In an unaffected manner, Murtagh replied, “And I hold her in high regard. If not for Alín, Thorn and I would still be at Bachel’s mercy.”
“Mmm.”
“And because of that, I thank you for the kindness you have shown her.”
After a moment, Nasuada relented. “It was only right.”
“Alín was most devoted to Bachel, but Bachel betrayed her trust. She will not give her loyalty again so easily, I think, but once she sees your fairness and honor and goodness of character, I am confident she will be likewise devoted to you. She needs someone whom she can respect and believe in.”
“Are you that person?”
He turned to face her square on, his expression frank. “I have neither the reason nor the desire to command her or anyone else. Those days are long since behind me.”
“Is that so?” Nasuada picked up one of the chalices resting on the sill and sipped from it. “Kingkiller. I’ve not heard that title before.”
“I never aspired to be called so.”
“Didn’t you? You wished Galbatorix dead many a time. And you chose to kill Hrothgar.”
Before her bluntness, he had no defense. “I did. I was…angry.”
She nodded. “My father and Hrothgar were friends. Did you know that? Even when they were at odds, they respected each other, and they often found time to talk on subjects unrelated to the responsibilities of rule. I knew Hrothgar nearly all my life. In many ways, he was the closest thing I had to an uncle.”
There was no accusation in her voice, only a straightforward statement of fact underlaid with sadness.
Murtagh looked down at Ithring and Niernen. “Do you blame me for killing Hrothgar?”
She was slow to answer, but her voice was firm when she spoke. “Yes. I do.” His heart sank, and he looked up to see her facing him with the same level of frankness he had displayed. “But I understand.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond.
To his relief, she shifted her attention to the sword and reached out to touch the crimson sheath. “The crest here is different than I remember.”
“It changed when I renamed it.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Zar’roc? You can do that?”
“I can. I did.” And he told her the new name.
Her expression softened then, and she murmured: “Ithring. Freedom…It is a good name. Better than Zar’roc.”
Murtagh was surprised by how much her approval meant to him. Pensive, he slid a hand across the smooth coolness of the sheath, still unaccustomed to the new meaning associated with the weapon. Then he placed the sword, Glaedr’s scale, and the brass goblet on the floor next to his chair and held up Niernen, so the tip pointed toward the ceiling. “I fear we may need the Dauthdaert more than my sword.”
Nasuada gazed up at the lance’s glowing blade. “Will you carry it?”
“I think so. Along with Ithring.”
“A Rider wielding a spear meant for killing a dragon. The elves will not approve, I think.”
“Why shouldn’t they? As long as it does not bother Thorn—”
Carry as many teeth or claws as you need, the dragon said.
Murtagh tipped Niernen toward Thorn in acknowledgment. “Then so I shall.”
A frown drew together Nasuada’s brows. “You did not explain how this weapon ended up in the clutches of the Draumar.”
“If I knew, I would have— Ah!” Murtagh made a face as another memory rose to the front of his mind. “Wait.” He carefully placed the lance on the floor, next to Ithring. “I saw someone among the visitors who came to Nal Gorgoth. Someone I recognized from among the Varden. Someone in your circle of advisers.”
Nasuada’s frown deepened. “Who?”
“I don’t know. I don’t. I’ve tried to remember, but I can’t. The effects of the Breath were too strong. Thorn, do you—”
The dragon shook his long head. No. I know the one you speak of, but I can no more name him than can you.
“Barzûl,” said Nasuada. She stood and paced before the sill, forearms crossed, picking at the lace cuffs on her shortened sleeves.
“Has anyone in your court gone traveling in the past month?”
Nasuada stopped by her chair. “Far too many, I’m afraid. And I can hardly go around accusing my most trusted ministers without an ironclad reason. Are you sure you can’t remember?”
Murtagh spread his hands. “If I could, I would.”
She tapped the sill. “Were you to see this man again, do you think you could point him out?”
Murtagh considered. “I think I might.”
Nasuada nodded. “Then I will see about finding a place of concealment from which you can view my court.”
He stood as well and joined her at the window. His legs felt stronger than before. “There’s no telling who might be working against you.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” said Nasuada. “These Draumar seem to have infiltrated my entire kingdom. Some number of Du Vrangr Gata have allied themselves with the cult, and now I do not even know if I can trust the captains of my army. At every turn, I see plots and schemes and knives lurking in shadows.”
She remained as controlled as ever, but her distress was palpable. Murtagh was not sure how to respond. Unable to think of anything to say, he dared to put a hand on her shoulder.
A quick intake of breath from Nasuada, and she unfolded her arms and looked at him with such an expression, he was not sure whether she found the gesture comforting or whether she was about to call the guards to have him dragged away.
He dropped his hand.
“Stay,” she said in a calm, quiet voice.
“What do you—”
“Don’t go searching for Azlagûr. Not for the time being. Let me send my men instead. Stay here, in Ilirea.”
His throat tightened. “As what?”
“Not as what. For what. For me.” Her gaze burrowed into him, as if searching for some hint of his reaction. “You are the only one I can rely on in these matters. The only person whom I don’t have to worry about being corrupted by gold or magic or promises of power.”
He found it as hard to breathe as in Oth Orum. “Nasuada…How would that work? Your people hate me, especially after what Thorn and I did in Gil’ead.”
“No one need know you are in Ilirea. There are ways. Trust me.”
A harsh laugh escaped him. “Shall I be your secret shame, then? Your pet spellcaster kept locked away in a tower, hidden from all? And what of Thorn? He can’t—”
She stopped him with a hand on the center of his chest. Her skin was warm through his shirt. “I have no desire to cage you, Murtagh. Neither you nor Thorn. I only suggested concealing your presence because I thought it was your desire. If you wish to make yourself known, I will vouch for you before the whole of Alagaësia.”
“Would you?” His question brought her up short. “Have you told your people how we helped kill Galbatorix?”
Speaking carefully, she said, “I have made it clear you are not our enemy, but it takes time for word to spread, and people tend to believe what is easiest. Stay in the shadows if you wish, but if, or when, you are comfortable stepping into the light, you may, and no one—least of all I—will stop you. The choice is yours. Likewise, if you wish to leave, leave. But for now, stay.”
A moment’s pause, and then, in a softer voice still, she added, “I do not ask for reasons of state alone.”
The words were formal, but he recognized their intent, and his heart raced beneath her hand. He placed his own hand atop hers. “I will not swear fealty to Du Vrangr Gata.”
“I know.”
“Nor to the crown. Not yours, not anyone’s.”