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The shackles chaffed on her wrists. He preferred to use those as opposed to ropes. He preferred anything that caused more pain. They had almost been free. If only she had felt Murtagh come up behind her. The guards had been no match for her. They never were. If only she had paid attention. She smiled at thinking of how both Oromis and Brom would have reacted to her lack of attention while surrounded by enemies and the drills they would have put her through to correct her mistake.
Her back arched as the whip cracked and she felt her back open. She made no cry of pain. He would have enjoyed that. Even though he claimed her as his daughter, he still enjoyed inflicting pain. At least Murtagh didn't have to watch this. Or did he. She could barely feel his mind somewhere behind her. She could barely make out her surroundings.
"You disappoint me yet again, Daughter." His voice growled from behind her. It was no longer silk like he used when dealing with his nobles or Nasuada. This was the real Galbatorix. This man was who she was fighting against. This was the man who had already beaten her and tried to threaten Kuldra's life should she disobey him again. But she wasn't here now. The only life in jeopardy was her own, a price she was willing to pay for Nasuada's life and the success of the war.
"I am not your daughter." She spat and the whip cracked again. She arched at the pain, but refused to cry out, biting her lip instead. She felt herself draw blood. She sagged and the shackles bit into her wrists again. She saw herself in one of the mirrors in Galbatorix's favorite torture chamber. He liked seeing the faces of his victims as they screamed in pain. He had made her watch before, when one of the guards had done something wrong. She couldn't remember what it had been, but she couldn't forget the mad smile on the king's face as he used the whip on the man. He wore the same smile now. She was bruised from the beating she had endured before the whipping. She had fought back during the beating which resulted in a more brutal whipping. Her hair was a mess and matted with blood. The bruises on her face highlighted her human features and the knowledge that she had been beaten by another Rider, the only other being strong enough to injure her in that manner besides the elves themselves.
The whip cracked again and she arched and sagged, strands of her black hair falling into her face. The rose was on the floor in front of her, atop her shirt. That had been stripped right before she was shackled to the whipping rack. Seeing it helped strengthen her. It meant that Kuldra was still alive. Lifaen was alive, the man she secretly loved. She would make it through the war alive, even if she was forever scarred. The whip cracked again. She would make it.
"I give you everything you could ever want!" Galbatorix bellowed. "I give you comfort. My throne. A castle. All the riches you could ever want. And still you spite me. You thought you could save the woman and it all blew up in your face." The whip cracked again and she felt more blood pour down her back. She sagged.
"I don't want what you have." She breathed, looking at him through the mirror. "I want my peaceful life back. The life that you stole from me when you stole my mother while I was gone. I want my friends and family to be safe, even if it means dying." The whip cracked again. "You will never win, Galbatorix. I will die before that happens." The whip cracked again and she cried out as she felt metal claws dig into her skin.
She jumped into a sitting position with a shout. She clawed her night shirt off as she felt her back throbbing. Once it was off, she scrambled out of bed, getting tangled in the sheets and falling to the floor. She landed on her back which hurt worse. Hot tears of pain steamed down her face as she pulled herself free of the bedding and used her vanity table to stand. She grabbed a small hand mirror and angled it so she could see her back in the bigger mirror. Down the middle of her back were scars from a whip with metal ends, designed to strip flesh from skin and bone. She began shaking as she put down the mirror. She had been having odd dreams since winning the forest weeks ago, but this was the worst one yet. This one felt more like a memory, but she didn't remember being whipped by her father.
Florina sat on her bed and let the tears flow. The dreams that seemed like memories were beginning to frighten her. She was beginning to lose focus on what was real and what wasn't. Not even Kuldra could help her sort out the truth from the lies. She needed Murtagh. He had been there with her in the castle when her father had lived. He had been the one to save her from the spell Arya and Eragon had cast. Arya and Eragon.
Florina's mind began to clear. They had been the ones to imprison her. They had the power to cast a spell that could change her memories of the war. They would have to change her memories to make the lies truth, which would explain the whipping and the scars. And if they had cast a spell, then the rose was the key to it. In all of her dreams, that rose had been the thing she focused on. There was only one thing to do. She needed to destroy the rose.
Delinnëa paced her bedroom. Oromis and Glaedr were still missing. Du Weldenvarden was still in Florina's control. They dared not try to take it back for fear of losing more of their number. Word had spread quickly of the elves' defeat and the dwarves and Urgals were weighing the options. If they stayed, they would fight against Florina and possibly endanger their races to her wrath should she win. If they left to defend their people, there was the chance that they could vote to side with Florina in which case they would be turning against their fellow Riders and it would be The Fall all over again. She had to convince them to stay. They needed all the help that they could get. Florina's Riders were stronger than most of the human Riders left on Vroengard as they were older. Not to mention that Florina and Murtagh were old Rider's in their own rights.
"We need that rose." Delinnëa thought darkly. "If we can get that rose and get her to wear it, then we have a chance. It has got to be in the forest still. Dad must have dropped it when I pulled him from the armory."
"And if it is not in the forest, Nëa?" Evarínya asked from her place in the dragon hold. "What if your mother has taken it? Or even Murtagh and he is keeping it hidden from even his queen?"
"Then we are dead, Evarínya." Delinnëa answered her dragon. "That rose is the only weapon we have against the queen. Without it, we have no way of channeling the dragon magic into her blood. You would think that humans being added to the pact would have imbued them with the same dragon magic as the elves."
"Dragon magic is unpredictable. I am not even sure that this plan will succeed. And then it may succeed without the extra magic."
"What do you mean?"
"Say that your mother has found the rose. It is in the castle in Ilirea as we speak. It is still bound to her through dragon magic because you are right, the dragon magic from the pact is in her blood. That happened when she became Kuldra's Rider. However, Galbatorix used his own blood to bind Florina to his throne and his blood runs through her veins more so than it does your own and those of Oromis."
"So the magic does have to be made stronger, regardless of what dragon magic is in her blood."
"Maybe."
"Speak plainly, Evarínya. Or I will tell a certain dragon that you have been watching him."
"You wouldn't."
"Watch me." Delinnëa challenged.
"Fine," Evarínya growled. "As I said, dragon magic is unpredictable. Take what Saphira did at Brom's tomb for example. There is the chance that the dragon magic in the rose will react to the dragon magic in your mother. If that happens, her true memories can possibly resurface, especially those with the rose in them and of those, ones where the rose is in her line of sight."
"Like when she was tortured for trying to free Nasuada."
"Yes,"
"That is still too much to chance. With Murtagh there, he could easily tell her that they are lies planted by a spell cast by Arya and Uncle Eragon. Then we lose her to the blood magic and I fear that the longer we delay, the more we lose her to the point that we will have to kill her." Delinnëa finally stopped pacing and sat on her bed. She didn't know what to do. Lifaen couldn't seem to make a decision anymore. Garrow was happy leading the humans as a general, but was deferring to her and Lifaen now that they had returned. Delinnëa had tried talking to Arya, but she didn't know what to do either. Neither did her uncle. It seemed everything was settling on her shoulder's alone and she hated it. It was not a responsibility she felt she was ready for. Just like Eragon had when Nasuada and her mother had been prisoners of Galbatorix. She wanted her mother. She didn't want to be a leader. She had never expected to be a Rider and now she was expected to lead them. It was too much for a half-elf who was almost sixty years old. She was too young for something like this. Much too young.
Before you flame me for that last bit, please keep in mind that even though Florina was much younger than her daughter when she became leader of the Riders, she had a mentor in Oromis and Glaedr.
Thanks for reading and please review. I get my ideas from your reviews.
