Looking at Farica, Nasuada said, “Wait for me outside.” The woman curtsied and then departed. Once Nasuada heard the door to the laboratory close, she said, “Orrin. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“While you spend your time locked in here conducting experiments that no one understands — endangering your well-being in the process — your country totters on the brink of war. A myriad issues await your decision, and you stand here blowing smoke and playing with quicksilver?”
His face hardened. “I am quite aware of my duties, Nasuada. You may lead the Varden, but I’m still king of Surda, and you would do well to recall that before you speak so disrespectfully. Need I remind you that your sanctuary here depends on my continued goodwill?”
She knew it was an idle threat; many of the Surdan people had relatives in the Varden, and vice versa. They were too closely linked for either of them to abandon the other. No, the real reason that Orrin had taken offense was the question of authority. Since it was nigh impossible to keep large groups of armed warriors at the ready over extended periods of time — as Nasuada had learned, feeding that many inactive people was a logistical nightmare — the Varden had begun taking jobs, starting farms, and otherwise assimilating into their host country.
She said, “I don’t seek to undermine your command, Orrin. That was never my intention, and I apologize if it appeared that way.” He bowed his neck with a stiff bob. Unsure of how to continue, she leaned on her fingertips against the lip of the bench. “It’s only... so many things must be done. I work night and day — I keep a tablet beside my bed for notes — and yet I never catch up; I feel as if we are always balanced on the brink of disaster.”
Orrin picked up a pestle stained black from use and rolled it between his palms with a steady, hypnotic rhythm. “Before you came here... No, that’s not right. Before your Rider materialized fully formed from the ethers like Moratensis from his fountain, I expected to live my life as my father and grandfather before me. That is, opposing Galbatorix in secret. You must excuse me if it takes a while to accustom myself to this new reality.”
It was as much contrition as she could expect in return. “I understand.”
He stopped the pestle in its path for a brief moment. “You are newly come to your power, whereas I have held mine for a number of years. If I may be arrogant enough to offer advice, I’ve found that it’s essential for my sanity to allocate a certain portion of the day for my own interests.”
“I couldn’t do that,” objected Nasuada. “Every moment I waste might be the moment of effort that’s needed to defeat Galbatorix.”
The pestle paused again. “You do the Varden a disservice if you insist on overworking yourself. No one can function properly without occasional peace and quiet. They don’t have to be long breaks, just five or ten minutes. You could even practice your archery, and then you would still serve your goals, albeit in a different manner... That’s why I had this laboratory constructed in the first place. That’s why I blow smoke and play with quicksilver, as you put it — so that I don’t scream with frustration throughout the rest of the day.”
Despite her reluctance to surrender her view of Orrin as a feckless layabout, Nasuada could not help but acknowledge the validity of his argument. “I will keep your recommendation in mind.”
Some of his former levity returned as he smiled. “That’s all I ask.”
Walking to the window, she pushed the shutters farther open and gazed down upon Aberon, with its cries of quick-fingered merchants hawking their wares to unsuspecting customers, the clotted yellow dust blowing from the western road as a caravan approached the city gates, the air that shimmered over clay tile roofs and carried the scent of cardus weed and incense from the marble temples, and the fields that surrounded Aberon like the outstretched petals of a flower.
Without turning around, she asked, “Have you received copies of our latest reports from the Empire?”
“I have.” He joined her at the window.
“What’s your opinion of them?
“That they’re too meager and incomplete to extract any meaningful conclusions.”
“They’re the best we have, though. Give me your suspicions and your hunches. Extrapolate from the known facts like you would if this were one of your experiments.” She smiled to herself. “I promise that I won’t attach meaning to what you say.”
She had to wait for his reply, and when it came, it was with the dolorous weight of a doomsday prophecy. “Increased taxes, emptied garrisons, horses and oxen confiscated throughout the Empire... It seems that Galbatorix gathers his forces in preparation to confront us, though I cannot tell whether he means to do it in offense or defense.” Revolving shadows cooled their faces as a cloud of starlings whirled across the sun. “The question that weighs upon my mind now is, how long will it take him to mobilize? For that will determine the course of our strategies.”
“Weeks. Months. Years. I cannot predict his actions.”
He nodded. “Have your agents continued to spread tidings of Eragon?”
“It has become increasingly dangerous, but yes. My hope is that if we inundate cities like Dras-Leona with rumors of Eragon’s prowess, when we actually reach the city and they see him, they will join us of their own accord and we can avoid a siege.”
“War is rarely so easy.”
She let the comment pass uncontested. “And how fares the mobilization of your own army? The Varden, as always, are ready to fight.”
Orrin spread his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s difficult to rouse a nation, Nasuada. There are nobles who I must convince to back me, armor and weapons to be constructed, supplies to be gathered... ”
“And in the meantime, how do I feed my people? We need more land than you allotted us—”
“Well, I know it,” he said.
“— and we’ll only get it by invading the Empire, unless you fancy making the Varden a permanent addition to Surda. If so, you’ll have to find homes for the thousands of people I brought from Farthen Dur, which won’t please your existing citizens. Whatever your choice, choose quickly, because I fear that if you continue to procrastinate, the Varden will disintegrate into an uncontrollable horde.” She tried not to make it sound like a threat.
Nevertheless, Orrin obviously did not appreciate the insinuation. His upper lip curled and he said, “Your father never let his men get out of hand. I trust you won’t either, if you expect to remain leader of the Varden. As for our preparations, there’s a limit to what we can do in so short a time; you’ll just have to wait until we are ready.”
She gripped the windowsill until veins stood out on her wrists and her fingernails sank into the crevices between the stones, yet she allowed none of her anger to color her voice: “In that case, will you lend the Varden more gold for food?”
“No. I’ve given you all the money I can spare.”
“How will we eat, then?”
“I would suggest that you raise the funds yourself.”
Furious, she gave him her widest, brightest smile — holding it long enough to make him shift with unease — and then curtsied as deeply as a servant, never letting her demented grimace waver. “Farewell then, Sire. I hope that the rest of your day is as enjoyable as our conversation was.”
Orrin muttered an unintelligible response as she swept back to the laboratory’s entrance. In her anger, Nasuada caught her right sleeve on a jade bottle and knocked it over, cracking the stone and releasing a flood of yellow liquid that splattered her sleeve and soaked her skirt. She flicked her wrist in annoyance without stopping.
Farica rejoined her in the stairwell, and together they traversed the warren of passageways to Nasuada’s chambers.
HANGING BY A THREAD
