I returned to Galbatorix's court a very different woman. Only a few years had elapsed since my defection, but I'd certainly grown. The most marked sign of this was that my ebrithil did not shuck me off to Madame Tutor and her cronies. He took a more personal interest in my training in all things, especially my grasp of more complex magic. Ellessar's death left a sharp impression on him and he was determined to guard the rest of us against a similar fate. Of course, the easiest way for him to accomplish this… was to use the eldunari.
Of Galbatorix's many sins, his treatment of the eldunari in particular summons up the most outrage from the few who know of it. Not only did he commit genocide, but he then enslaved the enduring consciousness of his victims and used them as a power source to kill even more of their brethren. Anyone who is familiar with dragons will infer the colossal task of forcing one, even a disembodied soul, to do anything against their will. He drove them mad, one by one, through sheer force of will.
The trouble is, once broken they were… chaotic, to say the very least. It took years of training before I was ready to attempt using one, and my first attempt ended in dismal failure. As did the second. By my third, I had acquired a healthy dread of the poor things… but Galbatorix takes no excuses.
"Your mind must be blank; a featureless slate. If you give him so much as a fingerhold, he will use it to tear you apart."
I didn't respond. Everything had boiled down to just Galbatorix's voice, my own cyclic breathing: in; out, the rasp of air in my throat, the doubled pulse of my heartbeat, and throbbing from a string of fresh bruises on my lower back. Instead of trying to empty my mind, I filled it with intentional mantras; strips of meaningless verse that soothed and stilled me.
I do not want to do this. I examined the stray thought without shame. Of course, I didn't; it was dangerous, morally abhorrent, exhausting, and difficult in the extreme. Still, I had long since passed the threshold of having a choice in the matter. My only path now was to do the thing well; execute the appointed task. No past, no future… only in and out.
"Begin."
I extended a sliver of thought forward. I had every inch of this room committed to memory; a circular tower that stretched up three whole stories, seemingly made entirely of bookshelves. Most of these were stuffed full of ancient texts that the Forsworn had pilfered from Vroengard itself. Some shelves bore glass cases filled with artifacts; some older than even the elves. My searching tendril ignored all of them, slinking from my sitting position on the floor towards a faceted mauve stone on Torix's desk.
Quick as lightning, a wild shrieking overtook my thoughts. Sometimes it would almost seem to form words, but then it would careen back into meaningless noise. I flinched and instinctively threw up a barrier to protect myself-
Swish, Thwack! A stinging line joined its brethren on my back. Torix was a deft hand with a switch. "Face it."
I breathed, in; out, and dove back into the maelstrom. The dragon had been young when he died, but he had existed as an eldunari for a century and more. His wealth of experiences made his thoughts dizzying and confusing, and Galbatorix's repeated torment laced them with rage and pain. I weathered the first few gusts before retreating within myself. I could still sense the barrage, but I could also step back and view it objectively. I could feel, or rather I had a hunch, that his bluster was more for show than to actually cause harm. Also, it wasn't purely malicious; he was just as likely crying out for solace as he was lashing out in rage. I decided to play my hunch before Master got any further ideas with the switch.
I sharpened my thoughts to needle-like thinness and dove straight for the edlunari's core. Here the words were clearer, though just as meaningless. Or… were they? Back, must… storm, the fire… bloody stones! Mixed in with the rambling were images of lightning, a fire that burned every nerve in [his, my, our body], a crumpled form at the bottom of a ravine, clouds blacker than Shruikan's wings… I withdrew from the tangle just enough to think.
His body died in a storm, and his rider along with him. I couldn't imagine the agony of existing with your worst memory on permanent loop. Instinctively, I reached for my own store of power, but I redirected the flow to stem from the eldunari himself. The spell I wove was simple in premise, though very dangerous if misspoken. I dug through his memories for better times and pulled them to the fore, then buried the horror beneath them. It was imperfect; in a more coherent being it would problematic for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the sudden amnesia of their own bodily death. But, for a creature who must exist for decades and centuries untold in forced servitude, a beautiful dream seemed kinder than a permanent nightmare.
The storm froze. I flicked through some of his stray thoughts. He was completely disinterested in the world around him, focused inward on his own reminiscing; full of clear skies and laughter. I withdrew slowly, leaving only a thread connecting his mind and mine. I pulled some of his strength into myself. "Istalri." I opened my eyes, squinting against the harsh light of the freshly lit fireplace.
Clap. Clap. I pivoted in place to look at my master. He leaned back against a shelf, applauding with a sarcastic air. "A fascinating approach. You realize, of course, that it will be a permanent drain on his strength?"
"A small sacrifice," I sniffed. I brushed a hand along my cheek, surprised to find half-dried tears.
"Not so small if it's compounded across dozens of them," Galbatorix snapped the switch in half calmly and tossed it into the fireplace. "Release the spell."
"No." I swallowed hard as Torix's good humor evaporated. He turned on me, his tense quiet as good as a slap. "He is mine to use. That was the promised reward if I succeeded."
"I would hardly call this a success," He waved a hand dismissively at the dull pink stone. "Handicapping your only source of power?"
"The fire is lit," I replied.
Torix rested his fists on his hips. He lifted a brow and leaned in until his disapproving stare was right above me.
I blinked.
He leaned back with a huff. "Fine. He'll be your burden to bear. Do it to every one of them for all I care. The others and I can mock your corpse when it comes back to bite you."
I bowed my head, mostly to conceal my shit-eating grin. "Elrun ono, Ebrithil."
"Hmph."
The other area that Galbatorix took great pains to educate me in was "statecraft". This was easy enough for my teacher since the court revolved around him. Urubaen functioned like a web with Torix at the center like a great black spider. "Rank" (a word used so often among the nobles that it became almost meaningless) was determined largely by how close to the center of the web one could reach; how much access one had to the king. The Forsworn and I made up the de facto second ring. Therefore, anyone seeking to move up in rank would inevitably attempt to ingratiate themselves with one of us. Since I no longer had armed babysitters and I was the- let's say "most approachable" to be kind- that left the burden of their company mostly on my shoulders. Usually, this was only boring. Court had a reputation for being… how shall I put this…. A prolonged cock measuring party. Nobles, particularly the recently promoted, jumped at any opportunity to one-up their peers. However, one tradition was of particular interest to this group: the onset of spring.
The younger members of households would travel to Uru'baen from their country estates, be introduced to the rest of the court, and engage in a season of near-constant socialization. It was equal parts training and matchmaking; introducing them to the games they'd be expected to play for the rest of their lives. It was often referred to as the Flower Fall; the sudden appearance of many lovely new faces. The unwed nobles were like wolves to a fresh kill this time of year… all of them except me.
I dreaded the spring. It was painful for too many reasons; memories of a more innocent time mixed with constant social pressure. I spent an absolutely inhumane amount of time engaged in court rituals: gallery exhibitions, garden parties, teas, luncheons, breakfasts (held well into the afternoon), and dinners (that often concluded near dawn). Some of them even had the audacity to hold "charity" galas; a few gold coins were charged for entry that would then be shuffled out to the city's poor. Of course, they spent ten times the donation on the party itself… I grew to loathe it all. Fiddly foods layered in sugar and cream that made me sick, weak tea with pretentious names in fragile little cups, empty conversations with hidden intentions. I feel strongly that enforcing small talk on an unwilling subject should be punishable by death. Or, at least, a hefty fine and public humiliation. That would be as good as death for most of them… which I think says more than enough about their priorities.
Lucky for me, I had a partner who was just as irritated.
Court hadn't changed much in the past five or so years. The massive throne room still felt empty, even with dozens of nobles circling the throne. Galbatorix was the only one permitted to sit. Even I was expected to stand, though he permitted me to stand beside him on the dias instead of mingling with the others. The proceedings always began with an orderly line of people seeking an audience, in order of rank. That line had been mercifully short today as most of them were only in attendance to view the newcomers to court.
"Presenting, Duchess Bedfort of Ceunon, and her nephew Emisan," a stately pair drifted down the center aisle. The duchess I recognized from recent court functions. She was a dignified woman in her thirtieth year, with dark skin and a trace of a desert accent. The young man at her side shared not a single quality with his escort; all pale freckles and messy brown curls. He was ungraceful and shy, but he bowed correctly enough when they reached the end of the long crimson carpet.
He doesn't seem ready for this, I remarked silently.
He brings to mind a wild animal… a newborn deer, I think. Torix's mind was an unpleasant tangle of thorns; just being in contact with him was like purposefully walking through poison ivy. Even so, it was worth the discomfort to have his constant inner monologue narrating the menagerie.
Or a foal. I concurred mildly. Torix was greeting the pair, but I tuned it all out, fixing a benign smile in place.
More of a jackass than a stallion. I'm surprised the duchess agreed to foster him; she usually keeps a very strict house.
I have a feeling that is precisely why he is here. I emphasized my view of the Duchess's firm hand guiding the young man to his appropriate place.
She'll have him ship-shape in a week.
You really think so?
Torix ignored my query, remarking instead, He has lovely eyes. His thought was tainted with a peculiar interest. I mentally jabbed him but he only smiled. He won't have trouble finding a wife, I think.
Could you endeavor to not be a creep? He's younger than me!
Be careful; the day will come when you're in your second or third century and everyone will be young enough to be your great-great-grandchild. Normal rules don't apply to Shur'tugal.
I nodded politely to the next approaching pair. You sound like an old man already! And you're not yet fifty.
Most days I feel far older than that. I caught the impression of his own dealings with the eldunari, all much less... "civil" than my own. Absorbing century after century of memories had the dual effect of making him almost infinitely wise… and absolutely insufferable. And yet, some days I feel twenty again. Time ceases to matter after a certain point; it comes down to memory and energy.
Well, I'm exhausted. Does that make me a crone?
He smirked. Yes. Before I could retaliate, the herald announced the last arrival.
"Now presenting the fair and glorious Lady Antebellum of Aroughs. She is accompanied by her granddaughter, Charlotte Antebellum."
I squinted. Antebellum?
The Masked Lord, or lady rather, in service to the lord of Aroughs. They took on a new name after the war.
Shouldn't she have been presented first? In terms of rank, the voices of the major cities were equal to the families they served.
The only way she could be dead last is by design. Torix concurred.
The doors opened.
A young woman entered first. She was stunningly beautiful. For just a second, I was reminded of my mother… but the similarities were superficial at best. This woman had gleaming golden blonde hair and eyes like robin's eggs. She was older than most of the people presented thus far, already a woman in full, and she carried herself like a queen. A deep blue velvet gown hugged her perfect figure far more closely than the normal fashions allowed. She'd foregone the normal skirt supports and let it trail behind her, a luxurious ocean train. Behind her, an elderly woman with similarly chiseled cheekbones and regal bearing walked aided by a cane. Her dress was rich but subdued (designed to keep the crowd's focus on her charge) and her grey hair was bound up in a braid. When the pair reached the feet of the throne, the maiden bowed low, sneaking a glance up to meet Galbatorix's eyes.
She's bold, I noted.
Brazen even. But there was no offense in his tone. Rather, he was fascinated. He stood and offered her a gloved hand. She accepted it delicately, fingers posed like a porcelain doll. "I am pleased that you have joined our court at last, Lady Charlotte. It seems long overdue. Your Grandmother has been generous in singing your praises but, certainly, even that does you no credit."
"I thank you, Your Majesty." Her voice mismatched her appearance in an intriguing way. It was low, controlled, deep, and warm. I imagined that she'd be a lovely singer.
"She was orphaned three summers hence, Majesty." A raspier inflection set this voice apart from the first, though here too they were startlingly similar. The Lady stepped forward, cane clicking on the hard stone. "Fever took my son and his wife. The girl has been my ward since then." She took out a handkerchief and coughed, a garbled sound I recognized as lung rot; the indomitable lady was surely in her final years. "We decided to wait until she was prepared."
"My grandmother should not make the journey to retrieve me more than once," Charlotte added, offering an arm to support the older woman. While her words may have been kind, they also radiated pure confidence: she would only need one social season to make her impression.
Indeed, she'd more than succeeded in that on her very first day!
Torix inclined his head, "Then we thank you for making the trip. It would be tragic indeed if we were robbed of your company."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Galbatorix." The woman wheezed. "As for myself, I believe I must return to our rooms. By your leave, My King."
"Please, go to your rest with our blessing." Torix gave the older woman a courtly bow.
She giggled like a much younger woman and leaned on her granddaughter's arm. "Charlie, be a dear?"
"Of course, Mother." Without missing a beat she gracefully bent, adjusted the train of her gown, and retraced their journey out of the hall. Excited whispers broke out among the other nobles the minute the door latched behind them.
And exiting without allowing the other young hopefuls to so much as stand near her.
Antebellum is a clever old bat, of that there is no doubt.
And, apparently, she was quite a looker in her day.
She was. Torix added, a wistful memory sweeping through his mind. A voluptuous woman in a red satin gown, orange leaves scattering the ground like wildfire, a firm hand on Torix's shoulder, and a voice whispering in his ear, "Be wary of that one, my young student. Her family is run by its females, and she is the most ferocious of them all."
You met her?
I almost slept with her.
Almost? That doesn't sound like you at all.
Well, she was a noble after all. Such things usually require matrimony which is, shall we say, 'not my style'.
Pastor, the choir is familiar. Need I point out that I was nearly seven when I met you? I whistled one long, flat note. My condolences for the missed opportunity.
He glanced down at me, brow lifted in question. Should I be planning to have a daughter-in-law someday?
I snorted. Let's just say that finding a noble husband is not my style. I had nothing in particular against men of course, but women were interesting in a very.. different way.
Spinsterdom suits you. He huffed and conspicuously adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. In fact, I loathe the idea of giving you away to anyone, man or woman.
Unless Ms. Antebellum should ask.
He laughed aloud. For that one exception, I shall forebear.
The prolonged exposure to Galbatorix had a way of playing with my mind. When one inextricably ties one's fate to another, works with them for hours every day… it's no shock that one would get close to them. I grew to tolerate my former tormentor. Much like a symbiotic relationship… but colored through with trauma (you know, for flavor). He also never improved that "delicate" temper; he was exactly as demanding as he'd ever been, more so even since now my actions affected him directly. He was still violent, still selfish, still…. Himself. But I learned, ever so slowly, that he was much more than even the forsworn could have known. There were facets of this man that he kept hidden from everyone.
Everyone but me.
I groaned and collapsed into one of the plush black sofas circling the hearth of Torix's main bed chamber. The room was a perfect reflection of the man's style; every shade and texture of black played into his meticulously manicured refuge. Rugs layered the floor until the original colors and material were long lost. The walls were entirely covered by intricate tapestries, many of them depicting scenes out of myth, others of midnight wilderness. The focal point of the room was a four-poster bed (a massive and ornate creation for even a king) and the wall behind it. A dozen feet from the floor the wall angled inward to form the slope of the roof. Here it also gave way to the most flawless panes of glass. During the day he often had thick black drapes pulled over much of it, but at night it offered an uninhibited view of the heavens. Doors led to other sections of his personal quarters, but most of them were concealed within the tapestries: the man strove for privacy above all else.
I screamed into the cushion beneath me before propping up on my elbows. "Those rat bastards!" A heavy hand reached down and patted my head like an amusing hound. I snarled and glared back at its owner.
Torix wisely withdrew the hand. "It's nothing less than what you expected of them," He remarked casually, settling into a high-backed lounge chair, "If anything, I commend them for finally being transparent about their intentions."
"Transparently bastardish…" I groused. "Shall we run down the list?"
"Attempting to kidnap a twelve-year-old, betrothing her to one of her family's enemies, then blaming her clan for the failure of the arrangement." My ebrithil ticked off each point on his fingers. His rings glittered ominously in the firelight as he did so, particularly a slim-cut ruby on the middle finger of his left hand. "All to try and claim land that doesn't concern them in the least."
I turned again to lay on my back, head propped up so I could still look at him. "They believe they've curried enough favor for you to intervene on their behalf." When he didn't respond, I continued, "And have they?"
"I doubt it." Torix chuckled darkly, spinning the bejeweled band. "Surda's land grab left their clan homeless. So, when the girl's family seeks retribution for the wrong done to them, they will have nowhere to run."
"Their new ally could be troublesome; the former fiance of an unwilling child bride." My lip curled in disgust.
"If it bothers you so, then I leave it in your hands." He rested his sleek, hard-soled boots on a low, dark table.
I blinked. "To do as I wish?"
"Sure."
I leaned on the phrase. "Whatever I wish?"
A wicked smile played at the edges of his lips. "Don't get caught."
I felt myself mirror his smile. "The situation will be resolved before the week is out."
"Thank the gods," he sighed, every bit the wearied martyr.
I refused to buy into his self-pitying shtick; he could go on that way all night if I let him. "Which ones?" He lifted an eyebrow. "Which gods, I mean? I don't think I've ever heard you talk about matters of faith; you don't seem to believe in anything."
He almost waved the question off, but he hesitated. "I have heard many different versions of religion over the years, and suffice to say that none have impressed me." He watched the fireplace intently as he spoke, his voice dropping into the velvet tones he used for telling stories. I was transfixed equally by the hypnotic words and the light dancing in his dark eyes. "Men seek an answer, and when they cannot find it they create one; for life, for death, and for everything in between. If there is something lingering in the cracks… well, I owe it no particular gratitude."
"Can gods be evil?"
"If they exist at all, they most certainly are." His face twitched; the ghost of a long-dead smile. "No benevolent force would starve thousands, widow mothers, enslave children… " he trailed off, shadows crossing his features. He spoke again, this time no more than a choked murmur, "...punish an innocent for a fool's mistake."
"Jarnunvosk," I whispered the forbidden name reverently. Galbatorix's first partner was a dangerous topic to broach.
"Jay," Torix breathed. "The only wholly good being I've ever known, and he died for absolutely nothing." His gaze refocused on me, still half adrift in the past. He wrenched the conversation back to safer ground. "I think, of every sect, the mad priests in Dras Leona have it closest. Or, perhaps, the dragon cults of old. Both share the dogma that, if gods exist, they are creatures of great strength who view all of the civilized races as no more than insects beneath their feet. We do not pray for their love, but for our own survival."
I sat up and tucked my knees to my chest. "I hope they're all wrong."
"Really? You'd prefer an empty world?"
"Better empty than ruled over by tyrants."
He chuckled and stood. "Should I take that personally?"
"I won't stop you," I answered flippantly.
He smacked the side of my leg. "Brat."
I grinned up at him, but it faltered as something struck me. "Wait… you've been to the temple in Dras Leona?"
"More than that. I've met their gods."
I stood up. "You just said you didn't believe in any gods!"
"They worship very real creatures… whether or not they're 'divine' is a matter for the sages to debate." Again, he reached down and patted my head. "Speaking of, you should never enter their holy places unguarded. They would like nothing more than to stick a blade through any of us."
"Damn. I glimpsed the building the last time I flew in that direction. It's beautiful… in an awful way."
Toric snorted. "It's a waste of good stone, just as the cult within is a waste of decent minds." He must have noticed me turn away after his rebuke, because he added more gently, "the only thing of value is the massive organ."
"Like… a heart? Or a brain?"
He chuckled. "Pipe organ. It's a musical instrument; they're quite rare as they are difficult to construct and even more difficult to play."
"And you're a scholar of music now as well?" I teased.
He paused, lingering on the edge of a decision. "As a matter of fact, yes." My mouth dropped open. He slid one long finger to my chin and snapped it back closed. "Don't be a pain. It was a long time ago…"
"What was?"
"When I…" he brushed his hand through his hair self-consciously. I'd never seen this man off balance, let alone nervous! "When I learned to play." He turned and crossed the room, lifting a heavy cloth off what I always assumed to be another table. It had legs like a table, but the similarities ended there. Most of its surface was cut away, lines of tiny chords running within the body. A ledge of thin rectangles occupied the front edge, right alongside a low bench. Torix sat to one side of it, patting the spot next to him. We had to sit shoulder to shoulder, but he didn't seem to mind.
"My old tutor showed me one of these once," I whispered, plunking one of the keys. A bland note rang into the quiet room. "A lot of noble ladies learn to play these; mostly for bragging rights."
Torix chuckled and adjusted his sleeves. "What a waste. Music is an expression of the artist's very self." His hands floated over the keys, rested a heartbeat, and then began to play. I shivered. Never in my life, not even at the grand balls, had I heard anything like this. It was dark, mournful, and yet…I found myself ensnared. Within that haunting melody, the facade of confidence and ruthlessness crumbled away until the man beside me was a total stranger. His music spoke of tenderness, regret, and pain; all running unchecked in tumultuous knots. The impromptu composition increased in depth rather than speed or volume and I felt my heart catch with impossible to express emotion. The artist's very self…
His eyes drifted closed, and I took the opportunity to study him. While his expression remained inscrutable, he did seem more… relaxed. He breathed in time with his creation and I found myself matching his rhythm. I fell into the gentle ebb and flow of the music so peacefully that my eyelids grew heavy. The last thing I remember was him lifting one hand from the keys and stroking my hair, a clumsily adapted lullaby soothing me into sleep.
I awoke an indeterminable time later, more comfortable than I'd ever been in my life. My body had melted; relaxed to the point of being fully paralyzed. I glanced around the dim room, still disoriented from being so recently awoken. I was on the far left side of Torix's massive bed, my boots propped against the nightstand, and my hair done up in a loose braid. I turned over and spied a slumbering form on the complete opposite side of the mattress; bare to the waist and deep in his dreams. It was bizarre to see him so… normal looking. Not an imposing monarch nor impossible to please mentor. He had the shadowy ghost of facial hair around his jawline, slept with one arm tucked beneath his pillow, was, in all ways, just a normal man. I considered wandering back to my room, but I was still so tired, and so warm…With how big the mattress is, it may as well be my own bed. It's only one night anyway. And I settled back down to sleep.
If my childhood self knew that I would one day feel completely at ease sleeping in Galbatorix's bed, she would probably have had a heart attack on the spot! He may have been something of a …. Well, frankly, a slut in his personal dealings, but he wasn't well known for physical closeness of any kind. This trait wasn't unique to Torix I suppose; Amroth, Siyamak, Eltereth, Beren, and Idril refused to be touched by anyone ever. Formora only liked contact through her fists, particularly with Morzan's face. Kialandi was a famous hugger, Balor used touch as a sales tactic, and Gelmir….
It was an open secret that Gildor and Gelmir were closer than a typical family. While Gildor was still alive, the two were utterly inseparable. They even shared a bed… the em… "off-color" rumors wrote themselves. Except, to all of us, they weren't rumors and it went far deeper than any physical bond. We knew the real depth of their love; they were literally soul mates. And we knew just how far gone Gelmir truly was without his brother. Even his dragon deteriorated quicker than the rest, becoming almost feral in the few short years I'd been away. But that had nothing on the transformation of the man himself.
It started so simply. He would hover near darkened windows or mirrors, any reflective surface really, and murmur to himself. But his speech got clearer and more coherent with time. He no longer had a reflection; he had Gildor back. If he journeyed too far from "Gildor" he would become agitated, devolving into a full panic within a few moments. It was agreed that he would be safer tucked away in his own estate. He furnished it for two. All of his servants would address both of their lords. And, the detail that survives most clearly in public memory, he lined every single inch of the manor with immaculate mirrors. It was an eerie place, haunted by the living man and home to the ghost.
No one was shocked when the news came.
Time froze.
No one in the room dared to breathe. The fireplace popped and shot sparks into the darkness and ice cracked apart in one of the goblets; all traces of the revelry they represented vanished in a single moment. Slowly my eyes wandered to Torix. Every other attendee did the same. He stood rigid, tall, and implacable as he was expected to be, but anyone who knew him well could see the distance in his eyes. I caught Morzan's look and nodded towards the door. He shook his head imperceptibly and said, "Are you sure?"
"Yes, Sir. A servant just arrived from his estate. His tale is-"
"Bring him to me." Torix's voice was as calm as it had ever been. It did nothing for anyone's unease. We all tried to ween off of our defensive postures, but with Torix's temper…. it was just better to be ready.
The silence dragged on until finally, the servant cracked the door, bowing and scraping, practically tripping over his own feet as he stumbled into the room. He knelt, shaking, before the king. "Sire… it was a nightmare. I was outside tending the plants when I heard a sound like an explosion. I fell to the ground and covered my head, but nothing else happened. I ran into the building to find the source, but I couldn't even make it two inches through the door- not two inches!- every bit of glass in the whole castle shattered with the blast. It took some time to find a shovel- we needed one to progress without loss of limb- but when we did… we …. He had…. Oh sir, if I had known-"
"Your master?"
"….dead, Sir. We found him in the northernmost hall. He was shredded, head to toe. Even if we had reached him immediately, we haven't the skill to-"
Torix lifted his hand to halt the man. Everyone held their breath again, especially the quaking gardener. "No one could reasonably expect a landscaper to become a surgeon. Thank you for bringing me the news. Rest in the med ward until your strength is recovered, then see the housekeeper. We will find a place for you and anyone else who may have survived. Go."
The crouching man appeared to come back to life slightly, bowing again until his head reached the floor. "Thank you, Sire." He scurried away before the infamously fickle tide could turn. Apparently, many of our companions had similar inclinations, especially the few who were only innocent revelers and not members of the inner circle.
Torix gathered himself almost too quickly, "It seems there are now a series of pressing concerns that demand my attention. I hope you'll all indulge me an early end to the evening." His smile was every bit a political piece, and barely even that.
Almost everyone cleared out right away (I even saw Kialandi hug Formorra before they both wandered off). By the time the tide had ebbed, only Morzan, Torix, and I remained. I shouldn't have been inclined to stay… but it felt important. Morzan still hadn't moved, frozen in place as he watched Torix's face.
Finally, Torix spoke. "Gildor, Ellessar, and now Gelmir. All the youngest gone first. It hardly seems…. Real?"
His recounting left out Xanist, but this wasn't the time.
"This is horse shit," ah Morzan, ever the poet. "Who could've gotten to Gelmir? And why would they-"
"I think we all know exactly what got to Gelmir." I added in a numb voice. Morzan shot me an evil look, but Torix only nodded and collapsed into a chair, scrubbing his face and seeming to age a hundred years in a single breath. I carried on for completion's sake, "He really hasn't been with us since we lost Gildor. This was… inevitable."
"We could've!-" Morzan jumped up, but Torix grabbed his arm and the larger man froze.
"No. The sort of pain he was feeling… nothing we did could have gotten through that shell. His mind went with his twin; the body was bound to follow eventually. His loss was even greater than the loss of a dragon… a soul mate that had been with him since birth. No, this was his own doing, and there is no one on earth who could have stopped him." His head dropped and he braced on his knees. I nearly gaped when I realized that drops stained the carpet between his boots… he was… crying. Morzan didn't acknowledge it at all, and of course, he couldn't for the sake of his friend's pride. For Morzan's own pride, Torix and I both pretended not to hear the choke in his throat or his sniffle as he said, "You're right… fuck… we'll have to go tomorrow and bury him. Where the hell is...his dragon?" As usual, any discussion of the dragons forced down a gloomy oppressiveness which on top of the recent tragedy seemed suffocating.
"I'm sure we'll see tomorrow. I wouldn't bother holding out hope. If he had his mind perhaps… but as he is, I can't imagine him having the will to carry on. Or, if he did, he is long gone from that place." He gripped Morzan's hand and said in a gentler tone, "This can be pursued in the morning. Try to rest." His friend nodded and left.
I don't know what possessed me to reach for Torix. He just seemed so… empty. Like his own mind was ripping itself apart. My fingers closed around his and he jumped as if I'd slapped him. He stared at my hand a moment before curling back. We didn't say another word through the night, but I slowly drew closer until we were embracing on the sofa, his silent tears lost in my hair as we held each other. We slept that way until late morning. Morzan woke us with a nudge and two bowls of plain porridge. He said not a word.
Every time we lost a member of our family, it sent shock waves through the group. Gelmir's death was not exactly unexpected… but it still caused everyone's relationships to shift. Friends got closer, friends drifted apart. Eltereth broke rank entirely, retreating to forests between Gil'ead and Du Weldenvarden proper with her dragon and Xanist's. The only ones who still socialized outside of official business were Galbatorix, Morzan, and me.
I still don't fully understand how it happened; how men that tormented me all my days became my sole companions. I don't know how I got so distracted that I left Katana largely on her own with only Shruikan to relieve the boredom. I don't know how, after years of learning how to protect myself, I was still vulnerable to an attack from such an obvious source! I still feel like a damned fool for not seeing the signs, so brazenly flaunted before me that, looking back on it now, it seems like one massive joke at my expense.
For now, I will simply say this: one should never underestimate Galbatorix's ingenuity, charm, or most crucially of all his cruelty.
