Reviews!

Mistress-of-Misery: Why, thank you. I was hoping for that sort of effect!

Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Where can I find it? Is on these chains: Yes, Thorn's my favorite character too X)

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Hoofsteps, messengers of doom, sounded outside the windows. "Shh," he whispered, his face taut with fear. "Maybe they won't see us…"

"I knew this would happen!" she gasped, her fingers digging into his arm. "Ever since the execution!"

"Come," he said softly. "We have to get out of here—"

The door was kicked in with an ominous crash. Soldiers jumped in, flanked by a pair of red-robed magickers. "Come out in the name of the king!" a soldier shouted.

She whimpered slightly. "I didn't do it," she whispered. "I didn't, I didn't—"

"Come along," the soldier snapped, gripping their arms in an iron grasp. They followed, eyes darting nervously, too fragile, too weak to resist the probing search into their minds.

Behind them, torches whirled; screams ripped through the air. Some chose death. Some died anyway.

In the midst of all the confusion, no one saw them slip away.

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Galbatorix seemed in an inhumanly good humor the next day. "I shall have to depart for a little while," he said serenely after the morning's lesson. "However, I doubt you shall miss me?"

His eyes gleamed at the grim joke. Murtagh sat, tense and puzzled at this strange turn of temper. Finally, he acknowledged in a bleak voice, "Whether I do or not makes no difference, does it?"

Galbatorix smiled coldly. "Not quite, no," he said. "I'll tell you what I've found, won't I? I've found a pack of traitors." He cocked his head. "Sílica, they call themselves. Interesting—I believe it means peregrine the ancient language. Hmm. Not quite the Varden, but it is close enough. Now, how will you deal with traitors, my pupil?"

Murtagh's gut clenched slightly as he answered in a sharp voice, "I won't torture them for you."

"Ah…not willingly," Galbatorix said amiably. "Of course, will doesn't have anything to do with it." His black eyes bored into Murtagh, and for a terrible second Murtagh had the feeling Galbatorix knew exactly what he had been up to three days ago.

Then the king blinked, and the spell was broken. "Ah," he sighed. "Innocence, son of my friend, is a quality that we lose all too quickly." He turned slightly, an ominous expression flickerng about his eyes. "I'll tell you a story, shall I? The story of Shruikan."

Murtagh looked down onto his hands, his mouth tightened in impatience and anger. Galbatorix didn't seem to notice. "A fine feat, if I do say so myself," he reminisced. "He's a excellent dragon, despite his…" Galbatorix paused, as if searching for the right word. "Despite his erratic behavior, shall we say. But I am the stronger, as always, and I took him from an undeserving lady. Now we are bonded as securely as Ryanle and I were."

Curiosity piqued Murtagh. "Ryanle?"

Galbatorix ignored him. "It's strange what one remembers," he said softly. "How do you win? How do you deal with one who opposes you?" He laughed, eyes gazing blankly into the distance.

Murtagh kept silent, although his thoughts were touching Thorn's. Thorn?

Shh. I'm listening, the red dragon whispered, eavesdropping through his thoughts.

How long were you there? he asked indignantly. I've only just made contact.

Since the day I was born. Quiet…

"I killed Soraya on Shruikan's back," Galbatorix declared, standing, his cloak whirling grandly about his shoulders. "Ah, he fought my magic… but I won, as I always do, and the silver dragon fell. Vrael was weakened after that…but the fools still followed him, despite his loss of a dragon. And then—" he paused, dark eyes gleaming. "I killed him. And the Riders became undermined…and…"

He shook his head distractedly. "He was too noble, Vrael," Galbatorix said quietly, gripping Murtagh's shoulder. "That's what killed him. That's what killed Soraya. He was a fine swordsman, with the heartiest laugh, the greenest eyes, and the prettiest dragon. But with the softest heart."

Vrael? Thorn muttered. Where have I heard that name before?

He was the leader of the last Riders, Murtagh said softly. The Rider Galbatorix slew through treachery. I've told you before, haven't I? We've heard this story.

Not firsthand, the dragon said. I wonder if he feels remorse? Through his Rider's eyes, Thorn examined the bent figure of the king. Does he—

Galbatorix jerked around suddenly, a strange calm in his face. "I will leave for a few days," he said as if he had been speaking of nothing else all the while. "I trust you to behave. Your bonds, essentially, still remain in effect. You have an adequate knowledge of the ancient language; do try to practice it."

He stood and made as to leave. Then, turning slightly, he said, "And try not to overthrow me while I'm gone, will you?"

Do you think he knows? Thorn asked in a hushed voice as the king walked away. Maybe he saw it in our minds?

I don't know, Murtagh said, walking back to his quarters. Surely he would've confronted us if that were the case.

Thorn hesitated. I don't think so…he whispered, his voice hazy and uncertain.

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"Did you hear?" Whispers spread throughout the castle; gossip, rumors, tales about the night before. "…taken!" "No one knows…" "…but surely he didn't…"

Salem ducked around a corner, breathing hard. No one could be contacted through the crystal. Talinia had vanished, along with Aliya. In the city, Charis had sent news that her father had been found dead, a knife in his hand. Apparently he had resisted.

"Salem?"

She jumped, startled, looking up into Reynold's eyes. "Salem, are you all right?" he said softly. "You've been avoiding me…"

Salem stood, a terrible calm falling onto her. Slowly, she said, "Yes, I have. And I believe I have good reason to. You're the Earl Barrick's son, aren't you? What are you doing among the servants but as a spy?"

He tried to smile. "Barrick's a very common name, Salem."

She shook her head. "You look just like the Earl," she whispered faintly. "Same nose…same eyes…" Sucking in a slow breath, she added hesitantly, "Same loyalty?"

Reynold glanced at her sadly. "I'm afraid…" he stopped, then sighed. Lifting a hand, he commanded, "Eyddr eyreya onr! There…now we can speak." His hands grasped hers, pulling her along.

"Where are you taking me?" she snapped.

He stopped, turning slightly. "I've tried to protect you," he said quietly, earnestly. "That's why you were protected from last night's rout. They've found the Sílica, Salem," he said. "They don't know about you…the only contacts who do have chosen death over revealing their secrets. But they already know."

"And you'll take me to die?" she hissed, fury clear in her face.

He sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I can't hide you, Salem," he said gently. "My—I—I don't have any secrets. No. That's not right—I can't have any secrets. That includes you. My father's not a bad man. Beg for your life. I can't hide you, but I don't want you to die either." His thumb brushed along her cheek. "I love you."

A harsh pain welled up in her chest as she stared at him. Her friend. Her lover. Her killer. Finally, she whispered painfully, "I love you, too."

He nodded and turned. As he did so, he switched his grip on her hand—

Salem twisted his arm brutally and pinched, forcing him to release his grip. He did so with a yell. Recovering quickly, he lunged for her. She jumped out of the way, and his own momentum sent him sprawling onto the ground. His legs snapped out, tripping her and sending them into a tumble onto the floor.

Quickly, he rolled on top of her, his fingers crushing her wrist. She spat into his face, making him wince. Using her free hand, she punched him brutally. There was an audible crack, and he jumped back, nursing a bleeding nose. Salem hesitated, then ran.

She slammed into something, bouncing back, stunned. Reynold was onto her, his hands fighting to find purchase. With agility she honestly did not know she had, Salem got her feet under her, grabbed his arm, pulled, and kicked.

The hard leather caught Reynold just under the chin. There was another crack, much louder than before, and he slammed into the wall. Dropping to the ground, his head lolled backwards at an awkward angle, eyes blank.

"Oh," Salem whispered. With trembling fingers, she peeled his hair back. "Oh."

A rustle made her look up. Standing above her was the Red Rider, Murtagh.

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