Lyreth shifted in his seat, as if there were burrs pricking him from beneath. “And since then? What have you been up to, Murtagh? Wild stories have reached my ears. Tales of a red dragon seen here or there. Whispers of magic that only a Rider or an elf might be capable of casting.”
With the fine linen napkin from by his plate, Murtagh dabbed the corners of his mouth, brushing crumbs off his stubble. “Thorn and I have been traveling the land, seeing what there is to see. What of you and your family, Lyreth? How have you managed since Galbatorix fell?”
“Well enough,” Lyreth muttered.
“No doubt. But how long can you continue to live in hiding? Eventually someone will realize who you are. You would be best served to surrender and cast yourself on the queen’s mercy. She does show mercy on occasion, or so I’m told.”
“Don’t speak to me of that puffed-up pretender. She’s a commoner, without a drop of noble blood in her veins, not from any of the proper families nor from the old lineages of the Broddrings.”
“Those who conquer, rule,” said Murtagh calmly. “So it has always been. You forget your history if you think otherwise.”
“I forget nothing.” A feverish gleam appeared in Lyreth’s otherwise insipid eyes. “You’re right, though, Murtagh. The current state of affairs can’t continue. My family aren’t the only ones hiding. A number of the most powerful nobles—men and women whose names you would recognize—have been biding their time, consolidating their positions for when the moment is ripe.”
“Ripe for what?”
Lyreth leaned forward, suddenly animated. “What are you doing here, Murtagh? Muckmaw dead, and all of Gil’ead in a commotion. What is it? Are you raising troops? Killing Nasuada’s lieutenants? What?”
“You’ve grown obvious, Lyreth,” said Murtagh in a lazy tone. “You wouldn’t have lasted a week at court like this.”
“Bah.” Lyreth waved his hand and sank back in his chair. “Events are afoot, and directness is needed. If you are too cautious, the prize shall go to another…. You could take the throne, Murtagh. You know that, yes? And all the great families would rally to your banner…those of us who still have some standing, that is. Hamlin and Tharos were fools. They couldn’t wait, they couldn’t gather the army they needed, and so their rebellions failed. Hamlin ended up with his head on a pike outside these very walls, and Tharos will spend the rest of his life in Nasuada’s dungeons. Unless…”
Murtagh cocked his head. Nothing Lyreth said was particularly surprising, although the implications were far from pleasant. “Are you really so eager to return to the days of Galbatorix, Lyreth? Would you see me raised above you, to rule in perpetuity, undying and unchanging? Is that really your wish?”
“It would be better than what we have now!”
You mean, it would free you from hiding and again place your family in a position of power.
A sly expression formed on Lyreth’s face. “Besides, think of the advantages for you, Murtagh. I know you always chafed under Galbatorix’s strictures. Were the crown yours, you could rule as you see fit, with our men and gold as your bulwark. And it would be good for our kind. Nasuada cannot hold her own against Arya. A Dragon Rider as queen of the elves, who ever heard of such nonsense? Eragon is a threat as well. He’s building a force of Riders out in the east. Once they’re grown and trained, who can stand against him? Only you, Murtagh. And I know there is no love lost between the two of you.”
The pretense to intimacy made Murtagh bristle. “Oh you do, do you?”
“I know it to be true. Come, Murtagh. What say you? All of the Empire could be yours. And more too. Galbatorix should never have suffered Surda to exist. You could break them and unite this land in a way that has never been done before. All of humanity gathered under a single standard. Then the elves might fear us, and the dwarves too.”
The wine and the delicacies no longer sat so well within Murtagh’s stomach. The future Lyreth described was more tempting than Murtagh wanted to admit. Were he to claim the throne, few could challenge him or Thorn, and neither Eragon nor Arya would be eager to again plunge the land into war. They would tolerate his existence and, in time, perhaps come to respect his authority. In one fell swoop, he could restore glory to his family’s name and secure power such to protect Thorn and himself against all but the most dangerous of foes.
But in order to elevate himself like that, he would have to depose Nasuada, and her fate thereafter could only be exile, imprisonment, or death. And that he could not countenance. Then I would truly be known as a betrayer, he thought. Not just to the common folk, but to the one person, besides Thorn, who fully trusted him. Nasuada was the very reason he’d been able to break free of his bondage and help topple Galbatorix. To then act against her…No. It was unthinkable.
He let the idea go, and he felt no regret.
Lyreth fidgeted, seemingly on tenterhooks as he waited.
Instead of replying directly, Murtagh decided to unbalance the other man, to step sideways when a forward step was expected. From the pouch on his belt, he produced the bird-skull amulet he’d found in Ceunon. He placed it on the table and slid it to the other end.
“Have you seen one of these before?”
Lyreth picked up the amulet with forefinger and thumb and held it dangling before him, much as Carabel had done. He showed no reaction aside from bland curiosity, but Murtagh wondered if, perhaps, there was a flicker of some emotion in the man’s eyes. For a moment, Murtagh debated touching Lyreth’s mind, but there was no way for such an action to be interpreted as anything but an attack. In any case, as with all the children of nobility, Lyreth had been raised with extensive training on how to protect his thoughts from eavesdroppers or intruders. Success was not guaranteed even if Murtagh tried, not unless he were willing to totally break Lyreth’s mind.
It might be worth it, he thought. Lyreth and his family posed no small threat to Nasuada and the stability of her realm. If Murtagh could do something about it…
He licked his lips, muscles tightening in anticipation of action. A few quick words, a barrage of mental violence, and he would have complete control over everyone in the house.
Surely he knows that. The thought gave Murtagh sudden pause. Why was Lyreth willing to take such an enormous risk?
Lyreth dropped the amulet on the table. “What a barbaric creation. I can’t say I have, and I’m glad of it too…. But you have yet to answer me, Murtagh. Come now, what will it be? The crown, or a lifetime of skulking in the shadows until the queen’s pet magicians hunt you down like a rabid dog?”
Murtagh smiled slightly as he rolled the wine in the goblet, studying his distorted reflection. “Neither,” he said, gathering his will in preparation to attack. He lifted his gaze to meet Lyreth’s storm-cloud eyes. “I walk alone these days, Lyreth. Thorn and I answer to no man, and we will not be beholden to anyone, least of all your family. But I will know the truth of what you’re planning.”
Lyreth’s expression didn’t change, as if Murtagh had done no more than make a passing comment on the weather. “You never did know your place,” he said.
A powerful itch kindled in the middle of Murtagh’s palm.
He opened his mouth—
Lyreth’s finger pressed against the edge of the table.
Clunk! The floor dropped out beneath Murtagh, the room tilted like a pinwheel, and his stomach lurched as he plummeted into blinding darkness.