her head, dull voices from the distant past. Tensely, she listened as the conversation moved on to other topics.

"Bearnard and Derby are planning to head out in an hour's time," Padern was saying. "It should not take but a day, at the very least, for a single horse to return to us. How long was it that you are planning to stay?"

"Six days at the least, ten at the most. We have traveled hard since leaving Urû'baen, and I know that rest is desired for all of us." Ailis sat up and leaned forward.

"Urû'baen?" Voirrey's eyebrows arched up in surprise. "What exactly were you doing there?" Ailis made a vague gesture, dismissing the question, and Voirrey return the subject before. "My guessing is that, after you fully rested, you wish to travel to Teirm to contact those in the south."

"You're correct, as always, Voirrey," said Ailis. "However, I do not wish to speak of this at the moment. Tell me, what news you have heard in recent months."

"News doesn't often pass our way," said Padern. "Once again you'll have to turn your way to Teirm, if you wish to know of the tidings."

For a long time Rose sat bored, tapping her fingers against the skirt of her dress, wishing to be dismissed. But the exchange went on, they discussed many things; subjects Ailis had spoken of before, to Rose and Tornac; how the Padern's farm and family was fairing; how most of the men that worked the land on the farm had been quick in their departure that morning in pursuit of the horses. Those men were also quick to voice their fear that horses might form an abscess on one of their hoofs, or consume a unnecessary amount greens of the lands causing them to suffer colic but also they feared that the horses could become prey from the many predators that roomed these lands. Rose had fought back a smile at this; there was nothing more fearsome of predator than Thorn. The thought of Thorn twisted her stomach in a worried knot. She had not heard from him as of yet, as she thought she would, and she wondered how he was fairing.

"You are looking awfully pale, dear," Voirrey said, turning to Rose. "Are you feeling well?"

Pausing, she considered her answer. She did not feel unwell, but Voirrey, Rose noticed, was merely giving her an opportunity to leave to room if she wished. "No, I suppose I do not," she said slowly. "Perhaps, it would be best if got some fresh air." She then excused herself, and walked out of the room toward the gardens, where she spent the rest of the afternoon sitting silently under an oak, reading the book she had borrowed from the library silently among the swaying grasses.

For the next few days life had went by slow in a monotonous daze. Rose woke early every morning feeling refreshed and walked downstairs to breakfast. After a light meal, as she had taken to avoiding people and there was little she could think to do, Rose borrowed a book from the library then wandered the grounds restlessly until she found a peaceful place of her liking. Many places in the gardens tickled her fancy, and she lazed peacefully in only a few of them, either thinking or reading. She thought about many things, unconnected images and words, ideas and histories, actions that ought to be pursued and preparations that were to be done, until the clinging of the small evening bell interrupted the soft flow of her thoughts or the words written. Then she would return to the house for dinner and retire to her room, or spend the evening with Tornac or Ailis before toiling over a large blanket made of sheepskin covered by a thick layer of wool. She had spent only a few nights laboring over a large scrap of sheepskin until the dark hours of night.

On the seventh day, Ailis found Rose by a small pond, filled with tiny striped turtles whose heads bobbed curiously in and out of the water, and little black fish that swirled beneath its inky surface. "It's peaceful here," she said sitting beside her. Ailis was silent for a few moments, listening to the water trickling from the fountain into the pond and the chirping of birds.

"It is," Rose agreed after some time.

"Do you wish to talk about what is troubling you?"

"Not at this moment." Rose looked up from her book.

Ailis sighed heavily. "The men have found and returned Shadowless and Arvid, along with three of Padern's steeds," she said. "As Arvid has returned in a fair state, I plan on leaving at first light tomorrow for Teirm. Otherwise we might be waiting here for ages, and I am finding myself chafing at this delay…" She let the sentence trail off.

"May you have a safe trip," said Rose bleakly.

Ailis pressed her lips together in a fine line. "Talk to Tornac," she said, standing up. "He's worried about you."

"I will," Rose promised.

Ailis looked down at her, and hastily turned away leaving Rose alone with her book, which she immediately returned to.

Later that day, Thorn had, at last, flown close enough to the farm house for them to talk. Frightening as it was, Rose told him of the sheepskin blanket she had acquired and what she wished to do with it, and after a lengthy discussion on all that had passed, they came to an agreement.

I am glad you put forth so much thought into this, Thorn said, but I cannot say that I agree with you.

Rose huffed at the ground. What else am I to do? she demanded. Am I to continue to sit here reading about some matter that does not concern me? I tire of sitting and doing nothing, as I have done all of my life. The answers I seek shall not come to me delivered on a silver platter, I have to search for them. She smiled humorlessly and added, Dragon Riders were not called such, by standing beside their dragon twiddling their thumbs waiting for a deed to complete itself.

She felt him humored agreement roll through her mind. Here we will meet, he sent her mental picture of a vale and the path she might take to get there, when the sun is, again, in the middle of the sky. Then we will do as you wish. With that said, Thorn flew too far away for them to talk. Rose returned hesitantly to her book, with shaking fingers and a spinning head.

That night as the sun waned, Rose grabbed the shoulder pack from the small pile of bags, and turned it over. First, came out a small plain wooden box, which she kept a few pieces of jewelry wrapped up, she unwrapped them from their silk casing and set them down in front of her; two silver combs with pearls set into them, an exquisitely wrought golden ring with a crimson stone, a thistle shaped brooch, and a bracelet with a piece of green string stuck between the clasps that held a strangely banded stone. She put various other items next to the trinkets: a pen and a small bundle of paper, a blue ink well, a beautifully illuminated book of poems wrapped in oilskin, a battered carving of a roe deer, and a thick volume. These were all that was left of her life in Urû'baen, it seemed pitifully little after the years spent in the capital city, a regret and a relief.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and then she put the items into the same saddlebag which she kept her viol. It took time for her to repack the shoulder bag, but by the time she was done she had a healthy supply of all that she would need. Picking a pear out of the bowl on the table, she stepped to the window seat and sat down in the shading of the night, watching the stars as they twinkled high above in the sky.