TW
Referenced/implied incest, Discussion of a rebel attack including deaths
Stay safe out there, folks.

It was impossible for me to even feign enjoyment of a ball. This "farewell gala" fell a bit flat as, according to the rapidly shifting weather, most of the minor nobility had already fled for warmer roosts. Only the career politicians remained— and we were all thoroughly sick of one another at the best of times. Given the current political climate (a powder keg of conflicting interests, as usual) there was little chance of making new friends.

But, for Murtagh's sake, I dredged up enough interest to show my face. First off, balls were one of the few times he actually had some success interacting with his peers. Second, he enjoyed the other amusements much more than did I. Third, he was not yet pinioned to Galbatorix's elbow, as I must certainly be. Fourth, Tornac was not typically invited to such things— his standing, though elevated by skill and service, was not fine enough to share company with the upper class.

Oh if only they knew who else shared their air that evening, then I may have had something to enjoy!

"Hands down, and stop fidgeting!" I slapped Sugar's wrist with the flat of my fan. She had always been a lovely girl but, after a few hours of Harold's genius, she was exceptionally beautiful. She protested humbly that she didn't quite have the figure she once did since the birth of her son, but the burnt orange silk brought all the glow of youth back to her. And besides, Sugar's best attribute was charm itself. She reminds me so much of Kialandi.

I can't picture Sugar becoming a physician. Katana was situated once more in her intangible space; prepared to spend the evening peeking through my eyes at every bit of tedious drama.

I agreed. Or scholar of any kind. She's clever, but not particularly smart. Kialandi had the advantage of grace and wit.

And yet she remained unmarried! What could have been wrong with her…

I accepted my partner's implied teasing good-naturedly. I already said that she was intelligent— what better reason can there be to avoid matrimony?

A loathing of men?

Or a preference for women. While it was not true of Kialandi, it most certainly was true of me. I'd been unlucky in that regard— none of my very few companions had ever shared the interest. Unfortunately, I seem to only attract the most naive or the most dastardly of men; and nothing at all of women.

I think you're too picky in both. Mating doesn't have to be such a commitment—

It does for me. I've no interest in being vulnerable before a stranger— let Galbatorix take the lion's share of that particular folly. And he most certainly did, much to my constant humiliation.

"It's no use!" Sugar was already fiddling with her overskirt again, fluffing and re-flattening it to lay as smoothly as possible. "There's just so much extra fabric! Where is it all supposed to go!"

Harold politely made himself known and touched her wrist with all the grace of a courtier. My faithful and unparalleled servant may not have the speed or ease of his earlier years but, after eight decades in my employ, he had better manners than most nobles! "It is meant to be wherever it happens to be in the moment. High-born ladies are never out of sorts. However you might appear, you should have the confidence of the most perfect person alive."

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly as I sifted through a jewelry box— I was still lacking my usually pendant. "Quite so. I recall one time I had to enter a spring masquerade in my traveling clothes. I decided to lean into the bit, wrapping on a black mask and pretending to be a bandit prince. It was a rather gay evening."

In many ways.

Hush, you.

"I'm not as confident as you are." Sugar moaned, twirling her fingers about themselves until they looked like a knot of wriggling worms.

"Then fake it!" Felice emerged from the closet looking like a completely different woman. She had aged far less gracefully than Sugar; her wide frame had filled out to be quite round in every direction, her hair was streaked with grey, and the joints of her left hand had stiffened permanently at a crook. And yet, she had all the authoritative presence of a leader— though perhaps not the fanciest one. "Confidence is a lie we tell ourselves until it is believed! If you can keep that mutt of yours in shape, then you can pretend to be a lady for one night."

"I still don't see why they are pretending to be nobles while I am their servant." The voice emerged so suddenly that even I gave a start. The speaker moved with such silence that he could sneak up on death itself— hence his acquired name presuming he was dead already. Ghost, still sickly thin and pale as ever with straw-blonde hair, was dressed somberly in the suit of an attendant.

"So as to not put all our eggs in one basket." Sugar neatened his collar. He was a bit older than her boy, but she enjoyed tending to him.

Felice hummed. "Jewels the size of eggs!"

I sighed and flipped my box closed. "Thank the gods I don't have to present any of you. I'd be frightened for my very life if I were your chaperone or tutor."

"Your vote of confidence is appreciated." Ghost bowed low, posture and bearing perfect for his assigned role.

Harold parted a gauzy drape to view the garden. "I hate to interrupt, but we're running short of time. My lady, is there anything else you require—"

"Not at all. Do your best for these poor sods; I should attend Torix before he gets himself into trouble."

"A pointless goal, but I wish you luck in it nevertheless." Harold inclined his head and went back to his preparations.

Unfortunately, the beautifying of my sneak-thief allies was all the enjoyment I was destined to get from the evening. These affairs were, first and foremost, business events. And my business had recently been intruded on by a very unwelcome surprise: competition.

My duties as Galbatorix's spy master were greatly reduced since the bad old days, but I was still by far the most trusted and useful asset in that arena. (Trusted in the "thought capable" usage here, not in literal "have good faith in their intentions" manner). So imagine my rancor when I found that, under my very nose, Torix had employed a much lesser asset to that effect! The man was still a mystery to me, though I had ways of resolving that.

Within the hour, I was already three glasses deep and weary to my bones of the same three conversations on loop. Even standing at the king's side, I was still rarely included in conversations with him. The tedium looked to be never-ending until a familiar figure broke the crowd and approached me.

"Darling, don't you look a treat!" Antebellum was well and truly an old woman at last, and she was clearly enjoying every moment of it. Her gown was still tight-laced and padded to perfection, but she seemed as comfortable in the construction as she would a dressing gown. Her snow-white hair was bound up in a less-than-humble array of flowers and pins, most of which were a deep black. Even her gown had trimmings of black, and a sheer veil covered the top half of her face— the signifiers of someone in the latter stages of grief. She extended a lace-covered hand to take my elbow. "I insist you pay me the compliment of absorbing my latest gossip— the room is simply ripe with it this evening!"

I was certainly more keen on listening to her than to adorning Galbatorix's vanity. "I would treasure the opportunity, my oldest and dearest friend."

She scoffed and playfully smacked my arm. Anyone else would have been arrested for even half as much presumption. "Spare me! You're even older than I am. Just because you're blessed with that eternal, ethereal beauty—"

"You only say so because my face is unlined. Were I to age as a human should, I would look far worse than you."

"Flattery is always welcome, my dear, but false humility only flatters the speaker. In any case, you should join my card table in the greenhouse— the rest of my company is dreadfully dull."

Antebellum's unsubtle attempts to steal me away garnered the attention of my escort. Torix leaned to the nearer side of his seat and flashed an easy, coy smile to the lady. "You would not dare deprive the room of your company, Charlotte."

She tittered like a girl— exactly as her grandmother had at a similar flirtation over sixty years before! "Your Majesty, I'm afraid that our conversation will have nothing to interest the intellectually stimulated. I am seeking plain and silly fun this night— can you fault an old woman for that?"

"I would not dare." He gave me the vaguest nod of his permission— without which I couldn't have moved anyway— and returned to his other conversation. "I ask you don't detain Lilleth o'er long."

I gritted my teeth against the urge to complain. A party with him in attendance was anything but fun for anyone. "I'll return as soon as I've satisfied Lady Antebellum's curiosity."

"Oh please, I've never once been satisfied!" She pulled me off the dias without further ado, nearly forcing me to skip to keep pace with her. She was still strong and fit— quite the accomplishment for a noble lady pushing eighty!

I regained enough composure to ask, "Is that why you're at a gala when you should still be in mourning?"

She huffed. "I miss him no less for having a bit of a dance and gossip. My late husband wasn't exactly the brightest, but he was a sweet old thing— biddable and manageable. Precisely the kind of man you should look for, if you ever decide to lower yourself to our norms."

I managed to keep the distaste off my face, but not entirely from my reply. "Who would have a bride older than his grand-dam's mother? No, I will be a bachelorette for all eternity— and glad of it."

"A spinster you mean!" She deposited me into the— notably quiet and cardless greenhouse. "Unless some of those old rumors are to be believed and you've actually had lovers aplenty in the interim."

I cackled— quite unlike a princess. "I'm content to let them believe it so— better than some of the other slanders they've concocted." I re-fluffed my skirts, relaxed onto an ottoman, and threw up a cursory ward against eavesdroppers. "Now, tell me everything about this spy-master and his spawn."

-:- -:- -:-

I emerged from the greenhouse in a bit of a head rush. Katana noticed the agitation and asked, Is it as bad as we feared?

Worse. He's hired on some nobody or other— a slimy man that I trust even less than Torix himself! And he has a daughter, a few years younger than Murtagh.

That sounds dangerous.

I'm sure it is. On a hunch, I scanned the room for all three characters in this potential drama. Sure as a sunrise, Murtagh was trapped in conversation with a young woman perfectly matching the description I'd just received. I hate that Torix hid this from even me; it speaks to a loss of station and influence in his eyes.

Maybe they are a safeguard against you in particular?

Don't insult me; he would need the forsworn back from the dead to save him from me.

Then I must still insult you; that is the only alternative I can think of.

I altered my course to ensure it passed by the pair in case Murtagh needed a way out. In any case, they're our problem now.

My instincts paid off and then some. Murtagh all but leaped in place when he caught a glimpse of me over the girl's shoulder. "Li- erm, Your Highness!" I hated him using the title, but it couldn't be helped in public. "You still owe me a dance! I've improved greatly since the last time I had the honor."

I blinked once and hid my mirth behind a mysterious grin. I could almost feel the disappointment pouring off the poor girl. She's either madly in love with him or desperate to include him in a plot. "It would be difficult to do otherwise! You have but to ask."

The matter was settled in a few more hurried pleasantries. I lingered in their conversation (though I suspected it was much more interesting before my interjection) until the young woman found an excuse to extricate herself. I saw the telltale tightness in Murtagh's shoulders— attentions that shameless made him very uncomfortable, especially from someone he scarcely knew. "Thanks."

"No thanks necessary; though I do expect you to return the favor if ever I need it."

The current tune came to an end. After a moment's rest, the musicians struck up a calmer, mellower piece. Murtagh bowed low— the bare minimum for a well mannered gentleman, and offered a hand. "May I have this dance?"

I accepted his hand and drew him into the proper posture, on full autopilot. "Try not to stand on my feet this time?"

"I'll do my best." He hesitated a moment as he rested his hand on my waist. Before I could process the moment, we were swept onto the floor.

He'd more than improved. The last time I'd "danced" with him, his head didn't quite reach my chin! Since then, he'd grown almost a foot and his shoulders had broadened. The trace of in-exactly shorn stubble grazed his chin and his hand was rough in mine. Every trace of the awkward, shy boy I knew so very well melted away as soon as he settled into the steps. He was an exemplary dancer— it seemed that his near super-human sense of rhythm translated between skillsets. It was so with Morzan as well. On the few occasions I saw him dance, he was graceful as any debutante. I shook the distraction away: I had to pay much more attention to the steps than I was accustomed to— it had been many years since I'd bothered to actually dance at a dance!

He's actually managed to surpass me at something! Do I tell him, or let him figure it out?

As it turned out, my commendation was thoroughly unneeded. Once the music flourished to an end and the smattering of polite applause had coaxed the musicians to their first rest, Murtagh turned to me with a confident grin. "I don't think I've ever outpaced you at something before!"

I accepted the boast with an indulgent curtsy. "Quite so. But, before you brag too much, you should very kindly consider that old ladies like myself don't typically get involved in the sport of such occasions. Why, even effervescent Antebellum is roosting comfortably on the fringes with the rest of my juniors."

His joy faded minutely. "Even you sound like a different person entirely. It's like everyone is suddenly afraid to speak without a script as soon as they enter a ball."

They are, I thought. Aloud I only chuffed him under the chin, "Your gift for frankness sets you apart; see that you never lose it."

Murtagh's spine suddenly stiffened to his most formal posture. I knew we were being approached by both a very particular nightmare— no one else could evoke such a response. Sure enough, my dance partner bent at the waist until his torso was parallel to the floor. "Your Majesty."

I pivoted to face Torix with an openly sour expression.

He bid Murtagh rise with a gesture, watching him with the precise scrutiny of a jeweler. I knew that intensity too well— no one who'd ever received it from this man walked away whole. He adjusted his black opal ring and said simply, "Lord Barst was just recounting a most amusing story about you and some of the other lordlings. Were you all truly caught attempting to steal from his orchard?"

Murtagh seemed to go both paler and pinker at once. "Yes, Your Grace."

Torix tutted theatrically, but there was no particular reproach in his expression. "I'm sure it was quite the misadventure. The gods only know how many similar outings your father and I undertook, in the more innocent years of our acquaintanceship."

It took every bit of manners in me to keep from cackling again. Everything about it was absurd: Torix approving of rule-breaking, Morzan ever being innocent, any of their heinous atrocities being on par with stealing fruit! I managed to say in the polite pause, "I doubt Morzan was ever caught by anyone— he could run like a demon when the urge was upon him."

Torix chuckled at that. I knew we were both picturing the same event. Morzan fell asleep in a scalding hot bath. Gildor and Formora— in a rare moment of affability— worked together to move man and tub both out into the snow-coated yard of the mountain estate. He'd jolted awake just in time to avoid freezing solid, then sprinted back inside like a murderous jackrabbit.

Perhaps there were more innocent times after all.

Galbatorix dusted his palms, an old habit of harder-working years. "I noted that you've never joined the evening parlor receptions that follow these affairs."

My gut twisted. On the surface, he was doing no more than hinting at an invitation to enjoy an evening with the established noblemen— the kind of privilege not typically afforded to teenagers, regardless of rank. But I knew too that it would be the kind of affair I could never infiltrate, where Murtagh would be stuck in close quarters with Torix for hours.

The very thing I needed to prevent.

"I find that, after a ball, I'm too tired to do much more than sleep." Murtagh's evasion was tactful but quite obvious. "Besides, Tornac is too strict to risk sleeping late."

"I'm sure he could forgive if you absent yourself for one lesson—"

Here I found a window. "How rich! And this coming from the man that had me doing pushups in the dark while wasted on Dwarvish mead!"

That seemed to amuse my old mentor even more than my first interjection. "At least you were less drunk than your training partner— Morzan drank three times what you did."

"Precisely! With such layabouts as seniors, should we be encouraging poor Murtagh to pick up our bad habits? What a waste of potential that would be!" I patted Murtagh's shoulder like he was a promising horse in a joust. "There will be plenty of time to laze about drawing rooms once he's older. For now, let him keep his work ethic."

Torix was a fair bit less amused by my doubled protest. He would likely have expressed as much, had not a rich, sing-song voice called out Murtagh's name. The young man begged leave to exit the conversation and apologized profusely to Galbatorix before weaving back into the crowd.

I cringed. A pity that the only way to save him from Torix is to leave him with her. I rolled my shoulders. To my horror, I spied a quick glimpse of Torix's eyes; dark, dangerous, and glued to Murtagh with an intensity that made me ill. On pure reflex, I rested my hand on the crook of Torix's arm.

He stared down at my fingers like they might burn him— oh the irony. The silence grew heavy between us; heavy as it had been many decades before…. When we'd made an unforgivable mistake.

Katana… I have a scheme, but it's a dangerous one. Will you offer your consent?

That depends.

I took a step closer to Torix, tugging him forward just enough that he would not be perfectly balanced. "How many years has it been since you tried to dance?"

"Try?" His incredulous offense was exactly what I sought— he couldn't stand being thought incapable of anything. He took my hand without making a formal request… not that I could have refused if he had. "After what I just witnessed, you shouldn't be so accusatory."

"So you were watching the whole time?" I teased, dropping my voice to a whisper that only he could possibly hear.

His dark eyes narrowed as we twirled. Other couples gave us plenty of space— none wanted to risk so much as brushing either of us. That gave us plenty of additional privacy for him to breathe back, "What's your game, Lilleth?"

"It's no fun to ask for the answer to a riddle. But, then again, I guess I shouldn't expect you to play along blindly." I gripped his shoulder a little tighter, purposefully pressing a spot I knew often pained him. I added a trace of bemused innocence to the whisper. "I find parties like this to be dull as death— though this time I am grateful for the tedium. It's given me plenty of time to think, and I've recalled something of import between us."

Galbatorix was as passable a dancer as I was. The difference was that, for him, his conjured grace was a matter of some concentration. This too was by design— he was a difficult man to distract. "Dare I ask?"

"That's twice now that you've spoiled my fun, but this time I shan't relieve you." I let the next few strains of music pace out my taunting. "You had nefarious intentions behind that invitation, did you not?"

Torix seemed thoroughly surprised by my candor. "You're quick to think ill of me."

"You so rarely give me reason to think anything else—" I broke off my teasing as the dance dictated a brief separation of partners. I turned a shoulder with a smirk, very much goading him into either an explosive argument… or something more dangerous still.

Katana caught up to my scheming. I hate everything about this… but I think I understand why. Is there no other way?

None that are as likely to succeed. I wouldn't even consider it, but I'm very sure that Murtagh is in danger if something doesn't distract him.

Is there no one else who can play the martyr?

None half as well. And besides; he is my burden to bear, not Murtagh's.

I disagree on the core of the point, but I can't think of a better conclusion.

If you do, please let me know before it's too late. I rejoined his hold with a scripted twirl. Even in the context of a dance, it was maddening to put him at my back— between his height and the arm curled around my waist, I would have little recourse if things turned dangerous. "Do you deny it?"

"Why bother; you would only call me a liar. But what bearing could that have on your ponderings?"

"You swore me an oath many years ago, in that garden over there. Do you recall it?"

He unfolded his arms, spinning me to face him. His expression had morphed from playful to agitated in the span of that single turn. His hand on my waist was firmer than it had been. "Lilleth, there's no need to gloat—"

"But I so rarely get the opportunity! And I'm quite sure you've regretted your words since then. Recently, I've had much cause to think through the particulars of oaths in the ancient language. Yours, though grandly romantic at the moment, had some far-reaching consequences, did it not?"

His stony silence was all the confirmation I needed, but he tightened his fingers on my hip for good measure.

"You may not even raise such matters to me, nor trouble me with them in any other capacity." I knew too well how much that must wound his pride— he felt entitled to everyone and everything. To have even one thing, that had once been freely given, permanently out of his grasp… it must weigh heavily on his ego, if nothing else. "Is that why you've been acting out so brazenly?"

"Do you seek to hold me accountable?"

"Not at all— gods know you'd never take accountability, even if it were shoved down your throat." I contrived a quick twirl, mostly to get his bruising grip off of my waist. When I returned, I had the most saccharine grin plastered on my face. "I, at least, learn from my failures."

His whole bearing had transformed since the piece had begun. His shoulders were taught, back pin-straight, eyes burning through me like they hadn't since that fateful night. To his (minimal) credit, his voice was still level and quiet. "What could these two subjects have in common, I wonder? Surely you are aware that no such limitation exists for Morzansson."

I swallowed hard. Clearly, his interest in that direction was more marked than I'd ever realized before. I tasted bile… but I had no doubt now of what direction to take. "He is unavailable. And besides," I closed the minute gap between us— resisting the urge to recoil from the heat of his body and the off-beat scampering of his heart. "Would you not prefer more stimulating company?"

As expected, suspicion and amplified tension nearly broke Torix's concentration for the steps. I coaxed him with a quick nudge of my foot, but he was only following the motions. "I seem to recall someone's preference for death over such a reunion."

I sighed, about as subtly as Morzan ever had. "Truth? I'm bored. I told you then, there isn't a man left in the world that could interest me for even a moment. You and I, for all our differences, are uniquely compatible in that regard."

"Scandalous talk, for a lady."

"A blessing then that I've never been much of a lady." I all but purred the words, tossing on the carefree guise of a younger, more ignorant version of myself. "Though you're forbidden from requesting such attentions… there is no probation against you accepting them, should they be offered." The overly formal wording tasted odd, considering the subject at hand. But I dared not— and, truthfully, couldn't have stomached— being any plainer.

The crease between Torix's brows disappeared. That familiar, loathsome, cat-like smirk unfolded like a dusty pennant on his thin, dry lips. He leaned in, as close to my ear as propriety allowed, and in his most unique and melodic voice whispered, "Nothing could have shown your hand so brazenly as this."

I stiffened in his hold, fully prepared to push him away. "A simple no would suffice—"

Unfortunately, he persisted with a soft chuckle. "It would be… imprudent for me to refuse— I am not too proud to admit it— but I can't let you think yourself too clever. I never knew just how much you cared for the boy."

I hadn't expected to go unnoticed, but I was hoping his ego would make him slower in realizing it. I rolled my eyes and tapped a nail impatiently on his shoulder. "Then you're twice the fool I thought you to be. He's the only friend I have left in this world."

Torix mirrored my eye-roll unconsciously. "That was inevitable— you two were fated to be close from the moment of his birth. As it was with his father and I."

"Should I start calling him Mommy?"

That actually got an unexpected, genuine snort of amusement from my dance partner. "I think you'd mortify the poor boy, but I would like to be present if ever you do." Before Torix could complete the query, the music ended with a fantastical melisma. Those who wished to exit the floor did so. I offered the expected curtsy and tried to join the drifting group, but a firm grip on my wrist stopped me. I glanced back. An impossible mess of masks and emotions flickered on Torix's face— he could no more have translated them than could I.

I slid my fingers beneath his and pried them, unresisting, from my skin. My voice was subdued and resigned as I murmured, "Midnight?"

He gave a stately nod and wandered back to his customary seat.

I snagged another glass of wine and floated in the general direction of Sugar's latest mark. Even the antics of my friends weren't diverting enough to ease the dread of what I'd just offered to do. I promise to block you out completely, Katana. There is no need for both of us to endure this.

My partner expressed her knot of conflicting emotions as wavering colors. You could let me shelter you from it?

As touching and tempting as the offer was, I daren't entertain it. I wouldn't be much of a distraction if I wasn't wholly present… but I thank you nevertheless. You may want to separate now— I have some serious medicating to accomplish.

Katana, pitying and disapproving at once, acquiesced.

I trust I don't need to explain how and why this action was 1) so unpleasant and 2) so necessary. I had little enough left of dignity or shame where Torix was concerned- he'd taken every scrap of it long ago.(I hadn't known, or at least forced myself to forget, just how many of my problems centered around Galbatorix's perversions. His strict, cruel, controlling tutelage, Anthony's doom, his unconscionable attentions, his violent fury when he thought himself scorned, the shameless manner in which he comported himself around Uru'baen, and finally his fixation on Morzan's ghost (and/or the living embodiment of the same). In the end, I was willing to take whatever path was most effective and caused the least harm… to everyone but me.

Self-destructive tendencies aside, there are other nuances to this that must bear expounding.

I'd actually realized this little detail long ago, right around the time that Veronica disappeared. He'd definitely been "nicer" in his own unpredictable, violent way. I assumed it wasn't a sudden outpouring of regret and affection- if he ever had access to those emotions, he certainly no longer did. And then it struck me: he swore an oath. Not a fancy or even particularly strict one, but no less binding.

It also put an extra bit of horrible foreboding on his hunt for the Name. With it, he could release anyone from any oath they ever swore; even himself. I'm not so vain as to assume that this little mess was even in the first thousand matters of import to him, but it very quickly vaulted into just off-center of my anxieties (for, I hope, obvious reasons).

Above even that, of course, was what would befall Murtagh once I no longer had any leverage against Torix. I could only grasp at every wile and scheme to postpone it as long as possible… while I still could.

The unsavory business began and concluded with little ceremony. He was everything he'd always been and worse. Even at his most demanding, I'd never had to compound that difficulty with the internalized horror and disgust of his very existence. The unfortunate truth was, though I was no maiden, I'd never lain with someone I loathed.

The experience gave me a new level of pity for my gender as a whole— sex was treacherous enough when it was rewarding, let alone when it was only misery!

Still, I survived the ordeal as I had every other unpleasant thing before it. After the fact, I dragged myself into a sitting position and stretched. "You need a hobby."

A bemused chuckle emanated from the darkness at my back. It made my skin crawl. "Are you offering?"

I scoffed. "You already said that you saw through me— why play the fool?"

"Perhaps I don't mind acting a fool for you." The flirtation was half sarcasm, half (painfully false) sincerity. On the whole, it was utterly meaningless. "You're quite unique, as partners go."

I decided to play off his attempt at conciliation rather than rebut it directly. Rising from my seat, I answered, "To my knowledge, I'm at least the oldest one to hold the role." It was as much self-critique as a barb to his disgusting preferences.

As usual, he seemed unbothered by the rebuke. "And the only one with elven blood."

I draped a dressing gown around myself— several inches of fine black fabric dragging on the floor— and pivoted to face him. One subject I'd never bothered to ask him about was suddenly foremost in my thoughts. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

He sat up, reclining against his headboard and perfectly content to stay just so. "Obviously. It was one of the things that drew me to your mother in the first place. To my knowledge, she was technically only about half- though the actual family tree was a bit more complicated than that."

I don't know why I'm surprised by anything he says anymore. I shook my disastrous mess of hair back and crossed my arms peevishly. "You could have at least informed me, instead of waiting for Verra to explain." The mention of my twin's name iced the air even more than usual— her injection into our lives was one of the things that had first separated us. (An event for which I was glad and he was bitter).

"I thought it unmistakable; if you'd had the same experience with the älfakyn as I had, you couldn't have failed to notice it." He yawned like he was bored of the topic. "No human ever had her grace; or yours, for that matter."

He is nothing more or less than the worst kind of devil; all seduction and no sense! I rubbed my temple slowly, trying to formulate a response that wasn't simply swearing. "I suppose that's your excuse for your mediocre dancing?"

"Naturally." He took the insult in better humor than he would have otherwise, and we fell into an awkward silence. As he rose and readied for the day, I helped myself to a bottle of wine for fast breaking and perched near the banked hearth to try and halt the ice spreading through my veins.

My cure of choice did very little to ease the sickness inside me.

The last stars died in the morning sky just as a knock sounded on his door— four evenly spaced taps from a mailed hand. "Majesty, there has been urgent news from near Cantos. The western bridge was destroyed and dozens were wounded or killed."

A shock of alarm jolted through me. And I knew nothing of it— has Aijihad come to think so little of me, or was the whole affair out of his hands? I threw an arm over the sofa and turned to meet Torix's eyes. His face was expressionless, but no less dangerous for that fact. "Borrow me some clothes; I'll come with."

-:- -:- -:-

The old saying, Don't shoot the messenger must have been psychic portends of Torix's temper. The poor soldier who'd escaped with these unhappy tidings lay curled in the fetal position, clutching his core and trying to breathe silently. The tale he'd told was a brutal one; a whole deployment of troops had been passing through the area. As soon as the last set foot upon the bridge, the whole thing was blasted apart. A militia of apparently wild men- most likey Varden troops- had poured from within the city itself and descended on any soldiers attempting to flee. It was a bloodbath; we'd only gotten word so fast because of the poor, suffering man before us.

His attacker paced like a hunting cat, all wounded pride and yowling fury. I sat cross-legged in the center of the table and far away from the stormfront; thoughthat didn't necessarily mean I was safe from its feeder bands. Galbatorix's tantrum drifted too near to a tray bearing a pitcher and goblets. The lot was soaring through the air before any of the assembled war masters could do a damn thing to prevent it. I leaned to the side as one cup crashed to the table beside me.

"Worthless, maggot-riddled, vermin's spawn!" Torix almost seemed to have grown with his rage— a towering presence of incomparable terror. It was truly something else to see— for example— a monstrous man like Barst be cowed to total silence. For, even at the beast's worst, there was still a crucial element he lacked that Torix possessed in excess: madness. Galbatorix had done horrendous things, and no one doubted he was willing to do all that again and much worse.

In the privacy of my own mind, I consulted with Katana. What a disaster.

How bad is it?

We lost at least three-score for certain, perhaps more. And we still don't know how they infiltrated the village! It rankled too that this was the exact kind of travesty I'd worked with the Varden to prevent; either something had gone catastrophically wrong or it was about to.

What of the bridge itself?

It's a damn shame about that too; it was an important bit of infrastructure for the trade routes in that region. It's been mired in misfortunes since its inception— nearly tripling its original budget—and it's only been open for a few months! It hasn't collected enough tolls to pay off its architect, let alone the masons and other tradespeople. I have no particular love for Cantos or the other surrounding villages, but they are going to struggle in the coming years to pay back in taxes what the bridge could have made in revenue.

Galbatorix whirled to look where I was sitting, though I knew it was not my face he sought there- I'd stolen the spot from a much more formidable man. He growled and turned on poor Murtagh, lifting a crooked finger level with the boy's eyes. "Raze that wretched maggots' nest to the ground!"

I wanted to groan from combined horror, irritation, and humiliation. Or, screw it, burn the lot, bury hundreds more civilians, and take the brunt of the cost directly. Must he be fiend and fool in the very same order?!

Murtagh crept timidly toward the center of the room. The king ceased pacing to stare at his shiny new disciple. I held my breath. "Was I in any way unclear?"

Despite the obvious threat in the words, Murtagh lifted his head. "What is to be done with the people of Cantos? How should we determine the innocent—"

Torix drew up even hautier and more horrifying than he already was. "They're all traitors! Burn them at the stake and bury their ashes with dung!" He whirled away from Murtagh, spat on the floor, and resumed his exclamations. He laughed, though no soul on earth could call his tone jovial, and resumed his vitriolic, sadistic fantasies against every living thing under the sun who dared oppose him. Not a soul in the assembly dared make eye contact with their sovereign or with one another for the whole of his tirade.

I risked a glance, while Torix carried on cursing in graphic terms, at Murtagh. To my equal pain and relief, he looked very unwell. His countenance had gone pallid and he seemed to be dissociating from the room at large. Every subsequent person I see fall under Galbatorix's spell has a shorter and shorter stay there.

Is that not a blessing?

It would be, if not for the fact that it is chiefly born of his decaying brain. It was bad enough to be the heir and student of a lunatic— much worse to be his right-hand and slave. His instabilities put me in an impossible situation: follow his orders and watch him destroy the Empire with his own hands, or resist them and risk perishing at his side in the inevitable insurrection. It is a deadly needle we attempt to thread.

Hopefully, Murtagh can be prevailed upon to flee.

I didn't bother trying to hide the pain the thought brought me; I knew Katana would understand. But, as was so often the case in my life, there was nothing else to be done. If he won't go, I'll ask Tornac to kidnap him— we've officially run out of time.

-:- -:- -:-

I fled the meeting hall behind everyone else. Torix spared not a glance at me; for which I was almost grateful. I hadn't taken more than a dozen steps up the stairs to my quarters when I caught the sound of Murtagh sprinting after me. I lounged in the stair's entry arch; impatient and agitated as I was sure he would be.

Moments later, he skidded to a halt and rested a hand on the wall. "Lil!" His breathing was off-tempo from his sprint— and, perhaps, from mounting panic. There was something frantic in his stare. "How can I…? How could anyone…?"

"No sane man could do such a thing," I said calmly, gently scooping his hand into mine. His fingers twitched in my hold, but he didn't pull away. "And you certainly mustn't."

"I know," he said emphatically. "But how can I do otherwise? Every ranking officer just heard him order me to murder a whole town!"

"There aren't many choices now. If you refuse him outright while he's in this mood…" I shivered in spite of myself. "No, that isn't be thought of. You could obey—" the look Murtagh gave— pure pride and disgust— was very reassuring, "— no, you couldn't. That only leaves one choice." I struggled to voice the thought, uncompromisingly treasonous as it was.

"Desertion" he intoned, a look of despair creeping over him.

I nodded. "If you play it smart, you'll have better luck than we had together. If you can lay low somewhere too populated for the damned things to come close—"

"I can't."

I stopped mid-thought and dropped his hand. His face was set in a stubborn mask. "You must. No one in the castle would shelter you, even if they could. You have to go; go as far and as fast as you can. There is no other way—"

"I know all of that, but I can't." He bounced a fist against his thigh as if goading himself into doing something very painful. "I can't just leave…" he trailed off awkwardly.

"What, all your treasured memories?" My sarcasm was ill-received this time. "I won't accept anything less than the full truth, Murtagh. And, even then, I can't fathom what could possibly—"

"Not what, Lil'. Who."

I stared at him in something akin to horror as the impossible dawned on me. No…he's not close to anyone! It can't be that girl— she hardly knows him in the first place! And who else—

"I can't leave… you."

I wasn't sure if the pressure building behind my thinned lips came from laughter or despair. "Please don't think me ungrateful for your loyalty," I resolved to answer him in state; it was easiest to play dumb and hope he was clever enough to take the hint. "I'm beyond saving. It would be a grievous insult if you sacrifice your salvation just because mine is untenable."

"No, that's not it either. Lilly, how can I make you understand…" He reinitiated our hands' contact, pulling mine close to his chest. His pulse shuddered unevenly. "I love you."

The bottom edge of my stomach dropped out so suddenly I nearly toppled over. I wished I could vanish into mist like a wounded shade- anything but staring into the face of this boy I wanted so desperately to protect... knowing I was obliged to cause him pain. Fate is indeed a cruel old bitch. What could this boy possibly understand of love after a lifetime in miserable isolation? Then again, I was even younger when I made my first fledgling steps into romance. A flurry of images raced through me: days of naivete spent languidly rolling in sun-soaked fields of flowers with all the world a glorious dream…. And later days spent in guilt and anguish. "Murtagh… what you're saying…. is nothing less than madness." Guilt reared within me as I saw the pain in his eyes. "I'm too old for you… I'm a rider! You're a mortal and a child." I tugged my hand away from his sweat-slicked one.

He stood up a little straighter. "I'm no more a child than any of the young lords around court! And how many of them take a wife as soon as they're able—"

"I am not for the taking," the coolness in my tone backed him down considerably. I frantically pulled together a series of rebuttals that had nothing to do with feelings and all to do with logic— surely that, if nothing else, would cool this sudden rush of bullheadedness. "Compared to someone my age, you've hardly even lived! How many times have you left the castle, let alone the city?" He had no real response to that. "And, more importantly, no juvenile crush is worth committing an atrocity!" This time he tried to speak, but I held up a hand in exasperation. "You're a dear friend; far too dear to risk. You need to flee this place before it consumes you!" as it has already consumed me. I finished the thought silently. "Bring a companion that you trust, someone that won't be missed, and tell me no more of your plans; it's too risky."

He looked for a moment as if he were on the brink of tears. "I would bring you—"

"I know," I tried to smile through the queer agony burning in my throat. "Would that I could come along for such an adventure, but this one you must take alone." I took his head between my hands and kissed him once on his brow; a token of protection and no more. "Blessed be the feet that carry you from me. Be well, my friend." I dropped my hands and started up my stairs again, pretending not to hear his anguished sigh.

I remember the rest of this day a little too well. I returned to my room and Harold— dear, wonderful, unflinching Harold— was kind enough to not ask me where I'd been. He did, however, inquire after my gown from the night before; it was only then that the crushing reality of the whole night reasserted itself; I was still wearing the bastard's clothes! I threw up my liquid breakfast and spent the rest of the morning quite ill; though I told not a soul why.

I couldn't fully put into words myself.

I stayed abed so long that I missed the duel in which Murtagh killed his first man by Torix's command- an event that Tornac and I had both bloodied our hands to prevent. We had both been put in positions where we became killers before we were even old enough to understand what we'd sacrificed; we did not want the same for Murtagh. Our student would later say he was grateful I had been absent; as much from shock and disgust of what he'd been forced to do as embarrassment of the morning's conversation.

That night, he and Tornac made their escape attempt. Ignorant as I was, I still bore the brunt of Torix's… displeasure. The state he was in made the previous night seem almost pleasant. The day after, I made arrangements for Tornac's burial. Torix wanted him burned and chucked into a mass grave of other traitors, but I gave my orders first. I sent him home; somewhere peaceful and quiet, without a lunatic lording over his grave. I believe he would have been satisfied to know that his sacrifice gave Murtagh a chance, however brief, at freedom. I was glad for a selfish and horrible moment, that he never learned of Murtagh's feelings… he would have cursed me from beyond the veil if he had the power.

…

Now we have come to the thing for which I know I must answer. I hope readers will forgive my candor in these asides, and perhaps then be doubly grateful for my circumspection in the moment. Here I am free to ponder and weigh this thing or that thing, but every word I said aloud had immediate and dire consequences. Above all and everything, Murtagh's well-being has guided every choice I've made since his birth… I have not always chosen rightly, nor had much of choice in the first place, but I stand by the idea that— were I placed again into identical circumstances— I likely would not have done better.

Murtagh…

How best to say this…He has always had a peculiar… persistence to him. This is hardly a negative trait! On the contrary, it may be one of the only things that kept him alive through his difficult adolescence. But, now and again, it would drive him headlong into situations that a more reasonable man would avoid. Case in point: his fast-approaching involvement with a certain dragon rider. He's too intelligent to not understand the level of risk he was taking by combining two of Galbatorix's most wanted fugitives into a single place. And yet; he did it anyway. That is the legacy of Morzan and Selena distilled down to their essence: unmovable will. I never met a being that could convince either of them to do something they didn't want to do. Murtagh has their combined bullheadedness in droves, and more besides!

That damned confession… I mean really, what could I have said? I raised that boy! We were friends, companions…. But no more than that. We could never be more than that. I knew it if he did not. I'd learned many painful lessons in my lifetime, and it would have taken more gusto than a barely-grown man could muster to break through my defenses. I never even thought of him that way…

until that very moment.

I didn't want to consider it, but the mind has an evil way of fixating on the things you want most to forget. He has many traits to recommend him; that cannot be denied. My abject and unrestrained refusal was less for lack of appreciation of these things and more for an excess of it. He was (and is) handsome, clever, strong, kind, loyal… He has a poet's heart and a hunter's hand; the kind of young man who could have easily excelled in any path he chose. I praise him without reservation; I can hold nothing in reserve on the subject. I admire him deeply; more than any other single person in the world.

In exacerbation of these, my mind replayed a dire warning I'd received many years before: "Be careful; the day will come when you're in your second or third century and everyone will be young enough to be your great-great-grandchild. Normal rules don't apply to Shur'tugal." The original speaker of course took that sentiment so much to heart that he no longer dissembled with his inclinations— no matter how much I begged him to. It was not lost on me that I was dangerously near one of the thresholds he'd alluded to: I was three years shy of my one-hundredth birthday. No one would ever be a fit match for me— I'd accepted that fact long ago. The only one near enough my age was Harold, and he was happily married with many children (and grandchildren!) by this time.

But, even if I sought a younger man to entertain me, I would never have chosen Murtagh. Not for any failing— in fact, my devotion to him was strong enough that I couldn't find fault even when I looked for it intentionally. Not even for the complicated, borderline familiar affection I held for him. (I would never claim to have "mothered" him; not when he has such unassailable and beautiful memories of his real mother. And besides, even emotional incest is far too near a particular wound to be bandied about negligently.) It was all because he, more than anyone else, must NEVER take Anthony's place. The only man who'd ever come close to me (aside from Torix himself) had been executed eighty years ago! And, as if this alone were not sufficient, Galbatorix already had evil designs for Murtagh— he would not stand either of us intruding in his pursuit of the other. At this time, in this moment, I examined the subject no deeper than this; what good could ever come of it?

But, for now, I must focus on the start of an epic that would change the course of all of our lives forever; a forgotten farm boy at the far corner of the world. Little Eragon was all grown up, and fate had no intention of passing him by.