Chapter 13: Tourniquet My Suicide
Ialana gasped as the pain racked her body. Not just the pain of the blade, the sharp silver waves the pierced her insides and swam in front of her eyes in flashing color. The pain of the Spirits rebelling, fleeing...
She threw back her head and screamed, the Dark Spirits leaving her in an explosion of darkness.
Then, as she fell forward into Eragon's arms, a transformation - of a good kind - came over her. Her pale white skin darkened into a shade (the color kind) of brown that resembled polished oak. Her fiery hair all at once turned black, like a coal that has just finished burning. She blinked her red-violet eyes, and they turned a soft blackish-brown. For a second, Eragon thought she looked like Nasuada.
"Eragon," she murmured, "I'm...sorry it had to be this way..."
"Oh, Ialana...so - so am I..."
"Eragon, I loved you." The use of the past tense scared Eragon, somehow. "But I know your heart belongs to her."
"Her?"
"Arya. I knew the moment I met her she loved you. And I do not ask that you love me. All I ask is -" She gasped.
"What? Speak, Ialana. I will give whatever you ask of me."
"Forget the wrong that I've done. Don't resent me. Keep me in your memory."
"It shall be done."
"Thank you, Eragon...thank you...thank you..."
And so, Ialana, one so feared, breathed her last, not as Shade, but as human. The last word to fall upon her ears was, "Edoc'sil."
He had called her by her true name. And that, in her mind, was a bond stronger than a kiss - a bond that could never be broken.
(A/N: All is not over! Turn the page!