Eldest [en]

reveal that his cheeks had turned mottled red. “Where... where do you live? Do you and Islanzadi have a palace or castle...?”

“We live in Tialdari Hall, our family’s ancestral buildings, in the western part of Ellesmera. I would enjoy showing our home to you.”

“Ah.” A practical question suddenly intruded in Eragon’s muddled thoughts, driving away his embarrassment. “Arya, do you have any siblings?” She shook her head. “Then you are the sole heir to the elven throne?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?” She sounded bemused by his curiosity.

“I don’t understand why you were allowed to become an ambassador to the Varden and dwarves, as well as ferry Saphira’s egg from here to Tronjheim. It’s too dangerous an errand for a princess, much less the queen-in- waiting.”

“You mean it’s too dangerous for a human woman. I told you before that I am not one of your helpless females. What you fail to realize is that we view our monarchs differently than you or the dwarves. To us, a king or queen’s highest responsibility is to serve their people however and wherever possible. If that means forfeiting our lives in the process, we welcome the opportunity to prove our devotion to — as the dwarves say — hearth, hall, and honor. If I had died in the course of my duty, then a replacement successor would have been chosen from among our various Houses. Even now I would not be required to become queen if I found the prospect distasteful. We do not choose leaders who are unwilling to devote themselves wholeheartedly to their obligation.” She hesitated, then hugged her knees against her chest and propped her chin on them. “I had many years to perfect those arguments with my mother.” For a minute, the wheet-wheet of the cicadas went undisturbed in the clearing. Then she asked, “How go your studies with Oromis?”

Eragon grunted as his foul temper returned on a wave of unpleasant memories, souring his pleasure at being with Arya. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed, go to sleep, and forget the day. “Oromis-elda,” he said, working each word around his mouth before letting it escape, “is quite thorough.”

He winced as she gripped his upper arm with bruising strength. “What has gone amiss?”

He tried to shrug her hand off. “Nothing.”

“I’ve traveled with you long enough to know when you’re happy, angry... or in pain. Did something happen between you and Oromis? If so, you have to tell me so that it can be rectified as soon as possible. Or was it your back? We could—”

“It’s not my training!” Despite his pique, Eragon noticed that she seemed genuinely concerned, which pleased him. “Ask Saphira. She can tell you.”

“I want to hear it from you,” she said quietly.

The muscles in Eragon’s jaw spasmed as he clenched his teeth. In a low voice, no more than a whisper, he first described how he had failed at his meditation in the glade, then the incident that poisoned his heart like a viper coiled in his chest: his blessing.

Arya released his arm and clutched at the root of the Menoa tree, as if to steady herself. “Barzul.” The dwarf curse alarmed him; he had never heard her use profanity before, and this one was particularly apt, for it meant ill fate. “I knew of your act in Farthen Dur, for sure, but I never thought... I never suspected that such a thing could occur. I cry your pardon, Eragon, for forcing you to leave your rooms tonight. I did not comprehend your discomfort. You must want to be alone.”

“No,” he said. “No, I appreciate the company and the things you’ve shown me.” He smiled at her, and after a moment, she smiled back. Together they sat small and still at the base of the ancient tree and watched the moon arch high over the peaceful forest before it hid behind the gathering clouds. “I only wonder what will become of the child.”

High above their heads, Blagden ruffled his bone-white feathers and shrieked, “Wyrda!”

A MAZE OF OPPOSITION

Nasuada crossed her arms without bothering to conceal her impatience as she examined the two men before her.

The one on the right had a neck so thick, it forced his head to jut forward at nearly right angles to his shoulders, giving him a stubborn, dim-witted appearance. This was intensified by his heavy brow with its two cliffs of matted hair — almost long enough to pull over his eyes — and bulbous lips that remained puckered into a pink mushroom, even when he spoke. She knew better than to put stock in his repulsive looks, though. No matter its rough housing, his tongue was as clever as a jester’s.

The only identifying feature of the second man was his pale skin, which refused to darken under Surda’s relentless sun, even though the Varden had been in Aberon, the capital, for some weeks now. From his coloring, Nasuada guessed he had been born in the northern reaches of the Empire. He held a knit wool cap that he wrung into a hard rope between his hands.

“You,” she said, pointing at him. “How many of your chickens did he kill again?”

“Thirteen, Ma’am.”

Nasuada returned her attention to the ugly man. “An unlucky number, by all accounts, Master Gamble. And so it has proved for you. You are guilty of both theft and destroying someone else’s property without offering proper recompense.”

“I never denied it.”

“I only wonder how you ate thirteen chickens in four days. Are you ever full, Master Gamble?”

He gave her a jocular grin and scratched the side of his face. The rasp of his untrimmed fingernails over his stubble annoyed her, and it was only with an effort of will that she kept from asking him to stop. “Well, not to be disrespectful, Ma’am, but filling my stomach wouldn’t be a problem if you fed us properly, what with all the work we do. I’m a large man, an’ I need a bit o’ meat in my belly after half a day breaking rocks with a mattock. I did my best to resist temptation, I did. But three weeks of short rations and watching these farmers drive around fat livestock they wouldn’t share even if a body were starving... Well, I’ll admit, it broke me. I’m not a strong man when it comes to food. I like it hot and I like plenty of it. An’ I don’t fancy I’m the only one willing to help himself.”

And that’s the heart of the problem, reflected Nasuada. The Varden could not afford to feed its members, not even with Surda’s king, Orrin, helping. Orrin had opened his treasury to them, but he had refused to behave as Galbatorix was wont to do when moving his army across the Empire, which was to appropriate supplies from his countrymen without paying for them. A noble sentiment, but one that only makes my task harder. Still, she knew that acts like those were what separated her, Orrin, Hrothgar, and Islanzadi from Galbatorix’s despotism. It would be so easy to cross that divide without noticing it.

“I understand your reasons, Master Gamble. However, although the Varden aren’t a country and we answer to no one’s authority but our own, that does not give you or anyone else leave to ignore the rule of law as laid down by my predecessors or as it’s observed here in Surda. Therefore, I order you to pay a copper for each chicken you stole.”

Gamble surprised her by acceding without protest. “As you wish, Ma’am,” he said.

“That’s it?” exclaimed the pale man. He wrung his cap even tighter. “That’s no fair price. If I sold them in any market, they’d—”

She could not contain herself any longer. “Yes! You’d get more. But I happen to know that Master Gamble cannot afford to give you the chickens’ full price, as I’m the one who provides his salary! As I do yours. You forget that if I decided to acquire your poultry for the good of the Varden, you’d get no more than a copper a chicken and be lucky at that. Am I understood?”

“He can’t—”

“Am I understood?”

After a moment, the pale man subsided and muttered, “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Very well. You’re both dismissed.” With an expression of sardonic admiration, Gamble touched his brow and bowed to Nasuada before backing out of the stone room with his sullen opponent. “You too,” she said to the guards