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In one corner of the chamber, she saw the tip of a thick green vine force its way between the painted tiles, cracking them. More vines appeared next to the first; they poked through the wall from the outside and spread across the floor, covering it in a sea of writhing, snakelike appendages.
Watching them crawl towards her, Nasuada began to chuckle. Is this all he can think of? I have stranger dreams nearly every night.
As if in response to her scorn, the slab beneath her melted into the floor and the thrashing tendrils closed over her, wrapping around her limbs and holding them more securely than any chains. Her sight grew dark as the vines atop her multiplied, and the only thing she could hear was the sound of them sliding against one another: a dry, shifting sound, like that of falling sand.
The air grew hot and thick, and she felt as if she was having trouble breathing. Had she not known the vines were only an illusion, she might have panicked then. Instead, she spat in the darkness and cursed Galbatorix's name. Not for the first time. Nor for the last, she was sure. But she refused to allow him the pleasure of knowing he had unbalanced her.
Light... golden sunbeams streaming across a series of rolling hills patched with fields and vineyards. She was standing by the edge of a small courtyard, underneath a trellis laden with blooming morning glories, the vines of which seemed uncomfortably familiar. She was wearing a beautiful yellow dress. There was a crystal goblet of wine in her right hand and the musky, cherry taste of wine upon her tongue. A slight breeze was blowing from the west. The air smelled of warmth and comfort and freshly tilled land.
"Ah, there you are," said a voice behind her, and she turned to see Murtagh striding towards her from a grand estate. Like her, he held a goblet of wine. He was dressed in black hose and a doublet of maroon satin with gold piping. A gem-encrusted dagger hung from his studded belt. His hair was longer than she remembered, and he appeared relaxed and confident in a way she had not seen before. That, and the light upon his face, made him appear strikingly handsome—noble, even.
He joined her under the trellis and placed a hand on her bare arm. The gesture seemed casual and intimate. "You minx, abandoning me to lord Ferros and his interminable stories. It took me half an hour to escape." Then he paused and looked at her closer, and his expression became one of concern. "Are you feeling ill? Your cheeks look gray."
She opened her mouth, but no words came to her. She could not think how to react.
Murtaghs brow furrowed. "You had another one of your attacks, didn't you"
"I—I don’t know.... I can't remember how I got here, or..." she trailed off as she saw the pain that appeared in Murtagh's eyes, and which he quickly hid.
He slid his hand down to the small of her back as he moved around her to stare out at the hilly landscape. With a swift motion, he drained his goblet. Then, in a low voice, he said, "I know how confusing this is for you.... It isn’t the first time this has happened, but—" He took a deep breath and shook his head slightly. "What is the last thing you remember? Teirm? Aberon? The siege of Cithrí?... The gift i gave you that night in Eoam?"
A terrible sense of uncertainty overcame her. "Urû'baen," she whispered. "The Hall of the Soothsayer. That's my last memory."
For an instant, she felt his hand trembled against her back, but his face betrayed no reaction.
"Urûbaen," he repeated hoarsely. He looked at her. "Nasuada... it's been eight years since Urû'baen."
No, she thought. It can’t be. And yet everything seemed so real. The motion of Murtagh's hair as the wind tousled it, the scent of the fields, the touch of her dress against her skin—it all seemed exactly as it should. But if she was actually there, why hadn't Murtagh reassured her of it by reaching out to her mind, as he had done before? If eight years had elapsed, he might not remember the promise he made to her so long ago in the Hall of the Soothsayer.
"I—" she started to say, then she heard a woman call out: "My Lady!"
She looked over her shoulder and saw a portly maid hurrying down from the estate, the front of her white apron flapping. "My Lady," said the maid, and curtsied. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but the children hoped that you would watch them put on their play for the guests"
"Children," she whispered. She looked back at Murtagh to see his eyes shining with tears.
"Aye," he said. "Children. Four of them, all strong and healthy and full of high spirits."
She shuddered, overcome with emotion. She could not help it. Then she lifted her chin. "Show me what I have forgotten. Show me why I have forgotten."
Murtagh smiled at her with what seemed like pride. "It would be my pleasure," he said, and kissed her on the forehead. He took her goblet and gave both glasses to the maid. Then he grasped her hands in his, closed his eyes and bowed his head.
An instant later, she felt a presence pressing against her mind, and then she knew: it was not him. She tried to pull away, but she was not fast enough. The presence wrapped around her mind, and crushed it. The illusion warped, and then she was back in the Hall of the Soothsayer. She felt like she was floating far away from her body as the presence ravaged her mind.
Sometime later, Galbatorix came into the chamber. She could feel his glee before she could see it upon his face. With one word he made the chains let go of her. She tried to force her body to get up and run, but it moved of its own volition and sat up to face him. She spoke words she did not understand the meaning of, yet knew the implications of—she was bound to him, forever.
He grabbed her by the arm, not caring about the injuries splayed across her body, and dragged her through the halls. The presence slowly relinquished its control over her and by the time they reached their destination, she could move her body again.
They stopped in front of a set of double doors and Galbatorix knocked. A man with flaming red hair and equally red eyes opened the door. A shade, she realised. He was a tad shorter than Galbatorix, but still towered over her and dressed in tight black clothes. He inspected her, making her very aware of how little her shift still covered, and then raised an eyebrow at Galbatorix. "A woman? That's been a while."
"Can you just get Murtagh and not comment on who I choose to torture?" The impatience was audible in his voice.
"As you wish, your majesty." The man turned around and yelled: "MURTAGH! GALBATORIX WANTS TO SPEAK TO YOU!" He looked back at Galbatorix and said: "he'll be here in a second. Is there anything else you need, your majesty?"
"No, you may go."
The man bowed and disappeared from the doorway.
Galbatorix tapped his foor on the carpet and gripped Nasuada's arm tighter and pulled her closer to himself.
Murtagh opened the door with a very annoyed "What do you want?" His hair was wet and he had a towel around his shoulders. At least he'd had the decency to put on a shirt.
As soon as he saw her, his eyes widened. Galbatorix decided that that was the ideal moment to shove her towards him and she stumbled into Murtagh's arms. He helped her stand, and then gave Galbatorix a puzzled look.
"She’s all yours, if that's what it takes to keep her. Get her settled in and then come see me, there's news about the preparations for battle."
"Yes, sir," He gritted out and closed the door. He protectively wrapped an arm around Nasuada as he guided her through what seemed to be a cresent-shaped common room. The shade she had seen before was now laying on a couch playing card games as if that was the most normal place for a shade to be. Murtagh saw her look, "don't worry about him, he doesn’t hurt us, and he hates Galbatorix just as much as we all do."
He gave silent orders to a few people on the way. Because of the shade's earlier comment, Nasuada paid attention to the ratio of women compared to men and noticed there were indeed way more men in the common room. Murtagh opened another door in the rounded wall and brought her into a smaller bedchamber. Most of the room was taken up by a double bed, there was a closet on one side along with yet another door and a desk on the other. The boy at the desk, who couldn't be much older than fifteen, looked up when they came inside. He looked her up and down once, and then asked Murtagh: "a new one? That's early."
Murtagh nodded solemnly, "you’re going to have to find another room to crash in."
They began to speak in the ancient language and after a short discussion, Murtagh cast a spell to clean up the kid's half of the room. "I'm going to miss having you as a roommate, Thomas."
"I'm not moving to the other side of Alagaësia," the boy laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow," He said and left the chamber.
Murtagh sat Nasuada down on his bed and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. "I've asked the other to get you something better to wear, okay?"
"Okay," she said, still a bit beside herself. He gave her that same concerned look he'd had in her vision. "I'll be back as soon as possible."