TW: Passing reference to Suicide Ideation, Coercion, Incest, Off-page Sexual Conduct, and Miscarriage.

I confess that I'm struggling to decide which memories from this period are worth recounting. Some scenes became so common that none particular stand out enough to choose. For example, my duties as an 'assassin' might sound interesting on the surface, but the sad reality is that the plots and schemes all proved pretty featureless in the end. I recall no more about the corpses left in their wake than I do about the meal I consumed after the task (and I will be the first to acknowledge the insidious horror of that observation).

Most of the memories that really stick with me are just… conversations. Murder leaves not even a trace, but I remember the last "talk" I had with Eltereth down to each agonizing detail.


Katana dipped into a lazy descent over Isenstar Lake. She leveled off just as her front claws clipped the surface, sending a spray of water up into the air. A cluster of fish scattered off, some trying in vain to outpace her shadow. Her head lanced down, quick and effortless as a heron, and snagged the slowest of them.

Glutton. You just hunted before we took off this morning!

Hush, you. I've flown more in the past few days than I ever have in my life! An extra snack isn't going to kill me.

When their tiny bones get stuck in your gums, I don't want to hear any complaining! Katana mulled over my admonishment. Then, like a puppet with a cut string, she dropped out of the air and plunged into the icy water. I barely managed to gulp in a breath, eyes scrunched closed and chest tight from the shock and cold. Katana!

What? You seemed a bit too heated over nothing, so I thought I'd cool you off. I watched through her eyes as even more fish bolted from the sudden intruder. Aw, my treats are getting away.

And who's fault is that? I groused, blowing an irritated stream of bubbles. I felt more than heard Katana's rumbling laughter. She rolled her long, muscular body until my head broke the surface. I sputtered and wiped my eyes, flinging my water-logged braid back over my shoulder. Now what do we do? If we get back in the air to keep looking for Eltereth, I'll turn into a Lilicle!

I don't think that will be necessary. Katana nudged my attention toward the nearby shore. A familiar, silvery shape lay curled, blowing puffs of smoke in way of greeting and spreading her glistening wings wide.

I haven't seen her in so long. My eyes burned. Xanist's dragon had been a mentor to Katana even as her rider had been to me. Forgetting her name did not mean that we would forget everything she had been… at least, not yet.

Mother! Katana crooned a low roar. I had exactly one tail twitch of warning to take another massive breath before she dove back down, propelling through the water at breakneck speeds.

Xanist's dragon led us on foot through the forest. She was still one of the most stunning dragons I'd ever seen. Most of the forsworn's partners were solid colors or mottled variations of those. She was a pure white-silver; living starlight brought to earth. I seemed to recall her normally maintaining her radiant hide meticulously. Now she was dirt-stained along the bottoms of her legs, the tips of her wings, and the underside of her tail. She made no attempt to touch my mind directly, but I could feel her "speaking" with Katana; streaks of images, colors, and emotions of an intangible quality. None of the other dragons that still lived in Uru'baen could manage as much; most would respond to any communication with violence. Perhaps it's her mate that gives her clarity?

Eventually, she halted a few yards out from a low hut. It was smaller than even a young dragon, definitely not more than a single room, and roughly constructed. The only indication of habitation was the faint smoke curling out of its little chimney. I ripped at my leg bindings and slid to the ground with a squelch (apparently, some of the lake had traveled along with us inside of my boots).

"Lilly?" The voice was rough with disuse. Its owner stood in the doorway of the cabin, virtually unchanged from the woman I'd known so long ago. She was unusually tall for a human, with deep brown hair swept back in a sloppy knot, and gentle blue eyes. She wore dark, sturdy trousers and a heavy leather jacket that had clearly been worn through and patched a dozen times over. Her boots were the kind of thick, treated leather meant for protection among manual laborers. She jogged over and flung her arms around me.

My back popped with the force of her bear hug. "Since when are you so touchy?"

Eltereth released me. "Family." Her thoughts danced around the edges of mine as if she desperately wanted us to touch but didn't know how to ask. I lifted a corner of my defenses just enough to allow it. She funneled a quick outpouring of impressions, sadness, relief, green, black anger, a bubbling waterfall, a bed of glowing coals, dry clothes, before pulling back and walking inside.

I blinked. Katana? What in the world was that?

Her mind is more like a dragon's than a human's now. How interesting! Katana hummed and shuffled closer to Xanist's dragon, poking around in her thoughts to share the observation. I shivered and followed our hostess into her domain.

The cabin was quaint and warm. It was more or less a square room; one hearth hung with cookware and drying herbs, a simple table and chair, a palette piled with furs that clearly served as a bed, and one little window. Two more ensembles (exactly like the one she wore) hung on pegs above her sleeping area, both just as patched as the first. The floor was packed dirt layered with slick- a clay and straw mixture that was easier to clean. Eltereth handed me a change of clothes, helped me shuck out of my sopping wet ones, and laid them out near the hearth.

"This isn't quite what I expected," I said. "With magic, you could build anything. Why choose a hunting lodge?"

Eltereth frowned. Again, she sent a rush of impressions rather than strict answers. A nearly identical cabin, a tall man with a dark beard and light voice, a fresh grave, a little boy curled beneath furs in front of a roaring hearth, pride at fueling it all on her own so deep into winter, a last fleeting glimpse of that home as an armored man tugged her arm too hard.

"You used to live here?" I ran a hand over the stone ledge around the hearth. Only these were the same as her vision; stones in multi-colored granite from the shore of the lake. "And the boy…?"

"Family," Eltereth said simply. I expected another flurry of pictures, but no such luck this time. She reached up and unhooked a cooking pot from the ceiling. Without a single word from her, a stream of water arced through the window and into it.

My jaw dropped. Wordless magic was a well-known feature of the craft, but using it for something so ridiculously simple was… was… arrogant? No, that word didn't quite suit Eltereth… it was practically suicidal!

By the time I'd recovered from the surprise, she'd slung handfuls of cubed meat and vegetables into the pot and stuck it on the fire. "Yes." The sudden answer boggled my already fuzzy brain. She tugged at our mutual train of thought like a loose thread, offering up the tail end for me to examine. Despair, pain, longing, grief, tired, so tired, laying cold, guilt, guilt, guilt. The overwhelming press of self-inflicted shame took my breath away.

I tried to respond in a way she would better understand. You have done so much good, Eltereth. We may not have spoken much, but you were kind to me when very few were. Xanist cared for you, and I know he was good. What could possibly weigh on your heart?

"I failed." Her raspy voice choked off. That boy, now a young man, now dressed in his finest clothes only to be laid out on a funeral pyre, screaming at a room of people through a tear-choked throat, then a figure draped all in black with his hand outstretched, a deal with a demon, thousands burned… Grief. Pain. Xanist.

"Iliriea," I whispered. True, I'd seen precious little of Eltereth after we took the city. I heard that she quarreled with Galbatorix, but I never knew the details. "You think he's just as bad as the Riders were?"

"Worse," she growled, teeth bared. Her face was flushed with shame and anger. "Xanist saw… and now Xanist is gone." Her thoughts passed too quickly for me to make out any details. I caught echoes of an argument; black gloves clenched in rage, a burning pain in her right cheek, a hasty flight made during a storm.

"Xanist fell in battle," I said gently, reaching for her hand.

She recoiled. She opened her mouth but then snapped it closed again as… something pressed in on us.

An oppressive force snaked its way into both of our minds. It was heavy, like a leaden blanket of detritus. Its presence smothered both Eltereths rage and my curiosity in one. This mind was not familiar to me at all, and I almost pulled away… but Eltereth put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Family," she said seriously.

The presence resonated like a bass-drum beat at her word. It was certainly male, but beyond that, it was nearly featureless. His mind was dark and endless, like the depths of a crushing ocean. I let my questions bubble back to the surface. In response, the mind simply showed me an image of the very room in which I sat, including the back of my own head. I spun around and met a single, violet eye in the tiny window; Eltereth's dragon.

I exhaled a long breath, releasing the coiled tension in my shoulders. "You left Galbatorix's service to care for your dragon and his mate. That's why you fled instead of staying to finish your fight with him."

She nodded gravely and turned to stir her stew. "Family." I could feel a potent, simmering anger beneath her calm. Whatever the truth might be, it was clear that she blamed Galbatorix for every drop of blood spilled in the past half-century. But, with her partner and his mate already so lost from the world, she was torn: risk death by confronting a man too powerful for even Vrael to defeat, or suffer the shame of remaining inactive while such a man still ruled.

"He is more than an ill omen," I wheedled. "He's willing to do what he must, terrible or wonderful. So long as the Empire is at peace, Galbatorix remains a force for good within it."

Eltereth paused mid-stir, dropping the ladle from stiffening fingers. She turned, fixed me with a miserable stare, and cupped my cheek. The emotion roiling off of her then was not anger. It was grief; like she beheld a person already doomed. She kissed my brow as if in farewell, before turning back to the soup.

We spoke no more of the past.


That day was the last time I saw Eltereth alive. She was an incredible person really; too good and too noble for a world gone mad. She raised her younger brother on her own, protected him through her training, and avenged him when he was murdered. The great guilt she carried was twofold; failure to save her loved ones, and failure to fully avenge them. Xanist, his dragon, and her own partner were the most important beings left in her life, and Galbatorix's actions had cost her all of them.

At least… this is what I understood of her thoughts at the time. Since then I've seen many things that clarify her sorrow, and particularly her righteous rage. At that moment, she was right to mourn me. I would have defended Torix against any charge she laid, no matter how heinous; that is how deep my loyalty went. I'm certain that, had I asked her while she yet lived, she would have told me that she'd felt that way too… once.

He was an easy man to follow, so long as you only saw what he intended you to see.


Morzan's grumbling snores nearly shook the tapestries from the walls. He and I were holed up in Torix's rooms for the thousandth evening in a row, pouring over the notes from our venture. After the first few hours, Mommy and I decided to take a break, which then devolved into us drinking enough wine to make Shruikan sick. Torix eventually joined us, though with considerably more restraint. Finally, Morzan— who was already well and truly tipsy before we'd even started— drifted off into cacophonous slumber. He was much too tall for his resting place, so his head and legs were both cricked at unsettling angles. I braced my boot against Morzan's side and shoved until his head dropped over. The sounds choked off and took on a gentler cadence. "Does anything wake him?"

"No." Torix reclined on the opposite couch, long legs draped over the seat's back. His wine-red undershirt was tucked into leggings that practically swallowed light they were so dark. He'd removed the rest of his normal layers and looked truly relaxed for the first time in months. "He's been that way as long as I've known him; the man can even sleep on dragon back."

"Do you think the skill can be taught?" I poked around the low center table, fishing for any of the bottles that were yet unemptied. I finally spied one that was half-filled with a deep red liquid and had dwarven runes pressed into the cork. I tilted it towards Torix, but he held a hand up in refusal. I relaxed into the high-backed chair, rested my feet up on the table, and took a long gulp. It was dry, musky, and strong— more like whiskey than wine— but I wasn't in the mood to be picky. "I haven't slept so peacefully in… I can't even remember how long."

"In that, you are not alone." He smiled, equal parts mockery and pity. "I'm afraid you get that from me, my dear. Our minds are not suited for rest."

"What exactly are they suited for?"

He shrugged. "Battle."

"Are those the only states of life; war and peace?"

"I couldn't say. I'm more intimately familiar with the former. As to peace," He draped one elegant hand across his chest, "I have found it to be every bit as damning as violence. The veil it creates covers many evils."

"Dark thoughts." I let out a low whistle and swirled the few mouthfuls left in my bottle. "Are you quite sure that you wouldn't like to join me?"

"I find that dulling the mind only prolongs the inevitable unless one is willing to fully commit to the treatment," he gestured at the sleeping form across from him, "and, even then, it comes with a heavy price."

I considered the bottle in my hands. Over the past few decades, the drink had become a silent support whenever my world shifted too far off center. In childhood, it helped me sleep through isolation and fear. These days, I just used it to drown my demons long enough to get some rest. Perhaps I have used it as a crutch. I replaced the wine haltingly. "So, What precisely were you getting at? What… veil?"

I felt his stare before I saw it, a shower of icy tension running down my spine. I peeked up from the table and caught two flinty slits, sharp as fractured obsidian. The crackling fire seemed to grow louder in the pregnant quiet. His eyes shuttered closed, and he released a meditative breath. "Dark thoughts indeed. I'll give you one more chance to back away; I recommend that you take it."

I blinked patiently. We waited, accompanied by the crack and pop of the fireplace. The wind whistled along seams between the massive windows. Above us, the sky was pure darkness; a storm was due to cover Uru'baen any moment. The stirring gale was so intense that I almost missed his exhausted sigh.

And he told me a tale I will never forget. He spoke haltingly, the words sticking in his throat. "Shortly after my seventeenth year of life, I received an offer from an elder rider to become his personal student. Most of my training was already complete, but I could hardly refuse…" He paused, swallowing hard before continuing in a more controlled tone, "Someone with his reputation. He taught me more nuanced aspects of being a rider; politics and the like. I lived in his home and worshipped the ground upon which he walked. After the first year or so, he evolved our relationship; he took me as a lover."

I gulped. He and Morzan were infamous in the forsworn for their lecheries (confidence, wealth, power… they didn't exactly struggle to find bed warmers). Even so, I'd never heard him describe any person as a 'lover'. I coughed and asked, "Wouldn't he have been… much older?"

"He was; centuries older, in fact."

"That's," I hesitated, unsure exactly how blunt I could be. He flicked a look at me, clearly already anticipating my response. "Abhorrent."

"No doubt," He said seriously. "Even within the order, where ages are not considered quite so important as lived experience, it was still a grave breach of propriety for a student and master to be so engaged. But, of course, the man who was responsible for teaching me that lesson had other priorities." A joyless grin cracked through his stony countenance. "In any case, I remained with him in that capacity for nearly six years. Until I discovered the truth of his character and the organization he served. I had the foolish thought that my Master could not possibly be so corrupted, naively forgetting that our relationship was just as forbidden. I brought my concerns to his attention."

I mouthed the word no in second-hand dread.

"He beat me within an inch of my life." At my shocked expression, he grinned; that sardonic, self-deprecating smile that he so often wore as a shield when confronted with old scars. "Mostly because I fought back until I no longer could. After that, well… I believe you know the rest."

"You left," I answered, "and lost Jay."

"And found a group of companions who had been equally wronged." He leaned his head back, staring up at the swirling blackness. A few thick drops of rain slid down the windows, nearly invisible in the dim lighting.

"You said that, when you met my mother, you'd had a heartbreak. I thought you only meant Jay… but it wasn't just that, was it?"

He tensed, every bit like a badger preparing to defend its burrow. "What of it?"

"Six years is a long time. It's only natural that he would be… important to you."

Torix huffed, swinging his legs around and sitting up so quickly that his neck popped. He winced but spoke in firm anger, "How is that your concern?"

I stood and walked to the side of the room, heavy skirts swishing around the furniture with every step. "I appear to have touched a nerve, which tells me that it is as much my concern as yours." I picked a single slim bottle from beside a dressing bench and stood behind his perch. The oil's oak-and-amber fragrance tickled my nose as I dripped it onto my fingers. "No one is forcing you to speak, but I will listen when you're ready to do so." I caught the back of his neck before he could stalk off like a pouting cat, paying special attention to the muscle I knew he'd just twinged.

He growled, but couldn't resist the dreamy effect of my ministrations. "You're evil."

"I come by it naturally." I pressed harder into a particularly tense spot and he groaned. The man really could work himself into one solid knot if left to his own devices. "But we were talking about you."

"Whatever I may… or may not have felt… is long gone now…" He had trouble stringing words together, slurring them more and more as I got closer to the real source of the problem. I gave him a break to reapply the oil. "But yes… for a time, I believed myself to be in love."

"Distancing yourself from it even further," I observed in a banal tone. "You loved him. It's natural; no need to be defensive."

"No, I didn't," he insisted. Distant rumbling announced the storm's arrival, though the clouds still held their payload in reserve. "I was barely more than a child. I didn't know what love was; not then."

"Children have instincts that we old folks train ourselves to ignore." I resumed my work, counting on his relaxation to let me speak more freely. " I can tell that you trusted him, admired him, and you must have desired him. Those are certainly the base ingredients." He scoffed. My thumb prodded at a pressure point in irritation. "Well, what's missing then?"

He grimaced and glanced back at me. "You really don't know?" I rolled my eyes. "Then I won't tell you; plenty of time for you to find out on your own."

"You're such a pain." I stepped back mid-press, rubbing the excess oil into my parchment-dried hands as I reclaimed my seat.

"Apples and trees, Princess."

I crinkled my nose at his use of the title. "So this mysterious 'lover' of yours. You never mentioned his name?"

He chuckled. "No, I didn't. Suffice to say that I had the pleasure of repaying him the pain before all was said and done."

I looked right into his eyes, ensuring no escape from the truth I was certain I'd found in his evasions. "It was Vrael, wasn't it?"

He paused, staring me down with befuddled amusement. "Yes. How could you—"

"I've seen you fight hundreds, maybe even thousands of times. And yet, I've never heard of you injuring another man quite so … intimately as in your battle with Vrael. Between his rank and everything else, it was the only guess I had."

Torix smirked, sliding a loving look over Vrangr's length. "The most beloved leader the riders had ever known was a spineless wretch. He seduced a handful of students before me simply because he could; I was just the first to punish him for it. And then, once defeated, he fled for his life. We took the empire almost unopposed after his initial flight, and then I hunted him down like the rodent he was."

"Is that all?" I asked. I thought better of it when he turned a sharp look on me, but it was too late to back down. "You don't typically describe yourself as a vigilante or avenger."

He laughed. "Not even close. I can justify it all I like, but the truth is much uglier; It was spite, pure and simple, that made killing Vrael such a pleasant undertaking. He was the first person to whom I'd opened my heart; I wanted to make him suffer for abusing the privilege." He drifted again into his thoughts. "As a matter of fact, he was the last as well."

"You were the same age when you met him as I was when I met Anthony," I whispered.

The silence that grew then was heavy with tears unshed. "Then we both were forced to kill our first loves."

"And last." My words barely escaped past the lump in my throat; breathy and strained.

"And last," He echoed. A streak of lightning split the sky above us. Almost on cue, rain splashed down in silvery curtains, blurring the bolts that followed. He shifted, leaving a place beside him for me. I tucked into his side; my only shield against the darkness without… and within. I felt the ghost of a pet over my hair and I peeked up at him. He was calmer now, sinking into a dreamy meditation that I wasn't foolish enough to interrupt. "You're like my little shadow," he whispered. "Somehow, you manage to pry secrets from me that I intended to take to my grave."

"There are no secrets between us." I glowed with pride; to be the confidant of such a man is not a feat easily done. I leaned on his shoulder and flashed a pleading look. "You should play for me again tonight; it's your hands that betray you after all. How am I to read your mind without your music to guide me?"

"And Morzan?" He asked rhetorically, already rising.

"He can sleep through anything."


This man, my mentor... for a time, he became my entire world. Even Katana was not as close to me as Galbatorx; he seemed to know my every thought before even I did. And, in return, he would show vulnerability. It was like a dance, with each turn binding us closer and closer together.

Again, I do not seek to defend... there is no excuse for...

For what happened between us next.

Summer was a dynamic time at court. Fair weather brings the flocks after all, and nobles are no exception. All the spring guests were settled and ready to cement their ambitions before fall forced them home. If spring was the dinner bell, then the summer gala was a feeding frenzy. The unmarried hopefuls at court descended upon one another with a ferocity unmatched save by flocking birds. They whistled meaningless tunes, paraded in flamboyant plumage, showered their favorites in gifts, and generally made complete asses of themselves. And all of it was for one, simple, driving goal: courtship.

The crowning event of the summer mirrored that of winter: a massive ball held in the castle itself. Galbatorix enjoyed the chance to scrutinize the nobility (particularly their considerable debauchery) for use in later court games.

Though, one fateful summer evening, he would begin a deadly game of his own.


Two and forty.

Most ladies of the court were grandmothers by the time they reached my age. Indeed, women who had just barely come into their blossoming youth in my early days at court now sat fanning themselves languidly along the edges of the room. I could see a trio of wilting flowers tittering along the wall just behind my newest annoyance's shoulder. He was a young man, scarcely come to his full height and still clean-faced as a boy. I couldn't remember the lad well enough to place any specifics about him, but I knew that he was only in his seventeenth year. I feigned polite interest as he loaded me with figures of his newly-inherited estate. I decided that he was altogether too pleased with himself, an opinion only cemented as he offered me a scrawny arm to join him for a dance. I cited a need for respite from the bustle of the room and begged his forgiveness with exactly as much grace as I absolutely must.

I snatched a glass of wine from a servant on my way into the gardens.

The wandering paths concealed a handful of groups and pairs (some innocent and others far from it). I reached a tendril of thought through the branching paths to warn me of any other wanderers (most were too invested in their own mischief to pay me any mind). I silently cursed Antebellum for talking me into my "experimental" attire for the evening. The bodice was embroidered, beaded, and tailored, within an inch of my life (hence all the cursing). The skirt fell into a train made of deliciously dark black silk. I was grateful at least that my shoulders and much of my back were exposed, as the bare skin was my only respite from the stifling heat. Finally, I found a circular inlet in the garden wall that was coated in ivy. I sank into its leafy depths gratefully, downing the watered summer wine in two unladylike quaffs.

I wanted to rage into the darkness over the unfairness of it all. Old women who survived unmarried in a patriarchal society were permitted the dubious honor of spinster-dom; an existence that doomed them to be social pariahs, yes, but also marked an end to the farce of political flirting (I couldn't conceive a more oxymoronic idea). The mystical line between "bed partner" and "walking corpse" was defined almost purely by a woman's likelihood to bring healthy children to birth and survive the ordeal. This varied wildly across the Empire according to innumerable factors, but none of them applied to my situation: riders did not age as mortals did. While I was only a scant eight years from my fiftieth birthday, I hadn't physically changed since before I turned twenty. This could hardly be called anything but a blessing, but it made the matter of fending off unwanted male attention all the more problematic. As if a throne and the king for a father-in-law weren't tempting enough, the legacy-minded among them had their sights set on a bountiful broodmare that could provide them with an endless supply of heirs. The combination of the two would drive any girl to drink…. And some to violence.

I almost missed the sudden rush of power as my mind careened through its bitter ramblings. The vines behind and above me shivered with sudden delight as magic pulsed through their stems. I jumped, though the tangled leaves did little more than dance in the breeze. I shivered as I noticed a familiar set of footsteps approaching me.

I could recognize him anywhere. Hard heels against paving stones, but the motion itself restrained, indicating a grace and agility that mere mortals could hardly fathom. Torix shifted into view, a fresh glass of wine in each hand and a sarcastic smile playing at his lips. "Thank you for leaving him intact. For a moment, I was concerned about the poor lad's safety." He proffered one of the cups in a peace offering. I shrugged and chugged it. If he disapproved, he wisely kept his peace. "You seem like you needed an ear."

"Just now, I wouldn't mind losing one." He chuckled, and the evil tension in my shoulders faded with his levity. "I can't stand the little boys playing at courtship. Use your asinine crap on someone who won't know any better." The older nobles bothered me more when I was younger. Those men— who were older than even Torix! — felt all too comfortable approaching a teenager and discussing my merits and shortcomings like a valuable but burdensome piece of livestock. As I aged, many of them had retired or died and been replaced by their sons. They at least knew well enough to treat me with a certain dignity and distance, or brave the consequences.

Torix swirled the deep crimson liquid before him in contemplation. "No, I suppose you wouldn't want a pretty, feather-headed little lordling," Torix said. He had an uncanny talent for following my thoughts. "I really can't picture you bothering with a younger man at all. At least their elders know better than to bore you." He flashed his teeth in a wicked grin.

"If I do ever find a lover, it will have to be an old man," I concurred merrily, "Old and quiet."

"Perhaps you'll find a poet or a scholar. At least then you'd have something to discuss."

"Very few people meet my requirements, and all those are more preoccupied with their studies than with finding a wife." The wine cooled my agitation even as it warmed my cheeks. "Lucky me."

"Not all." My companion polished off his own drink with an all too practiced ease.

"Have you met such a person recently? Any of them eager to be queen?" He gave me a measured stare. "Or perhaps, there is someone who has caught your interest?" He flinched all but imperceptibly and I knew I'd struck home. "I'll not ask then. And, I shall do the courtesy of not informing Morzan; the poor thing would be devastated."

He chuckled. "Yes, we can't be angering Mommy over some imagined competition."
We sat enjoying the quiet darkness for an extra moment. "I would expect more people to badger an unwed monarch than his heir."

His response was noncommittal at best. "They know better; I don't suffer fools lightly."

"Morzan notwithstanding."

"Or you." Something in his tone caught me off-guard. He sounded morose, perhaps even bitter. I was used to his mockery and verbal fencing, but the sincerity of his restrained emotion elicited shivers along my spine. From far away, the strains of a string ballad crept into our shared space. The music was in a minor key, but velvety strings lent it an enticing aura.

"Apples and trees," I chorused impishly, "Perhaps I should take over hunting for your queen? Anyone that I find acceptable should appeal to you."

"I do have some standards. She must be clever, well-read, and have some skill in magic."

"You've already eliminated over half the court." He only grinned in acknowledgment. "What other qualities shall I keep in mind?"

"I would prefer if she were familiar to me and to the rest of our family. Introducing someone new would take too much effort. She must be able to speak her mind and stand her ground in our company. Otherwise, what good would she be?"

"Of course. A master politician as well?"

"Nothing less." He ignored my exasperated groan. "She must also be battle-tried; our lives are too dangerous for a delicate maiden."

"And like that, we have excluded the other half, along with the rest of Alagaesia! It seems you will remain a bachelor for at least another year."

"Untrue," his tone dropped into barely more than a whisper. "There is one."

Again, a lance of ice jolted down my back, raising gooseflesh over my limbs even in the summer heat. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I doubt that very much, my dear." his nonchalance was only a show, and barely that. His gaze drifted over to me, the intensity more than I could stand. "You're the one who's so adept at unearthing my secrets, after all."

"It's an imperfect science at best." I sidled away from him. The unease that I'd felt lingering along the edges of our conversations for years was limping out of the darkness; a featureless mass of profane vulgarity that must never see the light.

"Then let me enlighten you," He whispered. His fingers curled around my wrist, gentle and yet unyielding. I swallowed hard. "There is only one person whom I could trust; who already knows me as very few ever have, and whom I am confident feels very much the same."

"In that, I fear you are mistaken." I turned back to look at him; a decision I instantly regretted. The hypnotic power of his stare erased the chills still clinging to me and replaced them with a heat strong enough to burn me alive.

"Am I?" He moved closer, breathing his words against my ear. I scrunched my eyes shut, but I could still feel him smiling like a cat with a bird trapped beneath its paw. "Desire is rarely a rational emotion. It is forged in the deepest parts of our souls;" he linked his free arm around me until my back pressed against his chest. The heat of his body ate into me, practically burning me even through the barrier of his clothing. "wilder and more intimate than mere beasts can comprehend. You said it yourself; a mortal could never understand the life of a rider. Who else has a prayer of claiming your heart? Can you say, in truth, that it is not already mine?"

"Listen to yourself," I pleaded. I pulled away from his embrace enough to face him, though my wrist remained in his hold. " It goes against nature, against… against everything."

He shushed me softly, brushing my cheek. "Why should any judgment but our's matter to us? I've never been a guardian to you, not once in all these difficult years. Our bond is no more familial than with any of the other thirteen."

My eyes flicked down, and too late I realized my subconscious agreement. He was my ebrithil, then a confidant and friend. We were allied against a world desperate to tear us to pieces, shared nearly every waking moment, and had poured out decades of pain to only one another. Such bonds were far more intimate than a blood tie that was rarely even commented upon, let alone felt.

"Lilly," his voice was just a touch unsteady; a crack in his flawless confidence. He swallowed and pressed a kiss to my brow, nothing more or less than he had done before. "You have too much of my esteem for me to push the issue." He switched to the elves' tongue, speaking it with the smooth tones inherited from direct exposure. "I swear to you, as a rider, a king, and as your friend, that I will never speak of this again." I felt the oath's completion in my bones. And yet, he had one more caveat to add. "If you will ask it of me." He dropped his head until we met eye to eye once more, the fathomless depths of his gaze piercing me, rooting me in place more powerfully than any spell. "Say that you don't love me in this, the language of truth, and I will never bother you with matters of the heart again." He held up a finger. "Unless it is urgently needed for our safety."

My stomach turned over. What he was offering was more than just an escape from his dangerous confession, but permanent security from his interference in my romantic pursuits (or lack thereof). That alone was an extravagant gift for any woman, especially a princess with no mind to marriage. I formed the words together in my mind, the phrasing was not particularly complicated after all: eka ach neit anama ono. I took a steadying breath and—

Nothing.

My throat closed in sudden fear. The words vanished from my tongue like frost before an inferno. I fought against the mental barrier. I needed those words; in the name of sanity! One minute followed another as I wormed the phrase around in my mind, trying to find some way that I could verbalize it without being tripped by my own mind. With every renewed attempt my heart beat so rebelliously against the words that the pain was physical. At last, I released a shaky gasp and shrank into the strong arms before me, utterly defeated.

I couldn't do it. Decades of training and I was defeated by a single wretched sentence, tricked into confessing an unthinkable taboo to my own….

"Peace, my love." Again he kissed my brow, arms around me, a hand brushing down the curve of my waist. Something that had once seemed so unnatural for him he now gave all the reverent ceremony a poet gave his muse. "Would you deign to forgive one more trespass?"

I felt the allure of our easy back and forth and fell into it indulgently, breathless with fear and anticipation. "Better to ask forgiveness than permission." My eyes drifted closed as he tilted my chin up and captured my lips. I sank into the caress, taken up on the coursing waves of madcap rebellion and devil-may-care debauchery. If we were to be damned, cursed forever to shoulder our legacy of murder and madness, then what was one more sin?

-:- -:- -:-

I sat up slowly, drawing the velvety quilt closer to ward off the early morning chill. It was still dark in the room, but I felt rested enough that it must have been only a few hours left until dawn. The warmth of the wine abandoned me as I slept, leaving behind a dull pounding in my head. I glanced to my side.

A certain black-haired form was still deep in a dream. He lay turned away from me with the thick comforter pushed down to his waist, giving me an uninhibited view of long scratches running down his back. I felt a twinge of guilt, but it faded as soon as I tried to get out of bed. I ached head to toe as if I'd barely survived a brawl with a Kull. I suppose it's naive to hope he'd be gentler than he is with anything else.

I pulled myself out of the oh-so-very comfortable bed. Where are my things… or, where is anything for that matter? The process of getting to the bed was such a blur that I couldn't remember for the life of me which articles ended up in what places. My hand fished around in the darkness until it hit any fabric at all. I examined the item as I strolled to a floor-length mirror near one of the tapestry-covered doors. It was impossibly soft and the deepest shade of black. I tugged it over my head, happy that it at least dropped to about mid-thigh on my much shorter frame, and glanced in the mirror.

I looked a damn mess. My hair was a disaster, particularly a section at the back that was knotted into a ball. The too-large shirt dropped off one of my shoulders, displaying a frankly ludicrous array of bruises, bitemarks, and small burns. My mouth tasted of sleep, goosebumps covered my entire body, and even standing still sent an ache curling through … well, everything.

I shook my head, face burning. Oh gods… what have I done? I can't stay here… not in this room. I need to go, need to run…. But why? I agreed to come here, even knowing what he intended… I cringed against the memories. Not that they were unpleasant per se… as a matter of fact, I suspected that I would be much less upset if they had been. If this reckless disregard of nature had been a failure, at least then it could be abandoned to embarrassment! But it would be much harder to banish the sweet lightning and bitter joy, the scent of our bodies, the sounds that broke through our guarded shells, the confessions both horrible and wondrous whispered against my skin, a handful of wavy black silk, teeth and fire and bliss like agony…Yes, those will haunt me much longer than the shame, I think.

The slumbering form twisted over in bed. He reached around where I'd been, mumbling drowsily.

I couldn't risk waiting for him to wake. How could I face him… how could I ever look him in the eyes again after what we'd done? I didn't even bother looking for shoes. I belted a pair of trousers beneath the tunic and hurried out of the room.

I didn't have a destination in mind at first. I wandered the castle, spiraling lower and lower until I was near the entrance corridor, a massive construct meant to serve as an entry for visiting dragons in times long gone. Dragons… Suddenly, I knew what I needed. Or, rather, who.

I found Katana perched on the overhang above the city itself. It took so long to reach her on foot that the sun had long since peaked above the horizon; a blood-red disc like the fiery eye of a god. The land sprawling beneath us was bathed in golden light, glowing beneath a fuzzy pink sky. The moment I stepped within a yard of Katana, she tensed and growled.

Relax. It's only me.

She did not stand down, nor did she answer my thought. The very tip of her tail twitched in irritation.

Katana?

So now you remember that I exist.

The venom in her thought struck me dumb. What's this? I would never forget—

Forget your own dragon? I thought much the same, until last night.

My heart sank. Is this… about Torix?

Her head whipped around, only halting inches from my face. Strips of smoke circled around me as she exhaled, carrying with it the scent of freshly charred meat. If you need to ask, then I have nothing more to say.

I tried to stand straight, but the action exacerbated the ache in my muscles. Katana felt it through the link and recoiled from me, growling even more. I know… it was foolish, and I'm sorry—

Apologies won't cut it this time. She bared her fangs. You let him… no, worse than that, you wanted him to—

Please, spare me the blow-by-blow retelling.

You showed me no such mercy! Katana's tail slapped the earth so hard that a flock of birds took to the skies in a panic.

I was starting to understand Katana's rage. Dragons and riders were blessed in almost every way, but these gifts came with associated burdens. The price of closeness was a total lack of privacy. So, hypothetically, if one ended up with a mate that the other detested… Are you mad that you saw things or that I didn't ask your permission?

Bold of you to assume that it can't be both, she sniffed, and more besides! Forget about the two legs and how they feel about such things, you can torment yourself over that without my help. No… I care not what he is… only who.

He's a friend—

He's a monster! Katana got to her feet, stretching her wings out until they fully eclipsed the sky and I was plunged once more into purest night. He began his war by torturing Shruikan, and continued it by inflicting even worse horrors on every dragon he slaughtered. You and I were two of those that he tormented most! And yet, you have the gall to defend him? To trust him?

It was my turn to pull away, in a vain attempt to shield myself from her outpouring of grief and outrage. We can't begin to heal if we don't move forward. And… I do trust him.

You have the right to make that mistake… but you do not have the right to inflict it on me! I do not trust Galbatorix and I never will. The fact that you can stand to be near him at all is appalling.

And your choice of company is so superior? I snapped, All you do is huddle with Shruikan and let him drag you into his own viciousness and self-pity! Yes, I got closer to his rider—

Galbatorix is not his rider! Katana reared up on her hind legs, slamming me to the ground with nothing more than the shockwave from her massive paws. He's his jailer. As he is yours… and mine.

The chains didn't seem to bother you as much when they bound you to Shruikan! I knew it was petty, spiteful, and shameful to throw her feelings back in her face… but I couldn't choke down the thoughts fast enough. You never consulted me before you mated with him, but suddenly when it's my happiness at stake, you feel entitled to issue all these rules?

It doesn't matter now. She snapped her wings closed and curled away from me again. Her thoughts suddenly shrank, compacting away until they were little more than a bitter whisper. We weren't meant to be mates… I am doomed to be alone.

Her sudden change in attitude made me uneasy. I got to my feet hesitantly. I mean… there are still two male eggs yet unhatched. It's possible that one of them—

You don't understand! She growled again, tail lashing in frustration. I edged around her curled form until I found her head again, brilliant blue eyes glaring into the rising sun. Finally, I saw the real source of her anger, a pit of despair so all-consuming that I felt tears burn the corners of my eyes. I cannot mate; not with Shruikan or with anyone else... Not as a dragon ought.

I balled up my own emotions and let them slip away. You're right; I don't understand. I reached a hand forward and brushed her snout. So, help me to. What changed?

I... laid an egg. Her eyes blinked closed in pain. But it was… Wrong; empty.

She'd never even told me! I berated myself for not noticing such an earth-shattering event. How could that be? And… what does it mean?

Kialandi examined me. I am… She used a word in the ancient language, but in the simplest terms I am broken; unwhole. I can never have hatchlings of my own.

Oh, Katana… I'm so sorry. I stroked between her eyes, along the curve of her jaw. But that doesn't make you any less of a dragon. Life is defined by so much more than offspring. Humans choose to go without them all the time!

But humans are not on the brink of extinction. She shifted to better fix me with a mournful stare. I am one of the only two female dragons that will ever live… and I am broken. A sharp keening started low in her throat; pure grief boiled down to its most poignant form.

Tears poured down my face, unhindered and unstoppable. I had nothing to offer that could console her. I just sat curled against her cheek; shamed, sore, and sharing in her agony.


This is one of many things in my life that must be brought to account. I do not defend this period; rather I feel only disgust and shame at the vaguest reminder of it. It was wrong, pure and simple, in every possible way. Never mind the decade and a half I spent playing his pet: go here, fetch this, hunt for master, and a million other tricks he used mostly to amuse himself…. But consider too that I believed, truly believed, that a man who had proven himself incapable of human feeling could make an exception for me. My new position had many benefits, sure, but the cost was the most precious possession I had left: my dignity. I neglected Katana, abandoned morals and ethics alike, and tied myself in every feasible way to the worst man I'd ever known.

But…. again, I look too far ahead. I will… try to have sympathy for this woman who was once me. She still has much to learn; much to endure… and, through that pain, she will eventually grow strong enough to thrive without Galbatorix's manipulations. Besides, it was this very experience that gave me the tools I needed to advise a certain young man when he was faced with similar choices. I could not spare him the pain, but I at least helped him salvage his soul.

Since it was far too late for me.

AL Notes:

Eka ach neit anama ono: I do not love you.

"Anama" is stolen wholesale from a fanficiton I read many, many years ago. I tried to look back through my old favorites but to no avail. I would discard it, but it became such a staple in my little rp family; such disrespect would be unthinkable. If I ever recover the author, I will edit this note.

The author also conjugated it to "Anamiet - my love". Our group bastardized this further into "Amniet", which is just straight-up incorrect, but again has become so omnipresent that it can no longer be changed XD Ten years is a very long time after all.