As the dragons swooped past each other, Saphira roared, and the other dragon roared in response. They turned and began to circle-as if chasing each other’s tails-Saphira still slightly above the green dragon, who made no attempt to climb above her. If he had, Eragon would have feared he was attempting to gain the advantage before attacking.
He grinned and shouted into the wind. Arya shouted back and raised an arm. Then Eragon touched her mind, just to be sure, and he knew in an instant that it really was Arya, and that she and the dragon meant them no harm. He withdrew a moment later, for it would have been rude to prolong the mental contact without her consent; she would answer his questions when they spoke on the ground.
Saphira and the green dragon roared again, and the green dragon lashed his whiplike tail; then they chased each other through the air until they reached the Ramr River. There Saphira took the lead and spiraled down until she landed upon the same rise where she and Eragon had been waiting.
The green dragon landed a hundred feet away, settling into a low crouch while Arya freed herself from her saddle.
Eragon tore the straps off his legs and jumped to the ground, banging the sheath of Brisingr against his leg. He ran over to Arya, and she to him, and they met in the middle between the two dragons, who followed at a more sedate pace, their steps weighing heavily on the ground.
As he drew near, Eragon saw that, in place of the leather strip that Arya usually wore to keep her hair back, a circlet of gold rested upon her brow. In the center of the circlet, a teardrop-shaped diamond flashed with light that came not from the sun but from within its own depths. At her waist hung a green-hilted sword in a green sheath, which he recognized as Tamerlein, the same sword the elf lord Fiolr had offered him as a replacement for Zar’roc and that had once belonged to the Rider Arva. However, the hilt looked different than he remembered, lighter and more graceful, and the sheath appeared narrower.
It took Eragon a moment to realize what the diadem meant. He looked at Arya with astonishment. “You!”
“Me,” she said, and inclined her head. “Atra esterni ono thelduin, Eragon.”
“Atra du evarinya ono varda, Arya … Drottning?” It did not escape him that she had chosen to greet him first.
“Drottning,” she confirmed. “My people chose to give me my mother’s title, and I chose to accept.”
Above them, Saphira and the green dragon brought their heads close together and sniffed one another. Saphira was taller; the green dragon had to stretch his neck to reach her.
As much as Eragon wanted to talk with Arya, he could not help staring at the green dragon. “And him?” he asked, motioning upward.
Arya smiled, and then she surprised him by taking his hand and leading him forward. The green dragon snorted and lowered his head until it hung just above them, smoke and steam rising from the depths of his crimson nostrils.
“Eragon,” she said, and she placed his hand on the dragon’s warm snout, “this is Firnen. Firnen, this is Eragon.”
Eragon looked up into one of Firnen’s brilliant eyes; the bands of muscle within the dragon’s iris were the pale green and yellow of new blades of grass.
I am glad to meet you, Eragon-friend-Shadeslayer, said Firnen. His mental voice was deeper than Eragon expected, deeper even than that of Thorn or Glaedr or any of the Eldunari from Vroengard. My Rider has told me much about you. And the dragon blinked once, with a small, sharp sound like a shell bouncing against a stone.
In Firnen’s wide, sunlit mind, planked as it was with transparent shadows, Eragon could feel the dragon’s excitement.
Wonder swept through Eragon, wonder that such a thing had come to pass. “I am glad to meet you as well, Firnen-finiarel. I never thought that I would live to see you hatched and free of Galbatorix’s spells.”
The emerald dragon snorted softly. He looked proud and full of energy, like a stag in fall. Then he returned his gaze to Saphira. Between the two of them, much passed; through Saphira, Eragon could feel the flow of thoughts, emotions, and sensations, slow at first, but then swelling into a torrent.
Arya smiled slightly. “They seem to have taken to each other.”
“That they have.”
A mutual understanding guiding them, he and Arya walked out from under Saphira and Firnen, leaving the dragons to themselves. Saphira did not sit as she normally did, but remained crouched, as if she were about to spring onto a deer. Firnen did the same. The tips of their tails twitched.
Arya looked well: better, Eragon thought, than she had since their time together in Ellesmera. For lack of a more suitable word, he would have said she looked happy.
Neither of them spoke for a while as they watched the dragons. Then Arya turned toward him and said, “I apologize for not contacting you sooner. You must think badly of me for ignoring you and Saphira for so long and for keeping such a secret as Firnen.”
“Did you receive my letter?”
“I did.” To his surprise, she reached inside the front of her tunic and removed a square of battered parchment that, after a few seconds, he recognized. “I would have answered, but Firnen had already hatched and I did not want to lie to you, even by omission.”
“Why keep him hidden?”
“With so many of Galbatorix’s servants still on the loose, and so few dragons remaining, I did not want to risk anyone finding out about Firnen until he was large enough to defend himself.”
“Did you really think a human could have snuck into Du Weldenvarden and killed him?”
“Stranger things have happened. With the dragons yet on the brink of extinction, it was not a risk worth taking. If I could, I would keep Firnen in Du Weldenvarden for the next ten years, until he is so large that none would dare attack him. But he wished to leave, and I could not deny him. Besides, the time has come for me to meet with Nasuada and Orik in my new role.”
Eragon could feel Firnen showing and telling Saphira about the first time he caught a deer in the elves’ forest. He knew that Arya was aware of the exchange as well, for he saw her lip twitch in response to an image of Firnen hopping in pursuit of a startled doe after he tripped over a branch.
“And how long have you been queen?”
“Since a month after my return. Vanir doesn’t know, however. I ordered the information kept from him and our ambassador to the dwarves so that I could concentrate on raising Firnen without having to worry about the affairs of state that otherwise would have fallen to me.… You might like to know: I raised him on the Crags of Tel’naeir, where Oromis lived with Glaedr. It seemed only right.”
Silence fell between them. Then Eragon gestured at Arya’s diadem and at Firnen and said, “How did all of this happen?”
She smiled. “On our return to Ellesmera, I noticed that Firnen was beginning to stir within his shell, but I thought nothing of it, as Saphira had often done the same. However, once we reached Du Weldenvarden and passed through its wards, he hatched. It was nearly evening, and I was carrying his egg in my lap, as I used to carry Saphira’s, and I was speaking to him, telling him of the world and reassuring him that he was safe, and then I felt the egg shake and …” She shivered and tossed her hair, a bright film of tears in her eyes. “The bond is everything I imagined it to be. When we touched … I always wanted to be a Dragon Rider, Eragon, so that I could protect my people and avenge my father’s death at the hands of Galbatorix and the Forsworn, but until I saw the first crack appear in Firnen’s egg, I never allowed myself to believe that it might actually come to pass.”
“When you touched, did-”
“Yes.” She lifted her left hand and showed him the silvery mark on the palm, the same as his own gedwey ignasia. “It felt like …” She paused, searching for the words.
“Like ice-cold water that tingled and snapped,” he suggested.
“Exactly like that.” Without seeming to notice, she crossed her arms, as if chilled.
“So you returned to Ellesmera,” said Eragon. Now Saphira was telling Firnen about when
she and Eragon swam in Leona Lake while traveling to Dras-Leona with Brom.
“So we returned to Ellesmera.”
“And you went to live on the Crags of Tel’naeir. But why become queen when you were already a Rider?”
“It was not my idea. Dathedr and the other elders of our race came to the house on the crags, and they asked me to take up my mother’s mantle. I refused, but they returned the next day, and the day after that, and every day for a week, and each time with new arguments for why I should accept the crown. In the end, they convinced me that it would be best for our people.”
“Why you, though? Was it because you are Islanzadi’s daughter, or was it because you had become a Rider?”
“It was not just because Islanzadi was my mother, although that was part of it. Nor was it just because I was a Rider. Our politics are far more complicated than those of the humans or the dwarves, and choosing a new monarch is never easy. It involves obtaining consent from dozens of houses and families, as well as several of the older members of our race, and every choice they make is part of a subtle game that we have been playing amongst ourselves for thousands of years.… There were many reasons why they wanted me to become queen, not all of them obvious.”
Eragon shifted, glancing between Saphira and Arya, unable to reconcile himself to Arya’s decision. “How can you be a Rider as well as a queen?” he asked. “The Riders aren’t supposed to support any one race above the others. It would be impossible for the other peoples of Alagaesia to trust us if we did. And how can you help rebuild our order and raise the next generation of dragons if you’re busy with your responsibilities in Ellesmera?”
“The world is not as it used to be,” she said. “Nor can the Riders remain apart as they once did. There are too few of us to stand alone, and it will be a long while before there are again enough of us to resume our former place. In any event, you have already sworn yourself to Nasuada and to Orik and Durgrimst Ingeitum, but not to us, not to the alfakyn. It is only right that we should have a Rider and dragon as well.”
“You know that Saphira and I would fight for the elves as much as for the dwarves or the humans,” he protested.
“I know, but others do not. Appearances matter, Eragon. You cannot change the fact that you have given your word to Nasuada and that you owe your loyalty to Orik’s clan.… My people have suffered greatly over the past hundred years, and though it may not be apparent to you, we are not what we once were. As the fortunes of the dragons have declined, so too have our own. Fewer children have been born to us, and our strength has waned. Also, some have said that our minds are no longer as sharp as they used to be, although it is difficult to prove one way or another.”
“The same is true of humans, or so Glaedr told us,” said Eragon.
She nodded. “He is right. Both of our races will take time to recover, and much will depend upon the return of the dragons. Moreover, even as Nasuada is needed to help guide the recovery of your race, so too do my own people need a leader. With Islanzadi dead, I felt obliged to take the task upon myself.” She touched her left shoulder, where her tattoo of the yawe glyph lay hidden. “I pledged myself to the service of my people when I was not much older than you. I cannot abandon them now, when their need is so great.”
“They will always have need of you.”
“And I will always answer their call,” she replied. “Do not worry; Firnen and I shall not ignore our duties as a dragon and Rider. We will help you to patrol the land and settle what disputes we can, and wherever it seems best to raise the dragons, we shall visit and lend our assistance as often as we can, even if it be at the far southern end of the Spine.”
Her words troubled Eragon, but he did his best to hide it. What she promised would not be possible if he and Saphira did as they had decided during the flight there. Although everything Arya had said helped confirm that the path they had chosen was the right one, he worried that it was a path that Arya and Firnen would be unable to follow.
He bowed his head then, accepting Arya’s decision to become queen and her right to make it. “I know you won’t neglect your responsibilities,” he said. “You never do.” He did not mean the statement unkindly; it was merely a statement of fact, and one for which he respected her. “And I understand why you did not contact us for so long. I probably would have done the same in your place.”
She smiled again. “Thank you.”
He motioned toward her sword. “I take it Rhunon reworked Tamerlein to better fit you?”
“She did, and she grumbled about it the whole while. She said the blade was perfect the way it was, but I am well pleased with the changes she made; the sword balances as it should in my hand now, and it feels no heavier than a switch.”
As they stood watching the dragons, Eragon tried to think of a way to tell Arya of their plans. Before he could, she said, “You and Saphira have been well?”
“We have.”
“What else of interest has occurred since you wrote?”
Eragon thought for a minute, then told her in brief about the attempts on Nasuada’s life, the uprisings in the north and the south, the birth of Roran and Katrina’s daughter, Roran’s ennoblement, and the list of treasures they had recovered from within the citadel. Lastly, he told of their return to Carvahall and their visit to Brom’s final resting place.
While he spoke, Saphira and Firnen began to circle each other, the tips of their tails whipping back and forth faster than ever. They both had their jaws slightly open, baring their long white teeth, and they were breathing thickly through their mouths and uttering low, whining grunts, the likes of which Eragon had never heard before. It looked almost as if they were going to attack each other, which worried him, but the feeling from Saphira was not one of anger or fear. It was-
I want to test him, said Saphira. She slapped her tail against the ground, causing Firnen to pause.
Test him? How? For what?
To find out if he has the iron in his bones and the fire in his belly to match me.
Are you sure? he asked, understanding her intent.
She again slapped her tail against the ground, and he felt her certainty and the strength of her desire. I know everything about him-everything but this. Besides-she displayed a flash of amusement-it’s not as if dragons mate for life.
Very well.… But be careful.
He had barely finished speaking when Saphira lunged forward and bit Firnen on his left flank, drawing blood and causing Firnen to snarl and spring backward. The green dragon growled, appearing uncertain of himself, and retreated before Saphira as she prowled toward him.
Saphira! Chagrined, Eragon turned to Arya, intending to apologize.
Arya did not seem upset. To Firnen, and to Eragon as well, she said, If you want her to respect you, then you have to bite her in return.
She raised an eyebrow at Eragon, and he responded with a wry smile, understanding.
Firnen glanced at Arya and hesitated. He jumped back as Saphira snapped at him again. Then he roared and lifted his wings, as if to make himself appear larger, and he charged Saphira-and nipped her on a hind leg, sinking his teeth into her hide.
The pain Saphira felt was not pain.
Saphira and Firnen resumed circling, growling and yowling with increasing volume. Then Firnen jumped at her again. He landed on Saphira’s neck and bore her head to the ground, where he held her pinned and gave her a pair of playful bites at the base of her skull.
Saphira did not struggle as fiercely as Eragon would have expected, and he guessed that she had allowed Firnen to catch her, as it was not something even Thorn had managed to do.
“The courting of dragons is no gentle affair,” he said to Arya.
“Did you expect soft words and tender caresses?”
“I suppose not.”
With a heave of her neck, Saphira threw Firnen off and scrambled backward. She roared and clawed at the ground with her forefeet, and then Firnen lifted his head toward the sky and loosed a rippli
ng pennant of green fire twice the length of his own body.
“Oh!” exclaimed Arya, sounding delighted.
“What?”
“That’s the first time he has breathed fire!”
Saphira released a blast of fire herself-Eragon could feel the heat from over fifty feet away-and then she crouched and jumped into the sky, climbing straight upward. Firnen followed an instant later.
Eragon stood with Arya as they watched the glittering dragons ascend into the heavens, spiraling around each other with flames streaming from their mouths. It was an awe-inspiring sight: savage and beautiful, and frightening. Eragon realized he was watching an ancient and elemental ritual, one that was part of the very fabric of nature itself and without which the land would wither and die.
His connection with Saphira grew tenuous as the distance between them increased, but he could still sense the heat of her passion, which darkened the edges of her vision and blotted out all thoughts save those driven by the instinctual need that all creatures, even the elves, are subject to.
The dragons shrank until at last they were no more than a pair of sparkling stars orbiting each other in the immensity of the sky. As far away as they were, Eragon still received a few flashes of thoughts and feelings from Saphira, and though he had experienced many such moments with the Eldunari when they had shared their memories with him, his cheeks grew hot, as did the tips of his ears, and he found himself unable to look directly at Arya.
She too seemed affected by the dragons’ emotions, although differently than he; she stared after Saphira and Firnen with a faint smile, and her eyes shone brighter than usual, as if the sight of the two dragons filled her with pride and happiness.
Eragon let out a sigh, and then squatted and began to draw in the dirt with a stalk of grass.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” he said.
“No,” said Arya.
They remained that way for a number of minutes: she standing, he squatting, and all silence around them, save for the sound of the lonely wind.
At last Eragon dared look up at Arya. She looked more beautiful than ever. But more than that, he saw his friend and ally; he saw the woman who had helped save him from Durza, who had fought alongside him against countless enemies, who had been imprisoned with him under Dras-Leona, and who, in the end, had killed Shruikan with the Dauthdaert. He remembered what she had told him about her life in Ellesmera when she was growing up, her difficult relationship with her mother, and the many reasons that had driven her to leave Du Weldenvarden and serve as an ambassador to the elves. He thought too of the hurts she had suffered: some from her mother, others from the isolation she had experienced among the humans and the dwarves, and still more when she had lost Faolin and then endured Durza’s tortures in Gil’ead.
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