My relationship with Uru'baen as a whole began to reflect the ties between my family therein; distant and listless. For one thing, I was so out of touch with the politicking that I was worse than useless at court. Alliances in such a place can shift from one week to the next, let alone a full decade. Never mind my new… estrangement from Torix. The royal court revolved around his favor and I had just been put so thoroughly out of his good graces that I was socially deceased.

It was a convenient benefit that I had plenty of spare energy to pit against my enemies. Silton was just the current incarnation of a much bigger problem. In my absence, my former allies had been unable to stall Balor's total dominance in the underground. His affairs in Teirm were especially troubling for me; it was and still is one of the largest ports in Alagaesia. He hadn't just gotten his products into the streets; he'd put nobles in his pocket; laid hands on the government itself. Ousting him from such a comfortable perch would have been difficult with Galbatorix's support… but without? Impossible. Thus the crux of the issue: how to solve Felice's problem permanently?

Lucky for me, one of my family members actually had solutions ripe for the offering.


My fingers tapped the paper before me uneasily. Row after row of uninspired schemes stood like mocking splotches on my already dingy reputation. What a state I'm in! This used to be my job; my specialty! Now I can't even figure out how to cow a gang of unruly thugs. I pressed down hard and crunched the worthless page in a fist. If I can't handle this, I have no business staying in Uru'baen at all. I'd be better off moving in with Robin and raising cattle.

Nonsense. You're terrible with animals. Katana slipped her thought between mine, cutting off the self-deprecating thread. I still don't see why murder isn't the answer?

I thought you wanted me to be a better person!

I think whoever ends Balor's enterprises would be a very good person.

I smiled, even through the frustration. That was always an option (if a ridiculously dangerous one). Balor's real strength came from his ludicrous personal wealth, skill with people, and horde of lackeys. In a one-on-one confrontation, I was certain I could best him. Torix had placed the eldunari I'd enspelled back into my care and I was definitely the stronger mage. But Balor was not to be caught lacking. He was a ruthless fighter in his own right and, more critically, Beren was never far from his side. Together, those two were almost as deadly as Morzan. As much as I would enjoy that, I think it's beyond my skill. Unless I run into a considerable number of lucky breaks.

Unlikely for you.

My point exactly. I tossed the ball of paper into the fireplace and scooped up my pen with renewed energy. There's a solution to this, I'm just not seeing it! I tapped the tip of the stylus on the page. A blotchy blume of ink spread over the latticed surface of the paper. I stared at it, prying at the edges of my brain for inspiration through the fog.

Nothing.

I stood up from the desk and paced around my room. I laid upside down on the sofa. I changed out of my day clothes into a light weight green hunting frock. I downed a glass and a half of wine. And still, my brain felt like sludge marinated in stupidity. I'm going for a walk. Are you coming?

No. I like spending quiet time with the others. She caressed one of the eldunari's thoughts. Since her own bodily death, she'd spent a lot of time ruminating about the enslaved dragons. In many ways, she felt more akin to them than she did to me.

I severed our connection with only a trace of sadness. I had no right to begrudge her whatever comfort she may find. Really, I was so relieved to hear her voice again that I cared little what we spoke of. But I knew too that she still hadn't fully opened up to me, not yet. But I would likely be just as guarded, were our positions reversed. I tucked my concerns neatly into a box. It would be pointless to fret at them endlessly, especially when I was supposed to be working.

I slid quietly out of my rooms and soon out of the castle entirely.

-:- -:- -:-

The cool air of the garden proved the best cure for my troubled mind. I never traveled with guards anymore- if anything, the added attention would only put me in more danger anyway- and the quiet darkness revitalized me. I perched up on the ledge of a gazebo, drinking in the breeze. Perhaps the solution lies not with Silton nor with Balor, but somewhere in between. If I cause enough havoc in his middle-management, he'd have to sort it out. But no, that too is only a temporary solution. I circled the problem a while, plucking at it like a vulture harasses a fatigued morsel.

But then something moved in the darkness.

My right hand slid into a fold of my skirt, plucking a needle-thin blade from the fabric. Why would an assassin be looking for anyone important out here? If I'd been followed, I certainly would have noticed it before now. Unless I really have lost my touch, in which case I thoroughly deserve a dagger in the back.

The shape, now clearly a humanoid figure, moved again. It traipsed unsteadily in front of a glowing window before turning onto one of the garden paths. Something bothered me, though it took a moment to understand exactly what. Which window is that? Isn't it one of the sitting rooms in the guest wing? Those windows are large, and this mystery man's head was in line with the highest pane, even at a slouch! And then the figure's real identity wasn't so mysterious. What the hell is Morzan doing out and about at this hour?

Curious and hungry for a distraction, I replaced my little blade and vaulted off the ledge. It wasn't difficult to track the big man's progress through the walk; he wasn't making any effort to conceal it. He hummed a discordant tune; the harmony to one of the shanties he and Formora used to shout in the old days. He finally came to a stop near a two-tiered fountain with a marble horse rearing on a plinth in its center. He plopped on the edge and yanked the cork from a dusty bottle with his teeth. I was about to turn away- drunk Morzan can be a dangerous creature- but I severely underestimated my old mentor.

"Quit skulking, brat. You want a show, come pay admission."

I swallowed hard and emerged into the moonlight proper. "It's been a long time, Mama."

He bared his teeth in a gross approximation of a smile. "Too damn long. We thought you were dead."

I shrugged. "Just on the inside."

He brayed and lifted his bottle in amused agreement. "I'll drink to that! C'mere and have some. Drinking alone sucks."

I sat a few feet away from him; just close enough to accept the bottle when he offered it. Briefly, as if it floated up from a distant dream, I remembered staring up at a massive giant as he lowered an identical vessel to my unprepared hand. "You always know when I need a distraction."

He snorted and stretched out along the fountain's edge. "Don't flatter yourself, kid. This is how I always greet people."

"Not a kid," I groused, taking a deep swallow. It was strong stuff, though still wine by the loosest definition.

"No chance I'd ever see ya' any other way." Morzan kicked off his boots, rolled up a pant leg, and dangled one foot in the water.

I chuckled. "Apologies if this is strange, but I find that comforting."

"Gross. Save that shit for someone who cares."

I kicked his dry foot and handed back the bottle. "What's eating you tonight?"

"What isn't," he said. I only had to stretch out the pause a second or two before he jumped back in. "Alright fine, if ya' want to be nosy, it's Daddy."

"You and Torix are fighting?" That was a first. Sure, they bickered from time to time… but never anything serious.

"Have been for about six years now." He tipped the bottle to his lips, sucking down four huge swallows before coming up for air. "Ever since he brought back the slave trade."

I felt sick. Of all the Riders failings, one of the greatest things they ever did was to outlaw the trade of human beings as property. Now Torix had undone even that? "But why?"

"Dragons," Morzan said dully. "Everything he does these days comes back to the dragons. I tried to tell him that we could secure the borders with men alone. Hell, I even offered to patrol it myself! But he just insisted that it would never work; that we don't have the manpower to enforce the law. So, instead of recruiting more soldiers, he changed the law."

"That's ass-backward! Won't he see reason-"

Humorless, rumbling laughter erupted from Morzan. "Have you fucking seen him? You've tried reasoning with him?"

My hands went stiff and cold. "Yes."

"Went over like a cloud full of lead, didn't it?" He kicked his submerged foot, splashing the center plinth all the way to the top of the horse's head. "There's no talking to that motherfucker anymore."

I leaned toward Morzan in acknowledgment. "So what can we do?"

"Jack shit that matters." He sat up, extending the bottle again. "Stay numb, try to live with ourselves."

I sighed as powerfully as I could, deflating all the air left in my body. "That's not good enough." My hands started to ache, and I realized too late that they'd tightened into fists.

Morzan examined me intensely. He was so often out of sorts, inebriated, and feigning disinterest that most people weren't aware of this side of him. His dual-toned gaze was clever, intuitive and unnerving. "Hey, cut the bullshit for a second."

I blinked. "What-"

He held up a hand, nearly as large as my whole head. "I know."

"Know what?"

"I told you to cut the fucking bullshit!" I leaned back from the outburst (it was wise to keep on ones heels around a drunken Morzan). But he dropped the heavy limb onto my leg; a reassuring pat. "How are you holding up?" When I tilted my head again, he rolled his eyes. "The break-up."

Blood rushed to my face. Fuck, I forgot he even knew! "Right." I rolled my shoulders uncomfortably. "Good riddance."

Morzan lifted a thick brow. "You're over it?"

"You have no idea." I forced out a laugh, though it came out as more of a wheeze.

"Don't I? That's my husband you're talking about."

"Well, yeah, but that's a joke," I trailed off, "isn't it?"

Morzan said not a word. He just stared at me, barely blinking. I saw things flickering behind his eyes; terribly familiar things. Sorrow, pity, betrayal, pain. And this was the man who'd been at his side since the very beginning; the one who'd joined him in a hopeless fight when no one else would. The man that helped him steal Shruikan, gather the Forsworn, fight the riders. Their friendship had, quite literally, outlived an empire. And here he sat, wallowing in bitter listlessness because of that very same friendship.

I set the bottle aside. "Morzan… you don't… you can't still-"

"Of course I do." He didn't hesitate, but there was no joy in his voice. "I'm not like you, kid. He's all I've got left. If I lose him," he ran a hand through his hair, "nothing will make sense anymore."

"That's not-"

"I don't expect you to get it. You're young, you still have time to change your legacy. But me?" He spread his arms. "I've already sold my soul for him. No sense abandoning him now."

"Even if he abandons you?"

"I promised him forever, unconditionally. I mean what I fucking say… even if he doesn't." Morzan reached across me, scooped up the bottle, and drained it. Then he tossed it into the darkness.

I shook my head uneasily. The tinkle of shattering glass roused a mole from it's hiding place. The creature scurried across the moonlit walkway, a little lump of fur. I dipped a hand into the cool water of the fountain. It wasn't exactly clean, the whole bottom of the pool was slick with algae, but I didn't really mind. In the dimness, the growth seemed impossibly dark and deep; an emerald void that could swallow anything that strayed too close. Morzan's submerged limb seemed to float on the precipice of oblivion; just beyond the reach of infinity.

That was really incredible wine.

I shook off the odd musings. "Mom, let me ask you something." He grunted, so I continued, "What do you think of Balor?"

"He's a cunt." My mother turned frankness into an art. "Bastard has always been smug and uppity, but he's gotten even worse since Daddy took the throne."

"Want to help me knock him down a peg or ten?"

He turned his head toward the statue. From that angle, I could only see the [darker/lighter] of his eyes. But, even beneath the shadow of his heavy brow, I saw a spark of life again. "I'm in."


Another man with whom I have a very complicated relationship.

Morzan was a jackass to the quick. But he was also a really incredible friend to have (better than some people deserve). It's more appropriate to think of Morzan as an especially antisocial hound. He had a gift for violence and no real qualms about hurting anyone who strayed into his path, but he was loyal- beyond a fault!- to Torix. Without that guiding hand, he probably would have lived a normal life as a rider. But after nearly a century of murder, madness, and heavy drinking… any dregs of his soul that survived his initial breaking were lost in the darkness. He never did anything especially heinous to me beyond those early years, but that was purely a matter of chance. Besides, Torix thought I needed a more "personal" touch.

He proved very insightful when it came to the handling of Balor. The fact was that all my knowledge was second or third hand, where Morzan had worked alongside the man for decades. He had a wealth of information on his habits, weaknesses, hopes, fears. Balor lived and died for a very simple goal: wealth. His first and only love was gold. Even his dragon was bronze in color, she was a literal living treasure. It was her wits that originally propped up his success. As her sanity waned, so too did his profits. Add to that his marked reliance on his own products… he was well and truly vulnerable for the first time in his "career".

As to actually executing the operation, I was still missing a crucial piece: trustworthy pawns.


Antebellum looked older.

I couldn't deny my petty satisfaction. Her oceanic eyes had little creases at the corners, her rosy cheeks had filled noticeably, and that mischievous grin was bracketed in smile lines. The exquisite gown in a lavender brocade had been tailored to mask her weight gain and imperfect posture. And yet, she was still magnetic! If anything, the subtle signs of aging only made her seem more regal, more established, more… confident.

As soon as she glimpsed me at the edge of the drawing room, she sat up sharply. Three other women, each of them much younger and less beautiful, turned fully around to look at me. A flicker of irritation vanished behind a sickly sweet smile. "Poppets, we'll have to carry on another time. Leave the grown women in peace now, shoo! Off with you!" She tapped one of them on the back with her hand fan, flicking it out and tittering. The three scooted from their bench awkwardly, like lambs that still hadn't found their feet. Two of them scurried off without even meeting my eye, but the last- a petite blonde somewhere in her early teens- remembered to curtsy and even favored me with a meek smile. As soon as the door closed, Antebellum patted the settee and whispered, "Were we ever that witless?"

"We?" I grinned. "I never had the luxury of playing the fool. But I seem to recall a young woman many years ago who enchanted all the court just by batting her eyes and feigning idiocy."

The little fan came down on my thigh without a second's hesitation, like she'd expected the rebuke. "It's no picnic, playing the featherhead! One is woefully incapable of escaping banality." She snapped at a servant nestled in one corner and gestured to the remaining spread of tea. "Rid us of this and bring something fresh. You still prefer herbal blends over real tea?"

I waved a hand. "I don't have time-"

"You haven't much choice, I'm afraid. I've just said that I've been stifled in mundanity, my dear friend. Your company is the only cure, and it is the price of my assistance."

I blinked. She really has settled into her own. "Who says I came to ask for help?"

She pursed her lips and lifted her thin brows in a blistering reprimand. "I do. And why shouldn't I? It's the only reason you ever visited me before; why should it change now?"

"I can't refute you, though I confess I'm a touch embarrassed."

"If it's as serious as all that, then you may join me for tea in penance." By then, her capable manservant had carried in a tray laden with elegant china and froofy yellow cakes. I took three, just to be safe. Antebellum accepted her cup and nestled back into the low sofa's cushions. "Excellent. Now, tell me everything that you can. I'm starved for interesting gossip!"

I started on a- thin and meatless- retelling of my adventures. I fed her with some of the tales from Hrama's shop; she was a fiend for fashion and gossip alike, and she devoured the meaningless morsels rapaciously. Of Makhek I said nothing, and I was equally circumspect about the details of my imprisonment.

She waved me off when I reached the end of my travels from the mountains. "The rest of the tale is known to me, at least as much as I'm sure you'd like to share."

I swallowed. "How many know?"

She chewed her fifth cake thoughtfully. "It's hard to say. It's being said that those old rumors were a cover for your service as the king's personal assassin. Then your absence was the real cause behind a string of suspicious deaths along the southern boarder. Surda actually set a half-dozen spies to the capital to investigate the truth of that, though they're all dead now. Others say that you've returned from seclusion after giving birth to a child with hooves and a single curled horn. My personal favorite version is that you'd wandered between the threads of our world and landed upon another!"

I felt like breaking things. Did I really expect the court to have changed? Oh yes, the names and faces may shift… but the games are just the same. And their empty gossip-mongering. "I'm sorry to report that not one of them strays anywhere near the mark."

"Pish," Antebellum replaced her emptied plate on the tray with a gentle tink, "the truth matters only as much as who knows it. As it stands, no one but you and His Majesty knows all, and I doubt…" Her words died in her throat.

I leaned forward, suddenly just as greedy as she had been.

She swallowed and pointedly flicked her eyes to her servant. Without a word, the young man bowed respectfully and exited the room. She sighed and tapped a nail on her fan. "I doubt that our king takes much note of the threads he holds... if you follow."

So his condition has become so noticeable that it is freely discussed in court. That alone spoke volumes. When I'd stood at his side, speaking- even thinking- ill of the king was done very carefully, if ever. If it had become so commonplace, so casual, that even I could hear it, then things were beyond serious: they were nearing a tipping point. "I haven't seen much of him since my return." Even agreeing with her [which I obviously did], I wouldn't dare speak the words.

"There are even some," she continued very quietly, "who were relieved to see you returned to Uru'baen."

I set my half-full cup next to hers. "There is little I can do as far as politics-"

"No, dear, I mean to say," she leaned closer, dropping her rich voice as low as possible, "it is a comfort to them that a suitable heir is on hand."

I blinked at her; scandalized, shocked, and deeply uncomfortable. "Whatever might ail the king, he's sure to live many more centuries."

"Some would consider that a great pity."

Naked treason, spoken to the king's own family. What a miserable state of affairs. I tried to laugh off her insinuations. "The court loathed me then, and I'm certain the feeling has not changed so drastically in only a decade."

Her eyes widened as she opened her fan, hiding her discrediting expression. "Pardon the candor, but it seems not to be a surfeit of love for you. Rather-"

"Loathing for him." I completed.

She paled and searched my face nervously. "I won't insult your intelligence so long as you return the kindness."

I leaned my head back and stared out the top pane of the drawing room's window. King. I never aspired to it; Torix had no real need of a successor. We always knew that, if he ever were dispatched, it would be in a (likely very bloody) revolt and any claim I might have would be forfeit anyway. And besides, I doubt his governors would accept a woman. But if not me, then who? Would anyone with half a wit back Morzan or any of the other forsworn? And, should they do so, would I really sit back and let our people fall into their hands? More than a few nobles have ambition enough to be King… but none of them have near enough personal power to make it so. Doubtless, they'd only back me to pursue the crown via matrimony. But, once crowned, which of them would dare try to force me into marriage?

I blinked away the blurry daydreams. Antebellum pretended not to notice my lapse, adjusting one of her many silver rings. I cleared my throat and said, "I am far from that fate if it even is mine." I nudged her foot playfully. "But, if you've a mind to a coup, I have a much less deadly one in mind." A blind man could have seen her spark of interest. "I need some agents to act as my eyes and ears on the ground in Teirm. How many of our friends are still active?"

She groaned theatrically. "No more than a half dozen. And, sincerest apologies for this, I moved most of them to Aroughs to work on my behalf."

That struck me as odd. "Trouble back home?" That was exceptionally rare for the masked lords. Their function was to work in tandem with their host city; one purpose divided between two bodies. If Antebellum lost the favor of her sponsor, she had less power than the meanest commoner.

Her pretty lips contorted in a frown. "My working relationship with My Lord's heir is tenuous at best. Unfortunately, the spring fever came strong this year and he took infection in the lung. He's unlikely to see another winter."

I sat up straighter. "What's your next move?"

She tittered, exactly as playful as she'd been when she'd sent off the girls only a few hours ago. "I don't like to think of it as a game, with plays to calculate years in advance. All of this- you, me, our enemies and friends- we are dancers on a great stage. Those who rely on meticulous choreography inevitably fall to the fickle crowd. But you and I, we survive because we can improvise. My next pose may be incidental, decisive, or the one that finally lays our noble house low, but I promise you this," her impassioned speech had her flushed and breathless, her little white teeth bared in addictive excitement, "it shall be glorious."


This bitch has my heart by the reigns to this very day. Not many people can pull off "eccentric lady on the cutting edge of both society and sanity" with such panache. I don't trust her, nobody ever should, but I like working with her. Old age in Uru'baen is a badge of pure skill, and Antebellum has earned every stripe. I am grateful to have her on my side… and infinitely more grateful that there aren't any more like her (or I would be out of a job).

This leaves our teams assembled as such:

An old, vacuous, self-serving, over-indulgent, miserly disgrace to humankind, his childhood friend; a pedophilic cretin with a hygiene deficiency, and a seemingly endless supply of his employees (with wildly varying degrees of nastiness).

Arrayed against:

A disgraced princess, an alcoholic savant with anger management issues, and a misfit bundle of informants gathered by an eccentric socialite, and a young thief with a big dream.

It was time to go to war.