probably would have killed me before she ran off, but I don't think she could bring herself to doing it."
Mariah was only vaguely aware of Natalie sewing up the hem of her dress as Kieran spoke. Hating your sibling so fiercely that you wanted to kill them? It was said jokingly on
occasion with Mark, but actually wanting to commit murder, to destroy someone you held so dear in your heart because they became something you loathe.
"I hope she is dead, because that way I won't ever have to kill her." Kieran said. "If she came after me and tried to annihilate me, or Nasreen, I… I would want to kill her first. Whether I could or not remains to be seen."
"How do you know she would do something like that?"
"Because when Nasreen hatched for me, she told me so. When we were fifteen and Nasreen hatched, my twin sister told me that she wanted me dead. She told me that Dragon
Riders are despicable creatures, neither human, nor elf – immortal creatures with unnatural magical powers, something that never should have been created by the gods. My sister
hasn't spoken to me since we were fifteen. It's been nearly three years, and now I hope she's dead, so I won't ever have to kill her myself."
"Mistress Kieran, I've finished." Natalie said quietly, standing up.
Kieran got to her feet, walking around Mariah, "It looks good, thank you Natalie. You're free to go now." The maid curtseyed and left the room. "The dress suits you Mariah, make
sure you take care of it. I don't plan on giving you another any time soon."
Mariah looked herself over in the mirror, turning a bit to see how low the back dipped down, watching the beads shimmer as she turned in the morning sunlight. The deep crimson
brought out her pale skin under her now nearly shoulderlength ebony hair. She tugged slightly on the long bellcuffed sleeves, looking at the picture on the wall again before
stepping down and heading out of Kieran's room.
He straightened a little more when the queen spoke, her voice ringing like a bell among the trees. "Our guests wait tired on their feet, and we have spoken of evil things for far too
long. I will not have this occasion marred by lingering on past injuries." A glorious smile brightened her expression. "My daughter has returned, a dragon and her Rider have
appeared, and I will see us celebrate in the proper fashion!" She stood tall and magnificent in her crimson tunic, and clapped her hands. At the sound, the chairs and pavilion were
showered with hundreds of lilies and roses that appeared twenty feet above their heads and drifted down like colorful snowflakes, suffusing the air with their heady fragrance.
She didn't use the ancient language, observed Eragon.
He noticed that, while everyone was occupied by the flowers, Islanzadí touched Arya gently on the shoulder and murmured, almost too softly to hear, "You never would have
suffered so if you had taken my counsel. I was right to oppose your decision to accept the yawë."
"It was my decision to make."
The queen paused, then nodded and extended her arm. "Blagden." With a flutter of wings, the raven flew from his perch and landed on her left shoulders. The entire assembly
bowed as Islanzadí proceeded to the end of the hall and threw open the door to the hundreds of elves outside, whereupon she made brief declaration in the ancient language that
Eragon did not understand. The elves burst into cheers and began to rush about.
"What did she say?" whispered Eragon to Nari.
Nari smiled. "To break open our finest casks and light the cookfires, for tonight shall be a night of feast and song. Come!" He grabbed Eragon's hand and pulled him after the queen
as she threaded her way between the shaggy pines and through banks of cool ferns. During their time indoors, the sun had dropped low in the sky, drenching the forest with an
amber light that clung to the trees and plants like a layer of glistering oil.
You do realize, don't you, said Saphira, that the king Lifaen mentioned, Evandar, must be Arya's father?
Eragon almost stumbled. You're right… and that means he was killed by either Galbatorix or the Forsworn.
Circles within circles.
They stopped on the crest of a small hill, where a team of elves had set out a long trestle table and chairs. All around them, the forest hummed with activity. As evening
approached, the cheery glow of fires appeared scattered throughout Ellesméra, including a bonfire near the table.
Someone handed Eragon a goblet made of the same odd wood that he had noticed in Ceris. He drank the cup's clear liqueur and gasped as it blazed down his throat. It tasted like mulled cider mixed with mead. The potion made the tips of his fingers and ears tingle and gave him a marvelous sense of clarity. "What is this?" he asked Nari.
Nari laughed. "Faelnirv? We distill it from crushed elderberries and spun moonbeams. If he needs must, a strong man can travel for three days on naught else."
Saphira, you have to taste this. She sniffed the goblet, then opened her mouth and allowed him to pour the rest of the faelnirv down her throat. Her eyes widened and her tail
twitched.
Now that's a treat! Is there more?
Before Eragon could reply, Orik stomped over to them. "Daughter to the queen," he grumbled, shaking his head. "I wish that I could tell Hrothgar and Nasuada. They'd want to
know."
Islanzadi seated herself in a highbacked chair and clapped her hands once again. From within the city came a quartet of elves bearing musical instruments. Two had harps of
cherrywood, the third a set of reed pipes, and the fourth nothing but her voice, which she immediately put to use with a playful song that danced about their ears.
Eragon caught only every third word or so, but what he did understand made him grin. It was the story of a stag who could not drink at a pond because a magpie kept harassing
him.
As Eragon listened, his gaze wandered and alighted upon a small girl prowling behind the queen. When he looked again, he saw that her shaggy hair was not silver, like many of the
elves, but bleached white with age, and that her face was creased and line like a dry, withered apple. She was no elf, no dwarf, nor – Eragon felt – even human. She smiled at him,
and he glimpsed rows of sharp teeth.
When the singer finished, and the pipes and lutes filled the silence, Eragon found himself approached by scores of elves who wished to meet him and – more importantly, he sensed
– Saphira.
The elves presented themselves by bowing softly and touching their lips with their first and middle fingers, to which Eragon responded in kind, along with endless repetitions of their
greeting in the ancient language. They plied Eragon with polite questions about his exploits, but they reserved the bulk of their conversation for Saphira.
At first Eragon was content to let Saphira talk, since this was the first place where anyone was interested in having a discussion just with her. But he soon grew annoyed at being
ignored; he had become used to having people listen when he spoke. He grinned ruefully, dismayed that he had come to rely on people's attention so much since he had joined the
Varden, and forced himself to relax and enjoy the celebration.
Before long the scent of food permeated the glade and elves appeared, carrying platters piled with delicacies. Aside from loaves of warm bread and stacks of small, round
honeycakes, the dishes were made entirely of fruit, vegetables, and berries. The berries predominated; they were in everything from blueberry soup to raspberry sauce and
sprinkled with wild strawberries sat beside a mushroom pie stuffed with spinach, thyme, and currants.
No meat was to be found, not even fish or fowl, which still puzzled Eragon. In Carvahall and elsewhere in the Empire, meat was a symbol of status and luxury. The more gold you
had, the more often you could afford steak and veal. Even
the minor nobility ate meat with every meal. To do otherwise would indicate a deficit in their coffers. And yet the elves
did not subscribe to this philosophy, despite their obvious wealth and the ease with which they could hunt with magic.
The elves rushed to the table with an enthusiasm that surprised Eragon. Soon all were seated: Islanzadí at the head of the table with Blagden, the raven; Däthedr, Islanzadí's
advisor, to her left; Arya and Eragon by her right hand; Orik across from them; and then all the rest of the elves, including Nari and Lifaen. No chair was at the far end of the table,
only a huge carved plate for Saphira.
As the meal progressed, everything dissolved around Eragon into a blur of talk and mirth. He was so caught up in the festivities, he lost track of time, aware of only the laughter
and the foreign words swirling over his head and the warm glow left in his stomach by the faelnirv. The elusive harp music sighed and whispered at the edges of his hearing and
sent shivers of excitement down his side. Occasionally, he found himself distracted by the lazy sliteyed stare of the womanchild, which she kept focused on him with single minded intensity, even when eating.
During a lull in the conversation, Eragon turned toward Arya, who had uttered no more than a dozen words. He said nothing, only looked and wondered who she really was.
Arya stirred. "Not even Ajihad knew."
"What?"
"Outside of Du Weldenvarden, I told no one of my identity. Brom was aware of it – he first met me here – but he kept it a secret at my request. Aside from Marcus… who said he
was informed of my identity and described my appearance and told my name… in the event of his death."
"Mark knew?" Eragon blinked, staring at her for a moment. When she said nothing he simply sat there, wondering if she was explaining to him out of a sense of duty or because she
felt guilty for deceiving him and Saphira. "Brom once said that what elves didn't say was often more important than what they did."
"He understood us well."
"Why, though? Did it matter if anyone knew?"
This time Arya hesitated. "When I left Ellesméra, I had no desire to be reminded of my position. Nor did it seem relevant to my task with the Varden and dwarves. It had nothing to
do with who I became… with who I am." She glanced at the queen.
"You could have told Saphira and me."
Arya seemed to bridle at the reproach in his voice. "I had no reason to suspect that my standing with Islanzadí had improved, and telling you that would have changed nothing. My
thoughts are my own, Eragon." He flushed at her implied meaning: Why should she – who was a diplomat, a princess, an elf, and older than both his father and grandfather,
whoever they were – confide in him, a sixteenyearold human? At least she confirmed his earlier thoughts.
"At least," he muttered, "you made up with your mother."
She smiled oddly. "Did I have a choice?"
By now all the commotion from the main hall had ceased completely. Mariah wandered down the stairs, aware of her cold feet, and silently opened the door to Galbatorix's throne
room. Shruiken was the first thing anyone would have seen, his massive size dominating most of the room. But then there was the king, whose aura was simply so strong that he
drew attention on himself. Kneeling before him was Murtagh, slowly stroking Thorn's snout, his face contorted in pain.
She stared, her lips parted in shock. The red dragon splayed across the floor was at least three times the size he had been yesterday. His wings were curled up at his sides, tail
flickering slightly ever so often as his breath came out in labored heaves. Walking toward them, she was stopped by Shruiken's growling and Galbatorix turning to face her.
"I see Kieran's found you a proper dress. Good." He said.
"What did you do to him?" She asked quietly. It had taken Andrar several long months for him to grow to such a size, the change hadn't occurred overnight.
He blinked and looked back at Thorn, "I sped up his growth. Small, weak, frail dragons are pitiful. My plan is to attack the Varden, not have them laugh when my Riders appear to
destroy them." Galbatorix turned and strode back to his throne, sitting down with a sweep of his cape.
Mariah moved over and knelt down next to Murtagh, who had yet to look at her. She stroked her fingers across Thorn's snout a few times before placing her hand over his lightly.
Are you alright? She glanced over at his face carefully.
I'm… fine. Thorn though… I can't… his mind is muddied and twisted from what Galbatorix did to him. II don't know what to do.
Thorn will be fine… I'm sure of it. She said gently, looking up at Galbatorix again. "Dragons are powerful magical creatures in their own right; tampering with them in any way is
downright despicable. They shouldn't be forced to hatch, or grow. Their race is older than ours, what place do humans have trying to force something that shouldn't be?"
"Dragons are tools for their Riders to use, like a sword, they do our bidding. Without a strong enough blade, you will surely lose."
Mariah set her jaw, "So it's about losing then? Being more powerful than your opponent isn't the only factor. If you're not clever enough to beat them, you'll lose as well. In my
opinion, those more powerful than others tend to overestimate their abilities and end up losing more often."
"That may very well be your opinion, Mariah, however I believe otherwise. While you are here, you would do well to hold your tongue and forget your own beliefs and opinions,
they will not help you here." With that, he stood and walked from the room.
She sat there for a while before she bothered moving, doing so only to look at Murtagh. "Let's get you out of here"
"No, I want to stay with Thorn." He insisted.
"Murtagh, there's nothing you can do but wait. And the wait will seem longer if you sit here and stare at him, now please." She stood and brushed out her skirts, placing a hand on
his shoulder. "Let's go."
He let out a heavy sigh and looked up at her finally, standing slowly and letting her lead them out of the room. Going up the stairs, she said nothing, grabbing fistfuls of her skirts
and pulling them up as she ascended, so as to not trip and fall. She let the silence linger, not wanting to force him into talking if he didn't feel up to it quiet yet. Mariah knew how
important her own dragon was to her, and felt Murtagh had every right to be so upset. Finally they reached their rooms and she paused, glancing at him. He moved past her into
her room and fell into a chair.
Mariah sighed and followed after him, splaying her skirts as she sat on the rug before him. "I'm sorry"
"You have nothing to apologize for." He insisted, rubbing his eyes.
"I'm sorry regardless… I would probably be crying right now in your position." She twisted a piece of fabric around her fingers from her dress and sighed again. "Do you know what
Galbatorix is planning?"
"What?"
She motioned to the dress, "Kieran said he told her to fit me into this. It wasn't her idea. Do you know why?"
"He's likely planning some event that he needs you dressed up for. High ranking lords or something of the same kind. Don't worry too much about it," he said, looking at her. "You
do look lovely wearing it."
She smiled some, "Thank you."
Murtagh stood and pulled her up to her feet as well, hugging her tightly and kissing her temple. "I hope Kieran didn't torture you too much getting you into that dress."
"Not at all, actually she seemed quite pleasant this morning, aside from the blueberry incident, but all the same."
"Really?" He blinked, "That's surprising. Kieran being civil… huh."
"Don't act like it's such a surprise!"
Mariah pulled out of Murtagh's grip and turned to look at Ki
eran standing in the doorway, her arms folded under her bust.
"I'm not that awful to be around all the time. So what if I get angry every once in a while, it's not my fault, it's just how I am." She paused, walking into the room, "And as far as
the event, with the lords, you're almost right, Murtagh. It's a party, of sorts, only a handful of people have been invited however to attend. I've been instructed to tell you it is
tomorrow evening in the greater dining hall. Tomorrow, you won't train in the afternoon, like normal, you'll spend it getting ready. Mariah, you'll come to my room and I'll make
sure you're prepared for everything the best I can. Now hurry up and change, we have archery practice in half an hour." With that Kieran turned on her heel and strode off.
Murtagh glanced down at Mariah, pulling her back into a hug, giving her a crooked smile, "I wouldn't want to be you tomorrow. That's going to be rough, stuck with her all
afternoon." He kissed her quickly and pulled away, "Go ahead and change, I'll meet you in the armory in ten minutes."
Mark tied off Aluora's reins and turned to look at Kendra. Without a word to him, she was sweeping herself into the tavern with Nyx at her heels, leaving Mark with only the option
of following. He flicked his hair out of his face, rain droplets spraying slightly behind him. The wolf seemed to enjoy the water dripping from his fur as he padded behind Kendra.
Her heeled boots clicked on the wooden floor as she strode right up to the lady bartender, leaning on the counter. The blonde woman greeted her brightly, pouring a drink; Kendra
bowed her head slightly, muttering to her gently. Mark raised an eyebrow at the exchange, straining his ears to listen. The blonde woman's eyes glanced up at him a moment
before she turned and made her way to the other end of the bar.
The princess sat down on a barstool and looked at Mark, "Well, sit down."
He did so without a second invitation, glancing at Nyx as he flopped onto the floor at Kendra's feet. "What are we doing here?"
"Later, not with wandering eyes and ears," she insisted, bringing the glass to her lips.
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