Inheritance (113 page)

A long, tense minute passed.

Then Arya lowered the fairth.

Eragon stood and held out his hand for the tablet, but she made no move to return it. She appeared troubled, and his heart sank; the fairth had upset her.

Looking him straight in the eye, she said in the ancient language, “Eragon, if you are willing, I would like to tell you my true name.”

Her offer left him dumbstruck. He nodded, overwhelmed, and, with great difficulty, managed to say, “I would be honored to hear it.”

Arya stepped forward and placed her lips close to his ear, and in a barely audible whisper she told him her name. As she spoke, the name rang within his mind, and with it came a rush of understanding. Some of the name he knew already, but there were many parts that surprised him, parts that he realized must have been difficult for Arya to share.

Then Arya stepped back and waited for his response, her expression studiously blank.

Her name raised numerous questions for Eragon, but he knew that it was not the time to ask them. Rather, he needed to reassure Arya that he did not think any less highly of her because of what he had learned. Nor did he. If anything, her name had increased his regard, for it had shown him the true extent of her selflessness and her devotion to duty. He knew that if he reacted badly to her name—or even said the wrong thing without intending to—he could destroy their friendship.

He met Arya’s gaze full-on and said, also in the ancient language, “Your name … your name is a good name. You should be proud of who you are. Thank you for sharing it with me. I am glad to call you my friend, and I promise that I will always keep your name safe.… Will you, now, hear mine?”

She nodded. “I will. And I promise to remember and protect it for so long as it remains yours.”

A sense of import came over Eragon. He knew there was no going back from what he was about to do, which he found both frightening and exhilarating. He moved forward and did as Arya had done, placing his lips by her ear and whispering his name as softly as he could. His whole being vibrated in recognition of the words.

He backed away, suddenly apprehensive. How would she judge him? Fair or foul? For judge him she would; she could not help it.

Arya released a long breath and looked at the sky for a while. When she turned to him again, her expression was softer than before. “You have a good name as well, Eragon,” she said in a low voice. “However, I do not think it is the name you had when you left Palancar Valley.”

“No.”

“Nor do I think it is the name you bore during your time in Ellesméra. You’ve grown much since we first met.”

“I’ve had to.”

She nodded. “You are still young, but you are no longer a child.”

“No. That I am not.”

More than ever, Eragon felt drawn to her. The exchange of names had formed a bond between them, but of what sort he was unsure, and his uncertainty left him with a sense of vulnerability. She had seen him with all his flaws and she had not recoiled, but had accepted him as he was, even as he accepted her. Moreover, she had seen in his name the depth of his feelings for her, and that too had not driven her away.

He debated whether to say anything on the subject, but he could not let it go. After gathering up his courage, he said, “Arya, what is to become of us?”

She hesitated, but he could see that his meaning was clear to her. Choosing her words with care, she said, “I don’t know.… Once, as you know, I would have said, ‘nothing,’ but … Again, you are still young, and humans often change their minds. In ten years, or even five, you may no longer feel as you now do.”

“My feelings won’t change,” he said with utter certainty.

She searched his face for a long, tense while. Then he saw a change in her eyes, and she said, “If they don’t, then … perhaps in time …” She put a hand on the side of his jaw. “You cannot ask more of me now. I do not want to make a mistake with you, Eragon. You are too important for that, both to me and to the whole of Alagaësia.”

He tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. “But … we don’t have time,” he said, his voice choked. He felt sick to his stomach.

Arya’s brow furrowed, and she lowered her hand. “What do you mean?”

He stared at the ground, trying to think how to tell her. In the end, he just said it as simply as he could. He explained the difficulty he and Saphira had had in finding a safe place for the eggs and the Eldunarí, and then he explained Nasuada’s plan to form a group of magicians to keep watch over every human spellcaster.

He spent several minutes talking, and concluded by saying, “So Saphira and I have decided that the only thing we can do is leave Alagaësia and raise the dragons elsewhere, far away from other people. It’s what’s best for us, for the dragons, for the Riders, and all the other races of Alagaësia.”

“But the Eldunarí—” said Arya, appearing shocked.

“The Eldunarí can’t stay either. They would never be safe, not even in Ellesméra. As long as they remain in this land, there will be those who will try to steal them or use them to further their own designs. No, we need a place like Vroengard, a place where no one can find the dragons to hurt them and where the younglings and the wild dragons cannot hurt anyone themselves.” Eragon tried to smile again, but gave it up as hopeless. “That is why I said we have no time. Saphira and I intend to leave as soon as we can, and if you stay … I do not know if we will ever see each other again.”

Arya glanced down at the fairth she still held, troubled.

“Would you give up your crown to come with us?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She lifted her gaze. “Would you give up charge of the eggs?”

He shook his head. “No.”

For a time, they were silent, listening to the wind.

“How would you find candidates for the Riders?” she asked.

“We’ll leave a few eggs behind—with you, I suppose—and once they hatch, they and their Riders will come join us, and we’ll send you more eggs.”

“There must be another solution besides you and Saphira and every Eldunarí abandoning Alagaësia!”

“If there were, we would take it, but there isn’t.”

“What of the Eldunarí? What of Glaedr and Umaroth? Have you spoken to them of this? Do they agree?”

“We haven’t spoken to them, but they will agree. That I know.”

“Are you sure about this, Eragon? Is it really the only way—to leave behind everything and everyone you have ever known?”

“It’s necessary, and our departure was always meant to be. Angela foretold it when she cast my fortune in Teirm, and I’ve had time to accustom myself to the idea.” He reached out and touched Arya on the cheek. “So, I ask again: will you come with us?”

A film of tears appeared on her eyes, and she hugged the fairth against her chest. “I cannot.”

He nodded and took his hand away. “Then … we will part ways.” Tears welled in his own eyes, and he struggled to retain his composure.

“But not yet,” she whispered. “We still have some time together. You will not leave immediately.”

“No, not immediately.”

And they stood next to each other, gazing into the sky and waiting for Saphira and Fírnen to return. After a while, her hand touched his, and he grasped it, and though it was a small comfort, it helped dull the ache in his heart.

arm light streamed through the windows along the right of the hallway, illuminating patches of the far wall where banners, paintings, shields, swords, and the heads of various stags hung between the dark, carved doors that dotted the wall at regular intervals.

As Eragon strode toward Nasuada’s study, he gazed out the windows at the city. From the courtyard, he could still hear the bards and musicians performing by the banquet tables laid out in Arya’s honor. The celebrations had been ongoing since she and Fírnen had returned to Ilirea with him and Saphira the previous day. But now they were beginning to wind down and, as a result, he had finally been able to arrange a meeting with Nasuada.

He nodded to the guards outside the study, then let himself into the room.

Inside, he saw Nasuada reclined on a padded seat, listening to a musician strumming on a lute and singing a beautiful, if mournful, love song. On the end of the seat sat the witch-child, Elva, engrossed with a piece of embroidery, and in a nearby chair, Nasuada’s handmaid, Farica. And curled up on Farica’s lap lay the werecat Yelloweyes in his animal form. He looked sound asleep, but Eragon knew from experience that he was probably awake.

Eragon waited by the door until the musician finished.

“Thank you. You may go,” said Nasuada to the player. “Ah, Eragon. Welcome.”

He bowed slightly to her. Then, to the girl, he said, “Elva.”

She eyed him from under her brow. “Eragon.” The werecat’s tail twitched.

“What is it you wish to discuss?” asked Nasuada. She took a sip from a chalice resting on a side table.

“Perhaps we could speak in private,” said Eragon, and motioned with his head toward the glass-paneled doors behind her, which opened onto a balcony overlooking a quadrangle with a garden and fountain.

Nasuada considered for a moment, then rose from her seat and swept toward the balcony, the train of her purple dress trailing behind her.

Eragon followed, and they stood side by side, gazing at the spouting water of the fountain, cool and gray within the shadow cast by the side of the building.

“What a beautiful afternoon,” said Nasuada as she took a deep breath. She looked more at peace than when he had last seen her, only a few hours before.

“The music seems to have put you in a good mood,” he observed.

“No, not the music: Elva.”

He cocked his head. “How so?”

A strange half smile graced Nasuada’s face. “After my imprisonment in Urû’baen—after what I endured … and lost—and after the attempts on my life, the world seemed to lose all color for me. I did not feel myself, and nothing I did could stir me from my sadness.”

“I thought as much,” he said, “but I did not know what to do or say that might help.”

“Nothing. Nothing you could have said or done would have helped. I might have gone on like that for years, if not for Elva. She told me … she told me what I needed to hear, I suppose. It was the fulfillment of a promise she made me, long ago, in the castle at Aberon.” Eragon frowned and glanced back into the room, where Elva sat poking at her embroidery. For all they had gone through together, he still did not feel as if he could trust the girl, and he feared that she was manipulating Nasuada for her own selfish ends.

Nasuada’s hand touched his arm. “You don’t need to worry about
me, Eragon. I know myself too well for her to unbalance me even if she tried. Galbatorix couldn’t break me; do you think she could?”

He looked back at her, his expression grim. “Yes.”

She smiled again. “I appreciate your concern, but in this, it’s unfounded. Let me enjoy my good mood; you can put your suspicions to me at a later time.”

“All right.” Then he relented a bit and said, “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thank you. As am I.… Are Saphira and Fírnen still cavorting about as they were earlier? I don’t hear them anymore.”

“They are, but they’re above the overhang now.” His cheeks warmed somewhat as he touched Saphira’s mind.

“Ah.” Nasuada placed her hands—one atop the other—upon the stone balustrade, the uprights of which were carved into the shape of flowering irises. “Now, why did you wish to meet? Have you arrived at a decision with regard to my offer?”

“I have.”

“Excellent. Then we may proceed apace with our plans. I have already—”

“I’ve decided not to accept.”

“What?” Nasuada looked at him with incredulity. “Why? To whom else would you entrust the position?”

“I don’t know,” he said gently. “That’s something you and Orrin will have to figure out on your own.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You won’t even help us choose the right person? And you expect me to believe that you would follow orders from anyone but me?”

“You misunderstand,” he said. “I don’t want to lead the magicians, and I won’t be joining them either.”

Nasuada stared at him for a moment; then she walked over and closed the glass-paneled doors to the balcony so that Elva, Farica, and the werecat could not overhear their conversation. Turning back to him, she said, “Eragon! What are you thinking! You know you have to join. All of the magicians who serve me have to. There
can’t be any exceptions. Not one! I can’t have people think that I’m playing favorites. It would sow dissent among the ranks of the magicians, and that is exactly what I
don’t
want. As long as you are a subject of my realm, you have to abide by its laws, or my authority means
nothing
. I shouldn’t have to tell you that, Eragon.”

“You don’t. I’m well aware of it, which is why Saphira and I have decided to leave Alagaësia.”

Nasuada put a hand on the railing, as if to steady herself. For a time, the splashing of the water below was the only sound.

“I don’t understand.”

So, once more, as he had with Arya, he set forth the reasons why the dragons, and therefore he and Saphira, could not stay in Alagaësia. And when he finished, he said, “It never would have worked for me to take charge of the magicians. Saphira and I have to raise the dragons and train the Riders, and that must take precedence before all else. Even if I had the time, I couldn’t lead the Riders and still answer to you—the other races would never stand for it. Despite Arya’s choice to become queen, the Riders have to remain as impartial as possible. If
we
start to play favorites, it will destroy Alagaësia. The only way I would consider accepting the position would be if the magicians were to include those of every race—even the Urgals—but that’s not likely to happen. Besides, it would still leave the question of what to do about the eggs and the Eldunarí.”