Murtagh

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.

For her part, the girl seemed somewhat abashed.

“Now then,” said Murtagh, stretching his legs out toward the fire. “You were telling me your tale of woe, Essie Siglingsdaughter. Was that the full accounting?”

“That was it,” she said in a small voice.

He picked up the fork from his plate and began to twirl it between his fingers. The girl watched, entranced. “Things can’t be as bad as you think. I’m sure if you explain to your friend—”

“No,” she said, firm. “He won’t understand. He won’t trust me again. They’ll hate me fer it.”

A cutting edge formed in Murtagh’s voice. “Then maybe they aren’t really your friends.”

She shook her head, braids swinging. “They are! You don’t understand!” And she brought her fist down on the arm of the chair in an impatient little gesture. “Carth is…He’s really nice. Everyone likes him, an’ now they won’t like me. You wouldn’t know. You’re all big an’…an’ old.”

Murtagh raised his eyebrows. “You might be surprised what I know. So they won’t like you. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to run away,” blurted the girl. The moment she realized what she’d said, she gave him a panicked look. “Don’t tell Papa, please!”