“You seem upset,” Murtagh said in a mild tone.
The girl scowled. She plucked out the stem and flung it into the fire. “It’s all Hjordis’s fault!” She had the same strong northern accent as her father.
Murtagh glanced around. He still didn’t see Sarros, so he decided it was safe to talk a bit. But carefully. Words could be as treacherous as a bear trap.
“Oh?” He put down his fork and turned in his seat to better look at her. “And who is this Hjordis?”
“She’s the daughter of Jarek. He’s the earl’s chief mason,” said the girl, sullen.
Murtagh wondered if the earl was still Lord Tarrant, or if the elves had installed someone else in his place when they captured the city. He’d met Tarrant at court years ago: a tall, self-contained man who rarely spoke more than a few words at a time. The earl had seemed decent enough, but anyone who stayed in Galbatorix’s good graces for years on end had ice in their heart and blood on their hands.
“I see. Does that make her important?”
The girl shook her head. “It makes her think she’s important.”
“What did she do to upset you, then?”
“Everything!” The girl took a savage bite out of the apple and chewed hard and quick. Murtagh saw her wince as she bit the inside of her cheek. A film of tears filled her eyes, and she swallowed.
Murtagh sipped of the ale. “Most interesting.” He dabbed a fleck of foam off his mustache. “Well then, is it a tale you feel like telling? Perhaps talking about it will make you feel better.”
The girl looked at him, suspicion in her pale blue eyes. For a moment, Murtagh thought she was going to get up and leave. Then: “Papa wouldn’t want me t’ bother you.”
“I have some time. I’m just waiting for a certain associate of mine who, alas, happens to be habitually late. If you wish to share your tale of woe, then please, consider me your devoted audience.”
As he spoke, Murtagh found himself reverting to the language and phrasing he would have used at court. The formality of it felt safer, and besides, it amused him to talk to the girl as if she were a noble lady.
She bounced her feet off the legs of the chair. “Well…I’d like t’ tell you, but I can’t possibly ’less we’re friends.”
“Is that so? And how do we become friends?”
“You have t’ tell me your name! Silly!”
Murtagh smiled. “Of course. How foolish of me. In that case, my name is Tornac.” And he held out his hand.
“Essie Siglingsdaughter.”
Her palm and fingers were startlingly smooth and small against his own as they shook. Murtagh felt the need to be gentle, as if he were touching a delicate flower.
“Very nice to meet you, Essie. Now then, what seems to be bothering you?”
Essie stared at the partially eaten apple in her hand. She sighed and put it back on the plate. “It’s all Hjordis’s fault.”
“So you said.”
“She’s always being mean t’ me an’ making her friends tease me.”
Murtagh assumed a solemn expression. “That’s not good at all.”
The girl shook her head, eyes bright with outrage. “No! I mean…sometimes they tease me anyway, but, um, Hjordis—When she’s there, it gets really bad.”
“Is that what happened today?”
“Yes. Sort of.” She broke off a piece of cheese and nibbled on it, seeming lost in thought. Murtagh waited patiently. He decided that, as with horses, gentleness would go a lot further than force.
Finally, in a low voice, Essie said, “ ’Fore harvest, Hjordis started bein’ nicer to me. I thought—I thought maybe things were going t’ be better. She even invited me t’ her house.” Essie gave him a shy, sideways glance. “It’s right by the castle.”
“Impressive.” He was starting to understand. The richer tradesmen always cozied up to the nobles, like ticks to dogs. Envy was a universal human trait (and the other races weren’t exempt from it either).
Essie nodded. “She gave me one of her ribbons, a yellow one, an’ said that I could come t’ her Maddentide party.”
“And did you?”
Another bob of her head. “It—it was today.” Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked furiously.
Concerned, Murtagh produced a worn kerchief from inside his vest. He might be living like a beast in the wilderness, but he still had some standards. “Here now.”
The girl hesitated. But then the tears spilled down her cheeks, and she grabbed the kerchief and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, mister.”
Murtagh allowed himself another small smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been called mister, but you’re very welcome. I take it the party didn’t go well?”
Essie scowled and pushed the kerchief back toward him, though she still seemed to be on the verge of crying. “The party was fine. It was Hjordis. She got mean again, after, and…and”—she took a deep breath, as if searching for the courage to continue—“an’ she said that if I din’t do what she wanted, she would tell her father not t’ use our inn during the solstice celebration.” She peered at Murtagh, as if to check whether he was following. “All the masons come here t’ drink an’—” she hiccupped, “they drink a lot, an’ it means they spend stacks an’ stacks of coppers.”
Her story filled Murtagh with a host of uncomfortable memories of the mistreatment he’d suffered at the hands of the older children while growing up in Galbatorix’s court. Before he’d learned to be careful, before Tornac had taught him how to protect himself.
Serious, he put his plate on the table and leaned toward Essie. “What did she want you to do?”
Essie dropped her gaze and bounced her muddy shoes against the chair. When she spoke again, the words came tripping out in a crowded rush: “She wanted me t’ push Carth into a horse trough.”
“Carth is a friend of yours?”
She nodded, miserable. “He lives on the docks. His father is a fisher.”
Murtagh felt a sudden and intense dislike for Hjordis. He’d known plenty like her at court: horrible, petty people bent on improving their position and making life miserable for everyone beneath them.
“So he wouldn’t get invited to a party like this.”
“No, but Hjordis sent her handmaid t’ bring him t’ the house an’…” Essie stared at him, her expression fierce. “I din’t have no choice! If I hadn’t pushed him, then she would have told her father not t’ come t’ the Fulsome Feast.”
“I understand,” Murtagh said, forcing a soothing tone despite a rising sense of anger and injustice. It was a familiar aggravation. “So you pushed your friend. Were you able to apologize to him?”
“No,” said Essie, and her face crumpled. “I—I ran. But everyone saw. He won’t want t’ be friends with me anymore. No one will. Hjordis just meant t’ trick me, an’ I hate her.” She grabbed the apple and took another quick bite. Her teeth clacked together.
Murtagh started to respond, but Sigling came by on his way to deliver a pair of mugs to a table along the wall. He gave Essie a disapproving look. “My daughter isn’t mak’n a nuisance of herself, is she, Master Tornac? She has a bad habit of pester’n guests when they’re try’n t’ eat.”
“Not at all,” said Murtagh, smiling. “I’ve been on the road for far too long, with nothing but the sun and the moon for company. A bit of conversation is exactly what I need. In fact—” He reached into the pouch under his belt and passed two silver pieces to the innkeep. “Perhaps you can see to it that the tables next to us remain clear. I’m expecting an associate of mine, and we have some, ah, business to discuss.”
The coins disappeared into Sigling’s apron, and he bobbed his head. “Of course, Master Tornac.” He glanced at Essie again, his expression concerned, and then continued on his way.