TW: Trauma-Related Amnesia, Violence, Discussion of Incest, Graphic Violence, Character Death.
Journeying weakened, unarmed, and alone in the Beors is deadly for most people. I spent my first night up in a tree, sapping life from my roost's limbs like a parasite. This was also my primary defense against the beasts in my path (predators can't eat you if they're dead). The worst danger was from the dreaded fanghur; the winged vipers which shriek with their voices and minds in equal measure. A flock of them can decimate even a strong mage if one fails to keep their wits about them. I expended an absurd amount of energy just to keep myself warm; patrols roamed the mountains too frequently for me to risk lighting a fire and I had only threadbare rags to my name. I lingered on the edge of disaster every moment I spent in those damn mountains. One wrong step and I would starve, or be eaten, or freeze, or (worst of all) be recaptured. I lingered in the foothills between the Beors and the Hadarac for half a month or so, eventually meeting a main road just a little northeast of Lake Tudosten.
I remember little of the path itself… because I had an even more difficult journey to undertake inside my own mind. After my capture, my memories turned into a hazy mess. The few flashes that did return were so disjointed and painful that I had to choke them back down to keep myself sane. It was far worse at night (to this day, I have a strong aversion to dark, tight spaces). But the worst of them all was what I did not know. I knew of the gaps in my memory, but I wouldn't fully understand their extent until I was once more inside the Empire proper.
I stole clothing from the first homestead I passed, food from the first village, and a horse from a group of soldiers (in my defense, the horse was technically government property anyway). But the thing I wanted most took many days more; information. My path crossed with traveling merchants on their way north from Furnost, and I all but shook them down for news. It's hard to communicate large swaths of time between regions in Alagaesia; the only real timepiece anyone shares is the length of time a monarch has ruled. I left Uru'baen when I was eight and forty, in Galbatorix's thirty-seventh year on the throne. Makhek and I had just celebrated my fifty-first birthday before my capture. So imagine my shock when they told me it was the spring of Torix's forty-seventh year on the throne.
I'd lost eight goddamn years! Just like that, nearly a decade of my life evaporated into smoke. Those dark spots in my memory turned from disconcerting to my worst fucking nightmare. As much as I strained, I couldn't tally more than a few months' worth of recollection; leaving the rest a total mystery. There are few horrors as potent as not knowing where you've been… what you've been through. Never mind the amount of upheaval that a government can go through in that time… let alone a family.
I drifted along with my traveling companions until they reached the capital, but I left them at the gate. Some journeys must be completed alone.
The city almost seemed to be sleeping. It was… peaceful. It was just before sunset on a warm evening. The sky brewed in stunning orange with slashes of purple where the scattered, lazy clouds meandered across the skyscape. My throat tightened painfully as I tried to choke back tears.
Home.
I took a long path into town, looking for a familiar patch of wild greenery freshly bursting with the vibrant colors of spring. Nothing was the same as it had once been. I felt like an intruder to a space that had once been ours; like I no longer deserved to stand where my better self had once stood. He had such simple dreams. He wanted to be a hero to make his mother proud; wanted to be a soldier to send money home and take care of his aging father. And not only did I get him killed, but I also did far worse; I abandoned his dreams. Anthony… can you forgive me? I knelt in the overgrown grass, hands folded over my chest to quell the ache.
After few minutes of pensive prayer, I dragged myself back to my feet. What was I really expecting? Any chance I had at absolution would have to come from the living; not the dead. Even so, I owe him something… some modicum of respect. I wandered around the meadow aimlessly until I found a point of dark stone sticking out of the dirt, covered over with dry grass. I tugged back the yellowed stems until a facet of the stone was fully exposed and rinsed it with my water skin. I could barely force out the spell past the lump in my throat, but soon the glistening stone read:
In Loving Memory of Anthony Stargazer:
A hero if ever there were one.
Stydja unin mor'ranr un gala medh du evarinya, my knight.
I bent my head and finally let a few of the feelings I'd been holding back the past weeks escape in silent tears. It's not much… but it's a start. I will do right by him as soon as I can. I sniffed and shook off the brooding. He wouldn't like me sitting here weeping, anyway. He was the type to move forward.
I kissed my fingertips, grazed them over the stone, and set off for the palace.
It was an arduous trip. Lucky for me, some of the hidden tunnels were still passable for those who knew the way. I made my way up from the servants' quarters, snatched a uniform for old times' sake, and all but ran to the main entrance hall. A milling group of nobles meandered out of court in lazy clusters. My heart jumped into my throat as I realized just how close I was to seeing Galbatorix again; to this nightmare finally ending.
I bowed and mumbled excuses as I wove through the crowd. No one paid me any mind until I reached the massive golden doors, flanked with a half dozen soldiers. Their leader stood front and center, pristine uniform oddly discordant with a dented helm, even though it was polished to a blinding finish. "Are you new?" He squinted down at me. "Servants aren't to enter this way. And there's no need for a maid in the throne room."
"It's very urgent, sir," I lied, "I must speak to the king."
The comrade on his left shoulder guffawed. "Oh, sign me up for that show! Little pipsqueak like you wouldn't get a word in edgewise, even if he would see you. Now piss off!"
I bristled. "Even so, I would ask that you please tell His Majesty-"
"Are you deaf?" the man on the left cut me off and rudely grabbed for my collar. I was about to snap his wrist on pure reflex, but he was saved at the very last moment by his leader's quick thinking.
The captain grabbed his subordinate's arm and pushed him back in line, shooting me a wide-eyed stare. "Ms… is it possible that we have met?"
I blinked hard. "Why… I believe we have. Captain Perry, isn't it?" His jaw slacked and he tried to bend down in a bow, but I held out a hand to stop him. "This is neither the time nor place, though I'm grateful for your good memory. And I find myself needing your assistance once more. Please tell the king," I trailed off, unsure of exactly what message would be appropriate to deliver in front of a half dozen guards. "Tell him that there is one here who would reunite him with his shadow."
"Please wait here." He nodded politely, cracked the golden doors, and slipped inside. His men and I waited together in uncomfortable silence, exchanging a few curious stares and pointed glares. Some of the nobles had noticed the brief disturbance and lingered at the edges of the entry hall, murmuring between themselves.
And then the great doors opened all on their own. I entered slowly, eyes on the floor. As soon as I'd cleared the threshold, the doors slammed closed behind me. I jumped but still didn't look up… until a stream of blood oozed into my peripheral. I traced it back to its' source; the immobilized, crumpled form of Captain Perry. I swallowed hard, the sense of creeping unease solidifying into pure dread, and raised my head.
He was on the throne, looking every bit the unflappable monarch I had left him… on the surface. Beneath that veneer lurked a malice that I previously only associated with his worst rages. His face was shadowed, his eyes sunken under heavy brows, and cheekbones in sharp relief against his thinned face. His beard had grown into a goatee that didn't quite conceal his scowl. He seemed wrong. Like the man I had known but with every aspect just slightly off the mark. But there was one aspect of him that had not changed at all: that beguiling, velvety voice. "You have returned."
All I could do was drop to one knee and bow my head. "As promised."
Silence reigned.
I shifted uncomfortably under his powerful stare. It took me years to understand that silence completely. In the moment I was only puzzled. I did not comprehend how much one man can change in a decade of madness and solitude, or how far a family could go for vengeance. I had not yet learned to truly fear my old home.
But I was about to learn.
"Is it arrogance or idiocy that drives this course?" I peeked up from the floor when I heard the click of his boots. He stepped over the stream of blood as he closed the distance between us.
"I don't understand." That was the most totally honest thing I'd said in over a decade.
"I gave you one warning; just one. Was I in any way unclear," He lifted my chin until we were eye to eye, "when I told you that this would never happen again?"
This? What does he mean… then the creeping dread quite suddenly had a name. "There has clearly been a misunderstanding. Vidira-"
His punch knocked me fully onto my side. With only the most basic wards to cushion the blow, I felt like I'd taken a brick to the jaw. But his words, curdled with hate, hurt even more, "You dare show your face, traitor?"
I shoved an arm under me and tried to lift my head. "You don't understand."
"Save you lies!" Now this was something totally new. He had lost his composure before, but never so quickly; never so completely. All the elegant beauty left his voice, replaced with the ravings of a total lunatic. "You abandoned us in our greatest hour of need! Tell me why I should spare your worthless life! Miserable cunt, worthless excuse for a-"
I scrambled away from him as quickly as I could. My hand slipped in a patch of Captain Perry's blood and, in that moment of hesitation, he clamped a boot down on my ankle hard enough to shatter the bone. I spit curses and hissed, glaring up at the maniac wearing my former lover's skin. "Please," I swallowed hard against the waves of panic and pain, "please, you have to believe me, I didn't betray you. I was captured!"
"You're still alive. That's proof enough of your real allegiance." He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me to my feet (or, rather, foot). "I fell for your victim routine once before, Lilleth, but never again."
"Look," I gasped. My fingers curled into his arm. "I have nothing to hide. Look at my memories."
He glared at me. And oh how I regretted putting that idea in his head. Galbatorix didn't wait for me to lower my barriers or sort out what I wanted him to see; he clawed his way into my brain with all the entitlement of a man accustomed to power. My body went utterly numb in the wake of that mental anguish, like white-hot razor blades hacking through my whole soul. I don't rightly know how I managed to maintain consciousness to meet his eyes as he withdrew the probe, but his dark expression only sank my spirits even lower.
He released the grip on my throat and turned his back on me. "I cannot find fault with this farce, but a damaged tool is just as useless to me as a disloyal one. Wait in your rooms," he glared over his shoulder, "I need time to plan your punishment."
My lip shook, but I didn't dare let a tear fall. "Yes sir."
It was this metamorphosis that earned Hrothgar his place of honor on my shit list. His "mercy" upturned a lifetime of work! Had he known what Galbatorix would become without me to check his worst impulses, he never would have imprisoned me in the first place. Everyone remembers what happened when he lost the last thing he gave a damn about, yes? A bloody revolution and genocide? Sure, he never cared for me like he cared for Jarnunvosk. But then, he wasn't totally sane when I left him, was he? As he himself once told me, "Madness never truly leaves us." And his lingered like poison just beneath the surface, waiting to burst out at the first provocation.
My absence was just the excuse he needed to stop hiding it.
His shouts still bounced around inside my aching head.
"Abandoned," I echoed dully. What of me, left to rot for longer than most agents could even have survived, then greeted on my return with accusations of treason?
My room had been preserved as carefully as a tomb. There were canvases draped across all the furniture. Otherwise, the room had hardly changed since the day I inherited it: pink paneling on the walls, intricate plaster tiles on the ceiling, and pristinely clean white marble floors. I rested my head against the cool glass of my balcony doors, anything to relieve the throbbing pain. Uru'baen in all her majesty stretched out far beneath my perch, a thousand twinkling lights of families preparing for their rest. My own space was all but dark, save for a low fire glowing in the hearth. By its light I could just make out my profile reflected in the pane. I found myself transfixed; I hadn't properly seen my own face in many long years. The sight made my stomach twist in revulsion.
His face.
The face that had shimmered in my doped-up dreams, that saccharine voice pulling at my soul while my mind wandered in the ecstasy of madness. The face of the man who had promised me his everything until I ceased to be of use to him. Memories crowded me of eyes, those fucking eyes. Eyes that could blaze with intoxicating passion or freeze the blood in their victims' veins; the eyes that we shared. Hate, so profound that it nearly drove me to my knees, boiled over in my chest.
Gods, what a fool I'd been!
I worked the spell more on instinct than any plan. The eyes were the first to go, green slowly blossoming from the center of my iris until it completely overtook the black. I raked my fingers through my hair. The ebony began to lighten and shift to orangey auburn, a color I'd always secretly envied. The once bone-strait strands began to hitch and twist in unruly waves; a total mess that only tangled more as I prodded at it. I didn't care. I kept at my work until I was satisfied.
I wandered from the window, tugging a sheet off my dressing table to examine my handiwork in the looking glass. I had used magic for disguises in the past of course, but, this time, I intended to keep the smells active. I felt a bit childish and awkward, shifting my face to and fro with equal parts vanity and insecurity. The look didn't really suit me. It took away my edge; that imperiousness that had once served me so well. But, then, I had moved on past that person now. I could no longer play the mistress of the house. If I was to survive, I needed to adapt.
I was so enthralled that I almost missed the sound of the door.
He entered without a word; step staggered by either drink or pure exhaustion. He paused in his approach, swaying to one side as he cocked his head. The birdlike gesture called up images of the ra'zac sizing up helpless morsels. I lifted my chin.
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "What is this?"
"I felt it time for a change," I kept my words quiet, calm, and clear as an icy mountain spring.
"Change?" he parroted me with obvious condescension. "Reverse it."
"There is no purpose."
His hands twisted in repressed emotion even as he tried to keep his tone level and controlled. "It was not a request."
I sized Galbatorix up carefully. He was acting erratic. It really would be best to give him whatever he wanted, but something in me rebelled against the thought. "Even if it were to revert, my feelings on the matter would not." I stared daggers into his face, fully anticipating the storm building before me. "This is who I have become, and it is who I shall remain. You have the power to force my hand, but not to change my mind."
All control dropped from his visage in a lightning flash, an ugly snarl curling his lips. "Your feelings are worthless to me." His eyes had the unfocused glint of a rabid dog. I shrank away from such a clear sign of sickness, especially as he approached me. His hands rested on the arms of my seat, his much taller body bent over mine until we were face to face. "If you insist on remaining a vicious bitch then so be it, but I won't have you disgracing us to the whole court."
"Worthless?" I whispered. "This is a development, my lord." His eyes shot painfully wide. "I can't stop you from dressing me up like a doll, but I won't be your willing plaything anymore."
He laughed in my face. "Lilleth, it's too late to play the shrew. You are mine and nothing will ever change that fact." I stared him down, unflinching. His lip curled. "Fine! Make a fool of yourself! But don't blame me-"
"And what exactly should I not blame you for?" I swallowed hard. "Out of all the crimes you've committed-behind my back and directly under my nose!- which ones shall I overlook? The murder, the underhanded dealings-"
"A crown is hard to win, and much harder to hold-"
"And Anthony?" I didn't really want to rip open that particular wound, not this way, but the rage had finally grown beyond my ability to swallow it down. "You condemned an innocent man to death for your own sick fantasies." He slapped me across the jaw. It hurt, but I just grinned in bitter victory. "And you don't even have the guts to deny it?"
"You have no idea-"
"No. The trouble is that now I do. I understand exactly what you are; what you've always been. You're a fucking child." He pulled my chair farther from the dressing table, the little wooden feet shrieking against the smooth floor. But I wasn't done with him just yet. "If it was in any way unclear, allow me to illustrate the point: Eka ach neiat anama ono." The weight I felt lift off my chest at that moment was indescribable. Our time together had not been unpleasant, but it had been a corruption of everything I was; my whole heart. We'd made monsters of each other out of our own loneliness for years. To finally be free of that perversion was the greatest gift I'd ever given myself. I felt only emptiness where all my goodwill had once lain, coupled with a solemn pride that tasted like ashes.
For a moment, neither of us moved. His expression relaxed into something like a meditative pose as he weighed my words. He showed no outward sign of emotion, but I knew him too well to let down my guard.
Though, in truth, I would have been no better or worse off no matter what I did.
In a vicious yank of his powerful arm, he tipped my chair fully on its side. I tumbled into a heap, unable to even orient myself before he tangled a hand in my hair and started dragging me to the center of the sitting room. I grasped his wrist with one hand and scrambled uselessly at the smooth marble tiles with the other. My foot caught an end table and I hooked it for purchase. The furniture followed me, discharging its contents in a shower of shattering pottery.
He didn't so much as slow his stride.
He tossed me in a pile before him. I tried to get to my knees, but a kick to the head stopped me cold. He flipped the center table out of his way, leaving me sprawled between a sofa and two chairs. I heard the telltale sound of a belt and knew, with the surety that only an unloved child can know, that I had dared too much.
I floated in and out of awareness as he beat me. The shadows of other such scenes intruded on us, from my earliest memories of his wrath to the times I had witnessed it expressed on others. Never had so much of the simmering hatred within him been directed at me; body and soul. In that state, I truly believe he would have been just as happy to kill me. I knew, because every strike was followed by a wild bramble of mental energy. His frenzied thoughts etched murder onto my very being. I saw images of urges, the things he really wanted to do to me. Those scenes I will never recount in this lifetime. One misplaced blow and I may never have risen from that floor.
He managed to pry himself away from his catharsis, if only just. I lay senseless in a blooming spread of my own blood, my hair heavily matted with it, streaks and splashes polluting the once pristine chamber. He was breathing heavily and staring down at me with the wild eyes of a total stranger. Though I never saw him, I am sure that this was the man that fled Illirea all those years ago; hands dripping blood and pure madness coursing through him. He looked like a ghoul clumsily draped in appropriated human flesh.
And, slowly, a smile began to unfurl over his twisted lips. The leer stretched all too wide to be a natural expression; yet somehow it still did not reach his eyes. He spoke, his eternally perfect voice rough with overuse and uncontained emotion. "Very well, pet. You win. If you won't be a willing playmate, then you will be a blade and a toy; It makes no difference to me." He knelt next to me and exposed the skin of my left hip. I could only watch, half senseless, as he placed his already glowing palm to my skin. He purred, "But all of my possessions are marked as such to remind them of their place. Vaetha." The flesh beneath his palm seared with pain, like it'd been touched with hot metal. I tried to writhe but he held me down, beaming with sadistic delight as I screamed.
I stayed there long after he'd taken his leave, tears I refused to acknowledge blurring my view of the new, dark shape scarring my still-naked waist. The royal seal, the swirling tri-pronged flame that I had sacrificed years of my life to serve and spread, was branded into my skin forever.
Words will never convey how I hate this man. I learned this very night that I hated him, to the very depths of my soul, and that I always would. Madness is not an excuse for all that he became. The sadism, the selfishness, the cruelty… that had been there all along. In those days I could only see his evolution as some horrid creature wearing a mask of the person I'd once loved… but in truth, they were one and the same. It's why those that served him loyally worshipped him like a god, but those that despised him did so with blazing, unshakable conviction. That day I joined the latter ranks, forever sworn to the destruction of the beast I'd let run wild for far too long. His downfall became a matter of honor for me; my personal battle against my own past.
I have no regrets for this confrontation. I needed to distance myself from my previous identity on his arm, and he needed to know I would never again be his lap dog. I intended to show him that he wasn't the only force to fear in Uru'baen; to turn every weapon he'd ever given me back on the bastard that dared disrespect me.
But there was one last blow that had yet to fall; salt in a fresh and very painful wound.
I picked myself up after the assault with as much dignity as I could.
I have unsteady memories of the rest of that night. I recall a shape tying bandages over the worst wounds and running a cool cloth over my face. Now and again it would whisper, "Not yet," as I felt myself drifting toward blessed darkness.
I woke a few minutes after sunrise. There was a man slumped in a chair pulled close to my bed. A rough spun blanket covered his body and his face was turned away, so it took me a moment to recognize Harold, my own dear footman. The golden morning light emphasized his new lines, especially at the corners of his eyes. His kindness warmed my wounded heart. I was struck by the level of loyalty he had shown. And look at how long he'd been at my side; that little boy was already a grown man! And, something more, I realized that Harold was as close to a friend as I'd ever really had.
I decided to let him rest a while longer as I took stock of my surroundings. I was sore to my very bones, but at least I was cleansed of the gore. The floor where I'd previously lain was spotless, the only proof of my ordeal was the conspicuously missing vase. A tray of gruel and tea sat waiting for me, but the thought of food turned my stomach. I lay still, staring at the canopy above in dull frustration.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door banged open.
Harold was faster; on his feet in a flash and standing between me and the entryway. "Beg your pardon Highness, but my lady must rest."
"And she will, in a moment. Leave us" the voice wasn't at all what I expected. It was a woman's voice, a little higher than mine and touched with a Surdan accent. It felt familiar… but my brain was stuffed to bursting just trying to follow their conversation.
"I really must insist-"
"And so you have. Get out, and don't return until our business is finished."
Harold bristled at the woman's tone. I sat up in bed and tried to recall the commanding airs of yesteryear. "You will not speak so to my most loyal servant." Harold pivoted around to look at me, the ghost of a smile twitching beneath his mustache. "Harold, please, go to your breakfast and then to your rest. I'm sure that I am quite out of danger, and I promise not to undo all of your hard work."
He seemed ill at ease with the order, but he could hardly argue. "Yes, My Lady." He bowed low, first to me and then to the strange guest…
To Veronica.
It took every ounce of my self-control to keep my jaw from dropping to my chest. "Verra?"
"Glad to see that he didn't spoil your wits," she remarked mildly, striding toward my resting place. A gown (one that I recognized as my own) of deep purple silk floated around her as she perched like a peacock on the opposite end of my bed. Her ebon hair was done in twists with jeweled pins with a circlet of white gold resting just above her brow. She practically glowed with health and authority. "Hello, Lilly."
I blinked at her dumbly.
She gave a condescending little hum. "Or perhaps he did spoil them after all. Poor thing! Then again, it's no more than you deserve." she examined her hands facetiously.
I licked my cracked lips. "How are you here? And why.." I groped for the right way to express the thought. My twin sister looked exactly as she had when last we'd spoken: over thirty years ago!
"What, this?" She stroked her own cheek proudly. "Blame it on the blood, sister dear. Mother may not have been able to leave us anything, but we inherited incomparable genes." She turned her head to show her ears. At first glance they were normal; no different from any other human, but they showed just the vaguest suggestion of a point.
"You're not a rider?" I said, a bit louder than was really necessary.
She scowled. "Ah yes, because what dragon would ever settle for me? No, I am not, and I'm perfectly content with that."
"But, then how-"
"Aren't you paying attention?" She shrieked. "Mother had elf blood, that's all." She grinned. "Oh, did Father never tell you? He tells me anything I want to know, so I forget that he isn't very forthcoming with just anyone."
"Father?" I repeated the incongruous word. "Since when have you called him so?"
"Many years hence. It seems we were both aching for companionship, so my arrival was best for all." A cat-like smile greeted my stunned face. "Especially after he believed you had betrayed him."
"That's ridiculous!" I sat up straighter, anger giving strength to my exhausted limbs. "You're the one that stayed in Surda-"
"Yes, for a time I had no choice. After your desertion, I was stripped of all social standing. I floated from house to house like a beggar! Eventually, I shook off the debt collectors and made my way to Uru'baen, where Father took me in. It was dumb luck that I had some information about his other child's treasonous tendencies-"
If I had been well, I may have struck her. "I was captured-"
"So you say. But which is more believable, that his most capable agent was taken with no more fanfare than a common criminal, or that you joined yet another rebel group to defy him?" She patted my leg as if to comfort me. "He had trouble accepting it at first, but it was better than believing you were dead. When I first came to court he was a wreck! You should thank me for all my hard work. I even advised him to let you come crawling back again. Wasn't that kind of me?"
The sinking feeling dripped down to my stomach. "You convinced him that I…that I would ever…" I tried to wrestle her smug betrayal into my understanding of my sister. I failed. "But why?"
"Because," she drew back and clasped her hands together, "You abandoned me, twice, to survive in a cruel and miserable world without a second thought. I figured it was time to repay the favor." There was not so much as a trace of humor in her face. "Now, we're even."
"Even?" I echoed, "Even?" I stood from the bed on shaking legs. "Do you have the slightest clue what you've done? What I've just endured? I escape my personal hell and return home to have lost my only family in the world, one to the other, and get beaten half to death for my trouble!" By the end, I was shouting. "And then you have the audacity to say I deserve it? Deserve to lose-"
"Your lover?" Now she seemed to really be enjoying herself, an all too familiar, wicked smile replacing her severe pose.
I tried to swallow but I only choked.
"Yes, I know. He told me, in my fifth month here. Losing you tore him apart of course. It would have been even worse," she rose and fluffed her skirts, "had there not been a suitable replacement at hand."
Revulsion lanced through me as I absorbed her self-satisfied proclamation. Once I would have been furious, but, after the previous night, I wanted no claim to any part of that wretched bastard. "Then I offer both of you my condolences. You deserve each other."
Tears burned in her angry eyes. "You," her fists clenched powerlessly at her side, "damn you!"
"I assure you, I'm already in my personal hell. No real point damning me any further than this." I lowered myself back to the bed and stared at the wall.
"You can't talk to me like that anymore! I'm a princess too, damn you-"
I funneled my pain into a frigid reply, "Shurtugal outrank even the highest nobility. You can prance around in crowns and gowns as much as you want, but you will never be my equal. Now leave me in peace, or I'll drag you out of here myself." I couldn't of course, but she needn't know that.
She backed away from the ice in my tone. "You two really are a match made in hell. You're both just as condescending, just as... as cruel!"
Her shrill whine- pure self-pity distilled down to its most aggravating-set me off like nothing else in the whole world could."I said, OUT!" I sprang to my feet and tipped the breakfast tray at her. She sprang back from the projectile and hurried unceremoniously from the room.
I collapsed back down to the bed and let the darkness swallow me without resistance.
Oh Vera…
I don't hate my poor, biddable sister anymore. I find it exhausting to despise someone for things they cannot control. She could no more improve her wits than I could grow wings. Her life had made her opportunistic as mine had made me ruthless… is it any surprise that we became each other's victim?
Only one person carries the blame for this: Galba-fucking-torix.
There's a reason that it is considered taboo to screw around with siblings: feelings will inevitably be hurt. The fact that all three parties in this mess shared blood only made it that much more despicable. It illustrated neatly to me where I really stood with Torix. If my "identical but different in every other way" twin was good enough for him, then he didn't give a single damn about me as a person. Or, gods forbid that he actually did care in his own sick way, he still cared more about himself. We were decorative objects to hang off his ego! Oh yes, it was easy to channel all my frustrations at Torix for almost every hardship I endured…
Except for one.
The next time I woke it was to voices. One was low and deferential; that was Harold again. The other's speech was eerily familiar, but in a very different way than Verra's had been. This voice was cold, deadly calm, and tinged with malice. I listened to their conversation.
Harold spoke first. "I would be happy to report to His Majesty and explain the current situation. The healers have said, in no uncertain terms, that she may not leave this bed. And so she shall not."
"You were not asked." The cold voice rasped against my ear, sending shivers over my over-sensitive limbs.
"Even so, with or without me the situation is the same. A day of rest at the barest minimum. A week would be better, but I dare not suggest a course of action to the king."
"Never that." The voice took on a scathing sarcasm that was very unique among those discussing Galbatorix in his own house. In fact, only one being in the city had the gall to speak so, though he had never before been allowed in my rooms.
"Good evening, Durza." I sat up and stretched theatrically as far as my pains would allow. "Sorry to see you still traipsing around. I thought someone would have put you out of your misery by now."
His skull-like face contorted into a mask of grotesque joy, but the blood-red eyes spoke only hate. "I could say the same, Your Highness. It seems as though your spotless reputation has been tarnished. I never thought the king would suffer a traitor to live."
"I suppose that I'm worth it," I quipped back. "What does he want?"
"You are to report to his study as soon as possible."
I sighed, "You may tell him I'll attend him presently. I have to dress, but then I'll be on my way."
"My Lady, the healers-" Harold's expression reminded me so much of Xanist; worried and doting.
Unfortunately for him, I had no mind to be coddled. "-know their business well, I'm sure. However, I have not the luxury of recovering in peace." I took my sweet time inching to my feet, having quite learned my lesson earlier.
"In that case, will you let me accompany you?"
Durza gave a disparaging click of his tongue, "The order was for the princess alone."
"Harold may be considered a part of my very self. He will follow me in case the journey is too much for me. After that, the king will decide whether he should stay or go."
-:- -:- -:-
The walk was not long, but it was slow as a geriatric snagli. Harold stooped low until he was the perfect height to be my impromptu crutch. "You know," I said nonchalantly as we rested atop the last staircase between us and our destination, "I think you're the only person in Uru'baen who's actually happy to see me."
Harold chuckled. "Not the only person, I'm sure. But it seems I have the honor of being the first to welcome you home."
I patted his arm. "And a warmer welcome I couldn't ask for, old friend."
He blinked. "Friend? Isn't that a bit too informal?"
"Not if I say it isn't, which I do. Besides, I don't have any other friends who would bicker with a shade on my behalf."
"I don't respect anyone who relies solely on intimidation to get their way, be they human or beast."
I fell into musings about my history with this man. For all his loyal service, I'd given him practically nothing; he had never even asked. "Then it's a wonder you still choose to throw in your lot with me." I smiled up at him. "When last I was here, I didn't act much better than a beast myself."
Harold tactfully avoided agreeing or arguing the point. "Next to Lord Durza, even Ms. Veronica is pleasant."
"Agree to disagree. Has she bothered you?"
"Only as much as she's bothered the rest of the staff. She is… how to put this.."
"A brat?"
Harold smirked.
"Well, let me apologize on her behalf since she will never do so herself."
"I will only accept on one condition," Harold said. I leaned in. "Never vanish again."
I giggled and shifted my weight back onto his shoulder. "You have my word."
-:- -:- -:-
Galbatorix didn't look up from his scribbled notes as we entered his office. I sank into a seat with Harold's help. The king glanced up and muttered, "You brought him?"
"He wouldn't hear of me going alone."
"He is dismissed." Harold squeezed my hand in solidarity and left as quickly as he dared. The scratching of Torix's quill overtook the space. So aggressive was his pace that the nibs often bent too far and sprayed ink down the page. He seemed to neither notice nor care, consumed by something churning in his head that was far beyond me. "You have not asked why you're here."
I shifted. "Would it really avail me to do so?"
He slapped the stripped feather down and glowered at me. "Have we not learned our lesson?"
I swallowed hard. I wanted so badly to be fearless, to be above his threats! But his unstable mental state created treacherous terrain for an already monumental task. "Apologies, Ebrithil. For what purpose have you summoned me?"
Rather than cool him off, that seemed to only make him angrier. "And still you ask the wrong questions. Allow me to enlighten you." He flicked aside his current page and handed me one beneath it. It was a list of names; familiar names. He recited them aloud as I read, "Amorth, Kialandi, Siyamak, and Eltereth. These are the casualties we have suffered in your absence."
I deflated. Amroth was a recluse and Siyamak was a pain, but Kialandi had been a kind soul. She was the one who used to patch me up when I was too weak to do it myself. It was her medical knowledge that had kept me alive through years of training. And Eltereth… I sighed. "How did it happen?"
"Amroth's exact cause of death is unknown, as is the time frame. We only found the wreckage the year you left, but his manor had been burned out some years before that. He and his dragon perished in the blaze. Siyamak overestimated his own abilities and died to his own spell. His dragon lay in a daze before finally succumbing to starvation. Eltereth and the two dragons in her care took their own lives a few years after your disappearance." Torix got to his feet and propped both hands on the desk. A terrible note of accusation bloomed in his voice, "And Kialandi went missing on her way to search for you. We found her and her partner slaughtered on the fringes of the Beors, likely due to Brom's meddling."
I shrank down as much as I could. He may not have said it outright, but there could be no mistaking his meaning: he blamed me, personally, for every single one of their deaths.
"And do you know how we managed to locate Kialandi?" He circled the desk, approaching far too close for my frayed nerves to handle. I tensed, hands shaking just out of his sight. "With Katana's shared memories."
I blinked.
"She insisted on accompanying Kia on her mission. But, given the dangers, I insisted she do something for me before she left." He held out his hands and spoke a few lines in the ancient language. A whole swath of air above his desk shivered and split like a seam. And visible through the tiny rift was a strip of deep blue light, swirling beneath a hard, faceted surface.
My stomach dropped. "No…"
Torix's sarcastic smile was the closest thing to pure evil I'd ever seen. "When I became your ebrithil, I gave the pair of you one rule that superseded all others. Do you recall what it was?"
I swallowed hard. "Survive."
He nodded. "It seems that you both failed that directive in some capacity or other." He spread the illusion wider until it popped. There, sitting on his desk, was a moderately sized eldunari. It was so blue that it was almost black. Streaks of pale purple flickered in its depths. "Your disappearance made her careless."
I felt like the hand of a giant was wrapped around my ribs. I'd coped with our prolonged separation; if anything, it seemed that Katana wanted a little space from me at the time. But that was when I believed it had an endpoint! When I left she was still furious. It didn't even occur to me that she would do something so reckless! "How long?"
"Eight years. She has been completely unresponsive in all that time. She reaches out occasionally in dreams to Shruikan, but always her words are insensible." He placed a hand on top of her eldunari. A pit of loathing hardened in my gut. "I asked him to reach out to her with news of your return, but it seems that she is unmoved by anything outside of her own mind."
I rose, unsteady as I was, and approached the desk. I placed my still-shaking hands on the irregular surface, vision blurring with tears. She was warm to the touch. Each facet was flawlessly smooth like glass. I brushed a tiny tendril of thought forward… Nothing. Not even anger or sadness. She was there, that much even a dragon can't conceal, but her mind was blank; featureless.
A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder. My eyes shot back open to regard the inky black ones mere inches away. "Be grateful that you have even this much."
So many emotions crowded inside me. There were still embers of pity for my teacher, but they paled before the inferno of utter loathing. And both were drowned by a flood of self-loathing and regret. I did this; as surely as if I'd killed you myself. This is all my fault. I only had to leave in the first place because I didn't listen to you, my friend. I lingered listlessly in Katana's mind, praying for the second time in only two days for some sign from beyond the veil.
But this time, I actually got an answer.
It was no more than a ripple of acknowledgment. She shifted her thoughts like clouds finally revealing a tiny shard of the moon, and left three words in her wake: it's a start.
It's really incredible how much can change in a decade. Even leaving aside the waves of death and madness that had wreaked havoc in my life, I was still stepping into a totally alien world. Nearly every major player at court had changed, most of my contacts had scattered or died, and I'd lost any semblance of authority I ever had. Add to that how I had been drained physically and mentally, stabbed in the back by my only surviving family members, and given the (well-deserved) silent treatment from my dragon's disembodied soul all in rapid succession.
But I couldn't afford to rest. Now that I'd lost Torix's affection, I'd also lost his lenience. I was expected to get back to work as soon as physically possible (a feat made even more cumbersome by his increasingly delicate temper). I needed to defend myself from every angle as thoroughly and quickly as possible… before I managed to blunder into an even greater disaster.
