Kyra's POV

Alone. She was alone. How could she have been so wrong? So deluded? Had she really fallen head over heels that far for Soetrí? He'd been leading her astray all along. And then he'd betrayed her…in front of Eragon and everyone else.

Veyna. The hurt in her eyes as she led Nuaen away. I failed them all, Kyra realized, I failed my sister. Every drop of guilt, of sadness, of utter desolation pained her, drowning her in a depth of misery she'd never even imagined possible.

The first ray of light was poking up through the bleak gray sky, illuminating the natural beauty of the island that had once been a sanctuary but was now a prison. Still there she sat, where Shiün had left her. Finally she could see the sun, the world brightening and the day blossoming. A tender flower slowly unfurled its petals, tilting up to receive the light and warmth.

How could anything still exist so fragile and beautiful when her world—her destiny securer than most—had come crashing around her ears? It had no right to spread its splendor when everyone Kyra had ever known was lost to her. They were all gone.

Moving for the first time in days, Kyra reached over and crushed the flower between her fingers, ripping its roots out of the soft earth and tearing it to bits and pieces. There. Now it was gone too. Just like the rest of them.

As she discarded the remains of the flower, she could feel her true name changing. A single tear cascaded slowly down, sinking into the dirt. The sister of sadness became still once more, alone to battle the evil and darkness plaguing her heart.

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A depressing silence fell upon the island as the hot afternoon sun scorched the island and thoroughly baked its contents. Kyra stood, hand on the tree, staring out across the rolling sea in the direction of both Gedwëy Evarínya and Taíthos, her lost homes. Being alone on the island had given her plenty of time to think.

She'd already ruled out escape. Though Eragon hadn't taken away her magicks, it would be impossible to fly or propel herself over that great a distance. She had also considered crafting a boat to spirit herself away, but where would she go? Not Gedwëy Evarínya, and no doubt Arya Dröttning and the elves had heard of her treachery; she would never be welcome there.

Alagaësia was a big place. Surely there were a lot of places she could run to? The problem was simply that she'd never been outside Du Weldenvarden before.

Then there was Eragon's more than generous ultimatum. But how could Nuaen ever forgive her? Close to six days had passed, and Kyra hadn't seen one pink sparkle in the sky as she often did when Nuaen was overhead. She doesn't want to see me, Kyra realized, she has become wild because of my stupid spell. It's all my fault.

Weighed down by that realization, the six days had become monotonous. She'd only had one visitor so far, some Rider she didn't recognize brought her some food, a satchel, and a blanket. What was her name? Eve? Evelyn? Something like that. The hostile stare in the fourteen-year-old's eyes, prejudiced against her. The way she thrust the bag at her, stepping protectively toward her small purple dragon, as if to make sure Kyra didn't break their bond too.

But there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was sit and wait. Sit and wait.

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