Chapter Sixty: Songbird
Mark blinked, watching Farica – Nasuada's attendant – rushing past him down the hallway. He watched her rushing down the hall for a moment before shaking his head and continuing on to Nasuada's room, knocking on it quietly. "Nasuada?"
"Come in Marcus!" He pushed the door open and stepped into her quarters, watching her fumbling over a gown on her lap. "Any particular reason you're sewing? I thought you were in a meeting today?"
"You missed it," she said plainly, pressing two of her fingers together in an attempt to stop them bleeding. There was another knock on the door. Her face transformed into a pleasant smile. "Enter!" she said.
Mark turned slightly to see the doors thrust open and watched as Trianna strode into the room, her brown locks tousled and piled high above her head with obvious haste. She looked as if she had just been roused from bed. Bowing in the dawrven fashion, she said, "You asked for me, Lady?"
"I did." Relaxing into a chair, Nasuada let her gaze slowly drift up and down Trianna. The sorceress lifted her chin under Nasuada's examination. "I need to know: What is the most important rule of magic?"
Trianna frowned, "Why didn't you simply ask Mark? I'm sure he's perfectly capable of answering such a simple question."
"I arrived mere moments ago Trianna, I'm assuming Nasuada needed this information right away, so she sent away for you. Now, if you don't mind, please answer her question." He said, folding his arms across his chest.
She huffed slightly and looked back at Nasuada, "That whatever you do with magic requires the same amount of energy as it would to do otherwise."
"And what you can do is only limited by your ingenuity and by your knowledge of the ancient language?"
"Other structures apply, but in general, yes. Lady, why do you ask? These are basic principles of magic that, while not commonly bandied about, I am sure you are familiar with/"
"I am. I wished to ensure that I understood them properly." Without moving from her chair, Nasuada reached down and lifted the overgown so that Trianna could see it. There lace on the dress was burned and torn drastically, making it irreparable. "So then, within those limits, you should be able to devise a spell that will allow you to manufacture lace with magic."
A condescending sneer distorted with sorceress's dark lips. "Du Vrangr Gata has more important duties than repairing your clothes, Lady." Mark raised an eyebrow at her tone. "Our art is not so common as to be employed for mere whims. I'm sure that you will find your seamstress and tailors more than capable of fulfilling your request. Now, if you will excuse me, I-"
"Be quiet, woman," said Nasuada in a flat voice. Astonishment muted Trianna in midsentence. Mark smirked and said nothing. "I see that I must teach Du Vrangr Gata the same lesson that I taught the Council of Elders: I may be young, but I am no child to be patronized. I ask about lace because if you can manufacture it quickly and easily with magic, then we can support the Varden by selling inexpensive bobbin and needle lace throughout the Empire. Galbatorix's own people will provide the funds we need to survive."
Mark blinked and looked at Nasuada, stunned at the simple genius of her idea.
"But that's ridiculous," protested Trianna. Even Farica looked skeptical. "You can't pay for a war with lace."
Nasuada raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Women who otherwise could never afford to own lace will leap at the chance to buy ours. Every farmer's wife who longs to appear richer than she is will want it. Even wealthy merchants and nobles will give us their gold because our lace will be finer than any thrown or stitched by human hands. We'll garner a fortune to rival the dwarves'. That is, if you are skilled enough in magic to do what I want."
Trianna tossed her hair. "You doubt my abilities?"
"Can it be done?"
Trianna hesitated, then took the overgown from Nasuada and studied the lace strip for a long while. At last she said, "It should be possible, but I'll have to conduct some tests before I know for certain."
"Do so immediately. From now on, this is your most important assignment. And find and experience lace maker to advise you on the patterns."
"Yes, Lady Nasuada."
Nasuada allowed for her voice to soften. "Good. I also want you to select the brightest members of Du Vrangr Gata and work with them to invent other magical techniques that will help the Varden. That's your responsibility, not mine."
"Yes, Lady Nasuada."
"Now, you are excused. Report back to me tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Lady Nasuada."
Satisfied, Nasuada watched the sorceress depart after casting a quick glance at Mark, then closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy a moment of pride for what she had accomplished. "This is my contribution to the Varden," she told herself.
Mark smiled, "That was quite brilliant. I never would have thought of anything like that."
"No man would have thought of that," she said. "But it's a solution to our financial problems."
"I'm starting to think you don't need my assistance anymore. You solved this all on your own, and managed to put Trianna back in her place. You're getting quite good at this you know."
She shook her head, "I still need your advice once in a while." Nasuada turned to Farica, "You may leave us now."
"Yes Ma'am." Farica bowed to both of them before leaving through the servant's door.
Mark stretched and swung himself down into a chair, "How did your meetings go with Orrin and the others?"
"Dreadful. Orrin refuses to continue funding us; he simply can't afford it any longer. Which is where this idea came from."
"It's understandable, you know," he said. "I'm surprised he's helped us for this long already."
She sighed and nodded. "Where did you go off to? It's not like you to miss meetings of any sort."
Mark leaned on his knees and let out a sigh, "With Kendra, or at least, trying to find her. She decided to take an unannounced trip through the forest and I felt the need to find her before something happened to her."
"You're becoming quite attached to her."
"She is the princess, I feel obligated to keeping track of her. And it's likely in my best interests to do so. You know how to play this game as well as I. Don't think of it as anything more than that."
Nasuada smiled at him, "I won't then. Now, I'm quite tired from today's events-"
He stood without being asked, bowing his head to her, "Have a good evening Nasuada." Mark insisted, turning and heading out to his own room with the promise of visiting Trianna and the other magicians the next day.
A blast of ravening wind tore Eragon from his sleep.
Blankets flapped over him as a tempest clawed at his room, hurling his possessions into the air and knocking the lanters against the walls. Outside, the sky was black with thunderheads.
Saphira watched as Eragon staggered upright and fought to keep his balance as the tree swayed like a ship at sea. He lowered his head against the gale and made his way around the room, clutching at the wall until he reached the teardrop portal through which the storm howled.
Eragon looked past the heaving floor to the ground below. It appeared to rock back and forth. He swallowed and tried to ignore the churning in his stomach.
By touch he found the edge of the cloth membrane that could be pulled out of the wood to cover the opening. He prepared to launch himself from one side of the gap to the next. If he slipped, nothing would stop him from falling onto the roots of the tree.
Wait, said Saphira.
She backed off the low pedestal where she slept and laid her tail alongside him so that he could use it as a handrail.
Holding the cloth with just his right hand, which took all his strength, Eragon used the line of spikes on Saphira's tail to pull himself across the portal. As soon as he reached the far side, he grabbed the cloth with both hands and pressed its edge into the groove that locked it in place.
The room went silent.
The membrane bulged inward under the force of the angry elements but showed no sign of giving. Eragon poked it with his finger. The fabric was as taunt as a drum.
It's amazing what the elves can do, he said.
Saphira cocked her head, then lifted it so that her head was flat against the ceiling while she listened. You'd better close up the study; it's been wrecked.
As he headed toward the stairs, the tree jolted and his leg buckled, sending him down hard on one knee.
"Blast it," he growled.
The study was a whirlwind of paper and quills, darting about as if they had a mind of their own. He dove into the flurry with his arms wrapped around his head. It felt like he was being pelted with stones when the tips of the quills struck him.
Eragon struggled to close the upper portal without Saphira's help. The moment he did, pain – endless, mind-numbing pain – ripped open his back.
He screamed once and went hoarse from the strength of his cry. His vision flashed with red and yellow, then faded to black as he toppled to his side. Below, he heard Saphira howl with frustration; the staircase was too small and, outside, the wind was too ferocious for her to reach him. His connection with her receded. He surrendered to the waiting darkness as a release from his agony.
A sour taste filled Eragon's mouth when he woke. He did not know how long he had been lying on the floor, but the muscles in his arms and legs were knotted from being curled into a tight ball. The storm still assailed the tree, accompanied by a thudding rain that matched the pounding in his head.
Saphria…?
I'm here. Can you come down?
I'll try.
He was too weak to stand on the pitching floor, so he crawled to the stairs and slid down one at a time, wincing with each impact. Halfway down, he encountered Saphira, who had jammed her head and neck as far up the stairs as she could, gouging the wood in her frenzy.
Little one. She flicked out her tongue and caught him on the hand with its rough tip. He smiled. Then she arched her neck and tried to pull back, but to no avail.
What's wrong?
I'm stuck.
You're… He could not help it; he laughed even though it hurt. The situation was too absurd.
She snarled and heaved her entire body, shaking the tree with her efforts and knocking him over. Then she collapsed, panting. Well, don't just sit there grinning like an idiot fox. Help me!
Fighting the urge to giggle, he put his foot on her nose and pushed as hard as he dared while Saphira twisted and squirmed in an attempt to free herself.
It took more than ten minutes before she succeeded. Only then did Eragon see the full extent of the damage to the stairwell. He groaned. Her scales had cut through the bark and obliterated the delicate patterns grown out from the wood.
Oops, said Sahpira.
At least you did it, not me. The elves might forgive you. They'd sing dwarf love ballads night and day if you asked them to.
He joined Saphira on her dias and huddled against the flat scales of her belly, listening as the storm roared about them. The wide membrane became translucent whenever lightning pulsed in jagged shards of light.
What time do you think it is?
Several hours before we must meet Oromis. Go on, sleep and recover. I will keep guard.
He did just that, despite the tree's churning.
Mariah stared out her window, singing quietly as Andrar and Thorn gave chase to one another above the court yard. Her hands laced together at her waist twisting her fingers unconsciously as words drifted softly from her lips. After letting loose on Hal yesterday, she'd knocked him out; even then she hadn't let up. So, as punishment for nearly killing one of his new Riders, Galbatorix confined her to her room. She didn't mind, her window still overlooked the courtyard where her dragon was, making it far less lonely than he had intended.
During training yesterday, Camilla had been so bold as to ask about getting their own dragons after going through so much rigorous preparation. Galbatorix had ignored her questioning and left shortly after. The simple thought of Camilla on dragonback was enough to make her shiver.
Blinking, she realized she'd stopped singing and sighed. "No more daydreaming." Mariah turned and stared at the wall, where she'd placed a target, going over to the table where a few spare knives she'd stolen from the kitchen were laid out. Picking one of them up, she weighed it in her hand and spun it between her fingers, focusing on not cutting herself; letting the knife hurtle toward the target a moment later, she scowled as it clattered to the ground. She picked up another and flung it toward the wood again, managing to stick the knife deep into the grain. Walking over, Mariah placed her fingers at the tip and pulled it out, looking to see how far she'd managed to penetrate it; smiling when it appeared deep enough to dig into someone's chest.
She collected her knives and returned to the table with the intent of practicing some more. When the door handle clicked she twisted and flung the knife across the room, listening to the twang of metal as it stuck in the door just a few inches from Murtagh's face.
"Stealing cutlery from the kitchens now? Getting inventive I see, being locked up all day."
Mariah blinked at him, "What do you want?"
"Just came to see how you were faring in confinement." He assured her, grabbing the knife out of the door, "though it appears I've caught you at a bad time, maybe I should come back later."
She stared at him from across the room.
Murtagh sighed, "Alright. I was a little worried; yesterday with Hal… that was a lot, even for you."
"You're worried about Hal now?"
"No, I'm worried about you," he said, stepping in and closing the door. "You didn't sleep last night again did you?"
"I told you, I don't sleep if I can help it. If you're coming in here to try and convince me otherwise, you can leave now because it's not going to happen."
Murtagh flopped down onto the couch, kicking his feet up. "Fine. I won't then. Why were you trying to kill him anyway?"
"I wasn't trying to kill Hal… but I wouldn't have cared if I did." She said, turning back toward the window.
He sighed and watched her silently.
"You're staring."
"I am not." He said, averting his eyes from her as she turned toward him.
Mariah glared at him, "Why are you still in here? Don't you have something better to do?"
He shook his head, watching her turn back around toward the window again. "It's my job to bother you."
"No it's not." She said. "You're not my brother. Brothers bother, that's their job."
Murtagh blinked. "It's been troubling you again, hasn't it? How this is all going to end up…" He stood, walking over. "Mariah, it's like I said earlier, we'll do what we can, but unless we figure out a way to break out of this oath, we're stuck."
"You don't need to keep repeating yourself, Murtagh." She insisted, folding her arms. "I know all of that already. I don't need a constant reminder from you that I'm stuck in this god forsaken place… why are you up here?"
"Galbatorix wanted to see you." He said finally.
She stopped - breathing, blinking, her heart skipped a beat. "Now?" He nodded, watching as Mariah turned, collecting her thoughts and walked out the door.
Mark strode down to the headquarters of Du Vrangr Gata the following morning, knocking on the door, telling himself to at least attempt being polite. A young girl opened the door and blinked at him. She was clearly a maid from the castle. "Lord Marcus."
"Good morning," he said, "I wish to speak with Trianna, if she's here."
"Yes, of course." She curtseyed a little before backing into the room and holding the door for him. The sorceress was already staring his way, trying to bite back her sneer.
He raised an eyebrow at her, his lips flickering into a haughty smirk. "I've come to discuss the plans Nasuada gave you yesterday."
"I believe we can manage on our own without your added input."
"I'm merely advising because I wish to see it is done. There will be no delays I trust?"
She chewed on her tongue a moment, glancing around the room at the others. "Of course. We will start working on it immediately." A few of them shot looks toward her and shuffled their tomes closed. "Is there anything else you wanted to say? I'm sure we would all work much better without your piercing gaze lingering on us."
"No," he said simply, his eyes darting between their faces. "But do expect me to come back and check on your progress. That's all…" he dismissed himself, walking back out of the door the maid held for him. Mark listened to their hushed whispers as the door closed and chuckled quietly in his throat before turning towards Nasuada's quarters.
He knocked on her door and Farica, Nasuada's maid, opened the door, letting him in.
"-to take you to her."
"Asked? By whom? And why?"
Jörmundur spoke quickly, "A boy on the practice field told me that you should visit the child. Said that you would find it interesting. He refused to give me his name, but he looked like what that witch's werecat is supposed to turn into, so I thought… Well, I thought you should know." He looked embarrassed. "I asked my men questions about the girl, and I heard things… that she's different."
"In what way?"
He shrugged. "Enough to believe that you should do what the werecat says."
"Magic," she said, making it a curse."
"Magic," agreed Jörmundur, though he used it as a word of awe and fear.
Mark blinked between them, "I've come at a bad time, considering."
Nasuada's gaze turned to him, "Quite the contrary, I've need of your advice. Come with me."
"Of course."
She turned to her other advisor, "Is she within the castle?"
"Orrin gave her and her caretaker rooms on the west side of the keep."
"Take us to her."
Gathering up her skirts, Nasuada ordered Farica to postpone the rest of the day's appointments, and then left the chambers. Behind her, she heard Jörmundur snap his fingers as he directed four guards to take up positions around her. Mark rolled his eyes behind their lids as he stopped in the hall, turning to look at Nasuada. The guards always made him laugh – they would be of little help if she were to be attacked. She had scoffed earlier at the word "magic" and all it comes with, but she truly didn't understand the benefits of it, considering her one guard that could use it was the most likely to save her life.
The heat within Borromeo Castle had increased to the point where they felt as if they were trapped within a giant bread oven. The air shimmered like liquid glass along the windowsills. Mark glanced at Nasuada a moment only to find she seemed the most comfortable of the group in the heat, despite her heavy dress. The guards and many of the other Varden had fainted from heatstroke – two of whom died an hour or two later – due to the high temperatures they simply weren't accustomed to.
When they finally reached their destination, Jörmundur knocked, and a quavering voice from inside asked, "Who is it?"
"Lady Nasuada, come to see the child," he said.
"Be you of true heart and steadfast resolve?"
This time Nasuada answered, "My heart is pure and my resolve is as iron."
"Cross the threshold, then, and be welcome."
The door swung open to an entryway lit by a single red dwarf lantern. No one was at the door. Proceeding inward, Nasuada saw that the walls and ceiling were swathed with layers of dark fabric, giving the place the appearance of a cave or lair. To her surprise, the air was quite cold, almost chilly, like a brisk autumn night. Apprehension sank its poisonous claws into her belly. Magic.
A black mesh curtain blocked her way. Brushing it aside, she found herself in what was once a sitting room. The furniture had been removed, except for a line of chairs pushed against the shrouded walls. A cluster of fain dwarf lanterns were hung in a dimple of the sagging fabric overhead, casting weird multicolored shadows in every direction.
Mark blinked, realizing he didn't know why they were here exactly. He glanced at Nasuada, but she was fully focused on the people in front of her. A bent crone watched her from the depths of one corner, bracketed by Angela the herbalist and the werecat, who stood with his hackles raised. In the center of the room knelt a pale girl that Nasuada took to be three or four years old. The girl picked at a platter of food on her lap. No one spoke.
"Where is the baby?" Nasuada asked, confused.
The girl looked up.
Mark's breath caught in his throat as he saw the dragon mark bright upon the child's brow and as he peered deeper into her violet eyes. The girl quirked her lips with a terrible, knowing smile. "I am Elva."
Nasuada recoiled without thinking, clutching at the dagger she kept strapped to her left forearm. It was an adult's voice and filled with an adult's experience and cynicism. It sounded profane coming from the mouth of a child.
His mind started reeling instantly. He should have mind-searched Eragon when he'd had the chance. He should have made him repeat exactly what he'd said; had Saphira tell him exactly what had happened. He should have throttled the boy for doing something so stupid. He should have made sure something like this wasn't going to happen before Eragon left. He shouldn't have dismissed it so simply like he had.
"Don't run," said Elva. "I'm your friend." She put the platter aside, it was empty now. To the crone, she said, "More food." The old woman hurried from the room. Then Elva patted the floor beside her. "Please, sit. I have been waiting for you ever since I learned to talk."
Keeping her grip on her dagger, Nasuada lowered herself to the stones. "When was that?"
"Last week." She was staring at Mark now expectantly. "You as well."
He sat down next to Nasuada hesitantly. His eyes moved over Nasuada's body, her ridged form looking strange – he'd never seen her so unnerved before, like she was fighting the urge to scream and run from the room.
Leaning forward, Elva reached out and cupped Nasuada's cheek with one soft hand. "You know, Ajihad could not have led the Varden better than you have. You chose the correct path. Your name will be praised for centuries for having the courage and foresight to move the Varden to Surda and attack the Empire when everyone else thought it was insane to do so."
Nasuada gaped at the girl, stunned. Mark watched as tears burst from her eyes and rolled down her face. "What are you?" she demanded, her voice sounding distraught.
"I am what Eragon made me."
"He blessed you."
"No. He did not," Mark said slowly.
Elva's gaze turned to him, their eyes meeting. No one was able to hold his gaze like that, not even Mariah. Brom may have been able to, but for the past several months, most people avoided looking into his eyes. Elva seemed to enjoy it - staring into his soul. "He did not understand his actions. Since Eragon ensorcelled me, whenever I see a person, I sense all the hurts that beset him and are about to beset him. When I was small, I could do nothing about it. So I grew bigger."
"Why would-" Nasuada started, but it was clear the conversation had turned away from her.
"The magic in my blood drives me to protect people from pain… no matter the injury to myself or whether I want to help or not." Her smile acquired a bitter twist. "It costs me dearly if I resist the urge."
Mark shook his head slowly. "He misspoke when he placed that blessing upon you. And I fear Saphira's actions only amplified it…"
Nasuada asked, "Why have you told me this?"
"I thought that you should know who and what I am." Elva paused, and the fire in her gaze strengthened. "And that I will fight for you however I can. Use me as you would an assassin – in hiding, in the dark, and without mercy." She laughed with a high, chilling voice. "You wonder why; I see you do. Because unless this war ends, the sooner rather than later, it will drive me insane. I find it hard enough to deal with the agonies of everyday life without also having to confront the atrocities of battle. Use me to end it and I'll ensure that your life is as happy as any human has had the privilege to experience."
At that moment, the crone scurried back into the room, bowed to Elva, and handed her a new platter of food. It was a physical relief to Nasuada as Elva looked down and attacked a leg of mutton, cramming the meat into her mouth with both hands. She ate with the ravenous intensity of a gorging wolf, displaying a complete lack of decorum. With her violet eyes hidden and her dragon mark covered by black bangs, she once again appeared to be nothing more than an innocent child.
Nasuada waited until it became apparent that Elva had said all she was going to. Then – at a gesture from Angela – she accompanied the herbalist through a side door, leaving the pale girl sitting alone in the center of the dark, cloth-bound room, like a dire fetus nestled in its womb, waiting for the right moment to emerge. Mark stood to follow; pausing after his back was turned.
Your future is very dark indeed, if you continue down your current path there will be naught but pain and heartache. By aligning yourself to those around you, you are condemning yourself to agony which you may not be able to rectify. A very dark day is quickly arriving where you will be forced to make a choice, be prepared to harm one close to you in order to keep another safe.
He hadn't even felt her slip past his mental walls. Steeling himself, he decided it better not to respond and followed after Nasuada, feeling violet eyes boring into his closed the door quickly behind him, "All she does is eat and eat. We can't sate her appetite with the current rations. Can you-"
"She'll be fed. You needn't worry about it." Nasuada rubbed her arms.
"Thank you."
"Has this ever happened to anyone else?"
Angela shook her head until her curly hair bounced on her shoulders. "Not in the entire history of magic. I tried to cast her future, but it's a hopeless quagmire – lovely word, quagmire – because her life interacts with so many others."
"Is she dangerous?"
Mark smirked at her answer, "We're all dangerous."
"You know what I mean."
Angela shrugged. "She's more dangerous than some and less than others. The one she's most likely to kill, though, is herself. If she meets someone's who's about to be hurt and Eragon's spell catches her unawares, then she'll take the doomed person's place. That's why she says inside most of the time."
"How far in advance can she foretell events?"
"Two or three hours at the most."
Mark blinked, deciding to keep Elva's commentary to himself. It didn't sound like something that was going to happen in a few hours, but he'd been wrong before.
"I realize," said Nasuada, "that this is presumptuous of me, as you aren't under my command and I know little of your life or duties, but I have a favor to ask of you."
"Proceed." Angela waved a hand.
Nasuada faltered, "Would you be willing to keep an eye on Elva for me? I need-"
"Of course! And I'll keep two eyes on her, if I can spare them. I relish the opportunity to study her."
"You'll have to report to me," warned Nasuada.
"The poison dart hidden in the raisin tart. Ah, well, I suppose I can manage."
"I have your word, then?"
"You have my word."
Nasuada groaned in relief and sank into a nearby chair. "Oh, what a mess. What a quagmire. As Eragon's liegelord, I'm responsible for his deeds, but I never imagined that he would do anything as dreadful as this. It's a blight on my honor as much as his."
A ripple of sharp pops filled the room as Angela cracked her knuckles. "Yes. I intend to speak to him about it once he returns from Ellesméra."
Her expression was so fierce, it alarmed Nasuada. "Well don't hurt him. We need him."
"I won't… permanently."
Mark chuckled a little at Angela. Then he let out a small sigh, turning to Nasuada. "If anyone should be responsible Nasuada, it's me. I knew about this whole ordeal moments after it happened. I was careless; I knew better than to believe Eragon wouldn't have accidentally misspoken when he placed the blessing on Elva. I should have taken it upon myself to investigate it further before allowing him to leave. Please, don't feel as though this reflects poorly on you."
She stared up at him. "You knew?"
"About everything, yes. I even can guess his exact wording he used for the spell, for he told me what he believed he'd said… he misspoke and said the word "shield" instead of "shielded" in the Ancient Language, allowing for the drastic shift from blessing to curse."
"Can it be undone?"
"Possibly… but it would be best if Eragon did so himself. Though, even then, considering I don't exactly know the effects of what Saphira's mark has done… I'm unsure." He admitted.
Nasuada nodded a little, "We'll have to deal with that when the time comes."
Mariah inhaled deeply and stepped through the doors, her eyes immediately going to Shruiken curled up in the corner, glaring at her through his slitted eyes. "Murtagh said you asked for me." She turned her gaze toward Galbatorix.
"Indeed," he said, pivoting on his heel to face her. "We've not had much time to get acquainted Mariah."
She lifted her chin a bit, steeling herself, "I was under the impression you didn't much like heartfelt conversations."
"I said nothing of the sort." Galbatorix said, "When you arrived here, your mind was so muddied and twisted from Durza's cursed magic that I was unable to retrieve any information from you. Then, you swore an oath, which you have somehow managed to twist to your own advantage… haven't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I've twisted no oaths I've sworn to you."
"So you say." He walked toward her, watching her flinch slightly under his piercing gaze. When he was close enough to reach out and touch her, he stopped. "You will submit to another memory search, it's your choice whether or not you wish it to be painful. But let me just start by saying I'm very displeased with your attitude lately."
She met his gaze hesitantly, "What is it you think you'll be able to retrieve from my mind?"
"There are a few things I wouldn't mind knowing, the least of which being the identity of your brother." He said, watching her intently.
Mark? Why did he want to know about Mark? She blinked at him, "I will submit to no such thing."
"Then I will force you." He assured her, reaching out and grabbing her shoulder in a vice grip before she could dart away. After struggling a moment she heard him mumble a few words under his breath and felt her strength start to fade away. Before she could blink, he'd sucked away so much energy that she could barely stand, feeling quite light headed. Shoving a hand against his chest to try and push him away, Mariah met his gaze again and realized there would be no getting away from this.
Her skin felt like it was burning, the pain in her head worse than she remembered from the last time he'd pried into her thoughts. Galbatorix sifted through the memories like they were pages in a book he'd read a dozen times. People and locations flashed through her mind, but he skipped over most of them so quickly she barely had time to recognize anything, let alone put a name to any of the faces. The deeper and longer he searched, the harder it was to stay conscious. Her vision started going blurry and blinding white flashes started popping up everywhere.
She hit the floor with a smack that echoed around the throne room. It took her a few minutes to regain herself and pick her face up off the floor. The gash right above her eyebrow started bleeding and trickling down her face. Mariah flicked her eyes up to Galbatorix, who was standing over her, staring down at her with burning intensity. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and a shiver rushed down her spine.
"I knew you seemed familiar," he said quietly. His awe-struck stare flickered back into a masked sneer, "I had thought I heard singing, though I hadn't realized it was you. Those lyrics were very familiar - thank you for confirming my suspicions, little songbird. And let me just say that if the affairs between you and any of the others become… distracting, I will put a quick end to it. For now, I will allow it, should it prove to be disadvantageous, you'll find yourself in solitary. I don't suspect you'll be singing then."
Without another word, he turned and strode from the room, leaving Mariah to pick herself up and wipe away the blood clotting at her brow.
This chapter was very Mark-heavy. That's okay though, I like Mark… Happy Wednesday!
How does this version of Galbatorix compare to what's in the fourth book? (which I have not read) I honestly have no idea...
Halfway through this book… why does this one seem so much longer than the first? (Despite the obvious fact that is IS way longer than the first) it just SEEMS so bloody long… unnecessarily so… just drabble at times…
With Love, As Always,
Mariah