TW: Brief mention of animal endangerment (the baby is ok, I promise!), reference to past abuses (no detail). After last chapter even I needed a pallette cleanser. Stay safe out there.

The incident that incited my ill-fated flight was, for the moment, an isolated one. Murtagh utterly refused to broach the subject and, as I had no more information than I had that first evening, I respected his wishes. I rather wonder now if he really grasped the depth and breadth of my fears; there are things that simply don't occur to people until their eyes are forcibly opened. It sat uneasily with me, but I knew catastrophizing would only make Murtagh more agitated. And besides; the contents of those conversations, such as they are, are better left private; they are not my secret to share.

I decided to attack the issue at its root: I made myself a safe space for any activities or questions for which the growing man would otherwise be tempted to go elsewhere. I let him drink with me (in a VERY limited way), I shared my hard-won wisdom freely and found excuses to join activities that would have otherwise excluded me. So long as there was breath in my body, that boy would never be alone. And… speaking of that grave oath, I feel it is now appropriate to directly address the man for whom this journal was originally created:

I will think no less of you if you choose to leave the remainder of my tale unread. The shadows I have re-lived up to this point are ancient wounds; long since healed. The things yet to come are still sore… for both of us. I ask that you take your time facing them; no good can come of rushing the process. Whatever awaits us in our tangled futures, I want there to be no doubt of my intent or loyalty. I swear to you, on whatever star you'd like, that your friendship has been one of the most precious gifts I have ever received. Take care, fricai; my words and I will wait for you.

Now, to the unpleasant business of describing life as Galbatorix's slave. It may come as a shock that, for the most part, my responsibilities were unchanged. The differences were insidious and never innocuous enough to ignore.

My oaths were much simpler than one might expect. The long and short of it was, "I must follow every order from Galbatorix to the peak of my ability." More or less, I'd lost the right to refuse any command. He followed this with several such orders- I was not to leave Uru'baen without his express permission nor enable the leaving of anyone else, I would come when called, I would answer any question honestly and completely, I would represent him well in public and private, I would not discuss private affairs (political, interpersonal, magical, or research-related) with anyone besides Torix himself, I would never use magic to harm, hinder, or otherwise inconvenience Galbatorix, etc, etc. I think the most unsettling part was when he ordered me to lay bare the spells I'd woven around my person: wards, cosmetic effects, bodily enhancements, everything! To enable this, he spent many hours embedded in a corner of my mind, pouring over every spell. Never again could I have autonomy of my own defenses. My most dangerous enemy had permanent access to them all. It's a bit like mixing a remedy for spring sniffles with deadly poison as the main ingredient.

Though extensive, the list of commands was much less strict for me than, say, for a foot soldier. Just as an example, grunts were expected to die in their line of duty should it be required of them. Galbatorix needed me to survive (for personal reasons more than practical ones, in my not-so-humble opinion). My appointed tasks often included giving orders, making executive decisions, breaking "laws", ending lives, and the like. I was allowed to rely on my own judgment and prerogative much more liberally than many of his other servants, provided that I continued to bring results and didn't buck my restraints too noticeably.

Not that I didn't try now and again.

As the tamest example, my orders prevented speaking ill of the king, but speaking of a "hypothetical sack of human filth that may or may not be a monarch" was perfectly acceptable to my mind. If an astute listener connected my words to someone they knew… well, that was hardly my fault! Ironically, my keenest source of hope for this whole mess was a conversation with a creature long since deceased: Idril. Something she'd said many years ago, "He's actually rather stupid sometimes."

Of course, this notion caused anxiety just as often as relief.

The cool stone railing of my balcony eased the warmth in my face. Beneath my lofty perch, Uru'baen rolled out in all her spectacle. The last of the lamps on the main thoroughfares had been lit, like drops of glistening dew on a web. And, at the center; a great black spider. The comparison had been made many times over the decades and each time it came closer to reality. Galbatorix hadn't budged from his stronghold in eight years- since Shruikan's deterioration.

It wasn't an issue of "concern" (the two were about as friendly as a robin and an earthworm) but rather of pragmatism. The dragon's imperfectly-grown body was reason enough to travel sparingly, but his failing sanity was the final straw. Shruikan would gladly cause irreparable harm if left to his own devices. Even Torix, with all his wiles and magical restraints, couldn't foresee every possible scenario. The massive skulblakan might be his most terrifying weapon, but he could very easily become a liability.

I wonder if he'll ever feel the same way about me. The satisfaction I got from the thought was fleeting. I knew better. Overall, I'd been too meek since my oaths to give him much grief… at least, that he knew of. The hardest part had been re-learning to think ; twisting every stray word to fit through the tiniest loopholes. My only advantage was that, either from habit or genuine deference, he rarely listened to Katana's thoughts directly. She was the last line of defense between my knowledge and his- and a fragile one at that. His goodwill was critical in keeping my last precious secrets.

I popped the cork of a fresh bottle of the Bramblebays' finest wine and tipped it back. Normally I would have stopped indulging by this hour and laid down to rest, but I was a-lite with nervous excitement for the next day's events. Torix had spoken little of the particulars, but I could tell from just his tone and energy that it was something of earth-shattering importance. That gleam in his eyes was as bad an omen as I'd ever seen.

I considered it an excellent reason to drink.

Katana hated nights like this. Over the years, my relationship with wine in particular had been… complex. My pragmatism never let me drink myself to senselessness; my demons never let me avoid the stuff for more than a day or two. While Morzan still lived, it was easy to point to him and say, "At least I'm better than that!" But, now that he was gone, the line between healthy indulgence and unhealthy obsession had greyed. Never was it thinner than on nights like this; when creeping dread overcame me.

I was so busy drowning my aprehension that I missed the first warning signs. I didn't relaize something was amiss until a consciousness slid past one of my wards. This wasn't unheard of- I had designed them so that no living-thing larger than a field mouse could trespass without my knowledge. Most often these were just night birds out hunting, a rodent looking for scraps, that sort of thing. But this mind was larger, fuller, and most decidedly humanoid .

I briefly considered standing to prepare for my unexpected guest, but the thought of such inconvenience weighed me down. I feel very strongly that this is an amateurish attempt at best. Still, better to be sure. I scryed my tower from an outside perspective, the image hanging like a sheer veil in the open air before my face. Sure enough, a blight of whiteness- something unseen or enspelled to be unseeable- was inching up the wall just beneath my perch. I fluffed a spot of my curls that looked rumpled from behind then slashed my hand through the image.

Unfortunately for the blob, it was about to wander over some of the ivy that crawled down my tower. I closed my eyes and slid into a deep enough meditation to touch the life force of the plant's roots. Ivy was energetic and eager as a rule- always excited to explore and embed. Let us test our guest's mettle then. "Eldhrimner." The stems closest to me practically vibrated with joy at the sudden rush of energy. New growth sprang up along the entirety of the plant; encroaching tendrils of life. But, the moment some of those vines found flesh instead of stone, their brethren rushed to assist them. A muffled snarl and a few thrashing snaps later, my little helpers carted their wriggling package up to the balustrade.

I peered at the intruder through the columns, trying in vain to place his face. One vine had wrapped itself tenfold around his mouth. He was sawing at it with his teeth as best he could. I sighed; this was already shaping up to be an irritating encounter. "Enough of that. If you make a nuisance of yourself…" On my cue, the vines pried their package away from the wall. Despite the lateness of the season, my garden was still bursting with luscious blooms that may well have broken his fall- if they weren't several stories below. "I would ask why you're here, but I have a hunch. No one breaks into a lady's room at this hour; save those having an affair or plotting an assassination. Since we're strangers, I am forced to infer the latter."

The glare and exaggerated thrashing were all the confirmation I could want.

I tilted my neck until some of the abiding stiffness popped out. "You're in for a long night." I reached for my clutch of eldunari; I was in no mood to be gentle.

An unexpected voice rang out from outside my door. "Lil?"

I snapped my roving thoughts back to my core. "Damn. Seems you and I will have to conclude our business later." I shoved a surge of power into the vines, weaving the aspiring killer into an immovable wall of foliage. "Stay. And keep quiet ."

My guest only growled. I took that for compliance.

I hauled myself up to my feet. "Coming!" The room tilted unpleasantly (My southern associates were correct about their wine's quality!), but I made it to the front-most door of my chambers without toppling over. I wrenched them open and waved my wanted visitor inside. "You should be in bed!"

Murtagh obeyed my gesture, closing the door behind him and rebolting it. I scanned his face for some sign of distress but, for the moment, he seemed unharmed. He held the edge of his shirt up like a kitchen maid carrying a hot pan. A cheesy, boyish grin spread over his face as he said, "I didn't know who else to ask." He lowered the corner of his tunic to show a quivering ball of fur.

I blinked at him with agonizing slowness.

He understood the gesture. "I know! But Lyreth tied bells to the poor thing and set some of his father's hounds on it." Murtagh offered a hand for the frightened creature's inspection. A little head emerged from the rest of the fluff- pointed ears pressed flat to its head and mewls so tiny they were more like chirps.

I sighed (for the second time that evening) and cupped a hand under the kitten. I could feel its warmth through the fabric, which was a good sign. Less-good was the distinct copper-twang of blood in the air. "Sit here on the ground with her; we don't want her falling. I'll send Harold out to see if any castle cats are missing a kitten or could support a fosterling. She'll need to eat to get her strength back up."

"Don't they just drink milk?" He was already on his way back to his feet.

I dropped a hand on his shoulder to stall him. "Not from a cow, unless you want to be cleaning up her leavings for the rest of the night."

He wrinkled his nose. "No, thank you. Do you think you can heal it?"

"That had better be a rhetorical question." I leaned over my writing desk. Letters, reports, sketched flow charts, a doodle of a tiny man hanging from a dragon's mouth, and a dozen other less-important documents scattered beneath my probing hand. Finally, I came away with a wooden stylus. I twisted a fistful of hair and stabbed the writing implement into it. "How did you manage to save her?"

"It climbed up one of the walls separating the training field from the kennels. I heard the howling, went to investigate, and it jumped on top of my head!" Murtagh swept his hair back to show teeny red lines where her barely-there claws had wounded him.

I giggled. "Animals have good instincts for people. She picked a decent protector."

"Well I wasn't going to hand it over to-... Wait. You keep saying, 'she.' How do you know?"

"Psychic powers."

"You're hilarious-"

"It's only half a joke. If you're very careful, you can examine the minds of even young animals. That's how I know she is a she, and how I know that one of those brutes managed to nip her back leg."

Murtagh stared up with the wonder of a younger, less-jaded boy. "Every time I learn something new about magic, I'm more and more resentful that I can't use it myself."

I fluffed his bangs back into order. "Be grateful that you aren't a mage. A certain black-clad maniac is always adding to his collection."

Murtagh crinkled his nose in distaste. "I think I'd rather be dead."

" No ." I cut him off so quickly and so forcefully that I surprised even myself. His puzzled look was funny enough that I managed to ease into an insincere chuckle. "Never that. Endings are so permanent- even suffering is preferable to surrender. Only one of them is temporary." I scooped the kitten into my luminous palm, stroking her fur with my other hand.

He sat digesting my words as I worked. Often he would sit just so; a master mason building a palace stone by stone in his mind. His left brow creased ever so slightly- he had no idea that his mother used to make the same expression when she was badly losing at cards. At last he said, "Lil, you could have just said that you'd miss me."

His assessment, though accurate, carried with it the dangerous weight of prophecy. I knew it was nothing more than a young man fishing for reassurance… and yet. "I considered it obvious. But, if you need it spelled out: I would miss you very much."

The glow of his smile chased away my misgivings before they could fully take shape. There was something wild in that smile: untamable, unafraid, unwavering. Against my will, an image of a very different man flickered in my mind. It is a shame he never knew the Morzan that I did. I think Mommy would have really liked to meet his son. I almost said as much, but luckily a little tooth poked my finger before I could form the words. I shooshed the kitten and busied myself preparing a cushion for her. Gods, has the wine loosened my tongue enough to say something like that? I couldn't find a better way to hurt Murtagh if I tried!

It would serve you right for over-indulging. The quiet, slinking voice in the back of my head was as much a nuisance as relief. Katana rarely touched my thoughts at all while I was inebriated; it was one of the few things over which we could never seem to reach a consensus.

If harm must come from it, I'd rather it be to me than to him. The poignancy and appropriateness of that thought felt like swallowing potash. I'd spent the last three years or so keeping Murtagh company, helping him here and there with lessons and new defensive techniques… but nothing I did could ever truly protect him while he still lived in Galbatorix's house. At the very least, I can never beone of the things that hurt him; I would die of the shame.

And this coming from the woman who just lectured an eighteen-year-old that, 'suffering is preferable to surrender.'

If we lose him, there will no longer be a reason for us to fight. The euphoria I got from accepting that grim thought was better than any liquor. My mind stilled, content to drift unresisting on the waves of despair. Peace was so difficult to come by that I was sorely tempted to sample her more devilish sisters: torpor, lethargy, inaction.

There are three eggs yet unhatched.

What concern is that of ours? Even if they hatch, you and I know perfectly well that the race of dragons is doomed. Galbatorix is an unkillable bastard. The Empire will remain a hellscape for the rest of our unnatural lives. The elves would rather cut out their tongues than shelter us, and I would rather do the same than ever put myself at the mercy of the dwarves or Surdans.

Then we will find a way to rid ourselves of Galbatorix.

For a third time that evening, I sighed aloud. Katana… I've just been fighting for so long. I'm so tired. Katana pulled away at my words. That recoil was more painful than anything she could have said. Forget it. The only thing that matters now is keeping Murtagh safe.

My loving, lovely, imperfect partner curled her thoughts protectively around mine; as much in compassion as apology. Then that is what we must do.

Another needle-like pain yanked me from my thoughts. My passenger was digging her itty bitty claws into my skin, coaxing herself to jump from my hand to my bed. I lowered her perch over the mattress until she could easily step down. Her tiny feet sank into the blankets like quicksand.

Murtagh half-crawled onto the bed, knees on the floor and head resting level with our intrepid explorer. "I've never wanted a pet."

"Past tense?" I sat where I'd normally lay and propped a leg up to keep the kitten from roaming too far. Murtagh mirrored my precaution with his arm on the other side. "Should we be picking out names for her?"

"Not now," he rolled his eyes, "it would just make her even more of a target."

A pang of agony caused my heart to beat out of sync. I skirted its root cause and instead asked, "Lyreth and his ilk?"

Murtagh shrugged as if it didn't particularly matter, but anyone would have seen the narrowed eyes, the subconscious frown, the way his shoulders drooped. It was hard enough to find your place in the world as a young man, let alone as an orphan who was ostracized from birth. It was a minor miracle Murtagh had turned out, more or less, decent . He would gladly give Tornac all the credit, but I knew it took remarkable strength and care to stay kind in a cruel world.

"There will be plenty more kittens that need a safe haven. Perhaps the next one will find you in more favorable company."

His reluctant smile eased the guilt and disquiet even more than my brooding thoughts. "You'll probably have to help me with the next one too."

"I will always help you."

-:- -:- -:-

I bundled Murtagh off to bed shortly after Harold departed with my unexpected feline patient. Speaking of unexpected guests, there's the matter of that intruder. I meandered back out to the balcony, tipping the last mouthful of wine over the side. Some of it was caught in an updraft, spraying back on the would-be-assassin. How many times I wore that same mantle. I wonder if Torix would have mourned if I'd met a similar fate.

The ivy-bound package whined from his impromptu bath. "Kuasta." Perhaps a little too roughly, my vines deposited their load at my feet. I leaned over the balcony, staring until my vision blurred to nothing in particular. "You have no business being in this trade if you couldn't escape that trap. I've neglected you for hours."

He was so relieved to be breathing freely again that he paid no mind to the single vine wrapped around his ankle. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were sorry for me!"

I chuckled. "And, of course, you know me so well? A bold claim from a stranger intent on ending my life."

He swallowed hard, throat croaking with the force of it.

I shook my head in self-reproach. All my cruel intentions were long gone; a pleasant side effect of Murtagh's visit and Katana's return. "It was a noble who sent you, wasn't it?"

Silence.

I sighed, deeper and heavier than all the rest combined. "Between your sub-par skills and lack of reinforcements, they can't be very well connected. I would guess one of the minor lordlings whose estate borders the plains northwest of Gil'ead? There's been some debate over boundary lines in that region."

Again, no answer.

I poked an icy needle of thought into my captive's mind. He was remarkably capable in this arena, but he never really had a chance. Exactly as intended, the information I sought had been brought to the front of his thoughts by my hypothesis. The face of his employer materialized as clearly as if he'd been standing before me: Duke Emissan of Ceunon. He'd grown a patchy beard since his debut and subsequent marriage, though he still cut a rather handsome figure from certain angles. Rumor circulated that he'd been producing more children and grandchildren than his estate could support; hence his interest in south-eastern lands. I withdrew from the man's mind without further intrusion. "How banal. Even worse, it seems he's lost whatever good-sense his aunt planted in his head. Are you personally invested in or sworn to this endeavor?"

"No."

"Then he's more of a fool than I thought. Slytha ." The final vine went limp. My prisoner got to his feet as fast as he was able, dusting off his clothes and watching me like a wary street hound. "You work for me now. In the city below there is one who can shelter you and point you toward your new coworkers."

"And if I refuse?" Now that he wasn't convinced he was going to die regardless, an edge of bluster came over the young man- for he was most certainly even younger than Murtagh.

I pointed a finger up and leaned it pointedly down to the garden below.

Another noisy swallow. "Right then." He scrubbed a scarred hand on his trousers and extended it to me. "Nice to meet ya, boss."

I finally turned my full attention to the new recruit, though I didn't bother to accept his gesture. "You can call me Viper."

My little family of vagabonds became my most potent source of rabble-rousing after Torix tied my hands. Sure, I still couldn't order them to defy the king on my behalf… at least, not directly. Felice moved the whole operation to Uru'baen itself- a massive undertaking that took us the better part of three years. She affectionately started calling me the "Aunty" of her found family, even as she was the mother. [This soon became a very literal title: she and Monty had Sonic and little Vapor, then Wolfy and Sugar had Briar. My two assassin acquisitions became good friends, taking on the monikers of Venom and Cobra respectively. Other petty thieves joined their ranks in smaller capacities, and their hideout began to feel quite homey indeed.] The tenderness wasn't totally one-sided, but I always kept a healthy distance between us. Even so, we were well attuned to each other and she was able to understand even my vaguest instructions quite admirably.

My little rebellions seem miniscule on the grand scale, but they raised my spirits and came in very handy. I was still able to slip aid to the Varden, but only sparingly and with decreasing insight. I was able to conceal information from Galbatorix, so long as he did not ask for it directly. Most interestingly, I was still able to argue with him unless it was forbidden in the moment, which he rarely did. He rarely interfered in court machinations- he cared little for the petty power games, so long as the status quo remained. But there was one arena in which he allowed not a single hair to be out of place- his research.

I reported to his study in the dimness of autumn pre-dawn. My head was pounding from my poor choices the night before, but at least I was punctual. I'd cleaned up and thrown on a dowdy grey shift tucked into patched black trousers- it was wisest to wear unstainable clothing in Galbatorix's presence. A bowl of lukewarm porridge rested in the crook of my arm as I pushed in the door.

I nearly dropped it when said door collided with someone else's shoulder. A dribble of the stuff smeared onto the left sleeve of the much taller figure. He wore fine black fabric that held the musty scent of ancient places and dried blood. I raised my gaze to meet the narrowed, blood-red eyes of none other than Durza.

"Bar the door, and stop gaping like an imbecile." Torix- ever an early riser- was as put together as he ever was, a ream of neat papers stacked in front of him. "As you have already seen, there's an extra set of hands for our prep work this morning."

I kicked the door with my heel and slumped into a chair. "No offense intended, but isn't having him around just going to make any magic more difficult?" Shades as a rule were unpredictable beasts- and none was ever more troublesome than Durza. In the near-century we'd both worked alongside Galbatorix, I had never collaborated directly with him. On the few occasions we had crossed paths, it was almost always an unpleasant experience for both of us. So far, this time looked like it was unlikely to be the exception.

Durza's lip curled up in disgust as he wiped at my breakfast with a handkerchief. "If you can't keep pace with the grownups, you're welcome to leave."

I half rose out of my seat, but Torix's glare froze me. " Sitja , Lilleth. I'm in no mood for your usual humor."

I leaned back as ungracefully as I could. "I wonder if 'stay' in the ancient language and 'sit' in our tongue share etymology." I dipped the bowl of my spoon into the sticky, plain porridge and forced myself to swallow bite after bite. If my ebrithil was in a serious mood, I'd need all the energy I could get.

Torix rolled his eyes with an indulgent smile. "You're in the right frame of mind. For, indeed, it is etymology of the most difficult kind that awaits us today. Hence why I have gathered the three most capable mages in the Empire."

I glanced sidelong at Durza. He stared at me like a stray piece of lint on his dark robes. "If we're the best you've got, we're up shit creek without a paddle or boat."

"Fascinating as that visual may be, I would kindly ask that you never venture to repeat it." The shade adjusted a ring, a gold and ruby band with a lighting crack down the center. The crack itself had been filled with a rich black material I couldn't recognize, but the ring was instantly familiar to me nonetheless. "Especially once your guests arrive."

I was so absorbed in studying the ring that I nearly missed his last words. "Guests?"

"I was just getting to that, thank you Durza." When it came to dealing with the shade, Galbatorix had a truly uncanny talent for making politeness seem condescending. Expectedly, the target of this tone sank into a high-backed chair with all the smoldering rage of a leashed god. Torix continued, "Today we are going to take a risk larger than any I have deemed necessary before. You-"

"Riskier than sharing lodging with Amroth or food with Idril? That's frightening." Torix frowned and stared at me. I raised my hands apologetically. "Sorry. You were saying?"

"...You and I will be the ones actually executing the magic required, Durza is here to consult on our preparations."

My looming dread (the source of my hangover) bloomed like a rose. "You mean to attempt sorcery with more than one mage? That sounds like an excellent way to get us both killed."

"Actually, if all goes well, only you will be in danger." At my incredulous expression, Torix quirked a smile. "It's a simple security measure. But first, a repeat of a lesson I hope will be familiar to you. Why was sorcery strictly monitored amongst the riders?"

"Because the creation of a shade bonded with a dragon, or-worse- a dragon who was themselves possessed, if that's even possible- would probably spell certain doom for any creature incapable of fleeing their rampage." That was one of the first things I'd learned on the subject of sorcery: NEVER attempt it without a series of safeguards more stringent than for any other discipline of magic.

"And what were the practices imposed by the Order in an attempt to prevent this?"

"The caster may not be in physical or mental contact with their dragon. The summoning must be undertaken with the supervision of at least two Elders or, in the case of an Elder casting, peers. Their cause must be deemed worthy by the Council of High Elders; implying too that all other avenues of pursuing the objective are exhausted."

"And, even under such circumstances, permission was rarely granted. In my brief tenure with the Order I only knew of one case, and that was overseen by Vrael personally. Sorcery was treated with the utmost secrecy and severity; anyone who disobeyed these tenets could be stripped of authority, banished, imprisoned, or even killed if their intentions were foul enough." It had been a long time since the business-like, serious, and subdued tone of my teacher had intruded on Galbatorix's flights of fancy. It was as if a ghost of the past was holding court in a body long abandoned.

"And our objective meets such criteria?" I fought the urge to scoff. After I'd learned the basic principles involved, I'd never been tempted to use sorcery for anything . Not even during my trek from the Beors had I reached that level of desperation.

"It does." He splayed his hands over the pile of papers before him. They were more lined and scarred now than they had ever been, but the light in his eyes was as bright and frightening as ever. "I have exhausted every conventional avenue of research. After decades of searching and multiple excursions, there remains no physical trail connecting modernity to the Name. Thus; we must confine our search to the metaphysical."

Durza sat forward, a blaze of interest overcoming him. "Then, may I presume that you have found the right question to ask?"

No phrasing could have made me more uncomfortable. Of the methods and styles of sorcery, one in particular intrigued and terrified me equally- communication. Subjugating spirits, while difficult and dangerous, was a straightforward process. But to have communion with an entity who'd been called against its will, had no discernable language, and could reweave reality on a whim…. That was a daunting prospect indeed. "Why would you believe that a spirit even possessed such information?"

"The specifics are immaterial. To grossly simplify, Siyamak and I uncovered another monument; identical in almost every way to the one I discovered with Morzan and you. The only difference was the text inscribed on the wall. This one told a tale of a fearsome creature with, 'hair and eyes of frozen blood.'" Torix flicked a pointed look at our guest. The shade nodded as regally as one accepting some great praise. "It is my belief that this tomb's resident slew a shade, though they may not have called them as we do."

"So… we're not just trying to summon a spirit; but a specific set of spirits that may have once possessed an ancient sorcerer and might have some insight into the Name."

"Correct."

I set my empty bowl up on Torix's desk and scrubbed a hand over my face. "And you have the nerve to say all of this as though it were easy."

"Not at all. If this were a simple thing, I wouldn't need either of you."

Durza leaned forward. "You can't call them so specifically; even an adept sorcerer can do no more than cast a net and work with whatever may wander within it." He seemed agitated by the very concept. Something that disturbed a shade was surely better left alone! "And any spirit that has already been so ensnared will be even more unwilling to cooperate."

"I inferred as much, but it is some small comfort to hear it echoed by our resident expert." Galbatorix made a small note on the top piece of paper. "My question for this first ritual is as follows: how might we contact the spirits who once occupied this specific shade?"

I felt the energy drain out of me at the word, 'first'. "I assume that I won't get a say in any of this?"

Torix scowled. I half expected him to strike me- it wouldn't be the first time. But, to my genuine surprise, he lowered himself into his chair and eased the tension from his shoulders. His distant and clipped tone melted into the bitter-sweet music of his best beguillement. "Lilleth, we cannot have any distractions today. You and I must act as one mind: no ego, no hesitation, no resistance. You are my hands in this; I'm counting on you."

It was my turn to fight the urge to strike him. Of course, my oaths would never allow it… but the fantasy flourished in the safety of my mind. I said, "Keep your seductions for someone not yet wise to them. As I've already said, you're not really asking. Since I cannot refuse, my only chance of survival is to ensure success. For practical reasons, you have nothing to fear from me." Privately, I added, today.

The smallest narrowing of his eyes mismatched the crooked twitch of a smile. I wondered at it, but it was gone too quickly for me to even be sure I'd seen it. "Then let us begin."

-:- -:- -:-

I hadn't felt so calm in many moons. My heart beat at a methodical, sleep-like tempo. My breathing had eased into an identical pattern, flowing through me without conscious effort. I'd eaten and drunk exactly enough for my body to be at perfect ease. Every muscle was relaxed to slackness. My mind was a mirror pool occupied only by the series of preparations I'd labored to memorize through the whole day; the casting itself and the information we wanted clarified.

"I believe that's as much good as you can do, Durza. Ready yourself for a journey. Whether this venture ends in failure or success, I will have new orders for you once it is over." Torix's voice was normally enough to unnerve me in and of itself but, in this state, it simply washed through me like wind through grain.

"Unless you're both dead." The obvious relish Durza put on the idea was more humorous than threatening. No one else had the nerve to speak so to Torix's face; or, at least, no one among the living.

"Well, yes, in that case, you'll be free to do as you like. Either way, we are not to be disturbed."

"Of course." The heavy, metal-banded door closed with nary a snick. "Lilleth?"

I allowed my eyes to droop open. The room we now occupied was a familiar one; unpleasantly so. And yet, it was easier to remain in that floaty, perfect stillness in this place: the Hall of the Soothsayer. Shadowy corners blended so well with the dark stone walls that the room felt circular despite its octagonal construction. I knew that the ceiling above me was crossed and lined with a mosaic of colors. I knew that a room just down the hall held more wicked implements of the torturer's trade than any other singular structure in Alagaesia. It was in this room that I had learned to both keep and extract secrets; to become unknowable. The Hall was also the farthest a person could be from both the palace and the civilians; deep within the very bones of Uru'baen. If the worst were to happen here, it would give my accomplice the best possible chance of… amending the situation before anyone got hurt.

In an excess of caution, I needed to conduct the summoning myself. Galbatorix may have been a shit king, but he was still the absolute monarch of the Empire- irreplacable. I also considered it wise that the one whose dragon lacked a physical form took the risk. And, perhaps most importantly, Galbatorix already had more than one bound spirit in his service- his protections would only be dsitracting and dangerous during an interogation. But, since he was the only other caster capable of joining me, he absorbed both of the responsibilities accorded to overseers. The first was simply to contain the sorcerer and the spirits within a semi-permeable barrier. The second (less savory) task was to execute said sorcerer if they lost control. Only the most trusted comrades were ever given such a task. Though it had never been necessary to my knowledge, it needed to be done precisely and without hesitation.

Should I fail, it would be Torix plunging a blade through my heart.

That unsavory thought gave me even more motivation to succeed. "We shouldn't dawdle." As comfortable as the cushion I'd brought was, I could only sit cross-legged on the stone slab for so long before I'd start experiencing distracting discomforts.

Torix fell into a rhythmic cadence. I knew the barrier's limits despite not seeing them- we'd talked through the process a hundred times and more. When his voice faded into silence, I reached into my own store of magic and began the summoning.

[ This is one of the cases in which I will not reveal the spells involved. With my luck, some hapless novice will stumble upon this journal and release an abomination out of carelessness or malice. Yes, that even applies to my ever-clever junior student; sorcery is not to be trifled with. If I have not managed to teach him that much, then I have truly failed as a tutor. ]

The hardest part of this process, at least for me, was the anti-climax of the spells' completion. A modicum of strength trickled from me, but far less than one might expect. The minutes crept by in agonizing silence. It was like I was tied by an invisible thread to a falling anvil, and I had no way of knowing if it would strike the bottom of the cavern with a crash or yank me to my death in its wake. I could only wait to see if my prey would take the lure.

And then, a tug at my soul; a great force trying to pluck me like under ripe fruit. I latched onto the sensation and drew it closer, the delicate dance of hook and fish. It wasn't clear yet which end of the line I would end up on, but I would find out all too soon. A whistling like steam trying to escape from within a stone filled the Hall. I heard Galbatorix draw in a breath, and then the whistling grew to full on screaming. Just before my sensitive ears reached their limit, a sharp pop cut the maelstrom back to crushing silence.

The darkness in front of me had changed . It was both darker and closer; tinged with red and metal and resentment. The patch of unreality wavered at the edges, shuddering against the bitter restraints I'd placed upon it. I withdrew my lure, rested my hands on my knees, and said, "Stage one: complete." Galbatorix's shaky exhale was the only hint I'd gotten all day that he was nervous about this scheme. Strangely, I was glad that he put some weight on my survival: that was a good sign. "Commencing stage two."

"Steady."

I lifted my hands, palms up, toward the globe of wrongness. It bulged and flickered in agitation. I spoke aloud, more for my own focus than to actually communicate with my unwilling guest. " Mor'ranr; eka weohnata neiat haina ono . I have one question, and then we may part ways."

To my surprise, the spirit pulled inward on itself, a denser cloud but also less ferocious. I let my hands float up slowly, as if the gesture were an inevitable movement of the universe instead of my own will. In the last moments before I entered the spirit's space, its visible form snapped out and fully enveloped my hands. For half a moment it burned like lightning. Then, just as quickly, I lost all physical awareness. The consciousness, if the word could even be applied, was as intangible as the creature itself. It floated through my barriers as easily as it had the walls of the Hall; as if we existed on separate planes. Despite the phantom nature of the touch, it was enough to communicate a thousand thousand sensations.

In the chaos, I saw only flashes- flights with Katana, the eldunari's hellish thought-scapes, an explosion like sunlight on an island far away, a great lake of liquid stone; glowing red.

I tried desperately to control the flow of information in the direction I needed. "An ancient shade, long before humans or elves stepped foot in Alagaesia."

My guest was old enough to consider both of those events quite recent. An alien, lush landscape rolling off into foreboding mountains. In a time before time, the Beors were the southern border of a paradise! Delights and horrors beyond my fragile comprehension rolled through me. The spirit coaxed me; urged me to embrace them!

I held firm in my interrogation, clarifying the breadth of time in question with some constraining nudges. The spirit still refused to obey, warping and twisting it's visions to something more likely to distract me.

Clear as my very own memory, I saw Galbatorix's body crumpling at my feet. He was bloody and broken but not yet dead. I knew that I had the power to keep him on the edge as long as I pleased. I saw ghost-white hands lifting him to his knees and knew them to be my own. I felt joy like euphoria; the only path to freedom lay through surrender-

It would have been a fair attempt at overpowering a less-trained mage. I redoubled the flow of energy between my hostage and I. The light behind my lids flickered- bright and blinding as a flame. "This shade was slain by one of the grey folk; their killer was hailed a great hero and entombed within the Hadarac." Every source of stimulus, visual and mental, went black as death. I remained calm and still, though the sudden absence of sensation sent painful prickles of an all too familiar panic down my spine.

A new vision asserted itself before my dormant pain could resurface. A city completely unknown to me, with architecture not seen in Alagaesia for thousands of years. And then, carving the horizon like four great claws, the black peaks of Helgrind. I sensed a pulse beneath the city; the great twitching consciousness of another spirit- restrained even as this one was now.

It was obvious, even through our communication barrier, that my subject wanted its fellow freed.

" Eka weohnata ach thornessa, nen elrunan wiol allr ono kenna. " I spoke and thought the words, pressing them to the forefront of my mind.

The burning/tingling jolted up my arms and spun three quick circles around my head. I shuddered, but the touch was anything but unpleasant- it felt like rejoicing, like music made physical. The spirit lifted my pendant in its wake, twisting it twice and half again until the weight of it rested on my back.

I coaxed the entity to the fringes of my control. In total contrast to its initial reaction, it flitted eagerly to the outskirts of the barrier.

Through a tear-choked throat, I managed, "Stage two complete."

In synchronization not possible for any but the most attuned casters, Galbatorix and I released both spells. The spirit was gone faster than either of our eyes could register; a wisp of stardust returned to the void.

I turned in place, smiled my assurance, and toppled into blackness.

-:- -:- -:-

I awoke in a dreadfully familiar place; Galbatorix's quarters. It had been many years since I'd rested comfortably in this room; or anywhere within a hundred miles of that man. But, as if to spit in the face of all my caution, the bedding was exactly as downy-soft as it has always been. I was sore and spacey, but not nearly as tired as I expected to be. Happily, I was still dressed like a vagabond; even my boots were firmly laced.

My teachers sat expectantly on a stool. In the dim lighting of late evening, he reminded me of Lady Halstead at her dying husband's bedside. If I do ever shuffle off this mortal coil, he might be the only person who bothers to mourn me. That was a deeply sobering thought; only my enemy knew me well enough to miss me. And Murtagh.

And me! My partner's voice was unexpected after a day of its absence, but quite a welcome surprise. The last time I thought you lost, I gave my life trying to bring you home.

I'm sorry, Katana. I swear I did not forget you; I only considered it impossible for me to fade while you remained. It was simple truth; I would no more submit to death while Katana needed me than she would allow me to die.

The high praise mollified her somewhat. That was a damn reckless plot. I'll be glad if it's our last encounter with spirits.

I doubt it- this one only directed me to another of its kind.

Wonderful. Katana's thoughts quieted to a low hum; nature's first lullaby.

"You lived." Torix's humor was more forced than I would have expected.

"News to me. Though, I've been told that I'm quite difficult to kill."

My [abuser/captor/keeper/mentor] placed a goblet of cool water in my hand. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow we will discuss the next stages."

"Dras Leona." The city's very name felt like a prophecy of doom. I knew he would understand my blurry thoughts; he was the one who had warned me about the place.

"The disciples of Tosk may possess the next lynchpin in this puzzle. However, it is imperative that they never become aware of this fact."

"A mad cult with one of the most versatile magical tools in history; truly a frightening thought." My mind, still half dreaming, conjured a less pleasant notion: But would they be any worse than a mad tyrant?

As if he could hear my thoughts- indeed, as if we were still companions- he said, "At least I don't want to feed every human to the Ra'zac."

I fought a sarcastic smile. "Only the ones you don't like."

He laughed (an eerily carefree sound considering its source) and pulled the duvet up over me. "Rest, finiaril. Sassing me won't bring your strength back."

I didn't want to stay in his bed- the connotation alone!- but the thought of moving more than an inch was exhausting in and of itself. In my last moment of consciousness, I mumbled, "It might."

It may sound bizarre to anyone else who has known him, but the trading of harmless insults was the friendliest Galbatorix and I ever were- it kept him calmer than any other form of interaction. I think it was in part a simple matter of nostalgia; our closest period involved us communicating in almost pure sarcasm. Pristine politeness was tantamount to insult; an attempt to put distance between us. Softness was criticism, aloofness was treason! In a sense, he wanted me to pretend to be his friendly enemy or an antagonistic friend.

As if I needed any more proof of how deeply he was grieving Morzan.

Of course, the irony of mourning a man while plotting the abuse of his son is not only confusing and deranged, but disgusting in every possible way. Nothing in this world can coax me to forget or forgive that fact. I played along to his face… but Galbatorix was permanently dead to me the moment he laid a hand on Murtagh…. But there will be time to discuss these things all too soon.

For the moment, I had an unpleasant task looming before me: a dangerous and covert trip to Dras Leona. And I would be undertaking it in the most unpleasant company.

AN: Everything is fine! Pay no attention to the chaos behind the curtain!